Miracle in Bellaroo Creek

‘It was delicious, thanks.’

‘And I hope you were—uh—comfortable last night.’

‘I was perfectly comfortable, thanks. In your room,’ she added, not quite meeting his gaze.

The air around them seemed to thicken and grow hot.

‘Have you had breakfast?’ Milla asked, after a bit.

‘Sure.’ He patted his middle. ‘An inelegant sufficiency.’

‘I’m sure you were starving.’

‘Yeah.’ But it was time to remember that he hadn’t come here to discuss his appetite. Narrowing his gaze, he said, ‘So why are you over here so early?’

‘I thought you might want to sleep in, and I needed to make a start. I’m making an inventory of all the equipment that’s here, and working out what I still need.’

‘Jumping the gun, aren’t you? You don’t even know if the council will accept your application.’

She made an impatient sound of annoyance. ‘I’m quite certain they will, Ed. They’re very keen.’

Ed bit back a swear word. ‘You’re setting yourself up for failure, Milla. You can’t do this. It’s obvious this town is on its last legs.’ He flung out an arm, indicating the empty shop and the equally empty street. ‘Where are your customers? The last people who tried to run this place failed.’

‘They didn’t know enough about baking. Their bread wasn’t popular.’

‘Are you sure you can do better?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Milla, if you really want to work, you could get a job in a top Sydney hotel. The sort of work you were doing before you married.’

‘You want me back rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous?’

‘Yeah? Why not?’ When Ed first met her in London, she’d been a brilliant hostess for VIP guests.

Arms folded, shoulders back, jaw jutted, Milla eyed him with bolshie determination. ‘I’ve had enough of that life, Ed. If I see another spoiled rock star I think I’ll puke. I was born and raised in this town. We lived in Matheson Street, but I spent half my life in this shop. Before I started school, I was playing down here with pieces of dough, making my own bread rolls for my lunches.’

A fighting light burned in her lovely green eyes. ‘All through high school, I sliced and packed bread each morning before I caught the bus to Parkes. Afternoons, I worked out the front on the counter. Saturdays, I helped my mum to make her famous fruit lattice pies.’

Ed was impressed, but he didn’t let it show.

‘After I finished school, I started learning the trade properly. I know baking inside out,’ Milla said finally.

‘And you couldn’t wait to get away from it.’

She glared at him. ‘I was young and impatient, with a head full of big dreams.’

He nodded his acceptance of this. He supposed she was remembering, as he was, where her youthful dreams had led her—overseas to a wide range of interesting and fulfilling jobs, but, eventually, into the arms of his dangerous young brother.

No point in rehashing that now.

He nudged the conversation back to where he wanted it. ‘So, I guess you’ve written a business plan? You’ve prepared a break-even analysis and a profit and loss forecast?’

She sent him a drop-dead look.

‘Do you know your fixed costs?’ he continued. ‘The profit you’re likely to make from each sale?’

‘Go home, Ed. I don’t need you marching in here and throwing your weight around, spoiling everything.’

‘I’m trying to save you from the misery of starting up a business that’s doomed to fail.’

‘That’s very thoughtful of you.’ She lifted her chin and eyed him steadily. ‘But I’d prefer a little faith.’

It was then that he saw behind her bravado and glimpsed the vulnerable girl clinging to her last shreds of dignity and hope. And damn it, he felt a flicker of admiration. He quickly stifled it. A good businessman always trusted his head, not his heart.

‘Tell me about the equipment,’ he said, changing tack. ‘What have you got and what do you still need?’

‘Do you really care?’

‘Give me a break, Milla. Of course I’m concerned.’

She pursed her lips, then seemed to relent. ‘OK. I have a big oven that’s been here since the nineteen fifties. It’s great. No worries there. I have gas cookers, a big bread mixer and a refrigerator and freezer. I’ll need more measurers and cutters and things like piping bags and nozzles, but they’re not a huge cost. I could do with an orbital mixer, but that can wait.’

‘An orbital mixer? What’s that?’

‘It’s good for the smaller things—cakes, cream and icing.’

‘I guess you need scales for weighing things?’

Her eyes widened with surprise. ‘Yes, scales are very important. Dad used to have a really expensive set. I don’t know what happened to them.’

‘Where are your parents now? Will they be around to give you back-up support?’

‘Heavens no.’ A warm smile lit up her face. ‘They’re on a cruise. The Mediterranean this time. These days, they’re always on cruises and good luck to them. They’ve worked hard and they’ve earned their chance to have fun.’

Her smile faded, replaced by a look of defiance. ‘I need to do this, Ed.’

Deep down, he understood. Milla wanted to throw herself into hard, honest labour, as if it would somehow heal her past hurts.

‘What if you fail?’ He had to ask this. ‘What if you reject Harry’s money and try this—this hare-brained scheme and end up with nothing?’

‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘Milla, how can you be so sure?’

She simply smiled. ‘Try all you like, Ed. You’re not going to change my mind.’

CHAPTER FOUR