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Ryan reckoned there was an old woolshed out that way from the 1920s. Apparently, he’d heard that all the Melbourne Cup winners from that time had been written up on the woolshed wall by the shearers of the time.

As they headed further into the bush, Joe whistled to Molly from time to time. The answering rustling of leaves let him know where she was. She wasn’t far off having her pups, so he had to be careful of where she went.

He’d bought the property from a young couple who had purchased it for a lifestyle change. It had only taken them six months to realise the lifestyle was harder than they’d imagined. One hundred acres, a house that needed a total renovation, a stable, some small sheds, and cattle yards that were pretty much unusable. They needed demolishing and redoing if Joe had intended to put any cattle there, but he didn’t. He planned to raise a small herd of sheep and look into the local wool industry.

His day jobs gave him more hours than Joe wanted because he knew he needed to spend more time getting the property in order.

Contentment filled him as Sam followed Molly along the creek.

Chapter 3

Violet

Violet had her campsite almost set up with just one tent peg to hammer in. She sat back on her heels as perspiration ran down her back; it was humid and there was still no sign of a breeze. As the shadows lengthened, she looked up at the sky. The sun had slipped below the hills to the west, and the sky was transforming from a light mauve to a deep purple; the silver edging the clouds was quickly turning to gold setting up a spectacular show for her.

She’d checked the status of local fire bans earlier in the day, and due to the recent rain in the hills, the fire danger was moderate, but there was no fire ban yet. The only problem was that she wasn’t sure if she was in the National Park or not, and if she was, she shouldn’t be camping unless it was a designated campsite with fireplaces.

But the remains of a fire nearby reassured her that someone had camped here fairly recently; she would be very careful.

Once the last tent peg was secure, she ventured into the bush without any concern about encountering anyone.

She’d be grateful to see someone. Keeping an eye out for snakes, she walked a couple of hundred metres into the bush. She spotted a pile of firewood along the fence line, which seemed to belong to the property, so she concluded she might not be in the national park.

She collected enough firewood for a fire tonight and in the morning, keeping a watchful eye out for snakes and spiders as she lifted each dead branch.

With her campfire going, Violet was about to retrieve her small pan and open the camp fridge in the back of the ute when a beautiful golden Labrador emerged from the bush.

“Hello,” she said. “Who are you, and where did you come from?” Having a domestic dog appear at her campsite reassured her that there must be a farmhouse nearby, which would make it easier to find a telephone to call for help in the morning.

The dog came closer, and Violet soon realised the dog was heavily pregnant. “Well, look at you,” she said. “About to have a litter of pups. Where’s your owner? You shouldn’t be wandering out like this. Is your home just down the road a bit? It’s not safe with cars on the road, girl.”

She couldn’t resist feeling the pup’s belly. The metal tag on her collar told her the bitch’s name was Molly, and she could feel at least half a dozen puppies in there. A whistle caught her attention as she stood.

“Molly, where are you?” A voice called from along the road, followed by another shrill whistle.

“I guess you’re Molly,” she said as the dog settled next to the fire. Violet checked the fire wasn’t burning too high, and walked across the clearing onto the road.

A solid man who she assumed was the dog’s owner sat astride a white horse that was ambling towards the clearing.

Violet waited as the horse and rider approached, feeling a little guilty about camping on what was probably private property without permission.

“Hello there,” he called out. “Lovely night.”

“Hi,” Violet responded. “I hope I’m not camping somewhere I shouldn’t be.”

“No, it’s fine,” the man reassured her. “I’ve noticed a few people camping in that little clearing over the last few weeks. It’s fine as long as you don’t leave your rubbish or set my bush on fire.”

“I actually didn’t plan to camp here,” Violet explained. “I was heading for the national park. But I wasn’t sure where the turn-off was. My navigation stopped working plus I had no phone service as a backup.”

“Akuna is twenty-two ks from here. If it was lighter, you’d be able to see the hills above the river from here. The turnoff is fifteen ks past my farm,” the man said as he jumped off the huge horse.

He walked over and extended his hand. “I’m Joe Rossiter.”

“Violet Valentine,” she replied, taking his hand and shaking it. His grip was firm and his skin was warm.

“Cute name, but I guess lots of people say that. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Violet before.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was my mum’s favourite flower.”