Page 50 of The Knitting Club at Wagtail Ridge

‘I’m sure they do, but they can’t take all of the credit.’ He flashed her that smile one more time.

‘Come on, Vicki, I think it’s time we headed back,’ Bree called. ‘Nan is back at the house, baking. She will probably have some biscuits for us.’ She led the way out of their sunlit clearing and down the hill.

CHAPTER

19

The shearers arrived on Monday. By lunchtime, Rose was preparing her second run from the kitchen to the stables with food for Bree, Maggie and the shearing team. She’d spent yesterday baking Anzac biscuits and a cake. Matt and Vicki had tested them for her after their walk, declaring them very good indeed, a feeling echoed by the shearers as they devoured them all during morning smoko. Her more recent kitchen efforts had been directed at the sandwiches, sausage rolls and chicken legs that she was about to serve for lunch. After she’d cleaned this lot up, she’d throw some more biscuits and pastries in the oven for afternoon smoko. It was hard work—and she was loving it.

When Bree had asked her if she would come up for a couple of days to help out during the shearing, she’d said yes without hesitation. She wanted to help Bree, of course, and she was interested in her project. But more than that, Rose was, quite simply, lonely. She didn’t want to intrude on Bree, but her visits to Wagtail Ridge were the thing she most looked forward to now. The ladies of the knitting club were fast replacing the old friends she never saw any more.

Maybe it was time to think about taking the same leap of faith that Bree had and find a new place for herself, and a new life. Before it was too late.

The box of food wasn’t heavy, but as she approached the stables, a man appeared at her side.

‘Here. Let me carry that for you.’

Rose cast him a quick sideways glance and managed to keep her eyebrows under control. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’

‘You are very welcome. I want to thank you for taking such good care of me and my crew.’

He was a man of about her own age, maybe a year or two younger. She’d noticed him moving about the shearing group earlier, but in all the hustle of setting up for the day’s work, she hadn’t taken a good look. And he was certainly worth a good look. A very good look. He was sexy! Was it all right to find a man sexy at her age? Definitely. Besides, there was no other word to describe him. He was tall, but not too tall. Well muscled, but not overly so. His dark hair was lightly sprinkled with grey, as was the stubble on his chin. Rose had never really liked designer stubble as a look, but this was different. On this man, the stubble was not so much an affectation, as affecting. Affecting her, at least.

Feeling more than a little flustered, Rose followed him into a corner of the shed, where he set the load down on a table. It was still cool outside, but the shearers were working up a sweat, and most had stripped to just T-shirts and jeans. That was always a good look on a fit and healthy man, even if he was no longer exactly young.

The man was looking at her as if expecting something … Oh, yes. A reply.

‘It’s a pleasure,’ she managed.

‘I’m Mike, by the way. Mike Stowe. I have the great misfortune to lead this gang of reprobates.’ He held out his hand, looked at it dubiously then wiped it on his jeans.

‘I’m Rose.’ She took the newly cleaned hand, conscious of its strength and the roughness caused by years of hard work.

‘Bree said you were her grandmother. You don’t look old enough for that.’

Rose felt the colour rising to her cheeks. She should tell him to stop. But she didn’t. She liked it.

‘Grub’s up,’ Mike called to the rest of the team.

The shearing crew was four men and one woman who described herself as ‘the alpaca whisperer’. They’d arrived early this morning and Bree and Maggie had been working with them ever since to get the whole herd done in a day. The work had progressed smoothly, or so it seemed to Rose. Maggie had been learning quickly since Bree had hired her and today was guiding the animals one by one into the shed as if she’d been doing it for years. The animal was lifted gently by two men and laid on its side, its feet trussed. While the ‘whisperer’ held the animal’s head down, one person wielded frighteningly sharp-looking electric clippers, while the third gently pulled the fleece away, placing it in bags according to its quality. The best fleece, Rose had learned, came from the creature’s body. The neck and legs gave a lesser fibre. It all looked pretty undignified from the alpaca’s point of view, but once they were back on their feet, they seemed none the worse for the experience, and settled back into their favourite pastime, eating.

Eating was on human minds too. After serving everyone, Rose took a sandwich for herself and settled on a bale of hay to eat.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’

Mind? ‘Of course not.’

Mike settled himself next to her with a paper plate piled high with the product of her labours. Rose nibbled the edges of her sandwich like some schoolgirl who’d suddenly found herself sharing a bench with the captain of the football team.

‘Good tucker. Thanks.’

‘My pleasure.’ She winced. She had to do better than that. ‘So, how long have you been shearing alpacas?’

‘All my life. Well, not only alpacas. My dad was a shearer and I joined his crew as soon as I was old enough to hold a set of shears. Back then it was just sheep and we travelled all over. Right up to the territory. Down to Victoria. One year we even went across to WA.’

‘That must have been an exciting life.’

‘For a young, single man, it sure was. Didn’t work so well after I got married.’

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