Page 2 of The Science of Attraction

Ten nodded. “They have to be. They’re expected at Cumberland the day after.”

I blew out a sigh. “It’s gonna be close.” I watched him go and took a long, slow breath, steeling myself for what I knew was coming. Sure enough, the minute the mudroom door closed, Dad launched in.

“Not...your... land.” He stabbed his finger on the table. “My... land. My... dec... deci-cision.”

I counted to five. Losing my shit wasn’t going to get me anywhere, although damn, I was getting heartily sick of my father’s arseholery. “We’ve already got the seed. I ordered it months ago when you were still in hospital.”

“Sh-should... have... asked.”

“You’d just had a stroke, Dad. You weren’t allowed to doanythingexcept focus on getting better. No stress, remember?”

Not to mention, you didn’t know what damn day it was, and some days you still don’t.

“Don’... care... I—” My father’s cheeks blew an angry red and his left fist clenched as he stumbled over his answer. “I’m p... p—argh!” He slammed his fist on the table. “I... I—” He thumped it again, harder this time. “I can... do... it,” he finally squeezed the right words out of his head and into his mouth. Months of intensive speech therapy was finally starting to reap benefits—a huge win considering the depth of his aphasia at the start.

But getting even a modicum of communication back had done nothing for my father’s attitude. Pig-headed, controlling, unappreciative arsehole still pretty much covered it. Home for barely a week and he was already making everyone’s life difficult. Which was rich of him, considering he was damned lucky to even be alive.

My father couldn’t help the stroke, but the rest had been a shitshow, easily avoided if only he’d heeded my advice and not headed up the hill alone that day. But as usual, he did exactly what he wanted to, right to the top of Halifax Beat—a steep and treacherous track—just to check on a mob of merinos who could’ve waited another day. On the way down, he’d suffered a devastating stroke, and when he didn’t turn up, I’d had to go after him.

I’d found him in bad shape halfway down a scree slope. If it wasn’t for Luke, Zach’s boyfriend, risking life and limb to chopper my brother and his dogs up the mountain to find us before the temperatures hit freezing, one or both of us might have lost our lives that night.

Not that my father saw it that way.

“Paddy.” My mother gripped Dad’s shoulder. “You need to calm down. We talked about this.”

My father shrugged her off. “My... l-laaaand. Not...his.” He shot me a disdainful look and I was suddenly done with this bullshit.

“Here you go, then,” I said bluntly, throwing the ute keys on the honey-coloured table. “Take them.”

My mother’s gaze jerked to mine, her fine-boned features pale with shock. I winced, but it didn’t stop me finishing what needed to be said. I’d been swallowing my father’s tantrums and making allowances for his recovery for too long. He didn’t get a free pass to shit on people forever.

“I’m sorry, Mum, but I can’t keep doing this dance with him.” I looked back to my father who was still glaring at the keys resting against his knuckles. “Go on then.” I leaned back and stretched my legs out in front like I was settling in for the afternoon. “I was gonna check in on the shearing gang in the woolshed and then head down to look at the ewes in the south pasture. After that, we can come back and go through the books, and you can stab your finger at the price I paid for the extra winter feed weneeded. Of course, I wouldn’t have had to pay that price if you’d let me buy what I wanted much earlier.”

My father’s mouth set in a thin line, but he said nothing.

I studied him and shook my head. “But maybe what we should really talk about is the final eye-watering cost for that new woolshed extension thatyouinsisted we needed, the one I fought you on because it could’ve waited another few years, the one which went way over budget and drained our accounts to practically zip. Then again, I’m sure you’ll find a way to make thatmyfault as well.”

“Jules, please,” my mother tried again.

I threw up my hands. “What, Mum? He’s done nothing but criticise everything we’ve done, or more specifically, everythingI’vedone to keep this place going while he’s been away.” My gaze jerked back to my father. “I’m not to blame for what happened to you, Dad. None of us are. Everyone’s gutted about what you’ve been through, and I know it sucks to have to step back from the station and reconsider your role, but you can’t just keep beating on us and making everyone’s life miserable. Something will give and you won’t like the results.”

My father’s gaze grew flinty, but there was a slight tremor to his jaw that I recognised as... fear. The revelation gave me pause. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel for him or that I didn’t get the incredible frustration he had to be feeling watching his life’s passion slip from his control. But every one of us had worked our butts off to make sure Lane Station kept humming along in his absence. And we’d done a damned good job.

I could take the easy route and tell him everything would be okay, that he’d be back running the place in no time, but it simply wasn’t true, and everyone in that kitchen knew that, including my father. And him taking his frustration out on people who’d done nothing but make sure the place hadn’t crumbled while he’d been gone was just plain ignorant. Not to mention hurtful to our team, along with all the other locals who’d pitched in to help, especially Zach and the guys from Miller Station, who ensured the autumn muster and crutching and preparations for winter went ahead as planned just a week after Dad’s stroke.

That we’d gotten there in the end was a goddammed miracle, considering I’d spent those first couple of months driving back and forth to Christchurch two or three times a week. But regardless of everything that had been done to safeguard his legacy, my father had done little but complain from the minute he’d crossed back onto the station the week before.

I was so fucking over it.

“You’ve got no business talking to your da like that.”

I spun to find Marty standing in the open doorway leading from the kitchen onto the covered veranda. It was just around the corner from the mudroom and a great spot for a bit of eavesdropping.

His hand trembled at his thigh. “This is still his land, not yours, son.”

I was about to tell Marty to keep his damn nose out of it, as well as remind him the land was actually held in a family trust of which I was a part, but one look in those rheumy eyes stayed my petty tongue. His recent decline tugged at that child’s heart still beating somewhere inside me and I couldn’t do it. Parkinson’s Disease was a fucker.

Instead, I softened my tone. “Marty, this really doesn’t concern you. Although I’m pretty sure even you can see everyone’s patience is running thin. This isn’t just about me.”

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