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  Toby lowered his camera to write notes. He’d reported on company takeovers, hostile boardroom decisions and used the best of his shorthand to transcribe courtroom proceedings, but there was a different energy to this hall; everyone in the room sounded invested. He caught a whiff of stale sweat as Clyde McCluskey lifted his arm two seats over.

  ‘Who’s going to get the profits for the day’s trading, then? I’m as happy to pitch in as the next Joe, but it doesn’t sound right if we’re all putting in money and then someone scoops the cream off the top,’ McCluskey said.

  Lara went to answer, but a voice from behind cut in.

  ‘What about the time Edna was crook, Clyde? Nobody thought twice about helping you for a few weeks. Didn’t see you writing cheques to those helpers then, or the ones who fed your dogs and checked your water troughs while she had treatment in the city. Your wife would turn in her grave to hear you now,’ came the stern reply from the back of the hall. The old man harrumphed, slouched back down and tucked his chin into his hairy chest.

  ‘Everyone’s budgets are tight, I understand,’ said Lara. ‘And we might not even reach the target, in which case all the shares will be refunded. I’m suggesting we run it on a volunteer basis for now, and then if we buy the store, we can appoint a paid manager and the profits can go back into the community.

  ‘And we’re looking for a few key fundraising events to attract some outside money, so it’s not such a drain on the local economy,’ Lara continued. ‘Come and see me if you want to be involved in the committee, we’re open to suggestions.’

  Toby slipped out of his seat and reeled off a few crowd shots as Lara answered the last questions. It would make a good front-pager, especially if he managed to capture the determination on Lara’s face. Kids’ party guru, bush nurse, runner and now taking the lead on the town shop campaign. Was there anything Lara McIntyre wouldn’t have a crack at?

  Lara drove home from the meeting feeling triumphant. Her mobile vibrated with text messages of support the whole way home, and Mrs Beggs’ face flashed onto the screen as she pulled up outside her homestead. She parked and answered the call. ‘My shoulder surgery went smoothly, Lara, so we’ll cancel the coffin for now. How did your meeting go?’

  Lara felt proud as she described the warm response.

  Mrs Beggs was touched. ‘It’s a lovely community. I wish I could donate the shop back to Bridgefield, but it’s not possible, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Course not, and nobody expects you to. We’ll give it our best shot,’ Lara said. ‘And from the interest I saw over the past few days, there’ll be a buyer for it in some shape or form.’ She didn’t add the ghastly plans the prospective buyers had outlined. No need to give Mrs Beggs a heart attack.

  ‘And Dallas was in last night, said you two have been working quite closely together,’ Mrs Beggs said, approval in her voice.

  Lara grimaced. ‘Not as close as he’d like,’ she said under her breath.

  ‘You know, I always thought you two might get together, back when you both worked at the shop in high school. He was always such a sweet boy.’

  Sweet?

  Dallas Ruggles was slack, sulky and more than a head shorter than Lara. But before she could assure Mrs Beggs that there was never, ever going to be anything between her and Dallas, Mrs Beggs continued. ‘It’s a shame he’s changed his mind about taking over the shop, but this crypto-currency investment he’s been researching sounds like a much more viable investment.’

  Lara felt like unbuckling her seatbelt and dancing in the rain. He hadn’t mentioned anything to her, but that was the best news she’d heard all day.

  ‘Oh, and the doctor said I’ll be home soon,’ said Mrs Beggs. The rain was still hammering down when she’d finished the phone call, and Lara dashed from the car to the house.

  What a great way to cap off the night, she thought, shaking off the rain and unlocking her front door. They had enough people to form a strong committee, nobody had laughed her off stage, donations were already flooding in, Dallas was out of the shop-buying race and Evie would be home in a few short days. And then there was Toby Paxton, whose easy smile and helpful nature had stirred something in her that she hadn’t felt in a long time. She finished off the night with an episode of Friends and for the first time in ages, Lara slept solidly.

  She woke with a smile on her face and headed out for her run feeling upbeat. Basil loped along beside her, tail wagging, thrilled to be invited along. Lara sucked in the fresh air, reliving the highlights of the previous evening.

  Her cattle followed her down the driveway, softly calling, their tails swishing.

  ‘Morning, cows,’ she said.

  The sound of music floated on the breeze as they passed McCluskey’s shearing shed.

  Who would’ve though the grouchy old bugger had a soft spot, Lara mused. Complains about the price of pies, yet he keeps the radio running night and day for his donkeys.

  Basil’s ears pricked up.

  ‘Basil,’ she growled, watching the dog veer towards them.

  The donkeys brayed.

  The kelpie stuck by her side as she turned onto the sealed road and headed towards the lake. It wasn’t until she was almost at the crossroads that she realised he’d given her the slip.

  ‘Basil? Basil!’

  Lara spun around. A rabbit hopped across the road, further evidence the kelpie was long gone.

  ‘You mangy, good-for-nothing … Ugh!’ Lara kicked at the gravel, cursing the dog. To continue or not? She had a fair idea where Basil would be heading, and if she cut across the windmill track, she might be able to get back to the shearing shed before he reached the donkeys.

  Toby’s sports watch beeped as he hit the ten-kilometre mark. He paused at an intersection. To his left, the unsealed road dipped down between leafy crops and was swallowed up by a twisting canopy of trees. There was a slight incline to the right and paddocks of well-grazed cattle all around him. He ran on the spot, trying to make up his mind when something wet touched his hand. Toby jumped in the opposite direction, then laughed when he saw a kelpie looking up at him, tongue dangling out the side of his mouth. His body quivered and before Toby could step away, the dog shook, spraying him with foul-smelling swamp water.

  ‘Thanks for the shower, mate,’ Toby said. ‘Scared the crap out of me.’ The dog nuzzled his hand again, angling for a pat. Toby paused his watch and let the animal sniff his hand.

  ‘Happy pooch, aren’t you?’ The dog had obviously been taught manners. It looked like the kelpie he’d seen sniffing around in McCluskey’s paddocks the previous week.

  A shrill whistle split the air. Toby turned to see a figure charging through the trees.

  Lara.

  His smile faltered as he took in her expression. She didn’t look particularly happy to see either of them.

  Nine

  Lara squinted against the golden glare, feeling like a tornado as she barrelled down the normally deserted road. There was Basil, with one ear up and one down, making friends with the only other person in Bridgefield who would be out running at this hour: Toby.

  She clenched her jaw and ascended the hill, cursing herself for Basil’s poor discipline.

  ‘Thanks for catching him,’ she said.

  ‘Fine-looking dog,’ said Toby.

  Lara blew out an exasperated breath and shook her head. ‘He’s a pain in the bum, that’s what he is.’ She grabbed the piece of baling twine she’d picked up from the roadside and threaded it though Basil’s collar. The kelpie would hate the makeshift lead as much as she would hate holding it, but she couldn’t risk him nicking off again.

  ‘Friendly guy,’ said Toby, scratching the spot between Basil’s ears that always turned him to putty.

  Lara snuck a look at Toby’s socks. Matching today.

  She held out the dog’s makeshift lead.

  ‘All yours if you want him.’

  Toby laughed at her dry tone, and she felt her anger dim a little.

  If th
e sweat stains on his chest were any indication, he would also catch a chill if he didn’t start moving soon.

  ‘No fences at my rental, otherwise I’d consider it. Surely he’s not that bad?’ He stroked Basil’s ears.

  ‘He has his moments.’ Lara tugged on the baling twine. ‘Look, thanks for finding him. I’ll leave you to it,’ she said, jogging away.

  To her surprise, Toby fell into step with her, his tall frame taking up all of her peripheral vision.

  ‘He found me, actually. I hadn’t decided which way to head next,’ he said.

  Lara remained quiet, still struggling to find her rhythm with Basil on one side and Toby on the other.

  A tumbling of hooves and a chorus of mooing came from the laneway. She went to call out her usual greeting before remembering she had company. Bugger it, she thought. Do I really care what Toby Paxton thinks of me? She ignored the inner voice telling her that yes, she most certainly did, then cleared her throat and called out to the Limousin heifers: ‘Morning, cows.’

  The apricot-coloured livestock followed them along the fence line, clearly captivated by the sight of not one but two runners and a dog on their quiet country lane. They reached the corner of the Curradarra Stud boundary before returning to graze along the creek banks.

  Toby laughed.

  ‘They usually talk back?’

  ‘Most mornings.’

  ‘Nothing better than getting a few k’s under your belt when most people are still in bed, right?’

  ‘Especially on a morning like this,’ Lara agreed. She snuck a look at him. From the shape of his calves, he looked like an all-weather exerciser too, not one of those half-hearted athletes who only ran in perfect conditions. ‘Training for anything?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m doing Three Bays in Portland later this year.’

  Lara was impressed. Not only had she heard of it, she’d run it twice. Renowned for being one of the toughest marathon courses in Victoria, the picturesque track was not for the fainthearted.

  ‘My sister lives down near Port Fairview. Scathing course with all those hills. But what do you do when you’re not reporting and running? Trivia-night whiz? Bird watching?’

  ‘I love photography, don’t mind a good crime novel, and I make a pretty good pizza, homemade base and all, even if I do say so myself.’

  ‘Sing out if you need a taste-tester,’ she said, picturing him with his shirt sleeves rolled up, elbow deep in pizza dough. The visual made her smile and she changed the subject before she invited herself around to watch.

  They came to another crossroads and Lara wondered whether she should cut her run short and head home.

  And settle for four measly k’s when you factored in time for twelve? Pfft.

  She dismissed the notion and put on an extra burst of speed, throwing a challenge over her shoulder as the windmill came into view.

  ‘Last one there’s a rotten egg,’ she called, leaning into the steep incline.

  Toby’s footfall quickened and before she knew it, they were neck and neck.

  She stretched her lead a few metres, feeling a steady burn in the back of her calves and a hammering in her chest. It’s the incline, she told herself, nothing to do with the man on your tail. Her mind raced almost as fast as her legs and the baling twine cut into her hand as Basil pulled her even further ahead.

  Lara’s smartwatch vibrated wildly, telling her she needed to back down before her heartbeat went through the roof.

  Maybe it had nothing to do with Toby. Or maybe, just maybe, her body was telling her to live a little. The thought made her run even faster.

  Toby couldn’t help but admire Lara as she sprinted up the hill. She was fast. And strong. And sexy as hell.

  He could see her smashing out a marathon and then pulling a night shift at the hospital without raising a fuss. His ex-wife had all but hailed an air ambulance to collect her from the finish line of her first and only 5-kilometre fun run, back at the start of their relationship when they’d both been eager to please.

  The thought of Petra was like a bucket of cold water. He pushed harder, leaning into the hill and focusing on the path directly in front of his feet, only realising his mistake when he looked up and his vision was filled with the sight of Lara. She was bent double at the base of the windmill, hands on her knees, drawing in ragged mouthfuls of air. Toby pulled up beside her and tried his best not to notice how her shorts moulded to her butt when she bent over like that.

  He patted Basil’s head then stretched his arms out long.

  ‘It’s … a … beautiful … view,’ gasped Lara. She straightened and gestured to the rural panorama.

  Toby turned abruptly, pretending to study the rich jigsaw of Western District paddocks.

  Darn good view, indeed.

  Lara noticed Toby’s face burning as he spun away from her. Was he checking me out? She couldn’t decide if she was annoyed or flattered. Or annoyed with herself for feeling flattered.

  Contradictions spun in her mind as she tried to work out her next move.

  Only a bloody fool would go back for seconds after being so badly burned.

  Only a bloody fool would ignore this spark.

  Lara leaned against the windmill stand, her shoulder brushing his. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body. She raised a hand and pointed out into the distance.

  ‘See those paddocks at the base of the mountain range?’

  Toby stared out at the horizon. Did he too understand the fragility of the spell they were weaving, and knew it could only be nurtured by quiet, gentle actions?

  ‘With the big sheds?’

  She took his hand and extended it, recalibrating his line of sight.

  ‘No, over here. With all the red gums. That’s McIntyre Park, where I grew up.’

  The movement brought their bodies closer.

  Several galahs flew past, squawking and screeching, but instead of distracting them, the noise only intensified the electric atmosphere. A thrill ricocheted through her.

  What on earth are you doing?

  ‘Nice property.’

  His proximity was hypnotic. Lara’s head was buzzing, and she struggled to think of a good reply. The heart-rate monitor on her wrist vibrated again.

  Walk.

  Away.

  Now.

  Lara closed her eyes, blocking out the nervous chatter inside her head.

  Kiss him already.

  She leaned in a fraction.

  Have you completely lost your mind?

  Before she could decide one way or another, Lara’s arm felt like it was ripped from her shoulder.

  Basil barked and tugged harder on the make-shift lead.

  Lara turned to scold the dog, but the words froze on her lips when she saw what had caught Basil’s attention.

  Toby turned away and ran a hand through his hair, grateful for the breeze cooling his body and sending the windmill spinning. Of all the weeks he’d watched out for her on morning runs, he had no idea their first run together would be like this. But it was good to know she’d noticed the zing between them too.

  He felt a goofy expression spread across his face and a heat that had nothing to do with exercise. Would’ve liked to see where that was heading.

  The big metal windmill creaked and whirred as another gust of wind blew across the land. He almost didn’t hear Lara’s words.

  ‘Snake! Don’t move!’

  He stiffened at Lara’s tense tone. He turned back to her and Basil, spotting the striped reptile in a silent stand-off with the kelpie. Its head was raised off the ground, exposing a yellow underbelly. Every nerve in his body screamed ‘run’ but he stood rock still, assessing the danger.

  Basil growled, deep and low, then lunged at the snake.

  Lara jumped backward, trying to drag the kelpie away, but Basil ducked and skipped sideways, then leaped forward again. The baling twine snapped and the dog dashed towards the snake.

  Lara’s face blanched and Toby saw she was shaking.

/>   Fear?

  Rage?

  He had to do something.

  And fast.

  Lara willed her legs to move, cursing her shaking arms for not reaching out and grabbing Basil’s collar before it was too late, but she couldn’t make her body shift a centimetre closer to the snake. Fear magnetised her sneakers to the dirt.

  The last time she’d spotted a snake, she’d had the benefit of a shotgun and six feet of distance before she blew its head off. Now the proximity to the damn thing had her quivering like a city girl, transfixed by its deadly dance.

  Basil’s barking rose in pitch.

  Toby looked around. ‘I’ll get that stick,’ he said.

  Lara swore and grabbed his arm.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot. Basil might be dumb enough to take on a snake, but don’t risk your neck too.’

  Toby twisted out of her grip, reached down and pulled a forked branch from a fallen limb.

  Lara gasped as the snake struck out. Basil lunged, retreated, then lunged, retreated again, barking and snapping.

  Oh God. Fear turned to dread as she watched their dangerous game.

  ‘Basil,’ she hissed, wishing she were game enough to step in herself. But the writhing reptile, now furious and in full defence mode, made her flinch with every strike. The panic increased ten-fold as Toby moved closer.

  A sharp howl ripped through the air. Basil darted away. Toby anchored the branch under the snake’s body and sent it flying through the air, as if he were an old hand at wrangling reptiles.

  It landed with a soft thwack on the dirt and slithered away into the long dry grass. Only then did Lara’s feet move.

  ‘You idiot, Basil.’

  She sank down next to the kelpie, grabbing his collar in case he was stupid enough to chase the snake. Basil shook his head. He rubbed a paw back and forth over his muzzle, whimpering.

  ‘He’s been bitten,’ said Toby, squatting down to look.

  Lara’s sarcastic default clicked into place before she could filter it.