by Ros Baxter
Hot jealousy raged molten through her veins. She wanted to go find him, ask him, learn what he’d been up to, what he’d done and who he had done it with.
But she had no right and there was no point.
Right now, Gen was as far from Brodie Brown’s world as it was possible to be. How could she ever explain this to him? Her daily struggles, this damn letter—he wasn’t Bro Bro anymore. He was the Crop King, and she was a single mother at twenty-seven with two kids and a mother who needed her.
She dragged the shreds of energy that were left in her together. It felt as if she was starting from her toes, gathering together tenuous strands of life and pulling them into a mask she could take to the house and use to fake her way through the rest of the evening. She lifted her head from the steering wheel and turned the key, pressing down harder than she should on the accelerator and skidding a little as she made for the house. Its lights blinked, warm and welcoming, and when she saw KD’s car at the front the tears that had been building at the back of her eyes spilled onto her lashes.
Shit. How would she ever hide this from KD?
The woman would take one look at her and know she was coming apart, with that sixth sense lifelong best friends have for all the goodness and badness in your life.
She couldn’t allow it. She turned the engine off and pulled a baby wipe out of her bag, running it over her face to wet and cool it. It was just like she always said: there was nothing a baby wipe couldn’t fix.
Except maybe, she reflected bitterly as she grabbed her bag and made for the door, a broken heart.
Chapter Two
Boots and all
‘Where are your shoes?’
Brodie smiled in spite of himself. ‘Too muddy.’ He raised his hands in supplication.
‘Only pair you own?’ Nelly narrowed hawklike eyes at him under the tight grey cap of hair. ‘All that money and you own one pair of shoes?’ She was sitting erect in one of the kitchen chairs, pouring tea, but she looked up at him as he sighed.
‘Only pair I brought,’ he acknowledged. ‘Figured I need boots to get this thing done.’
She studied him carefully, her head to one side. ‘Whiskey,’ she declared, striding over to the sink and ditching the contents of the teapot into it.
‘Amen, Nelly,’ he breathed, shooting her a grateful smile as he lowered his exhausted arse into one of the kitchen chairs. He looked around and breathed in the smells of home. He’d only been back twice in the last ten years, both times fleeting visits. He preferred to catch up with Nelly in Sydney, or sometimes he took her away somewhere she fancied seeing, although she was restricted to domestic travel since her knees had gone. But there sure was something about this place, this home, especially this kitchen. Nelly loved to cook, and her old-school kitchen was homage to doing things the traditional way—from the Aga to the pot rack hanging from the ceiling. Tonight it smelled like the meal they’d shared before he left for the meeting, a sweet, tangy moussaka with local goat’s cheese, followed by trifle liberally topped with Sweetiepie cream.
Nelly was an amateur photographer, and the prints on the walls were all her own. Some of them were of his parents. In the beginning, he’d wanted her to take them down, but she’d refused, told him he needed to look at them every day, know how much they loved him, know they were part of who he was, no matter how much it hurt. Nelly had become a nurse after his mother took on the farm. She still had that don’t-fuck-with-me nursey way about her. You just didn’t argue with Nelly.
Brodie glanced at the other photos, of local scenes—the river, the showgrounds, the town hall. Nelly favoured black and white, but there were splashes of colour as well, and as Brodie waited for the promised whiskey while Nelly rifled in cupboards, he let his tired eyes wander over them, and felt the sights and sounds of the place start to seep into his skin again. It didn’t feel as bad as he had expected.
Finally, she was back, dropping a fat-bottomed tumbler in front of him, and pouring out a generous finger before filling her own.
‘Ice?’
He shook his head.
‘Good,’ she almost purred. ‘I didn’t raise you to be a lightweight.’ She smiled but something in his face must have given her pause, because she uncapped the bottle again and poured another finger. ‘So she was there?’
Brodie contemplated fudging, but knew there was no point. ‘You never were much of a small talker,’ he said, trying a distracting grin on for size.
‘Nope,’ she said, staring hard at him, before reaching over to grab his big hand in her tiny one. ‘She’s not worth it, you know,’ she said, squeezing the hand with greater force than you would think such a tiny person nearing seventy capable of. ‘Any girl who could choose that stupid oaf over you … well, she’s not the girl you thought she was.’
‘Cheers to that,’ Brodie agreed, tipping the glass up and clinking it with Nelly’s before pouring most of it down his throat in one gulp. It burned sour and satisfying, lighting him up and shutting down his overactive brain at the same time.
Nelly looked as if she wanted to say more, but Brodie leapt in, hoping she might grant him a reprieve just this once. It had worked with the shoes; maybe she was getting to be more of a pushover in her old age. ‘So what’s first?’ He hoped focusing her on the task at hand might distract her.
She screwed up her mouth to let him know she was onto his game, but sat back slightly in her chair in a way that signalled the grilling had at the very least been deferred.
‘Tomorrow, we fix the western fences and assess the machines in the fore shed. I think they might need replacing. The planting around the house can wait ’til the next day.’ She sipped her whiskey as if it were tea, and watched him in a way that let him know he was off no kind of hook.
‘What?’ Brodie frowned at her. ‘Me?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed with a sweet smile. ‘Of course you. Who else?’
‘Er …’ Brodie waved a hand. ‘One of the guys I help pay for? The hands?’
‘Well, don’t be silly, Bro,’ Nelly said, with a mirroring wave of her hand. ‘Why would I need them if you’re here? Anyway, I’ve sent them to work on the fair preparations. This town needs them more than we do, with you here.’ She leaned over and squeezed one of his biceps cheekily. ‘Big strong young thing like you, in the prime of your youth.’
Brodie swallowed hard and realised he was being manoeuvred. ‘Nelly,’ he started, feeling out the right words, ‘this isn’t what we agreed, remember? This isn’t what I’m here for, remember? I need to be organising stuff; anyone can do that labouring—’
‘I don’t want just anyone,’ Nelly interrupted, still smiling. ‘I want you.’
He glared at her, feeling out his next salvo.
But she was too quick.
‘It matters, Brodie,’ she said. ‘If you’re going to convince people—about this town, about what we are—you need to remember. You need to become part of it again. And I’m sorry …’ She picked up one of his hands and examined the palms with a sharp cluck of her tongue. ‘But that does mean getting those pretty hands dirty.’ She returned his hand to the table. ‘You told me you’ve got some of those PR weirdos coming out here to capture it all. Just think of the promo shots you’ll be able to get out of it.’ She made a little frame with her fingers. ‘Crop King Helps Out Ageing Aunt.’ She waved a hand airily. ‘Et cetera.’ She uncapped the whiskey bottle, and when she poured him another finger he knew he really was being railroaded. ‘It’ll be gold for the publicity’
Brodie swallowed the whiskey like it was the last meal of a condemned man.
***
Kasey Delorio looked up from her laptop. ‘Jeez Louise, what happened to you?’ She flicked the slim silver thing shut.
Genevieve slapped on a cheeky grin. It hurt like getting a bone set. ‘Cheese takes a while to get out of,’ she said, looking around. ‘Mum in bed?’
‘Yep.’ KD nodded. ‘I called in around dinnertime to see if I could help out. She was pretty
whacked. I stayed to get the kids down, then I said I’d wait up so she could go to bed.’
‘You’re an angel,’ Genevieve said, flopping down next to her on the old couch covered with upholstery roses and gave her friend a cheeky smile. ‘How was the spag bol?’
KD held up a hand in a so-so gesture. ‘Good for the kids. Not so great for the vegan lesbian.’
Gen threw a cushion at her. ‘Sorry, toots. If I’d known you were stopping by, I’d have done my chilli tofu. When did you get back in town?’
KD eyed Gen carefully, wriggling a little closer. ‘Long enough to hear who else is back.’ She paused, patting Gen’s hand. ‘Was he there?’
‘Yup,’ Gen confirmed. ‘And nope, I do not want to talk about it.’
‘So?’ KD arched a beautiful brow. ‘Since when did that stop me?’
Gen sighed, and went for a blatant appeal to KD’s protective instincts. ‘Since I’m totally whacked. Since I’ve been up since four with the milkers. Since I’ve been wearing cheese the last coupla hours. Since I had a run-in with my ex.’
KD reached over and cupped Gen’s face, a hand on either side of her cheeks. ‘What else?’
Gen scowled. ‘That not enough for you?’
‘Not when it’s not the whole truth,’ KD acknowledged, dropping her hands. ‘But you do look kind of beat-up, so I guess it can wait til tomorrow.’
‘You staying?’ Warmth spread through Gen. KD worked in and out of town, and it wasn’t that often these days she could get some time with her.
‘Even better than that. I’ll do the four am run.’ KD shot Gen a warm look. ‘You sleep in ’til the kids get up, Gen Jen. They’ll want to see you.’
Gen wriggled closer and gave KD a noisy kiss on the cheek. ‘Anyone ever tell you you’re the best?’
KD stretched like a kitten and did a pouty face. ‘All the time, baby.’
Gen laughed. ‘Maybe we should have a quick nightcap?’
‘Hell yeah,’ KD agreed.
‘But no Bro Bro ’til tomorrow.’ Gen wanted to lay down the ground rules now.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ KD said.
Gen made her way through to the kitchen, noting with an almost physical pleasure that KD had done the dishes and packed the kids’ lunches for tomorrow as well. The woman was a saint. She grabbed a bottle of Margaret River Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge and a couple of fat wine glasses. She needed sleep badly, but with any luck, one of these sweet balloons would help her get it without dark, dirty dreams of Brodie Brown, or even darker, dirtier dreams of murdering her scumbag ex.
When she made her way back to the living room, KD was stoking the fire. Spring was upon them, but the nights could still be chilly in the valley. Walking into the room, Gen felt her tension start to seep away. This space always had that effect on her—the squishy couches, the pale lemon walls, the big old fireplace, all opening out through the flyscreens onto the low buzz of the Sweet Pocket night. She deposited the two glasses on an old coffee table her grandfather had made from a single piece of wood, the trunk of a tree he had felled right here on this land, and unscrewed the cap.
The wine made a satisfying gurgle of appreciation as it hit the balloon, and Gen felt sure her tummy would be echoing those contented noises in a few seconds.
She handed a glass to KD as her friend turned around, framed by the fireplace. KD looked like a woodland spirit—short blonde pixie cut, fine angelic features, and a tiny stature. To Gen, she’d always been like a child’s storybook character beside her own gangling clumsiness.
KD winked at Gen, blue eyes framed with purple kohl. ‘Bottoms up,’ she said, clinking glasses.
‘Absolutely,’ Gen breathed, collapsing onto the sofa.
‘So,’ KD started as they settled back on the cushions and enjoyed the first few sips, ‘I’m not going to talk about him, but—’
‘How is that not talking about him?’ Gen groaned.
KD shooed her away with a flick of her hand. ‘I’m not going to talk about him, I’m only going to ask one question.’ She paused and gave Gen big sad blue eyes. ‘Is he still hot?’
Gen raised her glass to KD. ‘Why? Thinking about turning for him?’
KD laughed. ‘If anyone could do it, it would be Brodie Brown.’
They both knew it wasn’t true. KD and Brodie had been as close as Gen and Brodie, but in a whole different way. Buddies. Brodie had had KD’s back when she’d needed it. And boy, she’d needed it. Coming out in senior year in a small town was not an easy thing to do.
Gen looked into her glass, watching tiny bubbles skitter across the surface, thinking about the way her insides had skittered and flipped when she’d heard his voice. ‘Hell, yeah,’ she said. ‘All that and more.’
They both took a moment to reflect on the thing of beauty that was Brodie Brown, sipping their wine and staring into the flames.
‘That all you got in the tank, toots?’ Gen waited for KD’s next question about Brodie.
‘Hey,’ her best friend retorted, mock outrage on her face, ‘a promise is a promise.’ She raised her glass. ‘But tomorrow, you’re toast.’
Gen smiled at her appreciatively, and then motioned to the laptop. ‘So,’ she said, ‘where are we?’
KD leaned forward, put her glass down on the coffee table and picked up the slim notebook again, firing it up as she rubbed her hands together. ‘I am so glad you asked, my darlink,’ she said, in a passable impression of her father.
KD’s father, Norm Delorio, ran Dirty Dozen, the agricultural supplies store, as well as a small market garden out back, a tiny piece of land he and Thelma only farmed a little these days. Norm called everyone ‘my darlink’, in his grand Italian accent. KD’s impression made Gen smile.
‘What is it?’ Gen leaned forward eagerly.
‘I might have a nibble from Sunshine Wholefoods. Organic distribution network.’ KD bit her bottom lip and Gen knew it was because she didn’t want Gen getting her hopes up. ‘I … er …’
KD looked a little uncomfortable, so Gen encouraged her in the way of best friends the world over. ‘Spit it out, mumbles.’
KD rolled her eyes. ‘I sort of know the rep from there. Nice girl.’
Gen raised an eyebrow. ‘Know her like know her? Know what she looks like under her Wholefoods uniform?’
‘Now don’t be like that,’ KD tutted. ‘She’s a real nice girl. I may have taken her some of your labna.’ She grinned. ‘She may have liked it. A lot.’ She sighed. ‘You do know what our problem is though, right?’
‘Which one?’ Gen groaned.
KD worried at a hole in the cushion next to her. ‘If they like you, if they come here and check it out, the whole place—this farm, this town—it’s just not set up on the scale we need it to be.’
‘Yeah, but organic is small, right? That’s what it is?’ Gen ran her hands through her hair. She badly needed KD to agree.
‘Small, yeah, but not this fuckin’ small,’ KD clarified. ‘Like you need to be able to meet the demand, if we can get the demand to happen.’
Gen’s tummy turned to water. ‘So it’s the same damn trap as The Big Cow, all over again.’
‘Nah,’ KD dismissed, waving away her concerns. ‘Not at all. I just mean, your little dairy here is never going to be able to service the likes of a Sunshine.’ She smiled slyly. ‘But the region could, if we had a cooperative, and a mutual factory.’
Gen frowned. ‘A mutual …?’
KD put the laptop down and turned to Gen. ‘Y’know, like all those small towns now having mutuals as banks and stuff because the big guys just screw them over. This is like that.’
‘Ugh,’ Gen groaned. ‘Please, please, please don’t even mention banks.’
It was KD’s turn to frown. ‘Trouble?’
‘Always. Barry Townsend is a dick.’
KD nodded. ‘That he is. Has been since second grade.’
‘Yeah, well you’d think the little shit would have some loyalty.’ Gen winked at KD. ‘After all,
weren’t you the first girl he ever kissed?’
KD smacked Gen hard on the leg. ‘Ugh, did you have to bring that up? Let me tell you this for free, honey, he was the last boy I ever kissed.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Gen commiserated, pantomiming wiping out her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Creepy crawlers taste bad.’
‘They sure do,’ KD agreed.
Gen sighed. ‘Except now it’s the bank’s arse he’s crawling up instead of the teacher’s. Can’t believe he works for the bloody bank now—just my luck. He knows damn well all the local farms are up shit creek, hanging on by the skin of their teeth. He knows they’re all waiting to see if we get certification, somehow outrun The Big Cow. But it’s like he’s trying to increase the pressure on all of us. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was in Davina’s pocket.’
KD shrugged. ‘Probably not him, but the bank could be. They’re all in cahoots.’
‘How do you know so much?’ Gen took another swig of her wine. It tasted like escape.
‘Music’s not so different. The big guys trying to squeeze out the small guys. The banks like the big guys. And the rest of them do too—the insurers, the investors. Big guys are safer, predictable. Everyone understands exactly who they’ll screw to make a profit—anyone they can. Smaller guys … well, in music it’s the indie labels. Sometimes they’re trying to do things differently, make a stand. The money men can’t predict which way they’re going to jump. It makes them nervous.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Gen sniffed. ‘Barry Townsend makes me nervous.’
KD picked up Gen’s hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘What’s his game this time?’
‘I’m behind,’ Gen admitted softly. ‘Again.’
‘You know I can—’
Gen cut her off. ‘No, KD. Never. I always said if I needed to borrow more to make this thing work, it was time to walk away. I’m not taking your money.’ She smiled at her weakly. ‘But I love you for the offer.’
‘You didn’t even give me a chance to make it,’ KD grizzled. Then she reached for her laptop again. ‘We just need a plan, Gen Jen. You can work out anything with a plan. First step, this town needs the organic certification. That’s what Nelly’s railroaded Bro Bro back here for, yeah?’