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“Would you like a toasted sandwich with it?” Joe asked. “I’m going to have one.”

Violet declined. “No, thank you. I had enough dinner.”

Joe went to the fridge and took out a loaf of bread, some ham slices, tomato, and a packet of grated cheese. Within minutes, he had a toastie bubbling away in a flat-topped sandwich maker, and then he turned to the coffee machine.

There was a companiable silence as they sat at the table together. Joe was eating his toastie, Violet was thinking, wondering if she could get the ute sorted tomorrow.

Joe’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Have a biscuit. There’s plenty there.”

“Thank you.” Violet reached for one of the homemade ANZAC biscuits Joe had put on a plate in front of them.

“Did you bake these?” she asked after taking a bite. “They’re good.”

Joe chuckled. “No. I bought them at the CWA cake stall.”

“I don’t bake,” Violet said. “I eat too many biscuits if I do. Is baking another of your skills?” She looked around the kitchen, admiring his work.

“Skills? I don’t have many of them.” Joe frowned. “Not much education, no qualifications. I’m just a builder’s labourer.” His face reddened slightly.

Violet disagreed. “I’ve known you a little bit over an hour and I already know you can renovate a house, drive a tractor, ride a horse, run a farm and rescue stranded women. I was sure baking would be part of your repertoire.”

He grinned at her teasing tone. “No, Ryan, my brother sent me into town one day this week to get some new nails for a job we’re working on, and there was a CWA stall in the main street. As soon as I spotted Florrie Miller’s Anzacs, I bought up the lot and took them back to Ryan, and we had quite a feed for smoko. I brought the rest home, filled the biscuit barrel and put the rest in the freezer. I’m set for biscuits until the other side of Christmas.”

“You’ll have to learn how to make them if you love them that much.”

His laugh was hearty and brought a smile to Violet’s face. As Joe held her gaze steadily, the laughter lines in his tanned face deepened, and she found it hard to look away. His were eyes a girl could get lost in.

“No, cooking is sure not my forte,” he said. “Toasted sandwiches just about do it. Maybe a steak on the barbie when it’s not raining.”

“What about veggies?”

“Do hot chips count as veggies?” Joe was still holding her eyes with his.

“No,” Violet said.

“Okay. I sometimes have a salad roll for lunch. Thea at the Cyprus Café makes a good one. Lots of green stuff on it.”

“Good, I won’t worry about my rescuer suffering from scurvy once I’ve left town.”

“Scurvy? What’s that?”

“That’s what sailors used to get from not eating enough fresh fruit and veggies.”

“I eat lots of fruit.”

‘Good, I won’t worry about you. I can focus on worrying about my damn ute.” Violet stood and went over to the window and looked out at said ute. Big fat raindrops bounced in the puddles that had formed in the driveway since they had arrived.

“Would you like another coffee?” Joe asked.

“No thanks. That was lovely. And so was the Anzac.”

“Come on, we’ll go into the living room and call Jac from the landline. The mobile service is pretty dodgy.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. I’m supposed to call my sister and report in tonight.”

“Feel free to use the landline after we’ve made a call,” Joe said as they walked to the living room up the hallway near what she assumed was the front door.

Violet shook her head as she followed him into the room where a huge Christmas tree sat in the corner. “No, it’s fine. I’ll call her from town tomorrow. And look, you don’t have to ring anyone. I’m fine. I appreciate you looking after me.”