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For the rest of the day, and into the next, Connor had to keep pinching himself and slapping his face to stay conscious. Just like that, with a click of fate’s fingers, Samantha Evans had stepped out of his dreams and contemplations, and was standing there, right in front of him, in the flesh, her striking green eyes wide and filled with nervousness the second he’d spotted her tucking into her cinnamon bun like there was no tomorrow. It had been over eleven years since he’d laid his eyes on her, and time had most certainly been kind to her. She was even more beautiful than he recalled. Her chaotic curls had been tamed into mild waves, her wild red hair had been dyed the darkest of browns, and her freckles had faded, but that sparkle in those tiny golden flecks of her green eyes, the ones he only got to witness when looking long enough, closely enough, were still there. And the way her lashes had fluttered as her captivating eyes had landed on his, man oh man, he’d almost lost his footing on solid ground.
Bam! He hadn’t expected to feel so much. And just by being near him, she’d taken his breath, and then stolen it some more, effortlessly, until he was desperate to step out of the bakery for air. What he would’ve given to have reached out and wiped away those few crumbs stuck to her glossy lips, or better still, kissed them away. He didn’t know how it was possible, but she was even more of everything he’d envisioned her to be since he last laid his eyes on her that final time, at his brother’s funeral, almost eleven years ago. She was more woman, more stunning, more alluring, all the more captivating, just … more. In that flicker of a moment, when their eyes had caught and locked on one another’s, all the longing and connection and depth that he’d pushed to the wayside the moment he’d learnt from Jack that she’d left town, without even a goodbye, returned full force and punched him hard in the chest. It had been hard to keep that hidden as they’d chatted like old friends. Hell, he was still trying to decipher the powerful sensation twenty-four hours later. Over the years, he’d talked himself out of feeling anything other than a past with her, but now, knowing she was back in Gum Tree Gully, just a few kilometres down the road from Gunn Station, so close, so within his reach, there was that same blazing fire rushing through his blood. But she’d gone and lost her strong Australian accent in her time away, and it made him wonder what other parts of her were gone after so long. He still couldn’t believe he’d invited her over within minutes of talking to her. Here. To visit. Him. What the F was he thinking? He was treading on dangerous ground.
For all he knew she was still married.
Yes, his mum had explained last night that Amaya had innocently told a little friend at day care that Benjamin had been mean to her Aunty Sammie, so Sammie had left him, all said while the day-care mum had been in earshot, who’d then told her friend, who then told their friend, and so the Gum Tree Gully whispers had started.
But gossip was gossip.
And he was no wife-stealer.
A safe distance needed to be kept.
Otherwise, he risked falling head over boots for her again, only for her to leave a second time.
It was going to take every bit of resolve for him to keep himself in check.
Three weeks. Exactly twenty-one days. Then she’d be gone. Again. He could do this.
That had been his train of thought for what had felt like the entire night. With only a few hours of sleep, if that, he’d of course stirred before the birds, risen from his tousled sheets, tugged on his work clothes and slipped his mismatched socked feet into his boots while he’d sculled the last of his extra-strong coffee. His body clock was set to a five am awakening, rain, hail or shine, sleep or not, Monday through to Sunday. Usually, he was good with that, but unlike almost every other day, today he just couldn’t seem to find his centre of gravity. Utterly exhausted, he didn’t know how he was going to make it through the day, let alone well into the night for Jack’s bucks party.
It was nearing ten, yet the ferocity of the sunshine beating down upon Connor’s back made it feel like the middle of the day. He took a glug from his water bottle, then slipped it back into the saddlebag and wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his R.M. Williams shirt. With the vibrant clear blue sky stretching into the distant horizon as far as his eye could see, he tried to focus on all the little things that brought him joy daily. Just over yonder, in the agistment paddocks, magnificent horses languidly swished their tails, their elegant necks bent towards the lush feed at their feet. All around him, the vast stretches of untainted land, his land, a lot of it untouched by human hands, was breathtaking. This unhindered view from his saddle was everything he loved in this world, and yet there was something scratching at his soul, irritating him beyond words. And it had nothing to do with his health scare. Of that, he was certain.
Moving at a slow and steady pace, it had taken a good couple of hours to move the mob from the ridge, down the steady slope of the hill, and towards the holding yards – tomorrow the mustered cattle would be drenched. He knew all too well that besides skill, moving thirty head took patience and focus, and although it was very unlike him, today he was lacking in focus. The relentless voice in his head, chinwagging about the same subject like a broken record, was getting on his tethered nerves. Samantha Evans didn’t have the right to take up so much of his attention. He needed to find another distraction. A growl from his empty stomach gave him one.
For now.
An hour and a half later, with the cattle holed up in the holding paddock, Connor made sure their troughs were filled to the brim with water and each and every head was settled in before thinking about heading back to the farmhouse so he could throw back some fodder and have a rare afternoon nap before heading into the pub for the bucks party. He wasn’t going to be good company if he didn’t get an hour or so of shuteye, and then, hopefully, get his head straight.
Directing Banjo over to Oyster and Ol’ Mate, he stopped in the shade of a massive old gum tree. ‘I’ve got to knock off for the arvo, mate.’ He watched the old bloke take the makings of a cigarette from his top pocket, devoting all his attention to rolling, lighting, then inhaling enough smoke to blow rings skywards. ‘So how about you enjoy an early knock-off, too, and we can meet first thing in the morning to drench this lot.’
‘What do I need an early knock-off for, boss?’ Oyster’s wiry shoulders rose slowly. ‘I’d rather be useful, than sitting around twiddling me thumbs.’
‘Righto.’ Connor gritted his jaw against a grumble; Oyster was just trying to be helpful. ‘If you want to keep going after your lunch break, then you can service the tractor if you like.’
‘Yup, will do.’
‘Right then, I’ll catch you tomorrow.’
Oyster tugged the brim of his hat in a silent cheerio.
Cantering back to the stables, Connor reprimanded himself for his bad mood. Lack of sleep and whirling thoughts weren’t doing him any favours. Nor was the chemistry he’d experienced between himself and Sammie yesterday. Although her eyes had been everywhere but on him towards the end of the conversation. Had it been because she didn’t want a bar of him, or was it the opposite? Was she still married? Or was his mother’s second-hand, or very possibly fifth-hand, information right? It wasn’t like he was going to outright ask Jack. It would be a dead giveaway that he was keen on her. And that, them, was in the past. It wasn’t going to happen again. He wasn’t about to lay his heart on the line, only to have it shattered by her leaving. Again. Besides, why in the hell was he even going down this track? Just because, as a teenage boy, he’d daydreamed about one day making her his, but then his brother had nabbed her first, none of it gave him an excuse to act like some immature teenage boy now. He was a fully grown man, with self-control, experience and forethought. He and Sammie were old friends. End of story.
And with that assertion, he slipped through the back door of his farmhouse, his stomach now growling fiercely. Plucking a can of baked beans from the cupboard, he peeled the lid back, grabbed a spoon and dug in. Delicious. Thank goodness for the staple, because he didn’t have the energy to make something more substantial to eat. Next, a long shower to ease out his aching muscles, then he planned on faceplanting in his bed for an hour or so before facing the night. Not that he expected to sleep, but at the very least shutting his eyes would grant him a bit of a recharge.
Three hours later, his mobile phone dragged him from the depths of deep sleep. Blinking into the dimness of his room, he grappled for the phone on his bedside table, and answered the private number just before it went to message bank. ‘Connor speaking.’ He sat up while still trying to grab hold of his bearings.
‘Hey bud,’ Jack’s voice bellowed over the echo of music and chatter. ‘Isn’t it about time you got your arse down to the pub and joined us for a couple of drinks?’
Jack. The bachelor party. Uh-oh. ‘Sorry, mate, I um, got caught up.’ He scrambled from his bed, tripped over the laundry basket, and barely saved himself from hitting the deck by grabbing hold of his tallboy drawers. ‘What time is it?’
‘Seven-thirty.’
‘Oh mate, sorry hey, truth be told I fell asleep.’ Connor rifled through his cupboard for his going-to-town jeans, and hopefully a shirt that was already ironed.
‘You? Sleeping during the day?’ Jack chuckled. ‘Now that’s a first.’
‘I know, I must’ve needed it.’ Gripping the phone between his ear and shoulder, he jumped on one leg, then another as he pulled his jeans up.
