parts to make up one heck of a whole. Even with his eyes wide open he could picture those sexy feline green eyes that a certain school nurse had kept tilting up at him underneath a long set of lashes. Liesel was definitely on a par with just about any adorable-one-minute-and-knee-bucklingly-sexy-the-next movie star he could think of.
Meeting a beautiful woman had been the last thing on his mind when he’d received his transfer notice to move back to the Murray River Valley. Confronting his demons had his plate piled pretty high as it was.
He leaned his head back against the truck’s headrest, one arm navigating the vehicle along the wide country road dividing the vast tracts of vineyards. The cab briefly filled with a bark of laughter as Jack ruefully acknowledged he knew this road so well he could probably close his eyes and daydream all he wanted about Engleton’s new school nurse. As if on cue, his left hand automatically flicked on the indicator and his foot eased off the accelerator before he’d even looked to the right to acknowledge the arched gateway he’d been through thousands of times.
River’s Bend Winery.
His family’s legacy.
His father’s, more specifically. John Granville Keller, locally known as Granville due to his father before him having carried the same name.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, a clutch of tourists stepping out onto the veranda of the modern wine-tasting center. He’d seen the plans but had never seen the real thing. It looked good. Becca had done well.
As if thinking about her was strong enough to draw her to him, he saw a familiar blonde figure emerge from the group on the veranda. He slowed the truck to a stop, just remembering to slip the gear lever into Park before jumping out and giving his sister a good old-fashioned bear hug and swing round.
“Hey, there, stranger. I like the new threads! Fireman blue suits you.”
Good old Becca. He could count on her for not giving him a case of the guilts. That was his father’s specialty.
“You’re looking good, sis! And so’s your new tasting center.” They both turned to give it an appraising look. The sleek modern lines were beautifully crafted to fit in with the lush riverscape surrounding them. He couldn’t wait to have a good nosey round—and snag a chilled bottle of the unoaked chardonnay Becca had been bragging about in her emails.
“It beats that old shack you were so fond of.” He felt his sister give him a good solid jab in the ribs. He gave her a playful jostle in return before turning her to face him, serious this time.
“How are you? Really? Are you good?”
“Really good, Jack. Just missing you. Staying for tea?” She turned her hundred-watt smile on for him and he couldn’t resist pulling her into another deep hug.
“Not today.” She pulled back from the hug with a frown.
He tapped the brim of his CFS cap. “Duty calls!”
It might have been true—but it was an excuse he’d used all too often for the past few years. They’d spoken on the phone a lot, emails, texts—but the real thing was something he missed. Staying away from his family had been harder than he had thought—but if he was ever going to prove to his father that he could amount to something then complete focus was necessary.
Thank heavens Becca was such a star. She knew everything there was to know about River’s Bend—the crops, the land, their impressive output and, more important, she showed a business acumen that would’ve been as natural a match to the Australian Securities Exchange. He was proud to call her his kid sister, even though the ponytails and plaster-covered knees were a thing of the past.
“You know you’re always welcome. No need to wait for an invitation.”
“I know, Bec. I know.” He let her go and made a little show of wiping away some invisible dust on her shoulders. “Right, well. Best get on to see Old Man River, then.”
“Go gently with him, Jack.” His sister’s voice was loving but held a genuine note of caution. “It’s not been easy for him the past few years.”
“I wasn’t the one who forced me to choose between a life in the CFS or the farm.” He instantly regretted his words when he saw the shots of pain in his sister’s eyes and tried to lighten the atmosphere with a playful boxing move. “At least you came out the winner—running a gold-star winery!”
“This was never about winning or losing, Jack.”
“I know.” He pulled one of her hands into his. “I’m sorry, that was a low blow. You’ve done an amazing job here, sis. Far better than I would have. I mean it.”
He gave her a contrite smile. “Don’t worry, Bec. I’m an older and wiser version of ‘that wild Keller boy.’” He did a spot-on imitation of the town’s former roving police officer and enjoyed his sister’s smile at the likeness.
He didn’t have a record. No. But he did have a history. Nothing horrible, just the usual teenager-gone-off-the-rails sort of stuff that happened when … when stuff happened.
He climbed into the truck, threw a wave at his sister and eased the truck into first gear. “We’ll get that dinner soon, I promise!”
Good ol’ Becca. She really was her father’s daughter, growing up steeped in the station’s quirks and customs. Stubborn as a mule and born to work the land. As a little girl, she was always being retrieved by one of the farmhands from among the vines, where she would spend hours painstakingly setting up her own “wine-tasting” sessions for her dolls. His traditional father had just presumed Jack would take over the business and that his sunny-faced daughter would marry well and be content to enjoy River’s Bend from the sidelines.
As a team, they would’ve made quite a dynamic duo. But life hadn’t panned out that way. The winery was her calling and, after his mother’s death, the CFS had been his. Too bad his father hadn’t seen things that way.
Jack began taking deep, slow breaths. He’d need all the reserves of calm he had to get down the long track past the sleek tasting room, the outbuildings that made up the actual winery, and down the slope into the curved drive fronting the stone expanse of the Keller family home. He may not have spent the past four years here but it was definitely home.
The sprawling three hundred hectares encompassed so much. The eucalyptus-rich expanse of river land he had escaped to as a boy on hot summer days. The exquisitely manicured gardens and orchard where he and Becca had played hide-and-seek. The wooded site near the bridge where they’d spread his mother’s ashes after the fateful out-of-control fire so many painful years ago. The new barn built over the burn site as if it would erase the fact Ava Keller had died there. The same barn where he’d had the final, gut-wrenching fight with his father about choosing the fire service over a life on the land.
He stopped for a minute and let himself take in a delicious lungful of the blossoming vines. Coming home was tougher than he had thought. He’d spent virtually every day here until he was twenty-five. He hadn’t thought jumping between a life as a CFS volunteer and his duties at River’s Bend had been such a wayward existence. But his father had—and had forced him to make his choice.
And he had. He was genuinely committed to the fire service and all it stood for out here in the country. The people out here relied on volunteers to help fight the annual bushfires, pry them out of cars, even rescue the odd kitten—or
