The Dairy Farmer's Daughter Read online

  Praise for Sarah Williams

  I had a lovely afternoon devouring The Outback Governess. This was my introduction to the writing of Sarah Williams. The Outback Governess was a lovely story touching on many themes including family, grief, autism and love. Highly recommend for an afternoon escape. The Brothers of Brigadier Station, which has been downloaded already!

  Louise Guy

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  This book had so much going on in it and all of it was so good. I really enjoyed the story-line and the characters who will touch your heart. Interesting and well-written and definitely worth reading.

  Judy A Phillips

  The Dairy Farmer’s Daughter

  Sarah Williams

  Copyright © 2018 by Sarah Williams

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This publication is a work of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, places and organisations are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  To my father, Paul.

  Once a farmer, always a farmer.

  Also to Lynda, for taking care of him for us.

  About the Author

  Nominated Best Debut Author (2017) Australian Romance Readers Association

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  Nominated Best New Romance Author (2017) AusRom Today

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  Sarah Williams spent her childhood chasing sheep, riding horses and picking Kiwi fruit on the family orchard in rural New Zealand. After a decade travelling, Sarah moved to Queensland to raise a family and follow her passion for writing. She currently resides in Maleny on the Sunshine Coast Hinterland, Australia.

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  When she's not absorbed in her fictional writing world, Sarah is running after her family of four kids, one husband, two dogs, a spirited horse and a cat. She hosts the weekly writer podcast/vlog Write with Love, runs writers workshops, mentors and supports her peers achieve their publishing dreams.

  * * *

  Sarah is regularly checking social media when she really should be cleaning.

  You can find her online at:

  www.sarahwilliamsauthor.com

  Join her mailing list to read for free!

  https://bit.ly/2QzxDrR

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  Also by Sarah Williams

  Sarah Williams

  The Brothers of Brigadier Station

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  The light shining from the house beckoned Freya Montgomery home with the promise of a refreshing shower and a hot coffee. The sun was just peeking over the mountain range as she slogged through the rain-soaked mud back to the house. Bird calls, combined with the unmistakable bellowing of cows, became an animal symphony.

  Even in the dark, she knew the way home from the milking shed. She knew exactly where the path turned and where the paved steps began. She had been travelling this track her entire life, as a baby in her mother’s arms and now as a grown woman working the dairy farm and business with her family.

  Denver, their ever-faithful dog, climbed the stairs and reached the terrace first. He slurped water from his bowl before plonking himself down by the door. His tail thumped on the floorboards and his jowls almost seemed like they were grinning.

  Freya reached down and scratched the Kelpie’s head. "Good boy, Denny."

  Letting the dog return to stand sentinel at the front door, she yanked off her muddy boots and thick, waterproof jacket. She opened the door and stepped inside the warm house. A fire was blazing in the hearth, and the welcoming smell of brewing coffee filled the air.

  "Freya?" Her sister, Greer, was crouched at the fridge, the door wide open. "Did you eat all the blueberries? I wanted to make muffins."

  Freya padded softly over in her thick woollen socks and joined her sister on the floor. "I had to hide them from Dad. I saw him eyeing them off last night." Freya reached her arm into the refrigerator, pushed aside a loaf of bread, and pulled out a large plastic container of plump berries.

  "Thanks. I really didn't want to make scones again." Greer took the punnet and the women stood up.

  Greer hunched her shoulders and pinched the tip of her nose with her fingers. "Sis, you know I love you, but you stink. Please get out of my kitchen."

  Freya stepped closer and drew in a long breath. "Don't you like my perfume? Eue de Bovine?"

  Greer squirmed and pushed her away.

  "Geez, I'd have thought you'd be used to the smell after all these years," Freya said.

  "You guys do the milking, I do the cooking. That's the agreement." She wagged her finger, but the smile on her face was the same spirited one she used whenever they played their sister-squabble games.

  Freya wrapped her arms around Greer, rubbing the smell onto her sister’s clothes. "And we all love your cooking, Sis." She planted a big sloppy kiss on her cheek before letting go.

  “Morning, girls.” Their mother, Nina, entered the room and came over to kiss both her daughters. Freya inhaled her mother’s floral perfume as she hugged her, the smell adding another level of comfort to the embrace.

  “How did the milking go this morning?” Nina asked her.

  “Good. Dad's waiting for the vet to come and preg-test the heifers." Freya made two cups of coffee as she continued chatting to her mum and Greer worked around her, busily baking.

  The cows at Emerald Hills were milked twice a day, every single day, even in winter when the temperature in Maleny dropped close to zero. Even then the cows would still line up in front of the shed, waiting for their meals, milking, and daily check-ups.

  “There you go.” Greer placed a plate with four pieces of toast spread with a thin layer of Vegemite on the table for the women.

  “Thank you, darling.” Her mother’s voice was full of affection and gratitude. The women sat down and took a piece each.

  "Will you have time to help us set out the food for Boyd's wake today?” Nina asked Freya.

  "I've got a few things on. Updating the website is doing my head in. I can’t figure out the back-end coding. I think I need to call in an expert."

  Greer sat next to her and sipped her coffee. "I thought you were the expert. You know all that technical stuff - that's what you're paid for."

  "Hey, I'm the marketing department, not IT. I can do social media in my sleep, but HTML codes are practically a different language." She bit into her toast and let the yeasty taste of the vegemite fill her mouth. "What time does the funeral start again?"

  Nina glanced at her watch. "The funeral is at one at the church. We'll need to set up the tables and food before it starts."

  "Okay.” Freya nodded. “I still think it's good of you to do all this for Boyd."

  "Well, his son didn't seem very interested. If we'd left it up to him, I doubt there would be a funeral at all.
" Nina shrugged.

  "Who is this son? Is he coming today?" Greer leaned forward. The girls knew so little about their neighbour, even though he had lived next door to them his entire life.

  "His name is Justin. He's about Greer's age," Nina said. "I've spoken to him a couple of times about the plans and have invited him. He didn't say for sure whether he would come or not."

  “It’s his dad. What kind of person doesn’t want to go to their own father’s funeral?” Greer screwed up her face.

  "Do you remember him at all? Has he ever been back?" Freya asked. She had heard the story that Boyd's wife had only lived with him on the farm for a few years. The marriage had fallen apart, and she had taken their young son to Brisbane when he was only four years’ old.

  "He was a sweet-natured child, but we didn’t see them much. I tried to be neighbourly to his mother, Barbara, but I had a toddler of my own and was pregnant, and there was so much going on here, with Bill starting the factory and everything. Dairying is a hard life—you know that. Not everyone is cut out for it."

  "But he never came back? Not even for a visit?" Greer asked.

  Nina shook her head. "No, Boyd was alone until the day he died. Poor man. He put his farm ahead of everything, even his own health. He literally killed himself by working too hard."

  The girls nodded in agreement. Over the years Boyd had grown frailer, but when people had tried to help him, his pride got in the way and he waved their generosity off.

  "We have to make sure Dad stays healthy and takes more breaks. He's not getting any younger," Freya said. She and her father both shared the same love of the land and animals. He had tried to send her away to the city, but it hadn't suited her, the hustle and bustle. She had returned to Maleny after university with a business degree and a plan to help the growing family business.

  Freya swallowed the last of her toast and stood. "I better get going so I can help you then. You know people will show up early for a yarn."

  "They sure will. Thanks for all your help organising this, girls. I really appreciate it," Nina said and kissed each of them in turn.

  "No problem, Mum. What's family for?" Greer smiled. "I'll be up soon, but first I'm going to change into something that doesn't smell like I've been cleaning out manure."

  Freya laughed. "Good idea. That wouldn't be very nice for the customers."

  Out the window, the sun was shining its golden rays over the hills, warming the dew from the grass and promising a glorious day ahead on the Sunshine Coast Hinterland.

  Chapter 2

  Justin would have preferred to stay in the city and pretend it was an ordinary day. A day that didn’t include a funeral for a father he’d barely known.

  When he’d discussed it with his mother on the phone the night before, she’d been sympathetic. "I'd go, but people might recognise me as his ex-wife and I don't want to make it all about me.”

  “I don’t want to go,” he spoke thinly around the avocado-seed-sized lump in his throat. “I haven’t seen him in more than twenty years. But I have a feeling that I’ll regret it if I don’t.”

  “You don’t have to stay long, stand at the back of the church and don’t draw attention to yourself."

  And that was just what he intended to do. He had purposely arrived at five minutes to one.

  He hadn't counted on the parking lot being full and having to leave the car all the way up the road.

  He ran his palms down his trousers as he neared the open church doors. He was clean-shaven and smartly dressed in his nicest work suit. If anyone found out who he was, at least he’d look the part of a grieving son.

  Not that he was.

  He didn't remember anything about Boyd Wheeler. Or living in Maleny. All he knew was that Boyd had never tried to be a part of his life after he'd left the farm. Not a visit, not a phone call, not even an old-fashioned letter in the mail.

  Rejection was all he knew from his father. So why did he feel the need to come? To be here for the man who had never been there for him?

  Boyd had never attended a soccer game, an awards ceremony, or even his school graduation. His stepfather had though. His stepfather had been his dad, the male role model in his life and, alongside his mother, had raised him to be the man he was today.

  The man that knew he was better than Boyd Wheeler. He would never reject his family. He could not miss this funeral and risk spending even a minute regretting it.

  He nodded at the usher in the foyer who handed him the program. He looked down at the candid shot of Boyd. It looked like it had originally been a group shot and the designer had cropped everyone else out of it and zoomed in.

  Justin had expected him to have aged and changed from the photos his mother had kept, but he wasn’t prepared for the frail old man who stared back at him.

  He could have been mistaken for a much older man, not the fifty-four-year-old he was when he’d died of a heart attack.

  Justin studied the features of the former Wheeler patriarch. Wrinkles, receding hairline, and age spots all over his face. He studied it for a hint of resemblance, but whether it was because he couldn't see it, or simply didn't want to, nothing jumped out.

  He followed the sound of chatter into the main church hall and paused abruptly to stare around the crowded room filled with people he didn't recognise.

  He shuffled past the crowd and tried to remain discreet in a darkened corner. Then he caught a woman squinting at him and knew he had been spotted. She was his mother's age, dressed in a smart black suit with long greying hair, and was walking directly towards him.

  "Justin?" She had a kind, sweet voice.

  He nodded and gave her his best leave-me-alone smile.

  "I'm Nina Montgomery. We spoke on the phone."

  He recognised her voice now. The quiet determination she had used to convince him to have a funeral. Justin had wanted to send the body straight to the crematorium, without a service of any kind.

  "Oh, hi." He shook her hand, the polite, well-mannered man his mother had raised taking over. "Thank you for doing all this."

  "Of course. Everyone deserves a good send-off." She looked at him with eyes full of sympathy. "Now, come sit with us, and I'll let the minister know he can start."

  He followed her to the front pew, conscious of people pointing and whispering around him. So much for not being recognised. His mother had warned him what small towns were like; everyone knew everyone and all their business. Justin liked his privacy and hated being the centre of attention. That's why he worked on computers all day. Alone.

  "These are my daughters, Greer and Freya, and my husband, Mark," Nina said, pointing to two attractive young women and an older man, who nodded back. They all had warm smiles and friendly faces.

  One of the women shifted over so he could sit beside her. He took the spot with a tight smile and sat on the cushioned bench.

  The minister started speaking and it struck Justin that he didn't know if Boyd had been a religious man. His father and Barbara had been married in a church in Brisbane, surrounded by her family and friends. Boyd's own parents had died young and his mother had told him that there had been no one else to invite from his side. His funeral was the opposite, with standing room only and a sombre silent congregation.

  All Justin knew of his father was what his mother had told him. His birthday was 12 December; he owned a small dairy farm in Maleny. Barbara had been notified of his death—still named as his next of kin after all these years.

  It had taken twenty-six hours before anyone had realised Boyd was missing. He was only found when the farm manager had gone looking for him to help with the afternoon milking.

  Boyd Wheeler had died alone.

  Justin turned his head to take in the strangers sitting around him. Were all these people Boyd's friends? Had he been able to fill his life with mateship, so he didn't feel the loss of his son and family?

  The minister invited Mark Montgomery to deliver the eulogy, and Justin watched as Nina’s husband stood be
hind the lectern and addressed the congregation.

  Mark had a deep voice and a serious face. “Boyd and I were neighbours all our lives. He was a couple of grades above me at Maleny school, and I remember him being a quiet but astute student. He dropped out when he was fifteen to dairy with his dad, who then died a couple of years later. His mother was already gone, so he was on his own."

  There was nodding and murmurs from the crowd, as though everyone was pausing to remember Boyd's parents and think about their own.

  "He married Barbara in Brisbane, and he brought her here to live. They had one child, a son, Justin."

  He felt the stares on the back of his neck and sunk lower in his seat.

  Mark continued in his solid, stable voice. “They were happy for a few years, but as often happens, dairying wasn’t the life for Barbara, so she and Justin moved back to the city to be closer to her family. Boyd stayed on and ran the farm faithfully. He employed many locals over the years including Fred, his farm manager, and even the odd European backpacker. Like the rest of us, Boyd endured the ups and downs of the dairy industry, and when others gave up and left the land, he held onto his farm and cows, because that was the kind of bloke Boyd was."

  Justin looked down at the picture again. His father had lived simply and quietly. If he was lonely, it was his own damn fault. If he had wanted to be in his son's life, he could have been. Justin and Barbara would have found a place for him in their lives. Barbara had called and written often over the years.