Tumble Creek by Louise Forster Page A

Initially it was to feed the blokes in town, who told their wives, wives made bookings for dinner, and all kinds of celebrations. Word got around your menu was to die for. But are we keeping it on so we don’t disappoint the early morning regulars?’
    â€˜Probably. We need to find a breakfast chef. Leave it with me, your days of getting up at sparrows fart are nearly over.’ Jennifer grinned. ‘What about the bookkeeping, you happy doing that?’
    â€˜Absolutely.’ She smiled. ‘You should come with me next time I visit the vineyards, see how they’re managing.’
    â€˜Sure, would love to.’ Jennifer slapped her hands over her chest, a cloud of flour hit the air between them and Sofie sneezed. ‘You know, I still can’t get my head around what Uncle Bob left us.’ She wrapped her dough in cling film and put it in the fridge.
    â€˜Yeah, it’s real though. No more struggle street … in fact we are a wealthy little family.’
    â€˜Kinda scary and kinda brilliant all at once,’ Jennifer said softly.
    â€˜Yeah …’ Sofie said on a breath, ‘you’re not wrong.’
    It was a good thing she stayed. The day fled, yet at the same time, she couldn’t wait for it to end. Everyone was run off their feet. Too tired to do anything other than have a soothing glass of wine with Jennifer, then a hot shower and bed. Sleeping in Bob’s old room should’ve been the same as any other time, but it wasn’t. After spending one night with Brock’s arms wrapped firmly around her on a couch, she missed him. Shaking her head, she shoved the thoughts aside and, grumbling to herself, snuggled deeper under the quilt.
    Sofie fell into a deep, restful sleep.

Chapter 5
    â€˜Calum, you on your way home?’ Brock asked, mobile at his ear.
    â€˜Yeah, finished earlier than expected, just turning into Main Street, what’s up?’
    â€˜Had to work late. Sofe is staying with me—’
    â€˜What?! When did that happen?’
    â€˜Yesterday. Look, I’ll fill you in later. She wasn’t there when I got home. Tried her phone, no answer. Don’t want to ring your place or hammer on the door and wake everyone for no reason.’
    â€˜Er … she’s a big girl, Brock.’
    â€˜Mate—seen too much not to make sure.’
    â€˜Gotcha, meet me in the back lane.’
    As soon as Calum parked and turned his lights off, Brock uncurled out of his car, locked it and followed him through the garage to the back door and sunroom. Calum opened up, the alarm beeped, and he punched in the code to reset it. ‘When you leave you’ve got five seconds to key in the code and …’
    Brock gave him a look.
    â€˜Right. Pay no attention to me, I’m beat,’ Calum whispered, ‘and I smell like cow dung.’
    â€˜Cow dung makes you think weird?’ Brock fought back a grin.
    â€˜Nah, dung is good stuff.’ He chuckled and tiptoed down the hall, Brock at his side. They both peeked in the spare room. ‘Sofie’s here. What’re you doin’?’
    â€˜Making sure it’s Sofe, then I’ll go home.’
    Calum pointed at the human shape under the quilt. ‘It is Sofe,’ he mumbled as if to say, are you blind?
    â€˜It’s a bunch of lumps under a quilt, Cal.’
    â€˜Right,’ he said slowly, nodding but nevertheless looking confused. Then his brow furrowed, and eyes questioning he asked, ‘What’re you waitin’ for? When’re you goin’ to make her yours?’
    â€˜Soon as I feel Sofie’s not mourning her house and everything in it.’ For the most part that was true; as for the rest, well, his friend didn’t need to know, yet.
    Calum raised his chin, and said, ‘Good call. Takin’ a shower, so I’m not thinking weird when I hit the sack,’ the humour in his voice unmistakable as he sauntered down the hall to