The Farm at Peppertree Crossing

by Léonie Kelsall

  ‘Matt?’

  ‘Roni, are you there?’

  His tone was urgent, making her heart speed faster. Tracey? She unlatched the door and pulled it open.

  Matt was covered from shoulders to mid-calf in a dripping Driza-Bone, unrecognisable but for the anger in his tone. ‘Christ, Roni, I was worried about you.’

  She squinted as he played a flashlight up and down her body. ‘Me?’

  His hand closed around her upper arm. ‘You’re okay?’

  ‘Ouch. Except for that arm. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  He glanced down at the grip whitening on her arm, then released her and slumped against the doorframe, huffing out a long breath. ‘Tracey called. Said you would’ve been driving when the weather hit. Fuck, Roni, when I saw your car stranded I thought you’d gone into the creek.’ He closed his eyes and dragged a hand down his dripping face. A muscle in his jaw jerked. ‘I couldn’t get to the vehicle; the bridge is under about a half-metre of water.’

  ‘But the rain’s lighter now.’

  ‘Flash floods come from higher up the system, not the rain that’s falling here.’

  His tone suggested that this was something she should have known. She crossed her arms over her chest, silently daring him to lecture her. ‘If the water’s that high, how’d you get here?’

  ‘Rode.’

  ‘A motorbike?’ Her disbelief obvious, she stepped back, reflexively waving him inside.

  He dropped his hat onto the window seat, the light from his torch swinging crazily around the room as he ran a hand through hair darkened by the rain. ‘Bike? No. Horse. The creek’s narrower higher up, and he’s a good jumper. Damn it, Roni, if something had happened to you, Marian would’ve come back to haunt me.’

  Hence the anger. ‘No need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.’

  ‘I know that. I like that. But still.’

  Oh. She’d turned toward the hall but stumbled as his words hit her. Quickly, she moved into the house, where it was darker. ‘I’ll grab you a towel.’

  He shook his head, drops splattering her. ‘Amigo’s still in the rain. Thing is’—he pulled at his chin—‘when the power went out in town, I thought yours might be out too. So I picked up some food. I was driving over here when Tracey called.’

  With the moon behind him, it was hard to tell where he was looking, but it seemed to be anywhere but at her. ‘You were going to ask me to dinner?’

  He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Bent to stroke Scritches. Cleared his throat. ‘Kind of depends, now.’

  ‘Depends?’

  ‘On what your answer would’ve been.’

  She bit her lip. Looked at Scritches, as though he’d reply. ‘Well, that kind of depends.’

  ‘Depends?’

  ‘On what food you brought. I don’t do vegies.’ Only for Roo.

  A grin flashed across his face and he shoved the hat back on, reaching for the door handle behind him. ‘Something Mum used to feed us when we were kids. I’ll give Amigo a quick rubdown and be back in a few.’

  Roni shook her tingling hands and blew out an unsteady breath. He hadn’t been angry, but concerned. And maybe not only because Marian had engineered a situation where she was sort of his responsibility.

  She flew up the hall and squinted at the bedroom mirror in the faint light from the window. She wore the thin jersey and old trackpants she’d managed to find under her pillow in the dark, but if she couldn’t see, maybe neither could Matt. She couldn’t even fix her hair because, semi-dry, it was a mane of unmanageable curls that would only get worse if confronted with a comb.

  The knock on the back door sounded softer this time. ‘Come in, it’s open.’ The echo of Tracey in her words brought a grin to her lips. At least she hadn’t ended with ‘love’.

  Matt was in the kitchen, sans hat and Driza-Bone. She handed him the towel she’d blindly grabbed from the linen cupboard. ‘Do you want to take a shower? Water’s still hot.’

  ‘No, I’ll be right.’ Matt ran the towel over his face and head, leaving his blond hair standing in spikes. ‘It’s Amigo who got well soaked. But he’s tucked into the stable nice and warm now, chowing down on fresh hay.’

  She knew; Matt smelled sweet, like the bales in the lower shed.

  He swung a backpack onto the table. ‘I’d planned to pick up some extra stuff from home, but when I saw your car, I just grabbed my pack and the horse. So, we’ll have to make do.’

  Planned? He’d actually thought about this? Her hand tightened on the back of the chair as he laid the torch on the table and unloaded the contents of his pack into the beam of light: a small sausage-shaped tube, a couple of tomatoes, a packet of chips and a carton of crackers. He waved the crackers. ‘I’m hoping you have some of your awesome bread, but these’ll do otherwise.’

  ‘Baked this morning.’ She couldn’t keep the pride from her voice as she moved across the darkened kitchen to where the bread sat under a tea towel, but she miscalculated and her hip banged the table. ‘Ouch!’

  Matt snatched up the torch and flashed it toward her. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Well padded.’

  The beam of light rested on her hip for a long moment. ‘You didn’t find candles?’

  ‘Didn’t look.’

  ‘I’ll grab them.’ He headed toward the sunroom, leaving her in the dark. Though she was probably throwing off a glow from her flushed cheeks. Had she imagined that … moment? When he’d looked at her and his voice dropped lower, had somehow vibrated through her?

  Within seconds he returned, carrying candles and a box of matches. ‘Marian always liked to be prepared.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess I should’ve been, too.’

  In the flare of a match, he glanced across the table at her, a tiny frown between his eyes. ‘You’re doing just fine.’

  Okay, so, despite the rain, it definitely wasn’t cold in here. In fact, she was feeling rather too warm.

  The fragrance of burning wood and paraffin filled the room as he flicked out the match. ‘So, where do you want this feast? Kitchen table doesn’t quite cut it for a picnic.’

  ‘Would the library work?’ Her favourite room, cloistered by the shelves of books, made cosy by the smell of leather and old paper.

  He nodded. ‘We’ll need pepper, butter and your bread.’ He left a lit candle on the table and carried his pack and the food across the hall to the library, moving with the easy grace of a large cat. ‘Oh, and a couple of glasses,’ he called.

  She grabbed the items, along with the candle.

  He’d pulled a rug from a chair and spread it on the floor. The food was laid out on it, and candles glowed on the side tables. ‘Got to have a picnic rug, right?’

  ‘So I’ve heard. Can’t say I’ve ever picnicked.’ She sat as far from him as she could on the small blanket. ‘Unless the local takeaway counts.’

  Matt rocked back on his haunches. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for?’ Instant aggression, her armour, prickled in her tone. She’d never needed pity.

  ‘From the bits you share, it seems your childhood wasn’t much chop.’

  ‘Not everyone needs to have the same experience,’ she flared. Comparisons always made her feel … less. Less than the kid with a family, less than the woman with a career. Less than the farmer who could claim an idyllic picnic-filled upbringing, despite the pain that now simmered beneath his surface. ‘My first foster parents had divorced by the time I was nine, so picnicking wasn’t high on their agenda.’

  ‘Nine? Hell, Roni—’

  She pointed at the plastic sausage, heading off the trite phrases of commiseration she knew would come next. ‘What is that stuff?’

  He held it up. ‘My secret weapon. Liverwurst.’

  ‘Liver?’ She grimaced.

  ‘Nope. Liverwurst. Totally different.’

  ‘I thought you were vegetarian.’

  He leaned to one side to pull a knife from his belt. ‘Only mostly. For some things, I’m h
appy to break the rules.’ His brows briefly contracted, as though the words led him elsewhere. Then he hacked a couple of pieces from her loaf, spread them liberally with butter and the liverwurst paste. Sliced tomato went on next, then pepper, and finally a small handful of potato chips.

  She looked dubiously at the slice he handed her.

  ‘Don’t knock it till you try it.’

  ‘But then the knocking’s okay?’

  He nodded. ‘Then I give you permission to bring it. I’m never entirely decided whether I like this stuff or it’s just the childhood association.’

  She nibbled at the edge of her bread, looking up through her lashes as Matt moved to a more comfortable position then practically inhaled half his slice. Okay, so it wasn’t poisonous. She took a bite, snatching at the chips that fell from the wedge.

  Salty and peppery, the different textures of the spread, tomato, and chips all combined perfectly with the crusty softness of the bread.

  ‘Okay?’ Matt raised an eyebrow.

  She held up one finger to stop him speaking. Finished the entire slice before she replied. ‘It was okay. I mean, you know, if you’re stuck in the dark in the middle of a storm, I guess it’ll suffice.’

  Matt prepared another two slices, handing her one without asking. ‘Oh, wait.’ He pulled a bottle from his bag.

  She carefully laid down her slice of bread. ‘I don’t drink.’ Hadn’t since they forced it on her, except for the few times with Greg, when she’d needed to numb herself. The familiar bubbles of remembered fear fluttered in her throat. ‘I’ll grab water.’

  Matt turned the bottle so she could read the label. Appletiser. ‘You took juice to the barbecue, so I thought this might work.’

  ‘Oh. Well, no need for you to miss out. Marian has a huge wine collection in the other room.’

  ‘I don’t drink either.’

  ‘You don’t?’ Her voice pitched high in surprise. ‘I’ve never known a guy who doesn’t drink.’

  Matt concentrated on unscrewing the bottle. ‘Well, I guess I did back in the day, but not for the last ten years.’ He rubbed at his chin. The go-to move when he seemed uncertain. ‘My old man died of cirrhosis.’ As he poured the juice, she caught the play of muscle in his jaw, like he ground his teeth.

  Was this the secret he hid, the one that caused the flashes of torment in his eyes?

  He blew out a long breath. ‘Watching your dad change, from being the man who taught you to ride a horse, into a mean old bastard who’d whip the animal for no reason, kind of makes you think about doing things differently yourself.’ His gaze flicked to hers, blue chips of ice catching the candlelight. ‘Then my brother died with a full bottle of Jack in him. Enough reason to stick to my guns.’

  Roni sat very still. When he’d mentioned deaths, she’d figured he was trying to ingratiate himself, talking up his devastation at Marian’s passing, but the stark expression on his face made a lie of any pretence. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say.’

  He lifted a shoulder. ‘Not their fault. I guess we all get addicted to whatever we find takes away the pain.’

  ‘Like solitude.’ She’d purged her life of the complications brought by allowing people into her personal space. It had become a compulsion, an addiction to rejection.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Shifting to his knees, Matt leaned closer, as though he was truly interested.

  She realised she’d said too much, yet now she felt an urge to draw a parallel between their lives, their loss. ‘Did you—’ She bit at her lip. Hell, she shouldn’t say anything. ‘You said you knew my uncle?’

  ‘Andrew? Sure.’

  ‘He was my dad.’

  Matt nodded slowly. ‘That explains a lot. He seemed a decent guy. Never complained about Marian putting me through school.’

  ‘You went to a private school?’ Jealousy flared instantly. She’d shared a secret, yet all she got in return was more proof that Marian truly had loved Matt.

  ‘No. I went to the local high school. But Marian put me through the Bachelor of Science and then Vet Medicine at Adelaide Uni.’

  ‘You mean’—she screwed up her forehead, the conclusion dragging reluctantly from the depths of her brain—‘you’re a vet?’

  Matt wiped his hand on his jeans, then held it out to her. ‘Dr Matthew Krueger, at your service.’

  She took his hand reflexively, his grip warm and dry, his palm callused. ‘But you’re a farmer?’

  ‘Sideline. I’m a vet during business hours. That’s why I haven’t been here as much as I would’ve … liked to be.’ He relinquished her hand and pushed to his feet. ‘I guess we’d better clean this lot up, so you don’t get mice. Or is Scritches a decent mouser?’

  She snorted. ‘For some reason he has to put literally everything in his mouth, but I’m not sure he’d ever actually be able to catch anything.’

  ‘Sounds like he has pica. Was he a rescue?’

  ‘Yeah. Some kids were tormenting him in a carpark when I found him.’

  ‘I hope he appreciates how lucky he is that you came into his life, then.’

  She refused to search his words for hidden import. Instead, she gestured toward the library door as Scritches pushed his way in. Bless the cat. ‘Ask him yourself. He’s pretty talkative.’ And she wasn’t about to be. She had no room in her head for the conflicting emotions this man woke in her.

  ‘Hey there, Scritch.’ Matt went for the spot behind his ear that Scritches loved so much. ‘You look after your mumma, okay, buddy?’ She flinched at the title, her hand moving to her belly. Matt straightened. ‘It’s late, I’d better make tracks.’

  ‘It’s still pouring.’ She pointed at the ceiling. Though it wasn’t cold, the noise of the rain drumming on the iron roof gave a feeling of winter. ‘Why don’t you stay? There’s a spare room.’ What was she doing? After years of carefully making it almost impossible for her boyfriend to sleep over, she impulsively invited some random guy?

  And, God, what if Matt didn’t realise she was only being neighbourly?

  He rubbed at his chin. ‘Are you sure? I’d prefer not to drag Amigo out again in this. And if I stay, I’ll be able to give you a hand getting the car off the bridge first thing in the morning. If you want me to, that is?’

  If she wanted him to which bit? She was so flustered, his words weren’t making sense. ‘Sure. Whatever. I’ll get you some fresh sheets.’

  ‘Wait.’ He laid a hand on her arm as she scrambled up. ‘I’m going to come clean with you here.’

  Shit. He wasn’t thinking neighbourly at all. How did she retract the offer?

  ‘I’m always up for some dessert.’

  No. Hell, no. He could call it what he liked, but she wasn’t up for it.

  He angled his head toward the kitchen. ‘Don’t suppose you have any lamingtons left?’

  Why did disappointment flash through her? ‘No lamingtons.’

  Matt looked appealingly crestfallen.

  ‘But I tried a carrot cake early this morning.’ And not a packet one, either.

  ‘You’re having me on. Serious? Carrot cake’s my favourite. Least, it was until I had your lamingtons.’

  ‘I’ll grab you a slice then get your linen.’

  He ate his cake standing over the kitchen sink while she went to the bathroom. As she exited, she almost ran into him in the hall. They stepped to opposite sides of the runner, as far from each other as they could possibly get.

  ‘Awesome cake. Thanks.’

  ‘No worries. Well, goodnight.’ It wasn’t like it was a date—not that she’d ever been on one—so why did she hesitate, her heart pounding, waiting to see if he might kiss her goodnight?

  He gave a nod and turned into his bedroom, and she scurried up the hall. Closed her door and quietly turned the key. Then she crawled into bed, her arms around Scritches.

  Sleep didn’t come quickly. Instead her mind turned over and over. What the hell was she going to do? She needed to provide a safe future for R
oo and Scritches. And Goat and Baby, and perhaps eventually Bear.

  But a growing awareness whispered that maybe she also wanted a home for her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Although she was an early riser, by the time she and Scritches left their bedroom, Matt was nowhere in sight. His bedroom door was open, his bed neatly made.

  Goat and Baby were damp and miserable-looking. No sign out there of the farmer. Vet. Whichever role he played today.

  She fed the fowls, then wandered across the yard. A handsome horse, a million feet tall, snorted sweet breath at her, his whiskers tickling her arm. So Matt was still somewhere about the farm, and she should probably throw together some breakfast. Vegetarian, and not involving carrot cake. Though it seemed he wouldn’t complain no matter what she gave him. A tingle buzzed down the centre of her chest at the thought and she rubbed it away. He would get toast, eggs and some of the slightly wrinkled mushrooms from the bottom of the fridge. Definitely no sweetness.

  Over the sizzle of mushrooms turning golden in butter, she didn’t hear Matt enter the room. He gestured at the table set for two. ‘Hey, I didn’t expect you to lay on breakfast. That smells so good. I’m used to a bowl of cornflakes, if I’m lucky. More likely a protein bar in the car on the way to work. Speaking of cars, yours is all good now. It’s in the shed.’

  ‘You got it unstuck already? You’re not even wet.’

  ‘Water’s all gone. Give it another hour and you’ll swear the creek never flowed.’

  She slid two eggs onto his toast, one onto hers.

  Matt held up mud-covered hands. ‘Do I have time to wash up?’

  ‘You’d better. I’m not sure if Scritches will let you have the bathroom to yourself, though, he always has to perch on the bath when I’m in there.’

  She thought she heard him murmur ‘understandable’ as he headed across the hallway, but she pretended not to hear. She had no space in either her head or her heart for this man. For any man.