So Far Into You (30 page)

Again. Not my problem.

Shutting the gate, she trudged away from the house and up into the vineyard to take her fruit samples, cursing Remy as she walked, feeling twitchy as hell the entire way, as if the vines had eyes.

No matter what happened to Remy, the girl had the knack of bouncing back. She was like a fucking spring.
Boing. Boing. Boing.

Rina passed a pump shed near the dam. It wasn't a big shed. Not big enough for vineyard equipment or chemicals. She wondered where Remy kept stuff like that and decided they must be in sheds closer to the house.

Moving quickly, Rina expertly collected grapes for her maturity sample, putting the berries into plastic bags and labelling them for measuring in the lab at the winery later. Some she sampled, using her tongue and her winemaking skill as her only instruments. Remy's fruit burst with flavour. As sauvignon blanc went, this was damn good. If it wasn't perfect now, it would be very soon. The fruit was right in that so-called sweet pocket winemakers loved.

There'd been talk of big rains coming—an early break to autumn. The news was full of it because of fears it might ruin the horseracing picnic carnival they held near here every Easter. Apparently it made the racetrack heavy, or dead.

Rina thought about that for a while as she stood in Remy's vineyard with sunshine all around and clouds of frustration and jealousy in her head.

It would be a shame if a rainstorm caused Remy's fruit to split … but, if it rained, it rained. Rina had been blamed for a lot of things in her time, some right, some wrong.

She couldn't be blamed for the weather.

She made a note in her diary: ‘slight acid on tasting. Test again Saturday.' When she got back to the winery, she'd calibrate the refractometer ever so slightly wrong. It would give the sample she'd taken a false read. If she got her measurements right, the readings would show Remy's fruit as being not quite ready. If a storm came at the weekend, this fruit would still be on the vines.

Remy wouldn't have any fruit worth selling. ‘Petty, but poetic,' Rina said to herself.

Glad to be done with Remy's place, Rina hurried down the hill. She put the fruit samples in the coolbox. The snapping and snarling from the rear of Remy's cottage showed no sign of abating. Again, Rina hoped she'd done the right thing. Maybe she should ring the ranger anyway?

Who cared if it got Remy in trouble? She should take better care of Seth's dog.

***

Remy spent Wednesday morning working on a garden for a lady who lived in Birdwood—a paid job this time—and on the way home she'd called into Mulberry Mews to check the seedlings she and Seth planted. Call her sentimental, but she had a vested interest in the garden they'd created together, thriving.

Lucy and Madge offered her tea, and Ernie decided he should do a spot of watering. They were in the garden keeping Ernie company when Remy's phone rang.

‘This is Brian Stratton from the Mount Barker ranger service. I'm looking for Remy Roberts?'

‘This is Remy,' she said, with the kind of sinking feeling you get when you expect to hear bad news. Why else would a ranger ring? ‘What's happened?'

‘Remy we have a dog registered to you, it's an American Staffordshire Terrier, tan and white bitch called Breeze?'

‘Yes, that's right.'
What's she done now?

‘We've had a report of a brindle male dog loose on your property.'

‘I'm looking after that dog. He wouldn't hurt a fly,' and then she added: ‘Who reported it?'

Madge's and Lucy's ears pricked. Ernie missed it. He was too busy watering.

‘I can't tell you that, sorry. I assume it must have been a delivery person, or a meter reader, or a neighbour—although usually a neighbour calls the dog's owner directly. Anyway, apparently the dog wasn't aggressive but the caller didn't like that it was running loose. They were concerned about it getting hit if it wandered onto the road, or that it might chase sheep, so the caller said they shut the dog in your backyard.'

Remy's heart sank. ‘Oh no.'

‘Is that problem?'

‘Normally both dogs would be in behind my fence, Brian. But my bitch is on heat and I've had to separate them. That's the whole reason the male was outside the gate. If he's inside now …' She left the sentence unfinished.

‘Leaving the male untethered is probably not the smartest thing to do anyway. If the female is on heat, other male dogs could come from miles around. If they run into an untethered male you could have all kinds of trouble on your hands. Maybe I better take a drive out there.'

‘I'm on my way home now, Brian. I'm twenty minutes away.'

‘Okay. Because someone rang it in, I'll still have to come out there, so I'll be there soon.'

‘Okay.'

‘Thanks for your cooperation. If you're looking after that male dog for any length of time, he should get registered here too, okay?'

Remy had no idea if Occhy was registered in Western Australia. She assumed he was. ‘I'll check with the dog's owner. Thanks, Brian.'

She hung up.

The ranger was right. She hadn't thought of the problems that Occhy might pose if other dogs came to her property. The Williams had working kelpies. They'd be no match for a dog like Occhilupo if it came down to a fight. Not that Occhy was a fighter.

She'd have to tell Rina to make sure the picking contractors knew not to bring dogs on to her property when they came to pick her grapes. Not while Breeze was on heat.

‘Always stuff to think about,' she muttered.

‘Dog trouble, Remy dear?' Madge said.

‘You can say that again.'

‘I knew a couple who used to breed dogs in Strathalbyn. When their little girl was in season, every dog in town would hang outside their front gate,' Lucy said.

‘Is that right, Lucy?' Remy said, wondering what age oldies got before their hearing wasn't so sharp.

Ernie, bless him, just kept watering.

***

Remy drove on the speed limit from the Mews. A couple of times she passed semi-trailers carrying crates of grapes and had to pull over to the side of the road. Because she was in a rush, the delays chafed, and it felt like the journey took longer than normal.

At the front of her house, she parked and turned off the engine. The second she climbed out of the car she heard a shrill, choked-off sound that made her wince in sympathy.

Maybe Breeze cornered a possum, or a cat?
But it didn't quite sound like that.

Remy sprinted toward the nightmare now billowing out of control in her imagination. Breeze caught by the collar somehow, slowly strangling; Breeze with her paw impaled on a rose bush. Unlatching the gate, rushing through, calling as she ran—she burst through the middle part of the garden, passed the stable, and stopped in her tracks.

Both dogs were near the silver birch trees, Occhy with his front legs up on Breeze's back, humping like his life depended on it.

‘You horny bugger,' Remy said, dropping to her knees in the thick mulch by Breeze. She didn't growl. She didn't want to startle either animal into any false move.

The fright and pain in Breeze's brown eyes and the panic in her squeals cut at Remy's heart. She stroked Breeze's tan and white head, held her collar and tried to offer comfort, knowing how important it was to keep her still. She could hurt Occhy if she tried to pull away. Remy put a hand on Occhy's collar too.

There was a book on Am Staffs in her bookshelf. It had a chapter on the whole breeding thing, but it was a while now since she'd read it. Occhy was heavy and Breeze wouldn't stand still, and her shrill cries never stopped.

‘Well, that looks like fun.'

Remy spun around. Coming fast out of the shade near the stable strode a man in a fawn-coloured uniform.

My hero.
‘You must be the ranger. I'm Remy.'

‘Yep. I'm Brian. You look like you've got your hands full.'

Remy was being pulled in two, trying to hold the animals from where she sat. ‘Can you help me? I have no idea what to do.'

The ranger squatted near the two dogs. ‘Let's try this.'

He took Occhy's hind leg and raised it over Breeze's back. It left the two dogs standing, still linked, back to back. Or arse to arse, for want of a more technically correct term.

‘That doesn't look like it should be anatomically possible,' Remy said, but she could see Breeze calm immediately. The awful squealing stopped.

‘Success,' Remy said to Brian.

‘Yeah, maybe. You never know with dogs. The whole thing's pretty hit or miss.' He was quite serious.

‘I just meant I was glad she's calmer now. I don't really want her to have puppies.'

He looked at her like she was a parent of a wayward teenager, caught with his pants around his ankles and his girlfriend on the bed.

So, this is awkward.

‘I guess this is all in a day's work for you, hey?' she asked him, because surely conversation was better than silence at a time like this. Perhaps he saw this sort of thing all the time. Perhaps he sat on the grass beside two dogs fucking, trying to
un-see
what was happening, every second day of the year.

‘This is a bit out of the usual. We see some very strange things.'

I can only imagine.
‘How long is this supposed to take? They've already been at it ten minutes.'

‘It could take twenty. It can take half an hour. It's over when it's over. Then he'll have a cigarette.'

Remy laughed out loud and they settled in to wait.

***

Later, she called Seth. Infuriatingly, he thought the whole thing was funny. ‘Love was always going to find a way, Rem.'

‘Love didn't have anything to do with it. Just some nosey meter-reader do-gooder who would be better off keeping their nose out of it, and your bloody horny dog taking advantage of mine when she's vulnerable.'

He chuckled. ‘It's too late to worry about it now.'

Remy gave up. Seth was right. No harm was done.

‘I'll call my vet tomorrow and see what he says I should do. I really don't want puppies.'

‘I think mini Occhy and Breeze would be kind of cute.'

‘For a tycoon, you're such a softie.'

Chapter 28

When Remy hadn't heard from Rina by lunchtime on Thursday, she rang Montgomery Wines. Rina wasn't there. She left messages on her voicemail for Rina to call her back. She waited an hour but Rina never called.

Remy knew she could have complained to Seth, but if their relationship was going to work, she couldn't run to him every time something didn't work out as she'd planned. He had a corporation to run.

So she tried Lewis Carney.

He was under the pump—they had a lot of fruit coming in—but he made time to go into the office and check the schedule for her.

‘You're not on the list till next week, Rem,' he said eventually. ‘Tuesday.'

‘That can't be right, Lewis. There's rain forecast for the weekend. If we wait, we could lose the lot. It's ready right now.' She made him check the schedule again.

‘I'm telling you, Rem, you're listed for Tuesday. There's a note here that Rina sampled your block yesterday and you're at 11.6 Baume … oh shit!'

‘What?' Whatever had happened, it sounded dire. She hoped to heck it wasn't anything to do with her grapes.

‘Rem—I can't talk. I got grapejuice going everywhere. I'll get Rina to call you back.'

‘Lewis!' He was gone. She was talking to thin air.

Remy hung up, more confused than ever. She ran through her options, but there weren't many. She didn't want to call Seth. Rina wasn't answering her calls. Lewis had his hands full.

She had to work this out herself. Remy knew her vineyard, and she'd been taking samples every second day for two weeks. She didn't believe Rina's measurement was correct. No way.

Five years ago she'd been young and naive and she'd let Ailsa scare her off. It wouldn't happen again. She knew her own vineyard and she knew it was ready to be picked. This time, she'd stand up for herself. All she needed was a little help from her friends.

With that in mind, Remy ran out the front door to the Rodeo and went to find Zac.

***

On Friday morning, a row of cars lined the driveway beside Remy's vineyard. They belonged to Bryce and Sheila Williams, Zac and two of his mates, along with seven-month pregnant Zac's pregnant Clea and her husband, Levi.

They were there because they were her friends and wanted to help, except for Zac's mates. They were doing him a favour because he'd offered them each a side of lamb for their freezers.

‘Thank you, Bryce. I owe you big time for this,' Remy said to Zac's dad.

Bryce jammed his hat on his head. ‘You'd do the same for us at a pinch if we needed it. Don't worry about it.'

Sheila added, beaming: ‘It's our pleasure.'

Remy demonstrated how to handle the secateurs and snipped off a few bunches. She showed her motley pickers where to look for the empty crates she'd already laid along the vine rows.

‘When your crate is full, leave it in the centre of the row and I'll come along on the motorbike and pick it up, okay? Please don't anybody hurt their back trying to lift anything that's too heavy. Zac and I will handle it.'

Zac had donated his farm quad-bike to the cause.

‘Okay everybody? Any questions?' She looked hard at Clea. ‘Make sure you don't overdo things.'

‘I won't,' she said at the same time as Sheila added: ‘She won't, Remy. I won't let her. I haven't waited this long for a grandchild for him or her to be born in a vineyard.'

‘You're not bloody kidding,' Bryce put in. ‘At least get over the fence, Clea, if it comes to that. Let the little bugger be born on a sheep farm or I'll never live it down!'