Wednesday night ticked away with no sign of Patrick. Farewelled by her closest friends, Nicola had left Springbank with Maddy that afternoon and Tash had been expecting Patrick since, but the yard remained quiet and the gingerbread she’d baked for him untouched.
She supposed it was understandable. The day would have been painful, a symbolic as well as literal end to a relationship that comprised not only their time as lovers, but their years of friendship. Even badly disabled, Maddy was still the woman he’d expected to spend the rest of his life with, to have a family with, to work and grow old with. This wasn’t just a person he was being parted from, but his dreams too. Tash had thought that after such a wrench Patrick might need her, if only for a little while, but her evening stretched on alone.
With a sigh she set aside the notepaper where she’d been brainstorming business ideas and opened her laptop to check how her latest video was faring. Extremely well, if the number of hits and engagement was anything to go by. At least that was something to feel positive about.
She scanned the comments, hitting ‘Like’ and replying to those who warranted feedback. To her surprise Patrick had liked the video. She hoped that was a sign he wasn’t feeling too horrible about the day. Tash toyed with the idea of sending him a direct message and decided against it. He knew how to get in touch if he needed to talk.
Farmer Fred had left a comment complimenting Tash on her recipe for apple and chocolate bread-and-butter pudding, and her exemplary use of dairy products. ‘A girl after my own dairy farming heart.’ Smiling, Tash wrote back and told him she did her best.
A request to instant message shot up, as if he’d been waiting impatiently online for her response. She wavered then hit accept.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ he typed.
‘Hey back at you. How are things in Tassie?’
‘Cold. Uddery. I liked your pud.’
‘Thanks. I aim to please.’
‘You’ll have to make it for me one day.’
Tash hesitated before typing back. She normally discouraged this kind of intimacy but she was feeling a bit abandoned and in need of distraction. ‘You could always make it yourself or get one of your girlfriends to do it.’
There was a long pause before his reply appeared. ‘No girlfriend. Not anymore.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good one, Tash,’ she muttered. ‘Idiot.’
She hunted for a way to shut down the conversation without appearing rude. ‘I guess I’d better let you get to bed. You probably have to get up insanely early to milk.’
‘I’d rather talk to you. You’re prettier than any of my cows.’
‘Er, thanks. I think.’
‘Sorry. Not good at this.’
Tash smiled a little. That made two of them. ‘That’s okay.’
‘You are pretty though.’
‘Thanks. I can’t say anything about you because you only have an avatar.’
‘Would you believe me if I said I was six foot two, good looking, muscly and rich?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Okay. I admit it. I’m not rich. The rest is true though.’
Tash rolled her eyes. ‘You must have women hanging off every long limb.’
‘No.’ There was another pause. ‘If I did I’d shake them all off for you.’
‘That’d be a shame.’
‘Why?’
‘I have no plans to move to Tassie.’
‘Not even for a good-looking, muscly dairy farmer who thinks you’re gorgeous and clever and amazing?’
‘Sorry.’
‘You could have your wicked way with me … with butter.’
Tash laughed. ‘You’re cute.’
‘Not as cute as you.’
‘I have to go now.’
‘Okay. Sleep well, gorgeous.’
‘You too. Be good to your cows.’
Tash closed the computer down and sat back with her uggbooted feet on the coffee table, thinking. When was the last time she’d properly flirted with a man? She’d tried with Brandon but he’d been indifferent. Which was, in light of recent events, fortunate. Before him there’d been a couple of similar types—handsome, sporty, out-of-her-league men, blind to everything beyond her ‘great personality’—then darling Mitch.
It was a nice feeling, to have someone flatter and tease. To have someone genuinely interested in her as a woman. But chatting up a dairy farmer from Tasmania online wasn’t quite what Tash had in mind. She wasn’t meant to be moping over this anyway. She had a business to run, a cookbook to complete, new ideas to explore. There were a hundred things going on in her life. Wonderful things. Satisfying things. So why the hell was she hungering for a man?
And, worse, why did that man have to be Patrick of the beautiful people?
Thursday morning brought Pa and a pumpkin the size, weight and colour of a small boulder.
‘Did you put it on steroids or something?’ Tash asked as he hoisted the monster onto the bench.
‘No, Flossie. That’s just good old-fashioned poo.’
‘Nice. I’ll be sure to tell my fans that.’
She eyed it dubiously. A pumpkin of that size was bound to be woody. Maybe she could save it for October and do something Halloween-y with it.
‘Don’t look at my baby like that.’ Pa patted it as though it were a dog. ‘That’s prime Queensland Blue.’
‘A Queensland Blue I’ll need a chainsaw to cut into,’ said Tash, turning on the espresso machine. ‘Or maybe an axe.’
Pa stood at the door in a patch of sunshine with his hands joined behind his back, peering out while she prepared coffee. ‘Seen Patrick?’
‘No. He usually comes for dinner Thursday nights though.’
Pa nodded at his pride and joy. ‘You can make him pumpkin soup.’
‘Sure. And what will I do with the other twenty litres it’ll make?’
Pa grinned. ‘I have no doubt you’ll think of something.’
Tash would have to. Castlereagh didn’t have pigs to feed the rest of the pumpkin to. She carried their coffees across and joined him. Filtered through the glass the sun was gloriously warm, belying the frigid conditions outside.
They sipped companionably and watched the breeze sway the garden plants. With growth slowed there wasn’t much to do in the garden except thin the carrot rows, plant spinach and a few other hardy winter varieties, weed, and check for slugs and snails. Today Tash was going to film Pa discussing how to plan an orchard. She had yet to decide if she’d bother with one of her own, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t exploit her Pa’s knowledge.
Or his wisdom.
‘Do you think he’ll ever get over her?’ she asked.
Pa took a sip of his coffee and squinted at the sun. ‘Yes and no.’
Tash regarded the mat where Coco was tucked up nose to tail around her ragged ball.
‘He’ll be like me with your nan, Floss. She’ll always be in there.’
She chewed her lip. Of course Maddy would always be important to Patrick, but that wasn’t what Tash was asking.
‘Doesn’t mean there’s not room for anyone else,’ said Pa.
Tash looked at him. Draping an arm around her shoulders, Pa smiled and kissed the top of her head. ‘Thought so.’
‘Thought so what?’
‘You and the lad.’
Heat flared across her cheeks. She stared back at Coco. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Course not,’ he said, laughter in his voice. ‘Course not.’
‘Don’t laugh. It’s bloody inconvenient.’
‘Love always is, Flossie.’
It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. Tash was too sensible for that. Lust certainly. Patrick was an attractive man, and if Maddy’s past brags were anything to go by, he was also pretty damn hot in the sack. A girl could have a lot of fun with a man like that. But love, like the love he’d shared with Maddy? In her dreams.
Except that the moment she spotted Patrick’s headlights sweeping the yard that night Tash’s heart gave several bucks before breaking into a wild gallop. Anticipation tingled her skin and she took a moment to smooth hair she’d actually bothered to style and check clothing she’d chosen with care, before racing to the door.
Minutes passed. Tash began to hop from foot to foot but still Patrick didn’t appear. With a hmph, she slid the door open, poked her head into the cold and listened. No car engine, no footsteps. Just the rustle of leaves in the faint breeze and occasional bird call. Ducking back inside, she closed the door, folded her arms and frowned at the glass. Then she crossed to the kitchen window and looked out, but reflected light made it too hard to see. Cupping her hands against the glass, she peered through, annoyed when there was still no sign of Patrick. She stepped back and rubbed the back of her neck for a few seconds, then strode to her bedroom where the window faced her parents’ yard. Perhaps she’d been mistaken and it wasn’t Patrick but someone visiting her mum and dad.
Other than her mum’s sedan, there were no other cars near the house that Tash could see.
Her fingers fluttered to her throat. She couldn’t understand it. She’d seen headlights.
An image came to her—Patrick alone in his ute, trying to pull himself together enough to come inside. Trying to be brave so she wouldn’t think he was weak, when his pain had nothing to do with weakness and everything to do with the bravery of love.
Snatching a coat off the back of a chair, Tash dashed into the night, shoving her arms into the sleeves.
His ute was parked behind her car, empty, its engine ticking in the cold. After checking through the driver’s window, Tash hurried past it, scanning her surrounds. The fine day had continued into a clear night, the sort likely to bring morning frost. Moonglow lacquered fence posts and trees in pearly light and turned the white markings of the nearby grazing Herefords phosphorescent. Movement to the right caught her attention: Khan walking towards his gate, his rug luminous. Nearby, standing close to the gate, was a tall silhouette.
Patrick waiting for Khan, the animal he blamed for everything.
With a groaned ‘no’ Tash broke into a sprint.
A few metres from the gate she slowed to a trot, then a wary walk, and finally she stopped. Khan was leaning over the gate, his eyes half closed in happiness as Patrick scratched between his ears with one hand, and along his jawline with the other. If there was a rifle, Tash couldn’t see it.
‘Hey,’ he said, glancing at her and back at Khan.
‘Hey.’ She walked closer, her puffed breaths leaving a trail of steam. ‘Sorry for the panicked run. I saw the headlights then when you didn’t come in I got worried.’
He shrugged and nodded at Khan. ‘Thought I’d say hello.’
‘Okay.’
Tash rubbed her hands together as she tried to think of more to say. Despite the adrenaline rush and her sprint, she was freezing. Though he was dressed in jeans and only a wool jumper, Patrick appeared unaffected. She studied his face—his mouth was grim and the shadows under his eyes caused by more than the night.
‘It’s weird,’ he said, ‘but I feel like he’s all I have left.’
‘I’m sorry.’ It was inadequate but what else could she say?
Patrick gave Khan one last pat, shoved his hands into his pockets and lowered his head, kicking at a clod of grass. ‘Her leaving …’ He shook his head before finally looking up. ‘Mostly I feel like shit.’
‘And the rest?’
‘I feel like a weight’s been lifted.’ His gaze turned even more haunted. ‘Is it wrong to feel that way?’
Compassion thickened Tash’s throat. ‘No.’ Shaking her head, she folded her arms around his body and pressed against him. ‘No.’
Patrick’s strong arms enveloped her, engulfing her in warmth. He rested his cheek against her hair. ‘I thought I was going to be okay. I thought I’d get through fine, but every time I see that empty house …’
‘It was always going to be hard.’ She smiled gently. ‘You’re not Superman, you know.’
‘I know, but I wanted to be stronger. I wanted …’ His face screwed up.
‘Shh. It’s okay.’ She snuggled against his chest and closed her eyes. His heartbeat was rapid in her ear. ‘You will be. You just have to give it time.’
They stayed holding one another in the moonlight to the rhythm of their breathing and the sound of Khan’s legs brushing through the grass and the noises of the night.
‘Tash?’
She lifted her head to look up at him, and caught hope and want and a thousand other things she longed for but wasn’t sure whether to believe.
‘Will you wait with me?’
Now it was her heart that was racing. ‘Yes.’