by Camryn Eyde
Absolutely furious with tears burning in her eyes, Aimee glared at her brother as his threats cut her like a hot knife. She loved this place, and threatening to send her away was like stealing her home. Unable to speak as her throat tightened, she turned on her heel and stormed out, but not before seeing the remorse in Joey’s eyes, or the shock on Sally and Danny’s face at the ultimatum.
The screen door slapped against the stone of the house as Aimee stormed out, only to be faced with the producer who ruined her day.
“Must you be so brutish?” the woman snapped, her hand clutched to her heart at being startled.
“Piss off,” Aimee muttered as she pushed past.
“Charming,” the producer called out to her.
Clomping up to her loft above the stables, Aimee flopped down with a grunt on the two-seater couch in the one-room space. Mitsy leaped up and settled on her stomach forcing the air from her lungs. “You know, you’re not a bloody puppy anymore you big lump,” she mumbled.
Content to leave the dog where she lay, she began unconsciously tickling at the soft chocolate-coloured hair behind her collie’s ears. Her eyes found the picture of her parents hanging above the bureau. Taken a few months before their accident, they looked weathered and happy.
“Your son, Joseph, is threatening to send me away,” she told them. “Bastard.” Her lip trembling, she swiped at the tears in her eyes. “It’s not my fault he let Tracey go. She was perfect for him, but no, he had to go screw around in the city.”
Taking a deep breath, she stared at the photo, wishing for the millionth time that her parents were still here. Now twenty-three, Aimee was as much a part of her parent’s property as the soil that grew their sorghum. She knew her life was going to be lived out on the three-thousand-hectare farm, and that constant kept her grounded. Leaving was never an option.
Not one to wallow in self-pity for any longer than twenty minutes, she hopped up from the couch and grabbed a beer from the small fridge beside the kitchenette, brushing off her despondency in the process. Leaning against the counter, she drained half the bottle as she stared absentmindedly around her living space.
The loft was small, but cosy and was a testament to her life on the land. A multitude of trophies and ribbons won at various riding events adorned her bookshelf. A unit overflowing with novels, biographies and other various non-fiction titles stood beside the simple television cabinet. Walking across to the bookshelf, she fingered the various spines, selecting a recent book of stories about inspiring country women. She pulled it off the shelf and walked to her bedroom. Separated from the rest of the loft by a low beige wall that ran just wider than the width of her queen bed, she tossed the book onto the spread and walked to the windows at the foot of the bed. Pushing them open, she sipped her beer as she stared out across the paddocks currently bathed in vibrant late-afternoon sun.
Finishing her drink, she grabbed her toiletry bag and a handful of fresh clothes, intending to go back down to the house to shower and grab a bite to eat. Despite the morning’s shenanigans, including her eighteen-year-old mare possibly getting impregnated by the stud, she had eventually pulled the stallion away Kite and ridden her up to the north paddock with a station hand, Matt, to set up the yards for the shearing due to start in a few days. After that, it was a long day of herding sheep from the western paddocks to the central ones. Mitsy had performed beautifully alongside the more experienced sheep dogs her brother usually mastered, and Aimee had returned to the homestead in a buoyant mood. On her return, Aimee heard the bad news about the stallion not wanting to mount the other mares. She blew out a drawn out puff of air and rubbed her hand down her face.
“Come, Mitsy. Let’s go eat.”
The dog scampered over to the door and bounded down the stairs into the stables below with great enthusiasm. The young collie took off towards the house and into a throng of people willing to lavish her with attention.
“Ah, crap,” Aimee muttered, remembering there was a big welcome barbeque organised for that evening. Her mood, restored by her one-sided chat with her parents and a cold beer, slumped into annoyance again. Contemplating using the farmhand quarters instead of the house bathroom, her mind was changed as she saw the producer walk into the shared amenities across the yard. House bathroom it is.
“Hey, come give us a hand, can you?” Sally called out as Aimee walked past the kitchen.
“Sure. Let me clean up first,” Aimee called back.
“Ah…” Sally’s head poked around the kitchen door. “There’s a queue.”
“What?”
“The guests are using the bathroom.”
“Ugh. Fine.” Aimee plodded back to the kitchen and parked her fresh clothes on a spare space of bench. She sighed and asked, “What do you need me to do?”
“Sign that,” Sally said, pointing at the paperwork on the kitchen bench.
“No. I don’t want to be on the stupid show. Watching the circus is enough for me.”
“They can’t use any footage you’re in if you don’t sign it. You might get in the way of something important and pivotal to Joey’s romance.”
Aimee stared at Sally for a few heartbeats before bursting into laughter. Sally joined her. “Did you sign it?” Aimee asked after calming down.
“Hell no. No one needs to see this on TV.” Sally gestured to her apron-clad body. She shared the same dark colouring as her twin, Joey, but none of his height. Shorter than Aimee, Sally was none-the-less a strong woman despite the curves she wore as a testament to motherhood.
“You’re beautiful,” Aimee said.
“I’m not—”
“I agree,” Danny said, coming into the kitchen to pick up the tray of sausages Sally had out.
Sally pursed her lips and ignored her husband. He hesitated for a moment before leaving the way he came.
“You two having a tiff?” Aimee asked, picking at the cheese Sally was dicing.
“Something like that. Hey! Hands off. Instead of sitting there picking at the food, why don’t you make yourself useful? Lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, chopped and in that please.” Sally pointed to a salad bowl. “Want a beer?” Sally asked as she shuffled about the kitchen.
“Sure.”
Handing over the bottle, Sally rubbed Aimee’s forearm. “You know Joe didn’t mean it earlier.”
Aimee pursed her lips and lifted a shoulder up and down.
Sally pecked Aimee on the cheek and lifted up the tray of meat from the kitchen table. “We both love you.”
“Love you back,” Aimee said automatically.
By the time the salad was chopped, the first carton of beer was drunk, and half the meat was burned or undercooked, Aimee finally got to escape to the shower. Squealing at the lack of hot water, she quickly scrubbed the day’s grime off, along with a splatter of vomit from an overexcited niece she had twirled around the kitchen. Changing into black, skin-tight jeans, and a designer plaid cotton shirt fitted to her work-honed body, she regarded herself in the mirror. Purchased a month ago, she smiled at her reflection after pulling on her boots. It was nice to be out of her work jeans and baggy chambray shirts.
“Hey, Bug,” Joey greeted her as she entered the back yard. Coloured party lights lit up the quadrangle of green grass and picnic tables, and soft rock music could just be heard above the noise of conversation.
“Hey,” Aimee replied.
“You okay?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugged her against him. “Sorry about before.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Accepting the beer Joey handed her, she cracked the can and took a swig as she surveyed the party. “The kids in bed?”
“Yeah, Sally and Danny just went to tuck them in.”
“Hey?” Joey said, turning to her.
“Yeah?” Aimee said, frowning at her brother.
“Do you think that Sal and Danny are okay?”
“Okay? What does that mean?”
Joey took a long swig of his beer. “You know wha
t? Never mind.”
Aimee rolled her eyes and scanned the crowd. “So…when do I get to meet the bimbos?”
Joey grunted. “First off, they’re not bimbos. They’re contestants vying for my undying love.”
Aimee groaned. “That was pathetic.”
Chuckling, Joey nodded. “They’re quite nice if you give them a chance. That one,” he pointed to a woman with one of the permanent workers, Chris. “That’s Brittney.”
“Brittney? Are you serious?” Aimee watched her for a moment. Fake red hair, long showy legs, and a narrow straight body gave Aimee nothing to linger over.
“’Fraid so. That’s Tiffany.” Aimee groaned as she looked over at the tall blonde with Gav. Another typical Joey pick. Tall, leggy, and thin as a pole. “And the one standing with Justine is Amber.”
Who the heck was Justine? Aimee wondered as she picked out the final city woman. She was shorter, curvier and had short brunette hair. Much more interesting and completely against type for her brother. Fully armed to tease Joey about the bimbo-sounding names of his choices, Aimee was side-tracked as she stared at the woman she assumed her brother pointed out as Justine. She’d never seen her before, so potentially, she was part of the seasonal shearer’s crew that had started to arrive, or part of the camera crew that she had failed to notice. Why, she didn’t know, because Justine was smoking hot. Long, dark, curly hair caressed her shoulders and brushed the swell of soft curves at the neckline of her low-cut top. Her hips and legs, defined by a pair of tight blue jeans drew her attention for a long moment. Aimee then ogled her waist and chest covered in a silky looking tank top. The glasses perched on her nose added a cute, quirky quality.
“Earth to Aimee?”
Joey waved a hand in front of Aimee’s eyes and she batted it away. “That one with Amber, that’s Justine you said?”
Joey nodded. “Yeah.”
“When did she get here?”
“Uh…today. You know that.”
“She’s gorgeous.”
“What?”
Mitsy, who had been doing the rounds to look for treats anyone had dropped, stopped by the woman in Aimee’s sights and wagged her tail. The woman smiled down at her and scratched her behind the ear. Aimee turned to her confused looking brother. “Is she here with someone?”
“Uh…what?”
“Christ, Joe, it’s not a trick question. Is she part of the shearing crew?”
“No, she’s with the TV show.”
Aimee nodded. She hadn’t paid the people with the producer much attention, so it didn’t surprise her that she missed spotting her earlier. “I’m going in.”
“Wait, what?” Joey said attempting to catch her arm. “Be nice!” he called out when that failed.
Frowning, Aimee stopped and turned back to him. “Of course, I’m going to be nice. I’m going to make her an Aimee Special.”
Joey’s eyes raised in surprise.
Heading inside to the private bar, Aimee quickly threw together a cocktail mix that never failed to be enjoyed. She’d used it more than once to woo a lady to her loft. She hoped Justine was otherwise unattached so they could enjoy an evening getting to know one another, and maybe teach the woman the art of lady-loving. Smiling as the drink was completed, she re-emerged from the house and spotted Justine standing alone by the hibiscus.
“Game on,” she whispered to herself and walked over. “You look gorgeous tonight,” she said as she sidled up to the woman who she was still yet to study up close. Mitsy’s tail began to thump against the paved ground.
The woman widened her eyes with surprise. Light brown, Aimee noted. Like caramel. No, like amber. Aimee blinked. Those eyes looked familiar.
“Are you here with someone, or am I allowed to monopolise you for the evening? I promise you I’m interesting.”
Shutting her gaping mouth, the woman frowned and tilted her head slightly.
She was definitely familiar. “Do I know you?” Aimee asked, cocking her head to the side in mimic.
She received a confused look in response.
Trying to salvage her attempt to pick the woman up, Aimee smiled and passed the drink to the woman. “I bought you a cocktail. I call it Aimee’s—Christ!” The moment she touched the woman, static friction zapped her and so did her recognition of the woman.
“Interesting name,” said the woman who took the drink from her. It was the lady she had secretly named the dragon. “It is poisonous?”
“Are you a chameleon or something? What’s with the glasses? Where’s the stupid bun and that ridiculous suit?”
“Ever the charmer, aren’t you?” Justine said, shaking her head. “Firstly, I’m not currently working, so my work clothing is not currently appropriate. Secondly, have you ever heard of contacts, or is that technology too new for you?”
Aimee narrowed her eyes, thoroughly aggravated that she had lusted for this woman a few moments ago. “Funny.”
Justine raised her eyebrows and inspected the cocktail. “You didn’t answer my question, is this poisonous?”
“No, it isn’t. It’s the best drink you’ll ever taste; however, since it’s you, I want it back.”
Justine held the drink away from her reach. “Best drink I’ll ever taste, huh? That’s a mighty statement from a farm girl.”
“It’s true, but you’re going to have to miss out. Hand it over.”
“No.” Justine shook her head, making those soft strands of hair swish about and capturing Aimee’s attention briefly.
Damn her and her stupid sexy hair.
“You must have made this for me for a reason,” Justine said. “Pray tell, what was it?”
“What was what?” Aimee asked, confused with the question.
“Why did you make this drink, apparently the best I’ll ever taste, for me?”
Clearing her throat, Aimee lifted her chin. “I didn’t make it for you.”
“I beg to differ. In fact, correct me if I’m wrong, but were you hitting on me?”
Sirens wailed in Aimee’s head begging her to escape before she made a bigger fool of herself. “Hardly,” she said, refusing to meet her eyes.
Justine was grinning smugly when Aimee dared to look back. “My, my, do you have a little crush on me, farm girl?”
“As if.”
The words were lame and she knew it, and at Justine’s chuckle, Aimee quietly said, “Piss off,” before abandoning the barbeque entirely. Overwhelmed with embarrassment, and exposing herself for a fool, she stormed home with Mitsy on her heels. “God, I’m an idiot!” she said to herself. Groaning, she face-palmed herself a few times. “Idiot, idiot, idiot.”
She promised herself to help her brother out and stay as far away from the TV clowns as she could. There was no way she’d be able to face Justine without turning bright red with mortification. Then she groaned, remembering how she was put in charge of showing them around.
“God damn!”
Chapter Three
The pre-dawn light brought with it a quiet and cool serenity as Aimee rolled out of bed the next morning. Mitsy was curled on her mat in the corner of the room and came to life with a thump of her tail against the wood floor.
“Morning, girl,” Aimee said on a yawn as she turned on the kettle, bouncing from foot to foot on the cold hardwood floorboards. “Let’s head out first thing and avoid those city slickers, okay? Joey will have to make do,” she said to the dog, who wiggled her way across the room for a pat. “That’s a good girl,” Aimee said on a chuckle as Mitsy wound around her legs happily.
Throwing on her usual jeans and a long sleeve shirt – today’s choice was a blue plaid design – and her thick socks, Aimee made her coffee and descended to the stables after pulling her jacket from the peg by the door. No stupid reality show was going to halt proceedings this morning, she mused as she pulled on her battered work boots at the bottom of the stairs.
“Ugh,” she said when she emerged from the stables. There, climbing aboard a Landcruiser Troop Carrier the
y brought with them, was the two-man film crew, the make-up woman who also ran about with the reflective board, and yawning contestants, complete with her brother staring over at her expectantly.
“Come along! We’ll miss the sunrise,” Justine called out to a particularly slow member of her crew. She paused on her rounds to each car when she spotted Aimee.
“Where are they going?” Aimee asked, striding across the yard and confronting her brother.
“Oh…Aimee…hi,” he said, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “You kinda left early last night, but umm, we’re taking the girls up to the top paddocks today.” He grimaced at the end.
Deservedly so, thought Aimee. “They’re mustering with us? Are you crazy? That’ll take forever.” The sound of quad bikes coming from the sheds had her putting her hands on her hips. “Bikes? You’re using the bikes?”
“Yeah. They can’t ride horseback.”
“It’ll spook the flock! Make them sit on a log looking pretty or something instead.”
“They’re here to learn about how we manage the farm. One of them may be the future Mrs Joey Turner.”
“Then you should teach them we muster at Yarrabee Station on horseback, not on those things,” said Aimee, pointing at the bike Gav rode over to the convoy of cars.
“Come on, Aimee, it’s only for today…er…or maybe for the next week, but you know the dogs do most of the work. These things will just putter along behind the flock.”
“Keep your excuses, Joe, I’m not interested,” Aimee snapped walking back to the stables. Her brother had completely let his groin take over his head if he thought spooking the pregnant ewes was a good idea. Their sheep were healthy and settled for a reason, and if his prank lost them lambs, Aimee was never going to let him live it down.
Saddling Kite after brushing her down, a small cough caught Aimee’s attention. Looking over her shoulder to see Justine behind her, she rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”