The Farmer's Perfect Match

by Marilyn Forsyth

  ‘Oh, right. I remember now.’ She turned away to spit, rubbed the inside of the glass delicately with a finger then handed the mask to him.

  Her baby-blues remained disconcertingly fixed on his face as he pulled the mask down, settling the nose piece immediately below her nostrils. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Perfect.’ She stroked his arm.

  He didn’t quite know what to make of Chrissy. Her wide-eyed vulnerability aroused his protective instincts. But while one minute he felt the need to look after her because she was so completely naive, the next he felt she was hiding something. The contradictions were, nonetheless, intriguing.

  Meg, on the other hand, was an open book. Miss Congeniality. Caring nature, good looks and a fun-loving personality, overflowing with exuberance. His dad would’ve loved her.

  And then there was Evie.

  His dad would have loved her too. Not as riotously outgoing as Meg, she was still a force of high-voltage energy. The relentless enthusiasm she brought to the job every day had enough power to supply the entire north-western grid. Her directness could be bludgeon-like, but the way she delivered it, in her soft-spoken manner, made it almost impossible not to respond. At times during their interview sessions she was uncomfortably perceptive, leaving him drained from the effort of trying to sort out his feelings. But every morning it was those sessions he looked forward to most.

  ‘Adam, everyone’s ready.’ Cam’s voice pulled him from the reflections.

  He bowed from the waist. ‘Ladies first. Oh, and to be on the safe side, stick to port side, away from the panels. There’ve been sightings of a giant oyster crocodile round here.’

  ‘If anything happens I’ll have it on tape,’ Cam assured him, with a conspiratorial wink.

  ‘Good. That’ll be handy if there’s an inquest.’

  The slap on the back he gave Cam sent the man stumbling. Meg, laughing uproariously, put out a hand to steady him.

  ‘What? What do you mean?’ demanded Chrissy.

  ‘Last one in’s a piker,’ yelled Evie. Three bodies raced to fling themselves off the side of the pontoon.

  When Adam came up for air, Chrissy was lowering herself gingerly over the side. ‘Wait for me.’

  He couldn’t read her face behind the mask, but her hesitant movements and plaintive tone made her concern at getting into the water obvious. The others had got his little joke, but it had missed its mark with her.

  ‘Coming?’ Meg called out to him.

  ‘Soon. Stay within sight of each other, okay?’

  Meg and Evie nodded.

  Stricken with an attack of the guilts at having caused Chrissy discomfort, he waited for her to enter the water. She was his guest, after all; making her stay enjoyable had to be a number one priority. That was country code.

  He’d almost lost it with the crab-on-the-oyster incident. Only a vice-like hold on the muscle at the corner of his mouth had prevented a fully fledged guffaw. Hopefully he’d been attentive enough to distract her from seeing everyone else’s amusement. No one liked the feeling of being made fun of, even if it wasn’t done in a mean-spirited way.

  If his mother was here she’d have been disappointed in him for even thinking it amusing. Respect for others was one of the top three on her list of must-haves.

  Fully immersed in the water at last, Chrissy stretched out a hand. His guilty conscience wouldn’t allow anything other than automatic acceptance of the interweaving of her fingers with his. And, to be honest, it felt kind of nice to have her put her trust in him like that.

  ‘It was a joke, Chrissy. Giant oyster croc. No such thing,’ he assured her.

  Her answering smile warmed him.

  ‘Come on, give me something worth filming. I need action, not talking.’ Cam’s voice came from above.

  Happy to oblige, given the situation, Adam inserted his mouthpiece, dipped his face below the surface and began flippering slowly back and forth, Chrissy still holding tight to his hand.

  Below, he could see Evie and Meg exploring the plantation of sea-greenery that waved and swayed in time with the constant current, pointing out to each other the tiny, multi-hued fish darting between bursts of brilliantly coloured coral. He savoured the sight of Evie’s mermaid-graceful movements in the silence of the blue-green watery world until, catching sight of him, she held up two thumbs to indicate her approval of his underwater garden.

  Anxious to join her, he took a deep breath and dived. A split-second later, a panicked tug on his hand returned him to awareness. He still had hold of Chrissy. Immediately he reversed direction.

  As she hit the surface beside him, Chrissy yanked the snorkel from her mouth, coughing and spluttering up sea water. Turning her onto her back in the rescue position, Adam supported her chin with a hand while pulling with his other arm for the pontoon.

  ‘Help me get her out,’ he yelled at Cam.

  The man stood holding the camera, pointing down at them. ‘I can’t. You know that.’ He continued to film them.

  ‘What?’ Adam’s disbelief was close to murderous.

  ‘Sorry, mate. You need to get her out yourself or the footage is useless.’

  Meg rose to the surface beside him. ‘Let me help.’

  Between them they hoisted Chrissy’s limp, still-spluttering body from the water and laid her on the deck. When Adam pulled off the mask she responded with a grunt. He rolled her over and, kneeling beside her, gave her a thump between the shoulder blades. Sea water gushed from her mouth.

  ‘Grab a bottle of water,’ he ordered. Meg scrambled away.

  He turned Chrissy onto her back and pushed away the wet strands of blonde hair clinging to her pale face. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m going to be sick,’ she said and groaned weakly.

  Overwhelming relief swept over him. At least she was conscious and capable of talking. Nausea was to be expected.

  He lifted her head, cupped a hand around her mouth and poured some bottled water between her lips. ‘Rinse and spit. That’s it. Now take a drink.’

  She did as she was told, all the time gazing up at him out of her wide blue eyes. The look of innocent trust cut him to the core. If his mind had been in the right place, focused on this woman instead of the one who would never be his, this wouldn’t have happened.

  He cast a brief look around, noting Evie had climbed back on deck. She stood next to Cam, watching the proceedings with a look of alarm on her lovely face. If she’d been filming, she would’ve stopped to help him, for sure. She wouldn’t ignore a plea for help, despite precious footage being lost. It wasn’t in her nature.

  ‘I feel a bit better,’ said Chrissy, interrupting his thoughts, bringing them back to her.

  ‘That’s a relief. We’d better get you back home, where you can rest up.’ A bit of tender care was the least he could offer her after nearly drowning her.

  He helped her to her feet, supporting her tiny frame until she was able to stand on her own. But before he could let go, her arms came around his neck and she kissed him. Full on the mouth.

  ‘Thank you,’ she breathed into his lips.

  Somehow his fingers found their way to settle on her slim hips. Her skin was warm and soft to the touch and it did weird things to his insides. ‘Um … sure.’

  He caught Evie’s eye as he hastily dropped his hands. The look on her face was one of … disapproval? He wiped away the sea water that trickled into his eyes and looked again. A remote blankness was all he detected before she turned her attention to Cam.

  ‘And the patient made a miraculous recovery,’ said Meg, bustling over to wrap Chrissy up in a towel. She led her off to get changed.

  ‘The built-in mike has picked up most of the sound,’ Cam was telling Evie as Adam strode towards them. Both sets of eyes were fixed on the camera screen, obviously replaying the scene.

  Self-control was not something he relinquished easily but, man, he was pissed. He thrust his face into the cameraman’s. ‘What woul
d you have done if she’d been unconscious? If she’d been seriously hurt?’

  Cam regarded him with ill-concealed surprise. ‘Just doing my job, mate.’

  ‘You’re upset.’ Evie stepped between them. ‘Understandably,’ she added, her hands gesturing for him to calm down.

  But he wasn’t ready to calm down. ‘You would’ve helped me!’ he insisted.

  The look she gave him was a warning not to go there.

  ‘Cam did what he had to do, and you know it. Neil explained all this to you before we started filming.’

  ‘The whole fly-on-the-wall thing, yeah I know, but—’

  ‘But nothing.’ She interrupted him, speaking calmly and reasonably. ‘Cam has to capture it all without being seen to be there. If we get involved our audience won’t get a true feel for what you’re going through. They want to see that raw human emotion.’ He heard her draw in a breath, watched her throat move; she obviously wasn’t as composed as she appeared. Not that it stopped her from uttering the next words. ‘Keeping out of it is our job.’

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Evie, the soul of heartfelt compassion, was defending Cam’s heartless response to the emergency. What was going on with her?

  He walked away. Tossing the snorkelling gear strewn over the deck into a large bucket eased his frustration—a little. He couldn’t help but be aware of Evie, gathering up the towels, tentatively making her way in his direction.

  ‘I know you didn’t want to hear that, Adam, but it needed saying. Cam’s a pro. You can’t fault him for doing his job.’ She looked at him, face to face, her hazel eyes challenging him to tell her she was wrong.

  Unable to meet the directness of her gaze, he let his own slide, staring instead at the space between them. He didn’t want to hear excuses. Not from her.

  ‘You wouldn’t have stood by and just watched.’ His eyes returned to her, awaiting acknowledgement that his point of view was valid.

  This time it was her eyes that slid away. After a long hesitation, she drew her shoulders back, clearly having come to some internal decision. ‘I’m sorry but you’re wrong. I wouldn’t have helped. I couldn’t. It would have been totally unprofessional.’

  He felt the words like a knife. His stomach clenched and his mouth went dry. Of all the things she might have admitted to him, this was the most unexpected. He breathed in deeply.

  She swallowed hard and glanced sideways at him. He searched her face for the truth in her words. Her green-brown eyes mirrored his feeling of hurt.

  Something not quite genuine was going on here. Why was she pretending to be someone she wasn’t? He wasn’t fooled by the show of indifference. Not for one minute. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  They were standing close, so close he could have reached out and caressed her face. The tension in his body needed a release and he had to fight the urge to take her in his arms. Kiss her senseless. As if reading his mind and wary of what might happen, Evie backed away.

  ‘You need to be realistic, Adam.’ Her voice took on an impatient tone. ‘If my approach is hard for you to take, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it.’ She faltered for a moment. ‘Please understand, going with my gut instinct is not an option here. I’ve got a job to do.’

  Her words struck home. This might be his life they were recording but, when all was done and dusted, it was just a strategic career move for Evie.

  Was this what it took for him to accept that? Judging by the pressure in his throat and the ache in his chest, maybe it was. He quashed the wave of self-pity before it took hold.

  ‘Thank you for pointing out your obligations,’ he said, laying on the politeness. ‘I’ll try to be more … realistic.’

  Her only response was a guarded nod of acknowledgement as she left him to return to Cam’s side.

  Much as he hated to admit it, Evie was right. He did have to deal in realities. The first step was to accept that she was not interested in him romantically. And even if, by some ridiculous chance, she did have any feelings for him, the career she chased left no space for a relationship with someone tied to a place he could never even consider leaving.

  Second step: face the fact that he had a choice to make between two other, undeniably beautiful, women. Today’s incident had taught him a lesson—he needed to focus his attention exclusively on Chrissy and Meg. Although the necessity of hurting one of them, in making his eventual choice, was yet another thing doing his head in.

  He kicked at the coil of rope at his feet. It was all too hard. He didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to feel. Needed to escape.

  He felt totally out of his depth. Life had never been more confusing. It’d been so much easier when his biggest decision on any given day was whether to wear boardies or budgie-smugglers. Here it was, only days into the shooting schedule and already doubts about the wisdom of his decision to take part in the series tore at his mind. What the hell had he got himself into?

  More importantly, was there any way he could get himself out?

  CHAPTER

  8

  ‘You and I need to talk, Blake.’ Adam stood at the door to what had been his mother’s bedroom, currently in use as the editing room. ‘In private.’

  ‘Give me a second.’ The editor disappeared momentarily before returning to re-open the door. He seemed put out as he plonked himself down on his chair. ‘You have one minute.’

  Adam remained standing and, as briefly and dispassionately as he could, laid it all out. His disgust at being left to drag Chrissy onto the pontoon while the camera kept rolling. The issues he was having with the girls and himself being treated as means to an end rather than real people. The doubts he was feeling about his involvement with the program.

  Blake frowned and nodded as he listened, but his gaze kept shifting around the room, often fixing on the ensuite door behind Adam. At the finish he sat in silence for several seconds before smiling in a conciliatory manner.

  ‘I see where you’re coming from.’ Then his smile downgraded to one of lukewarm detachment. ‘But Cam did exactly what his job requires. Rule number one on any RTV shoot—no interference from the crew.’

  ‘What if Chrissy had been seriously hurt?’

  ‘She wasn’t.’

  ‘Not the point.’

  ‘Yes it is, Adam. It’s not like there’s a script to follow. Recording every minute of drama, pathos, conflict—whatever—as it’s happening, that’s what this game is about.’

  ‘This game is my life.’

  ‘No one twisted your arm to sign up for it.’

  He flinched involuntarily. Much as he hated hearing it, the guy was right.

  ‘I didn’t realise it’d be this invasive. It feels like I’m in a—a human zoo.’

  Neil raised his palms in the air. ‘That’s reality television for you, buddy. No apologies. You want sympathy, go talk to Evie.’

  The throwaway remark irritated him disproportionately. Why was this man so dismissive of Evie’s role here? She seemed to be the only one who gave a damn about any of them. He could feel the anger building, the pressure pulsing like the air before a lightning storm. He folded his arms across his chest to conceal his agitation.

  ‘Speaking of Evie, what stance did she take on this?’ There was a cutting edge to Neil’s voice.

  ‘She backed up Cam.’

  ‘Good. The talk we had about professionalism must have had some effect.’

  Adam immediately jumped to her defence. ‘I told you last night, she’s been nothing but businesslike in her dealings with me.’ More’s the pity.

  ‘There’s a fine line between friendly and over-friendly. And in my opinion she crosses it too often.’

  Adam persisted. ‘I like her friendliness.’

  The editor leaned forward in his chair, his gaze annoyingly drifting back and forth between Adam and the ensuite door. ‘Everyone does. Evie’s a good kid with a lot of potential. But this is a callous business and she’s my protégé. The sooner she learns detachment, the
better off she’ll be.’

  The idea of Evie having to forgo something so much a part of her, just to make it in an industry as soulless as Neil made it out to be, was intolerable. ‘You really think that?’ Adam asked, barely managing to be civil.

  Blake leaned back in the chair, arms behind his head, the picture of smug superiority. ‘I know it.’

  No longer prepared to put up with this man’s patronising attitude, and no good at acting as if he was, Adam came out with it. ‘I don’t want to go on with the program.’

  Neil’s reaction was straight down the line. ‘You have no choice. You signed a contract.’

  Resenting the automatic rebuff but still trying for self-possession, Adam bit down on his annoyance. ‘There must be some agreement we can come to.’

  ‘There isn’t.’

  Finally goaded into responding, Adam demanded, ‘What if I refuse to continue?’

  ‘The network will sue.’

  What the…? ‘On what grounds?’

  Neil barked a brief, humourless sound. ‘Breach of contract.’

  Adam’s stomach clenched at the flat delivery. He closed his eyes in a ridiculous attempt to shut the words out. When that didn’t work he shook his head fiercely, trying to clear the information from his brain.

  Keeping his voice level took an almighty effort of will. ‘Even if the show hasn’t gone to air yet?’

  The editor snorted his derision. ‘The network has ensured all the media, social and otherwise, is buzzing with chatter about our series. I can tell you now, Perfect Mate is being talked about as potentially the biggest hit of the ratings season.’

  ‘I can’t imagine that “being talked about” is a guarantee of success.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ stated Neil, his irritatingly level gaze directed at Adam over the black rims of his glasses. ‘Favourable chatter generated in any media equals high ratings. That equals big advertising bucks. The station execs are not going to let that sort of money fly out the window without a fight. Do you really think you’d stand a chance if you took them on?’

  The threat implicit in the words took a minute to sink in. If the station did sue, it would make life very difficult for him. Every cent he had was tied up in the farm. He’d be forced to sell his only asset to cover the cost of even going to court. And if he lost …