Man Drought (17 page)

Early on Friday morning, Imogen waved goodbye to Karen, who was mopping the bar area, and headed out to her car to drive to Gibson’s farm. To her employee, she appeared cool, calm and together, but inside she was quaking.

She’d delegated the job of finding a farm for the Man Drought weekend to Charlie, and somehow he’d conned Gibson into offering Roseglen.

They planned to head out there on Saturday so the girls who’d signed up could experience a taste of farm life. She wanted as many opportunities as possible for them to try their hand at farming – driving a tractor, fixing a fence, maybe even shearing sheep – and she needed a farmer willing to cooperate. There weren’t a zillion other offers because most of the other bachelors had registered as participants.

Despite her reservations about Gibson’s commitment to the project, Imogen couldn’t wait to see his farm. She hadn’t been on a
working property for a long time. One of the few times her father took time off work to holiday while she was young, they’d spent an amazing vacation on a cattle station way up north. Her sisters had spent ten days moaning and groaning about the dirt and dust, but she loved every moment. When they went home, her seven-year-old self refused to take off the pair of Blundstone boots – her first – which her parents bought her for the trip. She even took them to school for show and tell.

They lived in a few country towns after that, and she was the only one disappointed when they moved back to Perth the year she started high school. The older girls were over the moon to be within walking distance of shops, movie theatres and a greater pool of boys, but she’d loved living in the sticks. Still, if her father hadn’t been transferred to Perth, she’d likely never have met Amy and Jenna – or Jamie – so she couldn’t be disappointed.

Holding her bag with the hand-sketched map Charlie had given her in it in one hand, Imogen shook her head as she opened her car door. She’d been caught up in memories when what she needed to focus on was the morning ahead. A morning in which her excitement about pulling on boots and trekking over paddocks was slightly dimmed by the trepidation in her heart at just how she’d cope seeing Gibson again.

She took a deep breath as she slid into her seat and tugged the seatbelt over her. Thank God Charlie would be there too. She didn’t know whether to thank her old barman or berate him for arranging this. She turned the key in the ignition and took another quick glance at Charlie’s map. It appeared a fairly straightforward route – take the highway out of town towards Southern Cross for ten kilometres, turn left at the gravel road with the mural-painted wheat silo on the corner, another five kilometres on the gravel and Roseglen would be on her right. Apparently, the farm gate was impossible to miss.

She turned her radio on full blast and pulled out onto the main street, happily listening to the country tunes on the local station. Jenna would have hated it, but it was already starting to feel normal to Imogen.

As she drove, she silently counted rusty windmills and old eucalypts in the sparse, dry paddocks alongside the road. For this far into the Wheatbelt, the scenery was surprisingly picturesque. The drive went quickly; she spotted the silo and turned sharply onto the red gravel road. Not used to navigating unpaved roads, she gripped the wheel tightly and drove like a granny, scared to pick up speed in case she lost control. Gum trees grew on both sides, their branches meeting over the road to create a peaceful, country feel. After a few kilometres, she started to relax and increased her speed to just below the limit. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she smiled when she saw red dust whirling up behind her car like some sort of outback storm. This was exactly what she wanted for her city-born, country-bound girls.

A fox bounded across the road in front her as the Roseglen gate loomed into view. Charlie was right: there was no way anyone could miss it. She slowed as she turned the car and then stopped at the wrought-iron gate. Unable to help herself, she paused for a minute to admire the intricate craftsmanship and then dug her phone from her bag. She switched it to camera mode, stepped out of the car and snapped a photo. Old and rustic, the border of welded roses added a feminine softness to the gate. If only farm gates were still made this way – the name of the farm welded into the gate, giving it character and charm.

According to Charlie, who would talk about his beloved family farm 24/7 if you let him, Gibson’s great-granddad, Glen, had designed the gate as a wedding present for his beloved wife, Rose – Elsie’s mother. Glen and Rose also built the current homestead, which Charlie spoke about with the same enthusiasm. She wondered if the old house still had touches of generations past.

Imogen’s hopelessly romantic heart sighed at the thought, although she knew that must have been close to a hundred years ago now, and it was doubtful the house still looked how the young lovers had envisioned it. Two more couples had called it home since then – three, if you counted Gibson and his ex.

A magpie swooped down from a nearby eucalypt, perched on the gate only metres away and stared beady-eyed right at her, bringing her thoughts back to the present.

‘Shoo,’ she shouted and waved her arms, hoping to scare it, hoping it didn’t have offspring somewhere it wanted to protect.

It seemed to glare at her for a few moments before flapping its wings, shrieking and tossing itself into the air. Imogen puffed out a breath of relief and went forward to tackle the gate. She’d heard some farm gates were almost impossible for city slickers to open, so she smiled when this one swung back easily. She got back into her car, drove through and stopped on the other side to close it again. No way would she be responsible for letting all Gibson’s livestock out onto the public road.

As she travelled slowly down the long driveway, Imogen’s pulse picked up speed. It was as if her hormones knew they’d see
him
again in a moment.

Settle girls. Don’t go getting any ideas. This visit is purely professional.

She passed paddocks of sheep, fields of bare stubble and a huge, old corrugated-iron building which she guessed to be the shearing shed, before a white picket fence came into view. Moments later, her eyes set on the vision behind the fence.

She sucked in a gasp. Before her was a perfectly kept, circa 1900s homestead with wide verandahs, all surrounded by a gorgeous cottage garden – one that had to struggle under the high temperatures and water restrictions. She never imagined such a paradise could exist in the dry heat of the Wheatbelt.

How could Gibson’s wife have left it? What the hell had he done?
It had to be something terrible to send a sane woman running from this blissful setting. Not to mention running from him. Consumed by these thoughts, Imogen almost missed the man himself waving from off to one side.
Almost
.

But the moment her eyes took in the sight of him, messages shot from her brain to every feminine spot in her body. Feelings she’d barely been able to control before she slept with him were amplified now. She swallowed, trying to return moisture to her dry mouth as her nipples peaked and that spot at the apex of her thighs grew needy and tight. Her body hated this denial, but every time she contemplated changing her mind and propositioning him again, all she had to do was think about how she felt after the first time. Her mind couldn’t handle the post-sex agony a second time, so her body would have to chill.

She glanced at the house again, took a quick breath and then looked back to see two hyperactive black-and-white dogs heading towards her. Putting her car into gear, she killed the engine and silently prayed that the morning wouldn’t be too awkward.

Jack and Jill danced at Gibson’s feet as if they knew Charlie was on his way. They’d heard the distant sound of an engine before he did and had raced towards the noise.

But when Imogen’s miniscule silver Toyota came into view, Gibson frowned, surprised that Charlie hadn’t insisted on driving after all the effort he’d gone to in arranging this. He shuddered at the thought of what lay ahead. To say he was having doubts about a bunch of city women trekking all over Roseglen in their high-heeled sandals was an understatement – and he held Charlie and his power of manipulation responsible.

Still, he stepped forward and forced a wave as Imogen brought
the car to a stop under an old gum tree. His mum had spent years lobbying his dad to chop it down, but Charlie loved that tree, because he’d first kissed Elsie underneath it, and he’d threatened to chain himself to the trunk if his daughter-in-law ever came good on her threat to call in the tree loppers.

Speaking of Charlie, where on earth was he? His frown grew as he registered Imogen’s empty passenger seat. Jack and Jill bounded forth and, knowing they’d show his guest no mercy, he followed them.

‘Dogs! Come!’ he hollered as she opened her car door. As usual whenever a visitor was concerned, they paid no attention, instead scrambling over each other to be the most enthusiastic member of the welcome party. Jack jumped onto Imogen’s lap before she could escape her car, but the giggles from inside told him she wasn’t worried by the canine attention.

‘I’m okay,’ she shouted as Gibson grabbed Jill by the scruff of her neck. Times like these a collar would have been handy, but he’d never seen the need living out here. ‘I love dogs.’

‘In that case …’ He released Jill. ‘I promise they’ll lose interest in a moment. They’ve just got to get it out of their systems.’

‘It’s fine.’ She welcomed Jill onto her lap as well, all the while holding her head high to avoid being kissed. After giving both dogs neck rubs that made the skin beneath
his
collar shiver, she finally emerged. His mouth fell open at the sight of tiny denim shorts as she leaned back into the car to fetch a bag. Her legs, as shapely as any he’d ever laid eyes on, looked like they’d go on forever, and he followed them down, rejoicing at the sight of the Blundstones on her feet.

A memory came unbidden to him, of the first day he brought Serena out to the farm. Whereas Imogen was wearing boots, cut-off denim shorts and a baggy t-shirt with Little Miss Chatterbox on the front, Serena had dressed like she was going to the races. With
hindsight, it should have been a red alert, but at the time he’d stupidly chosen to ignore it.

He blinked, realising he was comparing Imogen with his ex when he had no reason to. The differences didn’t matter, because they were never going to go there. And that suited him fine, because when she eventually got over Jamie, he guaranteed she’d be looking for the kind of relationship he wasn’t capable of giving. She had ‘Marry Me and Make Me a Mum’ written all over her pretty face.

Imogen turned and caught him gazing. Awkwardness ruled for a brief second and she raised an eyebrow.

‘Where’s Charlie?’ he asked, pulling himself together as she slammed the car door.

Her brow puckered. ‘I thought he’d already be here. He told me he was coming out early to watch the sunrise with Elsie.’

If Gibson didn’t know that sitting beside Elsie’s grave early some mornings was one of his granddad’s rituals, Imogen’s statement would have been worrying. ‘I haven’t seen him.’

‘Oh.’ Imogen flicked her hair behind her shoulders in a way that tightened every muscle in his body.

Charlie. Focus on Charlie
. ‘Shall we go inside and give him a call?’

She nodded, absentmindedly stroking Jack’s floppy ears.
Lucky little bugger
.

Gibson forced his eyes to the house, and dodging the still semi-bouncy dogs, they headed for the gate in the picket fence. Opening it, he gestured for her to go ahead through the modern-looking garden arbour – one of Serena’s modifications – and up the cobbled path towards his house. In doing, so he copped a perfect view of Imogen’s pert behind as she sashayed along. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she meant to torment him.

She jogged the few steps onto the verandah and then stopped to slip off her boots. He’d stopped bothering with such things not long after Serena left, but on this occasion he did the same with
his in-dire-need-of-replacement Blundies to distract himself from the view. When they were both barefoot, Gibson pushed open the front door and welcomed her into his house.

He didn’t get many visitors out here, and the few who did come were mates who’d been there a thousand times pre- and post-Serena. They were mostly blokes who knew where to find the beer fridge but never took any notice of the interior decoration. Hell, he only knew the word because Serena had been so hung up on modernising the place.

He watched as Imogen did a 360. A look of distaste flashed across her face but she covered it quickly. He chuckled.

‘What’s so funny?’ She looked to him tentatively, unease evident in the corner of her eyes.

‘The look on your face. Don’t you like my castle?’

‘It’s not that …’ She stumbled, and he could tell she found lying difficult. ‘It’s just not what I expected from the outside.’

‘My ex-wife fancied herself a designer, and she never bought into the whole country chic thing.’ From the beginning, Serena’s interior choices had been at odds with the setting. It was as though she’d tried to transplant a modern penthouse apartment into an outback homestead. Everything from the furniture to the couch and rugs was white and sharp angles. Except for the large-screen TV and stereo system, which Serena would also have purchased in white, if possible. He didn’t know how she’d planned to baby-proof the house when the time came, despite her desperate noises to start a family.

‘You don’t like it, then?’

He snorted. ‘No.’ For almost three years, he’d been vowing to undo everything Serena had done. The house felt cold, as his marriage had, even before the final nail was hammered in the coffin. And it was so big – built for a family he was never going to have. If it weren’t for Jack and Jill, he’d hate being here.

‘Why did Serena leave?’

Although he’d invited his ex-wife into the conversation, Imogen’s question caught him off guard. Recovering, he rattled off his well-rehearsed answer. ‘She had crazy notions of what being married to a farmer would be like. When it didn’t turn out the way she’d imagined, when I worked long and often late hours, she started to miss the city – her friends and the designer boutiques – and she decided marrying me was a very big mistake.’