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Authors: Fiona Palmer
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understand how this could happen: how could she be physically attracted to someone she didn’t even like? And she sure as hell didn’t like Daniel Tyler. Jonny could smell danger a mile off, even if it was Calvin Klein–scented.
Chapter 7
JONELLE pulled up at the pub. She wasn’t there for Daniel, she was there because it’s where she always went on a Friday night and why should she start changing her routine now? This was her town and her pub. With a bit of luck, he wouldn’t even turn up.
She entered through the grand front door, her painted toes sparkling in her thongs, and hoped Den wouldn’t make her change. Renae was right. Her toes really did look good. It was still warm outside but inside the air was cool against her legs. She had a checked shirt tied around her waist to pull over her khaki singlet for when the night cooled down.
‘Cute shorts,’ said old man Brad, who stood by the jukebox with a beer in his hand and his grey mullet a mess.
‘Would you like to try them on?’ Jonny asked, eyeing off his hairy legs and knobbly wrinkled knees.
He chuckled and gave her a wink.
‘Hey, don’t go putting on that crap again,’ she said when she saw his finger hovering over the jukebox. ‘Dennis can’t afford to have all his patrons falling asleep. Why don’t ya put on Shannon Noll or at least some Chisel?’ she said.
Brad screwed up his face, and groaned.
‘Look, I’ll buy you the bloody CD so you can play it at home. Just don’t put it on in the pub, all right?’
Brad’s smile was lopsided but genuine. He was a Friday night regular who worked for the shire grading roads. He didn’t look like much, but you couldn’t find a better man to grade your road.
Jonny walked up to the bar. ‘Hey, Dennis. The usual, thanks,’ she said, laying a twenty on the bar.
Dennis looked like he sampled each beer before giving it to his customers. His extra-large shirt flared over his huge belly like a circus tent, you couldn’t even see his shorts underneath. But he had a full head of hair, a great smile and he knew the locals well. Renae liked working for him; he was pretty flexible, letting her have time off if she needed it. Mind you, he knew that he sold more beer when Renae was behind the bar, so he couldn’t afford to lose her.
‘Nae’s just ducked into the kitchen. Shouldn’t be long. Cook’s chuckin’ a hissy about the seafood.’
‘Ah, right. Best get the chicken tonight, then.’
‘I’d say so,’ said Dennis with a knowing smile as he went to the end of the bar to serve another local.
‘Hey, Jonny,’ said the sunburnt old man beside her.
‘Hey, Harold. How’s things?’ She nudged his shoulder affectionately.
‘You know, could be better.’ Harold rubbed his eyes, the frown lines creasing across his forehead and the long hairs in his eyebrows sticking out at all angles. He was in his sixties and had a farm north of town. Harold had no sons so he was battling on his own, his wife Sheila by his side as they couldn’t afford a worker.
‘Yep, we’ll all drink to that,’ she said, taking a sip of her beer. ‘Hey, Den? Harold needs another,’ she said, catching him as he walked past.
‘Thanks, Jonny,’ Harold said, taking the full glass from Dennis. After a large gulp he hung his head again. ‘Bloody got a meeting with that new bank manager next week. It’s got Sheila and me all worked up.’
‘It’s not serious, is it?’ Jonny asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know, love. He wasn’t giving much away on the phone. We’re doin’ the best that we can, but it’s just not good enough. Can’t make the weather do what we want and we can’t sell up. We don’t know any other way of life.’
She put her hand on Harold’s arm. Worn, damaged skin but underneath she felt the strength of an honest man from the land. ‘How’s Sheila going?’
‘You know Sheila. She’s at home knitting me more bloody socks.’
‘I told you she should sell them on eBay.’
‘I need her on
Chapter 7
JONELLE pulled up at the pub. She wasn’t there for Daniel, she was there because it’s where she always went on a Friday night and why should she start changing her routine now? This was her town and her pub. With a bit of luck, he wouldn’t even turn up.
She entered through the grand front door, her painted toes sparkling in her thongs, and hoped Den wouldn’t make her change. Renae was right. Her toes really did look good. It was still warm outside but inside the air was cool against her legs. She had a checked shirt tied around her waist to pull over her khaki singlet for when the night cooled down.
‘Cute shorts,’ said old man Brad, who stood by the jukebox with a beer in his hand and his grey mullet a mess.
‘Would you like to try them on?’ Jonny asked, eyeing off his hairy legs and knobbly wrinkled knees.
He chuckled and gave her a wink.
‘Hey, don’t go putting on that crap again,’ she said when she saw his finger hovering over the jukebox. ‘Dennis can’t afford to have all his patrons falling asleep. Why don’t ya put on Shannon Noll or at least some Chisel?’ she said.
Brad screwed up his face, and groaned.
‘Look, I’ll buy you the bloody CD so you can play it at home. Just don’t put it on in the pub, all right?’
Brad’s smile was lopsided but genuine. He was a Friday night regular who worked for the shire grading roads. He didn’t look like much, but you couldn’t find a better man to grade your road.
Jonny walked up to the bar. ‘Hey, Dennis. The usual, thanks,’ she said, laying a twenty on the bar.
Dennis looked like he sampled each beer before giving it to his customers. His extra-large shirt flared over his huge belly like a circus tent, you couldn’t even see his shorts underneath. But he had a full head of hair, a great smile and he knew the locals well. Renae liked working for him; he was pretty flexible, letting her have time off if she needed it. Mind you, he knew that he sold more beer when Renae was behind the bar, so he couldn’t afford to lose her.
‘Nae’s just ducked into the kitchen. Shouldn’t be long. Cook’s chuckin’ a hissy about the seafood.’
‘Ah, right. Best get the chicken tonight, then.’
‘I’d say so,’ said Dennis with a knowing smile as he went to the end of the bar to serve another local.
‘Hey, Jonny,’ said the sunburnt old man beside her.
‘Hey, Harold. How’s things?’ She nudged his shoulder affectionately.
‘You know, could be better.’ Harold rubbed his eyes, the frown lines creasing across his forehead and the long hairs in his eyebrows sticking out at all angles. He was in his sixties and had a farm north of town. Harold had no sons so he was battling on his own, his wife Sheila by his side as they couldn’t afford a worker.
‘Yep, we’ll all drink to that,’ she said, taking a sip of her beer. ‘Hey, Den? Harold needs another,’ she said, catching him as he walked past.
‘Thanks, Jonny,’ Harold said, taking the full glass from Dennis. After a large gulp he hung his head again. ‘Bloody got a meeting with that new bank manager next week. It’s got Sheila and me all worked up.’
‘It’s not serious, is it?’ Jonny asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know, love. He wasn’t giving much away on the phone. We’re doin’ the best that we can, but it’s just not good enough. Can’t make the weather do what we want and we can’t sell up. We don’t know any other way of life.’
She put her hand on Harold’s arm. Worn, damaged skin but underneath she felt the strength of an honest man from the land. ‘How’s Sheila going?’
‘You know Sheila. She’s at home knitting me more bloody socks.’
‘I told you she should sell them on eBay.’
‘I need her on
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