up with good manners. Great.’ Serena smiled. ‘Mum, meet Ritchie. Ritchie, meet my mum, Marjorie.’
Marjorie crossed her arms across her chest. A barrier to stop any advances. No kiss on the cheek. No shake of the hand. Not a problem. He wasn’t interested in playing happy families.
‘As for the pub…’ Serena casually opened the fridge door and scanned the contents. ‘He can’t. I called Tony and he’s all booked up, and he can’t stay with me. I’m too busy with the shop to cater for his wants and needs. Also, we’re broken up. It would be unseemly.’
Boom. Another punch to the gut.
‘So you’ve brought him to us?’ Marjorie’s grip tightened around herself. ‘We don’t have time to entertain. Your father and I are busy on the farm, doing what used to be your share of the work. And I’m in the thick of organising the Rabbits Leap Farmer of the Year Awards.’
Serena didn’t even bother to hide her eye roll as she shut the fridge door, an apple in hand. ‘You? Busy with all the awards stuff?’ She snorted. ‘That’s not what I heard. Jody says Christian’s got it well in hand. Organizing catering, sorting out the judges, ensuring all the award entries are correct…’
‘Yes, well…’ Marjorie waved away the accusation. ‘Someone still has to oversee the event. It’s not like he’s done this particular kind before. Despite the success of the Big Little Festival I can’t entrust him completely with the awards. He’s already tried to get us regional coverage. He doesn’t yet understand that the last thing this town needs on Christmas Eve is to be overrun by media. And quite frankly, that also means we don’t need the likes of him here.’ She jerked her head in Ritchie’s direction. ‘Christmas in Rabbits Leap is a time of community, of everyone’s nearest and dearest coming together. Laughter, love, celebration. And a good dose of frivolity. It’s not a time for us to court the attention of outsiders. Which is why that man can’t be here.’
Ritchie bristled. ‘That man’? Really? He wasn’t just ‘that man’ – he was Ritchie Dangerfield. The world’s biggest rock star. Women worshipped him. Men admired him. He was respected by the industry.
His carefully constructed bravado threatened to fold in on itself as he noted the disdainful shrivel of Marjorie’s nose.
Damn it. He wasn’t a confused little boy. Not anymore. And there was no way he would allow the woman before him to treat him like he was nothing and no one. That time was long gone. And he’d sworn no one was dragging him down to that level ever again.
He pulled out the golden-stained oak chair, straddled it and sat down on its padded forest-green leather seat. He folded his arms loosely over the top rung and lazily tipped his head to the side. ‘Sorry, Marjorie, I’m not going anywhere. Not until Serena agrees to come back with me.’
‘Oh, really?’ Marjorie’s hands flew to her hips. Her eyes narrowed at the exact time her daughter’s did.
Ritchie’s lips twitched, threatened to smirk. He pursed them, kept them still. If he was to stay with this woman he didn’t want to further antagonise her. But he wasn’t going to have her thinking she could treat him like dirt either.
‘You think Serena’s going back to LA, with you?’ Marjorie’s laugh boomed through the kitchen, bouncing off the walls. ‘Well good luck with that, because it’s never going to happen. Serena’s made it clear she wants to stay in Rabbits Leap, even if she doesn’t want to stay here on the farm, with us.’
Ritchie caught a hint of sadness in her last words. It appeared abandonment was becoming Serena’s specialty.
‘Geez, Mum, you really need to get over my moving out. It’s been a month. Besides, you and Dad must be enjoying the freedom to be able to roam around naked, chase each other round the kitchen table, get all frisky.’ Serena waggled her brows up and down, a grin sending her cheekbones sky high.
‘Don’t be trying to make light of this Serena. We thought you’d come home for good. Come to farm for good, like we Hunter women have always done. And you were so good on the farm. Thanks to you we’ve gone free-range. You set us up with that dairy co-op who’ll pay us more for our milk. And if all goes well, soon enough we’ll be able to swap to a robotic system for milking.’
‘I do like that idea.’ Roger nodded. ‘It’ll free up time. Hopefully enough that I will be able to chase your mother naked around this here dining table.’
‘Oh, don’t be crass, Roger.’ Marjorie’s cheeks pinked up as she shot him a look of irritation, the smallest of smiles appearing on her lips.
‘Yeah, Dad. It’s okay if I say it, but not you.’ Serena mock shuddered.
Ritchie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His Serena had been a proper farmer these past months? ‘Since when do you know anything about farming?’
‘I grew up on this here dairy farm, remember?’ Serena sank into the chair opposite his and rubbed the apple clean on her neon pink jumper. ‘Also, I may have left the farm but I wasn’t completely disinterested. I’d read things about farming while you were sleeping off the night before. That’s how I figured out playing the herd old school concert music would improve production.’
‘And it made old Daisy a touch happier.’ Marjorie cut in. ‘Although not as happy as you made her, Serena. She’s reverted to glaring at me mutinously again. I think she blames me for your leaving.’
Ritchie straightened up out of his casual slouch as a spark of an idea hit. Serena wanted him to be different. She was also more annoyed than she’d let on that he’d not made an effort to meet her family. Well, he was here. There was nowhere else to stay. Roger appeared to be a good man, although Ritchie more than anyone knew looks could be deceiving. And Marjorie he was sure he could win over, given time. He was hurting. She was hurting. They at least had that foundation to build some sort of relationship on. And if he had her parents onside, perhaps together they could make Serena see sense.
She wanted a different man? She was going to get one.
‘How about I help out with the farm while I’m here? It’s the least I can do if I’m to stay here, to earn my keep. I mean, I could give you money for bills and food too.’
Marjorie flapped her hands. ‘There’s no way we’d take your money. What kind of people do you think we are?’
‘So, is that a yes, Mum?’ Serena bit into her apple. The size of the fruit not quite concealing the triumphant grin that was growing bigger by the second.
‘No. I didn’t say yes. But—’
‘But we can’t have him homeless either.’ Roger went to stand by his wife. His large hand clasping her shoulder. Not in a way that said he controlled the house. That his word was final and there would be ramifications if anyone challenged him. No, that hand was one of reassurance. He was telling his wife it would be okay. To let things unfold. ‘Serena’s right, she has to focus on her shop. And we’re going to have to house the herd soon. The weather’s about to pack in – they’re saying we could well have snow this Christmas. I think Ritchie could be of help.’
Ritchie nodded his thanks. ‘I appreciate that, Roger. I promise I’ll do everything you ask, when you ask. I won’t be a problem.’
Serena set the apple on the table, suspicion narrowing her eyes. ‘I still don’t know how you’re making this happen, Ritchie. I know you’re meant to be working on your album. And he who must be obeyed, Barry, isn’t one to let you off your leash quite that easily.’
The uncomfortable squirming returned to Ritchie’s stomach. His manager, Barry, didn’t know where he was. No one did. It was the reason he’d asked for the cone of silence. If Barry found out there were no songs, that there was no album, he’d have him locked in a studio until Ritchie squeezed out something recordable. Barry didn’t understand that without Serena beside him, he was muse-less, and music-less. Coming here on the quiet had been his only option.
‘What