Page 20 of Jillaroo from Jacaranda

Walking over to the frangipani tree they’d planted in her great-grandmother’s memory, beside the viewpoint where they’d spread her ashes, Rose plonked herself down, hugging her knees to her. ‘Nothing is going as I’d planned, Grandma.’ She sniffled. ‘Why do some guys have to be so horrible and why did I go and pick one of those ones to get engaged to?’ She caught her tight breath, her chin trembling. ‘I know you didn’t ever take much of a shine to Finley, and now I know why. I just wish I could meet someone like GG and have a love like you both had.’

Although her aunties had helped her to pick a path, Rose was still scared of the unknown, and what might come from it. What if she regretted what she was about to do? This was all so much to deal with right now. Allowing herself to fall into the deep sense of loss she’d felt since her great-grandma’s death, she broke into wracking sobs. And for the very first time since Elizabeth Jones’s passing, she didn’t stop herself from crying; she simply let her tears fall, let the flood of grief come and pass, until she was spent.

Then, desperate for a shower and eight hours of solid sleep, she dragged herself back to Buck, climbed into the saddle and rode towards home. When she slipped into her bed tonight, she would send Ty the message he was waiting for.

CHAPTER

6

After chasing white lines for almost eight hours, his brain in overdrive the entire way, Ty was finding it hard to believe that his luck had changed for the better. Even after one of the best Christmases he’d ever had, he suspected that the universe was toying with him, as if the powers that be were seeing just how far he could be taken along a promising road before they snapped him in two at a metaphorical T-junction.

His optimistic nature had been driven to the limit. Between being shot at, blown up, witnessing his father’s death, holding comrades as they’d died from war injuries, attending funeral after funeral, witnessing the heartache that war left behind for loved ones, and being crapped on by those he loved repeatedly, he couldn’t help but question anything and everything new that came into his life. Apart from bull riding, he didn’t like not knowing the outcome of any given situation. And Rose Jones, as grounded and down-to-earth as she appeared to be, was also an enigma. If he allowed himself to fall for her – which wouldn’t be a hard thing to do – she could easily break his heart into a million tiny little pieces.

Approaching the turn-off that would take him around the outskirts of Charters Towers, he slowed and turned left. Not too much longer and he’d be home. As he accelerated back to a hundred, his mind drifted once again. Up until two days ago, he was coming to accept the fact he’d be much happier on his own, for as long as that might be – for the rest of his life, if need be. But then there was his desire for children, a brood of his own flesh and blood who he could teach the ways of the land to, and eventually pass on the legacy he was working so hard to keep hold of. The pitter-patter of tiny feet and the giggles of his own children would fill the empty homestead with the kind of life he craved. An unachievable feat on his own. A woman was part of this picture.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he did like the thought of that someone special to come home to at the end of each day, a woman to love and to hold, to laugh with and to endure life’s hardships with, a pretty face to fall asleep beside and wake up to each and every day. But station life was hard, and not for the faint of heart. The next woman he fell for, if he ever did, had to come from strong stock and be ready to roll up her sleeves and get her hands dirty. She had to love the country life just as much as he did if it was ever going to work.

Why in the hell was he even weighing all of this up?

Jayzuz, get a fucking grip would ya, Parker.

Until he’d gone and met Little Miss Barrel-Racing Champion, with sweetness and sassiness in bucketloads, he hadn’t even accommodated such thinking. But now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it all. Rose Jones was mesmerising in every way – man he wished he wasn’t so hung up on the fact that he’d gone and made a fool of himself once already and had almost lost everything because of his rashness. Come to think of it, was still trying not to lose everything because of his rashness. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

But man, it would be so easy to with Rose – she got his ticker ticking.

He’d fallen for a pretty face once before, though, and look where that had got him. Next time round, if there was one, he needed a whole lot more from a relationship. He wanted a reliable woman who had common sense, kindness and a whole lot of heart; a woman who wanted a life on a cattle property, to have children and grow old with him. He wanted someone he could make smile every day; a best mate for life.

Rose Jones would make a beautiful wife and mother.

Huffing, Ty rolled his eyes at himself, smirking at his own fruitless effort to dull the make-believe world he was creating. Muttering expletives, he huffed again. Shifting in his seat, he tugged the seat belt and sat up straighter. Familiar arid landscape whipped past him. He tried to focus on that. Nope. Not happening. The radio station he’d switched to almost an hour ago was now playing a classic George Strait love song, ‘Give It All We Got Tonight’. He knew every damn word of the poignant song. He switched it off and drove on in silence.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, he shook his head in a bid to shake away the story playing out in there – he and Rose living together happily ever after in a peachy perfect world with two or three children and enough money in their bank account to never have to struggle.

Shit. Bugger. Bollocks. Damn it.

He really had to stop this nonsense. Now. He turned the radio back on and changed channels. A honky-tonk Waylon Jennings tune filled the cab, ‘Good Hearted Woman’.

Oh come on!

He wasn’t about to turn it off again. Being alone with his thoughts for hours was dangerous enough without doing it in complete silence.

His growling stomach giving him a slight reprieve, Ty glanced down at his rumpled shirt and scowled at his noisy belly. Having survived the trip so far on two cups of coffee, he was beyond starving. He knew there wasn’t much in his fridge – most of his food lived in the freezer, and it was too late to defrost anything of substance now. A trip to the grocery store was on his list of errands for tomorrow. Plus, when he arrived home, he wanted to get stuck into jobs before he ran out of daylight. Old Don wouldn’t have been able to keep up with the day-to-day stuff, nor would he expect him to. Just being there to feed the animals and keep an eye on the place was a huge favour.

Making a quick pit stop at the only shop before the station, he hoped he’d find something at the very least to stop his stomach gnawing on itself. Grabbing his Akubra from the passenger seat, he tugged it on, stepped out, unkinked his back, then strode towards the entrance like a man on a mission. The door jingled as he stepped inside to the scent of burning incense, reminding him of the fact the store had been bought a few months back by two hippies from the big smoke. A middle-aged woman with bright pink hair and dangly peace earrings greeted him with a wide smile from behind the counter. He couldn’t help but match her friendly greeting as he strolled past.

Wandering up and down the few aisles, he weighed up his options. Chips, salted nuts, beef jerky – it could loosely be classed as meat and veg. Picking up a packet of something stating it was sticky hickory-flavoured vegan jerky, he grimaced. What in the hell was it made of if it wasn’t meat, but it was called jerky? Gastronomic blasphemy. He read the ingredient list out quietly – soy protein, black bean sauce, vinegar, sugar, liquorice root, spices, canola oil – in his opinion, that was just a whole lot of yuck. Shaking his head while chuckling to himself, he popped it back beside a packet of kale chips. Good lord … don’t even get him started.

Deciding on beef jerky and a can of Red Bull from the drinks fridge, he paid and stepped back out into the bright sunshine.

Back behind the wheel, he sternly told himself that enough was enough with the fantasy world – he had himself some real life to indulge in. And for this last leg of the journey, he did just that. Through his dusty windscreen, cracked brown earth stretched out as far as the eye could see. Knowing the road like the back of his hand, he manoeuvred over the narrow highway as it snaked its way around a rocky hillside then straightened out again on a flat, barren stretch. The sunshine bounced off his windscreen, and he flicked the sun visor down and sat up straighter as he went down a gear. He was almost there – back to the daily grind of loneliness, stress and sleepless nights.

While bull riding was what gave him sanity, this was where his heart was, and he loved it with every bit of the country blood running through his veins, as weary as it sometimes made him. He and his sister, Leah, had grown up moving around quite a lot – it was a given with his father in the army – but now his roots had firmly planted themselves into the heart and soul of this place, and he was hellbent on never letting it slip from his fingers.

Turning down the red-dirt road, he dropped his speed back to fifty. The few corners were sharp and there was only enough room for one vehicle – a head-on wasn’t on his agenda. After bumping along a couple more ks, after an eight-and-a-half-hour drive, he’d reached his destination. He released a pent-up sigh – back to the grindstone. The rusty old sign he’d made from a sheet of corrugated iron and framed with bits of rustic timber then zip-tied to the front gates announced he was at Wildstone Station.

Home sweet home.

Pulling to a stop at the mailbox, he jumped out and headed over to the old milk urn, dreading what he might find within. A rubber band–wrapped stack of windowed envelopes greeted him. He snatched them out and, after shoving the gate open, strode back to the open driver’s door. Hightailing it back behind the wheel, he tossed the pile of bills to the passenger seat. He’d deal with whatever was inside each one later. After rolling forward, he jumped out again and latched the gate closed behind him.