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‘Don’t try and change the subject, Evans.’
Rolling her eyes skywards, she groaned. ‘You’re not going to leave this be, are you?’
‘No, not until you accept the truth, and decide what to do with that.’
‘Right, let’s say you’re on the money, and Connor has always felt a certain way about me, that’s all good and well, but as for me, with the mess my life is in right now, getting involved with him is the last thing I, or he, needs.’
Shea huffed. ‘You two have known each other forever, so stop analysing the risks of everything, and for once in the past eleven years of your controlled life, go back to being that young carefree girl and throw caution to the wind.’
‘That girl is long gone, dead and buried, in fact, so I don’t think that’s possible.’
‘Anything is possible.’ Shea smirked. ‘You just need to relax a little and you’ll see that I’m right.’
‘What do you mean? I am relaxed.’
‘Hmmm.’ Shea regarded her pensively. ‘If you say so.’
‘I know so.’
‘Do you?’
Samantha waved a dismissive hand through the air. ‘Enough chatter about me, let’s get you into Mum’s dress.’
‘Distraction is your frenemy, Sammie.’ Shea sighed frustratedly. ‘All you’d have to do is let him know you’re ready for whatever this is between you to come to life, and I know he’d take care of the rest, and you, for that matter.’
‘You, dress, to Magda’s, now.’ And Samantha meant business.
An hour later, standing behind Shea and Magda, Samantha was fighting off another bout of tears as she watched Magda, with a measuring tape clamped between her lips, lace the back of the dress up. ‘You can open your eyes now, Shea.’
Her eyelids flickering, Shea took a breath before coming to meet her reflection in the full-length mirror of the sewing room with Samantha’s chin resting on her shoulder. She blinked faster as her hands ran over the vintage lace.
‘It fits like it was made for you,’ Samantha said softly.
‘It does, doesn’t it.’ Turning to face her, Shea threw her arms around her. ‘Thank you, Sammie, for being the most selfless person I’ve ever met.’
Samantha hugged Shea tight, feeling the essence of her mum within the stiches of the gown. ‘Right back at you, my darling friend.’
CHAPTER
14
Connor woke with the first peek of sunrise over the mountain ranges and headed downstairs and into the kitchen, keen to grab his first cup of coffee for the day along with a bite to eat. Heading out for a day’s hard yakka on an empty stomach was becoming a bad habit that needed changing. Being hungry made him tetchy. It didn’t take him long to whip up a strong hit of caffeine along with a piece of wholegrain toast slathered with crunchy peanut butter. Steaming mug in hand, he padded down the hallway, and out onto the verandah to his usual vantage point. Soon, the sky would be a haze of blue, ignited by the blaze of the North Queensland sunshine. Bite by bite, he washed his breakfast down with gulps of coffee. Then, with his morning ritual savoured, he tugged his boots and hat on and headed off to work, optimistic it was going to be a good day.
That optimism changed within seconds of meeting up with Oyster.
‘Damn it,’ Connor huffed. ‘I can’t believe the bastard has gone and done it again.’ He kicked at the tyre of the quad bike. ‘Now my whole day is going to be eaten up with dealing with that.’
‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ Oyster groused.
‘Sorry buddy, just sick of that damn bull.’
‘Yeah, me too boss. He needs to go.’ His rollie hung from his bottom lip as if glued there. ‘You wanna hand finding the bugger?’
‘Yeah, thanks, I’d appreciate the help.’
‘Right, well, let’s go get him.’
Flying along on his four-wheeler motorbike, Connor was hell-bent on seeking out, and capturing, the rogue bull that was having a wow of a time destroying his fences. Choosing to go on horseback, Oyster had gone in the opposite direction with the walkie-talkie shoved in his back pocket. With plenty of bushland for the one-tonne beast to hide in, the first few hours were frustratingly fruitless. As time ticked by, Connor’s patience began wearing paper thin. The heat of the day pushed down upon him, making the job even more frustrating, as the deafening call of cicadas pressed in on him from all sides. Now riding against the blinding glare of the mid-morning sunshine, he finally spotted the brute. Saddling the quad bike, he gritted his teeth as he came to a sliding stop in front of another gaping hole in his fence line. Eyes narrowing, he let loose an entire sentence of cuss words. What in the actual F was this bull’s problem? He’d saved him from the meatworks, but now he was seriously rethinking that decision. Oyster was right in saying the bull had to go.
