Country Haven: Mackellar Country Romance, #1

By Alison Joy

Echoes of fame meet the whispers of redemption in this heart-warming, small-town romance.

Battling burnout, country music sensation, Zachariah Mayne seeks refuge back home in Australia and the rural town of Mackellar, west of Sydney, never anticipating he might find solace, and perhaps love, with local property manager Matilda Armstrong.

Tasked with overseeing the restoration of a local historic house, Matilda's quiet world is turned upside down when a Nashville music legend crashes into her life.

As they work together to breathe life into the neglected estate, Zac finds himself drawn to Matilda's warmth and compassion and an unexpected connection blossoms between them.

But Zac is haunted by memories of a tragic accident and struggles to find his creative voice amidst the silence that once echoed with music.

Will Matilda be the key as he embarks on a journey of healing and self-discovery?

Can he rediscover the music that once defined him?

Will the two of them be able to compose a new chapter in their lives, and create a safe haven where love and music intertwine?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alison Joy
• Release date: Mar 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9780648750895

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Matilda Armstrong juggled a box of supplies along with two coffees, muffins and her shoulder bag as she hip-bumped the door of her faithful old Pajero closed. She didn’t lock the door. This was Mackellar, one of those country towns where almost everybody knew everyone else. And in any case, she was parked right out front of her workplace. From her workstation she could easily see the four-wheel drive as well as the rest of the town centre that she loved so much.

Her hometown. There was nowhere she would rather be and not just because Mackellar had provided a haven for her family when they first arrived all those years ago. Community, belonging and lifelong friendships. This town had become part of her family. The bedrock of her life when her own had crumbled.

Centring herself to regain balance, she crossed the footpath and leaned the box against the door, reaching one hand to turn the knob before pushing her shoulder into the glass and nearly coming a cropper. The door had been repaired and it no longer needed a hefty shove.

Dang! I keep forgetting, she exclaimed to her co-worker and best friend as she staggered in.

Hey, girlfriend! Shelby said as she rescued the coffee and muffins from their precarious positions and set them on the timber counter.

Matilda dropped the box on her desk with a sigh of relief and stowed her bag in the bottom drawer.

Shelby was way bubblier than Matilda at this hour of the morning, a regular Energiser bunny who hardly ever seemed to wind down. Matilda took longer to get up and running every day—same as her Pajero on cold mornings like today—hence the need for a daily coffee fix from the best place in town.

Straightening her light grey, long-sleeved shirt, Matilda plucked her name badge from the caddy on the desktop and pinned it above the purple-flower logo of Indigo Property Management Services.

Shelby’s red hair had already started to escape from its bun, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock. Matilda handed her the labelled cup containing the skinny latte and leaned against her own corner of the desk.

Any luck with the house this morning?

Ugh, no, it was cheap and nasty. The cockroaches had already packed their bags and left. Matilda had taken several jobs after leaving school to be able to afford her own place, but her lease was up and she had to move. I can’t believe how hard it is to find something affordable that doesn’t look like it should have been condemned and bulldozed years ago.

I’m sorry I can’t offer you a long-term place to stay, Shelby told her, not for the first time.

Yeah, I know. You and your aunt hardly have enough room for the two of you.

But at least it’s ours.

Yep, it’s something to be grateful for. Got to stick to the plan. Short-term pain for long-term gain. It would be nice to have a better cashflow so both of us could afford to move up to more salubrious digs.

Like our clients, Tilly?

Of course, like our clients.

So, if you had a choice, whose house would you move into? Flynn and Kiah’s? Shelby asked, referring to the newly minted Australian power couple and Hollywood A-listers, actor Flynn Logan and model Kiah Jensen.

Nah, don’t get me wrong. It’s gorgeous, all that new modern-country vibe. But if I could choose it would be the Caswell Estate.

Is it still up for sale?

I believe so.

How much do you reckon it will go for?

It’s been on the market a while… but still way more than the contents of my bank account. She peeled the paper from the bottom of a blueberry muffin, breaking off a section to pop in her mouth and chew appreciatively. Bakery Bliss lived up to its name. Some lucky person will no doubt pick it up for a song.

For some of our clients, it would only take the earnings of one song to be able to afford that or any of the other properties on offer around the district, Shelby commented.

I know, right? Who’d have thought that little old, sleepy Mackellar would score the famous residents that we have.

Even though most of them are hardly ever here.

And that’s why we do what we do. Looking after the country residences of the stars was one of their key tasks.

Pity you couldn’t be an onsite caretaker, Tilly. That would solve your accommodation dilemma.

Wouldn’t it, though. Matilda sighed. Maybe down the track; we’re still not established enough.

Hopefully when the word gets out, we might turn into a country version of Byron Bay. We only need to persuade a Hemsworth to buy in the area and we’d be set. Shelby was only half joking.

But… that would only work if we leaked it to the media and then where would we be? Can’t bite the hand that feeds us. The council wants sustainable development, not hordes of fans descending on our town in the hope of seeing a celebrity or two. Quality over quantity. Aargh! It’s so frustrating.

Come on, we already have a pretty famous client base. It’s just that we can’t use said ‘clients’—Shelby made quotation marks with her fingers—to help in our advertising efforts.

More’s the pity. They’d made a good start but needed a few more to come on board to make this business viable enough to give them more than the smell of an oily rag to live on.

You’d think Jack would get the word out on the grapevine. Seeing as it was his idea in the first place. Matilda was referring to the epic Jack Weston, manager to some of the best music stars in the country, many of whom had gone on to have stellar careers in the lucrative US market. He had escaped the Sydney rat race a couple of years back and built a magnificent country home out of town. A handful of his high-profile clients had also purchased weekenders in the area.

He likes his country bolthole too much. I don’t think he’s inclined to share with everyone else in the industry.

There’s plenty of room in the district for more residents, celebrity or otherwise.

The friends got down to work, scheduling the jobs that needed to be done for their clients. Not all of them were rich and famous and hardly ever in Mackellar. There was a growing list of older people who needed help around their homes. The local real estate agent had signed up for maintenance work on their rental properties. Yard work, mostly. Cleaning, of course. End-of-lease type stuff. It was still a relatively new business and growing. Slowly. More slowly than the two women would like. But at least they could see progress.

The main part of the business was catering for the needs of their high-end clients. Opening homes ahead of the residents’ arrival. Making sure the pantry and fridges were well-stocked. Floral arrangements. Welcome baskets. Organising whatever jobs needed to be done, like car servicing and grocery shopping. Planning whatever activities were required: kids’ birthdays, weekend parties, picnics. Shelby and Matilda knew who was coming and going and which of their clients’ friends were making use of the country getaways. Some part-time residents would flit in and out, some would stay an extended time in the Macquarie River area.

Then there were the non-disclosure agreements. Always non-disclosure agreements. Their small staff had been carefully vetted. But as owners, Shelby and Matilda did the bulk of the work.

It was getting late when the bell over the door gave its customary jangle. Both women looked up from their work. Matilda stood and greeted the tall, middle-aged stranger.

Good afternoon, I’m Matilda Armstrong, how can I help you?

"Doug Rayford, from Australian Gossip," he said, direct and to the point.

Matilda shot a quick glance at Shelby. Oh boy. The worst of the tabloid magazines by far.

One could only guess what he was up to, and… that accent?

So where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?

New York.

"And you’re working for AG?"

I’m actually on a work exchange for three months. One of the staff from the Sydney office has gone to New York and I’ve come… to here. He looked around as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Matilda was alarmed and for good reason. Australian Gossip had been trying to get a scoop on which celebrities were living in the Mackellar area. Indigo had fielded numerous emails and phone calls. Looked like they had called in the big… this guy. He was well-dressed in black trousers and a light blue button-down shirt. Greying hair that was pulled back into a small ponytail, and a substantial beard, also greying. Maybe, if you squinted, he looked a little like Willie Nelson on a good day but way better dressed.

What can I do for you, Mr Rayford?

The powers-that-be decided to send me to a small country town, to get a New Yorker’s take on it, if you will. Thought I might as well start here as anywhere.

Okay, what do you want to know?

How about why the town is called Mackellar?

I would’ve thought you’d have done some research before coming here.

Read it was named after some poet lady.

Matilda arched an eyebrow at him. "Dorothea Mackellar isn’t just some poet lady, Mr Rayford, she wrote the definitive poem, My Country, among other things. It’s a poem that pretty much every school kid in Australia will learn at some point in their education. She was well-travelled and fluent in many languages. Her family had property over at Gunnedah. That’s about an hour from Tamworth. Have you heard of Tamworth, by any chance?"

Isn’t that where they have the Country Music Awards?

Yes, that’s right. Anyway, the Mackellar Centre opened in Gunnedah a few years back and it’s dedicated to her life and the arts in general.

So, why the town here?

Matilda shrugged. Why not?

And is it true Mackellar has a founding mother rather than a founding father?

That’s true. Peggy Baker settled in the area with her children after her husband was killed in the First World War. To cut a long story short, she was a great admirer of Dorothea Mackellar and when other people arrived to join her, she named the burgeoning town after Dorothea. She had a great liking for Australian poets in general, so most of the street names reflect that: Lawson, Paterson, Kendall, Gordan, Evans, Dennis… Mary Gilmore and so on. Then the newer subdivisions are also named after more recent poets, like Bruce Dawe, Judith Wright and Oogderoo Noonuccal, Les Murray—well, you get the idea. Every year we have a poetry festival, for obvious reasons.

The conversation went back and forth for a while and Matilda started to relax. Bad move.

So, what can you tell me about all the celebrities who live hereabouts? He’d obviously done some homework after all. If there were celebs living in the district, then he must’ve concluded Indigo Property Management had a hand in it somewhere.

Nothing I’m at liberty to tell you.

Kiah Jensen and Flynn Logan have a property near town, don’t they?

She just shrugged. Sorry, couldn’t tell you.

Can’t or won’t?

Amounts to the same thing. Even if we did have any knowledge, there are strict non-disclosure contracts in force… everywhere.

So, what’s your price, Ms Armstrong?

Pardon?

Everyone has a price. I need to know if Blake Shelton is actually looking at buying real estate here as rumoured… and who else is contemplating a change of address. Kenny Chesney, perhaps. Carrie Underwood will be touring the country soon. Maybe she’ll pop in and check out what’s for sale?

The price he threw out as incentive to talk elicited a soft gasp from Shelby behind her. Matilda was momentarily stunned.

He was keen to get any information. The more information he could get, the higher the price. He proposed she let him have access to some homes to basically snoop around. He made it sound like a feature segment on Fabulous Life—but without consent.

Oh, she was tempted. For about a nanosecond. Paying down a few bills, maybe an overseas holiday, a decent deposit for a house of her own at last. But then she would destroy the trust of their clients. The business would go bust and they would have to leave town in disgrace.

She drew herself up to her full five-foot-six, even though she still came up short against Doug Rayford.

"I’m sorry, but we aren’t about to divulge any client information to anyone, especially a reporter from Australian Gossip. I think you had better leave or I’ll be forced to call the police."

They eyeballed each other for a few seconds before he conceded defeat.

I’m not going to give up that easily, Ms Armstrong. He left the office, letting the door slam behind him.

Can you believe the nerve of that guy? Matilda exclaimed.

I sure hope we’ve seen the last of him.

Unfortunately, the two women hadn’t seen the last of Doug Rayford. He was nothing if not persistent.

Over the next couple of days, he returned to Indigo Property Management to offer yet another inducement to provide what he needed to run a story. Every time, they listened, not so politely, and sent him on his way.

Sighing as she pulled up early outside the office, Matilda recognised the figure leaning against the red brick wall adjacent to the doorway, like some sort of detective in a B-grade movie.

Great start to the day, she muttered, wishing there was a back entrance she could use. But she was stuck now. He was watching her. There was no choice but to suck it up and walk past the American and prepare for another barrage. She wasn’t about to make eye contact or even acknowledge his presence. But he certainly acknowledged hers.

Ms Armstrong, I’d like a word please.

Matilda stopped in her tracks. "I’m sorry, Mr Rayford, there is nothing I want to hear from you. Good day."

I’m pretty sure you’ll be interested in what I have to say.

I haven’t been, so far.

Granted. But I think you might change your mind. Do you mind if I come inside?

Yes, but I suppose you will follow along anyway.

Matilda continued walking and opened the office door. Once inside, she stowed her bag then straightened, folding her arms. I’m waiting.

Firstly, I’d like to apologise for harassing you over the last few days.

Matilda stiffened slightly. An apology was unexpected, but she was very wary. He could be planning to ambush her.

I’m not a reporter on exchange.

Matilda wasn’t sure she could buy that. Who was he then? An undercover police officer? Private investigator? Scoping out one of the residents who was involved in nefarious pursuits, perhaps. Maybe a relationship breakdown? Looking for proof of an extra marital fling?

He held out a business card, which she reluctantly plucked from between his long fingers.

I’m actually here on behalf of a client who has recently purchased a property in the area.

She read the details printed on the card in her hand. Was this even the truth? How do I know that this isn’t a fabrication as well?

Jump online. He indicated her computer. Google me. See what you can find. He leaned on the reception counter.

Matilda had just got on to the internet when Shelby came barrelling in. That girl was a bundle of energy. But she pulled up short at the sight of their visitor. You again.

Yes, me again, was his only comment.

Shel, Mr Rayford here says he’s not really a reporter.

Really? Shelby’s doubts matched her own.

Just doing an online background check to see if he’s really who he says he is.

Shelby came around to stand at her back while the computer searched.

Hmm, there he is… manager extraordinaire by the look of this, Matilda muttered as she clicked on a few photos and saw him at the country music awards with a stunning blonde, reportedly his wife.

Holy heck… he’s not a reporter after all, Shelby commented.

After a few more minutes Matilda was done. Okay, so what was all the subterfuge about?

Just doing due diligence. Needed to see if you were as trustworthy as I’d been led to believe. Can’t be too careful these days.

Fair enough, I guess. Do you mind telling us who or what led you to believe we were trustworthy?

Jack Weston.

Hmm, okay. I guess that makes sense.

Matilda leaned back in her chair as Shelby took the seat next to her, indicating for Doug Rayford to do likewise. He folded himself uncomfortably into the remaining chair.

So how can we be of help?

The property needs to be refurbished and fitted-out before my client can move in. The sooner it can be completed the better. He’d like to move in asap.

Can you tell us the name of your client?

No, not at the moment, but obviously you will meet him once he gets settled. He’s had a tough time, burnt-out. Needs to get as far away from the States as he can to rest and recover and hopefully start writing songs for his next album.

Matilda could only speculate on the identity of the client. Heck, that could describe pretty much any country-music performer.

Where is this property? The two friends knew most of the homes and land currently up for sale.

Apparently it was known locally as the Caswell Estate.

The girls looked at each other, trying not to look too surprised.

I take it you know which place I’m talking about?

They nodded.

Good, well I’d like you to organise a caretaker to live onsite for the next few months to oversee things. Wouldn’t expect them to give up their day job and be there twenty-four/seven but have the ability to check in as needed.

Shelby spoke up. I think I can confidently say we have just the right person in mind.

CHAPTER TWO

An honour guard of trees welcomed Matilda as she drove through the wrought-iron gateway up the beautiful elm avenue that led from a quiet country backroad to the main house on the Caswell Estate. The canopy of branches over the road provided the perfect entrance to the property, set about a kilometre and a half from the road. Closer to the house, there was another, smaller gateway.

Years ago, the owners participated in an open-garden scheme and allowed the general public access to the grounds for two weekends in the year. Matilda remembered coming here once or twice when she was younger. Probably when she was ten. In a good season, the extensive grounds were a sight to behold. Green and lush and ordered. Families would enjoy picnicking on the expanse of lawn with the house as the backdrop.

While the gardens and their surrounds weren’t totally overgrown now, you could tell they had been somewhat neglected. Apparently, there was someone who came regularly to mow and keep things in check.

Matilda hoped the wisteria walk was still there; she had adored that part of the garden. A photo taken by her mother of a young Matilda under the archway in a sweet hand-me-down cream dress remained one of her all-time favourite photos. But the walk couldn’t be seen from the front of the house, and she didn’t imagine she could go check it out.

The house itself had always taken her breath away and she had imagined living here when she was younger. Fantasising about being lady of the manor with a husband, several children and any number of dogs gambolling across the expanse of green. And a feature article in Country Style or one of the other publications that featured genteel country living.

She pulled up on the gravel next to a silver hire car. Doug Rayford stood waiting, arms crossed, dressed in black, leaning against one of the Doric columns on the curved portico steps leading to the main door.

Matilda had a momentary sense of panic. Was she late? It wasn’t in her nature to keep people waiting unnecessarily. Shelby got away with it, more often than not. But not Matilda.

She checked her watch.

Nope.

Even allowing for the five minutes her watch was set ahead, she was right on time, so she refused to feel intimidated as she grabbed the clipboard from her passenger seat and exited the car.

Morning, Ms Matilda. He looked every bit the ‘manager to the biggest country stars’ that