Mac watched Violet drive off, her little car bumping along the track, tearing up dirt and turf as she went. He walked past the full holding pens in an attempt to get his head together, the sheep bleating as he passed.
He headed towards a copse of trees on the far side of the paddock. He needed a few minutes to calm down and work out what the hell just happened.
Mac leant against the nearest tree and stared unseeing off into the distance.
He had the right to ask Violet how long he was expected to wait, didn’t he? It wasn’t an unreasonable request, was it? But deep down he knew what was rankling him and it wasn’t to do with the waiting but rather the lack of trust. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life knowing that every time he put a foot wrong, Violet would instantly jump to the worst-case scenario and compare him with Jason.
He had to admit he hadn’t handled the situation very well. He knew he should have backed off and tried to approach the subject in a calmer manner but the words had kept tumbling out of his mouth.
Mac blew out a long breath. The whole thing was a complete and utter screw-up.
He spent the rest of the day at the shearing shed, working alongside the sheep handlers, tossing the freshly shorn fleece on the wool table and then skirting it, which was pulling the dirty wool from certain sections of the fleece.
The shed was filled with sheep handlers, or rousties as they were called, four shearers and a wool classer. The work was quick and back-breaking. Normally, Mac would hire his crew and just check in every now and then to help out when needed. But this time it was different, he needed to immerse himself in work to take his mind off Violet.
The buzz of the electric shears filled the shed, along with the bleating of the sheep. The scent of lanolin hung in the air and it was good to feel the wool, his wool, between his fingers. But it didn’t seem to matter how fast he worked, he just couldn’t get Violet out of his mind.
Mac rolled his shoulders as the shed wound down for the day.
‘If you’re alright, I’m going to head off now.’
‘No worries, Mac,’ one of the shearers called out. ‘Hey, you make a pretty good roustabout. If you ever want to give up McKellan’s Run, I just might hire you.’
Mac shook his head and grinned as the shed filled with laughter.
‘Thanks, Jack, I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘You do that.’
Mac made his way to the door. ‘Thanks everyone for your hard work today. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He gave a brief wave to the chorus of goodbyes and let out a whistle as he walked over to his ute. ‘Come on Razor, let’s go and see what Flynn’s up to,’ he said as he opened the car door and waited for the dog to jump in. ‘Maybe if I drink enough I can get her out of my head, just for tonight anyway.’
The sun filtered through the peppercorn tree as the cool breeze blew in from the south. Violet sat in her sheltered garden and looked down the winding path towards the peach trees at the back. She smiled as she remembered picking the peaches with her grandmother and Lily. She’d always been so impatient, waiting for the fruit to ripen and then biting into the soft white flesh, the sweet juice running down her fingers. Each mouthful tasting of summer.
She missed those days and she missed her grandmother. Today, the garden didn’t seem complete without her. Life had been gentler when Stella Beckett had been alive. She’d tempered her husband’s strict and overpowering nature and given desperately needed love to her two granddaughters. Things had changed after her death. Their grandfather had become harder and more embittered.
The warbling song of a magpie caught Violet’s attention, dragging her out from the shadows of the past. She took a sip of her coffee. It was time to let the past go, not just for her own sake but also for Holly’s. Holly was her future and so was Mac, if she let him.
Violet frowned. She hadn’t realised how much she’d come to look forward to seeing Mac every day. Like a drug, her dependency had grown; she told herself she was in control but that was a lie. It had been three days since she’d seen him; three days since they’d fought and he’d turned away. Her body hurt, there was a deep ache inside as if she’d lost a piece of herself.
The more she thought about it, the more she started to believe she’d been wrong. He’d said he cared for her and wanted a future with her and Holly. The look in his eyes told her this was more than just a man doing the honourable thing. He wanted her for herself, not because his brother had thrown her away. She’d seen it and yet she’d pushed him away. Why?
Because she was scared. Terrified to open herself up and let Mac’s love in. She didn’t want to admit it, but the break-up with Jason had shattered her to the core. And what scared her to death was the thought that history would repeat itself. But that wasn’t fair to Mac, as he was twice the man his brother was.
Taking a chance and opening herself up again was proving harder than she thought. In the back of her mind was the taunting voice reminding her it wasn’t going to work and Mac would let her down just like Jason. Violet sighed, as she placed her cup back on the small metal table.
Not that it mattered, as there was a good chance Mac would never want to see her again.
Hell, how had she managed to screw everything up?
She needed to make it right and the only way to do that was to find him and make him listen to what she had to say.
Mac dropped back a gear as he drove up the winding track that led to the Grange. This was the third evening he’d headed over to Flynn’s house after a hard day’s shearing and each time he’d got drunk enough to stay the night. He needed to get himself together. He stopped and looked up at the Grange, trying to calm himself. The house sat on a hill that overlooked a mix of bush and green pastures. The land at the back of the house fell away into a deep gully with the rushing Landoc’s Creek snaking its way through the centre.
The Grange was a two-storey stone house that dated back to the 1880s but it had fallen into disrepair until only the shell had remained. When Flynn inherited the land, he had spent a heap of money and most of his free time restoring the old building. The effect was breathtaking, the Grange was now a fusion of Victorian and modern architecture and stood as a testament to Flynn’s sheer determination.
As Mac pulled up he saw a little red sports car parked beneath the peppercorn tree on the far side of the house. Flynn clearly had company tonight.
Mac sat back in his seat and pondered for a moment as the ute idled.
‘You know, Razor, we should go, ’cos it looks as if Flynn is otherwise occupied.’
The little dog tilted his head and looked at Mac adoringly.
‘But where’s the fun in that?’
Razor’s tail thumped against the seat.
‘You like that idea?’ he asked as he gave the dog a pat. ‘Me too.’
Mac switched off the engine, got out and held the door open. ‘Come on boy, let’s go and ruin Flynn’s evening.’ He grabbed the beer from the back of the ute and sauntered his way to the door at the back of the house.
‘So what’s up?’ Flynn asked, pulling a t-shirt over his head just as Mac walked into the kitchen.
‘Nothing, I just thought we could have a few beers again tonight,’ said Mac holding up the half-dozen stubbies.
‘Sure, but you’re going to have to give me a minute,’ Flynn said as he turned and started to walk into the lounge room.
‘Listen, if I’ve caught you in the middle of something . . .’
Flynn turned around and gave him a grin. ‘Let’s just say you almost caught me in the middle of something. But that’s okay, grab a seat and I’ll be back.’
Mac dropped onto the old leather couch and watched as Flynn disappeared through the far door. He turned back and stared out to the eucalypts on the far side of the gully. Three sides of the Grange were the original Victorian walls but the entire back of the house was made of steel and glass, which brought the outside in and filled the rooms with an abundance of light.
Somewhere above him Mac could hear the undercurrent of an annoyed female voice, which he recognised as belonging to Charlotte Somerville. Charlotte was the self-proclaimed princess of Violet Falls, as her father was the current mayor. The family were rich blow-ins who’d only settled here about fifteen years ago. There was no denying Charlotte was attractive, from her pretty face to her long legs. But Mac had always thought she was spoilt and would be high maintenance and too much trouble to bother pursuing. Obviously, Flynn didn’t feel the same.
The sound of high heels clicking down the stairs filled the silence of the house. Mac heard Charlotte make her way across the slate floor of the foyer. The front door creaked open and was then slammed shut, the force reverberating through the building. Charlotte wasn’t happy.
A few seconds later Flynn reappeared. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said with a sheepish grin.
‘I saw her car. I shouldn’t have come in,’ Mac admitted.
Flynn shrugged. ‘No big deal. Charlotte and I have an understanding.’
‘What? Are you together?’
Flynn let out a laugh. ‘Fuck no! We’re convenient; when neither of us has anything else going on we tend to gravitate towards each other. We have a drink, and a laugh and some fun. No strings.’
‘You’ve never been in love, have you?’ said Mac, his expression suddenly serious.
Flynn snagged a beer and sank down into the couch next to him. ‘No,’ he said, laughter in his voice. ‘God, why would I? I mean things are just fine as they are.’
‘You have a good time.’
‘Abso-fucking-lutely. Why try and change something that’s already perfect?’
Mac took another swig of beer. ‘I suppose not. It’s just . . .’
‘What, not as deep and meaningful as what you feel about Violet? I know you’re in a bad way,’ said Flynn as he leant over and rapped Mac on the head. ‘She messes with that. I’ve never seen you drink so much as in these past few days.’
‘Shut up.’ Mac pulled back.
‘Admit it, Violet has you whipped.’
‘Maybe I like it that way. Besides she’s the only one I ever think of . . . or want.’
‘Then what the hell are you doing here?’
‘It’s complicated. I just think we’re moving forward and then she slams on the brakes.’
‘Is she scared of something?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Then you’d better figure out what it is or move on.’
‘No, moving on isn’t an option. I love her.’
Flynn tipped back the stubby and took another drink before turning to Mac and grinning. ‘Just like I said, whipped.’