A Girl's Guide to the Outback

by Jessica Kate

  She pressed her fingers to her lips, collecting herself. “If we didn’t have the loan and the hay, the fire couldn’t have happened. But I know you all had pure motives. And farm or no farm, God still has a plan for our lives, and that hasn’t been derailed by this—even if it feels like it. What if this just sped up the inevitable—but while Jules is young enough to pursue something different? While there’s a possibility with Mick?” She straightened her shoulders. “There’s no point looking back right now, not while there’s a future we need to deal with. Specifically, yours.” He hesitated. Her frown deepened. “Do you think it’s Kimberly’s fault?”

  “No!” He looked at his boots. “I just . . . Kimberly’s always reaching for the stars. But I’ve learned the hard way that when you fly too close to the sun, you get burned.”

  Mum gave a slow nod. “Your café.”

  He slapped at the fly again. “The café. The western block.”

  Her frown turned into a puzzled expression. “What do you mean the western block?”

  He was an idiot. No one wanted to bring that up. But too late now. He shuffled his feet. “I remember you didn’t want to buy it, but Dad talked you into it. He had all these big plans. Then the drought hit, and you regretted it.”

  “That was one thing. And we survived it. Why would that—”

  “You said you’d never forgive him.”

  “What?”

  “I heard you. One night—I must’ve been thirteen—you said if we lost this farm because he talked you into buying the western block, you’d never forgive him.”

  Mum closed her eyes. Rubbed her forehead.

  Sam gripped the insulated plastic top of his next fence post. “Well, guess what? I’m the kid who ended up in special ed, then somehow talked Dad into giving me that loan for the café—and lost it all. I talked Jules into getting the loan for the hay and cattle. If I went back with Kimberly, I’d talk my donors into investing their money into an expansion plan that scares the living daylights out of me. And if something went wrong again, forget you forgiving me—I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

  Mum shook her head. “I should never have said that to your father. If you’d heard everything, you would’ve heard me take it back almost as fast as I said it.”

  Sam walked ten paces away and plunged the next fence post into the dirt. “You say what you feel.”

  Mum trailed after him. “And feelings aren’t always right. Sometimes your logic and your spirit need to pick up your emotions and just drag them along until they can catch up.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I’m saying don’t let fear stop you from doing what God’s called you to do. Don’t take responsibility for things you can’t control. Dad made the best decisions he could with the information he had. I was proud of him for that.” She squeezed his forearm. “And I’m proud of you.”

  He sighed inside. Every part of him wanted to agree with her, wanted to race after Kimberly and then follow her to Wildfire. But he had responsibilities here. So he just hugged his mother. “Thanks, Mum.”

  She held on to his shoulders and pinned him with her stare. “You’ve walked around with your tail between your legs for too long, believing you’re doomed to fail and that if your failure impacts anyone else it’s unforgivable. Am I right?”

  He stared at her, soul naked before her all-seeing mother’s vision. “I-I wouldn’t use those words. Caution can be a good thing.” But Kimberly’s words that night on the chicken coop returned to him once more. Could he really label his attitude as cautious?

  “Face facts, Sam: this is condemnation and it’s fear, and neither of those things is from God. Forget the farm and me and Jules—before the rain and the fire, you agreed to return to Wildfire. Did you believe God wanted you there? That it was the best place to use your gifts?”

  He tried to say no. Formed his lips around the word. But it just wasn’t true. “Yes.” Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. He craved Wildfire like he craved sugar after five days without baked treats. He missed the adrenaline rush of preaching. He missed the light in a teen’s eyes when some nugget of truth clicked. He missed the cheerful buzz of the drop-in center in the hours after school.

  Mum released him. “Then staying wouldn’t just be a mistake. Letting fear win also means you’re refusing to trust God. That’s a slap in the face to Him.” She laid a hand on his chest. “There’s a brave man trapped underneath that fear. Let him out.”

  Sam gripped her hand, hope trying to shout past the clamor of a thousand worries. “But what will you and Jules do? I can’t—”

  “Sam, your loyalty is one of the best things about you. But what did I just say about trust?” She smiled. “This is us setting you free. You did everything you could for us. Now go use those talents God gave you, preferably with the woman who believes in you.”

  That suffocating blanket of doubt vaporized as the truth of her words shone through. His muscles, ratcheted to breaking point for oh, so long, drained of tension till he felt as light and loose as a pool noodle. They didn’t hold him responsible. Any mistakes he’d made had been long forgiven. And his mother, the person he owed the greatest debt to and who wished for him to stay in Australia—had just offered her blessing.

  He was free. And this cycle of fear would be a tough one to break, but the first step would be changing his actions.

  And taking a risk.

  “She took the ute?”

  Mum pulled the reel and remaining fence posts from the back of the motorbike. “So, I may have interfered in one last way.” She smiled. “But you’ll see. See if you can catch them.”

  Them? What had Mum done? No matter. Time was of the essence. He kissed her cheek and mounted the quad. “You’re a legend.”

  Chapter 39

  Five miles was all it took. Five miles for the tears to blind her to the extent that she mistook a mailbox for a kangaroo and executed a wild swerve to avoid it.

  The tires screeched as she jammed on the brakes. Loose gravel on the side of the road destroyed any traction she’d had, and the vehicle bumped to a halt only inches from a thick wooden fence post, dust seeping through her open window. Kimberly leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and ugly-cried.

  He didn’t want her.

  Oh, he’d looked torn up alright. At least she could take solace in knowing that Sam cared for her to some degree. But not enough to outweigh everything else. And certainly not as much as she cared about him.

  What an idiot she was.

  A fresh burst of sobs overtook her. Everything she’d held in from today, from the past several weeks, from six months ago, even from Mom, came out in a rush of salt water and snot.

  Finally, she lifted her head and punched her fist on the steering wheel. What had Mrs. Payton meant, telling her to talk to Sam again? How many times could a person hear they weren’t wanted? Besides, it wasn’t like Sam was oblivious to the way she felt about him. He’d told her what she meant to him all the time. And she’d made it clear when—

  She swiped her eyes dry and growled at no one in particular. Crying must’ve fogged up her brain because she couldn’t recall a single time telling Sam what he meant to her.

  Surely there was a time when they’d painted—No, she’d chickened out then.

  Or when they’d kissed—No, she’d thought it, but then he started kissing her and all coherent thoughts had gone out the window.

  Or on Christmas Eve—No, not then either. He’d already been on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and reminding him that his new girlfriend had helped put him in that spot was not a strategy she’d felt wise.

  She groped around the floorboard for her water bottle, which had gone flying in the whole is-it-a-roo-or-is-it-a-mailbox drama. Mrs. Payton’s other comment stomped into her mind, unbidden.

  “Give him a chance to come around.”

  Did his mother seriously think he would?

  No way. Kimberly couldn’t go down that path. Only delusional saps co
nvinced themselves that someone who’d said no would magically turn around and say yes. And she was neither delusional nor a sap.

  And she would prove it.

  Her phone had slid down the side of the seat. She turned off the truck, pushed back the driver’s seat, and shoved her hand down the gap. Her finger brushed the edge of the phone. Shimmying down in the seat, she strained to gain purchase on the slick metal and glass. There. She pulled it back up and flicked through the screens till she reached Steph’s contact icon. Her scrambled brain couldn’t calculate the time difference—chances were it was the middle of the night. Oh well. She’d leave a message. She just needed this settled once and for all.

  The messaging app rang once, twice, three times. “Kimberly?”

  “Steph.” Her voice cracked on the word. She’d hoped to take the professional route, but this was the end of her tether. If she had to blubber the truth to Steph via a glitchy mobile data connection, so be it. “I failed. There was a fire and—”

  “I know.” Steph’s voice held compassion. “Sam messaged us. We’ve been praying.”

  “He can’t—”

  “We didn’t expect him to.” Her tone carried a note of sadness. Kimberly’s last hopes collapsed. No reassurance that they could do it without him. Steph had warned her to either come back early or bring Sam with her.

  And like a moron, she’d risked it all on him.

  A sob broke through. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sweetie, come home. We’ll fight for this one last time.” But Steph’s tone lacked the Braveheart rallying-the-troops conviction she was known for.

  Kimberly ended the call before she embarrassed herself any further. She pressed her hands to her face. This was it. It was official. She’d likely never see Sam again.

  Pain robbed her breath.

  She’d come out of hiding long enough to hand her heart over to someone—and he’d handed it straight back. No one wanted her. No one even needed her. The childhood rhyme spun through her mind. Nobody wants me, everybody hates me, I guess I’ll go eat worms.

  For about ten seconds on that farm, she’d thought she could be someone different. Someone brave. Circumstances had pushed her and Sam together, and for the first time in many years she’d exposed her vulnerable side.

  What a stupid mistake. Nothing was worth this. Hands covering her eyes, knees drawn to her chest, she sobbed till she was dry.

  When the storm passed, she stared unseeing through the windshield. “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?” Unwelcome but there nonetheless, Jules’s question from two weeks ago reverberated through her synapses.

  I’d track down Sam’s sorry backside and tell him that his drive for reaching out to kids is the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. I’d tell him that I miss him, I want him to come back with me, and I want to see if we can make this partnership last.

  If only she could.

  Jules’s words returned, stronger this time. “Your worth isn’t determined by what my mother or even Sam thinks of you.” And the unspoken implication: God wants you.

  But did He? Really? If so, He sure had a funny way of showing it.

  A rumble from behind snagged her attention. A rusty, custard-yellow truck flew down the road, its paint job looking like it’d been done with a can of house paint and a broom.

  Butch.

  Had Mrs. Payton sicced her loyal employee on her? Or was he just on a beer run?

  His truck pulled to a stop behind her. Movements as languid as ever, he strolled up to her open window and leaned against it like this was an everyday occurrence. “Gudday.” His voice always sounded so scratchy, like he used it so rarely the cogs never quite meshed right.

  She flopped back against the seat and looked at him, face wet for all to see. In her broadest Australian accent, she drawled out her response. “Guuuudaaaaaay.”

  He grinned and took a drag of his ever-present cigarette. “Hear there’s rain comin’ next Mondee.” His pronunciation of the days of the week always ended in dee instead of day.

  She blinked at the choice of topic, then laughed, incredulous. This whole situation was ridiculous. “Did your boss send you?”

  He didn’t bother with words, just flicked his brow.

  “You can tell her that—like I already informed her—Sam and I have spoken. There’s nothing more I can say.”

  He gave the slightest shrug of his shoulders.

  “There’s not.” Her forcefulness rose with her exasperation. Did he think she was a coward?

  If he did, he was right.

  Another drag, longer than before. He scratched his forehead, dislodging the stained hat molded to his head. Her frustration boiled over. “What? What is”—she mimicked his expression and gesture—“that?”

  He met her eyes. “Seems to me you got somethin’ you wanna say to someone.” He shrugged. “Not sure it’s really about Sam.”

  Lips probably exhausted, he clamped them back around his cigarette.

  Kimberly raised her palms. “Who?” Not Mrs. Payton. She’d already farewelled Jules. She knew no one else on this side of the globe—

  A mental puzzle piece slid into place, and she stared at him. “You mean my mom?”

  Truth was she hadn’t just talked to Butch about comic books. That topic invariably led to Dad, and once that floodgate opened, she hadn’t been able to stop it. Tensions between her parents had run high, so she’d never been able to talk about him with her mother. But her long-repressed grief demanded a listening ear, and while Butch barely talked, he had the listening thing nailed. She’d even told him a bit about Mom.

  He just shrugged again.

  “And tell her what? That she’s a terrible parent? That I hate her?” Because, oh, she hated her. Her hands bunched and heat spread through her body. What kind of mother refused to tell her daughter that she loved her? Tried to suppress the grief she’d experienced over her father’s death? Paid her little to no attention, even now?

  “Tried that with my old man.” Butch tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed it. “After he died, turned out that wasn’t the only thing I wished I’d said.”

  Kimberly stared at him in silence, the implications sinking in. What did she really want to say? If she was brave? Mom, do you love me?

  Another phrase entered her consciousness, drowning out her eleven-year-old voice. “Only be strong and courageous . . .” The old Sunday school verse might’ve referred to another context, but it trumpeted through her mind with force.

  “Will this get Mrs. Payton off my back?”

  Butch swished a fly. “Can’t ask much more.”

  She set her jaw. “Fine.” Fingers trembling, she swiped her phone screen and called her mother. What was she doing? This was insane. She’d not had the courage to be honest with her mom since that Mother’s Day, forever ago.

  But desperate times called for desperate measures. Adrenaline charged her veins. For once in her life, she would be vulnerable—from the safety of the other side of the phone. Then her heart could retreat to its cold and dark cave, alone but safe.

  “Yes?” Somehow Mom’s voice came through strong and clear, like she was right next to them.

  Kimberly’s courage failed. “I, um—” She yanked the phone away and hovered her finger over the End Call button.

  A warm hand slid onto her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. She looked at Butch. His lips twitched in the faintest of smiles and he nodded to the phone. You got this. He might not have said the words aloud, but she received the message loud and clear.

  She pressed the phone back to her ear. “Mom—”

  She gulped in a breath. Here went nothing. “I know we’ve never been a normal mother and daughter. And that’s affected the way I relate to other people.” Her words came out in a rush before she lost her nerve. “But I’m trying to get better at it. I’m trying. So . . . I love you.”

  She jerked the phone to her lap and slammed her thumb on the screen’s big red X. Her heartbeat galloped in her
ears. “Sorry. I—I’m not ready to hear her reaction.”

  And the radio silence sure to follow this would sting, no doubt. But as she stared at the phone, a smile crept across her wet face. She’d done it. She’d taken her first step. Maybe step two would be finding the courage to hear Mom’s response. But a win was a win, big or small.

  Butch squeezed her shoulder again and withdrew his hand. “Okay.”

  The phone gave a short buzz in her palm. New message. She held her breath.

  You’re just like your dad. Braver than me.

  Kimberly’s heart expanded like microwaved marshmallows in hot chocolate. Not an I love you, but still . . . progress. Both for Mom and for her. A new future beckoned, filling her with hope—a future where she was secure enough in God to make herself vulnerable to others.

  One in which she could love.

  She tilted the screen for Butch to see. He grinned back at her and raised his eyebrows. See?

  The phone buzzed again. Kimberly tilted it back to her. No way this was Mom—it was probably the phone company telling her she’d maxed out her data or something. But Mom’s icon flashed up. A pocket message of gooble-de-gook? The woman never messaged her twice.

  I’m not like other mothers, but I do love you.

  Finally.

  She pressed her face to the phone, silent tears coating her cheeks, the screen, even dripping from her chin. Twenty-seven years she’d waited, and finally . . .

  Her mother loved her. She had family, such as it was. This could be their start.

  Bravery might hurt, but it had its rewards.

  Thank You, God.

  As she cried out the last of her tears, she could vaguely sense Butch shuffling his feet, viewing the paddocks around them, drumming his fingers on the door. Finally, she lifted her face and gave him a watery smile. “Thanks.”

  He nodded back toward Yarra Plains. “One more?”

  Oh, what the heck. She was leaving the hemisphere. She’d never see Sam again.