Unexpected Delivery Read online

  She had helped to deliver a baby cow.

  Vivienne smiled, thinking of the small creature, helpless and vulnerable and reliant upon its mother. And she’d had a part in bringing it safely into this world. Her heart swelled with pride. Her mood matched the bright, yellow light. Who would have thought? She couldn’t wait to tell her sister, Bec. She didn’t even care that she hurt all over.

  However, today was all about reality. She was here in Rosebrooke in the small cottage behind the old town bank. She could thank Suzanne Millar for her current circumstances. Suzanne, thirty-five weeks pregnant when she’d last seen her, would be by now washing dirty nappies and breastfeeding her newborn and enjoying mother duties, with the bank a distant memory.

  Suzanne’s departure from McGuires Metropolitan Bank had left a vacancy in the repossession section. God knows why the boss had chosen Vivienne to replace her.

  Vivienne had never worked in that section. In fact, she worked two floors above it in the legal department. She’d never done home visits nor talked to clients. The bank was her client.

  No, she sat comfortably by herself in a corner office and drafted contracts and checked loan agreements. By her own evaluation, she worked hard; proven by the statistics—her productivity was amongst the highest in the bank.

  Now, outside of that comfortable city office she had to deliver default notices to the residents of Rosebrooke, a country town about one and a half hours north of Brisbane. No doubt, it was a beautiful part of southern Queensland but she’d rather be back in Brisbane and doing what she did best.

  Nonetheless she had a job to do and an agenda to follow. The irony struck her. How could one not enjoy being surrounded by vast valleys, lush rainforests and quaint shops? She’d spied a gorgeous French bakery and old-fashioned butcher and even a barber shop with red and white striped poles. She’d also spotted one or two antiques stores downtown. Those retailers would know her well by the time her work in Rosebrooke was complete. She made a promise to herself.

  Her stomach rumbled and Vivienne decided it was time to get out of bed. Dirty and out of sorts yesterday when she’d returned her only focus had been on showering and being clean. Food had been the last thing on her mind, but now, she was ravenous and there wasn’t a morsel to eat in the cottage.

  Food had to be her priority.

  Trying to dress quickly to satisfy her desire for coffee, she was slowed down by a body that reacted like it had been through a strenuous session at the gym. Reaching up to comb her hair, her arms were a dead weight.

  Not yet familiar with the town, she didn’t know where to source a great drink, but the main street seemed like the best idea. In fact, with only one main street, it had to be the choice. Vivienne prayed for a good café. She rejoiced that the cottage was a small walk to the top of the town. The fresh morning revived her and the walking stretched out her aching muscles. Once moving, she walked fast, craving her morning fuel even more.

  Rosebrooke didn’t disappoint. Not far into her search, walking along the broad, paved paths down into the centre of town, she stumbled upon the Rainforest Café. With its emerald green front, dark brown trims and animals painted on the glass front, the entry resembled a real native bushland. Vivienne’s mouth watered as coffee and fresh bread aromas floated through the open door.

  A lady in running shoes and a blonde, bouncing pigtail greeted her with a cheery hello as she entered. A gentleman with a rolled-up newspaper under his arm nodded in her direction and a small child clinging to the skirt of his mother showed off his toy car and made accelerating noises as he was dragged out the door. The sound of customers laughing, beans grinding and the clinking of glasses hit her as she entered; at this moment, she wouldn’t have been happier anywhere else in the world. Vivienne had few vices, but coffee was one. Even the smell made her blood sing and mind whirl.

  Focused on the takeaway menu, Vivienne tuned out the loud shouts of greetings exchanged between customers and staff. She moved to the open refrigerator to choose a juice to accompany her coffee. A man delivering products off a trolley stood in her path but she manoeuvred around him to reach for her mango and orange bottle but the trolley rolled and connected with her ankle.

  “Ouch,” she muttered as it hit her.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean . . .” he said reaching for his runaway trolley. Vivienne rubbed her ankle and turned to give him a gob full about keeping his equipment under control, but she paused before the words could form. All her anger fell away, replaced by fluttering butterflies.

  “You?” Daniel Beckett spoke first.

  “Hello.” Vivienne smoothed down her hair. A strand sat at an odd angle because of her sunglasses sitting atop her head. It bugged her but she restrained from reaching up to fiddle with it. As if it mattered. Yesterday she’d been covered in cow shit. Did it get much worse than that? Then annoyance flooded through her. She didn’t need to impress this guy.

  “You are the farmer, from yesterday, the one with a new baby calf. Fancy seeing you here,” she stammered, uncertain.

  His face broke into a smile, opening it up and bewitching her with its warmth. She loved it; a great improvement on the scowl he wore yesterday.

  “Um, well actually, I live in Rosebrooke,” he added without his grin faltering.

  If she wasn’t mistaken, his chest might have puffed out just a little.

  His voice was honey smooth; she hadn’t noticed the velvet tones yesterday. Heat rose up Vivienne’s neck and a tingle coursed through her body.

  With food forgotten, she feasted on him. His baseball cap partially hid his eyes but the wide-open mouth smiled at her. When their gazes lingered too long, Vivienne looked away uncomfortable.

  “I can’t thank you enough for your help yesterday. I couldn’t have delivered that calf alone and my farmhand was at the outer ridge of the property fixing fence posts. I wasn’t expecting Dora to deliver so soon.”

  “How is the calf?” Vivienne asked.

  “She’s in good health, up and walking about, staying close to her mother. I’ll keep them away from the herd for a few more days and then they’ll mix back in. But, all is good. I appreciated your help, I owe you one.” Those dark, intense eyes peered down at her.

  On the inside she squealed in delight, grew to double her size and danced on the spot.

  “Look, it was nothing, so glad I could be of assistance. I wasn’t expecting to deliver a cow. I haven’t done anything like that before. It was beautiful to see it and I was glad I could help.”

  When Vivienne finished speaking, he placed his last items on the shelf. Each product had an identical label of a black and white cow face surrounded by the greenery of a tree. The name of the dairy sat across the framed picture.

  “Is this milk from your farm?”

  “Yeah. It’s all our milk, produced and bottled at Bunyatree.”

  “That’s amazing,” she said picking one up to examine it. “We don’t get this in Brisbane. Do you only provide it locally?”

  “Yep. Given the way we make it, we can’t travel more than two to three hours to any supplier. We could do Brisbane, but the big supermarkets source their own milk, so I just stick to local joints. Easier to deliver too.”

  “How’s things, Daniel?”

  A man came up behind them. He wore a bright vis shirt.

  Daniel.

  “Hi Mick, yep, great. Might need your help next week. I’ve added in a few new appliances to the shed and now the power keeps tripping.”

  “Of course, mate. No problem. Let me know and I’ll head out your way.” Mick slapped him on the back and departed but not before running his eyes up and down Vivienne’s body. He winked at Daniel as he left.

  Daniel stood next to his now empty trolley. “I’ve a truckload of milk to deliver before the rest of the town wants their breakfast, so best get on with it. Thanks so much again.”

  They locked eyes once more. Then he offered his hand and in an old-fashioned manner grasped hers in a firm handshake.
A tingle started in her fingers and spiralled with increasing speed and intensity to all of her body parts before it reached her groin. The quiver turned to a dull throb, deep down inside of her.

  Vivienne watched him leave, now in control of his empty trolley.

  With her mind engaged in a myriad of daydreams featuring a stocky, handsome farmer, Vivienne stood still holding a litre of Bunyatree milk. The café owner approached. “You won’t find better milk for miles, love. Want to take that one?”

  “Is there a low-fat variety?”

  The man laughed. “It only comes in full fat from Bunyatree. Don’t get Daniel started on that topic.”

  “How strange, I thought milk these days came in all types.”

  “Yep, most do. But you won’t get no trim, low fat, almond or soy. And unfortunately, Daniel refuses to acknowledge the large share of the market he’s missing out on by not producing it. See in the fridge there, I stock his milk, for sure, it’s the best, but people, particularly the tourists, they want all kinds of milk. You know how people order their coffee these days.” He laughed. “No complaints here. I’m happy to sell it, and I need it for my coffees, but I’d prefer to use Daniel’s milk.”

  Now that Vivienne was paying attention, she observed various labels in the fridge. Other brands provided a complete complement of dairy products—lactose free, nut milk, no fat, low fat and flavoured varieties. At the end of the open cabinet stood the tiny Bunyatree collection.

  “What else does the dairy make then?”

  “Oh yeah, he produces beautiful cheeses, look at these.” The guy held up the familiar label. Vivienne read Ripple Cream Brie, Camembert, Cheddar and Leicester. “I think he’s been making four percent full fat milk and these cheeses forever, certainly for as long as I’ve owned this café. These products walk out the door. They are so good.” He emphasized the word, as passionate about the goods as if they were his own. “But when the city folk, no offence, request the range they are used to in capital cities, we can’t compete, and we live on tourism.”

  A full-fat coffee had not passed her lips since pimples had adorned her face. Vivienne bit down hard on the words double strength skinny latte.

  “Oh,” the café owner swivelled quickly to another shelf. “He does do a strawberry yogurt and it’s delicious. But if you don’t like strawberry, you’re betting reaching for the Yoplait.”

  “Okay, can I have a coffee, the way you like to make it, please.”

  The café owner nodded at her order and moved away to make the coffee machine hum and shake. Vivienne grabbed one of each of the farmer’s products.

  “I’ll take these too please and a loaf of sourdough, some crackers and maybe a packet of muesli, can you help me with that?”

  “I like your style, ma’am, and yes I can help you with all that. We have homemade, fresh bread on the premises. And if you’re staying a few days, make sure you come back and visit us.”

  She smiled her thanks, keen to eat after all the talk of food.

  “I’m in town for work so I’ll definitely be back.”

  The retailer had lost interest as he stayed busy behind the counter making her coffee. It came in a recyclable cup. As soon as she had her goods, he moved on to the next customer greeting them like an old friend.

  Vivienne thrust out her chest and had to stop herself from whooping out loud. Energy pulsed through her veins and she hadn’t even drunk the coffee yet. In one purchase she had assisted the local produce community, the dairy industry and the environment. Even the beans were organic and locally sourced. It would all be perfect if the coffee delivered on flavour. That would be the test as she was devoted to her usual brand.

  She skipped out of the shop shouting a cheery goodbye. The sun had fully risen now and sat high in the sky, warming her skin. The surrounding hills glowed brighter where the sun hit the trees.

  With a bounce in her step she walked at a brisk pace back to the cottage. But then, her stomach dropped and she paused mid-stride. Her palms grew sweaty and her hands trembled as nausea rose inside her.

  The envelope.

  ***

  Sweat trickled down his forehead despite the cool temperature of the morning. Daniel wiped his brow with his sleeve as he heaved the last heavy crates of milk out of the truck at his final stop. Not for the first time, he sent a silent prayer of thanks to those devoted townsfolk who stocked his milk and cheeses, never faltering in their loyalty. In this main street, he supplied most small food businesses: both of the bakeries, the co-op and the few coffee houses dotted along the charming boulevard. He even supplied the garage for those who rushed in to grab a last-minute bottle for their breakfast before the supermarket was open.

  Another beautiful spring day had dawned on the range and he longed for the gnawing negative thoughts to be kept at bay. Just for once.

  How long could this go on for? How much longer could he survive? Would people tire of supporting him? Would he continue to compete?

  With joviality he didn’t feel, he had become an expert at faking it, he smiled and exchanged small talk with Delores at the hairdressing salon, with Hank the butcher, and George at the servo. As he provided his tax invoice to each of them, he prayed it was on top of their to-pay pile. With the truck now empty, his first job of the day was complete and a weight lifted from his shoulders. As he climbed into the truck, he spied the woman exiting the Rainforest Café. She walked briskly as city dwellers tend to.

  Her face lifted to the morning sun, basking in its rays. He watched her walk a hundred metres and then stop dead, mid-step. Given her speed at mounting the hill, it was a noticeable halt.

  From his angle, she looked baffled. Her face screwed up in thought and she fumbled with the items in her hands. Her shoulders dropped with the weight of all she carried. Daniel’s chest constricted at the sight of her. He remembered she was pretty, but he hadn’t had a chance to admire her. Pretty wasn’t appropriate, stunning was more suitable. A flash of pale blue material popped into his mind, but today she wore flat shoes, black trousers and a white striped top.

  He liked it.

  Overdressed for the country? Probably.

  With the sun glowing upon her, the contrast between her deep red hair and the black and white was striking. Her pale skin glowed. For a woman, she stood tall but there was nothing slight about her, all huggable and womanly. A bosom that Daniel remembered as soft and luscious, his fingers twitched at the memory.

  In one hand, she held a bag of groceries and in the other a coffee. After stopping, she placed her belongings on the path and frantically rifled through her over-sized handbag flung over one shoulder.

  He watched as she searched through the items in her bag and extracted a few before shoving them back in. She dug her hands in and searched some more before pulling them out empty. Whatever was being searched for wasn’t found. Then with her red mane bouncing around, she turned behind her, examining the path just walked, and in front, turning full circle.

  He could sense anxiety in her stiff hold, and awkward and frantic movements. Whatever she searched for, she wanted it badly. With a stamp of her foot she collected her things off the ground and moved on. The spring in her step had become a hesitant, slow stride.

  He smiled and his heart skipped an excited beat that he wished would stop. Unable to look away, he watched her until she disappeared over the crest of the hill.

  And even then, it took the drive back to the farm to still the thrum in his chest.

  ##

  Annoyed at losing the envelope, Vivienne stormed through the cottage until she reached the study. She plonked down the bag of food and reached for the files piled on the desktop.

  Each red folder was emblazoned with the client name and she flicked through until she reached Daniel Beckett–Bunyatree Dairy. Unfastened, the contents of papers slipped out and scattered in a mess. Vivienne searched through the items, frantic to find an envelope that she’d hoped would miraculously appear.

  No such luck.

&nb
sp; She cursed herself for being unprofessional. This folder should have been read yesterday before she ventured out on her mission to deliver a default notice to the owner. Rookie mistake. The notice wasn’t there. The realisation struck her like a punch to the gut. She’d have to not only reproduce it- that was the easy part-she’d also have to deliver it again. Dread sat in the pit of her stomach.

  To chase away the bitter taste, she reached for the coffee cup. Vivienne took a large gulp. So good. Did the coffee taste amazing because of the full fat fresh milk or was the owner of the café an accomplished barista? She didn’t know the answer, but as the warm, creamy liquid hit her throat, her limbs relaxed and she calmed.

  She sorted the papers into order and scanned the sheet on top. Words such as behind, arrears, urgent payment required, needs attention all jumped out from the page causing her heart to beat faster. Bunyatree Dairy, the name and its logo leapt out at her on the products she extracted from her grocery bag and in the papers before her. The handsome dairy farmer was everywhere.

  First, because she wanted to escape from the task in front of her, she focused on the food. Not her usual breakfast fare, she ripped open the camembert cheese and slathered a slice on the fresh sourdough that was warm to the touch. Once that mouthful was eaten, she followed with a sizeable scoop of the strawberry yoghurt.

  Oh gosh, so delicious. She put her head to the side and savoured the taste. It had to be the additional fat. Vivienne shoved in mouthfuls, hardly chewing before placing more in her mouth, devouring a morsel of each selection she’d purchased. Her mother would frown at her lack of table manners.

  After licking her fingers, she held up the dossier she’d been given. Instead of reading the words, an image of the man himself popped into her head. When he hauled those milk bottles into the fridge this morning, his shirt had stretched up his arm. It not only revealed strong, muscled arms, but a tattoo had peeked out of his sleeve. A striking black ink abstract picture. It looked like one of those Kiwi tribal bands but she couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t a ring like figure- so popular on young men it had become boring-but the depiction was similar.