She waved at the paddock, where the crop had started to turn golden. ‘If you don’t want to farm, why have all this land?’
‘Belongs to family. My father, then my brother.’
‘Why doesn’t your brother do the farming, then?’ If she’d had a sibling, everything would have been easier. Every pain halved, every joy doubled.
‘He’s dead.’
She stared straight ahead. There was nothing to say; she dealt with her emptiness alone and expected others to do the same.
‘Ten.’
‘Huh? Ten what?’ She shot a glance at Matt as he pulled the car to the side of the road.
‘You had your ten questions. Reckon it’s my turn now.’
‘Sorry, but I don’t have ten interesting answers in me.’
He turned the ignition off, but the click of the engine continued, counting the seconds he watched her. ‘I doubt that’s true. But I’ll give you a choice. Ten questions, or you come walk that paddock with me.’ He indicated a field of yellow outside her window. ‘I need to check the stock trough on the far side. Sheep will be moved up there after we’ve taken the wool off.’
‘You shave them, then shift them?’
‘Shave them? Yeah, that’s it,’ Matt grinned.
She groaned. ‘It’s not shave, is it? I knew that sounded wrong …’
‘We generally go with shear round here. But I can see an argument for using shave. A good, close clip brings in more money.’
‘Okay, fine, feel free to make fun of me.’ She followed him from the ute. ‘My broad shoulders can take it.’
Matt placed his boot on a fence wire, then heaved the top strand up. ‘Scoot through. I wouldn’t call those shoulders broad. But you’re doing okay. No way I could up stumps, move states and handle it like you are.’
An almost-compliment? As she crawled awkwardly between the wires, her knuckles brushed Matt’s thigh. She scrambled clear, scrubbing her hand against her jeans, trying to erase the ridiculous frisson that shot through her.
She had no time for that kind of crap. Matt might not be the enemy she’d suspected, but he was still a man, still unnecessary, and still in her personal space.
He glanced down as he strode through the crop. ‘You didn’t find any boots to fit? Sneakers aren’t much good out here.’
‘Marian’s are too big for me,’ she panted.
Matt grunted with laughter at her unintended double entendre, but she was too busy trying to match his stride to take offence. The spiky grass reached above her knees, growing in channels designed to trip her. Regardless of whether she took a short or long step, her feet fell wrong each time, either sliding from the crumbling ridge of dirt or tangling in stems.
Matt slowed. ‘Follow the furrow to the edge of the paddock, then go along the fence line. You’ll find it easier.’
‘I’m fine. Just do what you have to do.’
‘Fair warning: it involves spiders.’
‘Must be big spiders if you need that.’ She nodded at the metal pole he carried.
His grin altered his entire persona and, as he legged it over another fence, she ducked through without waiting for him to hold the wires. Better a gouge from barbed wire than risk touching him.
‘Right you are.’ He gave a slight shake of his head and released the wire he’d held for her. Using the pole, he levered up the cement hood that covered a third of a water trough. As it lifted, he dropped the pole and grasped the lid, flipping it to balance across the trough. Redback spiders tunnelled urgently into the thick white webs that covered the underside of the dome.
‘Ew. Are you going to kill them?’
‘Nope.’ He used a grass stalk to push the spiders toward the centre of their nest. ‘They’re not causing any trouble. But I don’t want to grab a handful when I lift this back on.’
Spiders rearranged, he fiddled with a floating ball in the scum-covered water, depressing it so the pump hissed and filled the trough. ‘All good. I’ll just cover her back up.’
She stooped to take an end of the lid.
‘Don’t touch it!’ Matt barked and she jumped back. He pointed. ‘You nearly got a handful of that redback. In any case, the lid’s too heavy for you.’
‘It’s fine.’ He didn’t need to think her useless.
He grunted, hefting the cover and sliding it into place. By himself. ‘I reckon the fact you didn’t scream at the redbacks covers you for five questions.’
She liked this Matt. Removed from the house, concentrating on physical work, he seemed freer, more relaxed. ‘Hey, the walk was worth ten, remember? And I grew up east; redbacks are nothing once you’ve found a funnel-web in your shoe.’
‘Fair enough.’
The conversation lapsed as Matt fiddled with a valve on the outside of the trough. She plucked a piece of grass. The crop growing along the fence was different to that in the paddock, the gossamer hollow heads on delicate stalks eddying like fairy wings in the slight breeze. ‘It’s amazing they can turn this stuff into cornflakes.’
Matt pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and surveyed her for a long moment. ‘Need a fair bit of GM to make that happen.’
‘GM?’
‘Genetic modification.’
She swept a hand, encompassing the panoramic patchwork of green and gold spread below the hill they stood upon. ‘But this is corn or something, isn’t it?’
‘Mostly wheat, lupins, some barley. But that’s not corn.’ Matt nodded at her piece of dead grass.
‘What is it, then?’ She twirled the stem between her fingers.
He rubbed at his chin.
Her fingers tightened on the stalk.
His tone was deadpan. ‘That’d be my wild oats you’re handling.’
‘What? Gross.’ Damn. She didn’t need his humour, dry or otherwise, because funny was … undeniably attractive.
He turned, indicating below them. ‘Your house is in that valley there. You can just make out the top of the palm tree.’ He shifted to point into the distance. ‘See that line of darker green? That’s the river. Runs along the far boundary of my land. That way, east, is Settlers Bridge. Behind us is Adelaide.’
Roni spun slowly, getting her bearings. ‘Sydney is … that way?’
Matt took her hand, altering the trajectory of her finger. ‘About there. Why, you intend on making a run for it?’
‘Maybe not.’ The significance of speaking her tenuous decision aloud dragged her hand down.
‘Might be as well, given all your dependants.’
‘What?’ She almost choked.
‘Goat seems to have taken to you. Then there’s Baby. And of course, Scritches may not be too keen on going back to the city after a few weeks here.’
‘Oh,’ she muttered, instantly relieved he hadn’t discovered her secret. ‘Scritches can stretch his legs for a bit longer. Tracey’s entered me in some CWA lamington challenge.’
Matt stood still, staring over the paddocks for a long moment. Then he nodded, as though concluding an internal monologue. ‘That’s great.’
Great she was staying, or great she was baking?
Matt kept his eyes on the furrows as they picked their way back across the paddock. ‘If you need someone to test-drive those lamingtons, you’ve got my number.’
Unfamiliar emotions she didn’t care to name bubbled inside her, clear and sparkling like the early summer air. ‘Aren’t you supposed to judge my cooking, not inhale it?’
‘Judge it?’ Matt pressed on the lower fence wire with his boot but didn’t lift the top strand. ‘I’m not exactly CWA material.’
‘No, for Marian’s tasks.’
His strong hands closed around the top wire. ‘You’ve lost me. What does judging have to do with the tasks?’
The muscle strained in his thigh as his foot controlled the taut wire. She really shouldn’t be close enough to notice that. ‘You’re supposed to decide whether I’m worthy of my inheritance.’
He released the fence with a twa
ng and stepped back. ‘Why? That’s none of my business.’
‘Well, you are managing the property.’
The breeze sang against the wires and Matt pushed up his glasses again, as though the intense eye contact would help him understand. She wished she had her scratched sunnies; his gaze threw her off balance. He shook his head. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Roni. I’m not keeping score. I just have a list of stuff Marian wanted you to get a handle on. Some of it, like the bridge, I said would be safer if I was around to help you.’ He lifted his huge shoulders in a shrug of bemusement. ‘That’s the extent of my involvement.’
‘But then why are you … I mean, you’re putting so much time into this—’ She gestured at the paddocks, then at herself, trying to mask her confusion. ‘Why would Marian saddle you with the job?’
‘Not gonna lie,’ he said with a grunt of amusement, ‘I did wonder that myself. But I figured Marian had her reasons. She always did. Sometimes—most of the time—it was easier to go along with her schemes than to try to fathom the rationale.’
‘She said Derek Prescott would be assessing me.’ Except … was that actually what Marian had said, or what Roni had concluded? Shit. She needed to reread the letters. And quickly.
Matt lifted the wire again. ‘Her solicitor? Well, I can’t say I know anything about—wait up—’ He untangled her hair from a barb, then flipped the ponytail over her shoulder. ‘Okay. Go. I don’t know anything about Derek. Your aunt could be a complex woman and, much as I loved her, I’m not going to pretend I always knew what was going on in her head.’
‘She would have discussed the whole inheritance thing with you, though? The ten-year deal?’
He opened the ute door for her, an oddly chivalrous gesture on the side of a dusty road. The collie leaned forward from the tray, and Matt fondled the dog’s ears. ‘Good girl, Tess.’ He turned back to face Roni. ‘About the only thing I know is that when the shit with your mother blew up a couple of years ago, Marian became adamant the property would never pass to her.’
If Matt didn’t know there existed an option for him to continue farming the property, he couldn’t be trying to screw her out of her inheritance. Roni fisted her hands to contain her sudden relief. ‘Tracey said that Denise wanted to run off with some rich guy. That’s the shit you mean?’
‘He wasn’t bloody rich.’ Matt dropped heavily into his seat, his tone harsh as he slammed the door. ‘And Denise drained the life from him. Literally.’
Matt’s mention of her mother changed the mood in the ute. She didn’t want to hear anything against Denise, yet somewhere deep inside, his words reawakened her caution. She wanted to build a relationship with Denise, and she knew that Marian had manipulated the situation—and most likely the story—to suit her own ends. But was it realistic to believe that everyone who spoke ill of Denise could be wrong? Roni had yet to meet a person who didn’t harbour some degree of animosity toward the woman. Though hell, it wasn’t like Denise had dumped them on state care’s doorstep. They needed to take a ticket and wait in line.
She winced, refusing to rehash the old hurt. She was mature enough to recognise the dilemma her mother had faced and she was the only person in a position to appreciate the reasons Denise had given for her decisions.
The tour of the property became a site inspection, a discussion of facts and data pertaining to crops and sheep. Whatever memory had stirred in Matt threw up a wall between them, and there were no more exchanges of personal questions, no further banter.
Even so, she paid careful attention as he trotted out statistics on the paddocks of sheep they passed. She multiplied the flock numbers by the average fleece weight, converting it to a dollar amount based on the latest sales figures he divulged. When he nodded approval as she came up with estimates for the next season’s wool tally she tried not to smile too broadly, inexplicably hungry for his praise.
Life experiences had made her wary, but this was a whole new world. Maybe she didn’t need to bring forward her prejudices and fears. Perhaps Marian was right; only with risk came reward.
‘Okay, that’s probably enough information to spin your head for today, yeah?’ Matt said as they bounced over the second cattle grid and into the yard. ‘Took longer than I expected. I need to shoot off now, I’m running late. Got another pretty full-on week, so I’ll stay out of your way for a while—’
‘A dingo!’
Matt glanced across the farmyard, following her pointed finger, then slammed his foot on the accelerator. The ute hurtled toward the chicken coop. He smashed the brake and flung himself from the cab almost before the vehicle stopped rolling.
A small red dingo raced away from the shed, its tail streaming like a banner. Tess leaped from the back of the ute and gave chase.
‘Dammit!’ Matt thrust an arm across the coop doorway, preventing Roni’s entry as she dashed up behind him. ‘Don’t come in here. It’s a mess. Bloody foxes don’t usually come during the day. She must have cubs nearby.’
‘A fox?’ The word iced her veins. Even girls from the city knew what foxes did to chickens. And now she could see the feathers, sticking to Matt’s worn RM Williams boots. Fluffy white feathers. ‘No! Where’s Miss Fuzzypants?’ She shoved past Matt, though he barely moved to allow her access.
He grabbed her arm. ‘No, Roni. Don’t. I’ll clean up.’
Ignoring him, she dropped to her knees alongside a forlorn bundle of blood-streaked feathers. ‘Is she dead?’ The trembling words scarcely made it past the lump in her throat.
Matt hunkered alongside her. ‘Yeah, she is. It would have been quick, though. Look, the blood isn’t even hers, it looks like the rooster put up a fight. Miss, ah, Miss Fuzzypants’ heart would’ve given out.’
She could feel Matt watching her. No doubt expecting her to cry. Well, that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. With one finger, she stroked the downy feathers. She couldn’t bring herself to check the rest of the shed, though, keeping her gaze on the bantam’s limp body as she struggled for control. ‘So much for my growing dependants, huh? I guess it’s just as well you’re not grading me, because this’d be a monumental fail. Allowing Marian’s prize chickens to be murdered.’ Worse than failing Aunt Marian, though, was the knowledge the funny little chicken had depended on her for both sustenance and safety, and she’d screwed up.
‘It’s not a fail, Roni,’ Matt said gently. ‘It’s part of life out here. We always have trouble with foxes. You’ll have to keep the remaining birds locked in for a while, now. Once foxes have marked the location, they keep coming back. Trust me, Marian lost plenty of poultry herself.’
‘But not Miss Fuzzypants.’ Her chest heaved and she bit down on her lip.
‘No.’ Matt’s hand stilled hers on top of the soft, warm down. ‘Not Miss Fuzzypants. I’m sorry, Roni. If we’d been around the yard, the fox wouldn’t have come in.’
‘You’ll kill it?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the damage is already done. She’s trying to feed her cubs the only way she knows how. I’m not going to kill an animal for trying to take care of its own.’
She dashed a hand across her nose. ‘But Miss Fuzzypants didn’t do anything wrong; she didn’t deserve to be hurt.’ Not that pain was meted out on a merit basis. Wrong time, wrong place, whether it was a chicken coop or a darkened lounge room, was all the justification required.
‘Neither does the fox.’
‘I thought farmers were supposed to hate foxes?’
‘Told you, I’m not great farmer material.’ Matt’s knees cracked as he pushed himself from the dirt and extended a hand to tug her up.
‘So, what now? You feed the carcasses to your dog or something?’ She had to talk tough, pretend it didn’t hurt.
‘How about I grab the spade and you pick a place to bury Miss Fuzzypants?’
She didn’t dare look up at him or the tears would spill. ‘It’s just a dumb bird. You said you’re running late; I’ll take care of
it.’
‘Not late for anything important, and I know you like to be in the house before dark.’
Matt strode across the yard, returning minutes later with a spade and two feed sacks. He gently placed Miss Fuzzypants on the sack, then wrapped the fabric around her and passed the bundle to Roni as though he handled a baby. ‘You take her, I’ll dig. Did you decide where?’
She shrugged, feigning indifference.
‘How about under the peppertrees, then?’ Matt pointed to a row of lime-green trees, the soft, swooping foliage brushing the red dirt. ‘She loved to fossick around under there, didn’t she?’
He dug two graves: a large one for the chickens she still hadn’t brought herself to look at, and a smaller one for Miss Fuzzypants. Dug them deep, too. Not a token scrape in the earth, even though it was baked hard and full of chips of shale and flint.
By the time he’d built a cairn over Miss Fuzzypants’ plot, darkness had fallen and the collie had returned, nosing against him. Matt tugged the dog’s ears, but his attention was on Roni. ‘Are you okay?’
She willed steel into her voice. ‘Of course. Just pissed. It’s still a fail and you know it.’
‘You only fail if you give up.’
She forced a wobbly smile. ‘I’m sure I read that on a fridge magnet somewhere.’
‘I thought it was a meme. But my blatant plagiarism doesn’t change the fact. Roni?’ He waited until she glanced up at him. She prayed like hell her eyes weren’t red. ‘Don’t give up, okay? You’re doing just fine here, and the last thing Marian would want would be for you to quit over a chicken.’
‘No chickening out, huh?’
Matt grinned, but again the smile didn’t reach his eyes. She knew that move so well, that act so no one knew how you were feeling inside. He jerked his head toward the house. ‘C’mon, I’ll shut the rest of the birds in and then see you inside.’
She wanted to stay outside, where the gathering dusk could hide the emotions burgeoning inside her, but she needed to get inside—to lock herself away from this man who stirred unfamiliar thoughts and desires.
The Farm at Peppertree Crossing Page 19