Her Outback Cowboy (Prickle Creek) Read online

  “Labyrinth, and I won’t be going anywhere near the yards. I’m simply helping Gran out with the cooking for the contract workers. I won’t have to go anywhere near the cows. Or outside on the farm at all.”

  “Not cows. They’re cattle. Steers and heifers,” Seb said distractedly. “Cows are in dairies.” He frowned and stared through the window behind her head. “It’s the end of February so they’ll be in the middle of the last wheat harvest for the summer, if I have the right farm calendar in my memory. There’ll be a dozen men working day and night with bloody big headers in those never-ending paddocks. And the trucks will be there, kicking up dust, collecting the grain to take to the silos in town.”

  “I’m impressed. You still know the farm lingo.” She injected sarcasm into her voice and waved her hand. “Cows, cattle, whatever.”

  “You know what they say.”

  “What?”

  “You can take the boy out of the country…”

  “Oh, puh-leeze.” Finally, Lucy let out a giggle. “Come with me. I can work on this portfolio while I’m out there.”

  “Nup. No way. She’s up to something, and I’m not going anywhere near her. You might be naive, but I know dear old Gran and she wants more than a cook.”

  “Don’t forget Gran and Pop lost their three daughters.” Her voice trembled a little as she managed to put the past tragedy into words. It was something that they didn’t speak about much. “No parent should lose a child, but they lost all three of their daughters in one day. And then we all left and followed our own lives.”

  “And we’re happy. But now she wants something. Why the heck would she want us—all of us—out there all of a sudden? I mean, okay, Pop might be having a knee operation, but why would she need all of us out there? Besides, Liam’s immersed in his newspaper job in London. He’s not going to jump to her command. If he came home, I’d eat my hat and run around the paddock stark bollocky naked.” Sebastian tapped his fingers on his thigh impatiently. “And really, can you imagine Jemima back there after she’s spent most of the past two years on the catwalk in Europe?”

  “Maybe Gran just misses us all and needs a hand to run the farm with Pop out of action?”

  “And a graphic designer-slash-copywriter and a photographer from the city are going to do cattle work in the middle of nowhere? With a fashion model and her brother, the jet-setting journalist? Give me a break, Lucy. You always were the dreamer.” He stood and put his hands on his hips. “She can afford to hire someone. They’re loaded.”

  “Don’t you feel one bit guilty that we haven’t been home?”

  He shook his head, and Lucy suppressed a groan. She wasn’t going to let Sebastian see how reluctant she was to go out to the Pilliga. “Well, I’m going. I can cook for the harvesters, and someone can come and collect it from the house. I won’t have to go out on the farm.”

  “And what about your big campaign? It’s all you talk about, how busy you’re going to be for the next couple of months.”

  “I’ll work at night.”

  “Sure you will.” He shook his head.

  “Get out of here,” she said. “If I’m going home to the Pilliga Scrub, I need to get some work done before I go.”

  “Home?”

  “You know what I mean,” she said.

  Sebastian wandered out, but not before Lucy saw the guilty look that flashed across his face before he turned away.

  Chapter Two

  “Thanks, Jim. I’ll leave you to get cooking.” Garth Mackenzie sniffed appreciatively as the aroma of beef stew filled the kitchen adjacent to the workmen’s quarters. “I might eat down here with the men once the harvesting starts. Smells bloody good.”

  “You’re welcome, boss. There’ll be plenty to go around.” The contracted cook had settled into the old building at the back of the farm, and he was ready to feed the workers when the harvesting started later in the week. Garth had bought two huge freezers and a large oven for the old shearing shed when his parents had left the farm. From the look of the pots bubbling on the stove and the aroma of baking bread coming from the oven, his workers were going to be well fed this year.

  He whistled for Jack and waited till his old dog caught up to him before walking along the eastern boundary fence and checking the dam levels. Once he was done, he’d saddle up his horse and move the cattle to the back paddock, and then he’d check the dams on the other side of the farm. It had been so dry he was going to have to pump some water from the water table beneath the farm if it didn’t rain soon. He looked over at Prickle Creek Farm and wondered how old Harry Peterkin was getting on. He’d been limping around for the past month or so. There was no point going over there to offer to help out. Since Garth had had words with Helena about the cattle, he’d noticed a padlock go up on the gate that joined the properties—the gate that had once been a meeting place for his and Lucy Bellamy’s midnight swims in the dam. Garth shook his head; those weeks at the end of high school, before he’d left for university, had been some of the best days of his life.

  Those days were long gone and the family farm was his now. Lucy had left town, and he often wondered where she’d ended up. He stood looking out over the waving heads of wheat, golden and ready to be harvested. The rich red coats of the Hereford cattle were glossy in the late-morning sun, and he smiled as they munched on the rich pasture beside the wheat paddock. The sky was a brilliant blue, and the forecast of rain looked like it wasn’t going to eventuate. Satisfaction filled him; he’d worked hard to get himself to this position, and the dividends were beginning to show. It had been worth every one of the six years he’d spent away from the family farm. It was so good to be back, he didn’t intend to go anywhere else for a long time. This wheat harvest was set to be the best one in years. His parents were settled down on the coast, and he was his own boss for the first time in his life.

  Life was bloody good.

  Maybe it was time for a trip into Spring Downs Returned Soldiers’ Club—affectionately known to locals as the RSL or the rissole—to catch up with some of his friends one Friday night. It could get a bit lonely at times. Jack nudged at his thigh, and Garth reached down and absent-mindedly rubbed his head. “Come on, old fella. We’ll go and get you some dinner and then you can spend the afternoon sleeping in the shade. Some of us have to work, you know.”

  …

  On Friday, a week after Gran’s call, Lucy set off from Sydney just after dawn. Even that early, the traffic was chaotic as commuters headed to work. She sighed as she caught red light after red light. Finally she was out of the city and heading up the M1. She turned off the new Hunter Express bypass and onto the Golden Highway, and soon the green paddocks of the horse studs of the upper Hunter Valley were flashing by. Peace and serenity replaced the angst caused by the congestion on the roads, and she turned off the air conditioning and slid the window down, taking a deep breath of fresh country air.

  Three more hours on the road, a couple of coffee stops, and finally she swung into the car park of Spring Downs hospital. Climbing out of the car, she stretched her arms. The trees lining the path were in full bloom, and the gardens were redolent with the sweet fragrance of full-blown roses. Fat yellow blooms nodded their heavy heads in the hospital garden, soaking up the last of the summer sun. The Spring Downs cottage hospital was nothing like the multistorey hospitals in Sydney, and even though she didn’t recognise any of the nurses on the desk, they all smiled a friendly greeting. There are some things about the country that leave the city for dead.

  Pop was sitting up in bed and teasing one of the nurses as the young girl giggled and plumped up his pillows. He always had a joke or a story wherever he was. It was his way of coping with the sadness that had touched their lives.

  “Did I tell you the one about the doctor and the—”

  “Hey, Pop.” She walked into the ward and received a grateful glance from the young nurse. “You haven’t been annoying the staff, have you, you old joker?”

  She looked down
at her bag pretending not to see the tears that filled Pop’s eyes. She fought her own tears back; he looked so old and thin.

  “Well, look what the west wind blew in. Lucy, come and give a sick old man a kiss.” It was just as though she’d been there only the other day, and Pop didn’t mention that she’d been away for almost three years. She drew in a breath as the comforting scrape of his grey whiskers brushed her chin when she leaned in to kiss his cheek.

  “Sweetheart, it’s wonderful to see you. Gran tells me you’re going to help out?”

  “Yep. I’m heading for the farm now. I told Julie I was coming home and she asked me to stay in town for the night, but I’ll catch up with her another time.”

  “Got a husband and two kids, I hear.” Her grandfather flickered a sly look her way. “Might get you a bit clucky, love.”

  “Don’t go getting any ideas, you old rascal.” Lucy straightened the cotton blanket before she sat in the plastic chair next to the bed. “I’m a career girl through and through.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll come back to the country one day. It’s in your blood. We’ve missed you.”

  Lucy wasn’t going to get into an argument, especially when he was still in the hospital. She pointed to his knee. “So what’s with the operation?”

  “Gawd, nothing much. Just my gammy old knee where I got it caught in the cattle crush when you were little. They’re going to give me a plastic one tomorrow. Bloody wonders never cease!”

  “That’s good news. You had me worried. You’ll be back home and on horseback before you know it.”

  “I wish,” he said sadly. “Things have changed a lot, Lucy. It’s not like it used to be at the farm.”

  Lucy tried to swallow the big lump that seemed to be stuck in her throat. “I’d better get going before it gets too late. I’ll come back and see you soon. Okay?”

  Her grandfather turned to her with a frown. “You watch out on that road out to the farm. I don’t want you hitting a roo. I suppose you’re in some tiny little car?”

  “They’ll all be asleep in the shade by the time I reach the turn-off. I’ll be fine.”

  She tooted the horn as she left the hospital. She knew he’d be waiting for it.

  Lucy rolled into Prickle Creek Farm late in the afternoon. Nerves skittered in her stomach as she parked her car outside the familiar farmhouse. As she’d driven through town, and out along the road to the farm, every paddock and every road held memories that she’d buried deep. The working dogs ran down the drive, barking madly and announcing her arrival.

  Gran met her at the door, wiping her hands on a floury apron, her iron-grey hair pulled into a severe bun. Guilt flooded through Lucy. Just like Pop, her grandmother looked tired…and old.

  “It’s so good to see you, dear. It’s way past time for our family to be together again.” Gran held her close for a couple of seconds, and Lucy fought the tears that threatened. “Is that Sebastian going to come, too?”

  “Maybe. You know Seb. Always chasing another adventure with his camera.” She stepped back and held her grandmother’s cold hands. “Although he’s settled down a lot since he’s been at the agency with me. What about the others?”

  “Jemima and Liam will be here Saturday afternoon.”

  “Really?” The hard lump in her chest eased as she thought of them all—almost all—being together again. “Then I’m sure I’ll be able to entice Sebastian up here.”

  “Come away into the kitchen and let me have a look at you. I’ve got some scones that are just about due out of the oven.” Gran’s English accent was always stronger when she was emotional. Lucy put her bag in the hall and followed her grandmother to the back of the rambling old farmstead. She put her head down and ignored the many family photos lining the floral-sprigged wallpaper all the way from the door, along the hall to the kitchen. She’d look at them later.

  The kitchen was the same as ever, and a pang of nostalgic memory warmed Lucy’s heart. She drew in her breath at the pleasant memory. Even though she claimed to hate the farming life, the days she’d spent here at the farm with her three cousins had been a huge part of her childhood—and such fun. She’d learned to cook on that stove; she and Jemmy had made lamingtons for school fetes with Gran, and they’d pickled onions for the Country Women’s Association stall at the annual agricultural show until their skin and hair had smelled like vinegar. The same yellow gingham curtains that had always been there graced the window above the sink, and the huge scrubbed wooden table where they’d had many a Christmas dinner together took pride of place in the middle of the flagstone floor. Trinkets and knick-knacks filled the old dresser beside the back door. Nothing had changed apart from two shiny new chest freezers Lucy could see in the little room off the back porch.

  “Ralph!” Lucy crouched down at the dog basket beside the door and looked up at Gran. A familiar black-and-white head lifted, and she reached out to pat the old dog. “Oh my God, it is Ralphie, isn’t it, Gran?

  “It is.” Her grandmother pursed her lips. “Although I don’t know why that silly old fool of your grandfather insists on keeping him. He’s way past his working life. Not good for anything apart from eating. Waste of space.”

  A glimmer of disquiet ran through Lucy. Sebastian was right in some ways. Gran had been raised in a family where “waste not, want not” was the code, and her attitude could be hard at times. But it wasn’t for Lucy to judge; they didn’t know how hard it had been in the years when Gran and Pop had tried to build up a rundown farm into a profitable concern.

  “Come on, Gran. You don’t mean that.” She tickled the dog beneath his chin and he gave a soft woof, his brown eyes looking at her lovingly. “See, he remembers me.”

  “Just looking for food.” Gran gave an impatient harrumph.

  Lucy looked up, but Gran was staring through the window, her lips set.

  “I think Seb’s sorry he had a fight with you, Gran. But you know him. He’ll never admit he did the wrong thing.” Lucy laid it on thick to try to win Gran over. “He’s not gay, you know.”

  “I wouldn’t care if he was gay, or whatever he wanted to be. He knows what a ridiculous waste I think that stupid parade is. All the money goes to the city and poor communities like ours struggle out here. Anyway, enough of this chinwagging. I’ve got work to do.” Gran pointed to the table before she reached for an oven mitt. “Get yourself an apron and you can help me get the scones ready. And don’t forget to wash your hands.”

  Lucy hid a smile as she did as she was told and crossed to the sink.

  They worked quietly together as Gran pulled three dozen scones from the large oven. Lucy lifted the hot scones onto the wire trays to cool, and Gran whipped the cream to put into the containers for the workers, along with small tubs of homemade jam.

  “There, all ready for tomorrow morning’s smoko.” Gran stepped back and looked at Lucy. “You must be tired after that long drive.”

  “Just a bit.” Lucy reached up and tucked her loose hair behind her ear. “Why did you call us all home, Gran?”

  Gran put her hands on Lucy’s shoulders and looked up at her. “Now look how tall you are.”

  “I’ve been this tall since I was twelve years old, silly,” Lucy said with a smile. “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Well, we’ve barely seen you since then, so what would I remember?” Gran clucked her tongue.

  “So, why the summons to Prickle Creek, Gran? What’s going on?”

  Her grandmother waved her hand, turned to the stove, and peered into the oven. “Time for that later when you’re all here. Go and have a swim in the dam. You look hot. I’ll get our dinner on. It’ll be nice to have company to eat with,” she said gruffly. “We’ve got one day before the rest of the contractors arrive to finish off the harvest.”

  Lucy slipped on her swimmers and grabbed a hat. She walked to the dam past the waving fields of golden wheat and sighed as the heat rose from the cracked red dirt. The crop wasn’t going to the mill this year. P
op had said cattle prices were up high, making the wheat crop more profitable for the farm if it was baled to feed the cattle.

  “And the cattle love it, Luce.” He’d talked to her for half an hour before she’d finally got away from the hospital. His old eyes had lit up as he told her what he’d done with the pasture over the summer. “Wheat hay has eighteen percent protein and the soft stems are really good for the calves.” Lucy had tuned out as he’d rattled off figures and weights, turning back to him when he mentioned the contractors who needed to be fed. It was a big harvest this year, and more contractors were due to hit Prickle Creek Farm with their headers the day after tomorrow. One consolation: they’d be busy feeding the extra men and her time here would pass quickly. Sebastian was right. Now that a few years had passed and she had her own life in the city, it was easier to keep the memories locked away. But it was good seeing Gran and Pop again, and it would be fun to catch up with Liam and Jemmy. It had been too long since they’d all been together. She caught up with Jemmy for the occasional coffee when she had modelling jobs in Sydney, but it had been at least a year since she’d last seen her.

  Spending two weeks here wouldn’t be too bad. She’d just have to steel herself against the heat and the flies, and pitch in and help Gran. Twenty-four bloody hours a day, those machines would go up and down, the workers cocooned in their little air-conditioned cabs with earbuds blocking out the monotonous sound of the motors.

  The dam was a long way from the wheat paddock, but no matter where you were on the five thousand acres at harvest time, you couldn’t escape that noise. She was surprised to see the first couple of paddocks were already being cut, and she waved to the contractors in the enclosed cabins of the big machines as she made her way to the dam. She stopped at the gate and reached up and pulled a small branch of a low-hanging tree, swishing it around her head to keep the flies away.