The Healing Season

by Catherine Evans

  The Healing Season

  Catherine Evans

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  The Healing Season

  Catherine Evans

  Move to the country for $1 a week.

  Dulili is suffering a people drought. Over the years more people have moved away than have arrived to stay in this old New South Wales farming town, and now only a handful of young families and elderly residents are left. The locals put a plan into action to entice newcomers: offering the town’s empty houses to newcomers from anywhere in Australia. Who could resist renting a beautiful homestead for a dollar a week?

  Alicia used to know exactly what her life would look like: marry her best friend, manage her home town agricultural store, and live in her grandparent’s old house. But life never goes to plan, and Alicia is left with nothing more than the store to keep her going. Until a new employee walks through her door and offers a new friendship – and potentially something more.

  Lachlan has spent his life running, and Dulili is just far enough away for a new start. But small towns have few secrets, and running from the past is a surefire way to guarantee no hope for a future.

  About the Author

  Catherine Evans is a city-born throwback to country genes. After completing an environmental biology degree, she desperately needed to move to the country. A job in agriculture was the perfect escape. After spending eighteen years in agricultural research and gaining a Masters degree in Agriculture, Cath has a passion for rural life.

  Now living on the south coast of NSW, a large part of her heart belongs across the mountain ranges in the red dust.

  If you want to know more, please visit Catherine’s website www.catherineevansauthor.com

  Acknowledgements

  As this is my first rural story I’d like to thank everyone who’s helped me along the way. It’s been a long journey and I find it difficult to express the extent of my gratitude, so I hope you know how much your assistance and support means to me. So many people have helped me and I wouldn’t have this story without you all. Thank you.

  For The Healing Season in particular:

  Lisa Ireland and Jennie Jones have been the best partners-in-crime. I’ve loved collaborating and creating our fabulous town, Dulili. Emails have flown across Australia as we’ve created our world and our stories. I could not have found two more supportive people, especially when the chips are down. Thanks for helping me through everything.

  Ainslie Paton and Mervet McClintock have, as always, been great sounding boards and critique partners. Sophia James read with a teacher’s eye, but any mistakes are all mine. A writing course by the marvellous Charlotte Stein saved me many hours of stress!

  Thanks to the Escape and Harlequin family for welcoming me. Extra thanks to the amazing Kate Cuthbert who has supported my writing journey so incredibly. Sue Brockman, Lilia Kanna, Sam Joice, Kajal Narayan and Annabel Blay, thanks for your support. Laurie Ormond, thank you for your amazing work polishing my rough words.

  My friends and workmates in Wagga, Condo and Berry, thanks for teaching me when sometimes I seemed beyond hope!

  I’ve worked with some fabulous people who’ve struggled to read. Thank you for opening my eyes.

  Thanks to my family for always being there, especially Pete for understanding, for tissues, and for surviving another story.

  For help over many years, thanks to:

  My parents, Jim and Sue, taught me the love of reading (and I’m sure regretted it when they needed to pry my nose from a book so I’d do something!), this is for you. Dad supports me whatever I write. I love him dearly. Mum introduced me to her Mary Grant Bruce Billabong book collection and helped my find my place in the world. I wish you were here, Mum.

  Helen Dalton roped me into the Write in the Heart Festival at Condobolin in 2006 where I was inspired to start my ‘serious’ writing journey. Thank you for the kick start.

  Helen Cooney challenged me to write a romance, which was rejected but led me to the rest of my journey. Thank you for endless dreams and discussions.

  The Romance Writers of Australia. I’d still be thinking I’d like to write a book one day if I hadn’t found RWA. I’d particularly like to mention - my fellow volunteers on the Critterrs team, 20th conference team and Team Hearts Talk; my critique partners, Mervet McClintock, Judy O’Connor, Sandra Linklater, Anita Joy, Lisa Ireland, Jennie Jones, Lily Malone, Ainslie Paton and Rhyll Biest; Anne Gracie and Bronwyn Jameson and the Romance Intensive workshop that taught me I needed to learn a lot; Bev Lewis who illustrated the difference between tell and show; Maxine Sullivan who pointed out what I knew; Rachel Bailey for predictive planning; Sophia James for mentorship beyond my wildest expectations; Christine Stinson and Lisa Heidke who spoke to me at my first RWA Conference and changed my way of writing.

  The Romance Writers of America online courses, which helped shape my writing.

  Australian Romance Readers Association, where people read as much as I do.

  Stephan Kern, who believed I could write long before I did.

  My local face-to-face writing, Peter McAra and Chrissie Paice, and reading, Sarah Taylor, friends.

  Ootha Book Group and the Nowra Evening Book Discussion Group for wine, books, discussions, friendship and fun.

  The people of Condobolin and central western NSW, for accepting and teaching me.

  Dr Scott Black, Dr Mark Conyers, Dr Brendan Scott and Dr John Brockwell who patiently helped me write in the scientific manner, that I have now abandoned, but boy those years taught me a lot especially about critiques, corrections and revisions!

  My sisters, Christine, Maree and Joanne, their families and my extended family.

  My late dogs, Ellie and Tink. Sometimes I only left the computer because they begged for their walk. I miss them madly.

  My husband, Peter, who’s become a writing-widow, supports my insane dreams, eats lots of take away and chips, and doesn’t complain too much.

  If you’re a reader, thank you. Without readers there wouldn’t be anyone to share stories with. I hope you enjoy my tales.

  Thank you to each and every one of you for helping me to achieve a dream.

  For Lisa and Jennie

  Thank you!

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…

  Chapter 1

  Alicia leaned back from the computer and let out a satisfied sigh. The last of the integrated weed management plans on her list was successfully completed. Once, finishing assignments would have been a cause for full-scale dancing; now she could only manage a tiny smile. This new job was exactly what she hoped it would be. The problem was with all her other life plans. They were the stuff of nightmares.

  The bell over the door tinkled and she looked up to greet the next customer. Her cheeks went lax and any hint of a smile disappeared. ‘Dad?’ she whispered. It couldn’t be.

  ‘Spraying. Need five drums Roundup.’ His voice made the vision real. She saved her file and jumped to her feet, moving quickly to the counter. Everything else could wait. Dad was visiting her shop for the first time.

  Words had never been his strength. Over the last few months, he’d spoken even less—to her anyway—and that hardly seemed possible. His presen
ce had her reeling, not that she’d let him see.

  She’d been back in town a couple of months after four years living on campus doing an agriculture degree in Wagga Wagga, three hours’ drive away. The time away had made her forget how much she clashed with her folks. Alicia coming home to take up the position of Agronomist/Business Manager at the new Dulili Ag Store was the first major argument. Too bad it was her childhood dream coming true. They ignored that. That battle was before Christmas. Now, in February, the dispute wasn’t resolved. She’d taken the position, of course, and hadn’t seen her parents in weeks.

  Now he was here. ‘Hey, Dad. How are you?’ She gave him a big smile, because heaven knows he wasn’t going to let her close enough for a hug or a kiss. She’d upset him and he wasn’t about to forgive her yet. She wasn’t sure he ever would. Her folks wanted her to have ‘a better life’, a corporate life like a rural adviser in banking or something but being stuck in an office all day, wearing heels and a suit, was not her dream. They’d always argued. Mum and Dad thought they knew best for their only child but it was her life and she wanted to lead it her way.

  ‘How’s spraying going?’ If she kept asking questions, he might give her an answer but she wasn’t holding her breath. After the fight she’d moved into town and had only been back to Bullock Hill for Christmas and New Year’s lunch. No one would call those pleasant affairs. The atmosphere was harsher than Mum’s charcoaled turkey.

  Dad’s face was harder than usual, and that was another thing she hadn’t thought could get any worse. The lines, ingrained with dirt and oil, were deeper and more pronounced than they had been.

  She set up his account and rang up the chemical, keeping up banal weather chatter that he ignored. Then she came around to the front of the counter and he took a step backwards as if she was getting too close for his comfort.

  Trying not to let his movement bother her, she put on her brightest voice. ‘The chemical’s out back. Is your ute in the street out there?’ He nodded and glared like she’d asked something incredibly stupid. But he’d come in the front door, so how was she to know where he’d parked?

  They walked out back so she could open the yard gates and he could drive in to pick up the drums. Each of the five drums had to be heaved and carried over to the back of his ute. They weren’t light. It was twenty litres of chemical in a thick plastic container with a thick plastic handle that ate into her hand and rubbed against the raw blisters that hadn’t yet formed calluses. She bent her knees and lifted properly but, jeepers, that yard man couldn’t come quickly enough.

  She was on her own in the shop but a new employee was starting next week. It would be much easier when there was a yard man. She’d opened two weeks ago, expecting farmers would only be after advice this early in the season but after a heap of summer rain freshened up the weeds, chemical was more important than advice—and buying it locally saved them close on two hours for the round trip into Orange. Business was booming but her back was aching from shifting the huge drums of weedkiller.

  Lugging everything was doing her body in. And she claimed to be fit. Dulili didn’t have a gym but she ran regularly. Plus, the two weeks over Christmas when she’d cleaned, painted and stocked the shop had been their own workout. She’d been sure she could manage the lifting but every night as she lay in bed not only did her heart ache but every other muscle in her body did too. That was another thing they’d argued about—that the job was too tough for her. There was no way she’d ask Dad for his help, she’d bust her shoulder before that. Other blokes she might have asked for a hand but not him. She wasn’t going to prove his point.

  ‘How’s Mum?’ She tried not to gasp as she lugged the fifth drum over and stacked it on top of one of the others.

  ‘Fine.’ He breathed a huff that said so many words in itself. Words like, ‘you’d know that if you lived at home,’ or ‘you’d know that if you didn’t want to take on a man’s job.’

  He had no right to huff like that. If it was her choice she’d be living at Bullock Hill. After all the work she and Paul had put into her grandparents’ old house, she should be living there. But during the fight, her parents had claimed they’d donated the house to the town’s dollar housing scheme. She hoped it was just a threat, another way to try to force her to do what they wanted. Since she hadn’t heard that anyone had yet been allocated the property, she was pretty sure that was the case. If they thought taking her home away would make her change her mind about staying in Dulili, then they had to think again. She lived above the shop now, and planned to stay there until her parents relented.

  Working at the Ag Store wasn’t a man’s job. It wasn’t any different to working on the farm like Mum did, like she’d done in the past. Her Dad should know that.

  She stretched. Then stared right at his face. ‘I’m here now, Dad, and I’m not moving.’ He didn’t meet her gaze.

  His gruff snort was the only response, so she changed the subject from the personal to the agricultural. ‘They found Roundup-resistant ryegrass not too far from home, you know?’ When she looked up at him, his glare almost cut her in half. Well, that wasn’t the right thing to say. She thought he’d be interested. Obviously not, so she bit her tongue instead of saying more.

  She dropped the tailgate, lifted each of the five drums and plonked them on the tray. Then she pushed each drum to the front so they wouldn’t slide around too much. Her shoulders throbbed with every stretch.

  ‘Nothing wrong with it.’ He stabbed his finger at the last drum she pushed forwards.

  ‘I’m not saying anything’s wrong with using the chemical, Dad. All I’m saying is that there were resistant plants found near you. Maybe you should check to see if you have a good kill and test any plants that don’t die after you spray.’

  Another snort told her he wouldn’t do a damn thing. Stubborn bugger. She was only looking out for him.

  ‘I’ll come out and check for you. Just tell me when and where you spray and I’ll check in a couple of weeks.’ She closed up the back of the ute.

  He grunted. ‘Don’t bother.’ He walked to the driver’s door and opened it. He looked back, eyebrow cocked as if he’d asked her a question. He hadn’t, so she didn’t reply. He got in.

  ‘See you, Dad. Say hi to Mum for me.’ She waved to him, glad her voice was still bright and cheery. The ute started and he drove away. There was a prickle in the back of her eyes but it was just the dust. She rubbed at them with the back of her hands and headed into the shop.

  Damn parents. Why’d they want to push her around now, when she was struggling to get through each day without Paul? He’d always been a buffer between her and her folks. Her best friend and partner. Why they’d think that because her fiancé had been killed she’d be willing to change her life’s plans, she had no idea. She wasn’t changing anything. All she had left were their dreams and plans; living in Dulili, opening the Ag Store, and bringing hope back to the town. The store got her through each day.

  But she missed Paul. She missed his ideas, his laughter, and his presence in the world. Sure they hadn’t spent much time in the same country over the last four years but they always knew where the other was. They had mobile phones and computers and were always in touch—so long as you remained alive, you could keep in touch. Paul hadn’t managed to do that, despite promising he would.

  The first few months were the worst. Alicia wasn’t sure she could go on living without him but she had to sit exams, finish uni, get her degree. She did it all one day at a time. Not thinking of the future. When she had to go somewhere, she came back to Dulili and opened the shop. That had always been her dream and it was helping her cope.

  ***

  At 7.30 am on Monday morning, Lachlan arrived at the Dulili Ag Store ready to start his new job. It took him about ten minutes, even in the drizzle, to drive to town from the farmhouse he was renting for a dollar a week. The town committee had offered him a twelve-month lease, but he had only signed up for three months. Although he had savi
ngs, and was considering buying a property out here, he wanted to see if he was suited to a small town before he made an investment. So far he was glad of that decision. He’d arrived on Saturday to check out where he’d be living and the surrounding area. It took him five minutes to check out the town—and he was on foot. The main street had more empty shops than occupied ones and their peeling paint made them all look neglected. The pub and a café were the only places on the main street that looked like they ever opened. Even most of the dozen or so houses around town looked like they weren’t lived in, except for one block where the houses had a bit of life. They said the dollar scheme was to help rejuvenate the town: it seemed a hare-brained idea that had little chance of working because the place was well on its way to death. At least the farmhouse he’d been allocated was in better condition than a lot of places he’d lived, so that was a plus.

  He was here because the Ag Store had offered him a job after a phone interview. It had been an unexpected bonus after being successful with the farmhouse application. He’d not worked in retail before but it sounded like he’d be shifting stuff in the yard and he’d done plenty of that sort of work. If he hadn’t got this job, he’d have just hunted around for odd jobs in the town. He was pretty keen to try a retail job but when he’d checked the place out, it was as rundown as the rest of the buildings but today there was a new-looking mat at the door so at least someone was trying.

  A loud buzzer filled the silence when he opened the door. He cringed for a second before taking in his surroundings, looking around in surprise. The shop was welcoming. Newly painted, it looked and smelled clean but it was jammed packed full of stuff. So much, he couldn’t make head or tail of what was in there. Clothes and boots fought for space with hoses and vegetable seeds, ropes and chain competed with toilet paper and paint brushes. It looked like he’d have a full time job working out what all the stuff was, and putting it in some order. But who would use all this stuff? A smile came to his face when a woman about his age approached with a smile. ‘G’day,’ he said, ‘Lachlan Muirhead, here for work.’