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He grabbed his walkie-talkie from the basket strapped to the front of the bike. ‘Hey, Oyster, I found the son of a bitch near the east side paddock, over on Charlie’s land, and another bloody gaping hole in the fence too.’
‘All the way up yonder, well, I’ll be buggered.’ Oyster’s voice crackled through the speaker. ‘There must be some fine heifer somewhere there to lure him that far away.’
‘Yeah, most likely.’
‘I’ll head on up there now, boss.’
‘Righto, I’m just going to head back to the shed to grab some tools.’
‘Roger that.’
Over the other side of what should have been his ten-acre pen, with all four hoofs firmly planted on the neighbour’s land and his horned head challengingly lowered, Connor’s nemesis glared back at him. Snorting, it then stomped its front foot. Unperturbed by the beast’s show of muscle, Connor growled back at him. He’d reached his limit. There were no more free passes. The good-for-nothing rogue had done his final dash. When he got his hands on him, the feral brute was going to be heading off on the first possible truckload to the local saleyards, which was in a couple of days’ time. What happened after that wasn’t his concern. Earning a livelihood from livestock wasn’t for the faint-hearted. He couldn’t have cattle that constantly added unnecessarily to his already heavy workload. Hard-heartedness didn’t come naturally to him but had been bred into him by his cattleman father, God rest his soul. There was a time and place for a soft heart, like when he was in the mesmerising company of Samantha, but not here, and not now.
Revving the bike, he spun it around and, like a man on a mission, headed towards the outbuildings. Leaving the motorbike in neutral, he left the motor running and jumped off. With determined steps he strode into the shed, where his boot heels clomping on the concrete floor echoed. Heading towards the switches, he flicked them on, and the shed ignited with florescent light. Grabbing his toolbox from the workbench, he stomped back outside and, climbing back on his quad, headed off to fix the fence. But before he could do that, he knew he was going to spend a good part of an hour trying to get the blasted bull back on his property. He didn’t want it wreaking havoc with old Charlie Harrison’s heifers. His neighbour wouldn’t be pleased if that happened.
Before Connor knew it – after shedding blood when the tip of the bull’s horn caught his forearm, sweating his butt off while tending to the agisted horses and holding back frustrated tears as he wrestled to get everything done in dwindling daylight – it was thankfully the end of yet another day, and by some miracle all his jobs had been completed. Well, all but one. He still wanted to head over to see Sammie and was chuffed she’d accepted his invitation to catch up over a couple of beers while they ironed out a few last details. She’d even offered for him to stay for dinner. He was using the excuse of touching base on the last of the wedding plans, but in truth, he just wanted to be near her. Stripping off his shirt, he dunked his head beneath the cold water of the laundry sink, wondering if he was suddenly hot from wandering into the farmhouse, or because he was thinking about her. Something told him it was the latter. Far out, at this rate he was going to have to leave the water running cold for his shower if he wanted to avoid arriving at her door on fire.
Right on the dot, dressed casually but attentively, with an easygoing smile planted on his face, he knocked on the front door of the homestead, and couldn’t help the frenzied beat of his heart when she tugged it open. ‘Hey, Connor. On time, as always.’
‘Howdy, Sammie.’ He shoved his free hand into his pocket in a bid to stop himself from grabbing hold of her, and … Stop it, Gunn. ‘Yup, can’t help it, I’m a stickler for,’ you, ‘punctuality.’
‘Me too, and I have to say, in my experience, not many people are.’ She regarded him thoughtfully. ‘It says a lot about a person, being punctual.’
‘It does, hey.’ If only he could tell her exactly what he was thinking.
As if a pause button had been pressed, they just stood there, staring at each other. Seconds ticked by, but it felt as if time was standing still.
‘So, can I come in?’ His tone was lighthearted.
‘Crap, sorry.’ She seemed to snap to. ‘Of course, you can.’ She stepped aside. ‘It’s not like you’re a stranger.’
‘I’m far from it.’ His gaze drifted over her face, then for a fleeting second, lingered on her glossy lips. Memories of having his mouth pressed up against hers all those years ago had him all hot under the collar of his Ariat polo shirt. ‘Here you go, I brought the good stuff.’ He passed her the six-pack of locally made tropical ale.
‘Oh, wow, I’d forgotten all about this brewery.’ She looked at him with amazement. ‘I can’t believe you remembered how much I like this stuff.’
‘Of course I do.’
For a long silent moment, she just stared at him again, then whispered, ‘Thank you for being so thoughtful.’
‘My pleasure.’ The house was oddly quiet, and he swore his swooping heart was beating as loud as drumbeats. ‘Are Jack and Shea about?’
‘Oh, no, they went into town to catch up with her aunty for dinner.’
Something inside of him cartwheeled. ‘So, looks we’re home alone.’
‘Yes, something like that.’ She held the six-pack of beer up. ‘Let’s go and crack open one of these each, shall we.’
‘Yup.’ He fell into step beside her as they headed into the kitchen. ‘Something smells bloody good.’
She smiled appreciatively. ‘I made us a chicken, bacon and leek casserole, with creamy garlic and spring onion mash.’
‘For real?’
‘Yes.’ She smirked at his look of wonder. ‘I can cook, you know.’
‘I believe you can, I’ve just never had you cook for me, that’s all.’
‘Hey yeah, I haven’t ever cooked for you, have I?’ She chuckled. ‘Well, there’s a first time for everything, as they say.’
