Spencer held his breath as the make-up artist dusted powder over his face.
‘Try not to squint, babe.’
‘Wouldn’t want the make-up settling into my wrinkles and everyone thinking I’m the wrong side of forty-five, right?’
‘Don’t look so worried, you’re a handsome devil.’ She grinned, checking the time. ‘They’re harder on poor Emily, being the oldest female farmer on the show. I mean, forty’s kinda old, but it’s not totesoldold, you know?’
It was an effort not to groan. Most of the crew members looked as young as his niece and nephew, and he’d heard the make-up artist, with her lip piercings and leather jeans, sticking up for Team Hawkins after another handler asked her what it was like wrangling ‘the oldies’.
‘I heard Kymmy, the contestant with Farmer Matt in Emu Park, put in a request for a do-over if things fizzle out between you and your contestants. Not that they will, those ladies are mad about you.’ The make-up artist snapped her palette shut.
So why did it still feel so staged? And what was keeping lunch?He wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of late nights and an empty stomach. Why on earth had he invited this chaos into his life?
Because it was time to get back out there again.
Because he was this far through the painstaking process of on-camera dates and challenges, and only an idiot would give up this close to the end.
Because Belle had been fond of the show, and Ian and Louisa had encouraged him to do it, and after his role in their daughter’s death, he couldn’t deny them that.
Spencer was so deep in his spiralling, he missed Dana’s question and had to ask the producer to repeat it.
‘Can you tell us why you love farming and beekeeping?’
They’d danced around this question before, and he sensed the producers wanted him to say he’d been fascinated by bees from a young age, or that he was happiest when he was checking the hives or collecting honey, but that had been Belle and Ian’s story, not his.
‘Bees are a key part of the property, but my real passion’s teaching, and setting country kids up with an education that’s as good as, if not better than, their city counterparts. I’ve got—’
‘Cut, cut,’ said the producer, shaking her head. ‘This show is calledLove on the Land, Spencer, notTeacher Wants aWife. Let’s go over it again: we want bottle-fed lambs and farm machinery, a little more about the pastures and the farming-specific challenges, mate. Not that we don’t care about school kids, of course they’re the future of our food, our fibres, but let’s have a little less of this “side hustle” talk and more focus on our target market.’ Dana clicked her fingers at the camera guy and nodded again, a strained smile on her face.
‘Take two, from the top. Remember, our viewers want an escape to the country.’
Spencer looked across the paddock. After the hubbub of filming, he was ready for his own escape.
While the Limestone Coast region was famous for vineyards, award-winning wineries and beaches to the south, the short drive between Penwarra and South Giddi Giddi was lined with trees, and as well as grapevines, the large paddocks were full of sheep, cattle and crops. It was profitable land, and though Clem was only a hobby farmer at best, with her tiny sunflower crop, she knew these properties were the envy of many drought-stricken farmers in the north of the state.
She slowed as a crumbling limestone and paddock-rock cottage, similar to the ruins near Sunny Cross, came into view. Clem had relied on Google Maps for directions yesterday, but her memory served her just fine today with the second food delivery.
She veered right at the next fork in the road, muted the radio and tuned in to the humming insects and rustling trees. She turned at the mailbox and was soon in front of the two-storey red brick home with manicured lawns, hedges leading to the front entrance and wide bullnose verandahs encircling both levels.
‘Over here.’ Clem saw Spencer beside the rotunda, standing on a stepladder that looked too rickety to hold her weight, let alone his.
What was it about him that made heat run through her body? She tucked her dark hair behind her ears, feeling her earrings jangle against her wrist, and returned his wave.
‘Fairy lights, huh? Did you justhappento have them lying around, or do the producers buy them in bulk for all the farmers?’
Two spots of warmth appeared on his cheeks, though as she got closer she could see the tightness of his smile and the weariness in his grey eyes. Perhaps the last few weeks hadn’t been all canoodling over fluffy rescue lambs and fairy-lit dinners?
‘Sorry, that was—’ She waved a hand as he descended the ladder.
She wasn’t even sure what she’d intended it to be—A low blow? A snarky joke?—but she’d regretted it, whatever it was, as soon as she’d seen the hurt cross his face. What was it about Spencer Hawkins that made her blurt out random things?
‘Where would you like the food?’
‘I thought yesterday’s lunch was a distinct upgrade—was that you too?’
‘Thanks, it sure was.’ Clem opened the boot of the Jeep, her heart swelling under the praise. She passed him the first two boxes. ‘Exploding sewerage pipe at Brew Haven,’ she said, trying to keep the glee from her voice. ‘You didn’t notice the Sunny Cross Cafe branding on yesterday’s boxes?’
Was he that preoccupied with his harem of ladies that he’d only registered the change of quality, nothing more?
