Page 91 of Sugarloaf Ridge Lies

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Liv

Jerry lifts his headas if it weighs a tonne, then shrugs. He can barely focus on me.

This isn’t the first night Jerry’s been out here drinking and doing paperwork. I can barely get through the night without my bladder bursting, and I’ve heard him out here, snuck up on him, and watched from afar. Until now, I haven’t been courageous enough to ask him what keeps him up at night. With how physical his work is, he should be dead on his feet and sleeping soundly.Although, my nightmares wake him too often. He’s helping me, and I need to return the favour somehow.

I sit on the chair beside him, take the empty glass within his grip, then place my hand in his. “Let me help. I’m good with taxes and stuff.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as his red-rimmed eyes flit over my face. “Nah, I don’t wanna trouble you with it.”

Is he too proud? What?

We’re growing close and I want to be around him more. Dancing tonight took me back to when we first met when we didn’t have a care in the world and we could just be. But there’s something that brings Jerry down and has him reaching for the bottle.

“Please, Jerry. It’s the least I can do.”

Silence stretches between us as he shuffles the papers into a stack and scrapes his hand down his face, covering his mouth, elbows on the table.

He doesn’t want to share this part of him with me.

Does he believe it’ll make me think less of him?

“There’s nothing you could share with me that would make me think differently of you,” I say as some kind of reassurance.

He tilts his head. “It’s a fuckin’ mess,” he admits, his voice thick.

I smooth my hand over his shoulder. “Hey, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“I should’ve taken the easier route. Ploughed the whole damn thing and planted canola. Or put cattle on it.”

I slide my hand down to rest on the taught muscle of his forearm. “There’s a reason why you didn’t though, am I right?”

Jerry huffs out a breath. “I wanted somethin’ different, you know? It was a challenge. I visited this property in all its glory when I was a kid. I was amazed by it. The brilliant colour, the drunken high of the earthy floral scent. It was fuckin’ beautiful.” He reaches out and tucks the long strands of hair behind my ear.

“Hold onto that dream, and let me help.”

As Jerry sobers up, switching from booze to coffee, I try to make sense of his finances. It’s clear he’s in trouble. I don’t say as much, but it’s written all over his face. The business is disorganised; there’s no set path—what he’s outlaid, what he’s projecting, and when he’s expecting the fruits of his labour.

“Do you have a business plan?” I ask.

Jerry’s brows pull tight as he folds his arms across his broad chest. “Yeah, grow stuff and make money.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m serious. You need a plan.”

“I’m just a farmer. My accountant used to handle stuff for me with the fencing business, but he moved after I bought the land. Haven’t had a chance to find a new one.”

“So you’re behind in your taxes?”

The muscles in his jaw tick. “Yeah, that’s between you, me, and the lamp post, though.”

“That’s okay. I can give you hand until you find a new one. But you need a plan for the farm. I’ll help. It’s non-negotiable.”

He tilts his head. “You’d do that for me?”

I nod. “Of course. If we can establish you as a primary producer, you’ll be entitled to tax concessions.”

“Isn’t being a primary producer when you’re runnin’ livestock or felling trees?”

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