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I could do this. Turning up to deliver her underwear and boudoir photos? Perfect for my revenge plan of being Mr Nice Guy Next Door.
* * *
An hour later, I left Chooky to finish the last of Mum’s cooking and arrived at the Zanetti winery, almost barrelling into Rosie’s cousin coming out of the shed.
“Tom, hey. How you doing?”
“Johnny, I mean Gianni. Good to see you. Haven’t seen you in ages, mate.” He flashed me a grin. “Heard you were successful in becoming a mountain rescue firefighter. How’s the training?”
“Good, thanks. Did the swift water rescue course up north last week.” He paused and then added, “I love it, actually. Can’t imagine doing anything else.” Gianni’s grin quickly faded into a frown.
“Something wrong?”
Gianni sighed with a wave to the back door of the Zanetti’s house. “Italian families, you know?”
I laughed. “Not really.”
Gianni huffed. “Well, this family, at least. Angelo wants me to take over the business.”
I did a double take. “But Rosie has—”
“Yeah, Rosie is the best, has the qualifications, and everything, except has a dick.”
“Excuse me?” My shoulders rose, ready for a fight if need be. I was not above taking my chances with Gianni. We may had been in the brigade together before he was accepted into the state’s Fire and Rescue and played footy together too, but I was not letting him get away with talking like that about Rosie.
“Angelo thinks a man should run it.” Gianni rolled his eyes. “Not a woman.”
“This isn’t nineteen-fifty-fucking-six,” I muttered.
“Right?” Gianni shook his head. “I love my uncle but … he’s traditional and hot-headed, like his Sicilian dad and grandfather. He inherited the business like his father and his father’s father back in the home country.”
I scrutinised Gianni for a moment. His shifting feet, wiping his chin, not meeting my eyes.
“Oh man, don’t tell me Angelo has asked you to run the vineyard and not Rosie?”
Gianni sighed. “I didn’t let him get that far but he did ask if I would come back to Ballydoon to be with family.”
“Your mother knows just as much about the vineyard having grown up here before she got married and moved north of Stanmore. Do you think she would have run the vineyard if she had been given a chance?”
Gianni scratched his chin in thought. “I don’t think Ma ever considered that a possibility. But don’t you Turners have a similar thing? Hasn’t the first son of each Turner dad inherited the station?”
I was my turn to shift on my feet and avoid looking at him. “Yeah, well … Mum inherited after Dad died but yeah, it’s expected Ryan will take over as the owner I guess. Or all five siblings. Or a few of us.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. Truth was we didn’t have a clear succession path for Turner’s Creek. When Ryan had stepped back today to let me shake on the purchase of Ruby, it had felt like he was letting me make decisions, but … maybe it was more like he was supervising me? Legally, we had nothing official that I’d take over the management of the sheep station. Right now, Ryan was the one who technically oversaw it all and wrote the checks, even if he was working most days as a mechanic for Uncle Bruce as well as working the pub behind the bar on weekends for extra money.
What assurance did I have that I would be the Turner to take Turner’s Creek into the future? Nor did I have any idea which of my siblings wanted a future on the station as well.
“I’ll still be involved,” I rambled. “Run the wool clip each year and breeding program …”
None. I had no assurance at all. And Gianni could see right through me. “Tradition sucks,” I muttered, sinking to the bench seat outside the shed.
Gianni joined me. “Uncle Angelo was just saying how you Turner kids and your parents would always help in the vineyard with the harvest or pruning.”
“Went two ways. Rosie worked as a rousie in the shearing shed for us.”
“Rousie?”
“Rousabout.” Gianni hadn’t stepped inside our shearing shed except for our bonfire nights year ago. “Gathers up the fleeces and gets them on the grading table. Handy on a broom too. Can’t imagine never having a Zanetti helping with the wool clip or a Turner not in the vines to help.”
