Dan leaned towards her as she caught a movement over his shoulder and screamed.
“Paula, what…?”
“Why do you keep doing that?” a voice grumbled.
Dan spun around with Paula still in his arms. “Uncle Gerald, you really should knock.” He lowered Paula to the ground.
“I did knock.” Uncle Gerald walked past them both and sat at the kitchen table. “It’s looking a bit stormy out there. Any chance of a cuppa?”
“You’ve got some weird relatives,” Paula hissed in Dan’s ear.
“Uncle Gerald isn’t really my uncle.” Dan smiled at the old man. “He did a lot of work for my grandfather back in the day. He visits me regularly at the sheds.” Dan lowered his voice. “Rowena didn’t let him in the house very often. Once he’d heard we’d moved in here, I think he was keen to check the place out.” He looked back at the old man. “Isn’t that right, Uncle Gerald?”
“What’s that, lad?”
Dan raised his voice. “You’re just making sure Paula and I are looking after the place okay.”
“Is that her name, Paula? I thought it was Orla.”
There was a knock at the back door. Dan went to investigate while Paula put the kettle on.
“Tom’s popped back, in case we need anything.” Dan returned with Tom following.
Paula looked up from filling the kettle and Tom gave her his shy, crooked smile. She realised she’d missed him too.
“Hello, Tom.”
“G’day, Paula.” He shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Welcome home.”
Paula put her arm through Dan’s. Now that she had him back, she was determined to keep him close.
“Paula?” The back door banged. “Are you there?”
“Bloody hell,” Dan muttered.
Rowena burst through the kitchen door carrying Tarzan then stopped when she saw Dan. “What are you doing out of hospital?”
“I didn’t need to stay there. Tom gave me a ride home.”
Rowena flicked a piece of hair from her eyes and looked at Paula. “I tried to call you on the two-way and the phone. I was worried when there was no answer.” She put the squirming dog on the ground and he ran straight to Paula.
“Hello.” Paula giggled as his tongue licked her cheek and he slid his nose down her neck.
Rowena turned her attention to the old man at the table. “You’re up and about early, Uncle Gerald.”
“Thought I might get a cup of tea here, at least,” he muttered.
Rowena raised her eyebrows then looked back at Paula and Dan. “I hope you two have had a chance to talk…alone.” She emphasised the last word.
“Yes.” He brushed his lips over Paula’s cheek. “Things are sorted.”
She took in his ragged appearance and remembered how close they had been to losing each other.
“All sorted,” she murmured back.
“No wonder you didn’t hear the two-way, Paula,” Rowena announced. “You’ve turned it off again. You really should leave it on, you know.” She reached up and snapped the radio back on.
Dan winked at Paula.
“Did you put that kettle on, Orla?” Uncle Gerald asked. “It’s taking a long time.”
“Have you had much rain in town, Uncle Gerald?” Tom sat next to the old man who launched into a description of the latest weather report.
“Well, if the kettle’s on, we may as well all have a cuppa.” Rowena opened the pantry door. “I put some biscuits in here the other day. Have you eaten them yet, Dan?”
“Anyone home?” Bruce’s voice called.
“Come in,” Dan called then he bent closer to Paula. “Did we send out invitations?”
Bruce and Jane came into the already busy kitchen with the two boys.
“It’s good to see your ugly mug up and about.” Bruce clapped a hand on Dan’s shoulder.
“Are you all right, Dan?” Jane asked. “I suppose you checked yourself out of the hospital.”
“Hello.” Rowena came out of the pantry with several packets of biscuits.
Andrew, who was wearing a Superman t-shirt today, tipped his bag of trucks onto the wooden floor with a clatter and Uncle Gerald remarked loudly about the lack of cups of tea.
Voices and noise filled the kitchen. Paula and Rowena filled cups and passed them around. No one noticed the grey day outside, until Paula called out.
“Listen.”
Everyone stopped what they were doing, then they all heard it. Rain was falling on the tin roof. They watched out the window in silence for a moment and the rain fell more heavily.
“I told you there was a chance —”
“Of stormy weather,” they all chorused with Uncle Gerald and then the room was filled with laughter and chattering voices.
Dan edged up beside Paula and put his arm around her. “So, little lady,” he drawled. “Still think you can cope with life on the farm?”
Paula listened a moment to the heavy drum of the rain on the roof and the chatter of happy voices in their kitchen. Her stomach churned, once more reminding her of the baby they’d created. She grinned.
“Bring it on, farm boy.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The original version of this story was self-published back in 2004 when it had the title Changing Channels and the tag line ‘From the city to the country – a rural romance.’ It developed with the support of my then writing tutor, Marg McAllister, and the encouragement of the wonderful cyber CB writing group she began.
I am indebted to my first beta readers, Kathy Snodgrass, Mem Westbrook, Sue Barlow and Sue Hazel, and to my daughter Kelly who urged me to write ‘her kind of book’.
My mother, Pat, was a wonderful example of dedication to family, community and rural life in general. She never got to read this book but I know she would have enjoyed it and been proud for me. My admiration also goes to the many country women I’ve met over the years who, along with my mum, have been an inspiration for my writing.
So many times I have been asked for this story since it went out of print. Many ‘city girls’ marry ‘farm boys’ and adapt to a totally different life. I hope I’ve done some justice to the changes they experience. Thank you to Margie Arnold who offers this story as a manual to new farm wives.
I am most grateful to the team at Harlequin for seeing its worth and helping me to bring it to a new and much wider audience over a decade later. The subject is still relevant today but many things have changed requiring extensive rewriting. I am very excited it will now be available to many more readers.
Thank you to my publisher Jo Mackay and my editor Annabel Blay for their foresight and talent in bringing out the best in this story. As always it’s wonderful to work with you. Thanks also to the keen eye of proofer Kate James. To Romina Panetta and the design team, congratulations on another beautiful cover and to the whole team at Harlequin who bring my books to life, my heartfelt thanks – you’re the best.
Thanks to Dr Georgie for assistance with things veterinary and to many farmer friends for their input. Of course I have been known to shift the truth a little in the name of a good story so, as always, any mistakes are my own.
I am lucky to have the continued support of friends and my family and my husband Daryl who is my rock. Thank you all for your love and support.
Finally to readers who have found my books and enjoyed them, you are the reason I write. Thanks for your encouraging messages and I look forward to bringing you more stories.
Turn over for a sneak peek.
Between the Vines
by
TRICIA STRINGER
OUT NOW
harlequinbooks.com.au
CHAPTER
1
Rosie gasped. Taylor cast her a sideways glance. Movement on the windscreen caught her eye. A brown body and eight hairy legs scurried towards her. She yelped and pulled the wheel. The van swayed bringing screams from the four women in the seats behind her. She careered off the highway and slammed on the brakes. The v
an slewed to a stop in the gravel.
Taylor and Rosie threw open their doors and jumped from the van simultaneously while behind them a barrage of confused questions filled the air.
“What are you doing?” Cass’s voice boomed above the rest.
“Spider.” Taylor clutched at her pounding chest.
An air horn blasted and wind whipped at her hair as a road train thundered past. She scrambled on wobbly legs to Rosie’s side of the van. Her friend, and the bride-to-be, stared wide-eyed at the windscreen. The side door slid open.
“Oh Taylor! You and spiders!” Cass’s angry expletives were lost in the rumble of another passing truck. “You could have killed us all. Where is it?”
Taylor shuddered and edged further away. Rosie was the one to point to where the ugly creature now waited, smack bang in the middle of the front windscreen.
Cass was Rosie’s chief bridesmaid, the organiser of this road trip and not afraid of anything. She reached for one of the magazines that had been at Rosie’s feet. The other three women climbed out of the van, shaking their heads and clutching various parts of their bodies.
“I swear I’ll be bruised all over, Taylor.” Mandy rubbed at her arm while Anna and Sal joined the chorus of complaints.
Cass climbed into the front passenger seat and lifted the magazine she’d twisted into a roll.
“No,” Rosie and Taylor yelled in unison.
“Don’t kill it,” Rosie pleaded. “Poor thing gave us a fright that’s all.”
“You can kill it.” Taylor shuddered. “Just not there. It’ll splatter.” The only thing worse than a live spider would be a dead one smeared across her windscreen.
Cass gave them a murderous look. “You two are the–”
“It’s moving!” Rosie cut her off.
Taylor’s scream pierced the air.
Cass turned, reached across and with one swift movement used the magazine to flick the spider out of the van.
Taylor’s heart continued to thud. “Where is it now?”
Cass pursed her lips, strode around to the other side of the van and made a big show of stomping on the ground. She looked through the open doors to Taylor on the other side of the van. “Dead.”
Taylor let out the breath she’d been holding. “Sorry everyone.”
More complaints filled the air.
Cass came back around to the passenger side and stood hands on hips. “Is anyone in need of medical assistance?”
A bit of arm swinging and a few more mutters followed.
“We’ll live,” Anna spoke for the others.
Mandy handed around bottles of water. They had an esky full of drinks but so far the alcohol hadn’t been touched.
Cass stood next to Taylor. “Would you like me to drive?”
“I’ll be fine.” Taylor’s hammering heartbeat was steadying to a normal pace but nausea churned in her stomach. She sipped some water. The early February day was hot, reminding them it was still summer.
“The spider was just so close.” Rosie shuddered. “Do you think there are any more?”
“No.” Taylor spoke with a conviction she didn’t feel. She pulled back her shoulders. This was her problem and she had to deal with it. “I cleaned the van from top to bottom yesterday. We parked under the trees last stop and left the doors open. It probably crawled in then.” A shiver ran through her in spite of the heat. She could put up with most creepy crawlies but spiders…she put a hand to her stomach and tried to ignore the tightness in her chest. Just breathe, she told herself. It will pass.
“If your aircon worked properly we wouldn’t need to have everything open,” Cass said.
“It was working fine yesterday.” The failing aircon added to Taylor’s worries. Everyone was getting hot and bothered. Inside the van was almost hotter than out. Taylor had careered to a stop near a large gum tree which offered a small amount of shade but tempers were getting frayed. More traffic zoomed past in both directions on the busy highway between Naracoorte and Penola.
“Okay everyone, back in the van. First real drinks await.” Cass waved the others back on board. She gave Taylor a sideways look, one eyebrow raised. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I will be.”
Cass gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and climbed in. She was Taylor’s best friend and understood her spider phobia.
“Do you mind if I sit with them?” Rosie had an apologetic look on her face.
“No, you go for it. I’ll be fine.” Taylor smiled bravely. “Not far to the first winery from here.”
She slid the door shut on the hen’s group and made her way around to the driver’s door. She inspected the gravel all around her side of the van then leapt into the seat and slammed the door beside her. She took a deep breath and set the van in motion.
“Penola, here we come,” Cass yelled. “Boy, have we got some fun lined up for you, Rosie.” There was a chorus of cheers.
Taylor grimaced. She wished she was sitting in the back with them instead of being the designated driver for this hen’s trip but she’d volunteered. They’d planned it just as she’d made the monumental decision to change her life. She wasn’t saving money and she was sick of big Saturday nights followed by hangover Sundays. It was getting her nowhere. Taylor had made a pact with herself to cut back on drinking and partying. She hadn’t even told Cass about it. She glanced in the rear-view mirror at the merry crew behind her. And anyway, she was the only one with a van. She usually used it for work, couriering goods or taxiing people, but it did make a good hen bus.
She stretched her arms straight out and pressed her back against the seat, concentrating on the road ahead. Huge gum trees lined the sides and farmland gave way to rows of sweeping vines. This weekend was going to be different. She gripped the wheel tighter and gave her full attention to driving.
“Another seven to eight weeks and you’ll have to pick them.” The old man rose from his stooped position beside the vines heavy with grapes and tugged his old grey felt hat down. “Maybe a bit less, if the weather stays warm.”
Pete smiled. He’d thought the same but he valued Howard’s opinion. The old man might not have a university degree but he’d been growing grapes in Coonawarra nearly all his life. Pete cast a look across the rows of vines, all of them loaded with his precious cabernet sauvignon grapes. He felt a mounting excitement for this new project. A tingle of anticipation he hadn’t felt in years. This new clone of cabernet grapes with the code name NS18 would become Wriggly Creek’s icon wine.
“What are you going to do with them?”
Pete turned back to meet Howard’s steady gaze. The old man’s huge bushy eyebrows hovered over grey eyes partly covered by his saggy eyelids but he missed nothing.
“Word is you haven’t sold them yet.”
Pete shook his head. The grape industry was a huge place and yet a small one. Everyone thought they knew everyone’s business. “What are you up to, young fella?”
“Bit soon to say yet, Howard. You know how it is.”
Pete knew his reply was evasive but it was early days yet. He wasn’t one to count his chickens, even with Howard. Edward knew, of course, but that was all. Word would get out soon enough, especially as Pete hadn’t sought a buyer for the grapes.
“You were always one for keeping things close to your chest.” Howard bent in a little closer. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard who it is that’s looking to sell their winery?”
“No.” Pete shook his head and grinned. “Gossip has it there’s always someone on the market, Howard. You know that.”
“There’s a bit more substance to this. Heard it from a few good sources. You and Edward aren’t selling?” Howard pinned him with a sharp look.
“Not us. Wriggly Creek is still a fully family-owned winery. One of the few small ones left around here. We’re not planning on parting with it.”
“I’m glad, young fella. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders when it comes to wine and Eddie seems to have a decent eye
for the business side of things. Your parents would be proud of what you’ve achieved on your own.”
“Wish they were here to see it.” Once more Pete looked out across the vines, their deep green colour heightened by the late afternoon sun. The NS18 was only two hectares, bounded by the winery sheds and office to his left and the cellar door further away to his right. In front of him stretched the rest of the winery with his small cottage closest to the sheds and in the distance beyond it he could see the roof of his parents’ house where Edward now lived. He had helped his father plant these cabernet vines and a year later his father was dead. That had been six years ago. The pain of the loss of his parents had lessened over time but he still missed them every day.
“You’ve done a fine job.” Howard reached up, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a firm pat. “You’ll make a damn worthy red out of these grapes too, young fella. They’ll be lining up to get their hands on it.”
Pete twisted his head in time to see Howard wink and tap the side of his nose with his other hand.
“Time to get home to Margaret. It’s roast tonight.”
Howard hobbled away along the row. A knee reconstruction many years earlier had left him with a joint that was almost bone on bone but he rarely complained.
Pete shook his head. He should have known better than to think he could keep something secret from their family friend. The old bloke had become a bit of a mentor since Pete’s parents had died. He knew how badly Pete wanted to make a wine worthy of his father’s original investment. But Howard was married to Margaret, a staunch community worker who attended every event in the district. She heard everything and repeated most of it, adding her own embellishments to the story.
Pete’s stomach rumbled. Talk of Margaret’s roast made him think of his own dinner. As usual he hadn’t organised anything. There was still some of the casserole left. He would have to have that and plan some more meals tomorrow. Somehow he never thought about food until it came time to eat.
A bright blue sporty car zoomed down the road from the direction of the winery leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Felicity, their office manager, was heading home. They paid her the award rate but he wondered at her having such an expensive car. Her family were battlers but Felicity liked nice things. He hoped she hadn’t overextended herself. Still, it was none of his business.
A Chance of Stormy Weather Page 35
