Page 2 of The Dairy Farmer's Daughter

“It’s his dad. What kind of person doesn’t want to go to their own father’s funeral?” Greer screwed up her face.

"Do you remember him at all? Has he ever been back?" Freya asked. She had heard the story that Boyd's wife had only lived with him on the farm for a few years. The marriage had fallen apart, and she had taken their young son to Brisbane when he was only four years’ old.

"He was a sweet-natured child, but we didn’t see them much. I tried to be neighbourly to his mother, Barbara, but I had a toddler of my own and was pregnant, and there was so much going on here, with Bill starting the factory and everything. Dairying is a hard life—you know that. Not everyone is cut out for it."

"But he never came back? Not even for a visit?" Greer asked.

Nina shook her head. "No, Boyd was alone until the day he died. Poor man. He put his farm ahead of everything, even his own health. He literally killed himself by working too hard."

The girls nodded in agreement. Over the years Boyd had grown frailer, but when people had tried to help him, his pride got in the way and he waved their generosity off.

"We have to make sure Dad stays healthy and takes more breaks. He's not getting any younger," Freya said. She and her father both shared the same love of the land and animals. He had tried to send her away to the city, but it hadn't suited her, the hustle and bustle. She had returned to Maleny after university with a business degree and a plan to help the growing family business.

Freya swallowed the last of her toast and stood. "I better get going so I can help you then. You know people will show up early for a yarn."

"They sure will. Thanks for all your help organising this, girls. I really appreciate it," Nina said and kissed each of them in turn.

"No problem, Mum. What's family for?" Greer smiled. "I'll be up soon, but first I'm going to change into something that doesn't smell like I've been cleaning out manure."

Freya laughed. "Good idea. That wouldn't be very nice for the customers."

Out the window, the sun was shining its golden rays over the hills, warming the dew from the grass and promising a glorious day ahead on the Sunshine Coast Hinterland.

CHAPTER 2

Justin would have preferred to stay in the city and pretend it was an ordinary day. A day that didn’t include a funeral for a father he’d barely known.

When he’d discussed it with his mother on the phone the night before, she’d been sympathetic. "I'd go, but people might recognise me as his ex-wife and I don't want to make it all about me.”

“I don’t want to go,” he spoke thinly around the avocado-seed-sized lump in his throat. “I haven’t seen him in more than twenty years. But I have a feeling that I’ll regret it if I don’t.”

“You don’t have to stay long, stand at the back of the church and don’t draw attention to yourself."

And that was just what he intended to do. He had purposely arrived at five minutes to one.

He hadn't counted on the parking lot being full and having to leave the car all the way up the road.

He ran his palms down his trousers as he neared the open church doors. He was clean-shaven and smartly dressed in his nicest work suit. If anyone found out who he was, at least he’d look the part of a grieving son.

Not that he was.

He didn't remember anything about Boyd Wheeler. Or living in Maleny. All he knew was that Boyd had never tried to be a part of his life after he'd left the farm. Not a visit, not a phone call, not even an old-fashioned letter in the mail.

Rejection was all he knew from his father. So why did he feel the need to come? To be here for the man who had never been there for him?

Boyd had never attended a soccer game, an awards ceremony, or even his school graduation. His stepfather had though. His stepfather had been his dad, the male role model in his life and, alongside his mother, had raised him to be the man he was today.

The man that knew he was better than Boyd Wheeler. He would never reject his family. He could not miss this funeral and risk spending even a minute regretting it.

He nodded at the usher in the foyer who handed him the program. He looked down at the candid shot of Boyd. It looked like it had originally been a group shot and the designer had cropped everyone else out of it and zoomed in.

Justin had expected him to have aged and changed from the photos his mother had kept, but he wasn’t prepared for the frail old man who stared back at him.

He could have been mistaken for a much older man, not the fifty-four-year-old he was when he’d died of a heart attack.

Justin studied the features of the former Wheeler patriarch. Wrinkles, receding hairline, and age spots all over his face. He studied it for a hint of resemblance, but whether it was because he couldn't see it, or simply didn't want to, nothing jumped out.

He followed the sound of chatter into the main church hall and paused abruptly to stare around the crowded room filled with people he didn't recognise.

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