The Big Little Festival. Kellie Hailes

Afraid if she glanced up at Christian he’d see the lies in her eyes. ‘That’s right. Everything is back on track.’

      ‘So, you don’t need help finding entertainment?’

      ‘It’s sorted.’

      ‘And you’ve organised parking and how tickets are to be taken.’

      A pebble-shaped ball of anxiety formed in Jody’s stomach.

      ‘Uh-huh.’ She gave a little nod of agreement.

      ‘And you have someone who can work a sound system?’

      The pebble began to take on a stone-like quality.

      ‘And the MC has been properly briefed?’

      Stone? More like a boulder. A boulder that was making her feel more ill by the second.

      ‘And do you know you’ve gone quite green? Do you need to sit down? Shall I pop over to that café and get a takeaway cup of tea? A glass of water?’

      God, why was he being so concerned? He was being fired. He should be angry with her, not offering to get her a cup of bloody tea.

      ‘You’ve gone a bit green too, Christian,’ Tyler piped up.

      ‘Yeah, and you’re sweating,’ said Jordan. ‘And it’s not even that hot. Look, Mum, the edges of his face are all wet.’

      Jody snuck a peek at Christian out of the corner of her eye. The boys were right. He did look quite ill. Why? What was she missing?

      ‘I’m fine, boys. It’s a rather warm day. However, I do think your mother is being rash sending me back to London without having me check everything over. The festival may be looking in tip-top shape right now, it may even be perfect, but the last thing she or the town needs is a cock-up on the big day.’

      Tyler giggled and elbowed Jordan. ‘He said “cock-up”!’

      Jody closed her eyes and exhaled. Now she was going to be hearing those two words for the next week. Excellent. ‘Could you watch your language around my sons, please? They’re impressionable. And I promise you, we don’t need you. We’re fine. In fact, like you said, we’re perfect.’ She angled her chin upwards, defying him to question her one more time.

      A screech of anger filled the air. ‘You’re a mean old cow and I can’t believe I ever forgave you for breaking my best crystal vase. Although I do wish I’d been the one to break it… over your head!’

      Christian’s lips quirked.

      Jody threw her head back and stared at the brilliant blue sky. ‘Those women are going to be the death of me,’ she muttered before facing Christian again.

      Those lush lips of his had gone from quirked to pursed in obvious amusement. Jody itched to clamp her hand over his mouth to hide those twitching lips, the way she did with the boys when they stuck their tongues out or lifted their lips in a sneer.

      ‘Shall I get back in my car, or shall we go and sort things out?’ he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of those annoying, I-know-exactly-what-I’m-seeing-and-I-find-it-all-too-hilarious-for-words lips.

      Jody paused. An image of the fundraising thermometer she’d painted for the town flickered in the back of her mind. The red ‘mercury’ was still sitting at next-to-nothing three years later despite her organising six book sales and monthly bingo nights. She might not want Christian Middlemore, but the town needed him if they were going to get the community pool up and running. Up and running? More like totally rebuilt.

      ‘Fine,’ she huffed, turning to head back to the hall. ‘Follow me. You boys stay out here. You’re too young to be exposed to what’s going on in there.’

      Tyler nodded sagely. ‘Cock-ups. Lots of them.’

      The clang of what sounded like a chair being thrown against the wall echoed out through the hall’s doors.

      Christian bent down to the boys’ height. ‘Do as your mum says. But if you hear screaming, call the police.’ He winked and straightened up again.

      Jody rolled her eyes. Who did this guy think he was telling her boys what to do? Well, if he tried to tell her what to do, he was going to find out very quickly who was in charge.

      ***

      Christian stood beside Jody as she cleared her throat to get the committee’s attention. The committee being two women who looked to be in their mid fifties, and who were currently glaring at each other from across the room, an overturned chair between them.

      ‘Christian, I’d like you to meet my fellow committee members. In the left corner we have Marjorie Hunter. Marjorie runs a dairy farm with her husband and their daughter, Serena. Marjorie’s also on the committee for the Farmer of the Year Awards.’

      A soft snort came from the other woman. ‘More like the Failure of the Year Awards.’

      Jody lifted an eyebrow. ‘Shirley.’ Her tone was sharp enough to make the woman drop her eyes to the floor.

      ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.

      Jody McArthur might look youthful, with her blonde curls bobbing about her shoulders and that spaghetti-strapped sunshine-yellow sundress floating about her tanned and rather firm-looking mid thighs, Christian noted, but she wasn’t to be messed with. Or trifled with. And he got the feeling she wasn’t to be flirted with. Which wasn’t a problem, not when she had two lust-killers playing outside. He didn’t do happy families, he worked. He succeeded. He only ever did his best. The best. Anything less was unacceptable.

      ‘And in the right corner we have Shirley Harper. Shirley is an active member of Rabbits Leap. She’s raised three sons here. She does a little housekeeping here and there. Volunteers at all the school fundraisers…’

      ‘And thinks she’s the Queen of the Leap because one of her sons just happens to be a sporting bigwig.’ Marjorie’s lip lifted in a sneer directed at her adversary.

      ‘Well, at least he’s done something with his life. What’s your girl done? Not a lot from what I can gather. Partied a lot. Travelled the globe at someone else’s expense. Had to come home and work on the farm because of her fail—’

      ‘Which is where she belongs.’ Mrs Hunter cut her off, nostrils flaring in warning. ‘There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re wrong and your place is at home. Serena just took some time to come round to the idea. And she’s doing great things on the farm. She’ll be nominated in the Young Farmer category this year for sure. And she’ll win it.’

      Was it Christian’s imagination or did that last statement lack conviction? He glanced at Jody, who was shaking her head, eyes heavenward. She didn’t need a miracle to manage these two. She needed him. Lucky for her, and unfortunately for him, he had nowhere else to be.

      ‘So that’s the committee? All of them?’ he asked.

      ‘Well, we do get the odd straggler come and sit in and give us their opinion, which we take onboard. The more the merrier. It’s a democracy and all that. But we’re the core team.’

      Christian nodded. ‘I see.’ Except he didn’t. Their festival was being run as a democracy? People wandered in and gave their opinions and expected to be listened to? No wonder Jody had decided to hire an event manager. They didn’t need direction, they needed a director. And he was just that.

      He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and marched across the room to where the thrown chair had fallen, set it on its feet and straddled it. ‘So, what have you got for me so far? What’s pinned down? What needs final confirmation?’

      The women glanced at each other. Bottom lips were chomped down on. Arms folded defensively. Eyes faced any which way but his.

      ‘Well…’ The top of Jody’s foot twisted back and forth on the faded oak floors. ‘We’ve had some thoughts. We’ve contacted a couple of people.’

      ‘And