Page 11 of The Dairy Farmer's Daughter

"Oh, it sure is." He inhaled her fresh, floral scent. He had always been a sucker for kindness. And pretty girls.

He had never met anyone like Freya before. He liked her slower pace and deep love for her family. The way she was so content in her environment and accepting of other people, even strangers.

"You should give us a chance," she said sweetly.

He raised his eyebrows.

"Maleny. The farm. You might be surprised what you find here."

"I already have been surprised."

She sucked in her lower lip. He breathed out deeply, creating a puff of smoke. "I should go."

Freya reached up on tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Sweet dreams."

He watched as she skipped back up the wooden staircase. Climbing into the car, he already knew that she would be the star of his dreams tonight and they would be sweet. Oh-so sweet.

CHAPTER 4

Justin yawned as he poured boiling water into the coffee plunger he had found in the kitchen cabinet. Maybe he and Boyd did share something in common after all. Even if it was just their taste for freshly brewed coffee.

He had slept surprisingly well last night in Boyd's bed and had woken this morning thinking of Freya. With each sip of coffee, his resolve strengthened. She was a dream. Possible in another life, but not this one. He lived in the city; she lived in the country. Long-distance relationships were hard and he knew it wouldn't work, despite their obvious chemistry. But he would have liked more of that hot, thrilling feeling he experienced whenever their gazes connected.

The responsible thing to do was to leave before things got more complicated. Before he could hit the road though, he needed to see Fred.

He drained the cup of coffee and opened the door to the chilly winter air. Two pairs of oversized boots—one long rubber, one short leather with laces—stood sentry next to the doormat. He pulled the rubber pair on, grateful he had inherited the same-sized feet. A thick raincoat hung above the boots on a hangerand, as he slipped it on, he hoped it would be thick enough for the crisp weather.

The ground was muddy from an overnight shower, and Justin squelched his way to the milking shed. He followed the line of waiting cows into the shed and stopped to survey the scene. The animals were standing either side of a concrete pit where he saw two men working.

Justin pressed his hand to his nose, the combined stench of animal fluids and manure making him gag. He swallowed hard.

"You must be Justin." A thin man in overalls and a woollen hat approached him.

He nodded. "Are you Fred?"

"Sure am." The men shook hands. "Sorry about your dad. He was a good man."

Justin smiled politely and gestured to the cows, slotted into stalls divided by metal rails. "So this is how cows get milked."

Fred put his hands on his hips. "Sure is."

Justin listened as Fred explained how the herringbone shed worked. "The cows come in and angle-park themselves side by side, facing away from the centre pit where the milkers work. It's the same on the other side of the pit, so the cows together form a herringbone pattern. A rail at breast-height prevents the cows from moving forward, and they are released together through a gate once milking has finished.

"Each cow has its own individual identification tag. The machines check them while they're milking and track their weight, milk quantity, and anything else we need to track."

A new group of cows entered the stalls and Justin watched as the pumps were cleaned and attached. The technology involved was impressive, and his mind automatically started imagining how it all worked and possible improvements. Perhaps an app?

"What happens if a cow is missing?"

"The machine alerts us. We have built a herd history for ongoing herd management and decision-making. Boyd was always thinking about the farms’ long-term future." Something flickered over Fred's face. Grief?

Justin looked around. The milkers were busy doing various jobs and he realised he was taking up Fred's time with all his questions. "I see you’re busy," he said. "How can I help?"

Sweat trickled down Freya's neck despite the winter-cool temperature. She slowed her horse, Nutmeg, to a walk and scanned the lush scenery around her. Another beautiful day had dawned on the range, and she was full of hope and joy. Thoughts of Justin filled her every waking minute, and she had found herself up at dawn despite not being on the milking roster.

There was something different about Justin Wheeler. His slim exterior and brawn, his solid shoulders, his thick arms. And those hands. Not callused and rough like those of the country boys she was used to, but still not perfectly smooth either. Nor was he soft around the middle like so many urbanites were. He obviously looked after himself—probably had a gym membership and used it. She certainly enjoyed looking at him and touching him.

She liked the way he reacted to her touch. The spurs of electricity that sparked between them.

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