‘Sure.’ It looked easy enough, if a little too intimate.
She took the seat Matt vacated, the cow looming even larger from this position.
‘Lean your head in against her flank. Hang on.’ He pushed the back leg of her stool with his foot, skittering it forward. ‘Okay, take her teat, right at the top, near her udder. Wrap your fingers around, then draw your hand down.’
Easier said than done. The teat felt kind of gross and lay flaccid in her hand. She changed her grip. No good. ‘Maybe that one’s empty?’
This time, Matt didn’t hide his laugh. ‘Feel free to try another.’
Nope. ‘All duds.’
‘Do you want me to help?’
‘Well, I’m pretty sure Daisy does.’
‘Poor girl’s not used to being molested.’
Roni involuntarily stiffened, thrusting up from the stool. ‘I can’t do this.’
Matt’s touch on her shoulder was light, reassuring. Not possessive, not holding her captive. ‘You want to try it together?’
She sat and Matt dropped to his haunches behind her. ‘Let’s see if this’ll work,’ he said. ‘Head against her side, take the teat. You might find it easier to use both hands.’
As she closed her fingers around the thick teats, Matt covered her hands with his own, his arms caging her. ‘If you want to see what you’re doing, rather than just feel it, lean back against me. I’ll stop you from toppling off the stool.’
She needed to lean against him because her head was spinning, her skin electric where it touched his. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back, the beat of his heart. Tingles of anticipation rippled down her neck as he spoke, his voice low in her ear.
‘Relax your hands, let me do the work.’
Relax. Yeah, right. She could barely breathe.
Matt’s hands set an easy rhythm that propelled jet after jet of milk into the bucket.
‘Oh!’ She twisted toward him. ‘That’s amaz—’
His face centimetres from hers, his pupils were huge, but he made no move to pull away. His right arm tightened around her and she nestled into the crook of his shoulder. His breath washed warm over her cheek, his lips almost touching her skin. ‘Roni, I—’
‘No wonder you didn’t want to take your mum to church today.’
Matt jerked back guiltily as the female voice, stripped of saccharine, sliced the air.
Roni kicked over the bucket as she snatched for balance.
Hands on her hips, lipstick cut a vicious pink slash across Fiona’s face. ‘Given your family, I suppose finding you here was inevitable, Veronica. Matthew, we brought your mother back with us. The kids are waiting in the house for you.’
Roni lurched to her feet. ‘Kids?’ Taylor had intimated that she would find trouble with Fiona—why the hell hadn’t she simply said Matt was married to her? That he had kids? She’d have run a million miles. She whirled to face him, her voice a low snarl. ‘You bastard.’
‘Roni, listen,’ he demanded.
‘To what?’ To him try to explain that his marriage was loveless, or nearly over, or on a break, or he had Fiona’s permission or whatever fucking crap he wanted to spin? Hell, no. Even if any of that were true, he had kids. Kids who deserved a family, who needed parents to keep them safe. She backed away from him, coming up against the cow’s side.
He seized her arm. ‘It’s not—’
‘Leave me alone!’ She grabbed the fingers he’d closed around her wrist and bent them straight back, like she’d learned in the self-defence classes. Beneath his tan, Matt’s face went white with shock at the sickening crunch. But he reached for her with his other hand.
‘Don’t you fucking touch me!’ she screamed. But the words weren’t only for him. Fourteen-year-old Veronica had finally found her voice. Finally demanded, instead of begged.
Fiona hung onto Matt’s good arm. ‘Jesus, she’s as mad as Marian. Let her go, Matthew.’
‘No, Roni—’
His bulk blocked her escape. Ignoring the flare of pain in her stomach at the sudden movement, she shoved past the cow. Blood thundered in her ears, obscuring his words. Did his friends dislike Fiona so much that they’d schemed to help Matt cheat on her? Or did they believe Roni needed the bribe of his company to stay at Peppertree Crossing to keep Marian’s precious dream alive? Was that why they’d said nothing?
From the corner of her eye, she saw Matt reach for her, but Fiona had latched on to him like a tick. Helping her escape.
When Matt had said he’d be in trouble for hanging around, drinking tea and enjoying her cooking, she had envisioned his sweet old mother waiting with dinner on the table for him. Not his wife.
When he’d said he could find a bit of quiet time today, she’d thought he meant a break from work, not from his kids.
He called after her as she pounded across the yard, her stupid sandals slowing her down, but she ignored him. He had deceived her into re-creating her mother’s foul behaviour, and Fiona had every right to hate her.
She slammed the car into drive just as he reached the vehicle, his fist pounding the roof. She floored the accelerator, sped out of the yard and recklessly along the dirt roads, blinded by tears of fury and humiliation. She’d cried in front of him. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable. She’d allowed feelings for him. Dammit, she’d been so close to persuading herself that maybe she—no. Never that.
She couldn’t go home yet; Peppertree Crossing was where he would come looking for her.
The suppressed anger of years erupting inside her, she was too furious to think clearly, almost too angry to see the road. Not that it mattered. A tree, a rock, maybe a farm truck coming the other way—it could all be over quickly.
She slowed the car and pulled over. Shoved the door open and bent double, her empty stomach convulsing. Retching, she spat bile into the dust, then sat back, trembling as she wiped her face with her ridiculous skirt.
She had to calm down. She had to be rational. She wouldn’t leave Scritches alone. She wouldn’t destroy her life for a man; any man. The burst of anger left her weak, hands shaking, heart racing. She hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. A stupid, misplaced thankyou kiss the other day, that was all. Matt was the one in the wrong, not her.
Yet this hurt, it hurt so damn bad. She had persuaded herself he was good and safe and—oh God, she’d been so wrong, and she should have known, because nothing in her life was ever safe.
She started the engine again. Tracey would help her. Her sympathy, her motherly touch, would take away this new pain.
Except Tracey had known.
Tracey wasn’t safe, either.
Pulling back onto the road, she drove aimlessly. Directionless. Until suddenly Taylor’s driveway loomed in the windscreen.
Was Taylor safe? Biting at her lip, she replayed Taylor’s conversations. Had the doctor tried to push her toward Matt, or had that been her imagination?
The car rattled over the cattle grid as she frantically tried to sort the memories. Surely Taylor had never said anything more than that Matt was a nice guy?
Yeah, a nice lying, cheating bastard.
Several cars littered Taylor’s yard, and Roni clutched the steering wheel as she surveyed them. Could she walk into the darkened lounge room again, with no one to rescue her?
She thrust open the car door. She didn’t need rescuing, and to hell with her dread of darkened rooms. Apparently, that wasn’t the only place men tried to take advantage of her, so she might as well confront that fear head on.
‘Hey, Roni, how’re you doing?’ Luke opened the door. ‘Come on in. Tay’s in the kitchen, threatening some poor, innocent cake.’
Luke had been in on it. Teasing Matt the other weekend, encouraging him. While his wife was home with the kids.
What story had Matt spun Fiona when he spent the night of the storm at her house? Why had he even been there instead of protecting his own family?
She nodded tersely at Luke and made her wa
y straight to the kitchen.
Taylor glanced up, wisps of hair escaping her ponytail, icing sugar smeared across one cheek. ‘Wow, I love that dress. And you have perfect timing; how the heck do I get this stuff to come out of the bag?’
When Roni didn’t answer, she set aside the icing. ‘Roni? What’s wrong? Are you okay?’
‘I just met Fiona. At Matt’s place. Their place.’
‘Ah.’ Taylor picked up the bag again. ‘I take it that’s a euphemism for you had words? Or, knowing her, Fiona had all the words?’
‘She had every right to, didn’t she?’ The accusation ripped from her on a wave of anguish and anger.
Taylor gave an amused snort. ‘I’m sure she’d argue that’s the case.’
Roni shook her head. ‘You know the worst thing? I knew from the start Matt was out to screw me over.’ She leaned her elbows on the high counter, covering her face with her palms as her fingers drove into her hair. ‘I just didn’t want to see it. I wanted to believe something good could actually happen in my life, without the something bad to balance it.’
‘Why would Matt screw you over?’ Taylor sounded perplexed.
Because he could. ‘I don’t know. The farm, I suppose.’ Even though that made no sense, in light of what he’d shared. But the fact remained, he’d lied to her. They all had. ‘Why the hell were you all acting like you were trying to set me up with Matt?’
Taylor splattered a dollop of icing on the cake. ‘Because he’s a nice guy. And matchmaking’s pretty much a sport around here.’ She spread the icing with a carving knife, her tone calm, as though what she’d said was perfectly reasonable. ‘The guys are a couple of beers in—do you think they’ll notice I’m hiding burned cake? Anyway, what’s Fiona’s issue? Beyond the obvious, I mean.’ Sudden interest lit her face. ‘Hey, did something, you know, happen, to set her off?’
They were all mad. Roni slumped on a stool as the unreality of the situation swept her. ‘We nearly—well, I think we almost—’
‘What?’ Taylor shrieked.
‘We almost kissed.’ Waves of mortification swept her, hot and cold faster than a fever chill, and she kept her gaze nailed to the counter. ‘And Fiona saw us.’
‘That’s one way to stick it up her. Good for you.’
She reeled back in disgust. ‘What is wrong with you people? I would never have gone near him if I’d known about his wife.’
‘Wife?’ Icing dripped from the knife as Taylor stared at her. ‘Wait. Is that what Fiona told you?’
‘Yes. Well, no, she didn’t have to. But she made it pretty bloody clear.’
Taylor waved the knife in her direction. ‘Pretty clear in her own mind, maybe. She’s not Matt’s wife. He’s never been married.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, his significant other, then. I don’t see the title makes any difference. The fact is, everyone, including him, let me think he was available.’
When she hadn’t wanted to think about him at all.
‘He is available. As far as I know, anyway. Hang on, I’ll check. Luke? Hon!’ Taylor yelled toward the hallway.
‘Coming.’ Luke appeared in the doorway, then crossed the room to dip his finger in the icing, one hand on Taylor’s waist. ‘Sweet. Not as sweet as you, though.’ He nuzzled his wife’s neck.
‘Point of contention in here,’ Taylor said. ‘Is Matt seeing anyone at the moment?’
‘Matty? You know he isn’t.’ He tilted his head in Roni’s direction. ‘Though he seems to be spending a lot of time at yours.’
‘Fiona led Roni to believe that she and Matt are a thing.’
He snorted. ‘Fiona? Matt would rather be a monk than go there. Take my word for it.’ He swiped the icing and traced it across Taylor’s lips.
Roni clutched at the edge of the counter. Nothing they said made any sense. ‘But they have kids.’
Luke’s eyes widened. ‘Hell, no. What—’
Taylor pushed the plate of half-iced cake into his chest. ‘Take this. Go.’ She shooed him from the room and whirled to the sink, flipping the tap. ‘Roni, are you okay? Here, drink.’
The glass knocked against her teeth as she tried to swallow.
‘Okay, take a few deep breaths. Breathe in to my count. One. Two. Three. Now out, two, three.’
Roni concentrated on Taylor’s calm voice, trying not to think. Except how could she not think?
‘Okay, keep breathing like that, but listen to me. Matt doesn’t have any kids. Fiona is his sister-in-law. The kids are hers and his brother Simon’s. No, don’t talk, keep breathing. Now, I’m not denying Fiona would like there to be something between her and Matt; rumour is she’s been hot for him since they were at high school. But it’s not happening.’
‘He didn’t play me?’ The words came out jerky.
‘Take another drink.’ Taylor pressed the glass to her lips. ‘I can’t breach patient confidentiality by telling you anything that’s not already common knowledge, but I will say that, after what happened to Matt, he’d be the last guy to ever play you.’ She traced her finger through a cloud of icing sugar on the counter. ‘Listen, Roni. You’re safe with him. Like Luke, he’s one of the guys you can trust.’
Trust. Easy to say, so much harder to do. No wonder it was one of the things Marian insisted she work on. ‘So he’s not married? No girlfriend? No kids?’
‘Still no to all of the above. You want to call him?’ Taylor pulled a phone from her jeans.
Roni shook her head, her teeth chattering as reaction set in. ‘I—I—broke his fingers.’
Chapter Thirty-three
Taylor had insisted on driving her home once she’d calmed down, saying she would drop by Matt’s on the way back to see if he required medical attention.
Medical attention because of what Roni had done to him.
God.
Not that Taylor had judged her. When she’d explained, between hiccoughs and sobs, that Matt had grabbed her and she’d reacted, Taylor had seemed to understand there was more to the story.
But she couldn’t face him again—except there was no way around it: after locking herself indoors for two days, ignoring Scritches’ yowls as he raced to answer the familiar knock on the back door yesterday and again this morning, and skulking out to feed the animals when she was sure the farmyard was empty, she’d realised she couldn’t run an eight-hundred-acre property alone. She either allowed Matt to farm it or she sold up and moved away. Somewhere. Or maybe … she had another idea. A vague plan. She tugged at Scritches’ ears as he curled in her lap. No matter what, she had to face the mess caused by her inability to trust.
Her heart stumbled as she opened the back door and a note fell to the ground. She unfolded the paper with trembling fingers.
Roni,
I’ve organised the goat—yet to be named—to pick up on the weekend. I’m cropping your lower paddocks today if you want to come see how it’s done? Matt
She rubbed at her chest. Reread the letter. Ran her fingertips over the words, as though she could read his subtext like braille.
A chill rippled through her: Matt had obviously decided one of them needed to act like an adult. He was tying up loose ends and planned to show her how to run her machinery. Because he was quitting.
What the hell else had she expected? He’d made it clear he didn’t want to farm the property and, in return for his honesty, she’d assaulted him.
She took a tremulous breath, moving to the kitchen to slide the letter carefully behind the breadboard with Marian’s collection. Then she pulled a bunch of paper lunch bags from the drawer. She might have lost her dreams—all of them—but she couldn’t destroy Marian’s. ‘We need him, Scritch.’ As a farmer. She had cost them the chance of anything more.
The harvester slowly patrolled the circumference of the paddock beyond the gums at the bottom of the yard. It disappeared where the land dipped, then reappeared on the hillside, crawling back toward the house. Great blades churned in front of it, devouring the golden stalks.
Gripping the brown paper bag tighter, she marched down the yard, trying to look less terrified than she felt. She climbed through the wire fence and stood at the edge of the paddock, waiting.
The earth trembled, the noise deafening as Matt pulled up and swung the cab door open. Leaning down, he offered his left hand, his bandaged fingers sticking out awkwardly as he gripped the side of the vehicle with his right.
She pressed her lips hard together, then took his hand, and he hoisted her effortlessly into the towering machine.
‘Morning, boss,’ he nodded, resuming his seat.
She barely took in the huge cab, the dash like a jet cockpit, all dials and controls and levers. ‘Look. I’m really sorry. I jumped to conclusions and overreacted.’ The words came out in a garbled rush, despite her careful rehearsal.
He shrugged. ‘From what Tay said, seems you had pretty good reason.’
She nudged her chin at his fingers. ‘Still …’
He lifted them from the control panel, staring as though he’d not previously noticed them. ‘Yeah, well … I’m glad you know how to look after yourself. Though, next time maybe remind me you’re trained in martial arts instead of demonstrating.’
‘Next time?’
He put the machine into gear, letting it lumber forward. ‘We’re partners; I’m sure to tick you off again someday.’
She nodded, biting her lips together to hold in her relief.
Matt caught her glance around the cab. ‘Marian’s equipment—your equipment—is prime. She always insisted on having the right tool for the job.’
He was walling her off again, making it clear they were on strictly business terms. Their relationship was right back where it had been when she arrived. Stilted mistrust and distrust. And it was her fault.
‘Speaking of task-specific gear …’ Matt reached into the pocket of his navy-blue cotton shirt and pulled out a pair of small, buff-coloured gloves. He held them toward her, his gaze on the paddock. ‘You messed up your hands pretty bad doing that gardening.’
The Farm at Peppertree Crossing Page 29