She was still smiling when the back of the line caught up with Blair, all her charges now milling with the herd and cornered in one section of the paddock.
‘What a ride.’ She joined him in the shade of a mandarin tree. It looked a lot like the thorny one in their backyard that, as a child, she’d watched growing, impatient for the juicy fruit to get big enough to pick.
Desperate to wash the dust out of her mouth with a sweet, juicy mandarin, Nina picked one and pierced the skin with her thumbnail sending a spray of citrus oil into the air. She peeled it, broke the small fruit into four and popped a piece into her mouth anticipating the sweet explosion she remembered.
‘Pfft!’ She spat, shuddered and grabbed her throat. ‘What the hell kind of mandarin is that?’
‘African lime tree, but well done.’ Blair looked amused, offering her his flask. ‘Some locals never acquire a taste for them.’
‘Very funny.’ She snatched the bottle and smiled back. ‘It is water?’
‘Yes, direct from the heavens and that’s all, I promise. Come on, drink up. I’ll race you back and buy you a beer.’
Chapter 46
Beer O’Clock
Blair twisted the lid off a beer stubby, passed it to Nina and dropped to the top step of the restaurant deck overlooking the river. Dusk had brought a flurry of bird activity and all kinds of species darted in and out of the trees, preparing for nightfall. Despite darkening skies, the meandering creek remained optimistically blue, the row of upturned kayaks adding a rainbow of colour to the bank.
‘What are you smiling about, Nina?’
‘Today’s excursion on the bike confirmed the true reason they’re referred to as quad bikes and it’s not because they have four wheels. It’s because after an hour on one your quads are never quite the same again. Can you not see I’m walking like John Wayne?’ She sauntered back and forth over the veranda.
‘Not sure I’ve ever seen him walk that way.’
‘Wow, and I thought riding a horse was hard on the legs.’ She eased herself onto the same step as Blair with a groan, then followed his gaze skyward to the early moon.
‘Bikes are quicker and easier, not to mention more predictable,’ he explained.
‘Not so sure I agree about the predictability, although droving is quite enjoyable on a bike. I’d even do it again, not tomorrow, but I definitely enjoyed the experience.’
‘We refer to the process as mustering.’
‘Droving, mustering.’ Nina shrugged, ignoring his smirk. ‘All the same to me and I had fun.’
‘And I appreciated the help.’ Blair sipped his beer. ‘Those hands of yours are stronger than they look. But that graze looks nasty.’ Blair turned the wound on her forearm into the fading sunlight and traced a line with his thumb. ‘You need antiseptic and plasters.’
With Blair’s touch adding a pinch of awkwardness to the moment, Nina’s hands busied themselves in the mess of loose hair that had fallen from her single plait. ‘What I need is to wash off the dust. I’m sure you would’ve been done faster if I hadn’t got the bike stuck on the way home.’
‘Two of us still managed the job in half the time. Only thing to do tomorrow is sort the heifers into different paddocks, but I’ll have staff back on deck by then, so you’re off the hook.’
‘What happens after they’re sorted?’
‘They wait.’
Nina was intrigued. ‘For what?’
‘The bulls,’ Blair said. ‘First I test the boys to make sure they have what it takes, then let them into the paddock with the girls.’
‘You’re being serious?’ Nina whipped around to inspect his face for the teasing grin she was getting used to. It wasn’t there. ‘You mean…?’
‘Yep!’ Blair nodded. ‘Those boys go into the paddock all bull, get on with their business and come out looking like wrung-out tea towels.’
‘So I helped bring the girls in to be mated?’ Nina’s shoulders sagged. ‘I feel like a pimp.’
Blair chuckled. ‘Not quite the same thing.’
‘I suppose that makes a paddock every bloke’s dream.’
‘To be born a bull and chucked into a paddock full of females? Ha!’ Blair snorted. ‘Not mine. Not every bull gets to live the dream. Most end up castrated. And if you are a bull and you’ve got what it takes, you’d better be productive, or else.’
‘What exactly does productive mean, Blair?’
‘When it comes to doing the deed, some of the boys try harder than others.’
‘Hmm, yes, that I do know.’ She nudged his shoulder playfully.
‘What I mean is the good ones will go in search of hot heifers.’
‘Hot heifers? Now I know you’re teasing.’
‘Don’t look at me like that! I’m serious.’ And yet he laughed. ‘The female of the bovine species operates a lot like the female Homo sapiens. Get a bunch of either together and their cycles kind of synchronise. Some will be… you know, easier to get on with and more cooperative, which can make the process simpler. The boys are all beef, and mounting can be hard work if a feisty female decides to play hard to get.’
Nina could only stare, blinking over her beer bottle as she listened. ‘Does the bull buy her a drink, at least?’
Blair seemed amused. ‘Some bulls do know to hang around the hot cows and wait for their cue, whereas the lazy ones hang back, milling around the watering holes and waiting for the thirsty girls to come to them.’
‘Ah, now that’s definitely sounding familiar.’
Blair laughed as Nina closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of rain falling somewhere on the plains that stretched out before them. She wished it would move closer to where they were, sitting on the step surrounded by lush green grass that benefited from the nearby creek. The parched land they’d ridden over today could do with a good drenching and she wouldn’t mind cooling down.
‘Do you have a favourite time of day, Blair?’
‘Sunrise,’ he replied, without hesitation. ‘There’s a quiet about the morning that isn’t quiet at all if you really stop to listen.’
‘What do you hear?’
‘The world,’ he said, ‘or my little parcel of it, waking up. I call it the pause before the business part of the day. How about I get you another beer?’
Nina raised the still half-full stubby. ‘You’ve seen how well I fall off things after a couple of glasses of wine. You don’t want to see me negotiate that path back to the cottage while under the influence of more alcohol. I’ll have water.’
*
Blair left Nina on the deck while he got the second beer he didn’t really want and probably shouldn’t drink, given he had two lodge rooms occupied overnight, both young couples looking for a comfortable bed and a meal before the next leg of their journey to Cairns. What he’d needed more than a beer was a reason to put distance between himself and the attractive woman who was pressing his buttons, in a good way. He loved how Nina’s neck extended and her head tipped back when she laughed, and how she’d puff at the red ringlets of hair on her forehead. The combination of good company and a dusty pink sky was enough to add today’s sunset to the top of his favourites list, he decided, when he settled back next to Nina, beer in hand.
‘So, what about you, Nina, what’s your favourite time of the day? Do you like early mornings?’
‘They kind of grew on me. No choice when you’re a baker’s daughter. Not being averse to early mornings meant that pastry cook was a natural career choice. Better hours than a regular chef, in my opinion. Everything I know I learned through experience and from my mum, not that she was too keen on me getting into the industry.’
‘Passion is sometimes the best qualification,’ Blair said. ‘The problem with me growing up around Dad is I saw passion as negative. Not until I came home to the country and saw the potential to build this business did I get a sense of what I wanted to do with my life. Shame my ex-wife didn’t share my love of the land.’
‘What’s not to love
?’
‘Exactly. But I am partly to blame for how things turned out. We began by wanting the same thing – to make Iron Pot Hill Farmstay Retreat the best.’
‘How is it your fault your wife didn’t love this place?’
‘She wasn’t brought up on the land and she’d never even been to Australia, so maybe my description could’ve been more realistic. We were living in London when I told her Mum was offering us the opportunity to take over the B-and-B business. Veronica envisaged something quaint: an English country garden or a French chateau with a landholding resembling the gardens of Versailles. I should’ve twigged when a copy of Country Style magazine arrived on our Notting Hill doorstep. We made the move to Australia, but in the end, the house and the husband failed to fulfil her. Now I only have Mum’s expectations to meet, which I fail at regularly.’
‘Who’s got time to maintain a fancy garden anyway?’ Nina smiled when she imagined Mrs Hense, her mum’s neighbour, having a field day with those pruning shears in the gardens of Versailles. ‘I imagine the people who stay here are looking for the country, and what you’ve done fits right into the surroundings.’ Nothing was over the top. The gardens suited a bride’s big day, but rather than fussing over roses and other finicky, time-sucking floral varieties, the beds around the marquee and the lodge rooms overflowed with a blend of bird-attracting native shrubs and exotic tropical plants. ‘At least Veronica left you with a great kitchen. I loved working it last night.’
‘You’re a natural, but you said Ava wasn’t keen on you cooking.’
‘Straight out of school a friend of Mum’s, a French chef, offered me work experience. I think François was supposed to turn me off the industry but his passion sparked mine. The things he created were so beautifully complex and elegant, yet simple.’
‘You were hooked?’
‘I loved the creative side, but I hated that Mum was right about certain aspects of the job. So I did what I usually do when Mum’s right.’
‘And that is?’
‘I question my abilities until I cave in.’ Nina told Blair how Ava had set her up in a Bark Hut corporate shop but she’d loathed being stuck in an air-conditioned unit with artificial light and rules that dictated what she sold and when. The experience had equipped her, though, with an understanding of the retail sector, so when the franchise manager was headhunted by the Coffee Café Nina had taken on the head-office job. She was good at what she did, and especially loved organising the national conference, but hated being stuck in an office. ‘I need vitamin D. I need sunshine on my face, even though I end up a freckly mess. This, right here, right now, is awesome – and what a view. Do you mind if I take a couple of photos?’ The late-afternoon sun had laid gold leaf over the landscape that stretched out before her, and while a photo would never capture its true beauty, it might help her remember. ‘I’m so wishing I didn’t have to go tomorrow.’
*
‘We still have tonight,’ Blair said, already missing her company. ‘And if it makes leaving easier, rain’s forecast for the next few days. We need it.’
‘I’d love to see this place when it’s all green.’
‘Then you’ll have to come back. You can do the proper tour, like I provide for the guests. They get to pat and feed the animals while I tell them a bit about the area’s history. I stun them with my vast knowledge of trachyte plugs and other geological wonders, before raving on about sustainable farming and the things we’re doing to keep Ivy-May for future generations. After all that, I dazzle them with my vast knowledge of local myths about monster volcanoes.’
Nina laughed. She really was a breath of fresh air. Blair had liked Ava Marchette when they’d first met. He liked her even more after meeting her daughter.
‘That all sounds great, Blair. I can’t wait.’
Me either, he said to himself.
‘Ah, there you are, son.’ John Tate arrived, handsome in a collared T-shirt and beige cargos.
‘G’day, Dad. Nina and I are enjoying beer o’clock. Want one?’
‘I’ll pass. Saw Gus earlier in town. He said to remind you about Tom and Gail’s engagement bash tonight.’
‘Jeez, thanks, I’d forgotten.’
‘I mentioned to Gus you had a bit on your plate at present. He asked if the pretty redhead was still occupying it.’
Nina hopped up from the step, hoping to hide her blush. ‘You guys go ahead. I’m more than happy to fall into bed. I’ll need to be on the road early in the morning.’
‘Come with us,’ John suggested. ‘The party’s informal – an excuse to catch up and have a few neighbourly ales.’
‘You should come, Nina,’ Blair said.
‘I suppose I can be designated driver. We can take my car.’
John reached out and draped a fatherly arm over Nina’s shoulders, tugging her to him. ‘I knew I liked you the minute we met. See you back here in one hour.’
Chapter 47
Karaoke and Keith Urban
Driving her little car had never felt so good. Blair was settled in the passenger seat, a hand tapping his thigh to the beat of music playing softly. In his jeans and a paisley shirt in shades of plum and olive green he looked delicious, like a ripe fig ready for picking. John was squeezed in the backseat, dressed in baggy black cargos – lots of pockets for lots of pencils – his top, a riot of colour, hanging loose.
‘What do you think of the graffiti-patterned shirt, Nina?’ John tugged at the collar as she eyed him in the rear-view mirror. ‘A birthday present one year from my smart-arse son who reckoned I needed more colour in my life. I can only wear the thing when his mother isn’t around. Poor Katie breaks out in hives if she gets close to too much colour.’
‘It’s a great shirt, John.’
Nina’s car had also never smelt so good. Two gorgeous men, freshly showered, made a potent combination. Sharing the evening with them would be a pleasant end to Project Portrait, and even better if she found the opportunity and a quiet corner to get to know John Tate a little better before she had to leave.
*
The celebration was in full swing when they arrived. What a shame the cacophony of conversation, laughter and loud music would thwart her plan to chat to John. Even the introductions Blair made as they circulated were cursory, with people smiling, nodding and doffing invisible hats in place of audible hellos. With older townsfolk sitting in groups at large tables, and girls in tight and tiny dresses occupying the dance floor in the next room, the majority of the men were propping up the bar.
When the food came out, the din quietened so people could enjoy conversation as they tucked into cold meat and salad. John found Blair and Nina and dragged a chair across, squeezing in to sit opposite, his plate piled high. ‘I’m too old for all this noise. The music’s stopped and my ears are still doing that doof-doof-doof thing.’
‘Don’t worry, mine too,’ Nina said.
She was on her third mineral water, having started the evening with a small glass of white wine to get into the party mood and cope with a roomful of strangers. Blair was pacing himself, but the night was young. With no cosy corner catch-up possible with John, Nina let herself enjoy being a witness to the strong, loving father-son relationship. She even felt a little envious, wishing John Tate was her father so she could have the paternal connection Blair shared with him. But John Tate wasn’t her dad, which was just as well, given what she was feeling with Blair’s body so close to hers.
*
After a couple of speeches the entertainment started. The first karaoke diehard took to the small podium amid raucous cheering and lip-synced to the Beatles’ ‘Help’. Next, two girls did a brilliant rendition of an Adele song. After several other attempts by patrons of varying ability, the newly engaged couple struggled through their romantic duet to constant heckles of ‘Get a room!’.
Gus, the publican, took to the stage, receiving a mixed reaction of cheers and playful jeering as he called for quiet. ‘Settle down, settle down,’ he ordered. ‘Y
ou’ll be glad to know, under Doc’s orders, there’ll be no singing or ciggies for me for a couple of months.’ More hooting and hoorahs erupted. ‘Therefore until further notice a new karaoke rule applies.’ The crowd hushed. ‘As publican of this very fine establishment—’
‘Get him off!’ someone called.
‘Turn up the music!’ another shouted.
Gus continued, ‘To fill my spot each mic night I’m implementing Publican’s Pick where I get to choose an act.’ The room fell silent. ‘Tonight I’ve chosen a duet to be performed by Blair Tate and his lovely new friend.’
All eyes turned to their table, but Nina remained unfazed. Blair would decline. He was surely not the type to get up on a karaoke stage and make an idiot of himself.
‘Looks like we’re up, Nina.’ Blair grabbed her hand. ‘Best get it over with.’
‘What? No!’ Nina again wished herself invisible. ‘No, no, not me! I can’t. I’m no good at karaoke.’
‘That’s the whole point,’ Gus piped up. ‘You’re not supposed to be good, so be a good sport instead because I’ve got the perfect song ready.’
‘Thanks, Gus, but you’d better leave Nina be.’
Blair was now having to shout over the escalating chant of ‘Nina, Blair! Nina, Blair! Nina, Blair!’
‘I’m more than happy to go solo, mate. If she says she can’t, then she probably can’t. I’m discovering there are a few things Nina’s not good at.’
‘Is that so?’ Nina rose, defiant. She grabbed Blair’s hand. ‘Let’s do this.’ The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and as they reached the podium a song was already playing to squeals from a group of young girls in the front row.
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