Her Outback Cowboy (Prickle Creek)

by Annie Seaton

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Glossary of Australian Terms

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Find your Bliss with these great releases… Her Surprise Engagement

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  Kissing Her Enemy

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Annie Seaton. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/bliss

  Edited by Erin Molta

  Cover design by Liz Pelletier

  Cover art from iStock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-133-5

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition June 2017

  To my wonderful family.

  There is nothing more important in life.

  Prologue

  Sebastian Richards put down his camera and pulled the buzzing phone from his pocket. “You can take a break, kids.” He forced a smile to his face as he gestured to the mother of the small children he was shooting for the department store catalogue. The little boy poked his tongue at Sebastian as he ran past, and he thanked his lucky stars for the call that had interrupted the photo shoot from hell. The little fiend’s sister aimed a kick at Seb’s ankles and stood there and stared at him.

  God, I hate working with kids.

  He was so preoccupied watching for the kicking feet of the child from hell, he didn’t look at the screen before he pressed answer. “Seb Richards.”

  His blood ran cold as he listened to the voice on the other end.

  The last person he would expect to call him. He turned away from the small girl, not caring if he got kicked to kingdom come. It would be preferable to talking to his grandmother.

  “Sebastian.”

  “Hello, Gran.”

  “I want you all to come home.”

  “All who?”

  “Don’t be smart, boy. You and your cousins.”

  “Sorry, Gran. I’m at work. I’ll call you back.” He disconnected before she could reply and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

  “Sorry, Mrs Armitage. That was…er, business. I have to go. Take your kids out for some lunch and we’ll meet back here at two o’clock.”

  He grabbed his camera and tripod and ran down the stairs. If he was quick he could get to the office on the next floor before the old bat called Lucy.

  …

  Across town, Jemima Smythe ignored her ringing phone as the stylist touched up the last of her makeup. She sat straight, the clinging blue silk of the formal dress whispering against her bare legs. The fashion parade was at the famous Sydney Opera House, and everyone was on their best behaviour. This was her chance to get to New York; she’d heard there was a talent scout from the Ford agency in the crowd today.

  “You’re next up, Jemima,” Roger called. Next on the catwalk, and if she answered this call, she’d miss her cue and Roger, the volatile stage manager, would go berserk. Normally Jemima worked on being serene and presenting a calm exterior to the world. It was amazing how many favours—and indeed extra jobs—she’d picked up because of her reputation as an easy-to-get-on-with model, not a prima donna, no matter how hard the shoot or the day on the catwalk was.

  The stylist put his makeup brush down. “You’re right to go. Perfect as usual. And listen, the word is the guy from New York is in the front row. Kill ’em, babe.”

  Jemima glanced down at her phone and all serenity fled as a familiar number flashed onto the screen.

  Oh, bloody hell, why is Gran calling?

  Not now. She had to be calm. This was her chance to hit the big time.

  …

  The high-pitched chorus of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” shattered Liam Smythe’s sleep. He jerked awake and fumbled for his phone in the dark. He glanced at the green digital figures of his watch sitting on the bedside table as he lifted the phone to his ear.

  What the—3:00 a.m.? And where was he? Another bloody hotel in what town? Liam had to think for a minute before he remembered he was in London. In his own bed in his apartment.

  God, he hated calls that came in the middle of the night. Always bad news.

  “Liam Smythe.” He cleared his throat, his voice gravelly from the one too many drinks he’d had when the news desk staff had wandered down to the West End after last night’s shift.

  “Is that my favourite grandson?” A sweet voice chimed over the line, all the way from Down Under; all the way from the Pilliga Scrub in the Australian outback, to be precise.

  Over ten thousand miles away from his safe and quiet apartment on the bank of the Thames river in London.

  But Liam wasn’t fooled. That sweet little voice belonged to a woman with a backbone of steel. He sat up straighter and ran a hand through his hair, as if she could see him.

  “Hey, Gran.” He leaned back against the bedhead and reached for a cigarette. Before he remembered he’d given them up last month. “What’s new?”

  …

  Lucy Bellamy rested the phone between her chin and shoulder, keeping both hands on the computer keyboard before she answered the incoming call beeping on her mobile. Her eyes were focused on the large screen as she put the final finishing touches on her project. She leaned forward, adding a bright red swirl to each corner of the graphic.

  “There. All done!” she muttered quietly.

  And the bloody best work she’d ever done, even if she did say so herself. Caleb was going to love it. Lucy smiled with satisfaction before she let go of the mouse and hit the answer button on the phone, looking up as heavy footsteps caught her attention.

  “No, Luce, don’t do it. Don’t pick up.” Her head flew up as Seb—her colleague, cousin, and best friend in the whole world—ran into the small booth tucked into the back corner of the large open-plan office. The office building was sleek and ultramodern. Caleb Grech, their trendsetter boss, said it was important everyone have their own creative space. Yeah, sure, what it meant was he could watch everyone work from his office up in the loft above the large floor. And boy, was he a slave driver. But it worked for Lucy, and usually she didn’t mind the lack of privacy—or the close supervision. All he wanted was a fair day’s work from his staff. And he got it from her. Lucy loved her job and she loved living in the c
ity, even though her current apartment was old and tacky.

  When she hit the big time—and this current campaign was the one that was going to get her there—she would buy herself a luxury unit on Sydney Harbour and drink champagne on the balcony every night.

  Sure, and pigs might fly.

  But damn it, all she wanted to do was finish off the portfolio for this campaign, and all afternoon there had been interruptions, ringing phones, and now bothersome cousins bursting in full of instructions. She lifted her chin, tempted to poke her tongue out at bossy Seb as she answered the call.

  “Lucy Bellamy.” Her tone was perky and bright, just as it should be for an up-and-coming graphic designer in one of the top agencies in the city.

  Seb shook his head and put his hands over his face. With a groan, he slumped into the chair on the other side of her desk.

  Chapter One

  Lucy hung up the call and crossed her legs, clad in her favourite, red-polka-dotted tights. She pretended to ignore Sebastian, and he frowned as she flicked an imaginary speck of dust from her matching knee-length red leather boots.

  “You are the softest touch, Luce. I cannot believe you! And correct me if I’m wrong but you agreed with her? Bloody hell.”

  “Oh, are you still here, Seb?” She would play the cranky card. She’d seen his eye roll when she’d disconnected and had decided that ignoring him was the best strategy. Sweetness didn’t work in their family; they’d all learned that very early. And Seb could be a spoiled brat.

  “You know full well I’m here, Lucy. Don’t be a little smart-arse.”

  “So not Luce anymore? I’m Lucy now, am I?” She clicked the mouse and turned back to face him. All six foot six of her cousin, dressed in black, as usual. “Okay, so what’s your problem this time, Sebastian Richards? You’re always trying to boss me around, and it’s way past time that you accept we’re equal employees here at the agency.”

  “It’s nothing to do with work, as you well know.” He gestured to the phone. “I heard you talking to her. I told you not to answer it.”

  Lucy leaned back and folded her arms, her voice rising. “And since when do I listen to you?”

  “Not when you should, that’s for bloody sure.” Seb ran his hand through his long hair, and Lucy softened. He really was upset.

  “Did I really hear you agree to go out to the Pilliga Scrub and visit the old battleaxe?” Seb dangled his large hands between his knees and didn’t look at her.

  “You did. And don’t call my grandmother an old battleaxe.” Lucy injected primness into her voice.

  “Our grandmother.” He lifted his head, and his eyes were sad as he forced a smile.

  “And you can’t talk. You’re as hard as nails.” Lucy pointed at her cousin and ignored his plastered-on smile. She’d seen any sympathy he’d had for her disappear the instant she’d agreed to go home to see Gran and Pop.

  “Of course I’ll come, Gran. I hate to think of you out there by yourself.” A note of worry had crept into her voice. “Pop is okay, isn’t he?”

  “Y…e…es. He’s fine.”

  “But?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Really?”

  Sebastian shook his head when Lucy told him Gran had been teary. “The old battleaxe has you sucked in as usual.”

  “Sebastian. Stop it. We’re all they’ve got left. Do I have to remind you of that?”

  “No, of course you don’t, but the old cow will use us for whatever purpose she has in mind. And you fell for it, baby. Hook, line, and sinker.”

  “Bugger off, Seb. There are times when I don’t like you very much.”

  But instead of leaving, her cousin stood and crossed to the window overlooking Sydney Harbour. Lucy followed his gaze out over the harbour; she’d been so busy all day she’d paid scant attention to the day outside. When she’d left her apartment this morning, the weather had been clear and bright and it had put her in a good mood for the work she’d had ahead of her. But she always carried an umbrella in this fickle coastal weather.

  As she’d walked through the Rocks this morning, the doormen of the five-star hotels she passed doffed their hats and smiled at her. She knew them all by name, and most mornings when she got off the bus at the end of George Street she would linger to chat, and was often late to work, much to Caleb’s displeasure.

  “Morning, Miss Lucy.”

  “Morning, Erwin, has that daughter of yours had her baby yet?”

  “Morning, Lucy.”

  “Hey, Reggie, how was the football game last night?”

  The friendly chats made Lucy feel as though she belonged in the city—this was her place in the world—and the walk always put a smile on her face before she arrived at the office.

  “Love those red polka dots.” Erwin’s grin had been wider than usual this morning as he’d looked at her outfit. Lucy liked to make a statement with her dress. It made her feel as though she was a part of the vibrant city and that she belonged to the arty graphic design community at the top of town.

  “Thank you, Erwin.” She’d smiled back at him and waved her frilly umbrella. “My tights match my umbrella.”

  He’d chuckled as she twirled around, the frills on the edge of the red-spotted umbrella fluttering in the stiff breeze.

  “I noticed.”

  In her teens, Gran’s neighbour’s son—Garth Mackenzie—had teased her about the colourful, zany clothes Lucy had worn to school every day. It hadn’t taken long for her to realise he’d only teased her so he had an excuse to talk to her. She smiled: he’d never realised she’d chosen the crazy outfits so he would take notice of her. Last she’d heard, Garth had married a girl from the outback and moved to a cotton farm. He’d been her first love and the guy who had stolen her teenage heart. Lucy had pushed away the little feeling of sadness that had rippled through her.

  As she’d walked along the harbour, she’d hummed one of the country and western songs she and Garth had sung together when they were a couple.

  And I’m hazy, crazy in love with you, she’d mouthed the final words of the song as heavy clouds had scudded across the sky over the harbour, matching the blue mood that had suddenly descended on her. The threatening rain—she could smell it in the strong southerly wind snapping the colourful banners on the Museum of Contemporary Art across the square—was very different to the dry and dusty outback.

  “Lucy!” Sebastian’s voice broke into her daydreaming. “Just because her own kids are gone doesn’t give her rights to the next generation. You know what a controlling witch she is. She wants something from us and you know it. That’s why I wouldn’t talk to her when she rang. I tried to warn you.” He stared at her, his dark brown eyes narrowed in a frown. “Come on, Lucy. Think about it. The farm! The sticky flies that crawl into your nose and into your mouth, the smelly cattle, the cat’s head prickles, and that red dust that gets into everything. You hate it!”

  Lucy’s attitude about the farm had been a standing joke in the family when they’d been kids and visited Gran and Pop’s property in the school holidays. Even though they’d lived in the small country town not far from the farm, the joys of farm life had not been high on her list of holiday priorities. Dad had loved to tell the story of her standing in a cow pat when she was about ten years old, looking down her young nose with disdain.

  I so hate farms, he’d mimicked her perfectly for years afterward. When I grow up I’m going to live in an apartment in the middle of the city. So no one had been surprised when Lucy had moved to the big smoke straight after high school.

  Lucy had settled into city life when tragedy hit the family and she had been left alone. Mum and her two sisters had been killed in a car crash on their much-awaited European holiday. Before the year was up, Dad had moved to Canada, and he’d only been there a few months when Lucy received another tragic phone call—Dad had suffered a heart attack and hadn’t even made it to the hospital.

  A broken heart, Lucy liked to think. She knew how much her parents ha
d loved each other, and after Mum had died, Dad had been utterly lost without her.

  So Lucy had her new life, far away from the family farm and away from her family until Seb had arrived in the city when he came home from Europe. Being away from where they had grown up allowed her to keep the sad memories where they belonged. Locked away deep in her heart. In there, they ached, but it was bearable. Time healed, and she was making a life in the city.

  Sad memories aside, the Pilliga Scrub hadn’t been home to any of the cousins for a while. University, overseas trips, and Lucy’s career in advertising had taken precedence over going back to Spring Downs, the small western New South Wales town where they had all grown up. Prickle Creek Farm was fifty kilometres west of town and apart from the funeral, Lucy had only been back a couple of times since she’d left when she was eighteen. She told everyone it was because she loved the city, but she knew that a big part of the reason was that Garth had left town. Spring Downs wasn’t the same without him.

  “I feel so guilty for staying away. You should have heard Gran’s voice. She was pleading with me. It’s time we all went back. They’re getting old. We can’t leave it till it’s too late.” Lucy brushed her hand across her eyes as tears threatened.

  Her cousin shook his head and ignored her plea. “She’s a cranky old bag.”

  “Come on, Seb, be kind. I know you had a blue with her a couple of Christmases back.”

  “That was three years ago.”

  “Well, that makes me feel even more guilty. I didn’t realise it was so long since I’d been back. Be a sport—say you’ll come with me. ”

  “I’m not going.” Seb’s lips pursed obstinately, and Lucy shook her head.

  “Well, I’m going because Pop’s in hospital in Spring Downs,” she said.

  That got Seb’s attention, and his eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know the old codger was sick.”

  “It’s nothing dire; he’s having a knee replacement and Gran needs a hand on the property.”

  “So what are you going to be doing?” A reluctant smile finally cracked his face. “Gawd, Luce, you hated the farm when we were kids. I can’t see you helping out in the paddocks. Liam, Jemmy, and I loved it, but you? I can still see your nose wrinkled up from the stench. ‘Eww, smelly cattle!’ You used to compare the cattle yards to the Bog of Eternal Stench movie you loved.”