Call It Home

By Camille Taylor

Dani Donahue is new to town. She’s a city girl there for a week to clear out the house she inherited. Her arrival has caused an uproar, residents debating whether she will keep the house or sell to an outsider, which could mean the end of the small town.

Brett Marshall is a gruff pub owner who keeps to himself and stays out of people’s business. Until Dani shatters his quiet existence. He’s a country boy twice her age and hides a heart of gold.

Dani and Brett may be from different worlds but they have more in common than they’d first thought. With an offer of half a mil it seems a done deal.

Unless there was something to keep her in Woollybah Creek...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight
• Release date: Aug 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9780369508799

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Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2023 Camille Taylor

ISBN: 978-0-3695-0879-9

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Lisa Petrocelli

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For my fluffy sidekick. Thank you for always making me smile.

CALL IT HOME

Woollybah Creek, 3

Camille Taylor

Copyright © 2023

Chapter One

There was nothing Brett Marshall hated more than funerals. No one liked to be reminded of their own mortality. He especially hated them when he knew and cared about the deceased. Angela Donahue’s was no exception. The woman had been a commanding presence in Woollybah Creek, a small, rural town in Western New South Wales.

Above him, the noon sun shined brightly. Birds soared, flapping their wings. Free from the grief clouding the large crowd gathered around the coffin as it descended into the earth.

Across from him, on the other side of the hole, the swarm of attendees parted and a woman wearing a simple black dress, which did nothing to hide her curves, approached, clutching the hand of a five-year-old girl and a long-stemmed rose. Her oversized sunglasses hid her eyes. He didn’t recognize her. She wasn’t one of the locals.

This had to be Dani, Mrs. Donahue’s only grandchild. She was younger than he’d expected, her light-brown hair pulled back from her oval face.

The woman stopped at the hole and dropped the rose onto the coffin. Her bottom lip trembled and a tear slipped from beneath her sunglasses and slid down her pale cheek.

She stood there for a minute before crouching beside the child, hugging her close and whispering something he couldn’t hear. The little girl shook her head and looked ready to kick up a fuss. Poor kid. This had to be overwhelming for her and beyond her comprehension.

The woman, who he assumed was Dani, kissed her daughter on the cheek and stroked the little girl’s hair which hung down her back. A small arm shot out and dropped another rose before turning her head into her mother’s neck. She started bawling, the heartbreaking sound piercing everyone’s heart, even his which surprised him since he thought it had died long ago.

Dani stood, her daughter now propped on her hip and turned back the way she’d come, not stopping until she reached the curb where an older model white sedan had been parked.

Roses were dropped as the congregation paid their respects. Beyond the bowed heads, the woman bent to strap the child in the car seat before slipping behind the wheel and driving away. The gathering erupted, the hush which had descended as the minister began the service, broken.

Was that her, do you think?

Why has she only come now?

I heard she made all the arrangements by phone. She didn’t even see where her grandmother would be buried before she agreed.

Did you hear she inherited everything?

Do you think she’ll sell? I mean, what’s a city girl going to do with a home here?

That slimy bastard will get what he wants and there’s not a damn thing any of us can do about it.

Brett blocked out the conversations around him. They all followed the same vein, some speculating as to whether the woman in sunglasses had been Dani Donahue and others concerned whether she would sell her grandmother’s property in town and head back to Sydney. The last worrying everyone the most. The last thing they needed was for an outsider to move in or build some multilevel apartment complex, or worse, start drilling for gas or coal or whatever might be running through the soil beneath his feet.

Evan Cartwright, a realtor primarily based in Sydney’s eastern suburbs, had been poking around, asking questions which had unsettled everyone in town. Brett, too. He’d investigated the man and the unease in his belly had tightened at what he’d learned. Cartwright handled million-dollar properties. So, what the hell was he doing in a town with a population of about fifteen hundred, so far out west, it was a hop, skip, and a jump from the South Australia and Northern Territory borders?

Brett made his way through the lonely gravestones, some with sad, wilted flowers, others without a sign someone still remembered, past the backhoe ready to seal Mrs. Donahue into her final resting place, and hopped into his Ute. The engine roared, the vibrations traveling through the vehicle. The steering wheel was hot beneath his hands as he pulled away and headed to the old Town Hall for the reception. He’d offered to have it at his pub, but the young Miss Donahue had politely declined, so he’d been told by Leigh Dawson who had been her proxy in town. Leigh and Angela Donahue had worked on many charities together and Leigh had taken over as chair of the local CWA—Country Women’s Association.

He parked beside the sedan. Even if he hadn’t seen Dani climb into it, he’d have known it was hers. No one living in Woollybah Creek or the surrounding area would own such an impractical vehicle. One kangaroo and the front would crumble like an accordion.

He was surprised to see the parking lot already had a number of Utes and four-wheel drives. Despite the crowd still at the cemetery, an even bigger one had already descended on the hall. A testament to how great Mrs. Donahue had been.

As Brett stepped inside the hall, the rich and smoky aroma of coffee filled his lungs. Someone had set up some freestanding fans to help cool the room. With the number of people expected, he doubted it would do much good.

The rectangular hall had been built sometime in the thirties, and had recently had an upgrade, thanks to Mrs. Donahue. The woman had worked tirelessly to get the necessary funds and now new life had been breathed into the building.

A large spread had been set out. The white tablecloth fluttered with the artificial breeze from the nearby pedestal fan. He grabbed a plate and filled it with mini sausage rolls, sandwiches, quiches, and a slice of Wendy O’Donnell’s lemon shortcake. After grabbing a freshly ground coffee, Brett found an empty seat pushed up against the back wall to allow room for the guests.

He spotted Dani right away. She’d removed her sunglasses now that she was indoors and held her daughter securely in her lap, rocking the child. So, this was the granddaughter Mrs. Donahue had always gushed about. He couldn’t see her well from the distance, but she was a pretty thing with delicate alabaster skin. Even from across the room he could see the dark smudges under her eyes. Her eyes were wide, no doubt overwhelmed like her daughter. Still, she smiled warmly as residents approached to offer their condolences and took the time to encourage them to share a story about her grandmother. Occasionally she laughed, the sound floating to him through the throng of indistinct murmurs. More often than not, she swiped her fingers across her cheek.

While he wanted to offer his own condolences, he decided to hang back and give her one less person to talk to. Taking a bite of shortcake, the citrus tang melted on his tongue.

Tucker Dawson, one of Leigh’s sons, sank down beside him, his toddler, Bonnie, in his arms.

So, what do you think?

I give it a week before she signs over the property.

Tucker’s eyebrow rose. Pessimistic much?

Come on, no one from the city ever stays.

As much as he loved his town, he admitted there wasn’t much to offer in the way of prospects. The folks still around had families who’d lived here for generations and been lucky to stay afloat through drought, fires, and cyclones. The unlucky ones had fled to the city in hopes of a better future.

Sam did.

Samuel Murray had moved to Sydney after high school and had been quite successful in investments until his divorce had ruined him and he returned home.

Sam grew up here. He has ties to the community. It isn’t the same thing.

She has ties.

"She had ties. But as far as I know, this is her first visit here."

Nope, it was looking pretty bleak for the town.

Across the room, Dani played with her necklace as Judy Little no doubt got her up-to-date with the latest gossip. The smile she’d kept plastered to her face had waned. She glanced about the room and he froze when her