Once Upon a Time in Tarrula / To Wed a Rancher

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

Sometimes when a man seems so strong, we wonder if he’s invincible. But then we get to know him and realise that somewhere underneath the strength and determination there are emotions and tender feelings that are perhaps even harder for him to acknowledge because it’s his job to be self-contained and in control.

This is how I feel about my hero, Troy Rushton. He’s lost the army career that defined so much of who he is. He’s starting over, and not too keen to let others in as he does that, yet Stacie Wakefield doesn’t seem to focus on his limp, or the things that Troy can’t do.

In fact, Troy wonders if anything would stop this intrepid, determined girl in her own life. She sews her dog clothes and carries out her DIY projects on her cottage outside of town and seems determined to forge a life by herself—and Troy can’t help admiring her. Stacie has been hurt, too. Someone very close to her found happiness at the expense of Stacie’s own. It’s hard for her to accept that, but Stacie hopes that starting over in a new town will help.

Though Tarrula is a fictitious town, it has a lot in common with many of the rural New South Wales towns I’ve lived in and visited. There is peace to be found in this small community town, if Troy and Stacie can open up to each other and allow that to happen.

I hope you enjoy Troy and Stacie’s journey as they find their ‘Once Upon a Time’ happy ending, right in the heart of Tarrula.

Please visit my website for further information about all of my stories.

With love from Australia.

Jennie

Once Upon a

Time in Tarrula

Jennie Adams

About the Author

Australian author JENNIE ADAMS grew up in a rambling farmhouse surrounded by books, and by people who loved reading them. She decided at a young age to be a writer, but it took many years and a lot of scenic detours before she sat down to pen her first romance novel. Jennie has worked in a number of careers and voluntary positions, including transcription typist and pre-school assistant. She is the proud mother of three fabulous adult children, and makes her home in a small inland city in New South Wales. In her leisure time Jennie loves long, rambling walks, discovering new music, starting knitting projects that she rarely finishes, chatting with friends, trips to the movies, and new dining experiences.

Jennie loves to hear from her readers, and can be contacted via her website at www.jennieadams.net.

For my girls. Special mention must be made of such bald-faced justifications as: “I know you warned me about those dips in the road but I forgot again.”

For Valerie, for the brainstorming that resulted in the Bow-wow-tique.

And for my editor Joanne Grant, with thanks for helping me to find the greater strength in each and every book.

CHAPTER ONE

‘LISTEN, Stace, I don’t know how this happened. I only turned my back for a minute.’

‘You were discussing football scores and you stopped watching what was happening on the floor. You can’t do that when you’re in charge, Gary.’ Stacie Wakefield cut off the words of the assistant floor-boss of the hulling section of the almond-processing plant. ‘Carl’s not here. That means you’re in charge!’

They stood ankle-deep in spilled harvested almonds. Stacie had spotted the problem from the office upstairs and rushed down in time for the overload to pour onto the floor. ‘You may have stopped the spillage but look at it, Gary. Another five minutes and this section will be so far behind that the rest of the plant will have to wait for product. Just because Carl isn’t here today, doesn’t mean—’

‘All right, maybe I did get distracted.’ The words were mumbled before he shook his head. ‘Look, I’ll get it sorted out, so don’t stress, okay? I’d noticed the problem by the time you got down here, hadn’t I?’ Gary gave her a wink and a nudge as though to convince her he was quite calm about this glitch, and that she should be too.

‘You noticed too late.’ Stacie muttered the words, and added more loudly, ‘I hope you can get it sorted out.’

‘It’ll be all right. Well, gotta get moving.’ Gary’s gaze shifted behind her left shoulder. ‘Time’s money.’

With these words, he strode away.

Why had he done that all of a sudden after standing about, wasting time, playing down the mess to Stacie first? Because the new owner was approaching from behind her, that was why!

If that weren’t the case, Stacie would eat the latest doggy coat she’d created for her home-based business, the Bow-wow-tique. Well, maybe not the dark-green one she’d made last week, but she’d added that to Fang’s winter collection so it didn’t really count.

New owner, Stacie.

He’s not going to go away and come back at a more convenient time just because you don’t want him to see this spill on the floor—or because none of this is your responsibility but Carl’s asked you to take care of the new boss.

In the end it was only a meet and greet. If the owner needed anything outside of Stacie’s knowledge or authority, she’d let him know what she could and couldn’t do and manage.

Stacie pinned on what she hoped was a calm, helpful expression, and turned to face …

Six foot of sandy-haired, muscular man who was indeed headed her way. In fact, he was only a couple of steps from reaching her.

She fought for control against a widening of her eyes as she took in a broad chest that seemed to fill her vision: shoulders encased in a fitted white T-shirt with a corduroy tan jacket pulled over the top; blue jeans; work boots.

He had a square jaw, straight nose. His features and his attitude denoted strength, presence.

Her gaze shifted to his mouth, to a set of lips that could only have been made for long, slow kisses. His eyes were a deep hazel, green, blue and grey fringed with sooty lashes. At the moment, they were examining her with focused attention.

This was a man who would not turn his back on a challenge, nor step away if things became difficult.

Had he seen Gary’s nudge and wink? Had he heard Gary’s parting words?

As for the new owner, what was Stacie doing, thinking of kisses? And of ‘strong’ and ‘tough’ as something appealing and way too interesting?

It was thanks to the actions of her ex-boyfriend four months ago, thanks to a number of disappointments in that department over the years culminating in such hurt. Thanks to two people Stacie had loved that she shouldn’t be thinking of any such things.

Her chin jutted. She had chosen to be single now and she would be far happier alone. That was her resolution, and already she was happier!

And what she’d noted of the new plant-owner’s appeal had been an ‘observation’ style of thought. Only that!

‘Hello.’ She cleared her throat against the breathy tone that had suddenly invaded it. Dust in the air, probably. Well, maybe not. It was a clean plant.

Just get on with it, Stacie.

‘You’re the new owner? I’m Stacie Wakefield, the administrative assistant here.’ She stuck out her hand. He probably had a wife at home enjoying those kisses, or a steady girlfriend. Of course there’d be someone. Just as, for Stacie, there’d been a sister waiting …

Thinking about that wouldn’t help her.

Embrace her fresh start. That was what Stacie wanted to do.

And she was doing it!

She’d moved here to the township of Tarrula, positioned as a stopover destination between Sydney and Melbourne, and had got this job to keep her going while she built up her home business until she could live independently from it. And while Stacie was employed here at the plant, even if it was really just typing, filing and answering the phone, she would give the job her best. ‘Carl apologised that he couldn’t be here to officially welcome you this morning. He’s unwell, but expects to be back on deck tomorrow.’

The manager had come down with a migraine at the last minute before work this morning.

‘Then I’ll be staying longer than I’d intended today to fill the managerial gap. Troy Rushton.’ Broad, capable fingers closed around hers.

Just like that, he embraced the situation and took ownership of it.

‘Stacie …’ she started, and stopped because she’d already told him her name.

Nerves; this tingling in her fingers had to be nerves; the buzzing in her brain that made her lose the thread of the conversation must be from the same source. Stacie wanted to make a good impression on the new owner. She valued her job. The spill had stressed her out. She was off-centre because Carl had phoned in sick at the last moment.

As Stacie dropped her hand away, she got as far as smoothing her navy pencil-pleat skirt and stopped herself. She was perfectly presentable, if not in any way stunning.

She kind of wished she hadn’t included the iridescent pink stick-ons over her blue nail-polish today, though. But her nails were her one indulgence in terms of beauty efforts. Short, but rarely forgettable.

When they had all been younger, her sisters had said her nail-decorating choices were ‘tacky’ and ‘so not sexy, Stacie’. Two beautiful Cinderellas and one very plain duck.

The ‘gorgeous’ genes had gone to those older sisters. That hadn’t mattered until Andrew and Gemma.

‘I see there’s a problem here. Who’s the floor manager today?’ Troy’s gaze searched her face, skimmed over nose, mouth and eyes and the straight brown hair that fell to the middle of her shoulders.

Stacie thought he might have paused; was that a flicker of interest?

A moment later Troy’s gaze turned to the troubled production area. He probably hadn’t even noticed what she looked like, let alone had any other reaction. How silly she was being—silly on two levels, because she shouldn’t be aware of him in the first place. Stacie was done with putting herself on the line with all of that.

And she hadn’t truly faced up to any of the hurt of the situation she’d tried to leave behind when she’d moved here.

Stacie had been back for a visit with the family. What more was she expected to do?

Visit when Andrew and Gemma were there.

‘Gary’s just over here.’ Stacie led the way towards the assistant floor-manager. She was very busy. There wouldn’t be a lot of time to visit family in upcoming months at all.

Troy Rushton’s left leg caused a limp as he walked at her side, and his expression seemed to tighten. Not in pain, but perhaps in frustration.

Was that a permanent injury? What was Troy’s history? What had brought him to this small New South Wales town and to this processing plant? Stacie had so many questions about him, but some curiosity was to be expected. He was the new owner. And gorgeous to go with it in a brooding, tough-looking way. ‘I’ll fill you in on plant operations as best I can, and if you need any information to help you or your family get settled here …’

‘No family.’ His words were a flat statement with no emotion attached that Stacie could discern. ‘And the rest will wait until this production situation is sorted out.’

Right. So he was single. That was irrelevant, of course.

With an almost imperceptible nod, Stacie stopped at Gary’s side. ‘Gary, this is our new owner, Troy Rushton. Mr Rushton, please meet Gary Henderson.’

‘Henderson.’ Troy shook Gary’s hand and then his eyes narrowed as he looked about them. ‘What’s going on?’

Gary lifted a hand to the back of his neck. ‘We, ah, we had a machinery choke.’

‘Why?’

It was just one word, but asked in a brooks-no-excuses tone.

‘I’ll get back to the office,’ Stacie put in quickly.

Troy acknowledged her words with a brief glance, and Gary’s with a narrowing of his eyes. He stepped further into the production area. ‘Let’s get this cleaned up. Then we’ll finish this discussion.’ To Stacie he said, ‘I’ll be up there shortly.’

Stacie made her way upstairs to the offices. By the time she’d put the kettle on in the little kitchenette and returned to her desk, Troy had walked in.

The office space suddenly became more vibrant, more alive.

Oh, Stacie. Why think like that?

For no good reason. That was why. And that lack of good reason needed to sort itself out right now. ‘Would you like a hot drink while I take you through things up here?’

‘No thanks. But in Carl’s absence let’s tackle the necessities. Bring whatever work you have, and a notepad.’ He crossed the open-plan area to the manager’s desk and sat as though he belonged there.

He did look right there, sitting in Carl’s chair. But he also looked vital and a lot younger than Carl. A man that every woman in town would fall for, Stacie decided.

Not her, though. She was immune.

Well, men seemed to be immune to sticking around with her. Andrew, anyway. And others who’d been dazzled by her sisters.

Not the point, Stacie.

No, it wasn’t. And she’d made a life choice for herself now. She’d moved forward: new town, new job, new goals.

And all the old baggage to go along with it, because she couldn’t just make that situation go away.

Fine; so she’d ignore it to death by focusing on this new life, and right now on the situation at hand. ‘The problem down there …?’

‘Is sorted out, and perhaps might not have been if you hadn’t spotted it as quickly as you did.’ His gaze met hers.

‘How do you know?’

‘I don’t miss things.’

‘Things don’t usually fall apart on the floor if Carl isn’t around.’ It felt important to make that clear. ‘It’s just a shame they did this time.’

‘Henderson was left holding—’

‘The bag of almonds?’ The quip escaped her.

Troy’s brows rose and then his face eased into the first hint of a devastating smile. ‘Yes. So to speak.’

When his face softened, there was a tiny start of a dimple in his right cheek. Stacie rather thought she might like to see that dimple fully formed.

The thought unnerved her. It would be foolish to want such a thing.

‘From what I know here, the plant doesn’t often have spills like that one.’ And, from the sounds of it, Gary Henderson would now know he’d need to be more vigilant in the future.

‘I’m glad to hear that.’ When Troy looked away, it was a slow slide in time as his gaze shifted from the blue of her eyes, over her nose, before lingering on her mouth.

He blinked and a mask came down over his face.

It hadn’t meant anything in particular. He was simply looking. Leave it to her gorgeous sisters to attract the genuine interest.

And leave it to Stacie to not want to attract any attention at all now. She was far better off that way!

Troy Rushton watched expressions chase themselves across Stacie Wakefield’s narrow, expressive face: curiosity, interest, a certain level of consciousness of him that she felt but that she also fought.

He, too, had been drawn to her—yet what was it that drew his attention to this woman?

Was it the blue eyes with their shards of darker colour and thick, black lashes? The delicateness of her features? The soft pink of her lips? Or was it more about her expressiveness, the progression of her thoughts across her face that she probably thought she was hiding?

Whatever the reasons, he shouldn’t be watching Stacie Wakefield with anything beyond a passing interest.

Indeed, he hadn’t been interested in a woman since the break with Linda six months ago.

‘How long have you worked at the plant, Stacie?’ That was the focus of this morning, to get to know as much as possible about this processing plant he’d purchased, make sure it was functioning as solidly as it could—then move on to maintaining an ownership role while he focused most of his time and effort on his orchards.

All a far cry from army special-ops.

The thought slipped in with an edge that was too close to bitterness to be comfortable. He’d done the self-talk about this. He should consider himself lucky.

He should also consider that he didn’t exactly have as much to offer a woman these days. Now why did that thought drop into his head?

‘I’ve only been here four months.’ Stacie’s gaze remained steady on his face.

Had she spotted his limp?

What did it matter? It was just a part of him now.

A part that ended your career and that you despise every day.

Stacie went on. ‘Carl said you visited while the plant was shut down one weekend?’

‘I did, but only after I’d toured a similar plant and studied it in full action.’ His visit here had been thorough enough for him to easily see that this was the better purchase.

Stacie nodded. She drew a breath and launched into the work at hand.

An expanse of utilitarian desk separated them, yet Troy still felt the imprint of her small hand from when he’d briefly clasped it. He flattened his fingers on the desk surface and pushed the thoughts aside as they moved into discussion of various matters that Stacie felt would benefit from attention today, rather than when Carl returned.

Even as they worked together, Troy wondered what had brought her to the plant. Had she moved to Tarrula, or simply changed jobs within the town? In either case, why?

It took an hour to deal with everything. At first she seemed uneasy without Carl’s presence, but she soon came to terms with Troy’s no-nonsense approach to decision-making and relaxed into it. As they finished, she glanced up and smiled. ‘You’ve just made Carl’s absence today very easy for me. It’s the first time he’s been away for a sick day since I started. I was a bit uneasy.’

‘You’ve done just fine.’

She wasn’t a gorgeous girl, Troy supposed, not by the rest of the world’s standards, but her smile lit her whole face. It made him want to reach out and trace her lips with his fingertips.

The whimsical thought was so alien to his soldier’s nature that Troy frowned. Even with Linda, his thoughts had tended towards the practical: shared work-interests and the meeting of physical needs. He’d cared for her, of course he had, but he wasn’t what you’d call a tender man. Linda had been career-driven, and Troy had lost his career …

Troy got to his feet—one that stood as solidly and firmly as ever, the other that didn’t. ‘I’ll leave you now. I want to meet the rest of the crew.’

‘Thanks for your help. I’ll have letters for signature ready soon.’ Stacie busied herself at her desk.

Troy moved towards the door. He did his best not to think about the uneven gait that got him there, but it dogged every step. ‘I’ll check in with you again before I leave, to sign the letters.’

He walked out.

CHAPTER TWO

‘IT’S good to be almost home.’ Stacie spoke aloud as she slowed for a low narrow bridge. Gurudhaany Creek flowed beneath it, a muddy flow just feet deep in the summer months, but now during winter it was almost a smaller version of the large river that flowed around the outskirts of the township of Tarrula. The creek was named after the goannas that had been spotted along its banks, though Stacie had yet to see one of the large lizards for herself.

Instead today she’d met a very attractive specimen of a man, the new company owner, Troy Rushton. His imprint still seemed glued to her retinas, and that was not a fact that pleased her or that even made sense to her. ‘I might need a double dose of nail-polish and some better stick-ons to get my focus off that man.’

Usually by now her thoughts would be centred on getting home, taking care of her dog, Fang, and settling in for an evening of work on her Bow-wow-tique sewing and marketing.

Instead, thoughts of Troy Rushton distracted her. Stacie didn’t want to be distracted. Deep inside where she might not have entirely faced up to a few things, Stacie emotionally couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Stacie parked her grey sedan, got out and stepped through the farmhouse gate. She had faced things. She was building a new life. If that wasn’t dealing with her demons, she didn’t know what would be.

Visiting the family when Gemma and Andrew would be there?

It was the second time the thought had surfaced. Frankly, she didn’t appreciate it.

‘Did you miss me, Fang?’ Stacie called out with determined good cheer. Because she was happy, damn it, and she intended to stay that way, not wallow around in thoughts of the past.

Forget thinking too much about a certain new employer, also, even if the man somehow seemed to have lodged himself firmly in Stacie’s brain from the first moment she met him this morning. He wasn’t that appealing or interesting. If Stacie had worked today with half an eye on the production floor—and specifically on Troy as he’d moved through that floor briefly greeting workers and basically rolling his sleeves up and getting involved—she’d done so to make sure the new owner didn’t need her assistance with anything. Yes. It had been because of that.

‘Wroof!’

Fang leaped about the yard like the happy, muscly, extremely well-dressed dog he was. He wore a pink-sateen padded coat with a matching pink-studded collar. If pets could be fashion conscious, Fang really did wear his clothes with a certain pride. Stacie created them for him with pride. And with her goals for the Bow-wow-tique as firmly fixed as each stitch.

‘Come on, Fang. Let’s get some warmth happening inside.’

It was the start of June and the Australian winter season had hit hard. Even as Stacie headed for the farmhouse rain started to drizzle again. Stacie turned the heaters on, and then stood on the front porch and leaned down to rub the top of Fang’s head and let herself absorb the blind devotion in his doggy gaze.

‘Wroof!’

Fang broke away from her and ran around the little farmlet’s front yard, just because he could.

Stacie laughed and then she looked up as Fang’s woof changed to one of enquiry.

There was a man at the end of the path. A familiar man. Stacie’s heart-rate lifted before she could even register the response. She rushed forward. ‘Troy. I didn’t expect—Is there something? Is production at the plant …?’

She got that far and stopped, because of course this wasn’t about production at the plant. Everything had been fine when she left. Production had been closed down for the night.

Stacie’s glance shifted behind Troy, to the empty farmhouse on the neighbouring property. Except it wasn’t empty any more. There were lights on over there and a black four-wheel-drive jeep parked out the front.