Snowy mountains cattlema.., p.1
Snowy Mountains Cattleman, page 1
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When USA Today bestselling author ALISSA CALLEN isn’t writing, she plays traffic controller to four children, three dogs, two horses and one renegade cow who believes the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. After a childhood spent chasing sheep on the family farm, Alissa has always been drawn to remote areas and small towns, even when residing overseas. She is partial to autumn colours, snowy peaks and historic homesteads and will drive hours to see an open garden. Once a teacher and a counsellor, she remains interested in the life journeys that people take. She draws inspiration from the countryside around her, whether it be the brown snake at her back door or the resilience of bush communities in times of drought or flood. Her books are characteristically heartwarming, authentic and character driven. Alissa lives on a small slice of rural Australia in central western NSW.
Also by Alissa Callen
The Bundilla Series
Snowy Mountains Daughter
The Woodlea Series
The Long Paddock
The Red Dirt Road
The Round Yard
The Boundary Fence
romance.com.au
To Luke
CONTENTS
About the Author
Also by Alissa Callen
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER
1
Grace Davenport had two choices, but she wasn’t ready to choose either.
She eased her foot off the accelerator to buy time as the road she’d been on since dawn climbed the sharp incline of a hill. When her car reached the spot where the black bitumen curved over the crest, there could be no turning back.
In her rear-view mirror she caught a last glimpse of the rural town she’d driven through nestled on the edge of the treeless Monaro plain. It didn’t matter if her car held some of her most precious possessions, that her Sydney apartment was rented or that a colleague was running her interior stylist business, a single U-turn would send her back through Cooma’s wide main street, then on to Canberra and finally home.
Her hand left the steering wheel to hover over the indicator so she could pull over. Home. The pitch in her stomach reminded her she no longer had such a place. The parents she’d loved were gone. Her every dream had been blown away by the wind that had scattered their ashes over the pale sand of their favourite beach. First kidney cancer had stolen her mother, and then her father’s grief had triggered a heart attack. All it had taken was seven days to dismantle a close-knit family and a lifetime of happiness.
Grace secured her hand back around the steering wheel. She’d driven this road on purpose and the hill crest she’d been waiting for was seconds away. It was time. She had to make a decision: return to the world she knew or drive forwards into the unknown.
Chest tight, she held her breath as her car topped the rise. Everything seemed to still. There was no grief, no loss, just the first look at a distant vista of rugged peaks. Last winter when she’d made this drive with her parents the Snowy Mountains had worn a mantle of pristine snow. Now they were bathed in golden sunlight. Serene, rugged and immovable, they called to her.
Without thought, she pressed her foot on the accelerator and sped down the hill. It was impossible to reclaim what she’d lost, but she could do all that she could to live the life that had been cut short for her parents. As much as her mother and father had enjoyed the beach house she’d bought for them, they’d planned to spend their twilight years in a small town that reminded them of their English village childhoods. She scanned the mountains that now appeared a hazy blue green. On the far-off western slopes, they’d found the perfect place––a little book town called Bundilla.
She settled deeper into her seat and, keeping her eyes on the peaks, readied herself for a long and winding drive. Turning back was no longer an option.
Hours later, with only a brief stop for fuel, Grace passed the WELCOME TO BUNDILLA sign. Despite the ache in her lower back and a non-negotiable need for solitude, her journey wasn’t over. She had keys, food and wine to collect, in that order.
A dust-covered white ute approached, the grey-haired male driver lifting a hand in greeting. Grace hesitated and the car passed before she could do the same. On her last visit she’d discovered that the locals waved to everyone, even out-of-towners. While her parents had returned such gestures with enthusiasm, she hadn’t been as comfortable. Even when she wasn’t preoccupied with work, social skills weren’t exactly her forte.
She had no problem conversing about fabric textures and what rugs might suit what hardwood floor, but when it came to casual chitchat, or answering questions about herself, she always felt uneasy. She took the first turn right and banished the schoolyard memories of her English accent being mocked and the taunts about being a whingeing Pom.
A graceful historic building with columns appeared on her left. The old post office was a landmark she remembered along with the red brick clock tower that she could see at the end of the street. Last winter the branches of the Manchurian pears that ran along the footpaths had been bare. Now their summer-green leaves waved in the breeze as if in welcome.
She slowed as she passed the vintage charity shop that she’d spent hours rummaging through. Bundilla also had a regular charity shop with clothes and toys but this one specialised in collectibles and bric-a-brac with all proceeds going to the local hospital. Tucked away in a corner she’d found a perfect duck-egg blue lamp for a living room she’d been styling. Not that she’d been decorating anything of late. It was an effort to even match her socks.
The GPS indicated that she’d soon arrive at the real estate office and she stopped to let two girls cross the road. The younger sister wore a white dress with pink-and-brown cowgirl boots, and she skipped as she pointed towards the park that formed a cool oasis beside the library. The spring in the child’s step only magnified Grace’s bone-deep weariness. She ignored the uncertainty that would cause her to second-guess her decision to leave the city and instead focused on finding a parking space.
While the street had plenty of empty car spots, the ones directly in front of the real estate office were occupied. A group of three men and one woman chatting outside the building were most likely the owners of the row of utes and four-wheel drives. A tan-and-black kelpie wearing a blue collar with gold lettering sat beside a farmer who wore a wide-brimmed hat. She’d learnt the name of the working dog breed on her previous trip.
Grace parked and left her car to the sound of deep masculine laughter as the local wearing a blue shirt hugged the brunette beside him. While Grace couldn’t see their faces, the way the woman embraced him and then kept her arm around his waist spoke of affection and familiarity. Grace looked away, blanking out the long-buried yearning to mean something to someone.
Her lacklustre small talk wasn’t the only reason why she was single. Her English parents had sacrificed everything to give her a better life in Australia. She’d worked late nights, weekends and holidays to build her career so she could provide them with everything they’d gone without. Loneliness had been a small price to pay for making the people she loved happy.
She glanced at the man whose easy laughter had made her long to do something spontaneous and out of character like take a day off or dance in the rain. His hair was a sun-streaked tawny brown and his broad shoulders stretched the cotton of his blue shirt that hung loose over faded jeans. He half turned and she caught a glimpse of a tanned, chiselled profile. She again looked away.
Just as well she’d come to Bundilla to rebuild her life and not to socialise. She was far from an expert, but men who looked as good as he did usually had an ego to match. Her best friend, Aubrey, was always telling her she’d catch more bees with honey than vinegar. Not that she was ever rude, but flattery, let alone flirting, wasn’t something she’d ever fully understood or seen the point of. She’d once spent two hours of her life that she’d never get back listening to an investment banker run her through his share portfolio over dinner. She didn’t have time to waste on shallow conversations, no matter how gorgeous a guy might be.
The local with the felt hat grinned as he slapped the back of the man she’d heard laugh before striding away. The woman and her remaining two companions walked along the street before stopping outside a double-storey pub trimmed in grey wrought iron. The man in the blue shirt held the door open for the others to enter. Instead of following, he waited as if giving the kelpie who had accompanied them time to decide if he would too head inside. As she drew closer, a waft of beer and an air-conditioned breeze washed over her. For a second, she thought the local stared in her direction, but then the dog and the man disappeared into The Bushranger.
Thankful that she now had the footpath to herself, Grace lowered her tight shoulders. Keys, food, wine, she reminded herself as her steps dragged. The air pressing against her skin was again warm and she lifted her heavy hair from her nape. If this was a taste of a mountain summer, she’d need a haircut, something that hadn’t been
To her relief, the visit to the real estate office to collect her cottage keys took less than five minutes. The helpful and chatty receptionist didn’t expect Grace to reply much in return and she was soon back in the sunshine. She breathed in the aroma of coffee coming from somewhere along the main street and added caffeine to the top of her to-do list. But instead of turning to go in search of the café, she suddenly stopped. Was that a kelpie sitting near her car?
The dog wagged his tail. His blue and gold collar looked familiar and she glanced towards the pub to check whether the locals she’d seen him with earlier were around. But apart from two women strolling towards her with sleek grey bobs wearing similar outfits of black trousers and white shirts, there were no other pedestrians.
Grace stared at the kelpie but didn’t move closer. She’d had a sweet chocolate labrador called Cocoa growing up but as an adult her dog-whispering skills were a little rusty.
The kelpie’s tail again thumped. The gold letters on his collar spelled out the name Bundy. One thing that had changed in the small town was that the water tower now sported a mural. While she hadn’t paid the painting more than a fleeting glance as she’d driven past—she’d been too tired—she had a feeling that a kelpie with a collar like this one had been part of the design.
An impression confirmed when a quiet voice said beside her, ‘You might recognise Bundy from the mural.’
Grace turned to the two women who she could now see had to be identical twins. Neither wore a smile but their eyes were clear and kind. As for the seriousness of their stony faces, she wasn’t intimidated. She saw a similar expression in the mirror every morning.
She nodded.
The sister whose sleek grey bob was a little longer in length studied her before she spoke. ‘Staying in Bundilla long?’
Grace took her time to answer. She wasn’t used to strangers being interested in her business, but there was something about the elderly woman’s steady stare that reassured her the question had only been asked with the best of intentions. ‘How did you know I wasn’t passing through?’
A brief smile tilted the other twin’s lips. ‘Just like how Bundy here knows you’re staying at least two nights.’ She glanced at the keys Grace held. ‘All of the holiday rentals have a minimum two-night stay.’
Grace didn’t immediately answer. Her mother had always said nothing much was missed in a small town. It was this sense of community and kinship that her parents had wished to return to.
She glanced at the kelpie who continued to watch her. ‘Why would Bundy be interested in how long I’m staying?’
The sisters swapped a quick look before the sibling with the shorter bob replied. ‘Bundy’s a local legend. He calls the town home and spends his time with whoever he pleases.’
The second sister gestured towards the kelpie. ‘By the way he’s sitting next to your car, you’re the one he wants to tag along with next.’
Grace fought a frown. She had no proper home to take the kelpie to, let alone any food for either of them. Not to mention what would the dog do with her when she wasn’t intending to leave her cottage?
The older woman continued. ‘I’m Millicent and this is my sister, Beatrice. Bundy’s stayed with us many times and we can assure you he’s no trouble.’
‘He was with a group of locals earlier …’
Beatrice nodded. ‘Now he’s with you.’
Grace met her gaze. ‘He’ll be much happier with someone else.’
They all looked across at the kelpie, who had his amber stare fixed on Grace.
Millicent said softly, ‘He doesn’t want to go with anyone else.’
‘If you call into the grocery or rural store,’ added Beatrice, her tone gentle, ‘they’ll give you a bag of the dogfood he likes.’
As if Bundy coming with her was a foregone conclusion, each sister gave her a nod and continued on their way.
Grace narrowed her eyes at the kelpie. ‘Really?’
Bundy’s doggy grin didn’t waver.
‘I don’t even know if the cottage has power. There’s also bound to be rats.’
The kelpie left the footpath to stand beside her passenger-side door.
Grace shook her head at her poor word choice. No doubt Bundy would consider vermin in the roof a good thing.
Surely someone would come over to say what a bad idea this was? But there was no one else in sight.
She rubbed her tight forehead before moving to clear room on the cluttered back seat for the dog to sit. He jumped straight into the car. She slowly closed the door.
That morning, she might have had two choices. Now she had none. In under three minutes she’d become the temporary custodian of Bundilla’s living kelpie treasure.
Rowan Parker had been waiting all his life to become a third wheel.
He looked across the pub table in the outdoor beer garden to where his younger sister and best mate sat close together and didn’t try to hide his grin. Clancy and Heath might have just come off a long-haul flight from Paris but neither looked jet-lagged.
Clancy, with her red-brown hair and sweet smile, had always drawn stares. But now it was as though she was lit from within. A table to their left filled with tradies in their fluoro work gear had been sneaking frequent glances. He didn’t blame them. His sister radiated joy and happiness.
He kept his smile in place even though the contentment within him faded. When they’d lost their parents four years ago after their cruise boat capsized in a flooded Budapest river, Clancy hadn’t appeared so radiant. He lifted his beer and took a long swallow. The knowledge that he hadn’t been there for her hadn’t lost any of its power. He’d been such a fool.
He realised too late that Heath’s blue gaze was examining his face. Even before Heath had left to paint a mural on a German skyscraper six weeks ago, he’d been giving him concerned looks.
Rowan forced a smile and made sure his tension didn’t show in his voice. ‘You have no idea how glad I am you’re both home. Every work boot I own is either buried or in pieces.’
Clancy laughed. ‘I thought the hug you gave me outside was because you were happy to see me. You just want me to take you shopping.’
Rowan grimaced. He’d rather get bucked off his cantankerous stockhorse than step inside a store.
Clancy patted his arm. ‘Monet will soon calm down and stop stealing your shoes. Look at Primrose.’
Rowan raised both brows. There was no hope for Heath’s hyperactive kelpie puppy if Primrose was Clancy’s measure of a quiet dog. The young golden retriever might technically be out of the puppy phase, but he had no doubt she was the instigator behind the seek-and-destroy mission waged on his wardrobe the second his sister had left.
It wasn’t only new boots he needed; his untucked shirt was hiding a rip across the backside of his now only pair of jeans. Just as well Clancy had only been gone three weeks.
Heath chuckled. ‘Sorry, Clance, I’m with Rowan on that one.’
Clancy’s eyes grew dreamy. ‘I can’t wait to see all their doggy faces. I loved walking in the Swiss Alps but I’ve missed them so much.’
Clancy had always been a small-town girl. There was no place she’d rather be than running her peony flower farm and riding in the high country she loved. Now she and Heath were finally together she was discovering a world outside of Bundilla, but their family farm of Ashcroft would always be her, and now Heath’s, home. Rowan’s grip tightened on his beer. A home he’d left his sister to run alone when she’d been vulnerable, all because he’d allowed a woman’s sensual beauty to blind him to who she really was. He avoided Heath’s gaze as his best mate again studied him.
The buzzer at the centre of their table beeped and flashed red to indicate that their lunch was ready.
Heath clasped his shoulder as they went to collect their counter meals. ‘Let me know when you’re heading out on Goliath. I’ll come too.’
Rowan nodded. A ride into the granite ridges where the wind carried away all regret sounded pretty good right now. He glanced at the front door as they passed. He wasn’t usually so on edge but earlier his testosterone had had a moment that he’d vowed to never have again.
