Outback Reunion (Bunyip Bay #6)

Chapter One

Eight Years Later

Mark Morgan’s phone buzzed, jolting him awake on the couch.

‘Hey, Mum,’ he said, trying to sound alert.

‘Darling?’ The concern in her voice told him he needed to work on his acting skills. ‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’

He sat up straight and cleared his throat. ‘Nope, just out in a paddock trying to teach Rookie a few sheepdog tricks.’ It wasn’t a total lie—he had attempted this a couple of times while his folks were away.

His mother chuckled. ‘And how’s that going?’

‘Um...’ He glanced around the room, his gaze briefly pausing on the glass cabinet full of his footy trophies before it dropped to the carnage the rescue pup had obviously made while he’d been sleeping. Stuffing had been pulled from one of Mum’s favourite cushions and strewn around the room and the latest Farm Weekly had been ripped to shreds.

And where the heck was the little terror now?

‘Not great. She can’t even master simple commands like “sit”, “come” and “stay” and when I show her the sheep, she just wants to play with them,’ he admitted, pushing to his feet and heading out into the hallway, where he found another cushion, its innards ripped open, the fluffy white contents leading to the back screen door. He stepped out onto the back verandah. ‘I’d probably have better luck training Roo’—one of his mum’s rescues—‘to be a sheep dog.’

‘Ah, well, despite what your father says, it’s okay to have pets for the sole purpose of providing love and affection, you know.’

Yeah, because it wasn’t like he was getting either of those things anywhere else these days. They were both silent a moment as if she too was thinking the same thing.

‘How are you and Dad?’ he asked before she could pry into his private life. He’d hoped these few weeks down south checking out retirement properties would be a reprieve from her constant fussing and worrying. ‘Enjoying the slightly cooler weather?’

‘It’s lovely but I really wish you’d come with us. I don’t like to think of you back there all alone.’

There it was. His chest tightened. It was too early in the morning and he was too hungover to deal with this.

‘Are you getting out at all? Seeing friends?’ she pressed.

Friends . Mark swallowed a snort. While in theory he had lots of friends in Bunyip Bay—all of whom had tried hard to make him feel at home again—he couldn’t help feeling like an outsider. He’d moved back late October just as Dad was about to start harvest and had thrown himself into helping, so hadn’t had too much time to feel sorry for himself, but now with harvest and Christmas over and his parents gone, the reality of his situation was starting to hit home. Some days even getting out of bed felt like an effort.

‘Sorry, Mum, can’t chat, Rookie’s digging up one of your roses.’

‘What? I thought you said you were in a paddock?’

‘I’ll call you later,’ he said and quickly disconnected as he charged towards the dog who was indeed wreaking havoc in Mum’s garden, Roo looking on in bemusement. Shit .

Shoving his phone into his pocket, he scooped up the scruffy little dog. ‘Why the hell didn’t I leave you on the side of the bloody road?’

In reply, Rookie, who was the size of a shih tzu, with the look of a border terrier, the energy of a Jack Russell and the stubbornness of a beagle, cocked her head and stared at him with wide eyes, and all Mark’s anger crumbled. It was his fault for sleeping in—the poor pup was probably starving as well as bored.

‘Come on, scruff,’ he said, walking them both back inside. He’d deal with the roses later. He needed to eat first—his dinner of two-minute noodles was almost fifteen hours ago now.

After filling Rookie’s bowl with some dried dog biscuits, he opened the fridge. Bugger. Since his parents left, he’d mostly been surviving on Christmas leftovers, but five days into the new year, the fridge and cupboards were all but bare. Even the beer was gone.

He could no longer put off a trip to town.

If only they had a veggie patch and chickens instead of bloody roses, then perhaps he’d never have to venture there again. Maybe that’s what he’d do this summer—build a veggie garden and a chicken pen. His mum would like that. She’d always been too busy with rescue animals to keep chooks, but he was home to help now and she’d appreciate the free eggs for all her baking.

Sighing, he slammed the fridge shut and grabbed his keys off the bench.

Decision made—he’d go into town, stock up on groceries and stop off at the Ag Store to grab building materials for the coop. Dad probably had things lying around that he could use but he had the money to buy good stuff, so why not make something spectacular? At least it would keep him busy for a bit.

It wasn’t that he hated Bunyip Bay, or he hadn’t when he’d been growing up. He’d always been excited about one day heading back here and putting his own stamp on the family farm, but his homecoming wasn’t what it should have been. He was supposed to return the hometown hero, introducing his wife, Tahlia, to his old mates, encouraging her to make friends and get involved in the community. She owned an online clothing business, and he’d promised to build her a proper office and storage facility on the property so she could work at home, while he ran the farm with his dad.

That was the plan, until both his body and his wife had betrayed him. Now, everyone was treating him like some sort of celebrity, but one they felt sorry for.

He picked Rookie up—‘How about a drive?’—and headed outside, the screen door clanking shut behind them.

Although farm dogs usually travelled on the tray of the ute, Rookie couldn’t be trusted and nor was she big enough to jump up into the front, so Mark plopped her down beside him as he climbed into the driver’s side.

It was a fifteen-minute drive west to town and he listened to the latest episode of The Regenerative Agriculture podcast. Once upon a time the only podcasts he followed were about football. Maybe one day he’d be able to listen to stuff like that again, but right now everything was still too raw. Before they’d separated, Tahlia suggested he try to get a gig in commentating or coaching but he’d made it clear that if he couldn’t play, he didn’t want to be around the game at all.

Besides, that had never been on the cards.

What would his parents do if he didn’t follow through on their succession plan?

They’d have to sell the farm or slog it out here until they were both so old and weary they could no longer work. No way he could do that to them. Not after they’d supported him—emotionally and financially—to follow his dream.

He just hoped his passion for the land would come back sometime soon, which was why he’d ordered a whole load of books on regenerative farming and was listening to everything he could find.

On the outskirts of town, Mark’s thoughts were distracted by a massive blow-up clown swaying in the wind alongside the ‘Welcome to Bunyip Bay’ sign. He barely had time to wonder WTF before he drove by the sports hub where he’d spent many an afterschool and weekend at footy games and training. The normally empty oval was packed with semi-trailers and caravans set up in a circle at one end. At the other there were about two dozen people buzzing about a forklift. Sometimes in the summer tourist season, the shire allowed overflow from the caravan park to set up on the oval—better to have the holidaymakers in town to frequent the café, pub and shops while many of the locals were vacationing elsewhere—but this didn’t look like that. He slowed briefly, trying to get a better look at what was going on before continuing into the main street, which had barely changed in his almost ten-year absence.

Bunyip Bay looked pretty much the same as any small rural town—old buildings, wide roads with gum trees down the middle—but its proximity to the ocean meant the Ag Store also sold fishing tackle, and the sports store, surfboards. He forced a wave at a couple of workers from the shire who were taking down Christmas decorations that hung upon the light poles from one side of the road to the other, tinsel shapes that had also been used as long as he could remember. As he passed the Community Resource Centre, he spotted another massive blow-up clown out the front and frowned.

Were those people and trailers on the oval a circus?

In all his life, he never recalled a circus coming to Bunyip Bay, but if it was going to happen, summer was the time, when the town’s population grew threefold. Not that he’d be going. He couldn’t think of anything worse, unless you had kids to take.

That thought felt like another kick to his heart.

He’d forgotten that this time of year it was almost impossible to get a parking spot near any of the shops or Frankie’s café. As he drove past the latter towards the IGA, a whiff of coffee drifted in through his open window, mingling with the salty sea air and he had a sudden craving. Caffeine was just another thing he missed about Melbourne, although he had to admit the food and drink at Frankie’s wasn’t bad for a small country town.

Miraculously, an old, lime green kombi van, covered in graffiti art and faded bumper stickers, pulled out of the perfect space, so he nabbed the spot right between Frankie’s and the IGA. Nice . At least one thing was going right in his life.

‘Be good. I’ll be back soon,’ he told Rookie, opening the windows just enough that she could breathe but not climb out.

‘Mark!’ someone called as he walked towards the café.

He glanced up to see one of his old mates, Ryan Forrester and his husband Grant, sitting at an outside table eating a late breakfast. Growing up, Ryan and his sister Faith had been the closest thing Mark had to siblings. Their mums had been good friends and when Ryan’s mum died and their dad, Frank, had really struggled with grief and managing the farm, Mark’s mum had taken the Forrester kids under her wing. They’d spent a lot of time at each other’s houses.

‘Hi, guys,’ he said, lifting a hand.

Ryan gestured to the vacant seat at their table. ‘Would you like to join us? Haven’t seen you around much since post-harvest drinks at The Palace.’

Mark forced a smile. ‘Been busy with Mum and Dad away. You guys have a good Christmas?’

‘Yes,’ answered Grant, putting down his coffee mug. ‘It was magic. Gotta love school holidays.’

He was a high school teacher in Geraldton.

‘Speaking of magic,’ he continued, ‘have you met Sam, the new plumber? She’s really lovely and doesn’t know many people yet so I was thinking maybe you could ask her out for a drink or something?’

Oh God . It had happened. Since moving to Bunyip Bay to be with Ryan, Grant had become the town’s unofficial matchmaker, and he was finally turning his infamous matchmaking skills on Mark.

He should never have stopped for coffee.

‘Or, if Sam’s not your type, I know a couple of hot, single teachers who’d love to meet you.’

Mark shook his head. ‘Thanks, mate, but...’

How could he politely tell Grant to mind his own bloody business? Hot or not, he still wasn’t recovered from his split with Tahlia and even though she’d moved on, he wasn’t ready to risk his heart with someone else. Not yet; maybe not ever.

The only woman he wanted in his life right now was Rookie.

‘I’m not interested,’ he said firmly. ‘You guys have a good breakfast.’

Then before either of them could object, he continued into the café to be greeted by none other than local gossip, Eileen Brady. He expected her to ask after his parents but instead she flapped an A5 flyer in his face.

‘Have you seen this, Mark?’

He blinked and stepped back a little. That was another good thing about Melbourne—you didn’t encounter people you knew every five seconds. He’d run into Eileen outside the post office not long after he’d returned to the Bay, and she’d insisted on taking a selfie with him to put on her Instagram.

It was a terrifying world when the likes of Eileen Brady were online.

Thankfully, he hadn’t seen the photo because he’d deleted Insta and Facebook. The last thing he wanted to see when he was mindlessly scrolling late at night was his influencer ex sharing happy snaps with her new boyfriend, who also happened to be his ex-teammate, alongside #blessed and #lovemylife.

‘I can’t believe Phil signed off on a circus in Bunyip Bay.’ Eileen was practically spitting in his face now. ‘What next? A brothel next to the Ag Store?’

Mark seriously doubted Phil McDonald, the shire president, would ever condone sex workers in his family-friendly town. He ran a hand through his hair and looked longingly at the counter—all he wanted was a bloody coffee. ‘What have you got against circuses?’

‘Quite aside from the fact they abuse wild animals—’

‘Pretty sure they’re not allowed to have wild animals anymore,’ Mark interrupted, but Eileen wasn’t listening.

‘And those ghastly blow-up clowns littering the streets; the last thing we need is a bunch of gypsies in our community. I hope Sergeant Noble is ready because the crime rate is sure to skyrocket.’

‘That’s very judgemental of you, Mrs Brady,’ piped up Frankie from behind the counter, giving Mark a knowing grin.

‘Frankie, you’re far too young to understand but when I was young—’

‘In the dark ages,’ he heard her mutter under her breath, and smirked. Frankie, another one of his childhood buddies, had always been fun.

‘Whenever gypsies came to town, all sorts of felonies and debauchery occurred. These folk live by their own rules, and they just don’t have the same morals as the rest of us.’

Frankie rolled her eyes and addressed Mark. ‘What can I get for you?’

He cleared his throat. ‘Just a flat white to go, please—one sugar—and one of your homemade dog biscuits,’ which would hopefully keep Rookie quiet while he was doing his shopping.

‘Coming right up.’ She smiled and turned towards the coffee machine.

Thankfully, a woman and her daughter came into the café and Eileen resumed her sermon on them, so Mark moved off to the side to avoid further interaction.

A couple of minutes later, Frankie handed him a recyclable takeaway cup. ‘Here you go. Have a good day.’

‘Thanks. You too.’

He found Rookie yapping her little head off as she tried to squeeze through the gap in the window. You’d think Mark had left her for a year, not barely five minutes.

‘Stop being such a sook,’ he chastised her as he shoved the bone-shaped biscuit through the window, before walking down the footpath towards the supermarket, sipping his drink as he went.

Because it was school holidays, there were more kids than usual around, all of them in boardshorts and thongs, whining at their parents about going to the beach and buying lollies. Hoping to avoid anyone else he knew, he grabbed a basket and kept his head low as he went quickly up and down the aisles, grabbing milk, bread, eggs, mince, pasta and Vegemite—all a bachelor needed to survive. He was turning into the aisle with the chocolate, deliberating whether to add some for when the late-night munchies inevitably hit, when he ran straight into someone’s trolley.

‘Sorry about—’ he began, but the words died on his tongue, because standing less than two feet away was the woman who’d vanished on him eight years ago.

Holy shit.

His jaw literally dropped, and he was helpless but to gawk at her. Her dewy skin glowed without make-up, her dark, almond-shaped eyes sparkled, and her hair the colour of milk chocolate was tied up in a messy ponytail. She wore a simple black singlet, tiny denim shorts that showed off her perfectly toned, sun-kissed legs, and chunky work boots on her feet.

If anything, she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

‘Gabriela?’

He couldn’t believe it. That night in Melbourne, he’d been feeling down in the dumps until she’d walked into his local pub and almost made him forget his woes. Back then, he’d had plenty of girls throwing themselves at him, so he’d never really had to make a first move, and he definitely hadn’t gone out planning to score, but the moment he’d laid eyes on her, his legs had started moving in her direction.

And his plans for an early night had gone up in smoke.

Now, he shook his head slightly— holy hell —wondering if he was still actually in bed, asleep, because he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t dreamed about running into her again. They may have only had one night together but it was one of the best nights of his life and he’d never forgotten her.

‘Mark?’ she whispered, her hand pressed against her chest.

She recognised him too. And she remembered his name.

He glanced down at her trolley, which held a lot of food. About five loaves of bread, six litres of milk, lots of mince and sausages. Had she had ten kids in the eight years since they’d met? And more to the point, what was Gabriela and her massive brood doing in his town?

‘What are you doing here?’ they blurted at the same time.

He chuckled nervously. ‘I live here.’

She blinked. ‘This is where your farm is?’ When he nodded, she added, ‘It seems like a lovely place. And the beach is gorgeous.’

‘Are you holidaying here?’ It had to be the only explanation. If a woman like Gabriela had moved to Bunyip Bay, the bush telegraph would have been buzzing with the news.

‘No, I’m working.’ She rubbed her lips together. ‘You may have seen us setting up on the oval?’

‘You’re with the circus ?’ Wow. Maybe that accounted for the full trolley—she was feeding the troops or rather troupe . When she’d told him she was a dancer all those years ago, he’d assumed she meant musical theatre or something like that.

Gabriela nodded. ‘So... how’ve you been?’

‘Uh... yeah, good,’ he said, not about to get into the whole messed-up situation with her.

She scratched the side of her neck and they stared at each other awkwardly for a few long moments. Neither seemed to know what else to say; such a contrast from last time when they’d talked so freely.

He felt himself stirring at the memory of that amazing night and Gabriela blushed, making him wonder if she was thinking about the same thing.

Part of him wanted to ask what the deal had been—why she’d run out on him without saying goodbye, why she didn’t even leave a note—but still raw from Tahlia’s rejection, he didn’t want to hear another, even if it was eight years late.

‘How long are you here?’ he asked instead.

‘A week and a half. Our first show is Friday night.’ It was Wednesday now. ‘You should come.’ Before he could reply one way or the other, she added, ‘Anyway, nice seeing you again, Mark, but I’ve got to go.’

He watched her as she walked down the aisle and towards the checkout, her hips swaying in a way that made his mouth water.

Yep, he definitely needed chocolate after that surprise. By the time he’d thrown in three different blocks of Cadbury’s, three packets of Tim Tams and a Violet Crumble for good measure, his basket was full and Gabriela had left the store.

‘I thought footballers weren’t supposed to eat all this shit?’ said the gangly, pimply teen behind the counter as he scanned Mark’s items and packed them into recycling bags.

‘I’m not a footballer anymore,’ he snapped, the words causing his heart to squeeze, ‘and what I eat is none of your business.’

His grouchiness would no doubt be all over town by the afternoon, but he didn’t care. What the locals thought of him was the last thing on his mind right now. He hadn’t been planning on buying alcohol, but he dumped the food in the back of the ute and crossed over to The Palace.

After what had just happened, the chocolate was going to need backup.