BEFORE

Chapter 6

JACK

"Kid, not only are you easy on the eye, you're a genius in the kitchen." Mrs. Gee ruffled my hair as she licked lemon curd I'd whipped off the spoon.

Heat crept into my cheeks.  "Should I be worried you're unsheathing hidden cougar claws?"

She threw an empty plastic canister at my head in response.

Ducking, I laughed. "So you think I'm ready?"

"Ready?" She gestured at the afternoon tea feast I'd done from scratch, with her supervising. "You'll have me out of a job if I'm not careful."

I didn't have the heart to tell her there'd never be a chance of that, since I wouldn't be sticking around. Putting down roots in one place wasn't my style, no matter how much I liked learning from her.

"Your scones are light and fluffy. Your apple tea cake is sublime. Your plum jam is the best I've ever tasted." She pointed at the last item, my pride and joy. "And that red velvet cake you made especially for the Yanks is indescribable."

"Thanks," I said, my simple gratitude not nearly enough for what Mrs. Gee had done for me.

She'd given me an opportunity, had seen something in me that I never knew I had. The ability to create.

I'd scoured her cookbooks. I'd experimented with recipes. And I'd adlibbed a hell of a lot. The result? I actually believed I could cook. Not just serve rote learned basic meals to the station workmen, but actually cook fancy-schmancy dishes anyone would enjoy. Who knew?

"You did good." She beamed at me, pride making her eyes gleam.

Why couldn't I have had a normal mum like her? Not some flake that couldn't handle motherhood so she dumped her kid in a foster system that made me grow up way too fast.

"When are they arriving?"

As if on cue, I heard the distant rumble of a diesel engine and the clattering as one of the homestead's 4WDs traversed the metal grate at the entry to the property.

"That'll be them." Mrs. Gee untied her apron, dusted off her hands and patted her wiry grey curls. "Doreen wants the main staff to greet them. And what the boss lady wants, we do."

I turned away to check on the table one last time when she tapped me on the shoulder. "That includes you now."

What the fuck? I didn't want to be part of some pansy-arsed greeting party for the guests. This wasn't the eighteenth century.

"I'll give it a miss—"

"No, you won't." Mrs Gee actually twisted my ear. Hard.

"Ow." I rubbed it, much to her amusement. "That's harassment."

She winked. "Lucky for you, it's not of the other kind."

"Gross," I muttered, and she laughed out loud.

"Whip that apron off before I do it for you," she said, her outrageous teasing making me feel like I finally belonged.

"Slave driver," I said, doing as she said, and following her out the back door onto the bullnose verandah that surrounded the entire homestead.

We headed to the front, where Doreen and Gladys, the housekeeper who kept the homestead clean and the bedrooms stocked, stood near the front door, shading their eyes with their hands to watch the car approach.

"Who picked them up?"

Mrs. Gee smirked. "Bluey."

"Hope the Yanks appreciate a good bull castration story," I said, wondering what the politician and his girlfriend thought of the station manager's bluntness. I'd heard more than my fair share of Bluey's gory tales including calves stuck during birthing, dissecting snakes to eat their insides and the self-amputation of his toe when it got impaled on barb wire. The American tourists wouldn't know what hit them.