Page 47 of The Geography of Happiness

Terry laughed.

“So, Mister O’Connor.” I sat back in my seat and waggled my brows. “How do you feel about pigs?”

Terry’s eyes bulged. “Pigs? I thought this was sheep country?”

“It is.” I started the ute and pulled onto the gravel road, kicking up dust in my rearview mirror. “But Grant McEldowney loves his prize-winning Large White sow, Mary-Beth, almost more than his merinos. No exaggeration. And that animal would give any Kardashian a run for their money in the drama stakes. You’ll need your coveralls because I might need a hand.”

“Oh god.” Terry paled and slunk down in his seat. “I told you I’m not—” He broke off and grumbled something about fucking lying vets and pushing boundaries and then said, “I don’t think I’m insured for this.”

I laughed and reached over to slap his thigh. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t look her in the eye... or mention pork... or crackling.”

Terry snorted. “Fuck me.”

In a heartbeat.The thought skittered across my brain and dived for cover.Oh boy.

CHAPTER TEN

Terry

For the remainderof the trip to McEldowney’s, I tried and failed to keep a silly smile off my face. The spine-tingling memory of Spencer’s lips on mine popped goosebumps up my spine, sent my heartbeat skipping, and had me wriggling in my seat. I was starting to fall for this man, and it boded nothing but grief and heartache—things I could well do without adding to my already complicated life. Not that it was stopping me, apparently. Because this new and improved Terry O’Connor lived for a challenge and laughed in the face of danger, right?

Wrong. There was nothing new about the anxiety tying my stomach in knots.

Did I like Spencer? Yes. Was it going anywhere? Hell no. Did I want it to? The jury was out. None of it felt real. My time in the Mackenzie was like playing hooky from my real life. A time when I could set responsible dad aside and just be me for a bit before the demands of the real world returned—Painted Bay, my friends, my business, my daughter’s health and future, all of it.

I needed to stop all the silliness, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. Only a few more days, right? I could have fun for a few more days and then I’d pay the price.

Not that I seemed to have a choice.

The man had flipped a switch in my dusty brain and the light was giving me a headache. For whatever reason, I liked this man. Liked him in the same way that it had all started with Judah, and look how that ended—a disappointing and painful road that I had zero desire to revisit. And yet here I was again.

Chatting with Holden at Miller Station before we’d left, one thing had become starkly apparent. For all that the young station owner was mesmerising in his shirtless glory, it had been Spencer who’d held my attention. He might not have had as much skin on display, but with the sleeves of his coveralls tied around his waist and a black singlet hanging loose from his shoulders, he still managed to paint a drool-worthy picture, even for the likes of me, who wasn’t usually given to noticing such things. Hell, it had taken me long months of friendship with Judah before I cottoned on to the benefits of watching a man dancing in ballet tights. Or at least one man in particular.

Now it was black singlets and sweaty armpits. Go figure. Good luck finding a type in all that.

A roll of gauze tumbled from the back seat to the floor and rolled forward to settle at my feet. I scooped it up and stowed it under my thigh. Spencer’s work truck was a full-blown veterinary clinic on wheels, with every nook and cranny packed full of equipment, including a back seat piled high with spare clothes, blankets, waterproof tarps, and a ton of medical paraphernalia.

And he clearly knew the road like the back of his hand, steering effortlessly around potholes that I barely noticed, pointed to landmarks without taking his eyes from the road, andfed me a ton of background—aka gossip—about the stations in the region.

He sat relaxed in his seat with one arm out the window, his fingers tapping a beat to music only he could hear. Whenever he turned and caught me staring, which was more times than I cared to admit, he’d shoot me a smile and my cheeks would inevitably blow up. For the umpteenth time I cursed my fair skin, and also, what the hell was wrong with me? I needed a fucking minder.

When we finally pulled up alongside McEldowney’s woolshed, the station owner was there to greet us. Spencer did the introductions, and Grant McEldowney shook my hand in a way that set my bones rattling. Damn farmers. But with his welcoming expression and easy smile, I liked him straight off. I guessed him to be in his late sixties, although it was hard to tell from his craggy face weathered over decades of exposure to the harsh Mackenzie climate.

Introductions made, Spencer had me decked out in coveralls, gumboots, and some hairnet thingy he insisted I’d be grateful for, all in the blink of an eye. Then he and Grant set off around the back of the woolshed to the outdoor pens, and I followed, anxiety crawling over my skin like a bad rash.

Noticing how quiet I was, or maybe it was the whites of my eyes glowing in the dark shadow of the rain clouds, Grant made an attempt to reassure me. “No need to worry. Mary-Beth really is a sweetheart. Although—” He hesitated. “—she has been known to getoverlyfriendly with newcomers... just now and then... so I’d maybe keep my distance if I were you. Just to be safe.”

I shot him a wide-eyed look. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Ignore him,” Spencer piped up from somewhere behind me. “You’ll be fine.”

I threw a glance over my shoulder. “You keep saying that, and it’s not as reassuring as you seem to think it is.”

“And here she is.” Grant indicated a pen to his right. “Told you she was a beauty, didn’t I?”

I followed the sweep of his arm and almost keeled over at the sight of the porcine behemoth. My feet came to an abrupt stop, my eyes bugging out of my head.Jesus Christ. There were many things that could be said about Mary-Beth, but being beautiful was definitely not one of them.

The sow appeared to be every bit the diva Spencer had described, not to mention a universe or two larger than I’d imagined—and having seen a Large White a time or two, I’d imagined pretty big. At the sound of Grant’s voice, she trotted closer to the fence and tried to shove her massive head through the rails, presumably requiring some of his attention. Foiled in her efforts, she began striking the muddy ground with her trotters and vocalising her discontent, while at the same time eyeing me disdainfully like I’d forgotten to bow and kiss her trotter upon entry.

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