by Jessica Kate
But it didn’t look like she could be a friend and save their farm as well.
They reached the east bank of the river and clambered up onto a platform fixed to a huge gum tree. The shortcut across the river—Sam’s famous flying fox. A cable stretched between two riverbank trees, suspending a pulley and handle over the water. A rope ran from the handle to where it was tied at the base of the tree. Sam untied the rope and pulled the handle in close.
Kimberly leaned against the tree trunk, giving a half-hearted smile at his enthusiasm. She’d run the figures for the thousandth time in a fit of insomnia at three this morning. Best-case scenario, Jules’s finances would keep her afloat—at a struggle—for another ten years. But given any kind of milk-price collapse, cattle sickness, or large plant cost, and she’d struggle to recover. When you took into account the frequency with which Australia suffered bushfires, cyclones, and droughts, it was hard to imagine her keeping the bank from the door long term. The situation wasn’t hopeless—Kimberly had quadruple checked—but the solution required a significant loan.
Sam and Jules were going to hate this—hate her—and she wasn’t sure she could bear it one more time.
“Okay, I’m going across.” Sam gripped the triangular handle of the flying fox and jumped. The cable bounced with the force of his weight and he let out a whoop as he sailed across the water. At the two-thirds mark he let go, doing a backflip as he plummeted into the water. After a moment he resurfaced and used the rope to tug the handle along as he swam to the far bank and climbed the platform. “You ready?” he hollered. He tied the bottom end of the rope to the handle to keep it from dragging in the water, and with a mighty shove sent it flying back her way.
She caught the handle and gave a thumbs-up rather than reply. They’d already gone through this routine on the way over . . . except she’d gone first and landed—barely—on the platform instead of dropping into the water. Thus Sam’s insistence to go first this time.
He cupped a hand to his mouth as he called back. “Don’t forget, if you don’t want to get wet, then just hang on and I’ll catch you at the platform. But if you want to swim, the current’s not strong, and I checked it the other day for snags.”
Which was scarier: swimming in the river with unknown other life forms or literally falling into Sam’s arms? After the snake-in-the-dam incident the other day, Sam seemed like the safer option.
But only just.
She stood at the edge of the platform and, one hand on the handle, wiped her other palm against her shorts. Then swapped. How could she tell the man about to catch her that his family’s heritage was at such serious risk? Especially given how he’d reacted in the past.
It’d be easy, so easy, to keep her mouth shut and let Sam tell Jules the positive reports from Bonesy and Mick’s father. Leave them with happy memories of this month together and hope that something miraculously turned their luck around in the future.
Or she could tell them the truth, risk their friendship, and possibly save their future on this farm.
She jumped. The pulley above her head whirred as the wide river rushed beneath her. Sam’s grinning face grew closer and closer until—bang—the pulley hit the rubber tires threaded onto the cable as cushioning. Sam caught her on the backswing, arms latching around her waist. She released the handle and her breath, held tight for a moment against Sam’s broad chest. He settled her back onto her feet and released her, grinning. “Easy-peesy.”
His joy only made this worse. Her returning smile was lackluster at best. His brow creased. “You okay?”
God, give me courage. She drew in a deep breath. “We need to talk about what we’re going to tell Jules.”
He nodded. They spoke at the same time.
“The farm is going to be fine.”
“Jules should take out a mortgage against the cattle and invest.”
Sam’s smile dropped away. “What?”
Uh-oh. Maybe she should’ve eased him into the idea a little. “I know Mick’s dad was really positive about the farm.” She slowed her words and tried not to let the gnawing in her chest seep into her voice as she laid a palm on the gum tree’s trunk for balance. “Which is what makes me confident that investing is the best way out of this.”
The look he gave her was incredulous. “How is going further into debt going to help us get out of it?”
When he hates this idea, don’t take it personally. She kept repeating the refrain in her head as she eased around him, backed down the platform ladder, and explained. “Your production isn’t enough to cover costs, not long term when you factor in machinery and plant repairs or a milk-price collapse. But this land can sustain more cattle. An additional loan can supply the cattle and boost what we’re feeding them to increase production.”
Sam followed her down. “What about the efficiencies Bonesy talked about? Or ideas like having Butch live in the worker’s cottage in lieu of part of his wage?”
“All worth doing. But not going to make a big enough dent alone.”
He stood at the base of the tree and threw out alternative ideas for another ten minutes. Kimberly pushed all her nervous energy into tapping her left foot and kept her voice as calm as possible. Even when Sam suggested the worker’s cottage a third time. It was when he implied she might’ve “forgot to carry the one” in her calculations that she got a little testy.
Once Sam ran out of alternatives, he just kept shaking his head like a short-circuiting robot. “I can’t take that plan to Jules. What if we lose everything?”
All his talk of teamwork, and he didn’t trust her one iota more than he had six months ago. Her last thread of patience snapped, and she threw her hands in the air. “So that’s it? You’re full of big talk about Team Jules, but you won’t actually listen to my ideas?”
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just saying that your idea sounds extreme, and I’m trying to find a middle ground.”
Kimberly sucked in a deep breath and tried to let the sting of the comment pass. But failed. Why don’t you trust me? I’ve only got your best interests at heart. In case you didn’t notice, I only stand to lose here. The words stuck in her throat, soured, and she spat out something entirely different. “I spent this week calculating two-, five-, and ten-year projections to determine the probability of Jules’s success if she does nothing, invests minimally, or makes a decent-sized investment.” She should have held her next words back, but—“And your opinion is based on, what, a few old farmers that you yapped to for a couple of hours?”
A flash of hurt crossed his expression. They glared at each other until Kimberly’s ringtone broke the moment. She hit the answer button. “Jules?”
“Are yous coming or what? The rodeo starts in one hour, and you’re not even home yet. I put lip gloss on and everything.” Her voice blasted from the phone so loudly Sam must’ve heard it. He headed in the direction of the truck, leaving flinging branches and trampled twigs in his wake. Kimberly hustled to keep up with him.
When she’d found out about this rodeo yesterday, she couldn’t wait for a fun night out with Sam. Now she wished she could give an I Dream of Jeannie nod and teleport him to Timbuktu.
Chapter 19
Who had he been kidding? Sam gripped the steering wheel of Jules’s ute and glared at the road instead of the woman in a cute lacy dress and cowgirl boots beside him.
The woman destined to be his nemesis.
He should be punching his boxing bag right now, not driving to the rodeo. When Jules had waved them goodbye and jumped into Mick’s ute like it was the queen’s golden carriage, she’d looked so happy. And why shouldn’t she? He’d told her only yesterday that she had nothing to worry about.
Big mistake.
Now Kimberly wanted to tell her to take the biggest financial risk of her life, because apparently the farm would be broke in a few short years. It just didn’t compute.
Kimberly reached across and hit the radio button, presumably to fill the tense silence. Some awf
ul racket blared from the speakers. She’d already offered a dozen times to take him through her calculations but appeared to have decided now to save her breath. As she should. He had no doubt those calculations would say exactly what Kimberly described—because she was the one who’d done them. If a neutral third party was asked to do the same research, they could reach a totally different conclusion.
He shifted in his seat. Was its lack of lumbar support making his back ache, or was it the way his muscles tightened every time he fought with her?
He sensed her gaze on him. “What?” If it was more about her plan for Jules, he didn’t want to hear it. Back by the river she’d pretty much implied he was dumb for not just taking her word for it. His brain flashed back to that day in Year 8 when his teacher had marched him out of class and sat him in special ed.
Rather a sore point.
She opened her mouth to say something, then appeared to think better of it. “Never mind.”
He shoved the air-conditioning vents away from his face as the evening’s temperatures dropped lower than usual. It wasn’t even like he was mad at Kimberly for wanting to make the suggestion to Jules. She was an ambitious person, so to her, ambitious plans seemed normal. Of course she would come up with something like this. But if he could understand her take-no-prisoners approach, surely she could at least try to understand his cautious mind-set. But no, she got angry, like normal, and any hope for a productive discussion went out the window.
A voice whispered in his mind that Kimberly had tried the reasonable route . . . and he hadn’t listened. He turned up the radio’s punk-rock cacophony and tuned the voice out.
The forty-minute drive to town was completed without speaking to one another any further, even when they met up with Mick and Jules in the dusty paddock where everyone parked. The stands were packed by the time they got their snacks and drinks, and they had to clamber up the stairs and sneak between rows of denim and RM Williams boots to find a space where they could all squeeze in.
Sam angled for a seat by Mick. Hopefully his friend’s chilled sense of humor would wash away the bad aftertaste of his encounter with Kimberly. But Jules sneaked in, engrossed in some discussion with Mick about the Cowboys’ chances of winning the rugby league premiership next season. Kimberly nabbed the seat by her new best friend Jules.
Sam sighed at the last space. End of the line, next to Kimberly. Great. Now all he’d get for his twenty bucks was a numb butt on these hard seats and a chill from Kimberly’s freeze-out.
He took his seat, the metal cold in the night air, even through his jeans. Kimberly sat next to him, silent, eyes on the barrel racers and cowgirl boots daintily crossed at the ankle. She had to be feeling this unseasonably cool night in that dress.
He wrapped his hands around the warmth of his cardboard box of chips—fries to Kimberly—though these were cut thicker than usual french fries. The scent of fat and salt uncoiled the tension inside him. He drenched the chips in tomato sauce—Australia’s alternative to ketchup—like it was Noah’s flood and he was God. Lifting his first chip, he closed his eyes in anticipation.
But wait. He opened his eyes. He might as well be the first to offer an olive branch, even though all the hostility came from her side. He held out the box. “Chip?” They’d help warm her at the very least.
Her eyes didn’t even flicker in his direction. “No, thanks.”
He rolled his eyes and stuffed the chip into his mouth. The sweet-and-salty flavor explosion didn’t quite trigger the same amount of ecstasy as usual. Consolation prize.
A moment later his phone buzzed.
Jules: did u two fight?
Curse her perception. How could he explain this without explaining why?
He tapped in Creative differences.
Another buzz. Well kiss and make up already.
He snorted. Fat chance. He focused on the lady barrel racers whizzing past at breakneck speed. Vibrations tickled his thigh again.
Jules: I think usually when Kimba’s mad, it’s just ’coz her feelings are hurt.
Huh.
Jules: For a youth pastor ur kinda thick headed.
He shot her a look over Kimberly’s head. His sister returned the look, wide-eyed.
Was he being thickheaded? He hadn’t attacked Kimberly herself. He’d just resisted her terrifying plan of action. Why would she be so hurt by that?
Her words from earlier replayed in his head. “You’re full of big talk about Team Jules, but you won’t actually listen to my ideas.”
And last week: “You think I’m this monster . . . I’d hoped we could actually be friends.”
She did care. She wanted to feel a part of the team. And as usual, it seemed, he was blocking her.
He nudged her lace-covered knee with his denim one. “You know I still think you’re on Team Jules. I just favor a different approach to yours, that’s all.”
The eyes she turned to him held a slight sheen to them. He tightened his grip on the box of chips. He’d expected angry, dismissive, or proud. Not sad.
“You say that because you feel bad.” She blinked, the sheen disappeared, and she faced the barrel racers again.
She was sad? Because of what he’d said? The emotions from the day Meg was bitten by the snake hit him again like a bulldozer. Once again, he’d underestimated the effect his frustration had on her.
How could he convince her that he did mean it—without caving to her plan?
An upbeat tune pumped from the speakers. A big love heart popped up on the jumbo screen, beneath the words Kiss Cam. Sam’s face flashed up on screen, and his heart nearly stopped. But the camera kept moving, till it rested on . . . Mick and Jules. Mick’s face flushed a bright red, and Jules grinned. The crowd chanted, “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss.” Jules plucked the Akubra from Mick’s head, held it up between them and the camera, and leaned over to him. Shifting back to see behind the hat, Sam could tell she’d planted a big smooch on Mick’s cheek, not his lips.
Good. They’d broken each other’s hearts once, and he didn’t need them both crying on the phone to him again. But it didn’t make Mick’s cheeks any less than a shade of Rudolph red when Jules dropped the hat back on his head.
The camera landed on an old farmer and his wife next, who leaned out of their matching deluxe camp chairs for a quick peck. Then a young woman in rhinestone-encrusted jeans and an overenthusiastic cowboy. A bull that appeared displeased with the notion of going into a pen caught Sam’s attention, so it was a moment before he realized one of the next faces on the screen was his own. And the other Kimberly’s.
Her face matched Mick’s in an instant.
He couldn’t help but smile at her discomfort. The crowd, hyped up already, wouldn’t let it go. They chanted, jeered, and booed, and that camera just wouldn’t give up and choose another couple. Some kid tossed a soggy chip at Kimberly, and Sam glared at him. Then turned to Kimberly and tried not to sound as enthusiastic as he suddenly felt. “I don’t think they’re giving up.”
She wriggled on the bench. “I guess not.”
Perhaps all the enthusiasm was on his side. He glanced toward Jules. She’d wave him off if this wasn’t a great idea.
But she grinned, gave a double thumbs-up, then started making kissy faces.
Maybe this was one way he could show Kimberly he was genuine.
He caught her jaw with gentle fingers, and she turned her face to his. He allowed himself a moment of anticipation—and pure terror. Her skin was smooth beneath his fingertips, her pulse fluttering under his touch. This close, the scent of her raspberry lip balm teased his senses, as did the plump curve of her lips. Her eyes, wide and hazel, looked straight into his.
Here goes nothing.
He dipped his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth. That raspberry lip balm did not disappoint, and her lips were even softer than they looked. However, since they did have an audience of about two thousand people, he moved—with reluctance—to break the kiss.
But then he
r hand slid between his neck and his collar, and her stiff posture relaxed against him. Before he could stop himself, Sam cradled her face with his other hand and said everything his words couldn’t convey with the movement of his lips against hers. I admire your grit. I wish I had your confidence. I want you on my team.
You’re beautiful.
Wolf whistles broke into his consciousness as Kimberly pulled back, just the tiniest bit. He opened his eyes. Hers were half shut, her breathing unsteady, her scent now more intoxicating than it had ever been.
The announcer launched into a spiel about the upcoming bull ride, and the sound seemed to snap Kimberly awake. She withdrew back to her side of the bench, her gaze flicking from him to the bullring, back to him, and then her shoes.
Sam drew in a deep breath and tried to slow his galloping heart rate down. But neither focusing on the bull ride nor pressing his sweating can of soft drink against his cheek had any effect whatsoever.
Had it been this hot earlier? He resisted the urge to fan his face like a menopausal woman. Fair dinkum, it was just a silly Kiss Cam kiss.
Right?
* * *
Her phone was ringing.
Kimberly fumbled for the device in the dark. Was Mom finally calling her back?
She reached for the bedside table and encountered wetness. Whoops, that was one of the two glasses of water she’d left there. She groped about, trying not to knock over the four books, pile of research papers, and alarm clock also perched on the table. The clock blinked 2:07 a.m. in red numbers. Great. So it’d been about seventeen minutes since she’d stopped thinking about Sam’s kiss and fallen asleep.
There’d been so much to ponder—her intense embarrassment, why they had kissed so long, and which of them had been responsible for that. Most important, how pointless it would be to crush on someone who would never like her back.
Which led to her sleep-deprived state and clumsier than usual fingers. Finally, they closed around her phone.
Not Mom, but Steph. Plus a missed call from her, time stamped a minute ago. Kimberly swiped. “Steph, it’s two in the morning.”
