Man Drought (29 page)

The day had finally arrived. It was almost 6:00 p.m. and there were only a few minutes to go until the Man Drought weekend officially kicked off. While Imogen couldn’t summon the enthusiasm she’d initially had about matching like-minded couples, she tried to maintain some of her passion for the event. The whole community of Gibson’s Find had thrown its support behind her and she owed it to them to make it a success.

Jenna, back from Perth for yet another weekend, had already taken her place at a table they’d set up for registration. She looked very professional – in a tailored grey suit that wouldn’t fit her in a couple of months, her hair neatly tied back and a glow in her face. The band, a duo of brothers who were hoping to make it big on the country music circuit, had just finished setting up on a temporary stage that Gibson and Guy had erected, and the first few blokes who’d signed up for the event were straggling in. Cal and Charlie stood behind the bar, amped and ready, along
with Gibson and Guy, who’d volunteered their services for the evening.

While Cal took cool drinks to the band, Imogen grabbed her camera from its hidey-hole under the bar and rushed forward to greet Warren and a couple of his mates, the first of her male participants. She moved in front of them and snapped before any of them could get camera shy, but it was quickly apparent that none of these blokes would ever suffer from any such thing. They leaned together and posed for her, big goofy grins stretching across their faces.

‘Where’s the chicks?’ Warren asked, just as the first lady walked through the door. One of his mates dug him in the side and nodded in her direction, and the three men swung round, their mouths all dropping open at the sight.

‘Hi.’ A short brunette with a pale complexion and a shapely body smiled tentatively at Imogen and the guys. ‘Am I in the right place for Man Drought?’

‘No Man Drought here, honey.’ Warren stepped forward and offered his arm. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’

The girl blushed slightly and fiddled with an owl pendant that hung around her neck. ‘Okay,’ she replied quietly.

‘Warren, you can buy drinks in a moment.’ Imogen introduced herself and ushered the woman away from the boisterous boys to Jenna at the registration table. As the band cranked up, launching into their first tune, Jenna gave their first female participant a badge with the name Michelle scrawled across it and also the key to the room she’d be sharing with another participant.

A few more blokes arrived after that, and then a couple of groups of girls who obviously thought this was a fun way to get away from the city and have a bit of a laugh. Imogen tried not to be disheartened, reasoning that there’d be at least some genuine women in the pool – Michelle didn’t seem like the type to come all this
way for nothing. Charlie and Cal offered around complimentary glasses of champagne, while Gibson and Guy (looking adorable in matching Majestic t-shirts) wandered through the mob with plates of Pauli’s mouth-watering hors d’oeuvres. As Imogen welcomed a pair of identical twins, she caught Gibson’s eye, but he looked away quickly, making her heart cramp.

She was glad he was here and very grateful for his support – he’d promised to keep an eye on Charlie so she could focus on the actual event – but she hated the wall he’d put up between them. She didn’t blame him, but she hated it. And considering he’d never officially been a part of her life, she missed him so damn much.

‘Excuse me?’ One of the sisters cleared her throat. ‘You were saying we need to register?’

‘Oh, yes, sorry. Come this way.’ Imogen swallowed and led the newcomers over to Jenna.

By seven o’clock, all the participants were registered. The mingling in full swing, Imogen found herself with a few moments to take in the scene before the first round of speed dating began. She joined Jenna again.

‘I think it’s going well.’

‘Understatement of the century.’ Jenna grinned back. ‘There’s sparks going off left, right and centre.’ She scribbled something down on one of the sticky label badges and then held it up: HANDS OFF, I’M TAKEN. ‘I’m going to put this on Guy, just in case. Back in a moment.’

Imogen glanced down at the last few empty labels. Her fingers itched to pick up a pen and scrawl the same words on a badge for Gibson, but she forced the urge aside and glanced around the pub at the diverse crowd. The men wore variations of smart jeans and dress shirts, but the women could have opened their own fashion shop. Some wore cocktail dresses and others opted for more casual, but casual that had taken hours to perfect. She only hoped they’d packed
appropriate clothes for their trip to Roseglen. She could just imagine Gibson rolling his eyes if they rocked up in skirts and heels.

Pushing that thought aside, she crossed to the bar and grabbed herself a glass of water in readiness for the official part of the night. Gibson and Guy arrived back with empty platters. She nabbed Guy – hoping he didn’t notice the tension between her and Gibson – and asked him to put the next lot of nibbles on the tables in the dining room. These tables were already set up in rows to cater for the quick movement from partner to partner during the speed dating session. Gibson and Guy on their way, she went over to the band and signalled for them to stop after the current song. Then she took a deep breath, sent up a silent prayer for a successful weekend, and climbed up onto the podium.

As she stood in front of the microphone, the music faded, causing all chattering heads to look up. She smiled at the faces looking back at her and took the mic.

‘Good evening, folks. Welcome everyone. Especially to our fabulous ladies who made the long hike from Perth. And I believe we even have a couple of girls from Sydney, who have come all the way for Man Drought. Well, don’t worry, ladies, there’s no shortage of men in in Gibson’s Find.’

The room exploded into whoops, cheers and wolf-whistles. She waited a moment for the excitement to die down.

‘When I moved here a couple of months ago, I’d heard there were more men than women, but I didn’t really believe it until I started getting to know the locals. Men are in the majority in Gibson’s Find and it didn’t take long for me to realise they are all fabulous men. My friend Jenna,’ Imogen paused to indicate Jenna to the side of her, ‘thought it would be wrong of us not to share all this testosterone with our fellow females. So, we came up with the idea for this weekend, and we hope you all have a lot of fun, and maybe start some amazing friendships.

‘Tonight, we’ll begin with some speed dating. Each of your name badges has a number, which corresponds to a seat on the tables. Ladies, you’ll get three minutes talking to each man and then we’ll ring the closing bell and you’ll be asked to move on to the next guy. Easy, right?’

Imogen smiled at the audience. ‘But before we get started, I’d like to explain the schedule for the rest of the weekend and introduce a few key people. Tomorrow morning, we’ll be heading out to Roseglen, a local farm, owned and operated by Gibson Black.’ She looked to the bar, her eyes meeting briefly with Gibson’s before he lifted his hand and saluted the crowd.

‘And …’ For a second she was lost for words, still lost in Gibson’s gaze.
Dammit
. She took a much-needed breath. ‘There we’ll be trying our hands at all sorts of farming experiences and enjoying a delicious lunch, packed by my staff: Pauli, Cal and Karen.’ The girls waved from their position alongside Gibson at the bar.

‘If you have any questions at any time, come and see me or Jenna. And have a fantastic weekend! Okay. I think that’s about it for now. Grab a drink and let the speed dating begin!’

Participants rushed off eagerly to find their numbers at the tables.

As the night went on, speed dating continued between the meals. Imogen forgot about her own problems and got caught up in the romance buzzing around her. It hadn’t escaped her that Warren and Michelle had bypassed the last round, instead choosing a private table in the corner of the pub to continue their conversation. And the local policeman had the twins hanging off his every word, although he couldn’t seem to decide which sister he liked best. She laughed to herself. Even if only one long-term association came from this weekend, her project would have been a success.

At the sound of cars heading up his drive, Gibson took a deep breath and headed down the steps of the shearing shed where he’d been checking everything was set up and ready to go. Hell was on its way!

Outside, Jack and Jill patrolled the pens, confused that they only had a few sheep to keep track of, but excited nonetheless. He glanced up at the partially cloudy sky and then at the long line of utes making their way towards him – most he recognised, a couple he didn’t – and made out the dusty outline of the local community bus following behind.

Within a few minutes, blokes leapt out of the utes, and the bus – driven by Tom – pulled up in the clearing between the sheds and the homestead. Gibson watched along with the male participants as the women spilled out of the bus. Some were sensibly dressed in shorts, t-shirts and boots. Others favoured the highly inappropriate farm attire – stiletto heels, short skirts, tight tops and dangly earrings – preferred by his ex-wife. He’d have bet money on which girls were serious about this weekend and which ones just wanted to have fun, but that wasn’t his concern. His job was to help make Imogen’s project a success. He may not have been able to offer what she needed, what she wanted, but he could at least do this.

The only thing he couldn’t control was the weather. He looked up at the rapidly darkening clouds and hoped the wind would blow them away.

When he looked back, Imogen was stepping out from behind the crowd of excited ladies. The breath left his lungs before he could hold it back. Surely the sight of her shouldn’t have had quite such a visceral affect on him after all this time, but if anything, it was getting stronger. He was a goner and he couldn’t do any damn thing about it.

Inwardly, cursing the futility of his feelings, he stepped forward to greet her. ‘Morning.’

She smiled, blowing her fringe off her face in that way only she did. ‘Everything ready?’

‘Yes.’ He nodded as Guy and Tom came to stand beside them.

Tom, an ex-shearer who now drove the community bus and did other odd jobs around town, would teach the women who were game how to rid a sheep of its coat. Guy would be giving riding lessons on the quad bike, and Gibson would be on hand to show anyone who was interested how to fix and erect fences. He didn’t expect to be swamped with volunteers but that didn’t bother him.

‘Okay, good.’ Imogen looked up at the clouds, worry evident in her face. ‘Do you think the weather’s going to be a problem?’

The men followed her gaze to the sky. If anything, the clouds had grown more sinister. ‘Relax,’ Gibson said, before either of the other two could voice their thoughts. ‘We’ll do the farming activities first. Worst-case scenario, we can eat lunch in the safety of the shed until this passes over, and then hike to the old homestead this afternoon. It’ll be fine, promise.’

‘Okay.’ She didn’t sound convinced. ‘Let’s do this, then.’

Stepping forward, Imogen stuck two fingers into her mouth and whistled in a way that both impressed and surprised him. All heads swivelled in her direction, eyes wide as they waited for instruction. ‘First, I want to thank Gibson Black for welcoming us all to his beautiful property, Roseglen.’ She gestured to him and Gibson nodded to the crowd, trying not to think about how great his name sounded when she said it.

‘Today,’ Imogen continued, ‘Gibson, with the help of Tom and Guy, will be running three farming stations. Each of you will select an activity from a hat. We’ll stop for a break in about half an hour and rotate stations until lunchtime, when we’ve got a real treat in store. Gibson has kindly offered to give us a tour of the original Roseglen homestead, built by his great-grandparents in the late 1800s. It’s a short walk from here, but I promise you, it’s worth the exertion. If
you think life on the land is hard in the twenty-first century, you’ll be amazed at what the early settlers had to cope with.’

Even as Imogen spoke, the wind picked up and the air grew cooler around them. Several of the women, already on a first-name basis with the men, leaned in close to make the most of body heat. Gibson noticed Imogen’s gaze flicking to the sky while she relayed the activity options. He too started to fret. The forecast this morning had been mostly fine with possible showers, but it wouldn’t be the first time they’d been wrong.

Pushing the thought aside, he welcomed his group of participants. He rolled his eyes as Wazza approached. ‘Don’t tell me I have to teach you how to fix a fence. That’ll be like trying to teach one of the dogs to knit socks.’

‘Humph.’ Wazza gave Gibson the finger. ‘Don’t listen to the Gibster, ladies, I’ll be teaching him a few things.’

‘This I’d like to see.’ Gibson waved his hand at the tools lying on the ground in front of them. ‘Don’t let me hold you back.’

Wazza’s chest puffed up and his shoulders snapped back as he swaggered forward and picked up a fence strainer. ‘Watch and learn, ladies. Who’s up first?’

Gibson folded his arms, leaned back against the fence and watched as Wazza took over, obviously trying to impress the short brunette. She seemed to be the only woman interested, and frankly, he couldn’t blame them.

‘It’s bloody freezing out here,’ whined a blonde after a couple of minutes. She had so much product in her hair the wind hadn’t moved it an inch.

‘Tell me about it,’ added another, rubbing perfectly manicured fingers up and down bare arms. Troy, a guy Gibson played footy with, stepped forward and offered his shirt. Another bloke Gibson recognised from the neighbouring shire quickly did the same.

Brownie points.
The shirt-receivers batted their eyelashes in thanks at the now-bare-chested blokes. As he glanced towards the shed,
hoping Tom was having better luck entertaining the ladies with his shearing talents, a large drop of rain plopped onto Gibson’s nose. The blonde with the fortified hair must have felt one too because she squealed, yanked Troy’s shirt up over her head like a hoodie and started running towards the shed. Within seconds, rain began falling from the sky as if God had emptied his swimming pool. Big drops soaked into dusty red ground that hadn’t seen a downpour in months.