The Farmer’s
PERFECT MATCH
MARILYN FORSYTH
www.harlequinbooks.com.au
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marilyn Forsyth would love to live in a world where everyone’s story has an ending as happy as those in her books. Her emotion-packed outback romances combine hunky heroes and huggable heroines with settings in some of Australia’s most remote and beautiful places.
When she’s not bunkered down in her peacock-blue writing cave creating unique characters for readers to fall in love with she can be found travelling with her other half, drawing and painting, or scouting local cafes in search of the perfect coffee and cake combo.
She has two grown sons and lives, surrounded by bush, with her husband (you may recognise him from some of her stories) in the foothills of a coastal village south of Sydney. She is also part-owner of a castle in Scotland. (Okay, okay, it’s only a one-square-foot plot in the castle grounds but, hey, it entitles her to be called ‘Lady Marilyn of Chaol Ghleann’.)
You can check out her website at marilynforsyth.com.au and her Facebook author page at facebook.com/Marilyn-Forsyth-Author. She also blogs regularly at breathlessinthebush.blogspot.com.au
For Mum (and Dad, rest in peace)
CONTENTS
About the Author
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
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER
1
Paradise Pearl Farm, The Kimberley, Western Australia
March 10
Evangeline Sinclair forced her gaze away from the stunning sunlit coastline stretching off into the distance and focused on the razor-cut profile of the man she’d met only moments ago. It might be too soon to be asking this but … only one way to find out.
‘So, Adam, what are you looking for in a wife?’
The cry of a lone tern was the only sound in the suddenly disconcerting silence of the homestead’s veranda.
Uh oh.
Tight fingers of panic squeezed at her chest. She’d been told to keep the show’s participants on tenterhooks with her questions—instinctive responses were more honest—but the gambit of the in-your-face opener may not have been the best move with this particular man, a man on whom the future of her career pretty much depended. Damn!
She sat still, resisting the urge to squirm. The question was intrusive, yes, but she wouldn’t give herself room to think about that. She might be new to this interviewing gig, but the bottom line was that she had a job to do here.
For several seconds Adam Armstrong chewed at his only discernible feature, his full-lipped mouth, before reaching up to remove the battered Akubra that had obscured his face. Then he turned the full force of two magnetic dark eyes on her. Evie found herself falling into velvet-brown depths so warm they sparked a spontaneous fire through every inch of her body.
WOW. Talk about knock your socks off.
Her exhalation was involuntarily loud. She squeezed her thighs together, telegraphing a tacit signal to her body: Don’t even think about it.
‘Look, Miss Sinclair, I—’
‘Please, call me Evie.’
‘Don’t beat around the bush, do you, Evie?’ When he spoke her name his voice was deliciously deep. Marshmallows melting in hot chocolate—warm and rich and creamy. She found herself licking her lips.
His hands were clasped loosely in his lap. The two thumbs beating a rapid tattoo against one another was the only sign he was not as comfortable as he might appear to anyone else, but Evie was good with the small signals, good at reading people. Her empathetic nature had landed her this godsend of a job, and what she was reading right this minute—the full lips pressed tightly together, the defensive tilt to those broad shoulders—was not promising.
Damage control time.
‘Too much, too soon?’ She flashed him her most reassuring smile.
The expression that crossed his handsome face was one of relief. ‘You got it.’
‘Here’s an easier one. Why are you looking for love?’
The muscles of his face flexed as he clenched his jaw. ‘Thought you said easier.’ Though he followed up with a brief laugh, the look in his dark eyes didn’t support it and the tone was accusatory. ‘See, I’m not good with … I don’t …’ He stared distractedly at her for a long moment then gave a helpless shrug.
‘Okay,’ she said, taking pity on his patent discomfort. ‘You don’t have to answer that.’
‘Thanks. Small mercies.’ He leaned back into the rattan chair that strained to encase his frame, a sigh of relief emerging from his impossibly appealing mouth.
She couldn’t seem to stop staring at his lips. They looked soft and generous and—whoa! She shook her head. Something was going wrong with her train of thought.
Was it the heat messing with her mind? She fanned her face with a hand. The sudden overheated air sucking her breath away might explain the inappropriate observations. Guilty lust over the star of the show was the last thing she needed to be feeling right now. She sipped at her iced water, attempting to collect herself. If it wasn’t the heat, maybe it was this morning’s four a.m. start, followed by the three-hour flight from Perth, then the interminably long drive out here from Broome. All her senses were swimming.
Fighting her way back into something resembling self-control, she smiled at him again. ‘Not so fast. You don’t have to answer that yet. But—’ she paused to drive home the point, ‘—you will have to in the next couple of days. In front of a camera. You need to think about what you want to say. Our viewers are going to be very interested in your answer.’
He stared at her for several seconds, his brows slowly drawing together as some form of understanding took hold. ‘I know this is gonna sound crazy, but this whole thing—putting myself out there on TV to find a partner—has just this second become real to me. I have to tell you, I’m kinda … nervous.’ There was a note of surprise in his voice.
She felt a fleeting twinge. If the poor guy only knew what was ahead of him over the next seven weeks. ‘My advice? Relax. Enjoy the ride.’
‘I’m not sure answering a heap of questions about what I’m thinking and how I’m feeling is something I’ll actually enjoy.’ He leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, and shook his mop of dark-brown hair. ‘Endure, more like.’
She couldn’t pull her eyes away from his gaze. The thinking taking place behind the liquid darkness of his eyes held her mesmerised. Those were eyes to get lost in, eyes to stare into for hours without the need for conversation, or even thought. Eyes that sent a strong current of heat rippling through her.
Man, this guy was not just hot, he was H.O.T. He was relationship-free. He was looking for love. And he was …
Not for her.
Strictly off-limits. Absolutely, totally taboo. That was all there was about it. Anyone this good-looking, anyone whose single look could trigger loss of control over a basic skill like breathing, was definitely not welcome to play any major role in her future. She’d learned that lesson.
A professional relationship—well, that was an
other matter. She hauled her mind back into interview mode. ‘I’m going to be up-front with you, Adam. Reality TV is an unreal situation. We’ve only just met, but I’m going to be asking you some very personal questions over the next few weeks. Revealing your deepest feelings is going to help our viewers get to know you. To like you. You get that, right?’
She watched his throat work as he cleared it. ‘Yeah. I’ve seen a similar program.’
‘Great. Although Perfect Mate is quite unique in its premise.’
He sat back. ‘That’s what the girls at the retirement home told me.’
What the…? ‘Sorry? Who?’
‘Later. Long story.’ Flashing perfect white teeth, he gave a quick grin, all country-boy charm. Right on cue, her heart sped up.
If her own reaction to this guy was anything to go by, man-weary as she was, the rest of Australia was going to love him. Experience told her he’d eat up the small screen the same way Ryan Gosling ate up the big one, and that could only result in sensational ratings. She was onto a winner at last.
‘You caught me by surprise,’ Adam said, interrupting her silent self-congratulation. ‘Y’see, out here, when people first meet they usually start with small talk. I thought we’d, you know, maybe share our views on the best way to achieve world peace, before you started smacking me over the head with the really big questions.’ His enactment of being stunned by a piece of four-by-two to the head made her laugh out loud.
‘Point taken.’ She grimaced, happy to laugh at herself. ‘I’ve been told I’m like a bull at a gate when I’m working on a project I’m fired up over. Sorry about that.’
‘It’s okay. I have things I’m passionate about, too.’
‘Such as?’
‘This farm. My work. My … family.’
His hesitation over the word ‘family’, the momentary shadow that flickered in those dark eyes, did not go unnoticed.
She curbed her first instinct—to probe further. Time enough for that once the cameras started rolling. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your farm?’
His whole face changed at the question. Pride flooded his eyes and a slow grin of genuine pleasure lifted the corners of his mouth. He leaned forward again in the chair, his voice taking on life. ‘Not bad, huh?’
Her gaze followed his, out through the riot of crimson bougainvillea draping from the corrugated-iron roof of the wraparound veranda, past the well-spaced palm trees that bordered an expanse of lush grass, out to where Ming-blue sky met a turquoise sea studded with tiny islands. Standing for a better view, she moved to the white-painted railing to inhale the salty air, loving the brackish tang in her nostrils. A well-worn path wound from the veranda of the sprawling homestead, down through windswept sand dunes to a wooden jetty and a crescent of beach strewn with rocks of all shapes, sizes and hues. The setting was film-set quality, the colours vibrant. The place was a postcard from heaven. What better showcase for the first series of Perfect Mate?
‘Paradise Pearl Farm. Easy to see where the name came from.’
He rose after her, coming to rest his rear against the railing. Standing a good head taller than her, he was long-limbed and powerfully built, and his easygoing body language spoke of a laid-back lifestyle.
‘My own little Garden of Eden. My, er, my … dad named it.’
The second hesitation in as many minutes at the mention of family was noted. A lot could be told from what a person didn’t say, and what this guy wasn’t saying about his family intrigued her.
The touch of something cold attracted her attention downward. An ancient dog sniffed at her sandalled toes. As she gave him a pat, he angled his head to one side in a ‘more, please’ gesture that made her giggle.
‘G’day, fella.’ She held out a hand and received a slobbery tongue-kiss.
‘Evie, meet Bitzer, the world’s ugliest dog.’ The words might have been harsh but Adam’s tone was affectionate.
And, on closer inspection, he was right. This had to be the ugliest dog she’d ever seen: thick brindle body, missing back leg, disproportionately small head. The lips seemed permanently peeled back from the teeth in a mock-malevolent grin, and a red tongue flopped sideways from his mouth.
‘Hey, Bitzer.’ The stump of a tail wagged frantically as she kneaded the scruff of his neck. ‘Appearances can be deceiving,’ she added, aiming for diplomacy.
And didn’t she know that for a fact.
Something in her tone must have given away her painfully hard-won belief in the truth of her words. Adam regarded her quizzically.
‘Later. Long story.’ Her echoing of his words made him laugh out loud. It was a good sound that rumbled up from the depths of his belly.
It seemed neither of them could stop grinning and although it only lasted a heartbeat it was a genuine connection. He’d felt it too, she could tell.
She smiled to herself. Houston, we have contact.
Adam bent his head to receive a wet lick of affection. Nothing and nobody beat a dog’s judgement of character; her estimation of the farmer rose higher. There was obviously more to him than a good-looking face and—she’d be blind not to notice—a perfect butt.
‘So, apart from Bitzer, you live here alone?’ She’d read his file, knew the answer, but needed to keep him talking, needed to build on the rapport developing between them.
‘Mum moved to Broome a couple of years back, after my … after Dad … passed away.’
‘It must get lonely out here.’
He breathed in deeply, a fleeting darker shadow behind his already night-dark eyes quickly masked. ‘Yep. The only real contact I have with anyone is during my monthly visits to town.’ He regarded her speculatively. ‘But you’re about to change that for me, aren’t you?’
She nodded. Their small production crew, of which Evie comprised a third, had arrived a few days early to set up, take location shots and get footage of Adam before the two female contestants came onto the scene. Neil Blake, the editor, and Cam Watson, the camera technician, were unloading equipment from the rented Land Rover while she took this opportunity to learn a little about the man on whom much of the success of their program rested.
‘That’s why we’re here,’ she assured him. ‘To help you find the love of your life.’
‘Great.’ The grin Adam flashed her was so open, so hopeful, that in that moment she would have given her right arm to make it happen.
He was so darn likable. Not to mention a director’s dream. He’d be a natural on camera; more than easy on the eye with his chiselled features and that nicely muscled bod. In person he had even more going for him. Something about his presence commanded respect, and it wasn’t only his impressive height. There was a strength to him that drew the eyes, an intense air of self-control.
A waft of spicy aftershave floated her way on the afternoon sea breeze and her eyes slid closed as she breathed it in. To top it off, he smelled damn good too.
Leaning back against the rail, she felt a dreamy smile pull at her lips. This lovely farmer was off-limits—for personal as well as professional reasons—not to mention way out of her league, but it didn’t hurt to fantasise, did it? About living out her very own Cinderella story. About being swept off her feet.
Not an easy thing to do with someone who stood five foot ten in bare feet, she conceded.
Unless you happened to be six inches taller, with solid shoulders and a clearly defined sixpack beneath that close-fitting T-shirt. Those arm muscles straining at the sleeves would have no difficulty lifting even her off her feet. Evie sighed and shook the vision away. She had to deal with reality here.
Adam was staring at her. Why was he staring at her? Uh oh. Please don’t let me have said any of that out loud.
‘Daydreaming. Professional hazard,’ she explained. ‘Did I miss something?’
As if he knew what she’d been thinking, he gave her a disarming grin and she found herself smiling along with him. Suddenly acutely self-aware, she felt the blood pounding so loud in her ears she c
ouldn’t think coherently. His close proximity was ridiculously distracting.
Get a grip, girl. Anyone would think you’d never come across a good-looking man before. A patently absurd notion; the television industry was peopled by the beautiful. Those who were on camera at least. Men like her ex.
She sat back down and breathed in deeply, forcing herself to relax. ‘Rule number one for interviewers: listen to your interviewee. How am I doing so far?’ She winced.
‘Fine,’ he said with a laugh in his voice, resuming his seat. ‘I said I reckon I’m ready for your questions now.’
‘Let’s do it!’ She leaned towards him. ‘I want to know why a guy like you is still single.’ She tried not to sound incredulous but it still came out that way.
He coughed uncomfortably and stared off into the distance, thumbs once again tap-tapping against one another. Then his face relaxed, as though he’d had a revelation. ‘The girls from the retirement home will tell you it’s ’cause my social skills are rusty. The only females within two hundred kilometres are of the animal variety.’ He chuckled. ‘And I’ll be damned if I’ll stoop to practising on animals.’
She laughed along with him. ‘Fair enough. Although I suspect you’re a natural-born flirt.’
‘You do? The lessons have paid off then.’
She found herself falling into the grin he tossed her. Willingly charmed. Until realisation hit that the peculiar talent she had for being taken in by charmers was one she could live without.
She roped her thoughts back in. The girls from the retirement home again? He made it sound like a harem. Flirting lessons? Clearly his idea of a joke.
Too many questions sprang to mind but she couldn’t risk overwhelming him. Better to stick to basics for the time being. ‘Come on, give. Why are you still single?’
A pensive look crept into his dark eyes. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, this is one of the most uninhabited places on earth,’ he said, newly serious. ‘Takes a special sort of person to handle this level of isolation.’
‘One thing I can tell you is that both the young women due in a few days have said they love the idea of living on a farm, albeit a pearl farm.’
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