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CHAPTER
19
Joey was in no hurry to end his ride as he took the turn up from Shannon Gully Road, his moped’s headlight casting a thin oval onto the gravel of the farm track. He’d taken the drive home from town at a snail’s pace, lost in thought.
The stars were twinkling now the smattering of rain had drifted elsewhere, and the lamp he’d left on in the front room of his home had turned the stained glass into a beacon of green and amber. Better than a lighthouse, he thought, as he killed the engine.
Dobbin let out a grunt when he wheeled his moped into the shed, but the pony’s ear only gave the smallest of twitches when Joey ran his hand over his back. ‘Night, mate,’ he said, and left Dobbin to his dreams.
The bonnet of Kirsty’s ute was warm when he passed it, but there was no sign of her.
He didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad thing, because all he’d been able to think about on the ride up from town had beenwhether he should or shouldn’t have kissed his rouseabout while she’d hesitated there at the side of her ute.
He’d wanted to. He’d been tempted to lean in, reach out, see if she felt as good wrapped around his front as she had wrapped around his back during that way-too-short ride from the pub to her vehicle.
But caution had stopped him even as his inner caveman had been yellingyes, yes, kiss her, you moron. He was back here in Clarence to start a new kind of life, one that had a working farm in it and a wife that he could love forever, not for a handful of weeks, and a future that was as solid and enduring as the ironbark posts that had marked the farm’s fence line for a century or more.
Kissing a woman who was just passing through would only lead to complications.
He wasn’t a teenager anymore. His head was in charge of his life now, not his heart.
But still … his head had been in a spin as he’d meandered his way home. Owls could have been hooting, wallabies could have hopped through his headlights, fruit bats could have been flying the freaking fandango in the night sky … his thoughts had been wrapped up in the half-smile Kirsty had given him as she’d driven off.
He’d dumped his boots on the back verandah and was halfway down the corridor in his socked feet when he heard the scamper of claws on floorboards and the giggle. What the heck? He continued past his bedroom and into the formal room at the front of the house. Two heads popped up from under a doona—his doona—that was now doing duty as a cubbyhouse on the old velvet sofa.
Amy and Gus. ‘Well, hello. Bit late for a social call, isn’t it, little squirt?’
‘Mum said you’d invited us for a sleepover, so don’t pretend you’ve forgotten. We’ve been waiting ages, Uncle Joey, where have you been? We’ve got board games and nail polish!’
The scratch of a match made him turn his head, and there was Daisy, kneeling before the fireplace, attempting to light a chunk of tree with a thumbtack-sized flame. She shot him a quick glance then turned back to the fire, but not so quickly he didn’t see she had mascara staining her cheeks and puffy eyes.
Oh. Sister crisis. He said a silent goodbye to sleep and dreaming about rain-soaked kisses with dark-eyed women. ‘Sleepovers are my favourite thing. You know, Amy, I think if you go raid my pantry, you’ll find a bag of marshmallows. We could roast some on the fire.’
‘Epic!’ said Amy and took off, her bilby slippers making little rubber squeaks on the floorboards as she ran for the kitchen.
He took the matches from Daisy. ‘You want to tell me what’s wrong?’
‘Nope,’ she said, sniffing.
‘Amy seems her usual cocky self, so this can’t be about her … can it?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘Where’s your car? I didn’t see it.’
‘What is this?’ she said stroppily. ‘An inquisition?’
He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a little hug. ‘Talking might help, and you’ve got about ten seconds before your flappy-eared daughter returns. Come on, at least let me know how serious this is. Do you want me to call Felicity, maybe?’ Flick had been giving him the cold shoulder since he returned, but he could be noble. ‘One of the others?’
She buried her face in his shoulder and the words came out muffled. ‘I had a fight with Mum, if you must know.’
WithPatty? ‘What about?’
She sniffed again. ‘Yeah, that’s the bit I don’t want to talk about.’
‘Okay, but—’
Amy and Gus were bounding back into the room, and Daisy was giving him the don’t-tell-Amy-I’ve-been-crying look. The groodle must have thought he’d been invited into the inner circle of marshmallow roasters,because he was bouncing around Amy in a high state of glee.
