The Reluctant Farm-her
CHAPTER 1
Charlotte Redding cringed against the icy wind lashing her hair into her face like a whip. She clutched her jacket tight to her chest and looked about. A loose piece of corrugated iron slapped the side wall of her old tack room. The chill of Pleurisy Plains—as the old-timers of the Western District used to call it—was living up to its formidable reputation, and her heart thudded as memories came shooting back.
Moving from the protection of her car, she leaned into the oncoming gale blowing fiercely from the west as she forced herself towards the shearing shed despite her heart screaming at her to turn back. She’d come home—to what exactly? She had avoided Sheepwash Creek—her family property—set amongst the fragrant blackwood gums and expansive hills below the Grampians for six long years, and she would have stayed away longer. But the farm had other ideas, and she was certain she knew what they were.
Charlotte reached the shed, grabbing the cold metal handle that ran alongside the steps to steady herself, then paused. Oscar the garden gnome—named by a shearer long gone—watched her with his trademark chipped, cheesy smile. ‘Stop that now,’ Charlotte whispered, pointing at Oscar and sending him a rueful grin, wishing it was her Dad she was lightly chastising instead.
Lifting a foot to the first step, a black and tan blur tore past her side, leaping up the steps three at a time.
‘Gah!’ Charlotte’s eyes bulged as she sucked in an unwelcome mouthful of icy air more brutal than any weather Melbourne could throw her way. Her hand flew to her chest as the dog reached the top of the landing and whirled around, panting at her with a toothy grin while his swaying backside struggled to keep up with his tail. The wind rocked her body, and she lunged for the railing, her hair whipping in her face again.
‘Lewie, don’t do that. You scared me half to death. And how come you’re out of your pen?’ Had Mum been leaving him out ever since . . .? The air in her lungs hovered as her eyes locked onto her father’s loyal kelpie, his tongue lolling from his mouth which managed to tug a reluctant smile to her lips. Just watching the dog as he drew in his tongue and tipped his head to the side at the sound of his name filled her heart with love. He had to be missing her father too, and his enthusiastic welcome sent a flutter of calm through her—something she desperately wanted to hold on to before it was stolen away.
Gathering her breath, Charlotte tugged herself up the stairs and was about to slide the shed door open when the crunch of tyres on gravel halted her, the sound triggering memories she’d fought to keep buried. Turning towards the sound, a sparkling clean ute with a neat stock crate trailer rolled up next to her in the driveway of their homestead.
‘Hey, Char,’ the deep, cheerful voice called from the open window as the ute pulled to a stop, the disturbed dust swirling in the wind and stinging her eyes. His lips curved in that familiar soft smile, his voice holding a sensitivity so real, so genuine, her chest tightened. She wished he would stop calling her by that nickname. It only dredged up memories, ones she couldn’t afford to revisit.
Fraser Pierce had been in her life forever. She narrowed her eyes as she drew her coat closer. She wanted, no, needed to be left alone, so she could wallow in her own despair, grief, and deliberate self-loathing, and he was stopping her from doing that.
‘Hey, Fraser.’ Her voice was small, wobbly, as she blinked, tugging a handful of her hair to the side of her neck as she looked down at him from the landing, waiting for him to speak.
And then go.
In that ever-so-brief moment, she saw the warm smile that had once been hers before it slipped away, replaced by a flicker of hurt in his eyes. And in that same moment, guilt ground over her as she watched his grip tighten and loosen on the steering wheel. Her mouth twisted in a pathetic apology, and that old familiar ache returned for the days when they’d been so close, before the moment when she had been robbed of the future she’d dreamt of.
But those times were in the past. She would do well to remember that. She forced her legs to move down the steps, stopping beside his window.
‘Hi, Charlotte,’ a cheerful voice chirped from the passenger seat. Maddie Nash leaned forward, smiling—a neighbour who lived further down the road with her mother and two brothers.
What was Maddie doing in Fraser’s ute? Charlotte bit down on her bottom lip, scuffing the dirt at her feet to hide her surprise. And why were these . . . feelings being dredged to the forefront of her mind when she’d banished them firmly to the past? They had no business trying to creep up on her.
Charlotte kept her eyes only on Fraser, watching the slow bob of his Adam’s apple beneath his still-tanned-from-last-summer neck—the same one she used to snuggle into. Regret swamped her, and her heart skittered inside her chest. She hated this distance that had been forced between them, but it was necessary. If she didn’t hold tight, remembering why it had to remain that way while she was back, she might crumble.
‘Is there something I can help you with, Fraser?’ She tipped her head to the side with a weary stare, wishing she didn’t sound as exhausted as she felt.
Lewie bounded up beside her, nudging his wet nose into her hand, coaxing a smile from her. She held the side of his head to her thigh, giving his warm cheek an affectionate rub as she looked down at him.
A deep baa bellowed from behind the ute, and Charlotte looked up in surprise, taking stock of five proud rams standing side by side in the crate trailer, staring back at her as though they were expecting a feed, gold service style. Lewie immediately stood to attention, ears pricked, his steadfast focus steadfastly on the rams before Charlotte’s puzzled gaze found Fraser’s deep brown eyes.
‘Ah, I’m returning your rams.’ His sheepish expression had her tiredness easing a little, his all-too-familiar lop-sided smile lifting, making her insides flutter more than she believed the action deserved.
‘And . . . why exactly have you got them?’ She quirked her restless eyebrow. The rivalry between the two families had never been a silent one. Both Charlotte and Fraser understood it was all over the land Fraser’s grandfather had gifted her parents—Keith and Jayne—when they’d married, as a gesture of good rivalry and goodwill. It was situated directly across the road from their front gate, and smack bang in the middle of Fraser and his father’s land. When John Pierce came to the district of Settlers Hill—in a slightly advantageous way—he tried to buy the small parcel of land from her dad, to complete “his side” of the land. And during Charlotte’s parents thirty years of marriage, her dad had refused to sell it to Fraser’s father, no matter how often he had asked, or in later years, demanded to buy it.
Fraser’s hesitation ignited her curiosity, and the longer she waited for him to answer, the longer she had to take in how he’d grown from the gangly sweet teenager she’d known, into the man who—had their unfortunate tragedy never happened—she was certain would have been in her future. She promptly batted aside the stirrings thrumming inside with a deep swallow.
‘I’m, um, sorry, Char, but . . .’ His brow tightened, as though he found what he was about to say difficult. ‘They’re your show rams . . . from the Sheep and Wool Show competition.’ His expression held sympathy and sincere sorrow. ‘I hope this is a good time to return them?’ He grimaced, breaking their eye contact, and she could tell this was hard for him too.
She sucked in a gulp of icy air, the chill a relieving distraction from the reminder of the past. Her father had been competing for the last three years at the show . . . alone. All because she hadn’t been able to face the distinct, earthy aroma of sheep amongst the buzzing atmosphere of wool growers and experts. She had deliberately chosen not to be there or to help him. The thought hit her like a full-blown punch in the gut. But how could she have ever considered doing it? After her brother, James, had died, she couldn’t bear to have anything to do with the farm. Feigning her good old excuse of too much to do and zero time to spare as the reason she’d remained unavailable throughout her years of study, she let it creep into her work life as well. And it was true. Graduating from uni, she had poured everything into building up her business. Thanks to all that hard work, it was finally beginning to take off.
But she’d come home to clean up the farm. Fresh guilt wound its way deep into her heart and it jolted in response. It was time to face the hard facts. She was done with her once fanciful dream of carrying on the Redding name within the wool industry because, without James and Dad beside her, Sheepwash Creek was . . .
Absolutely nothing.