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Stacey patted my arm. “Two rats. You okay?”
I exhaled. “Oh, you know, just going to look where I’d dropped my manhood on the ground.”
Stacey chuckled, picking up her torch. “Tom, seriously? A rifle?”
He shrugged again. “Think we’ve got a squatter on our property. I thought someone was going through our stuff in here. Wanted to scare them.” He grinned sheepishly. “Seemed to work.”
“A squatter?” Stacey pressed.
Tom lifted one shoulder. “Yeah, looks like someone’s been camping rough near the dam in the top paddock.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did I interrupt something just now?”
I’d had my share of adrenaline tonight and overprotective brothers with firearms.
“You interrupted me helping Stacey feed the sheep, dogs and chooks before two rats tried to gnaw my leg.”
Tom snorted. “Well, let’s get stuck in. It’s freezing out here. Reckon frost will settle again tonight.”
Throwing pellet bags and lucerne into the ute’s tray was exactly what I needed to work off the excitement of the night.
After feeding the dogs and loading the hay, I filled up the chicken feeder with grain and cleaned up, ready to go.
“Thanks for helping,” Stacey said, walking with me to Lorraine. “You saved us heaps of time.”
“Even if I did lose all credibility to some rodents?”
We stopped at my car and Stacey looked away, biting her bottom lip.
“I’m sorry about Tom and the rifle, and how Ryan has treated you. And I understand if you’ve changed your mind about tomorrow at the pub.”
“I’ll be there,” I said firmly.
Her smile was brighter than Lorraine’s headlights, a beacon on a dark night. “See you tomorrow.”
I got into Lorraine and started her up.
“Good night, Anastasia.” I put her in gear and winked at Stacey. “Sweet dreams.”
15
STACEY
Ballydoon Community Group:
Doug posted 12.07 p.m.:
Lost: pair of black footy boots. Can’t find them after training on Tuesday. If ya found them, give us a shout. Cheers
The thought of kissing Harry tonight had me skittish. I hadn’t slept well last night. I’d been up several times helping Ryan and Mum. And then Pam had asked me to pitch my refurbishment proposal at our staff meeting today. I had less than four hours’ notice to prepare. My concentration was shot to pieces.
I sorted through my mood boards for the waiting room and the doctors’ consultation rooms when my stomach rumbled. I took a quick bite of my sandwich. I had to do this.
Online assignments were one thing; making a proposal to Pam and the team as a potential client was another. Pam had announced at the start of the day that Doc Larcombe wouldn’t be attending the meeting as originally planned. I wished he’d be here, and that someone would tell me what was going on with his sudden leave.
Getting the refurbishment contract would launch my interior design dream. Earning extra money for the farm was essential, if—and it was a bigif—I could work around the shifts when Pam needed me at the practice.
And, if I could save up a little bit of money, and once I’d finished repainting our parlour at home, and then the job for Granny Lynn next door …wait, shit. Mental note: this weekend I’ll see her place… then, I could showcase my work on my website and—
My phone pinged an alarm.
