The Last McAdam

  Holly Ford grew up in a farming community in the Hokonui Hills in the South Island of New Zealand. She now shares her own small patch of hill country with her family, an ever-increasing population of magpies and hares, and the occasional vacationing dairy cow. Her bestselling novels, packed with gutsy women who aren’t afraid to take what they want and men who are worth their trouble, celebrate life and love in some of the world’s most rugged farming country.

  www.hollyford.net

  BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  Blackpeak Station

  Blackpeak Vines

  Storms Over Blackpeak

  First published in 2017

  Copyright © Holly Ford 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Arena Books, an imprint of

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: info@allenandunwin.com

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australia

  www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 1 76029 611 7

  eISBN 978 1 92557 639 9

  Cover design: Romina Panetta

  Cover photographs: Ildiko Neer / Arcangel Images

  Internal design by Romina Panetta

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  One

  ‘I really don’t think you should turn up at a wedding alone, Tess. What will people think?’

  The memory of her mother’s advice echoing in her head, Tess shifted in her plastic chair, trying to focus on the familiar figure wedged into a morning suit at the top of the aisle and not on the eyes of the strangers around her. Beyond the shade of the awnings, the summer sun was beating down on the lawn with barely a whisper of wind to disturb it.

  The only whispering she could hear was coming from the other guests. Don’t be silly, Tess told herself. Just because they were talking didn’t mean they were talking about her. Just because she was sitting here by herself and nobody but the groom seemed to know who she was … Shrugging off paranoia, Tess looked again at the man who’d invited her here.

  She’d first seen Ash Fergusson in a bedroom doorway eleven years ago, his ruggedly handsome face one of the primary reasons – if she was being honest – Tess had decided to take the room on offer in the gracefully rotting student flat. In the three years that followed, he’d become her friend, her classmate and, in a brief but memorable end to their final semester, her boyfriend. Now here she was, finally, on the family farm she’d heard so much about, looking up at the big Gothic homestead she’d come close to visiting so many times. Somehow, they’d never quite made it there, she and Ash. Tess suppressed a wistful sigh. He looked good in a suit. Who’d have thought?

  The last time she’d met up with him had been in an airport bar eighteen months ago, on his way home from a ranch job in South America, looking every inch the farm boy he’d always been. And between then and now, Ash Fergusson had met the person he wanted to spend his life with. What must that be like? Tess wondered.

  Surveying the rows of guests on the lawn, Ash’s eyes met hers. Tess smiled. He looked so happy. Not nervous at all, just totally sure. Like he was about to marry the woman of his dreams. As he shot her a grin and turned back to the celebrant, Tess couldn’t help but reflect that over the same eighteen months her own dreams had revolved almost entirely around milk tankers and effluent ponds. She smiled again, to herself this time. And she wondered why she was single …

  Feeling bolder, Tess turned in her chair and scanned the rows behind her, looking for a familiar face. She’d been hoping some of their other old flatmates might be here. Instead, she found herself caught in the smile of a guy across the aisle. Pointedly, Tess turned away again. She hadn’t come here to pick anyone up. Just because she was a single girl at a wedding didn’t mean she was desperate enough to sleep with the first guy who hit on her. Even if he was cute as hell. In a sparkly-eyed, overconfident sort of way. He didn’t look like he belonged around here – he must be a friend of the bride.

  With a furtive glance down, Tess rearranged the thin satin straps of her maxi dress. The bloody thing kept slipping forward. She’d already given the celebrant an eyeful of strapless bra. From under the chair in front of her, someone’s toddler stared up at her curiously. Making an effort to keep her shoulders back, Tess raised her eyes, concentrating on the gum trees that encircled the homestead’s wide lawn. She could feel her confidence slipping as well. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she shouldn’t have come to this thing alone. Right about now, it would be good to have someone to talk to.

  The memory of Roxy’s voice popped into her head. ‘Deathbed-sex Ash is getting married?’ her friend had yelled via Skype from Perth, walking across Tess’s laptop screen on the heels of her number-three son. ‘That’s got to sting. You need to take a hot date. Maybe two. Shame you can’t take that dreamy boss of yours … Sorry, babe, Kennedy’s into the cat bowl again. Gotta go.’

  ‘You’re surrounded by men on the farm,’ Tess’s mother had insisted in the most recent of their weekly phone calls. ‘Can’t one of them take you?’

  ‘The guys on the farm report to me, Mum. I can hardly ask them to go to a wedding with me, can I?’ she’d countered.

  ‘Such a shame. I had thought that now you and Ash were going to be living so close …’

  ‘I’ll be working three hours’ drive away from—’ Tess began.

  ‘I always thought you’d missed a chance there,’ her mother had continued blithely. ‘But I suppose it’s too late now. She’s younger, is she, Ash’s fiancée? They always are. You’re going to have to get used to that from now on.’

  ‘Jeez, Mum. Anyone would think I was pushing a hundred.’

  ‘I’m not saying that thirty is old,’ her mother had added quickly. ‘Just wait till you’re my age and single. Then you’ll have problems.’

  ‘I don’t have a problem. I’m perfectly happy the way I am.’

  ‘Of course you are, dear.’ Her mother had lowered her voice. ‘Just …well, I don’t think you should go to Ash’s wedding alone.’

  ‘Ash is my friend, Mum. I’m not going to miss his wedding just because I don’t have a date. And besides, the wedding’s on the farm. I’ve been wanting to see that station for years. Now I’ve got this next job coming up, it’ll be interesting to see what direction they’re taking …’

  ‘Oh Tess. Trust yo
u to make it all about work. Do you ever stop? A wedding is supposed to be a time of joy.’ Elaine had paused. ‘For most people there, I mean.’

  Twiddling the end of her sun-bleached plait, Tess studied the bone-dry hills above the gum trees. Whatever the rights and wrongs of her being here, it was too late now. She might as well do what she’d said she was going to do and make the most of the opportunity to look around Glencairn Station. Ash’s family farm was pretty much the gold standard in these parts. No gimmicks, no ‘added value’, no frills. Just the basics, wool and beef, done well. She admired that. It was a different sort of risk, requiring a different sort of courage. Mind you, the Fergussons had only themselves to please. How easy running a farm would be without a board of directors to report to.

  She extended her foot, poking at the grass beneath the chair in front of her with the pointed toe of her high-heeled sandal. The root structure looked good. Did they have so much water here they could afford to use it on the lawn?

  Sensing more attention from the guy in the opposite row, Tess realised the split in her skirt had done just that. She leaned forward, tugging the slippery satin back over her thigh. Tucking the two halves of the skirt firmly between her knees, she tried to look unflustered. Oh bloody hell, she’d lost the front of the thing again. This dress really wasn’t designed for sitting down in.

  Behind her, the music started at last. Trying not to flash either leg or bra, she got to her feet as Ash’s bride made her way up the aisle. Out of nowhere, Tess felt a lump rise in her throat. It was the first time she’d seen Cally soon-to-be-Fergusson. The girl Ash had fallen for was beautiful in all the right ways, her attention locked on the man waiting for her at the top of the aisle, her lovely eyes glowing with warmth and trust. No wonder Ash was smiling. Tess dabbed quickly at her own eyes, full of joy for them both. It was a big ask, but Cally looked like she deserved him.

  The ceremony was short, as modest and natural as the two people at the centre of it. Within five minutes, it was over. As the wedding party helicoptered off into the hills for photographs, Tess picked her way back to the ute with a final sniff. Hopefully she had a tissue in the cab somewhere. Luckily, given the shoes she was wearing, she’d arrived early enough to score a park up by the homestead. Somebody had parked an Aston Martin way too close to her, though. She’d be lucky if she could squeeze in there and open the door. Tess paused behind the row of cars, sizing up her entry options.

  ‘You need a lift down?’ came a voice from behind her.

  Ah. She turned around to see her neighbour from across the aisle, a set of car keys in his hand, a smile on his face. Tess frowned. His voice – flat and gravelly, with an edge of private school – didn’t quite go with the rest of him. Slick black dinner jacket, crisp white shirt open at his muscular, tanned neck, and fitting very nicely thank you …

  ‘No, thanks. I’m okay,’ she replied. He had ‘player’ stamped over him so thoroughly that she wouldn’t be surprised to find it on the label of his shirt. Unwilling to attempt to get her dress into the HiLux in front of an audience, she stood waiting for him to leave.

  He grinned, his eyes sparkling even more. ‘See you down there, then.’

  ‘Sure,’ Tess nodded politely.

  With a final toss of his keys, he walked away, treating her to the back view of his tailoring as he headed off down the long row of cars. She shook her head. Okay, he was pretty. Very pretty. But so not her type. Tess tried not to dwell on just how long it had been since she’d met a guy who was her type.

  ‘You’re too picky,’ Roxy told her whenever she complained. ‘Stop comparing every man you meet to your boss. The three S’s. That’s all you need.’

  ‘The three S’s?’

  ‘Single, straight and sane.’

  Easy enough for Roxy to say, thought Tess. Getting more than one out of three was harder than it sounded. Opening the passenger door of the HiLux, she hoisted herself into the cab, sweeping her skirt in behind her.

  •

  Below the homestead, at the base of the gum belt, the marquee gleamed. Nosing the ute through the open gate of the paddock across the road, Tess parked beside the already assembled row of vehicles and climbed out onto the dry, stubbled grass. Against the far fence line, a long row of baleage was doing its best to outshine the marquee in its white plastic wraps.

  Tess paused, gazing up the valley at the view. She’d been raised on what she’d thought of back then as hill country, but it had been nothing like this. Here, the sheer-sided ranges chewed up half the blue sky, their thin fuzz of tussock split by bluffs and shingle screes, a jagged backbone of mountains behind them. Far below, an irrigator arched lazily over a deep green paddock of winter feed, its plume of water catching the lowering sun. The air was so still she could almost hear the irrigator’s tick.

  Dragging herself away, Tess checked her shoulder straps and wandered across to the marquee. Inside, she accepted a glass of bubbly from a nervous-looking boy with a tray and sipped it slowly. It was a long drive to her motel, and a longer one back to her current assignment at Southdowns dairy farm tomorrow.

  Three hours and two small glasses of wine later, the rest of the people at her table had all drifted off. Tess sat watching the more lubricated guests begin to let their hair down on the dance floor. Could she leave yet? No one would notice, surely. On the other side of the tent, she could see Mr Too-Cute-For-His-Own-Good from across the aisle talking to a bridesmaid. From the look on the girl’s face, Tess suspected he might be in luck.

  Her mother’s voice burst, uninvited, into her head. She’s younger, is she? They always are …

  Taking another small sip of wine, Tess looked around again. She’d still held out a little hope that some of the rest of the old gang might make it to the reception, at least, but in the deepening shadows of the marquee she still couldn’t spot a single face she knew. Thinking of their grotty, rambling old flat, she felt a wave of nostalgia for the days of roof parties and kegs. A decade ago, she would have hit the reception bar here and slept in the back of the HiLux. Was she really the same girl who’d dragged the flat’s furniture onto the roof and spent the night up there doing tequila shots with Ash on the sofa? The same girl who’d drunk cheap champagne at the top of a fountain with Roxy?

  When the hell had life got so sensible? She used to have fun. Now … Tess shook her head. Now Roxy had three kids and a mortgage, Ash Fergusson was a married man, and she was heading to a botched dairy conversion she needed to get back in the black on Monday. They were all grown up. How had that happened?

  In one more week, she’d be officially – not young. Tess took a larger mouthful of wine. Thirty wasn’t old. In fact Roxy claimed it was ‘the new eighteen’. But god. When was the last time she’d done something just for the hell of it, without thinking through every possible consequence, every tedious bloody angle? Something spontaneous. Something crazy, just because it felt good?

  ‘Is anyone sitting here?’ Mr Too-Cute drew back the folding chair next to hers.

  Startled, Tess hurried to untangle her feet from the chair’s crossbars. Hand circling her ankle, he helped her free her trapped heel. Tess waited for him to take the chair and walk off. Didn’t he have a bridesmaid to get back to?

  He sat down. Her foot, she realised, was still in his hand. Seeming to come to the same realisation himself, he let go. Tess felt an odd flutter of regret as his fingertips left her skin.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’m Nate.’

  For the first time, Tess looked at him properly. He was a couple of years older than her, she guessed. When he smiled, as he was doing now, there were laughter lines around those wide-set, hard-to-look-away-from grey eyes – grey? Or green? What was it called when you couldn’t tell? – and there was a faint crease across his suntanned forehead. The dark hair curling down to the nape of his neck had begun to escape whatever product he’d tried to tame it with, and below his high cheekbones a five o’clock shadow was staining the line of his jaw. As his smile broadened
, one side of his mouth curving up, his cheek dimpled.

  A little dazzled despite herself, Tess was slow to realise that the reason his smile was broadening was because he was still waiting for her to say something. Like her name.

  ‘Tess,’ she managed, trying to regather her composure.

  ‘Tess,’ he repeated. ‘So …’ Full of laughter, his eyes held hers. ‘How do you know Ash and Cally?’

  At such close quarters, his sparkle was a lot harder to ignore.

  ‘Tess!’ Ash Fergusson loomed between them. ‘How’s it going?’ His voice softened. ‘Hey.’ Ash put a hand to Nate’s shoulder. ‘Sorry, mate.’

  Sorry? Tess frowned. For what?

  Nate gave a wry shake of his head. ‘Sorry Bob couldn’t get here.’

  ‘I’m glad you came,’ Ash said quietly.

  ‘I wouldn’t have missed it, mate.’

  Ash’s gaze moved from Nate to Tess. ‘You guys have introduced yourselves?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Nate caught her eyes, his sparkle returning. ‘We have.’

  ‘Good,’ Ash grinned. ‘Well, I won’t interrupt.’

  As he moved off to continue his round of the tables, Tess turned back to Nate, reassessing him curiously. ‘You’re a friend of Ash’s?’ That didn’t seem to fit at all.

  ‘Our dads are good mates.’

  ‘Does your father live around here?’

  ‘No,’ Nate said briskly. ‘Not anymore.’ His megawatt smile ramped up a few volts. ‘And I’m guessing you don’t either,’ he said.

  Bravo. He’d noticed the accent. ‘No,’ Tess said, refusing to give him the information he was expecting. ‘I just drove up today.’

  ‘Are you staying long?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m only here for the night.’ Oh, that had come out wrong ... ‘How about you?’ Tess covered. ‘Are you sticking around for a while?’

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m really not too sure what my plans are from here.’

  Tess almost laughed. How convenient.

  ‘Just one night, huh?’ he smiled, that look of amusement flickering again. ‘We’d better make sure it’s a good one, then.’