She took a sip of champagne, fortifying herself for the answer. ‘I was in Year 11 when my father died and didn’t really know what I wanted to do. But afterwards, our whole world fell apart. My mother refused to talk about Dad at all. It was like he’d never existed. My sister threw herself into her dancing and was hardly ever home. We didn’t have counselling. I pretty much stopped eating and my doctor referred me to a psychologist. He saved my life. I wanted to help other people the way he’d helped me.’

  ‘It must be tough, listening to other people’s problems all day.’ His forehead wrinkled. ‘Dealing with idiots like my brother.’

  ‘It can be confronting. And I don’t always get it right.’ She hadn’t been raised to follow any particular religion but the overwhelming urge to come clean must be what Catholics felt in a confessional booth. ‘I didn’t get it right with Owen. I should never have taken on his case. I knew it could be triggering for me.’

  ‘Triggering?’

  ‘I’ve learned how to guide other people towards facing up to things in their life and their past that are causing issues for them. But turns out I’m not so skilled at dealing with my own trauma. In my first session with Owen, I lost the plot. Hearing about his drug taking and joyriding took me straight back to that night. Even though I did end up having therapy for a while after my dad died, I’ve never been able to process the knowledge that it was my fault.’

  ‘But didn’t you say you were at a party? How could it have been your fault?’

  ‘I had my dad wrapped around my little finger from the day I was born. And I knew it. Was never afraid to use my power over him to get my own way. My mother didn’t want me to go to the party but in my most self-centred, teenage princess way, I convinced my dad to give me permission and to pick me up. If I hadn’t, he would have been in bed, we would have had a lovely family dinner together, preparing for Christmas Day. Instead, he and my mother fought over him being too lenient on me. So their last words to each other were said in anger. And he never came home.’

  A memory of her mother’s tortured voice as she berated a teenage Hannah for being so wilful seeped through her consciousness like slow-moving venom.

  ‘She married my dad’s best friend two years later and moved to Denmark. My sister went to a drama school in Perth, met a guy and didn’t come back. I don’t think either of them have ever forgiven me for Dad’s death.’

  In the deepening twilight, time seemed to have slowed, the whole world reduced to this moment, wobbling on its axis.

  Cole reached out and took her hand and the touch of his palm was grounding.

  ‘Have you forgiven yourself?’ His voice soft as velvet, his eyes searching hers.

  ‘No.’ She stared out into the distance to where lights were coming on in the town, twinkling like a handful of glitter tossed against a blurry abstract landscape. The tears spilled and she let them fall. ‘I’m not sure I ever will. But I can stop pretending he never existed. I can honour his memory.’ She turned towards the man beside her, drawn by some irresistible force she didn’t quite understand, that had no scientific basis, but was as real as flesh and blood and as strong as gravity. ‘And I can start living in the moment.’

  They leaned together, their glasses abandoned, his hand cupping the back of her neck, her fingers combing through the waves of his hair. Her heart beating faster with every press of their lips.

  Chapter 16

  Within seconds they were on the rug, bodies entwined. She heard a moan and realised it was her own, wondered if she should pull back, compose herself, think this through. But his mouth was hot on her neck, her skin ablaze. She tipped her head back, guided his hand beneath her top to the bare curve of her breast, almost cried out as he ran the rough pads of his fingers over her nipple. He was half on top of her now, the weight of his body pressing her into the earth, his erection hard against her hip. She needed more skin. More everything.

  Hands flattened against his chest, she gave a gentle shove. Leaning on his elbows, his arms framing her face, he looked down into her eyes and in the dim light of the candles, his pupils dilated even more. A deep black ocean she wanted to drown herself in.

  ‘Do you want to stop?’

  ‘No.’ It came out in a shriek, and she choked on a giggle. ‘Exactly the opposite.’ Button by button, she undid his shirt and he slipped his arms out. So fucking hot she could barely breathe.

  ‘Is that better?’ he rasped.

  ‘Getting there.’ She lifted her arms and he pushed up onto his hands as she pulled off her top.

  Eyes on hers, he shuffled lower, running the tip of his tongue across her chest, teasing and licking and sucking as if she was a forbidden dessert and he was relishing every mouthful. And then he was lower still, unbuttoning her jeans, and she was sliding out of them and his mouth … oh my God, his mouth. Every cell in her body vibrated. Every inch of her skin thrummed. But it was still not enough, nowhere near.

  ‘Cole.’

  At the moan of his name, he looked up, his hands resting on her hip bones. A good thing too or she could have easily floated up into outer space.

  ‘I didn’t think to bring anything,’ he said.

  ‘Lucky one of us did.’ Reaching for the jeans he’d so expertly slipped off her, she fumbled in the pocket and pulled out the two silver packets.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting—’

  ‘I know. And I appreciate that. I brought these just in case.’

  The uncertainty on his face faded as his grin widened. ‘I like the way you think.’

  She handed him one of the condoms and he rose to his knees.

  Even watching him undo his jeans and peel them from his legs was a turn-on. And then he was naked, his body as chiselled as a Florentine sculpture. All that lay between them was a tiny scrap of lace and silk: her black G-string. Hooking his fingers in each side, he slipped it down her legs, ran his hands all the way back up her body and over her breasts, kissed her jawline as she stroked the hard bones of his shoulder blades.

  ‘Are you sure?’ His question was like the gentle wash of the sea hushing against the shell of her ear.

  ‘Yes.’

  He moved against her and she gripped him with her legs, her breath coming faster and faster, her chest heaving in time to the rhythm of their movement, her heart racing, her head spinning, wanting it to end but wanting it to last forever, an explosion of stars behind her eyes as she found blissful, earth-shattering release. And then his body shuddering into hers, the rapturous heaviness of him falling onto her, the steady beat of his heart against her own.

  A smile of sheer, unadulterated contentment played on her lips as she savoured every single second. Night fell around them as they lay, warm and content, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Chapter 17

  ‘I’m guessing by that dreamy look on your face and the number of times you’ve checked your phone that you may have got lucky last night.’ Lenore gave a double raise of her eyebrows, as if one wasn’t enough, and fixed her with ‘the look’.

  ‘Lenny.’ The warning in Nancy’s voice as she put the last of the pre-cut vegetables into the fridge, ready for the big day tomorrow, was half-hearted. She liked to pretend to be shocked by some of her wife’s tactless pronouncements but if the way she stuck her tongue in her cheek as she gave the warnings was any indication, she secretly found them amusing. ‘For someone who didn’t marry until she was in her sixties, you have a lot of thoughts about other people’s love lives.’

  ‘Just because I didn’t tie the knot until late doesn’t mean I didn’t have myself some fun along the way.’ Lenore shot a glance at Nancy, possibly wondering if she’d overstepped, but got no more than a head shake in reply. ‘So, did you?’

  ‘Did I what?’

  ‘Get lucky. Come on, give a dying old woman a break and let me live vicariously.’

  Hannah’s rib cage tightened at the mention of Lenore’s condition. But if she could make light of it, there was no need to be morbid. At least not right now.

  ‘Live vicariously?’ Nancy piped up. ‘Need I remind you you’re a lesbian?’

  Lenore waved her hand as if swatting away a fly. ‘Oh, you know what I mean. It doesn’t matter what apparatus you use, the result is still the same. So, tell us, Hannah, did you get hot and heavy? Get the deed done?’

  Keeping the smile from her face was as impossible as shutting down the thrumming in her body whenever her thoughts drifted to last night. ‘If you must know …’ She arched a retaliatory brow in Lenore’s direction. ‘I did. And it was bloody amazing.’

  ‘Yes. You go, girl.’ Lenore shot a fist into the air. ‘So do you think it was a one-off or is this Cole fellow a more long-term prospect?’

  That was a good question. If the sense of ease Hannah felt with him afterwards, lying there on the picnic rug stark naked, looking up into the night sky together, was any indication, there was a strong possibility things could develop. But she wasn’t giving any of that away just yet.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Good for you. And at least you’ll be getting a bit while you decide.’

  ‘Oh, Len—’

  ‘I know, I know, too far.’ Using the edge of the table as leverage, Lenore pulled herself to her feet. ‘Well, I hope we get to meet him and give the seal of approval before we leave.’

  The way Lenore spoke about Cole, as if he was a piece of real estate she was considering, was hysterical. ‘I think you will. He might even call around here tomorrow on his way to his mother’s for Christmas lunch.’

  ‘Well, I look forward to that. I’m done for the day. Must get my beauty sleep before Santa arrives. Ready, Nance?’

  ‘As always.’

  Taking her wife’s arm, Lenore started towards the door but paused as they rounded the table. ‘Jokes and men aside, are you doing okay, Hannah?’

  There was no need to check what Lenore meant or to what she was referring. The Christmas-coloured elephant in the room was jingling loud and clear. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’

  ‘Goodo. You know where we are if you need us.’

  Nancy gave a small smile and together they shuffled off to bed.

  Hannah sat for a long time in the lounge room, soaking in the quiet. Gazing up at the lights twinkling on the tree, visions of her father dancing in her head like so many sugar-plum fairies. His broad she’ll-be-right smile, the eager light in his eyes when he placed a perfectly prepared meal on the table, the flop of fair hair across his forehead when he fell asleep on the sofa after a long day pruning roses. For the first time in a long time, she went to her wallet and slid out the Polaroid photo from the zippered pocket, holding it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. Faded now, and rough around the edges, but there he was, his arm around her in the photobooth, in a pair of oversized Elton John–style glasses and a fluorescent green feather boa draped around his neck. Herself, beaming into the camera in her tiara and top hat. Taken at her cousin’s wedding the year before he died. Secreted away for all these years.

  The ache was there as always, deep in her gut, a darkness she would always carry, and yet there was a candle there too, dormant all these years, waiting to be lit. If all she remembered of her father was his death, it was as if his life didn’t matter. As if he never existed. As if the family he helped create never existed.

  It was time.

  She picked up her phone from the arm of the chair and started typing.

  Hi Mum and Maddie, I hope you’re both well and life is good. It’s Christmas Eve and I’m thinking about Dad and how much he loved this time of year. How much we all did. And how much I miss you both. Maybe we can FaceTime tomorrow and raise a glass to Dad. xx

  Everything inside her shaking, she sucked in a breath and pressed send. It was lunchtime in Denmark, but a reply came back within a minute.

  I’d really like that, Hannah. So much.

  Another ding and a second text: Send me the link, Hannah B, and I’m there.

  Something quivered inside her, like the first tentative shake of sleigh bells before they broke into a full-scale jingle. Maybe this would be the start of a new tradition. Maybe they’d even spend Christmas together again sometime in the future. She lifted her eyes to the silver star gleaming in the uppermost branches of the tree, everything that had happened in the last few weeks shimmering like a dream. Only it wasn’t. Lenore and Nancy were here under her roof, Owen was safe and with a little luck and expert help would not be causing damage to himself or anyone else anytime soon, Crystal had brought order to the practice’s filing system and a little sparkle into Hannah’s life, and Cole … he made every single one of the paperback heroes she’d been secretly swooning over seem like boring imitations of the real thing.

  Life in Yarrabee was turning out to be pretty damned fine.

  She reached for the switch on the string of tree lights but a quiet voice stopped her in her tracks.

  Don’t turn the lights out on Christmas Eve, Hannie, Santa won’t be able to find you.

  Of course not. How could she have forgotten? They’d always left them on for the entire night and all of the next day.

  ‘Thanks for the reminder, Dad.’ She set the photo on the mantelpiece, securing it in place with the musical Santa statue she’d pulled from the storage box, the trim on his suit tarnished and faded but his beard still pristine and white. ‘Merry Christmas.’

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to everyone who read A Country Farm Christmas and our previous anthologies and made this one possible. Thanks once again to the team at HQ/HarperCollins for putting this whole thing together, and to my fellow ‘anthologists’ Penelope, Renae and Stella for your support and inspiration. As always, huge hugs and many thanks to my writing buddies in The Inkwell for always being there to bounce around ideas and talk through plot points and plot holes, and for getting me through writing—and life—slumps.

  Special thanks to Penelope Janu for helpful feedback on this story and for putting up with my complaining when the writing got hard! And lastly, thank you to my family for making all my christmases magical.

  A Rush Creek Christmas

  RENAE BLACK

  About the Author

  RENAE BLACK lives in Queensland with her husband and two young bookworms. By day, she’s a social worker within the child protection industry. By night, she escapes to the romantic fictional realms of rural Australia that transport her back to her childhood home, a large property that bred cattle and hosted the odd ostrich sale. Renae can often be found on her back verandah with her dogs at her feet, a book in her hand and a sunset painting the sky. A proud member of the Romance Writers of Australia, Renae won the 2023 Sapphire Award for the best unpublished manuscript by a published author.

  For Steph.

  Our laughs are limitless, our memories countless, and our friendship endless.

  Chapter 1

  The cackle of a kookaburra rang from the top of a gum tree that lined the banks of Rush Creek. Its early morning laughter warmed Piper Hendrix more than the ceramic mug of coffee in her hands. Not that she needed warming. The late November heat was starting early, a hint at the summer ahead. What else did she expect, moving this far north into the sunny state? She’d wanted something different, needed something fresh, and here it was. Taking another mouthful of coffee, she swallowed it with a cringe and tipped the rest out at the base of a tree. She turned to her home away from home—her beloved bright orange split-screen Kombi—and threw the mug in the sink of its tiny kitchenette.

  Rhythmically, she started the pack-up process: made her bed; folded her camping chair and slid it inside; emptied the kettle and stored it in the cupboard; rolled up the awning. Checking the time on her watch, she quietly sank down in the open doorway. She was getting too proficient. There was still time to kill before her first official shift at Rush Creek Country Hospital. Another kookaburra joined its mate, the chorus drowning out any other animal that wanted to have a say. Piper smiled. She’d never gotten ready for work to a tune like this before.

  Neither had she ever gotten ready in a free campsite by a creek. She’d have to grab a shower at the hospital after her shift.

  A buzzing from her pocket distracted her, and she pulled out her phone to find several messages. Her mum was sending her kind thoughts and long-distance hugs, her stepfather reminding her to keep an eye on the Kombi’s oil levels, and her big brother prompting her that he was always there for her whether he was in the city or his new property in their old town of Euronga. Piper read the messages over a few times, smiling when a new one came in from her soon-to-be sister-in-law, Indy. It didn’t have words, just a photo of the sunrise stretching up behind the mountain range that encased Euronga. For once, Piper had her own beautiful landscape to look at. One that was full of nature and animals, instead of the urban concrete rectangles surrounding ribbons of bitumen.

  The only unread messages left on her phone were from him.

  He’d messaged her every day, but she hadn’t opened the last few. Wanting to get it over and done with, Piper pressed on them.

  I miss you.

  Don’t you miss me, Piper?

  Why aren’t you answering?

  Is this what we’ve been reduced to? You taking off without a word and now you’re not talking to me?

  I thought I meant more to you.

  Guilt mixed with anger. What more could she possibly say that she hadn’t already? What did he want from her?

  He wanted you to stand by him.

  Piper let out a frustrated huff as her guilt doubled, exceeding her anger.

  Her mind flashed back to the moment Heath had walked in on her squishing her belongings into the biggest suitcase she’d been able to order on Amazon. He had stood in the doorway of the bedroom they were supposed to share, but which she’d spent more nights alone in than with him, his sweats and stained white T-shirt a far cry from the ironed business shirts he’d wear outside of the surgical theatre.