MAN
DROUGHT
Rachael Johns
www.harlequinbooks.com.au
TITLE: MAN DROUGHT
First Australian Publication 2013
Copyright © 2013 Rachael Johns
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Harlequin Mills & Boon®, Locked Bag 7002, Chatswood D.C. N.S.W., Australia 2067.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Dear Reader
Thanks so much for picking up Man Drought. I hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
The idea of The One (there being only one perfect person in the world for everyone) has always fascinated me and I decided to explore that in this book. Imogen the heroine is a widow who believes her dead husband was the only man for her. At the beginning of Man Drought, she’s looking for new ways to live life, believing love, marriage and happily-ever-afters are things of the past for her. She takes the massive step of buying a run-down country pub to kickstart her new life.
This is where a little bit of me slipped into the book. Having lived in the country for the past nine years, I’ve done a fair bit of driving between rural towns. One thing that always fascinated me about these places was the pubs. They are these amazing old buildings, often oozing history, character and charm, yet more often than not they are sadly neglected and derelict. Each time I see a country pub that could do with some serious TLC, I start imagining how I’d renovate it, breathe life back into it, so I gave this role to Imogen, my heroine.
My Australian books are very much about rural communities and the people who live in them. Even if the pubs are run-down, in many of these towns they are still where locals go to socialise and therefore I’m stoked to bring you Man Drought – a book in which the pub gets portrayed for all its positive aspects, rather than the negative ones sometimes focused on.
I hope you’ll enjoy my vibrant cast of characters and as usual I’d love to hear your thoughts about Man Drought. Please visit me on the web at www.rachaeljohns.com
Happy Reading!
Rachael
Acknowledgments
I have so much support from family, friends and my publisher when writing a book that it is not the lonely process that some might imagine.
This time round, I want to thank Janette Radevski, who was the first person to read Man Drought and loved it from the get-go. Thanks for your support and advice. So many other fabulous writer friends helped me through the writing of Man Drought as well – thanks to Fiona Lowe, who is always generous with her wisdom and helped especially with the birth scene in this book; to Cathryn Hein for the pep talks and for constantly making me laugh; to Bec Sampson who I email at least a hundred times a day; and to Jackie Ashenden, Fiona Palmer and Joanne Levy, all great supports.
Thanks also to Peta and Chris Sattler for having me (and the boys) at your lovely farm on a research trip. We must do that again some time. Many thanks for reading the unedited version for any farming errors. As usual, any errors that did slip through are mine!
A special mention to my best friend since childhood Holly Paine – who bought FIVE copies of my last book, Jilted, and is continually my biggest fan. Love you always!
I don’t think I could do this job and still stay on top of all the other important things in life without my fabulous home support team. To my Mum, who is undoubtedly THE BEST mother in the world, to my hubby who doesn’t mind helping with the cooking or, better still, doing the vacuuming himself, to my mother-in-law who babysits during writing conferences, and to my gorgeous boys, so innocent and enthusiastic in their support – I LOVE and thank you all.
To my editor for this book – Lachlan Jobbins – thanks for all your insight and support. It never ceases to amaze me the things an editor picks up that us mere mortals don’t even notice.
And lastly, but definitely not least, I need to once again offer immense thanks to Haylee Nash and the awesome team at Harlequin Australia for loving Man Drought and for all the other opportunities you have given me.
This one’s for Craig – for putting up with an undomestic goddess of a wifey who sits at the computer every night and demands you make Milo to feed her muse! Thank you! xo
FOR SALE
The Majestic, Gibson’s Find, Western Australia Loads of potential in this hospitality business situated on a busy national highway and surrounded by prosperous, well-established farming areas. The hotel services passing trade and loyal locals, including farmers and mining personnel.
Ideal for a husband and wife team looking for a tree change and to be their own boss. On the edge of farming land, where crops turn to pastoral stations and mining leases in the beautiful Goldfields of Western Australia, this is a unique place to live and do business.
Licensed hotel, comprising eight guest rooms, staff and manager’s quarters. Great possibilities for expansion and making the most of travellers.
BE QUICK. This attractively priced business won’t be on the market long!
Chapter One
‘Are you absolutely insane?’
‘Please tell me you haven’t signed the contract.’
‘No. And yes.’ Imogen grinned at her two closest friends and then gazed across at her brand new life. They’d travelled half the day to get here and she was feeling like the fizz in a can of soft drink, desperate to explode and share her excitement.
An early nineteenth-century colonial pub stood proudly in front of them – red brick and tin, verandahs along the front and sides – with the quaint charm you see on outback television dramas. The pub had definitely seen better days, and she knew not everyone would see it how she did when she closed her eyes, but just looking at the old place made her heart feel lighter than it had in years. Two years, five months and four days to be precise. But no more counting. No more dwelling on the past.
Her new life started today. Right here in the tiny precinct of Gibson’s Find, not far from where the West Australian Wheatbelt met the Goldfields. Three and a half hours inland from Perth by car, far away from her memories and everything she’d shared with Jamie. It wasn’t exactly the life she’d imagined, but if she didn’t want to lose herself in a dark, dark hole, then she’d just have to make a go of it.
‘I think I need a drink,’ Jenna said with a dramatic sigh that was not at all unusual for her. Despite the heat and the fact that Amy’s air conditioner had struggled on the long journey, Jenna looked like she’d stepped off the pages of a Marie Claire magazine.
‘Me too,’ Amy echoed, placing a hand on her bulging abdomen. Imogen and Jenna swung their heads to glare at her, eyebrows raised, both ready with a lecture about drinking while pregnant.
‘Relax. I’m kidding.’ Amy grinned and rubbed her tummy. Her face was flushed red and sweaty from the summer heat. ‘As if I’d do anything to jeopardise this little bundle. But it’s hot out here and my thirst needs quenching.’
Amy and her husband Ryan had been trying for a baby for the
best part of five years. Her ‘little bundle’ was the result of a lengthy and expensive process of IVF. After supporting Amy through several failed attempts, Imogen and Jenna already felt fiercely protective of it.
‘We’ll get you lemonade in a champagne flute,’ Jenna said, adjusting her Marc Jacobs handbag on her shoulder. ‘If Imogen’s really going to do this, then we may as well kill two birds with one bottle: have a stickybeak inside and toast to her insanity. What do you say?’
‘I think that’s a fine plan. Come on girls.’ Imogen placed her hands on her hips and her two friends linked their arms in hers. Together they strode across the road and up onto the verandah, out of the hot January sun and into the building Imogen planned to make her home.
They paused in the doorway and Imogen waited as Amy and Jenna looked their fill. That unique pub aroma of beer-soaked carpets, greasy food and cigarette smoke (even though no one had been allowed to smoke inside for years) wafted out to greet them. Although her friends faces were blank, she knew them well enough to guess their thoughts. They’d already lamented about how far away she was taking them and how flat and barren the land around the town was. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry as they took their time, silently swivelling their heads and glancing up at sagging roof beams, looking down to the scuffed floorboards, peering through the gloom at the few redneck faces staring back at them. Actually, ogling was probably a better description.
Jenna took the Lord’s name in vain under her breath, and Amy’s grip on Imogen’s arm tightened. The few men holding up the bar didn’t look like the type you’d want to meet in a deserted alley on a dark night.
‘I’m not crazy,’ Imogen said, loud enough for only her friends to hear. Before they could challenge her, she added, ‘Let’s get drinks and I’ll fill you in. On everything.’
‘I’ll buy them.’ Jenna stood up straight, held her chin high as if she were about to approach a pack of wild dingoes, and disentangled her arm. ‘You two get us a table.’ She peered around and screwed up her otherwise perfect nose. ‘If you can find a clean one.’
So The Majestic wasn’t in the best shape. Yes, it would likely fail dismally in any city hygiene test – not to mention decor contest – but Imogen couldn’t wait to share her vision.
While Jenna approached the old man serving behind the bar, Imogen led Amy to the table closest to an open window, furthest away from the other customers. She didn’t want the locals to overhear her plans just yet. She’d asked the current owners not to blow her cover if they happened to see her here. Although she hadn’t lived in a small town in donkey’s years, she hadn’t forgotten how fast gossip spread, and she wanted to make sure the sale went through before the bush telegraph cranked up.
‘Everyone’s staring at us,’ Amy whispered as they sat down on rickety wooden chairs.
‘There’s hardly anybody here to stare,’ Imogen retorted, already feeling protective of the old place.
‘True.’ Amy shifted around on the seat, trying to get comfortable. ‘Shouldn’t you be worried about that?’
Imogen tried to rein in her frustration. Explaining all this to her city friends was never going to be a walk in the park. ‘No. It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. I’ve seen the books, remember? This place isn’t doing too badly in the evenings and at weekends – and it’s got a lot of potential.’
Amy didn’t look convinced.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Imogen staring dreamily around and adding notes to her already massive mental project file. It included everything from the new interior paint colour to the vintage signs she planned to complement the new decoration. She’d always had an eye for design and had renovated two houses with Jamie. She could do this. She knew she could. More importantly, she wanted to. Needed to.
Soon, Jenna returned with two slightly tarnished champagne flutes and a bottle of cheap bubbly. Extremely cheap. And old, judging by the dust on the bottle and the frayed-at-the-edges label.
‘Where’s my lemonade?’ Amy put her hand against her sweaty brow. ‘I’m going to pass out if I don’t get some liquid.’
‘Granddad’s bringing it.’ Jenna nodded her head in the direction of the bar. The old bartender shuffled towards them, his wrinkled hands clasped around a glass. He stared down at the rim as if he were a small boy desperate not to spill his milk. Jenna put the champagne glasses and bottle on the table and slumped into her seat. ‘You might have it by sundown.’
The three friends watched as the old man ambled over. Imogen made to get up and help him but Jenna stopped her with a hand on her forearm. ‘He doesn’t want help. I offered to go back but he was very insistent.’
‘He probably wants to keep his independence,’ Amy mused, smiling at the man.
While they waited, Jenna leaned forward and popped the cork on the bubbly. It barely made a sound and Imogen wondered how long it had been sitting in the fridge. Jenna screwed up her nose again and wiped her dusty hands on her designer jeans, then filled the two glasses.
‘I thought you said you’d get me a champagne flute too?’ Amy stared longingly at the bottle. ‘At least that way I could pretend I was drinking the real thing.’
Jenna snorted. ‘Trust me, honey, this ain’t the real thing, and I did mention three glasses to granddad but he looked so confused I told him not to bother.’
‘Shh.’ Imogen jabbed Jenna with her elbow. The bartender had finally arrived with Amy’s drink, and she didn’t want him overhearing Jenna’s snide remarks.
Jenna pasted on her sweetest smile and looked up at him in much the same manner as she looked at every man over five. She batted her ludicrously long, black eyelashes and flirted. ‘Thanks so much. My friend here’s having a baby you see, so she can’t touch the good stuff.’
The old man beamed at them, focusing on Amy and her bump. ‘Fabulous news. Nothing more splendid than bringing a baby into the world. Charlie’s the name. If I can get anything more for you ladies, just holler.’ With that, he scratched his sideburns, turned around and began his slow totter back to the bar.
Despite the wobble in his walk, Imogen imagined he’d been a strapping, good-looking man in his day. Wisps of grey hair poked out from under a floppy hat and his ancient smile stretched from sideburn to sideburn.
‘He’s kinda sweet,’ Amy said, picking up her glass. It wasn’t hard to impress Amy – she was one of those constantly smiling, glass-always-half-full kind of people. Sometimes her chirpiness aggravated Jenna – who had a much sharper, cynical edge – but Imogen liked it. Before the accident, Imogen had been that kind of person too, and while she now found it much harder to summon such enthusiasm, she was thankful to have a friend who didn’t let her get too pessimistic.
She smiled at her pregnant friend and picked up her drink. ‘Shall we?’
Jenna and Amy raised their glasses.
‘To the best friends a gal could have. If it weren’t for you two, I don’t know how I’d have coped these last few years. Hell, who knows if I’d have coped at all?’
‘Oh, you are too sweet,’ Jenna said. ‘You know we’d do anything for you. And that includes toasting this crazy, harebrained scheme of yours. To you, Imogen.’
‘And to this adventure being the beginning of many joyous things,’ Amy added.
At their toast, Imogen lifted her glass higher. ‘Thanks girls.’
They chinked the flutes and the tumbler together and took a much-needed sip.
Imogen let the bubbles dance on her tongue and savoured the taste, pretending it was better than it was and silently vowing to change the sparkling wine selection as soon as she took over.
Jenna made another face, then shrugged and downed the rest of her glass.
Amy frowned as well, then sniffed her drink. ‘Ugh! This isn’t lemonade. It’s soda water.’
‘Yuk.’ The three of them had a thing about soda water. None of them could see the appeal.
‘It can’t be much worse than this,’ Jenna announced, starting to stand, ‘but
I’ll get you a replacement anyway.’
‘No, I’ll go.’
Imogen stood, not trusting Jenna not to rip into the old barman. She wasn’t sure whether Charlie knew who she was yet, but she certainly didn’t want to get off on his wrong side. As she approached, she smiled at the two men who sat along the bar and didn’t miss the slow assessment as they looked her up and down.
They could look all they liked, but none of them stood a chance with her. No one did. Not anymore.
‘Hi.’ She positively beamed at Charlie. ‘Hate to be a pain, but I think my friend ordered the wrong drink for my other friend. Can we have lemonade instead of soda water?’ She pushed the offending drink across the counter.
Charlie blinked a couple of times and shook his head. ‘Ah, maybe she did say lemonade. Sorry love.’ He grabbed another glass and turned to the soft drink taps. Imogen’s heart squeezed when she saw the embarrassment on Charlie’s face. His smile lines drooped and the light left his eyes.
‘It’s fine, really. Easy mistake to make.’
‘Except Charlie’s been making lots of them lately,’ said one of the men.
‘Leave him alone,’ retorted the other. ‘You can’t talk. You forgot where you parked your car when we went into Kalgoorlie the other day.’
While they bickered and Charlie took his sweet time filling a glass, Imogen looked around again. The bar itself wasn’t in bad condition compared to the rest of the furniture, but it could do with a good spit and polish. The stools, on the other hand, belonged at the tip. She’d have to replace the furniture and lighten up the interior if she wanted to widen the clientele. And then there was the menu …
‘Here you are, love.’ Charlie interrupted her thoughts as he placed the glass of (what was hopefully) lemonade on the bar between them. ‘Anything else I can get you? A few packets of chips maybe?’
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