Rose River

by Margareta Osborn

  ‘You’re crying,’ he said. ‘I’ve only seen you do that once before.’

  The night when she’d told him about her father. The night he’d taken her home and been so kind. So considerate. So beautiful.

  She swallowed and tried to get her emotions back on track. ‘I have an issue.’

  ‘What is it this time? Dodge? The goats or the sheep? Can’t be the dogs ’cause they’re out near the ute.’

  What? Those little terrors. They’d obviously left the scene of the crime before their master found out!

  ‘All of the above,’ she said, jumping up to make sure the Busters really were where he said they were. And they were – up on the back of Marty’s ute getting a scrimmaging from Dave. Bastards. All men – including male dogs – were bastards.

  ‘So what’s up?’ said Stirling, still sitting in the sun like he hadn’t a care in the world.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said in a grim voice.

  She didn’t really want to show him. It was so embarrassing that she hadn’t been able to deal with the situation on her own. When they came level with the kitchen window, she indicated he take a look while she leant against a verandah post and looked out at the Rose River. She’d expected him to gasp and swear, but what she hadn’t expected was laughter.

  ‘Does your mother always sleep in a negligee and earmuffs?’ he asked.

  What? Jaime launched herself towards the window and saw her pretty much naked mother, a pair of pink fluffy earmuffs over her head, gazing around the now deserted kitchen. They watched as she shook her head, rubbed at her eyes and gazed again in disbelief at the horrific mess.

  Their combined breath turned the window pane foggy. Jaime swiped at it with her hand, clobbering Stirling in the face. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ She went to touch his tanned cheek, now reddened, but he grabbed her hand. Jaime barely felt his grip for the electricity running up her arm. The buzz and heat seemed to warm her whole body in double-quick time.

  Her startled gaze caught his. Those flinty blue eyes widened slightly. A faint smile curved his lips. She could feel her breasts standing upright and perky, her nipples tingling as if he’d caressed them with his lips.

  ‘She doesn’t look half bad in that get-up,’ Stirling said, nodding towards Blanche, ‘but I reckon you’d look a whole lot better.’

  ‘I don’t do earmuffs.’ Her voice sounded breathy even to her own ears.

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  ‘I do silky lingerie though.’

  His eyes darkened like he couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

  She couldn’t believe it either. This man was practically engaged to another woman, a better woman than Jaime would ever be if she couldn’t even keep a goat under control. Time to get back to the situation at hand before she made an even bigger fool of herself. Except she couldn’t break eye contact. She just wanted to drown in those coral sea blues.

  Instead she said, ‘I had a slight problem.’

  ‘I think it’s your mother who’s got the issue. What’d she do? Sleepwalk and dream she could paint like Van Gogh?’

  ‘Ummmm … no.’ She swallowed. ‘Would you believe aliens did it?’

  Stirling dropped her hand and started laughing.

  ‘What? What did I say?’

  She could see tears in his eyes. Oh, great. Now he thought she was ridiculous as well as stupid. She’d have to own up. Anyway, it didn’t really matter what he thought of her, did it?

  Liar, liar, pants on fire …

  ‘It was the goat.’

  ‘Right,’ he said as if he didn’t believe her.

  ‘And the little goat, the sheep, the two dogs and the cat. So now you know. No aliens, no Blanche, just me, a bunch of animals and a whole lot of stupidity.’

  ‘Hardly stupidity, Princess.’ Stirling sobered up. ‘They got into the shopping?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You tried to get them out?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You failed?’

  The story of her life at the moment. ‘Yep.’

  ‘And that’s why you were crying?’

  She nodded, unable to speak anymore because she was feeling mighty close to howling.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, what a horrible day you’ve had.’

  He wasn’t allowed to be nice. He really wasn’t. Because then she’d just want to leap into his lap, cuddle up to that hard chest and be kissed by those hot, firm lips until tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.

  She had to physically restrain herself from throwing herself at Stirling as he went to put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her. She dodged away, knowing she had to protect herself. He halted the gesture and stepped away. The shutters came down on his face, turning him into Marble Man. She felt like crying all over again.

  ‘C’mon then, we’d best clean it up.’ And he turned his broad back on her and walked along the verandah towards the door.

  Jaime trudged along behind, fighting tears.

  Together they paused at the kitchen door to survey the damage. White plastic bags lay on the table and the floor, all liberally splashed with whatever food the animals had managed to get to. Thankfully, now she got a good look at the carnage, it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Most of the shopping had been cans or in sealed bags. It was just the fresh stuff that had copped a pummelling – or, rather, been devoured.

  Blanche had disappeared, presumably to get dressed. Jaime plonked herself down in a chair, then sprang up again when she felt something squish under her bottom. A tomato. That’d be right.

  She remained standing and hung her head. ‘I’m so sorry, Stirling. I was in the garden and came inside for a drink and there they all were.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said shortly, getting down on his hands and knees to scoop up some runaway apples.

  ‘It does. What would Valerie think?’

  ‘Once she got over the shock, she’d get in here and clean it up.’

  Like she should be doing. Jaime dropped to the floor and started gathering half-eaten broccoli stems and the odd chewed floret. She reached for gnawed carrots and celery tops that had no bottoms. She hoped the stupid goat had choked on them.

  The silence in the kitchen, besides the rustling of plastic bags and sliding knees, was heavy. She felt an overwhelming urge to hear the sound of his voice. That deep-throated, comforting timbre.

  ‘How did the hunting go?’ she asked.

  ‘We weren’t hunting. Just casing out where to go when we do.’

  ‘And when’s that?’

  ‘At the full moon.’

  ‘And when’s that?’ she repeated.

  Stirling sat back on his heels and stared at her. His face was closed, blue eyes steely. ‘You wondering how long your boyfriend’s going to hang around?’

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you, he’s not my boyfriend!’

  ‘He says he is.’

  ‘Well, he’s not!’

  ‘That’s not what I saw, Princess.’

  He grabbed a cloth off the bench, dropped back to the floor and started wiping up the blood from the lamb with firm, even strokes. Like he wasn’t even perturbed that Marty might be Jaime’s boyfriend.

  Unlike Jaime. She was wild.

  ‘What do you mean, what you saw? That man’s a blockhead! An idiot!’

  ‘If that’s what you think, why were you kissing him at the New Year’s Eve concert?’ Stirling didn’t even look at her, just kept swiping at all the blood.

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ she spat again, furious. What was it Irene had said about love–hate relationships?

  ‘So you keep saying.’

  ‘He was drunk and he grabbed me. I didn’t respond. In fact, I kneed him in the groin.’

  ‘Mmmmm.’

  He could talk! Why was she defending herself when he was the one parading around with an instant fiancée?

  ‘Anyway, you were too busy with Tiffany to notice exactly what was going on,’ she said.

&nbs
p; He sat back on his heels and shot her a ferocious look.

  Which was the exact moment Blanche chose to walk in.

  ‘Oh my, I can’t believe it,’ said Jaime’s mother, thankfully now completely dressed. ‘I don’t know what happened, Stirling. I had such a splitting headache from concentrating so hard on those turns in the mountain road, I just dropped the groceries and went to bed.’ She clutched at the table to steady herself.

  ‘It was my fault,’ said Jaime, jumping up to comfort her mother. ‘It was the goat and the sheep –’

  ‘And my dogs and Valerie’s cat,’ cut in Stirling. ‘Not your fault at all.’

  Blanche perked up slightly. ‘So I didn’t do anything wrong?’

  ‘No, Mum, I should’ve shut the gate to the back garden properly.’

  ‘And I should’ve tied the dogs up before I left. I do apologise,’ said Stirling. ‘We’ll just clean this up and there’s no harm done.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure?’ said Blanche, brightening.

  ‘I’m sure,’ said the big stockman, a cleaning cloth in his hand.

  Jaime had never loved him so much, despite the fact she wanted to hit him.

  ‘I’ll just finish scrubbing this and we can start putting away what’s left,’ he said, directing his words to Jaime. He didn’t look straight at her though, preferring to stare at a spot somewhere past her right ear.

  Well, if that’s the way he wanted it, she was determined not to mind.

  If only not minding didn’t hurt so much.

  ‘Can you take those animals back down to Ryan first thing in the morning?’ Stirling asked, still mesmerised by that spot somewhere to the side of her head.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. Two could play at this game. Now Blanche was reassured, her feelings of gratitude towards him had dissipated. She replayed their conversation and felt herself getting mad with him all over again – for his attitude, for what he’d said about her and Marty, for being … well … him!

  ‘And tell Ryan to inform Skinner that as payment for the damage caused to Valerie’s kitchen he has to organise a gravestone for Nanny Burgess.’

  Seriously? She couldn’t imagine Skinner doing anything like that.

  ‘He hasn’t done it yet and he was supposed to,’ Stirling finished.

  ‘That’ll be a lot of money.’ She knew her father’s gravestone had cost heaps.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘How long since Nanny died?’

  Stirling scrunched his brow, thinking. ‘I’m guessing a couple of years.’

  ‘And he still hasn’t marked her plot?’

  ‘Nope. And seeing he was her eldest grandson and inherited all her worldly goods, including her house and land, I’m thinking he should.’

  ‘I’ll mention it then.’

  ‘You do that,’ he said, before striding off.

  Chapter 32

  ‘Here are your two goats and one sheep,’ she announced to Ryan the next morning, dumping the big bag of food pellets on his store counter. ‘We didn’t use much of these, thanks to the animals devouring my mother’s shopping.’

  ‘They didn’t?’ Ryan said with a gasp.

  ‘They did.’

  ‘Whoops!’

  ‘Yes, you could say that.’ Jaime arched a brow. ‘Or I could just swear like Stirling did, but seeing as I’m a city chick who doesn’t know half the vernacular you country people do, I don’t think I’d do the situation justice.’

  ‘O-kay. Ummm … shit. Does Skinner owe Stirling anything for damages?’

  ‘You can tell him he owes his grandmother a headstone.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A headstone for her grave. Apparently Skinner was supposed to organise it and hasn’t. Stirling wasn’t happy.’

  Ryan looked thoughtful. ‘No, he wouldn’t be. He loved old Nanny Burgess. She was the only person around here who stood up to Irene. When she died, there was no one left to keep the old bat in check.’

  Jaime found herself liking the sound of Nanny Burgess.

  ‘Nanny wanted a really big monument. To beat Irene’s,’ Ryan added.

  ‘How come Irene’s already got a gravestone?’ Last time she’d looked, Tiffany’s aunt was well and truly alive. Unfortunately.

  ‘Her husband was a bigwig in town. They erected this huge marble monolith when he carked it.’

  ‘Well, you can tell Skinner he needs to cough up.’

  Ryan scrunched up his nose. ‘Somehow I don’t think that’ll work.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Skinner doesn’t like parting with money.’

  ‘But you asked if he owed anything for damages, and it was a very big mess in Valerie’s kitchen.’

  Ryan sighed. ‘He’ll just blame me. He’ll say I need to pay, seeing I gave you the animals to look after. If I argue he’ll set his other brothers onto me, and I can tell you, no one comes out of a scrum with those two meat-heads on his own two feet.’

  Jaime stared at Ryan. An idea had started forming in her mind. Something that would teach this Skinner a lesson – which she’d be more than happy to do after he’d tricked her into taking part in the Boxing Day Buck Cricket match; get Nanny Burgess her headstone; annoy the daylights out of Irene; please Stirling; and show the big stockman what she – a woman with a double degree in marketing and public relations – could do. Then maybe, just maybe, she’d come out ahead of Tiffany. But she needed to nail a few details first.

  ‘Where does Skinner live?’

  ‘Depends if he’s up here or down in Lake Grace.’

  Jaime sighed. ‘Here, you twit.’

  ‘Over there,’ he pointed across the road, ‘next to the hall. In that tumbledown old shack.’

  The wooden walls were barely holding up the corrugated-iron roof. Jaime couldn’t believe anyone would choose to live there, not even a goat.

  ‘Is there room over there to hold a fair?’

  ‘A what?’

  Jaime leant against Ryan’s counter, making sure her V-necked top was doing its job. She needed him on side for this. ‘A fair – a fundraiser of some kind. With all these tourists coming and going, we’ve got a captive audience. Surely we can do something to raise the money for Nanny’s headstone.’

  Ryan’s attention wasn’t on the conversation; he was looking at her cleavage. ‘I suppose,’ he said vaguely.

  Jaime went in for the kill. ‘Think of all the business it’d bring to the store.’

  That got Ryan’s gaze up as far as her mouth.

  ‘You could sell all the food and drinks for the whole day seeing as you’re just across the road,’ she said. ‘Think of all that lovely money you’d make.’

  ‘I see what you mean,’ he said.

  Ha! Come in, spinner – or Skinner as the case may be.

  ‘We’ll have to come up with a great “country” theme to attract the holiday-makers,’ Jaime pondered. ‘Make it intriguing enough for the people in Lake Grace to venture up here too.’

  ‘That’s not a problem. Let’s do Cow Lotto. Although this time it could be Goat Lotto.’

  ‘What?’ He’d completely lost her.

  ‘You know, you paint a paddock with a grid, number the squares, sell each one off at a premium price, and then let the cow – or goat – loose.’

  ‘What happens then?’

  ‘Whichever square the animal poops in wins a prize – hopefully donated by someone else.’

  Right. Well, it was original. And very ‘country’.

  ‘You see it done all the time at rural shows and fairs,’ Ryan added.

  Okay, maybe not so original, but a tribe of bored city-slicker kids would love it. Not to mention the adults who were driving them.

  ‘I could do fairy floss and hot-dogs. Maybe some hot chips.’ Ryan was getting animated. ‘And Bluey could run a bar.’

  This was getting better and better.

  ‘We could do some old-fashioned games too,’ said Jaime, remembering playing with her mum and dad at similar events. ‘Sack races, egg-an
d-spoon races, three-legged races …’

  ‘Yeah. I’m sure Jean would help with that. She likes kids.’

  Jaime smiled. Jean would also make sure every single one of them behaved themselves.

  ‘So when should we do it?’ she asked. ‘We need to get in before the school holidays are over and all these people disappear back home.’

  Ryan consulted his calendar. ‘We could have it a week or so before the end of the month. Ummm …’ He chewed his lip. ‘Irene’s not going to be happy but I think Australia Day is our best shot.’

  ‘What’s it got to do with Irene?’

  ‘She always has an Australia Day barbecue fundraiser in front of the hall.’

  How many damned fundraisers did the woman need?

  ‘She can be part of this one,’ Jaime said. ‘Surely it’ll bring more customers to her anyway?’

  Ryan pulled a face. ‘Yeah, but this is for Nanny Burgess’s grave stone, remember? Plus Irene likes to be in charge of anything going on in this town.’

  ‘Well, she’ll have to get over it.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on her,’ said Ryan. ‘She’s just a lonely old lady who actually does a lot for this place.’ He looked a little uncomfortable before adding, ‘I know you’re probably thinking, what would I know? I’m just a bloke who runs a two-bit general store in a remote mountain town out the back of Hicksville.’

  ‘Hardly,’ said Jaime. ‘This is a fabulous place to live.’ And to her surprise, she meant it. She found she wanted to defend Burdekin’s Gap like she was one of its own.

  ‘You didn’t think that the night you arrived in the pouring rain on the back of McEvoy’s bike. I saw your face. You were wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into.’

  He was right, but now she didn’t want to leave. ‘Maybe, but I’ve changed my mind.’ And she wasn’t going to think about leaving yet, not when she had a fundraiser to organise.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘as I was saying, without Irene we wouldn’t have got the hall renovated or managed to keep up its maintenance. There’s the new toilet block too – she nigh on performed a sit-in at the council offices for that. And we’re well on the way to getting a new quick-fill pump for the fire brigade –’