The House On Burra Burra Lane

by Jones, Jennie

  The House on Burra Burra Lane

  Jennie Jones

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  A dilapidated house, a city girl looking for a tree change, and a rugged vet with a past. Just another day in rural Australia ...

  Just ten days after her fresh start in the isolated Snowy Mountains, Samantha Walker trips over a three hundred pound pig and lands in the arms of Dr Ethan Granger—and the firing line for gossip. It was hardly a ‘date’ but sparks of the sensual kind are difficult to smother in a community of only eighty seven people. Now there’s a bet running on how long she’ll stay and what she’ll get up to while she’s in town.

  Ethan has his own issues—Sammy’s presence in his childhood home brings with it painful recollections of family scandals and a bad boy youth. When the gossip around them heightens, his life is suddenly a deck of cards spread on the table for all to see. Then Sammy’s past catches up with her … and it looks like all bets are off.

  About the Author

  Born and brought up in Wales, Jennie loved anything with a romantic element from the age of five. At eighteen, she went to drama school in London then spent a number of years performing in British theatres, becoming someone else for two hours, eight shows a week.

  Jennie wrote her first romance story at the age of twenty five whilst ‘resting’ (a theatrical term for out of work). She wrote a western and sent it off to Mills & Boon in the UK who politely and correctly declined. She put writing to one side after that and took a musical theatre job. Which brings Jennie to her favourite quotation: ‘Fate keeps on happening.’ —Anita Loos.

  When Jennie’s life changed and a new country, marriage and motherhood beckoned, she left acting and the UK.

  She now lives in a log house in Western Australia, a five minute walk to the beach that she loves to look at but hardly ever visits due to there being too much sand. (Sand is like glitter; once it gets between your toes, you keep finding it in the house for months.)

  Jennie returned to writing three years ago. She says it keeps her artistic nature dancing and her imagination bubbling. Like acting, she can’t envisage a day when writing will ever get boring.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you Escape Publishing and Harlequin for launching me on this journey.

  Writing isn’t a job, it’s a creative endeavour a writer willingly grasps in order to give to others, and regardless of the image of writers secluded in their writing-cell and appearing introvert and perhaps eccentric, this is not the case—well, not always. It takes many people to write a book, or rather, the writer needs patience and understanding from those around her in order to write a book. Fortunately, I received both in abundance.

  Thank you to all those who encouraged and taught me — your views were insightful and sent this story on its way.

  And in the spotlight, my two stars: thank you John and Liz for making dinner so often over the last year while I shut myself in my study, and for being as enthusiastic about the venture your wife and mother has undertaken as much as the writer herself is. Please keep the barbeque meals, the camaraderie and the humour flowing. Wife/mother/author finds it all delicious.

  For my nan, Jennie Jones

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Also Available from Escape Publishing…

  One

  Samantha Walker didn’t want to add some sensuality issue to her bucket of problems. She’d only been in town ten days and the bucket was practically overflowing. But the flutter in her belly was of the exhilarating variety, and wouldn’t go away.

  Dr Granger, the tower of manhood creating this disturbance, lifted Sammy’s burly ginger cat onto the examination table, then cast an enquiring look at Sammy.

  That summer-blue gaze was the second thing she noticed about him when she ran into his surgery, hurling the cat box at him when she stumbled over the pig in reception. Stunned by the breadth of him. The man, not the pig—although the pig was pretty big.

  ‘What’s your cat’s name, Miss Walker?’

  ‘Duke,’ Sammy said, tightening her stomach muscles.

  Desire, at this point in her life, was as unexpected as the man in the moon asking her to dinner. She wasn’t even going to think about her drab attire, tangled hair and weariness. If she’d known she was going to meet a rugged, powerful looking vet at ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning, she would have changed her T-shirt. At least.

  Dr Granger smelled of tree bark, fresh air, and sawdust. Please don’t let her smell like the twenty chickens it had taken so long to catch earlier. She’d lived in New South Wales, Australia, all her life, but not the country parts. Everything was so … rural. Entirely different to what she’d envisioned when she left the energetic rush of Sydney.

  Swallow’s Fall, the Snowy Mountains. Population eighty six on the sign. Eighty seven with Sammy, but no-one had changed the curvaceous six to a diagonal seven. No point complaining, they were difficult numbers to fudge, even for her—and she was an artist.

  She glanced at Dr Granger’s strong, ring-less fingers, then took her gaze off the capable bachelor hands. She was single by the sheer grace of her newly acquired independence and there wasn’t a man on earth who was going to change that.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ Dr Granger asked.

  His voice was a symphony of bass notes which made her want to listen harder and breathe in more. ‘I’m a little stressed,’ she said, looking into his blue eyes. ‘Because of my chickens.’

  His brow rose. ‘Did you bring chickens too?’

  ‘No. They’re at home.’

  The immediate creases on his tanned face suggested a smile. He turned to the table, took hold of the scruff of Duke’s neck and checked the feline’s gums.

  Sammy took the opportunity for a deeper review of the veterinary situation.

  Dr Granger’s navy cotton shirt was wrinkled down the length of his well-developed back and tucked haphazardly into the belted waistband of dark blue jeans. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up showing forearms capable of handling rampant bulls, and a stethoscope around his neck. It hung loosely against the shirt collar. His sandy hair skimmed the back, a little tousled, as though the wind had caught hold of it.

  ‘Have you noticed any signs of anxiety?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I’m fine.’ She’d dashed from city to country; hadn’t found her feet yet. The ten acre homestead she owned needed more restoration than suggested by the photos. The pile of tools in her shed were stacked so high she’d need a manual to figure out which did what, but determination sat between her shoulder blades like a backpack of courage.

  She would be a cultivator of the land and accept all countrified things that came her way. Snow, drought, isolation, wombats, wingless cockroaches—

  ‘Duke seems fine too,’ Dr Granger said. ‘What are your concerns?’

  About herself? Sammy grimaced. That was a long list.

  She gave herself a mental kick. Irrepressible. Reckless. That’s who Sammy was. Goodbye hurt and jaded Samantha, tied to those around her and never pleasing.

  ‘He wanders from sunrise to sunset,’ she s
aid. ‘He did that in the city too but down here there’s more space to get lost in.’ Duke wasn’t used to the country either. ‘I kept him inside for a week so he’d acclimatise, and now he doesn’t want to come home to me.’

  Dr Granger’s mouth curved, ever so slightly. ‘I can’t imagine why,’ he said softly.

  Oh that wasn’t fair. Look at him, just look at him! Warhorse height, body indestructible with strength, and the planes on his face a fascination of intelligence and warmth.

  Impossible he was flirting. She was dusty and dirty …

  ‘I’m worried about him,’ she said. ‘He’s my only friend.’ Without Duke she’d be on her own. ‘My chickens aren’t overly fond of conversation, Dr Granger.’ The men she knew were tailored and immaculate, governing their office worlds with a snazzy smile and slotting into the sophisticated wine bars with sharp, boys-only jokes. The vet surpassed anything she thought of as commonplace.

  Dr Granger swept his gaze around her face, his smile not full-blown but getting there. ‘Ethan,’ he told her.

  It was hardly more than a quirk of a muscle next to his wide mouth but a girl could linger in the comfort. She plucked at the hem of her T-shirt. It had been clean at 7 am but it had taken over two hours to catch the chickens and tie the broken coop together, so when Duke came home she’d grabbed him and run.

  ‘I’m sorry about the pig,’ she said, recalling the inquisitive face of its owner. ‘I hope I didn’t hurt him.’

  ‘That’s Ruby.’ Dr Granger straightened. ‘She’s a three hundred pound Landrace pig. It’s unlikely she even felt you.’

  Three hundred pounds? ‘The woman had her on a lead.’ Interesting idea, if you had the right temperament in a pig.

  ‘Mrs Johnson, Ruby’s owner,’ Dr Granger said, checking Duke’s undercarriage.

  ‘I haven’t met everyone yet. I just arrived.’

  ‘Ten days.’

  ‘Yes! How did you know?’

  He paused, gazed at her again. ‘It’s a small town, Miss Walker.’

  More like a wilderness. Sammy looked down at her grass-stained track pants. The soil was easy to fork and turn which was good, considering her ten acres were covered in weeds, but what sort of statement did she make? ‘Perhaps I should have changed,’ she murmured.

  ‘We take our newcomers as we find them.’

  Some relief then.

  ‘Although you’re the first in eighteen years so you might attract some attention.’

  Oh, great. She fought a sudden giddiness. Shouldn’t have skipped breakfast, but those chickens were feisty buggers.

  She ran a hand through her hair. Morelly’s hardware store had been her main source of interaction with people so far. She was on, ‘How’s your day going?’ terms with young Mr Morelly, although why he was labelled ‘young’ she had no idea—he had to be sixty. She’d met a few townspeople at the post office counter in the grocer’s where she collected the bigger parcels of her artwork from a Sydney fashion house. She hadn’t completely run away; she still needed an income.

  She breathed deeply, and glanced around the room.

  There was no surgical impact, apart from scrubbed white bench tops and the examination table. No medicinal or animal smells lingered on the jarrah furniture: the desk, the filing cabinet and the large bookcase overflowing with hardback volumes, paperback publications and stacked magazines.

  She looked through the window to the High Country farmland, dotted with snow gum trees, their wide branches spread to the sky, freed from the weight of winter’s heavy snow. Eucalyptus leaves spiralled in the spring breeze.

  The landscape blurred suddenly: a kaleidoscopic haze. She caught hold of the table.

  Dr Granger picked Duke up, plopped him quickly into the cat box, locked the lid, then cupped his hands beneath Sammy’s elbows. ‘All right. I’ve got you.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She grabbed his arms, forced smaller breaths until the turbulence washed away. ‘Don’t know what came over me.’

  ‘Miss Walker, is there a chance you might be pregnant?’

  She stuttered a laugh. ‘I sincerely hope not.’ That would keep her chained to Oliver for the rest of her life. ‘Anyway, it’s been too long …’ She closed her mouth. Fast.

  Dr Granger cleared his throat.

  ‘I missed breakfast,’ she told him, getting the subject off sex.

  ‘I see.’ He licked his top lip. ‘Well, there’s some colour in your face now.’

  That might be the heat of him from beneath his navy shirt. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’

  ‘I don’t scare easily.’ He cocked an eyebrow, grinned. ‘This happens to me all the time.’

  ‘I bet.’ She smothered a laugh as a vision of the townswomen came to the fore, all fainting in front of him so he could catch them in his bull-grip arms.

  ‘Actually,’ he said, looking at something over her shoulder, ‘you are a bit of a surprise.’

  ‘Oh believe me, so are you.’

  He darted his gaze back to hers.

  ‘I mean … you don’t look like a doctor.’

  ‘That’s because I’m a vet.’

  Such serious reflection, agreeable disarray and calm strength of mind. Did he have any idea how appealing the mixture was? ‘Don’t vets have white coats?’

  He paused, narrowed his eyes.

  ‘A white coat would make you the perfect specimen for a woman’s romantic inclinations.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  A friend had once tried to get her hitched up with an intern. Then Oliver had come on the scene and put an end to that. But her ex-fiancé’s manipulative behaviour wasn’t something she wanted to think about whilst so close to Dr Granger’s contemplative blue gaze.

  ‘Where was I?’ she asked.

  ‘Your romantic inclinations towards me.’

  She laughed, shrugged from his hold. ‘I meant other women’s. They probably dream about you in your white coat, you know.’ If not, he could count on one for tonight. ‘It’s that attraction to authority thing, I think.’

  His smile curved like the bend in the river at the back of her property, slow and certain.

  ‘I’m not sure where our conversation is going, Miss Walker, but I think you’re feeling better.’

  Sammy stepped back. He didn’t want to laugh, apparently. Okay. Horrible when people pushed a person into something they didn’t want to do. ‘I do feel better. I can take huge breaths and stay upright.’ She heaved one in to prove it.

  He nodded, and turned. He picked up a pen at the counter along the wall and wrote something in a file. ‘Your feline friend is fine,’ he said. ‘He’s doing what cats do. You, however, ought to see a real doctor.’

  ‘No need. I’m getting up earlier and working harder than ever before, that’s all. And I just … oh, I don’t know … ’ He probably had a big, rumbling laugh. A real man’s laugh. ‘It’s this country air,’ she said, a grin sneaking up on her mouth. ‘There’s so much of it.’

  Ethan hesitated, unsure if he should let his laugh loose or not. Was she goading him? She’d been trying to prise the smile from him; he’d caught onto that, although at a snail’s pace.

  ‘You must think I’m a fruit loop,’ she said, and laughed as she swung a mass of rich brown hair over her shoulders. The colour matched the freckles sprinkled on her cheekbones. A couple danced on her nose too, or maybe it was just dust.

  ‘Well,’ he said with a spontaneity that seemed to have caught a ride with his smile. ‘You’re a very attractive fruit loop.’

  Her eyes widened.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I was …’ He rolled his hand. ‘You know, playing along.’ He picked up the paperwork and slid it into a manila folder. Find some sense, man.

  She clasped her hands together. ‘I didn’t mean to be impolite. And I hope you don’t think I was flirting. I wouldn’t do that. I’m new in town.’

  Didn’t he know it. She had a ruffled but natural flair about her, elegance even, regardless of the work clothes. Her
T-shirt was the colour of apricots, with the word FRESH splashed across the front. The shirt sat a little skewed on her torso and he was trying his damndest not to concentrate on the curves beneath the letters R and H.

  There was something mischievous about the tilt of her chin. Stubborn too perhaps, and no matter how long it had been, he was pretty sure he still recognised flirting. But he wasn’t going to ask her out, however tempting. She lived here, for the moment anyway. He hadn’t placed a bet although there was a wager in town on how long she’d stay, but she wouldn’t know about that. He wasn’t going to get close enough to tell her. Ethan Granger didn’t go down romantic tracks that wound close to home. He’d had to remind himself of this every few seconds since she’d launched at him over the pig, and in particular when she’d been practically in his arms.

  He glanced down at his jeans. What was wrong with him? Dr Granger hadn’t been down romantic tracks in years.

  He brushed some dirt off his thigh. He hadn’t had time to clean up after leaving a broodmare at the Smyth farm, when he’d been called back to the surgery for Ruby and a strange conversation about his white coat.

  He pushed the front tail of his shirt further into his jeans. ‘I apologise for being a bit untidy. I assure you I’m definitely a vet, but I’m a carpenter too. Furniture when I get the chance, but I also fix people’s porches, verandas and the like.’

  ‘I’ve got a terrible porch, it’s falling to bits,’ she said with immediate interest.

  ‘I know.’ Keep mind in tune and gaze off FRESH.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  A knot tied itself in his stomach. ‘The house has been empty for a long time.’

  ‘That’s why I bought it. It was cheap.’

  He lifted the cat box by its plastic handle and motioned she accompany him into the small reception area.

  Ruby snuffled at the floor, her bulbous white body quivering in her harness as she found something interesting to sniff at.

  Dog pee, Ethan thought, nodding at Mrs Johnson, who had Ruby’s lead linked in her fingers. ‘I’ll only be a moment, Mrs Johnson.’