Louisa’s laugh came easily, her Canadian accent as strong as the day Spencer had met her. ‘Well, you were the one running around in the cold, chasing sheep and hauling branches off the barbed-wire fence. Ian feels terrible that he can’t get back out there yet, so we’re extra thankful for all your help.’
Spencer clicked his tongue when he peered into the oven to find a bubbling casserole.
‘And what’s tonight’s delicacy? Lamb casserole? Looks like enough to feed an army in that crockpot, are you and Ian coming too? You could be here in the time it takes me to wash up and steam a few frozen veggies.’
The Brealys lived on the other side of the property, in a small brick cottage half the size of the house Spencer and his wife Belle had built as newlyweds.
‘Oh no, you enjoy that, we don’t want to intrude. Our Belle would have been horrified if we’d shown up on your doorstep three times a week. Just because you’re on your own, doesn’t mean you want to spend every evening with two chatty Canucks.’
Spencer knew it was no use arguing. Just as they had insisted they would live in the tiny brick cottage, even though there were two of them, leaving Spencer to rattle around in this big farmhouse by himself, once the Brealys set their mind to something, they weren’t easily convinced otherwise.
He thanked Louisa and was about to hang up when his father-in-law, Ian, piped up in the background.
‘What’s the latest on the contestant applications? Would’ve been hard narrowing those ladies down for the shortlist, if they’re as genuine as they seemed in their submissions?’
‘Hush now, Ian. He doesn’t need us throwing our oar in. We’ve done enough pushing already. You’re lucky he didn’t up and leave when you shoved thatLove on the Landapplication under his nose.’ Louisa cleared her throat. ‘I’ll be puttingyouon a TV show looking for a new wife if you keep meddling in Spencer’s business.’
Spencer smiled, listening to the older couple bicker. He wouldn’t have considered the television show if it wasn’t for their encouragement, or the promise he’d made to Belle, and given he’d be bringing five potential new partners back to the farm they owned and had lived on for thirty years, their feedback on the process was crucial. ‘She’s going to have to get along with you guys, as well as me, if we’re going to make this work.’
‘My vote goes for the orchardist,’ Ian called out.
Smiling, Spencer filled Dolly’s food bowl. Emily Brewington-Major had been the first applicant to catch his eye, and he hadn’t been surprised to hear she’d been Ian’s top pick too. There was something about the dark blonde almond grower from the Riverland.
‘Whoever you choose will be fine by us,’ Louisa said, with Ian still chatting away in the background.
They made their farewells, then Spencer got some vegetables on to cook. While they steamed, he riffled through the mail he’d collected on his way in earlier. He stuck the postcard from his mum and dad onto the fridge. They were having a hell of a time exploring Western Australia and, amused by his television show news, they’d promised to call for an update soon.
He used his pocketknife to slice open the next envelope, finding a cream-and-black invitation inside. His hand stilled as he read the calligraphy, formally inviting him to next month’s opening ceremony ofLove on the Land.
What would Belle make of all this? Would she think he was crazy for going through with it? Spencer had promised her he’d open his heart to love after she’d gone, but the few dates he’d attempted had felt stilted. At best, they’d been awkward; at worst, it had felt uncomfortably close to cheating. But a promise was a promise.
He was still staring at the invite when the carrots boiled over, hissing onto the hot surface. With a deep breath, Spencer put the card back into the envelope and slid it under a pile of paperwork.It might be an unconventional approach, but if the TV show side-stepped the awkwardness of traditional dating, it would be worth it.
2
Clem ducked out the cafe’s back door, locked it behind her and followed the paved path that linked the cafe to her home.
Backpacks sat on the kitchen bench, and she found her daughters sitting cross-legged in the lounge room, a mountain of plastic horses, Barbie dolls and farm figurines spread out before them, intent on the television.
‘Hey little beauties, did you have a lovely day?’
She glanced around the farmhouse kitchen, her babysitter Isobel nowhere to be seen. Clem stopped short, noticing the two horse riders on the screen leaning at a precarious angle in their saddles and tipping their straw cowboy hats back for a kiss. ‘What’s this rubbish?’
‘It’s Isobel’s favourite show, Mum. It’s got ponies and tractors and lots of pretty ladies,’ Indi said, shoving two Barbie dolls onto her plastic horses and trotting them along the rug. Clem grabbed the remote control, jabbing at the buttons as Indi pressed the Barbies’ faces together.
‘Doesn’t look suitable for little girls.’ Clem frowned, eliciting a cry of protest from both her daughters as the screen went blank.
Spencer Hawkins is going to be eaten alive by the ladies on that show. Was he drunk or just plain crazy when he applied?
Isobel rushed in, wiping wet hands on her hoodie.
‘Sorry, I was only gone for two seconds. We’ll have this mess packed up pronto, right girls?’
‘I was more worried about the TV than the toys,’ Clem said, checking her watch. ‘If we’re going to show them fairytales, I’d prefer Disney over a reality dating farce.’
The high schooler’s brows knit tight with concern. ‘I’m so sorry, I should’ve thought of that.’
Clem looked again at her girls,noticing their matching French braids. Getting a brush through three-year-old Indi’s wild hair was difficult at the best of times. Even if Isobel had bad taste in TV, the teenager was obviously a child-whisperer.
