‘Would you?’ asked a stunned Baxter.
This was the first time Julie had reached out to him in any way. The longer he thought about it, the more stunned he was.
‘Yes, I would,’ she said. ‘When I needed a man I could trust—I mean, apart from my dad—you were there for me, and I don’t think you’ve changed.’
‘But look, Julie, as much as I respect you for the dedication you showed as my student, and as much as I admire what you’ve achieved professionally, the basic fact remains that . . .’ He didn’t know how to put it delicately.
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘You’re still attracted to me?’
He laughed in relief. ‘Of course I am.’
But Julie wasn’t laughing. ‘It always gets back to sex.’
‘It’s not as bad as you think. I can’t help how I feel—if men didn’t feel that way about women, the world would come to a halt—but you can come fishing with me any time you want. I won’t promise not to look, but I’ll never lay a finger on you, or say anything to make you uncomfortable.’
She considered this.
‘It’ll be the same as when you were my student,’ Baxter added, ‘except this time you’re the expert.’
‘All right, I see what you mean.’
‘You’d have to give me the green light before I’d start anything,’ he said with a smile, and finally she smiled back.
Julie was definitely reaching out to him, he reckoned—not for sex, obviously, but for something she hadn’t experienced since the death of her father. She wanted a mate.
He saw that her eyes were on him, but she didn’t speak.
‘I thought about you quite a lot, Julie,’ he confessed. ‘I reckoned you could do almost anything if you set your mind to it. To be honest, I was shocked to find you back here. Not that Moondilla isn’t a lovely place to live, but not for the Julie Rankin I knew.’
‘I told you why I came back,’ she said quickly.
‘Sure you did. Your people needed you and you came.’ He leaned a bit closer and spoke more gently. ‘And maybe, just maybe, the anger burned out, and being close to your people was more important than your ambition.’
‘True enough.’ That faraway look was creeping back into her eyes.
‘Well,’ he said, giving her a reassuring grin, ‘I’m very pleased you’re here—because I need all the help with fishing I can get.’
The mood lightened. Julie smiled and got to her feet, picking up their glasses. ‘I’m not the best, but I do know a fair bit about it.’
‘I’m just a rank amateur who could use some expert help. I’ve gained most of my knowledge from books and magazines.’
‘If I can catch ’em, you can certainly cook ’em,’ Julie said and laughed. ‘I’ll have to be going, Greg—I’m due back at the clinic. Thanks for the lovely lunch. And be careful with that arm!’
He put on a mock-solemn expression. ‘Yes, Dr Rankin, I’ll try to.’
As she was walking to the front door, Julie bent down to give Chief a scratch behind the ears.
‘Almost forgot to ask,’ Baxter said, ‘is there a vet in Moondilla? Chief’s due for a parvo and distemper.’
‘A vet. Yes, there’s a vet. She’s young, attractive and . . . well, unmarried.’
Baxter chuckled. ‘For goodness sakes, Julie. Don’t tell me you’re in league with my mother, trying to push me into marriage?’
They both laughed.
‘Is she also a good vet?’ he asked.
‘Yep. Sarah Morrison is the lady for you. I have a meal with her occasionally and we compare notes. Now we’ll have you to discuss.’ She gave him a cheeky grin. ‘I reckon you’ll like Sarah.’
‘The important thing is whether Chief likes her. He’s a very discriminating dog where humans are concerned.’
Baxter watched as the German Shepherd nuzzled Julie’s hand while staring up at her with adoration in his big dark eyes. Then Julie ruffled the thick hair around his neck and he made a soft sound of contentment.
‘You’re a lovely dog,’ she told Chief. ‘Just the kind of dog every Greg Baxter should have, except that there is only one Greg Baxter.’ She shot Baxter a grin and brushed dog hair from her slacks as she stood up. ‘See you again before too long—and I’ll bring some bait with me.’
•
‘Ah, well, Chief,’ Baxter said, when Julie had left, ‘we’d better go to the vet. She’ll give you a needle in the neck, which you won’t like, but I don’t want to lose you.’
He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed the German Shepherd’s whole body drooped at the mention of the word ‘vet’.
Two blessedly uneventful days passed before Baxter drove a reluctant Chief to his appointment. Sarah Morrison was indeed a lovely young woman, and she handled the dog with great care and professionalism. But Chief clearly wasn’t on quite the same high as he’d been around Julie. Neither was Baxter.
‘That’s a great spot by the river you’ve got there, Mr Baxter,’ Sarah said with a friendly smile. ‘I was over there a couple of times. Old Harry gave me a flathead once.’ Her lips quirked. ‘Julie told me you cooked her a great fish lunch.’
What hadn’t Julie told her, Baxter wondered.
‘Yes, it’s a terrific spot,’ he said. ‘Too good really. It lures one away from the desk.’ He hooked Chief’s leash on—the dog was still casting him black looks of betrayal—and led him to the door. ‘I’d better push off. Nice to have met you, Dr Morrison.’
‘I hope you’ll call me Sarah the next time we meet,’ she said, and smiled in a way that let him know she was interested in seeing more of him.
‘And I’m Greg,’ he said, smiling too. But he didn’t ask her out for a coffee.
•
Later that day, sitting on his verandah, Baxter reviewed the positives of the past week, trying to keep the negatives at bay.
His circle of Moondilla acquaintances had increased by three—two of them female. His mother would be over the moon if he told her that he’d met up with Julie again. Not to mention a young female vet who might be interested in him.
But while entertaining Sarah would be pleasant, it wasn’t the ideal route to book authorship. Women could be relied upon to waylay one’s best intentions. Besides, they weren’t allowed for in his budget. Sarah was more affluent than him, and she wouldn’t expect him to be a cheapskate.
Of course, his mother didn’t understand his reluctance to start a relationship. Though she’d written half a dozen books, they were cookbooks. She simply compiled a whack of recipes and then employed a top photographer. The formula was the same whether the recipes originated in Australia, Asia or anywhere else.
A novel was an entirely different proposition. A novel was tough. A great many people wrote novels, but only a fraction were actually published. It was a long, hard grind, and Baxter couldn’t afford to mess around with women. Well, unless she was a very special woman, one who stood out.
He decided to think about something else.
His mind drifted to the drug problem. The only good side was that a drug bust in Moondilla could form the basis for another book. There was this fellow Franco Campanelli, who sounded like a creep if ever there was a creep—he’d make a colourful character. The Mr Big of the drug scene. Baxter didn’t want to just write about him, though. He wanted to take him on.