Man Drought

by Rachael Johns

  She narrowed her eyes and glared. ‘No.’ She hated that she sounded so aggro, so childish in her reply, probably inflating his ego to mammoth proportions. ‘Charlie mentioned it. For some reason, he can’t talk enough about you.’

  He shrugged and smiled like this amused him as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘That I do, and I’d best be getting back there.’

  ‘Where?’

  He raised one eyebrow and looked at her like she had a flashing Idiot sign on her head. ‘My farm.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ No wonder he questioned her ability to run the pub on her own. ‘Cool.’

  Cool? Oh Lord. Why couldn’t she act normal around this jerk?

  ‘Do you mind stepping back?’ He nodded towards the pavement behind her. ‘I’m a very careful driver and I don’t want any incidents with joggers on my record.’

  Damn the man, he was mocking her. She had a good mind to slam her fist through his open window and punch his pretty nose, except she wasn’t a violent person. Not usually. ‘Sure,’ she said instead, gritting her teeth as she took a few steps back. Hell, she should have turned and sprinted the other way, because being in his poisoning presence wasn’t doing her any favours. The longer she stood in front of him, practically naked in her wet running clothes, the more stupid she felt.

  ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you round,’ he said, lifting his hand in a quick goodbye.

  ‘I guess so.’ Thinking she hoped not, Imogen mimicked his wave, forgetting that in doing so she was uncovering her wet t-shirt in all its see-through glory. His gaze fell to her chest. All of a sudden her sports bra felt unbelievably tight and wicked sensations danced low in her belly. Sensations she’d thought had been buried with Jamie. Before she could react, he quickly looked away, pressed his foot against the accelerator and all but hooned out of the driveway.

  ‘Oh Lord.’ She wished there were a streetlight nearby so she could lean her heavy head against it. Was there something in the water here? It was as if the moment she’d driven past the Welcome To Gibson’s Find sign at the edge of the shire, her libido had been awakened from very long and deep slumber. Had to be the fact she hadn’t had sex in almost two and a half years. No other reason at all.

  Definitely not.

  Unable to help herself, she glanced up and scrutinised the house he’d come from. As she looked for any signs of female life, she told herself she didn’t actually care but was merely interested if there was a woman around strong enough to put up with the infuriating Gibson Black.

  If so, that woman deserved a medal.

  Gibson drove through the large iron entrance gates to Roseglen, his family’s 20,000-acre sheep and crop farm, and wished it were seeding or harvest time. As a sole operator – with Charlie’s help, when he felt like it, and contracted workers in the busy times – there was always work to do on the farm, but February was his quietest time. He needed to bait, mothball and service the harvester before stowing it away until next season, and there were always fences to fix, other engines to service, stock to feed, water to check and general upkeep. But unfortunately today there was nothing that he really needed to get his teeth stuck into, which – in his current agitated state – was a bad thing.

  Not usually the type of bloke to look for trouble, this morning, as he drove down the gravel drive, past the deserted shearing shed, silos, rusty old windmill and hay shed towards the house, he shifted in his seat, half hoping to spot a leaky pipe or a stray sheep in the wrong paddock. The boardies that had been loose when he’d pulled them on this morning now cut into his thighs, and he was glad no one was around to see Imogen’s effect on him. The image of her in those tiny, blessedly tight running shorts and that t-shirt soaked with sweat from running her shapely little legs crazy, not to mention her smart mouth, had imprinted itself on his mind. It refused to leave, no matter how many unsexual images he’d tried to conjure on the ten-minute drive from town.

  His mother. Curry farts. The smell of old milk. Cardboard.

  He stopped the car and walked awkwardly towards the house as his two working dogs – twin kelpies called Jack and Jill – bounded towards him.

  He rarely stayed in town with Charlie – the old man was more independent than anyone he knew, much to the irritation of Gibson’s mother – and the dogs hated it when he did, but late last night Charlie had been in a fluster, unable to find his house keys after his shift, so Gibson had driven back into town with the spares. With Jack and Jill camped out on the front verandah, he needn’t worry about his house or his possessions. Friend or foe, his dogs let no one within a hundred-metre radius of his home when he wasn’t there. Dogs were the most important things in most cockies’ lives. They were easily worth two or three employees and, in his experience, were much less bother than a wife.

  ‘Hey pals.’ He bent to stroke them both around the ears. They bounced as if the ground were a trampoline as the three of them headed up the path towards the house. Yes, they were working dogs, but aside from Charlie they were also the only family he had around here anymore. And they were better company than most people, never nagging him about things he didn’t want to be nagged about.

  The day Serena left the farm had been the day he’d brought the dogs’ beds inside. Keeping them close made him feel less alone. The farming rule about working dogs living outside had been the one thing his city-chick wife had really latched on to. Pity she hadn’t shown the same enthusiasm towards anything else to do with rural life.

  Ugh. He shook his head as the door slammed behind him. He didn’t want to think about Serena. The divorce had been finalised for near on two years and, as a rule, he harboured thoughts about their short marriage as little as possible. At least thinking of her had succeeded in doing one thing – he no longer had an erection the size of Mt Kosciuszko burning a hole in his pants.

  She had that effect. Whenever he thought about his ex-wife his insides grew lead-heavy and he tried to focus on the good things in his life – like the farm, football, Charlie – before the bad thoughts spiralled out of control. He wasn’t depressed like Paris had suggested last time he went to Perth for a family lunch. He was simply a little uninspired. Just because his marriage had failed and he didn’t walk around with a permanent grin on his face, like his mother and sister, didn’t mean he was about to top himself. He simply didn’t see the point of trying to keep up appearances.

  As he went towards the kitchen seeking breakfast, Gibson chuckled, recalling Paris’ suggestion he see a shrink.

  He hated how married people couldn’t see that there were other ways to live. You didn’t have to be coupled off to be happy. He may have been slightly lonely these last couple of years – a farm was probably the most isolated place a guy could live by himself – but he wouldn’t have called his barely twelve months of marriage happy days either.

  Grabbing a carton of eggs and a packet of bacon from his fridge, Gibson threw all his pent-up energies into cooking up a feast. In the beginning, he’d put that kind of effort into Serena – making sure his girlfriend was happy. And when she become his wife, his efforts hadn’t waned. But no matter what he did, nothing lived up to her idea of how their life should be. He should have known you couldn’t pick up a farmer’s wife in a nightclub in the city, but he’d found her attractive, they’d got chatting, started dating, one thing led to another, and he’d hoped Serena would help him make the kind of life he always dreamed of. Not the family his parents had created for him, but the kind of marriage Charlie talked about having with Elsie. He wanted a wife who’d be his partner in everything, and that very much included working on the farm.

  In the end, he hadn’t chosen a wife like Elsie at all; he’d chosen one exactly like his mother.

  No one expected marriage to be a piece of cake, but it was even tougher in the bush. Women had to be more than blindsided by love. They had to be tough and inventive, loyal and gutsy, prepared to suffer years of drought, temperamental sheep, isolation and a severe lack of the finer things in life. Serena ha
dn’t stuck around long enough to witness many of these things, but in hindsight, he knew she’d never have coped with any of them.

  In his experience, women who fit that definition were few and far between, and Gibson had lost all hope of ever finding one. But instead of dwelling on this fact, he focused all his time and attention on the farm, doing everything within his control to make sure it flourished.

  Chapter Four

  Imogen looked around her new office and smiled. Cathy and Trevor hadn’t gone yet, but in the last few days Imogen had begun putting her mark on the place. The simple act of Cathy removing her belongings had opened it up from a poky little room into a spacious office. Although she wasn’t always immaculate at home, she liked things neat and tidy in the work environment.

  The only extravagant items were a few strategically placed photos across her desk – a favourite shot of Jenna and Amy, her sisters and their kids, and one of her parents. She’d made the heartbreaking decision not to include a picture of Jamie. Upstairs, in her apartment, she had almost enough photos to pretend he was still around, but downstairs she wanted to do things differently. She didn’t plan on broadcasting her widowed status to anyone. Not that she’d lie – she’d just wait for such a conversation to arise of its own accord.

  ‘Knock knock.’

  Imogen looked up to see Karen standing there.

  ‘Hi there.’ Karen smiled awkwardly. ‘I’m so sorry about the other morning. It was like something off Funniest Home Videos – meeting your new boss and trying to drown her.’

  Imogen couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Don’t worry about it. A little water never hurt anyone, especially in this climate.’

  ‘Phew.’ Karen’s smile relaxed.

  ‘Are you all recovered now?’

  ‘Yes. Healthy and raring to go. Cathy mentioned you wanted to see me before I started on the rooms. The log says there were only a couple of guests last night.’

  ‘Yes.’ Imogen nodded. ‘I imagine that won’t take you long, which is kind of why I want to talk to you. Come on in.’

  Karen bustled in, the smile lines Imogen had noticed around her eyes crinkled tightly. ‘I have to say, it’s so fabulous to have a new female face in town, but you’d better watch out. The men around here will be squabbling over you like crows over roadkill. It’s once in a blue moon a pretty girl lands in these parts.’

  Imogen laughed nervously at the image. ‘They can squabble all they like, but I’m not in the market for a relationship.’

  ‘Oh?’ Karen’s forehead wrinkled. ‘A pretty young thing like you? I thought you’d be desperate to fall in love. We’ve got an abundance of lovely boys around here.’

  An image of Gibson Black flashed into her mind, but she shooed it away. He wasn’t lovely!

  Karen continued, oblivious. ‘Unless of course some bloke has ruined you already. You’re not divorced, are you?’ She said ‘divorced’ like it was a cardinal sin.

  ‘No, nothing like that. I just want to focus on building the business before I worry about relationships.’ Imogen hated lying, not that it was exactly a lie. The business part was true, but relationships weren’t part of her game plan anymore. She wondered if she should tell Karen the truth – it might be sensible to at least share her past with her employees – but Karen had already moved on.

  ‘Very sensible.’ She nodded her head enthusiastically. ‘This is a big venture to take on, but I’m sure you’re up to it. Tom’s told me marvellous things. The town is in desperate need of a revival, and this old place used to be bursting with people of an evening. It would be so lovely to see it come alive again.’

  Imogen leaned across her desk and gestured for Karen to take a seat. ‘How long have you lived here?’

  ‘Pretty much my whole life. Almost fifty-two years.’ The older woman settled in the chair.

  ‘Wow.’ Imogen laughed. ‘I’ll bet a chat with you would be better than reading the local history books, then.’

  Karen beamed, obviously pleased with Imogen’s analysis. ‘You ask me anything you want. If I don’t know it, you check with Charlie. If he doesn’t know it—-’

  ‘It’s not worth knowing?’ Imogen guessed.

  They both laughed.

  ‘That’s right,’ Karen said with a wry smile. ‘Now, I’ll bet you’ve got plenty to be getting on with, so what was it you wanted to talk with me about?’

  ‘I was just wondering if you’re happy with your current hours, or if you’d be open to a bit of negotiation.’ Imogen kept her voice low – the door was open and she didn’t want to offend Cathy or Trevor with her observations. ‘I’d like to employ you for longer each day and include the cleaning of the main pub in your duties. Not a huge clean,’ she rushed, not wanting to put Karen off, ‘but just a quick once-over five days a week, so the dust and grime doesn’t get out of hand.’

  A knowing smile appeared on Karen’s face. She leaned across the desk and whispered, ‘Cathy was never much of a housekeeper, and most of the blokes round here don’t really notice the dust, but it’s nice to know that might be about to change.’

  ‘A wise businessman once told me that you shouldn’t change anything in the first three months of business. Well, wise or not, I’m planning on changing a fair bit.’

  ‘Good on you,’ Karen chuckled. ‘And I can’t wait to see the results. That’s a yes to the extra work. I’m so bored since the kids fled the nest that even my flowers are getting sick of my company. I’m happy to do some bar work too if the need ever arises. Hell, I’ll help in any way I can.’

  ‘Fabulous. I’ll keep that in mind,’ Imogen promised.

  That settled, Karen went to stand up but Imogen raised her hand to stop her. ‘You said the town’s in desperate need of a revival. What did it used to be like?’

  ‘Ah …’ Karen got a wistful look in her eyes and leaned back into the chair. ‘Magic. I’ve never seen the appeal of the city myself, but I guess the folks that pass through here now don’t see the place like I do. We used to be a thriving little community – there was even a school until about fifteen years ago.’

  Now that she thought of it, Imogen couldn’t recall seeing one child since landing in Gibson’s Find. She smiled, encouraging Karen to go on.

  ‘Our population used to be triple what it is now. With more women living here, there were kids and community groups aplenty. Fundraisers, balls, bingo nights, you name it. There was never a shortage of social life round these parts. But when the big mine closed, the mining families moved further afield. And that basically left the farmers. With many properties amalgamating in recent years, even the farmers have become few and far between. Some were bought out by big companies, and the managers that live on them now haven’t got the link with the history of the community. A lot of them are just here to make a quick buck before buying their own place and settling down. And as you see, there are hardly any women here to give these drop-ins reason to stay. We don’t even have our own football team anymore. The local fellows had to combine with other towns in the region.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a bit of a chicken-and-egg situation – whether the women left because things were dwindling or whether things dwindled because the women left.

  ‘Do you think there’s any hope of things ever reversing?’ Imogen asked, her heart saddened at Karen’s passionate recounting, and the fact that she’d impulsively bought a business in what was, in essence, a dying community.

  ‘I’d like to think so.’ Karen nodded, her large breasts lifting and her whole body getting in on the action. ‘Folks are talking about coming back due to the mining taking off again. Tom thinks I’m stupid to entertain such hopes, but I look at it this way: the people who stayed in Gibson’s Find are fighters. We haven’t let the town completely die like others around it, so there is a little bit to draw people back. Ever heard of Black Arrow?’

  The name sounded vaguely familiar. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Ghost town not far from here. Only thing left is the pub; you can get a nice meal there though
.’

  Phew, thought Imogen. At least if Gibson’s Find did go the same way, she might be able to survive on passing trade and the reputation she planned to build. But hopefully it would never come to that. The idea of country towns and their close-knit communities had always appealed to her, and she’d moved here because she wanted to belong to one. Imogen vowed then and there to help enthusiastic locals like Karen hold on to the dream.

  It might not be much, but she would do whatever she could to keep this small community alive.

  Gibson supposed it was good that he had to head into town occasionally – for supplies, to visit Charlie, to go to ambo training and the odd Apex Club meeting – but sometimes he wished he could just hole himself up at Roseglen. He felt more than happy in the company of Jack and Jill and his mother’s neglected rosebushes, but maybe if he cut himself off totally from human interaction he’d miss it. Then again … maybe not.

  Scratching the back of his neck, he tossed his keys up in the air, caught them again and then jogged down the verandah and the garden path to his ute. This arvo’s task was stopping in at the agricultural supplies store to collect some tractor parts, then a quick visit with Charlie before an Apex meeting in the back room of The Majestic at six. Right now his dogs were lying under an old gum tree, no doubt thankful he hadn’t called them to work in this scorching heat. They generally loved jumping in the back of the ute and driving round the farm, looking for stray sheep they could exhaust their never-ending energy on, but nobody liked to work in forty-degree temperatures, which is why he made sure he got any outside work out of the way early.

  As he approached the picket fence that surrounded the homestead, Gibson eyed the raised patches of dirt where, once upon a time, his mum had tried to grow vegetables. Her enthusiasm for such work hadn’t lasted long. He couldn’t even recall tasting any fruits of her efforts, but it struck him now that if he had his own veggie garden he’d have to venture into town even less.

  No, he shouldn’t think like that. It hadn’t been a problem until Imogen had arrived and made everyone crazy. Every time he’d been into town since her arrival, every person he spoke to had said something about her.