Here Comes the Groom by Karina Bliss Page A

and stretched his back, his gaze following the predator as it crested a hill with one lazy flap then disappeared into the rising sun.
    He returned his attention to tightening the wire with the strainer then tied it off and surveyed the seven-wire fence. All he had to do was add wooden battens for bracing and this stretch was done. Straightening his back, he took a break.
    Amazing what insomnia could achieve. For the past two nights he’d risen around four and gone fencing, rigging up lighting to help him do it.
    Fortunately there was more than enough maintenance work to absorb his restless energy.
    The sky lightened to lavender-blue. It was going to be a beautiful morning. On impulse he started up the hill for a better view of the sunrise, attracting the attention of the steers in the next paddock, which trotted over to the fence. They were yearlings, curious and still skittish. One spooked and bolted and the rest thundered along behind, stopping in confusion three hundred meters away, their breath steaming clouds in the growing light.
    Untying the woolen bush jacket from his waist, Danpulled it on as he climbed, tempted to use his cell to call Jo. Come watch the sunrise with me. Except that would only confirm his craziness in her eyes. He thought of her fury the other night, when he’d gone visiting with flowers in the moonlight. Better give her one more day to cool off.
    A breeze came up, carrying the malodorous stench of semi-rotted grass. Silage. Dan grinned. Not such a romantic setting after all. Reaching the crest, he stripped off his sweaty fencing gloves as the sunrise slowly illuminated the rolling pasture. Sheep dotted the steeper sections while mobs of bulls—small groups of thirty animals—populated the flat, separated by electric fences.
    It had rained overnight, swelling the stream which now ran muddy and fast through the property. He traced it back to its source, a spring-formed lake surrounded by marshland and bog, thick with reeds and waterfowl. Duck-shooting season started this weekend, he thought. Mist rose in patches off the dew-soaked grass, spiraling lazily toward the sun.
    How many times had he imagined this view in the harsh, throat-scratching desert? This stillness. Dan closed his eyes. But even with his ears attuned to the minutiae of country noises—the soft snort of cattle, the birdsong, the faint throb of a tractor engine—peace eluded him.
    I should have been there.
    He opened his eyes, simultaneously closing his mind to the images that haunted him. Below, his father was a tiny figure on the tractor as he hauled silage into the northwest paddock, half a dozen working dogs runningbehind him. That was another job ahead. Getting the dogs to change loyalties. Giving up on serenity, Dan returned to stapling fence battens.
    Herman might be sleeping in town but his waking hours were all on the farm. To help Dan while the farm-hand was on holiday, he told Pat when she tried to finalize travel itineraries. To free you up to organize the wedding, he’d tell his son. But for all his talk of a succession plan, his father seemed reluctant to implement one. Still, Dan preferred Herman’s company to being alone. What if Jo didn’t come around?
    He rammed the batten in place. No, defeat wasn’t an option. Dan lost himself in physical labor. When he’d finished the sun was high and his stomach rumbled. Returning to the ATV—the quad bike that handled the farm’s varied terrain—he saw a curl of smoke rising from the direction of the homestead.
    Only Mom would light the fire during the day, Herman being too economical and Dan too inured to climate to bother. The quad rattled over the main track and he made a mental note to discuss regrading with his father.
    Go faster, Danny. Steve’s voice came to him, vibrating with a child’s excitement. C’mon, chicken. Uncle Herman doesn’t need to know. His older cousin could always tease him into being