by Juanita Kees
‘He was in the pub earlier today to catch up on the gossip. It seems Louis Chalmers’ spray drift has caused extensive damage. Travis Bailey was one of the lucky ones. His canola is mostly unaffected.’
Harley’s heart sank. ‘That’s good news for Travis.’
‘But not for you, right?’ She hooked her arm through his and urged him forward. ‘You would have been directly in the path of the drift.’
He matched his stride to hers as they walked towards the front door. Bugger. ‘You’ve been a farmer’s wife too long, Mum. You know too much. Three hectares of bines copped the worst of it. And to add to the devastation, the whole crop in the north paddock has downy mildew eating away the cones. I don’t know how to tell Dad without the risk of upsetting him.’
More stress was the last thing any of them needed. First the floods, then the drought, Ryan’s death, the Big Bang, the water crisis and then the heart attack—Dad had enough to deal with over the years without adding this latest stumbling block.
‘He’s already guessed, Harley. He knows the risk. It’s how bad the damage is that we’ll have to shoulder. What does Tameka have to say about it?’
‘She says she’s tried to talk Chalmers out of using phenoxy-based herbicides.’ Harley ran a hand through his hair. ‘We both know her father can be a stubborn old codger.’
‘That and more. What sort of loss are we looking at, son?’
‘Around twenty thousand dollars per hectare. We have three hectares of crop damage along the Golden Acres border and another five in the top paddock with partial phenoxy damage and the rest down with disease.’
‘Plus the cost of the modifications we had to do when Chalmers cut off the water supply.’
‘I was banking on this crop to pay off at least a third of that cost.’
‘What about the mung beans?’
‘Not mature enough to yield a decent, profitable harvest yet.’
She stopped walking and looked up at him, her forehead creased in a frown. ‘Bakers Hill will make it through this, won’t it, son? It will break your father’s heart if we have to let it go.’
Oh Jesus, he hoped so. ‘Of course it will. It has to. I’ve arranged a meeting with Greg Saunders at the bank, Mum. As soon as I have a plan together to present, he’ll go in to bat for us. He knows we’re good for it. I’m sure he can hold off the dogs for a while until I sort something out.’ For Dad’s sake, he had to make sure he did.
Chapter 5
At least Tom Baker had taken the news well and come up with some helpful solutions to her issues with weed control. The rest of the town didn’t appear to be as forgiving.
Tameka waited at the counter and pretended to ignore the whispers and sometimes not-so-quiet digs about her father’s farming methods while Harley cruised the shelves and chatted with the handful of people in the hardware store.
She shivered. How easily people turned on their own when they had a fire lit under their arse. Not that her father didn’t deserve the censure. He’d cost a lot of people money this harvest and probably the years before that too. And she was as much to blame as he was, powerless to stop him as she’d watched the crop duster sweep the fields and a haze of minute, damaging particles drift on the wind.
Not even Tom Baker’s quiet reassurance and sound advice could stop the frustration from crawling through her. Nothing would work unless she could convince her father to see the truth about the damage his phenoxies were causing.
She dropped her gaze to her boots as yet another patron glared at her on his way past to the feed section. On the rare occasion she did come into Wongan Creek for supplies, she avoided contact with the townsfolk as much as possible. They were nice people, but their curiosity only made old wounds fester and their questions hurt too much to answer—particularly the question that everyone would ask if they knew how bad her dad really was. The one she couldn’t find the answer to herself. Why don’t you leave? So she ignored their kindness that threatened the wall she’d built to keep them out.
Today she hadn’t needed that barrier. They’d been the ones to ignore her. First old Mal serving behind the counter then his wife Ahn on the cash register. None of their usual smiles and cheerful hellos. It wasn’t until Travis Bailey and Harry Murchison walked in that she’d actually been acknowledged.
Harry tapped his cane on the counter. ‘What’s wrong with you, you miserable old bastard? Can’t you see the girl needs help?’
‘Don’t serve her kind here.’
‘What kind is that exactly? A customer who wants to spend money in your store?’
‘Her father’s done a lot of damage in this town.’
Harry looked around. ‘I don’t see her bloody father here now, do you? All I see is a girl with a hose in her hand that needs fixing.’
Warmth covered Tameka’s back and Harley’s hand came to rest at her waist. She let out a long breath and clutched the hose tightly, her fingers white as the gentle tone of his voice washed over her.
‘I came to see what’s taking so long. Everything okay, Tikki?’
‘It will be as soon as Mal here gets his head out his arse,’ Harry muttered.
‘Terrible place for a head to be. Hey, Travis. How are you, mate?’
Travis leant across Harry and shook Harley’s hand. ‘All good. Lucky we stopped by. Harry needed some sheep poo for the garden.’
Harley shifted behind her as he held out a hand to Harry too. ‘I would’ve thought your sheep did enough of that, Harry.’
‘Buggers keep running off across the creek and doing it in Liv Waterman’s vineyard.’
‘They’re probably chasing her latest vintage. I heard it’s a good drop.’ He eased the broken hose out of Tameka’s hand and placed it on the counter in front of Mal. ‘Can I get one of those made up, please, mate?’
Tameka resisted the urge to sink back into his solid warmth. Kindness. Friendship. Two staple foods in the diet of life. Something she hadn’t had since … well, since Harley.
With a mutter about Judases under his breath, Mal took the hose and disappeared, leaving Ahn to smile awkwardly at Tameka. She smiled back, trying desperately to add warmth and ignore the resentment that flooded her. She turned her head to look at Harley, her gaze finding his. ‘Thank you.’
In another time and place, she would have felt his arm slide around her shoulders and pull her into his embrace, the warmth of his body against hers and the surge of love for him in her heart. Those days were gone. Had been for a long time. She wasn’t his girl anymore, never would be again.
She stepped aside and waited for Mal to return with the hose, thumbs hooked into the pockets of her jeans, hip leaning against the counter and one booted foot toeing the stained concrete floor. Travis and Harley chatted about footy and avoided the topic of crops and spray drift while Harry kept a close eye on Mal. The whisperers and gossips dispersed. The store echoed with silence again except for Harley and Travis’ voices, and the clatter of Mal’s tools as he threw them around his bench making her hose.
Tameka couldn’t blame him for his anger or resentment. Her father wasn’t exactly a town favourite, never had been. Mal walked back and dropped the new hose on the counter, complete with new brass fittings.
‘Thank you, Mal. How much do I owe you?’ She reached into her pocket for her wallet.
Mal glanced over her head at Harley before wiping away imaginary sawdust from the counter top. ‘Nothing. Take it. Just stop … stop spraying that shit, okay?’
‘I’m working on it.’ She stilled the movement of his hands with hers, making him meet her gaze. ‘I promise. Thanks for the hose.’ Damn it, she hoped that one day she could keep that promise. She let go of Mal’s hand and turned to Harley. ‘Ready to go when you are.’ Tameka leant over and kissed Harry’s cheek. ‘Thank you, Harry.’
Harry blushed and rubbed his cheek. ‘Been a long time since a girl kissed my cheek. Might have to play hero more often.’
Travis grinned. ‘And all the girls in Wongan Cree
k between eighteen and a hundred are breathing a sigh of relief right now that by tomorrow you will have forgotten that promise.’
Harry snorted. ‘Smart-arse. I’m old, not dead. Yet.’
Harley chuckled. ‘Nice to see you both again. We’ve got to rush.’ He paused, hands on his hips, drawing Tameka’s attention to his long fingers resting against the faded denim. ‘Mum’s worried Tameka’s too skinny. She’s prepped a year’s worth of food to take home so we’d best head out and get it into the freezer.’
Tameka rolled her eyes against the tug at her heart. She’d like nothing more than to sit at the kitchen table and wolf down a meal that didn’t taste like the dried out remains of something that shouldn’t be microwaved. It wasn’t that she couldn’t cook, more that she had to cook what Dad liked the way he liked it or pay the consequences. And no way would Dad have Shirley Baker’s food in his freezer, so she’d have to find a way of persuading Harley to keep it for himself.
‘I’m surprised she didn’t make you stay for dinner too then.’ Travis laughed. ‘Shirley’s meals are epic.’
‘She tried. It was tempting, but there’d be more leftovers and we’ve got enough in the back of the ute to keep us going and still feed the whole region.’
‘And I’ve got to get back before the light goes or I won’t be able to fix the seeder for tomorrow,’ Tameka reminded him.
‘We’ll get home in time, I promise. Even if my stomach growls all the way.’ He tipped his head closer to hers to deliver the words in a low and sexy baritone that skimmed along her skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. ‘You’re my ride, Tikki. I need you.’
What she needed was to get home fast, away from this contact that made her want what she couldn’t have. She placed a firm hand on Harley’s chest and forced him to take a step back. ‘Guess you’ll have to go hungry then. See ya.’
She pressed her way between Harley and Harry, and headed for the door, pushing her way out into the late afternoon sunshine. She didn’t get far before Harley caught up.
‘We could grab a takeaway burger from Mama Bella’s on the way out?’
Tameka stopped at the driver’s door of her ute and dragged off her hat, tossing it onto the seat through the open window. ‘Jesus, Baker! Is food all you think of?’
His eyes slammed into hers with all the force of Luke Skywalker’s light sabre and ripped her heart in two. ‘Not all, no.’
She held his gaze for a moment until the heat and want got too hot to handle then she opened the door. ‘Get in or walk.’ She slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine until the starter motor screamed in protest.
Harley winced as he got in and fastened his seatbelt.
‘Shut up.’ She put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space.
‘Didn’t say a word.’
He leant an elbow on the open window and hooked his fingers into the rain channel on the roof. His free hand rested on his knee, a little too close to the gearstick for her comfort. Selecting first gear would be a problem with his hand in the way.
She tried hard not to let her fingers brush his as she moved the gearstick, but his legs were so damn long and his hands were so bloody big and it felt like he was all over the freaking cabin. She should have let him drive so that she could curl as far away from him into the corner as possible.
Silence stretched between them as Wongan Creek disappeared from her rear-view mirror. Harley took his elbow off the window and leant forward to take the hydraulic hose off the dashboard. He flexed it between his hands, softening the stiff rubber. Great. At least his hands were away from the gearstick but, bloody hell, the movement of those fingers on the hose as he made it into something pliable was damn distracting.
Turn up the music. That would kill the tension in the air. Tameka leant forward and twisted the knob on the radio until Keith Urban’s voice drowned out all thought in her head and had every cow and sheep in the passing paddocks lifting their head to see what the fuss was all about.
Harley cast a look in her direction. She ignored it, gripped the wheel and found a pothole in the road to bounce over.
‘Pull over.’ He grunted as the next bump felt more like a mountain.
‘No.’
‘Pull. Over.’ His growl rose as Keith’s voice faded. ‘Now.’ He snapped the radio off, but his voice softened. ‘Please, Tikki. Before I end up in traction with a spinal injury.’
She pulled into a rest stop under the shade of a eucalyptus tree. She’d barely dragged up the handbrake before Harley was out of the ute, around the bonnet and opening her door.
‘Out.’
The word was quiet and gentle, not shouted like she’d expect it to be if he was angry. Because, Jesus, the last thing she needed in her life was another angry man. ‘Why?’
He dragged a hand through his hair, leant across her and unclipped her seat belt, his arm brushing across her chest. She sucked in a breath at the contact.
‘Out or I’ll have to pick you up and carry you.’ A little teasing mixed into the irritation in his tone.
Oh hell no because that meant being held up against him right where she wanted to be and couldn’t afford the cost. She shoved him away and got out, slamming the door closed behind her and leaning back against it, crossing her arms under her breasts.
‘What? You’re making me late, Baker.’
‘What’s crawled up your arse?’
He reached his arm past her head and gripped the roof, bringing his face a little closer to hers, a move that should have felt invasive, should have put her on edge, but didn’t because this was Harley and she’d never been afraid of him.
And damn it, that made her want to lean into him and just feel. Him, his heartbeat, his warmth and everything that was safe and secure about him as it had been in the past when he’d been her haven.
‘Mine? What’s crawled up yours?’ She poked at his chest, warmth shimmying up through her fingertip.
‘You’ve been on edge since we got to town.’
‘So? I don’t like coming into town. Is that a crime?’
She drew in a breath as his hands found her hips and anchored her in front of him. Her feet itched to run, to climb back in the ute and drive, and leave him at the side of the road if she had to.
She didn’t want Harley poking around in her thoughts and discovering the fear that lived inside her. Not him. Nobody. Ever. Because the truth would shake this town so hard, the aftershocks would be felt all the way to Tasmania.
‘And what do you know about me anyway? What does it matter to you?’ The snipe in her tone made her shudder. Harley was the last person in the world who deserved it even if they weren’t friends anymore.
‘You matter. You always have.’
The quiet conviction in his words was almost her undoing. The effort to hold back her emotions burnt at the back of her throat. He drew her closer, a gentle tug that her body accepted but her mind rejected. She didn’t want to be plastered up against the man she’d been forbidden to keep yet wanted with every pixel of her obliterated soul because he was the only one who could put her back together again.
And there was all this heat still between them and the warmth of his denims against hers where their bodies still fit perfectly even after all this time apart.
‘Damn you, Baker.’
The bastard grinned. A cheeky, confident, knowing grin that took the edge off the irritation that swirled in her belly. He tipped up her chin, searching her face, his eyes seeing right through her tough exterior. She stared at the cleft in his because meeting his eyes would have her unravelling like a ball of wool in the paws of a kitten.
Then his head dipped and his lips were on hers, a sweet memory of the last time they’d been in that exact same spot. God, he tasted good—like forbidden fruit, wickedly smooth chocolate or a really good home brew, and just as heady.
But his mouth didn’t stay closed long enough to enjoy the drunken effects of his kiss. Or to forget why he’d kissed her in the first place. A t
rick he’d used before when times were different, and it had been all about discovery not distraction.
‘Now we’ve got that out of the way, what’s got ants in your pants, Tikki?’ He drew his head back a little.
Not far enough out of the way. She could still feel his breath whisper across her mouth. ‘It’s the pitying looks and unasked questions, as well the voiced ones. And now they’ve added anger and resentment too.’
‘They care.’ His hands played in soothing circles on her back. ‘We all do. You’re so unreachable now.’
She traced the pattern on his shirt with her fingertips. ‘It’s the way it needs to be.’
How could she tell him that she longed for the old days when life was easier and her dad was simply a narcissistic bastard rather than the angry, violent drunk he’d become?
That his mood swings grew worse every day. How he prowled the property like a caged tiger waiting to pounce on its prey and tear it to pieces, and she feared she’d be that prey.
That if she left him like her mother did, he’d take his shotgun and blow his head off after downing a bottle of Jacks—neat, straight from the neck of the bottle, no glass necessary—and she couldn’t let him do that no matter how much of an arsehole he was. Even though a part of her wished he would.
How every night, she took the gun from the side of his chair once he’d fallen asleep, removed the bullets and locked them in the gun safe only to find it reloaded the next morning. A ticking time bomb that could have her cleaning up shit and blood and brains off the walls and floor at any moment, unless they were hers instead. How there were days she’d welcome having to take a bucket and hot water and do just that for the peace and freedom it would bring.
But here, in Harley’s arms again, the edge of reason blurred. She leant her head against his heart and listened to the strong, steady rhythm.
Without the noise of the town around them, she heard the birds in the trees chirping away as the mild warmth of a day that promised another long, lonely, cold winter faded and the chill of evening crept in. Then she’d have to face the horror that darkness brought again, the circle of a life she could never escape. Every God damn night.