“More what I’d call challenging. Young Leo Tanner fell and broke his arm. Thank goodness Tom was on duty and realised there was something major wrong straight away.” Natalie counted off her fingertips as she spoke. “Clancy’s mum took the corner too close and clipped the end of the school bus and Billy from my class threw up in the doorway just as we came back in from lunch.” She wrinkled her nose. At least the vomit was the only extra thing she’d had to deal with personally. It really had been a strange day. She chuckled as she recalled the new young principal, hopping from foot to foot. “Poor Paul nearly had a fit when he saw the damage to the bus.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary then.” Milt gave her a weary smile. She wrapped him in a quick hug. Over his shoulder Bree’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. Irritation smouldered there, as it often seemed to these days.

“What about you two?” Natalie glanced from one to the other.

“We only had a blocked water pipe,” Bree said. “Took a bit to fix it though.”

On closer inspection, Natalie could see the splatters of mud on their clothes.

“It needn’t have,” Milt muttered as he poured himself a long glass of water.

“I’m going to have a shower.” Bree ducked away. Clumps of mud splattered her thick brown ponytail.

“I’ll have dinner ready soon,” Natalie called after her.

Bree tipped her head back through the door. “Thanks, Mum, but I’ve got a basketball meeting in town. I’ll have dinner at the pub.” She disappeared back into the passage.

“Say hello to Owen.”

There was no response. Either her daughter hadn’t heard her or she was being ignored. Owen had only recently been brought out to meet them. They’d had dinner and both Natalie and Milt had been impressed with the good-looking young man with the larrikinish sense of humour who Bree was obviously smitten with.

Natalie looked from the empty doorway to her husband. “Everything all right?”

Milt was sitting at the table opening the first of the envelopes.

“Milt?”

“Hmm?” He glanced up. “Yes, it’s fine.” He grimaced. “We might have had a few terse words.”

Natalie swallowed her sigh. Milt had trouble remembering he was his daughter’s employer out in the paddocks, not her father. Unlike her older and younger sisters, Bree had been born with the farming genes. Her return to the family property several years earlier, after university and a stint on a farm in the south-east, had coincided with Clem slowing down and their need for an extra worker. Bree had shadowed her grandfather then, and she’d embraced it. Clem was easier on her than he’d been on his son, enjoying being a mentor.

“You know what Bree’s like,” Milt grumbled. “She won’t listen. Thinks she knows how to do it quicker, better.”