The Boundary Fence (A Woodlea Novel, #7)

by Alissa Callen

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When USA Today bestselling author ALISSA CALLEN isn’t writing, she plays traffic controller to four children, three dogs, two horses and one renegade cow who believes the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. After a childhood spent chasing sheep on the family farm, Alissa has always been drawn to remote areas and small towns, even when residing overseas. She is partial to autumn colours, snowy peaks and historic homesteads and will drive hours to see an open garden. Once a teacher and a counsellor, she remains interested in the life journeys that people take. She draws inspiration from the countryside around her, whether it be the brown snake at her back door or the resilience of bush communities in times of drought or flood. Her books are characteristically heartwarming, authentic and character driven. Alissa lives on a small slice of rural Australia in central western NSW.

  Also by Alissa Callen

  The Long Paddock

  The Red Dirt Road

  The Round Yard

  The Boundary Fence

  Alissa Callen

  www.harlequinbooks.com.au

  To Luke

  CONTENTS

  About the Author

  Also by Alissa Callen

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER

  1

  Being a rural vet didn’t get any more glamorous than this.

  Ella Quinlivan carefully felt inside the Hereford cow sitting on the ground in front of her. When she’d confirmed the cow was not carrying a calf, she sat back on her heels and removed the orange plastic glove that covered her arm from her fingertips to her shoulder.

  She cast a quick glance at the young farmer who was fresh home from his first year of agricultural college. It didn’t matter where her hand had just been, or that she was covered in dirt and her face would be flushed from the summer heat, the lanky redhead’s broad grin hadn’t waned. Neither had his attention on the front of her shirt.

  She slowly came to her feet. It was going to be one of those afternoons. ‘You said Polly’s been drooling?’

  ‘She has.’ The answer came from Sophie, the farmer’s teenage sister, who appeared at her brother’s side. A battered, oversized cream hat covered her auburn braid. ‘Is it pesti?’

  ‘It could be.’ Ella assessed the water trough beside which the Hereford had positioned herself before she became too weak to stand. Pesti virus could be spread via water or animal fluids but she couldn’t see any other cattle in either the cow’s paddock or the adjacent one.

  Sophie too scanned the paddocks that contained the sparse stubble of a past winter oats crop. ‘There were some other cattle but Dad sent them to the fat sales last week.’

  The young farmer said nothing as he let his younger sister do the talking. When Ella looked at him, he gave her a wink. She pushed the brim of her navy Woodlea vet cap higher and gave him her best I-am-way-too-old-for-you stare before focusing on the prone Hereford.

  From previous visits Ella knew Polly had been a poddy calf and was now a much-loved family pet. She also knew the farm traded cattle so chances were there had been a pesti virus carrier in the herd that had been sold.

  She bent down to press her stethoscope against Polly’s russet side. This farm wasn’t the only one lightening their stocking rate after the dry winter and spring. Despite the lack of rain the Hereford was in good condition.

  She straightened. ‘I’ll send some blood off to confirm it’s pesti and give Polly a shot.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Sophie’s solemn expression dissolved into a relieved smile. She went to collect a green tub from off the nearby farm ute. When she returned she frowned across to where her brother still stood watching Ella. ‘Oi, Joe, I need some help here.’

  Ella masked a smile at Sophie’s exasperated eye roll. The teenager reminded her of herself when she was young. Sophie took the health of her animals very seriously and had already asked Ella about what high school subjects she needed to study in order to become a vet.

  Joe speared his sister with an impatient glance before sauntering off to help her fill the bucket from the trough. When he’d placed the bucket in reach of Polly, he strode back to Ella as she finished drawing a sample of blood.

  She swiped at a fly. The action caused her honey-blonde ponytail to slide over her shoulder. The young farmer’s grin broadened as he hooked his thumbs into his belt. She made a mental note to talk to Taylor at the hair salon about donating her hair to be made into another wig for cancer sufferers. Blondes, even natural ones, didn’t always have more fun.

  Sophie settled a second bucket filled with hay in front of Polly. The teenager stroked the Hereford’s curly white forehead. ‘We can set up a tarp to give her some shade.’

  Ella nodded. ‘Great idea. Joe, I’m sure you could weld up a quick frame?’

  ‘Yeah—’

  ‘Wonderful.’ She walked towards the veterinary hospital ute before he could add anything else, like ask her what she was doing tonight. It was Friday and even before sunset the Royal Arms would be full of laughter and locals.

  A fatigue that stemmed from more than the heat dragged at her feet. She no longer had the energy to deal with masculine attention. She might have been genetically blessed but having a pretty face hadn’t been an asset when her brother died, her parents divorced or her father started a new family. She was so much more than how she looked.

  She stopped herself from favouring her right leg. Ticking the so-called attractive box also hadn’t stopped her world from caving in on that icy English lane.

  She disposed of the used glove in the small bin on the back of the ute and the needles in the yellow sharps container. When footsteps approached, she took a second before facing Sophie and Joe.

  ‘I’ll give you a call,’ she said, careful to not hold Joe’s gaze for too long, ‘as soon as I hear anything.’

  Joe went to speak but then grunted as his sister’s elbow jammed into his side.

  ‘Thank you,’ Sophie said, smile sweet. ‘Don’t worry about closing the gate. Joe can finally make himself useful.’

  Ella gave the siblings a wave before driving away. In her rear-view mirror she saw Sophie turn to her older brother and waggle a finger at him. This time Ella didn’t have to hide her smile. It was common knowledge that she wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship. Even Edna Galloway, the notorious local matchmaker, left her alone. Sophie would make sure Joe received the same message loud and clear.

  Ella took the first turn right to head to town. The silver-tipped leaves of the gum trees beside the road didn’t sway. The blades of the windmills, for which Woodlea was renowned, didn’t spin. The only movement in the thirsty landscape was the shimmer of heatwaves across the black bitumen.

  She adjusted the air conditioner temperature and angled the vents so cold air rushed over her hot skin. Her tight headache didn’t ease, so she took a sip from the water bottle beside her. Joe’s interest shouldn’t have bothered her. Usually she had no trouble ignoring unwanted attention.

  She slowed as she entered the town limits. The emotional toll of helping out after the bushfires last month must still be having an impact. Despite all the animals she’d saved
when she’d spent a fortnight out west, far too many had been lost. She had to be tired and that’s why she was on edge. There couldn’t be any other explanation.

  At the mixed practice veterinary hospital she drove along the side lane to park near the stables. A bay thoroughbred whickered as she left the driver’s seat. The sociable gelding had been chased by wild dogs into a barbed wire fence. After rubbing his glossy neck, she checked that the bandage on his front leg remained in place.

  The drone of the cicadas followed her as she headed into the cool of the vet surgery. The clinic was closed, and with no overnight guests in the kennel room, the normally bustling building was quiet. She busied herself with restocking the vet vehicle and completing the day’s paperwork. Smothering a yawn, she double-checked the details she’d typed onto Polly’s computer file.

  A country melody blared from her mobile. She slipped it free from her shirt pocket and saw Fliss’s smiling face on the screen. Ella hesitated. The local doctor was a close friend, but through no fault of Fliss’s things had become complicated since Ella had returned from helping out after the bushfires.

  She answered the call before she could change her mind. ‘Hi, Fliss.’

  ‘Hi, stranger. Hope you weren’t outside in this heat for too long today.’

  ‘Only this afternoon.’

  ‘How’s life out of town? All settled in?’

  Three weeks ago she’d moved to a small farm that had belonged to an elderly friend who’d needed the support of an aged care facility in Woodlea. Though Ella had purchased the property, she viewed herself more as a custodian of what had been Violet’s childhood and family home. The sandstone cottage was still filled with many of Violet’s possessions that Ella was slowly helping her sort through. Ella was now also the owner of two affectionate and inquisitive brown-and-white goats.

  ‘Just about. I left Hewitt a message, but can you please pass on my thanks for the hay?’

  ‘Of course. Speaking of Hewitt, he’s pulled a muscle in his back so instead of going into the pub for dinner we’re having a barbeque if you’d like to come?’

  ‘Thanks, but I can’t.’ In the past she’d have been the first person there and the last to leave. ‘I promised Violet I’d see her after work. We’ve got boxes to sort through.’

  ‘No worries. I’ll see you at Cressy’s on Sunday then?’

  Ella didn’t miss the doubt in Fliss’s words. It was only a matter of time before the perceptive and no-nonsense doctor asked her what was going on. Ella briefly closed her eyes. She couldn’t hide forever even if Sunday wasn’t Cressy’s baby shower. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Wonderful. Give my love to Violet. See you soon.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Ella ended the call and stared at the now blank screen. She wasn’t sure how she would explain to Fliss that being around pregnant Cressy was proving difficult. Ella had never hidden that she was happy on her own but seeing the growing swell of Cressy’s stomach had awakened yearnings she hadn’t expected.

  She stared unseeingly at Polly’s file. Yearnings that only reminded her of what she could have had, someone who loved her, a home and a family, if she hadn’t made such foolish choices. She shut down the computer, ignoring the little voice that said there could be another reason why she’d avoided Fliss and Hewitt’s barbeque.

  Now in her personal four-wheel drive, she drove through town. Outside the white wrought-iron trimmed Royal Arms, a row of dusty cars had already congregated. With the season continuing to be tough, it was reassuring to see people finding a social outlet for their uncertainty and stress. Next Thursday she would be talking to local farmers about livestock nutrition in dry times. The free event would provide a further chance for people to connect and to chat.

  At the final street before the road headed out of town, she turned and pulled up outside the manicured gardens of Woodlea Lodge. A sign on the fence indicated that bore water was in use and was why the small swathe of lawn appeared such a fresh green. Arms laden with a large box, she followed the paved path to unit four. She didn’t get a chance to knock before the door swung open.

  Violet stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on the floral walking stick Ella had gifted her. Though she was tiny and thin, the lift to the older woman’s chin countered any impression of fragility. ‘In you come, that box looks heavy.’

  Ella followed Violet into the tidy two-bedroom self-care unit. ‘It’s fine. It’s the last of the items from your sewing cupboard.’

  ‘It shouldn’t take long to go through then.’ Violet tapped the table with her walking stick. ‘I’m sure you have better things to do on a Friday night than visit me.’

  Ella sat the box on the living room table. ‘With the day I’ve had, the only place I’m going to after this is home.’

  Violet patted her arm. ‘I’d better put the kettle on.’

  Ella knew not to offer to help. Independent Violet had made it clear the first time she’d visited her sandstone cottage for a cuppa that she didn’t appreciate assistance.

  Instead, Ella unpacked the jars of pins, buttons and packets of lace and quilting squares. Each visit she brought a new box of Violet’s belongings. Some items would go back with Ella for safekeeping, others would go in a pile to be donated to the charity shop and another pile would be for Violet’s fellow residents. Mrs Amos in unit eight loved vases while Mrs Lewis in unit three collected old teaspoons. Any spare books would go to the little street library outside the adventure playground or the community bookshelf at the Reedy Creek Hall.

  As she took out the final item, a pink cotton shirt with a tear, she glanced into the kitchen where Violet was spooning tea into a teapot. She could only hope the shirt had belonged to Annette and not Libby.

  The answer came in a rattle of china as Violet walked into the living room and stared at the shirt before lowering the empty teacup and saucer onto the table. Ella quickly moved out the closest chair for Violet to sink into.

  Violet might want to talk about her sixteen-year-old daughter who had vanished from her bed one summer night or she might not. When Violet didn’t speak, Ella gently squeezed her shoulder before going into the kitchen to collect the teapot, milk jug and second cup.

  When she joined Violet at the table, the older woman moved the shirt to her left. ‘Staying pile.’ There was only a slight quiver in her voice.

  Ella held up the jar of buttons.

  ‘Mrs Poole’s pile,’ Violet said, voice stronger.

  When they’d sorted through the items and finished the tea, Ella took out her phone. She scrolled through the pictures before showing Violet an image of two goats who had jumped onto an outdoor table so they could peer into the kitchen.

  The goats, a mother and daughter called Cinnamon and Nutmeg, were how Ella had first met Violet. Cinnamon had been prone to mastitis when Nutmeg had been born.

  The life returned to Violet’s faded eyes. ‘There’s my girls.’ She tenderly touched the screen. ‘Thank you for looking after them so well. They look so happy.’

  ‘I can drive you out to see them?’

  ‘Thanks, maybe Sunday. I have bridge tomorrow.’

  Ella nodded. Violet wasn’t yet ready to return to her beloved family home. While she’d made new friends and had all of her needs catered for in the retirement village, the transition hadn’t been easy.

  ‘I’d best get going. It’ll be dark soon and the two mischief-makers will be hungry.’ She kissed Violet’s papery cheek.

  Violet clutched Ella’s hand in wordless thanks. They both knew she wasn’t going home just to feed Cinnamon and Nutmeg; she would also be turning on the veranda light. Just like it had for the past two decades, the single light beside the front door would shine into the night to show Libby the way home.

  On the drive back to Ambleside, the emotions that all day had hovered close to the surface ached in Ella’s chest. She knew all about having a person you loved go missing.

  When her older brother hadn’t returned from a coastal ca
mping trip, it had taken an agonising day to piece together what had happened and another four hours for his body to be located at the bottom of a sandstone cliff. The friends he’d been partying with had assumed he’d disappeared to spend the night with a girl. The reality was that, drunk and disorientated, he’d wandered too close to the cliff and the edge had given way.

  Even though her parents’ marriage hadn’t survived, her family at least had closure. Lloyd, Violet’s husband, had passed away never knowing what had happened to his daughter. Now Violet was nearing the end of her life with no answers. If she could, she’d do everything possible to bring Violet some peace.

  Ella sighed as she stopped at the front gate. She waited until the cloud of dust kicked up by the four-wheel drive’s tyres settled before opening her door to collect the mail sticking out of her green mailbox. No wonder she was treating so many cows and calves for pinkeye. The dust wasn’t just irritating human eyes.

  With a pile of mail and a small parcel sitting on the passenger seat, she drove along the winding driveway to park in the carport that overlooked the paddocks. Shadows dappled the summer-gold hills and the sky would soon burst into vivid crimson and apricot life. A distant boundary fence gleamed in the setting sun. Higher than the surrounding fences, it had been purpose built to contain the bulky, unfamiliar brown shapes that grazed on the far side.

  American bison in the Australian bush were an unusual sight and if things had been different she would have loved to have a tour of the next-door facilities. The town talk about customised yards had her intrigued, as too the stories from a colleague she’d stayed with on an overseas trip to Montana. But thanks to its owner, the new bison farm wouldn’t ever be a place she’d be visiting unless for work.

  She went to turn off the four-wheel drive’s engine but stilled. A figure on a black-and-white pinto rode over the hill closest to the boundary fence. Even with the distance between them there was no doubt who the rider was. The width of the man’s shoulders and the sure way he carried himself were things she’d been trying to forget.