I’ve never actually been on one.’
‘Why don’t you come home with me next weekend?’ Bella suggested with a sudden beaming smile. ‘We could go together after work on Friday. It only takes a little over an hour. You can meet Kent and I can show you where we’re planning to have the wedding, and you can help me to nut out the details.’
‘Wow. That sounds wonderful.’
‘Actually, you know how hopeless I am at organising. I’ll probably hand you pen and paper and a list of phone numbers for caterers.’
‘That’s OK.’ No doubt it was pathetic, but Zoe loved to feel needed. ‘I’d love to come. Are you sure there’s room for me to stay?’
‘Of course I’m sure. We won’t stay with my dad. He hasn’t been well and he’d get in a stew about clean sheets and things. We can stay at Willara Downs. The homestead is huge and Kent’s a wonderful host. His parents live in town these days, but they’ll probably come out and you can meet them, too. They’ll welcome you with open arms.’
Again Zoe thought of all the times her parents had whizzed in and out of country towns when she’d longed to stay. She’d been constantly looking in from the outside, never really getting to know the locals.
Now, for a short time, for the first time, she would be an insider.
‘I’d love that. We can take my car,’ she offered, eager to help any way she could. ‘It’s so much easier than getting the bus.’
Already, in her head, she was compiling a list of her bridesmaid’s responsibilities.
Number one—she would support Bella and help her to stay calm through the next nerve-wrangling weeks. Perhaps she would also help her to address the wedding invitations, and then there would be a hen night to arrange … and a bridal shower …
It was going to be fabulous. She was determined to carry out every task to the very best of her ability. Her aim was nothing less than perfection.
CHAPTER TWO
THE next weekend, fifteen kilometres from Willara Downs, Zoe heard an unmistakable flap, flap, flap coming from her car’s rear tyre. Her stomach took a dive. Not now. Please, no!
But it was useless to hope. She’d heard that flapping sound too many times in her childhood—her dad had always been changing flat tyres on their bus. Now she knew with sickening certainty that she had no choice but to pull over onto the grassy verge and try to remember what to do.
It wasn’t fun to be alone, though, on the edge of an unknown country road at dusk on a Friday evening. Zoe wished she hadn’t been so convincing when she’d assured Bella she’d be fine to drive on to Willara Downs by herself, while Bella visited her dad.
Two days ago, Bella’s father had been admitted to hospital. Apparently, Kent Rigby had found Mr Shaw in a very bad state and insisted on rushing him in to Willara.
Understandably, Bella had been beside herself with anxiety and Zoe had dropped her in town.
‘Kent’s not answering his phone, so he’s probably out on the farm, but he’ll understand if you turn up alone,’ Bella had assured her.
‘And one of us will come back to pick you up in an hour or so,’ Zoe suggested.
‘Yes, that will be great.’
And so … after expressing the wish that Mr Shaw was much improved, Zoe had set off happily enough—at least she was driving her own car and she felt at ease behind the wheel. And apart from concern about Mr Shaw’s illness, she was dead excited about this weekend away and getting to meet Bella’s fiancé … seeing the wedding venue … being part of the planning.
The very last thing she needed was a flat tyre.
Damn.
Briefly, Zoe toyed with the idea of trying the Willara Downs number to see if Kent Rigby could help. But it was such a bad way to start the weekend, to be seen as a useless city chick who wouldn’t even try to fix a simple problem by herself.
Resigned, she climbed out. The tyre was as flat as a burst balloon, and she went to her boot to hunt for the jack and the thingamabob that loosened the wheel nuts.
Mosquitoes buzzed as she hunted. The jack was, of course, buried under all the luggage—two overnight bags, two make-up bags, two sets of hot rollers.
‘You never know, there might be a party,’ Bella had said.
Now, with their belongings scattered haphazardly on the side of the road, Zoe squatted beside the wheel, positioned the jack and got on with turning its handle.
So far so good … except she didn’t really know how high she was supposed to raise the car. And once that was done … she wasn’t certain she was strong enough to loosen the wheel nuts. They looked mighty tight. And even if she did get them off, would she be able to tighten them up again?
Zoe’s unhelpfully vivid imagination threw up a picture of her car driving off with the back wheel spinning free and bouncing into the bush, while she struggled with an out-of-control steering wheel.
Maybe she should try to ring for help.
Standing again, she reached into the car for her handbag. As usual, because she really needed it, her phone had slipped from its handy side pouch to the very bottom of her bag, so she had to feel around among movie tickets, keys, lipsticks, pens, old shopping lists, tissues …
She was still fumbling when she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. Her spirits lifted. This might be nice, friendly country folk only too happy to stop and help her.
The thought was barely formed, however, before Zoe felt a shaft of hot panic. If only she hadn’t watched all those horror movies. Here she was—totally alone in the silent, empty bush wondering if the driver was an axe murderer, an escaped prisoner, a rapist.
She made a final, frantic fumble in the bottom of her bag, and her fingers closed around her phone just as a white utility vehicle shot around the curve.
There was only one person in the ute and all she could see was a black silhouette, distinctly masculine. He was slowing down.
Zoe’s nervous heart gave a sickening thud as his ute came to a complete stop and he leaned out, one strong, suntanned forearm resting casually on the window’s rim.
In panic, she depressed the call button on her phone and glanced quickly at the screen.
No signal. She was out of the network. Oh, terrific. There was no hope of a rescue.
‘Need a hand?’ the driver called.
At least he had a friendly voice—mellow and warm with a hint of good humour.
Zoe gulped, and forced herself to look at him properly. She saw dark, neatly trimmed hair and dark eyes. Not threatening eyes, but genial, friendly, and framed by a handsome face. Nicely proportioned nose, strong jaw and a generous mouth.
Already his door was swinging open, and he stepped out.
