Second Chance (7 page)

“Yeah, but he’s the only one dumb
enough to take on Ryder’s mother,” Dee said.

“She’s your mother-in-law as
well.”

“So?  I’m not dumb enough to take
her on.  The woman may look like a walking model, but she fights dirty.”

“Is that where Ryder gets it
from?”

“No.  Ryder’s just dirty.”  Dee winked.  “In all the good ways.”

A snigger went around the table.

Obviously Ryder was known for
something, but Tam had no idea what.

Molly saw her confusion.  “Ryder
was the biggest man whore in town and beyond until he hooked up with Dee.  He was known for his sexual prowess wherever he went.”

“Really?”  Wondering how Dee was taking that little bit of news about her husband, Tam looked at her.

“Dumb arse,” was all Dee said.

“Molly or Ryder?” Tam queried.

“Hey!” Molly said indignantly.

Dee grinned at Tam.  “I think I’m
getting to like you.”

“I’ll sleep better at night now.”

Dee laughed.

“Here come the boys,” Del drawled.  “About time, I’m starved.”

Within minutes the empty spots on
the benches were filled by the men and everyone started talking.  Sitting back,
Tam was free to study them all.

There was no way she couldn’t
notice that the men were all tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, not to
mention they had a variety of handsomeness that ranged from wicked bad boy to
calm handsomeness, to lazily thoughtful.  Hmmm, yes, she remembered Aunt Maree
mentioning that the men had been considered the most eligible bachelors in town
until they’d been taken off the market by the women for whom they’d fallen in
love.  Sweet.

Apart from Del, who was slim, the
women were a variety of generously proportioned, pretty each in their own way,
and again such a variety of personalities, from the sweet to the slightly
abrasive and bawdy, to quiet.  That the friends were close was undeniable,
their easy friendship that spoke of mutual like, acceptance and respect.  They ragged
on each other, insulted each other, laughed at each other…but the difference
was that they also laughed
with
each other.  No one took offence, and smattered
amongst the laughter were more serious talks.

It was nice to see.  It also made
her feel a little isolated, aware of how she was the odd one out.

Her gaze flicked to Grant in a
discussion with Moz.  Though tall and broad-shouldered himself, he didn’t have the
bulk of the other men.  He had muscle, sure, it showed in the corded strength
of his forearms, the way his biceps and triceps shifted under the shirt
sleeves, the brush of his shirt against his chest, but in comparison to his
friends, he had a leaner strength.  Apparently he was currently considered the
most eligible bachelor in Gully’s Fall.  Figured.  He was cute as a boy,
handsome as a man.

From her little purse came the
faint buzz of the mobile phone.  She hesitated.  The phone continued to buzz
then stopped.  Seconds later it started again. 

Shit.  She had no doubt who it was
when the buzzing continued incessantly.

No.  No, tonight she was enjoying
herself, she didn’t have time for the crap that he was trying to pull on her.  Picking
up the purse, she slid the phone out, saw
Dingbat 1
on the display
screen and narrowed her eyes.  Switching off the phone completely was extremely
satisfying.  Shoving it back into the purse, she vowed to leave it at home next
time she was out having fun.

Not that she’d expected tonight to
be fun, but she’d been surprised.  The group of friends were a lot of fun and
she was enjoying herself, even if she did feel a bit out of the circle.  But
that wasn’t their fault, they were at ease with each other and she was just getting
to know them, as they were her.

With a small sigh, she reclasped
the purse and drew her hands back into her lap.

“Tam?”  a quiet, deep tone sounded.

Startled, she looked up to find
Grant regarding her curiously from across the table.  “Yes?”

“Everything all right?”

“Of course.”

His gaze dropped to her purse.

“Sorry, I’d forgotten to turn it
off before we came out here.”  She managed a smile.  “Nothing worse than
mobiles ringing and people chatting on them when they’re out with other
people.  I always find that so irritating, don’t you?”

Those grey eyes rose, locked onto
her.  “I agree.”

She relaxed.

“Especially if the call is
unwelcome.”

Uh oh.  But he didn’t know,
wouldn’t know, and it wasn’t his business, so... “I agree.”

As the conversation ebbed and flowed
around them, he looked at her, she looked at him.  Stalemate.  He wanted to
know and she wasn’t going to tell him.

The stalemate, which lasted all of
five seconds, was broken by Simon.  “Whoo hoo!  Here comes the food!”

Chapter 3

Slapping the battered old Stetson
against his thigh knocked a lot of dust off it.  It flew in the air, making him
cough.

Old Jack Stanton looked at him.

“Dust.”  Grant pointed at it in
the air.

Old Jack’s expression didn’t
change, but an invisible eye roll was definitely there.

“Okay then.”  Picking up the
medical kit, Grant shoved the Stetson on his head.  “If you have any trouble
with the wound give me a call, but it should be good.”

They both looked down at the sheep
who was now chewing on some hay.  Some of the fleece had been removed on the
hind leg and a row of stitches showed.

“Reckon she’ll be fine.” Old Jack leaned
against the wooden fence.  “She’s a tough old bird.”

“That antibiotic should help
prevent any infection from the rusty wire she got hooked up in.”

“She did a fine job, I gotta say.”

“Keep her in the home paddock
where you can observe her.”

Old Jack did another long look,
another expressionless face, another undoubtedly invisible eye roll.

“I guess I don’t have to tell you
that.”

“She’s not the first injured sheep
I’ve tended to.”

“I bet.”  Turning, Grant strode
back towards the four wheel drive parked in the yard.

Old Jack fell into step beside
him.  “Cuppa?”

“Thanks, but not right now.  I’ve
a pile of work waiting for me.”  Grant dropped the medical kit in the back of
the Toyota.  “Next time.”

“No worries.”  Hands hanging loose
by his side, Old Jack glanced around as Farris appeared on a scrub bike.

Pausing, Grant watched as Farris
roared up beside them and braked in a cloud of dust.  He barely managed to
repress a cough.  No way was he going to be a weak cougher, not with Old Jack
standing there, stalwart and invincible as dust smothered them all.  Straddling
the small bike easily, Farris grinned at Grant.  “Doc.”

Grant nodded at him.

“Took you long enough,” Old Jack
grunted.

“Took a bit to check all the
dams,” Farris replied.

“You and your dams.”

“Actually, boss, they’re your dams
and you told me to check them.”

Old Jack grunted again.

Farris reached back to pat the box
strapped to the back of the bike.  “Mended some wire around the far east dam,
it’d come down in one section.  The sheep were eyeing it off.  Speaking of,
how’s Gert?”

“Gert?” Grant raised his eyebrows.

“The sheep you stitched up,” Old
Jack said sourly.  “Dumb bastard here named her.”

Farris grinned widely, a flash of
white teeth in a dirty, dusty face.

“Some day you’ll be eating Gert,
boy.”

“Just don’t tell me when that
happens.”

“You’re a farmhand, not a city
slicker.”

“I have tender feelings.”

“You have a tender head.  Soft as
a cracked egg.”

“That’s a bit of a mix of
metaphors.”

Old Jack looked at him.

“Egg shell is hard,” Farris
explained.  “The yolk is soft.”

“You been sucking on something out
there?”

“Just fresh country air, boss.”

Shaking his head, Old Jack turned
his attention back to Grant.  “Thanks for coming out.”

“No worries.”  Grant hopped up
into the Toyota.

“Hey, Doc,” Farris called out
above the sound of the motor starting.

“Yeah?” Grant looked out at the
young farmhand.

“You and that pretty little sheila
going out?”

There was no doubt in Grant’s mind
that Farris had the hots for Tam.  Farris was harmless, a good-looking young
farmhand with high spirits and a good attitude.  A country boy through and
through.

Wouldn’t suit Tam, though, he was
sure.  Nope.

“We went out last night,” he
replied.

“Huh.”  Farris scratched his jaw,
leaving sweat streaked marks in the dust.  “Just once?”

“She’s just arrived.”

“So just the once?”

Jesus, the man was like a dog with
a bone.

“She’s an old
friend
, if
you know what I mean.”

Farris looked blankly at him.

Tam would eat this poor, clueless
bastard alive.

“You’re a bit young for her,
aren’t you?” Grant couldn’t help but query.

“Nah.”  Farris grinned.  “What I
lack in age I make up for in expertise.”

This time Old Jack’s eye roll
wasn’t invisible.

“I gotta go.”  Grant started to
pull away, glanced into the rear view mirror to see Farris removing his hat to
scratch his head.

Shit.  Tam wouldn’t eat him
alive.  Or maybe she would.  But why did it matter either way? After the pub
last night she’d hurried to the car, given him a quick goodbye and thank you
and left.  There was no indication that she was even remotely interested in
him.

It wasn’t like they were dating.

Cursing under his breath, he
stopped the car and reversed, braking beside Farris and Old Jack.  “Why don’t
you just ring her?”

“Really?”  Farris looked
delighted.

“Yeah, really.”  Grant put the car
back into gear and drove off.

In the rear view mirror Old Jack
was just shaking his head while Farris was grinning from ear to ear.

Annoyance settled deep into the
pit of Grant’s stomach, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.  What was
wrong with him?  Ever since Tamara Banner had walked into his waiting room
yesterday morning he was all over the place like a highly-strung woman.

Seriously, why had he just given
Farris the go-ahead to ring her?   Why was he worried about it?  He wasn’t
dating her.  Farris didn’t need his permission.  Farris could go right ahead
and ring her, take her out, wine and dine her, walk her home, stop for a
cuddle, maybe a kiss…

A kiss of those sweet, lush lips…

His knuckles went white on the
steering wheel before he forced himself to relax, taking a deep breath.  Maybe
he did need some man cave time with the blokes.

Shit no.  Not going there.  No,
what he needed was work.  Tam’s arrival had rattled his memories, rattled his
senses, and rattled his libido.

Wait, his libido?

Well, hell yes. Normally he didn’t
notice a woman’s figure, more drawn by her personality, but hell, he was a
red-blooded man and she’d walked in with her low-cut blouse showcasing that
magnificent bosom, those rounded hips that were made for a man to hang onto, a
sweetly indented waist, and no doubt rounded thighs beneath the skirt.  An
overblown hourglass figure that had him turning his head and his pecker
starting to salute happily.  Add those sparkling green eyes, that laughing
mouth, that husky voice and hello Charlie, his blood started to heat.

Maybe he just needed a dip in a
dam.  It was hot weather, he’d just wrestled a sheep and stitched it up.  He
wasn’t thinking straight.  Yeah, he was just hot.  He needed a shower and a
cold drink.

The drink he could manage now, he
had a water bottle in the back, but a shower would have to wait.  He had
several more farms to visit before he headed home.

No more thinking of Tam, he had
work to do.  Finito.  Done.

Flicking on the CD player, he
filled the cab with Matchbox Twenty.  Or it was supposed to be Matchbox
Twenty.  The love ballad filling the air definitely wasn’t Matchbox Twenty.

Confused, he ejected the CD to
find himself looking at a blank CD.  Nothing was on it except, in Ryder’s
handwriting, ‘Love Songs for the Love Lorn’.  That bastard had messed with his
CDs.  That total turd.  He knew Grant’s CDs were sacred.

Pulling over, Grant opened the
glove box and checked inside it.  All his CDs were gone - Meatloaf, Bonnie
Tyler, his rock’n’roll collection, all gone.  In place of them were three
homemade CDs in plain covers with the titles ‘Heartbreak Honey’, ‘Tender Tunes’
and ‘Bawling Ballads’.  The titles were all in Ryder’s handwriting. 

That arsehole.

With no choice but to continue on
his rounds, Grant had to grit his teeth and listen to love songs, weepy songs,
tender songs, songs of heartbreak and wanting, while relishing the thought of
getting  his size ten up the ambo’s arse.

At least it took his mind off Tam.

It was late when he finally pulled
into his driveway.  The night was dark, the stars were out, and the breeze was
warm.  The furs and fins were all waiting to be fed and have attention.  Only
once he’d attended to their immediate needs did he go into the laundry on the
back veranda and strip off his dusty clothes, dropping them into the laundry
basket.  His veranda was pretty sheltered and no one lived behind him except
for a huge pile of bougainvillea which he meant to clear from the back fence
one day.  Maybe.  So, naked, he quickly slipped out the laundry and into the
kitchen door five feet away.  Locking it behind him, he staggered to the shower
and stood under it, letting the warm water rinse off his tired, dusty, sweaty
body.  Finally getting the energy, he shampooed and soaped himself, rinsing and
washing again before finally getting out.

Feeling a little more revived, he pulled
on a pair of boxers and wandered out to the kitchen to investigate the
‘fridge.  Apart from a pitiful couple of slices of bread and a half a tomato
that looked a little fuzzy, it was bare. For several seconds he stared blankly
at the dismal contents, wondering why Gladys, his cleaner, hadn’t done the
shopping, then remembered that she was on holidays for a month, had told him
while he was reading a book. 
He
hadn’t done the shopping.   The only
thing that stood on the top shelf was the bowl of ‘roo meat he fed to the
furries.  Probably wouldn’t taste bad cooked up, but he was drawing a line no
matter how hungry he was.

One hand on the door, he sighed. 
Too bloody tired to go out, no pizza delivery service in town.  Flipping open
the freezer, he saw a bag of frozen beans.  Not very appetising.  Opening a
cupboard, he studied the contents.  A packet of dry biscuits and a jar of cream
cheese.  Okay, things were looking up.

Minutes later he was flopped on
the sofa, bare feet propped up on the coffee table, packet of biscuits in one
hand, open jar of cream cheese in the other.  He resumed dipping and eating
while watching the news - all bad - before settling into a western movie.

When he awoke he had biscuit
crumbs down his chest which Slinky was trying to lick off, while Gretel had one
paw in the jar of cream cheese drawing out the creamy goodness to lick off her
paw with a thoughtful look on her face.  Drooling, Fergus watched from where he
sat at Grant’s feet.

“This is a little disgusting,”
Grant informed them.

Fergus’s tongue lolled out even
more.

“I need to go to bed.”

Saturday morning meant his
part-time vet was working, leaving Grant able to sleep in.  It was late when he
woke.  A squint at his clock showed ten in the morning.  Gretel was doing a
sphinx impersonation on his chest, her eyes screwed shut.  Slinky was nowhere
to be seen but from the faint sound coming from the depths of the house he was
doing something somewhere.  Fergus would be snoozing safely on the old armchair
on the veranda.

Gently dislodging Gretel, who
immediately showed her displeasure by shooting one leg in the air and washing
her girly bits, Grant rolled out of bed, stretching and yawning.  Mouth tasting
like the bottom of a cocky’s cage, he headed for the bathroom.  A good brush of
his teeth, a quick comb of his hair, a squirt of underarm deodorant, a grimace
at the bags under his eyes and the stubble on his jaw, and he was good to go.

In boxers and bare feet he padded
into the kitchen, opened the wooden door to let the fresh air in, and plugged
in the kettle.  Gretel, Fergus and Slinky all appeared as if by magic to sit
and stare up at him.  Starving, of course.

Opening a can of dog food and a
can of cat fish, Grant looked at the contents as he piled them into the bowls. 
“I wonder how this would taste on bread?”

“That’s just bloody disgusting,”
said a deep voice from the doorway.

Glancing up, he saw Ryder, Moz
standing behind him holding a bag of something that smelled good.  “Hey.  Is
that for me?”

“Depends if you’ve already snacked
on dog food.”  Ryder walked past him as he opened the door.  “Tell me you
haven’t stooped low enough to be licking your nuts clean.”

“’Morning.”  Moz thrust the bag at
Grant and crossed to the kitchen bench, helping himself to mugs.  “Del said Gladys is away and you’ve probably forgotten to buy food.  She didn’t want you
starving.”

“Your little bit of sunshine is a
blessing.”  Mouth watering, Grant pulled out a couple of alfoil wrapped
packages from the bag.  “Oh my God, my mouth is watering.”

“Jesus,” said Ryder.  “Next thing
you’ll be panting like a dog.  You start sniffing our arses in greeting and I’m
out of here.”

“You wish.”  Leaning against the
bench, Grant opened one of the foil packets.  “Bacon and egg toasted
sandwiches.  If you were a woman, Moz, I’d marry you for your cooking alone.”

“I am a good cook,” Moz agreed.

“And Del gets to eat your cooking
every day.  This is what I need.”

“A wife?”

“A cook.”

“You already have Gladys.”

“Gladys cleans and shops for me. 
She’s also old enough to be my grandmother.”

“You could be her toy boy.” Sitting
in a dining room chair balanced dangerously on the two back legs, crossed,
booted feet propped on the edge of the table, Ryder placed his linked hands
behind his head.

“Sorry, she’s a sweet lady but
doesn’t turn me on.”  Grant took another big bite of toasted sandwich, moaning
in ecstasy.

“You get a boner from that and I
won’t be happy,” Ryder said.

“You’re a little concerned about
my manly parts this morning.  Feeling vulnerable about the shooting blanks
crack?”