Ringer Read online

  Ringer

  C.J Duggan

  Ringer

  By C.J. Duggan

  Copyright 2014 by C.J Duggan

  Amazon Edition

  Ringer

  A Summer Series Novella, Book 3.5

  Published by C.J Duggan

  Australia, NSW

  www.cjdugganbooks.com

  First Amazon edition, published April 2014

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including recording, scanning, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the author.

  Disclaimer: The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living (or dead) is unintentional.

  Edited by Marion Archer

  Copyedited by Anita Saunders

  Proofreading by Sascha Craig

  Cover Art by Keary Taylor Indie Designs

  This ebook formatted by White Hot Ebook Formatting

  Author Photograph © 2014 C.J Duggan

  Ringer is also available as a paperback at Amazon

  Contact the author at [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other Titles

  Dedication

  Praise For

  Quote

  Blurb

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Preview

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  A Summer Series Novella: Book 3.5.

  May be read as a stand alone or in the following order:

  The Boys of Summer

  An Endless Summer

  That One Summer

  Ringer

  Forever Summer

  Look out for

  Kiss the Girls (A Kincaid Brothers Novel)

  Someone Like You

  All the Right Moves

  The Anita Bowman Diaries

  www.cjdugganbooks.com

  Dedicated to all the misfits in the world.

  PRAISE FOR

  The Boys of Summer

  Summer Lovin'

  This book kept me up until the wee hours of the morning because I literally could not force myself to put it down – I just had to know what happened. Everything about The Boys of Summer absolutely blew me away.

  Claire – Claire Reads

  Best Contemporary Read of your Life

  I cannot begin to describe the love I have for this book. The Boys of Summer is a story about self-discovery and first true love that will stay with you for a long time after you read it.

  Hannah – A Girl in a Café

  Fun, Flirty, Fantastic

  All in all, if you're looking for a lovable and intense read, then this is for you. C.J Duggan has convinced me she belongs in the contemporary market and I cannot wait to read more from her.

  Donna – Book Passion for Life

  An Australian Gem

  You won't regret buying this one; you'll totally fall in love with the story and all of the characters. C.J Duggan knows how to write a book you'll just be drawn into! I'm already waiting for the next one – impatiently, might I add! The Boys of Summer is an Australian gem!

  Seirra – Dear, Restless Reader

  Simply Perfect

  Everything about The Boys of Summer was fantastic!!! C.J Duggan has written an amazing story and she was able to perfectly capture the Aussie summer, fun times with friends both new and old, and all the feelings of falling in love with the boy of your dreams. Bring on book two!!!

  Tracey – YA Book Addict

  Sweet, Intoxicating, Exciting

  The Boys of Summer is a wonderful example of just how deliciously sexy, sweet and charming summer-fling books can be! A book that gives you goose bumps, makes you swoon over its incredibly handsome male cast, gets you hooked on the clever plot line and, ultimately, sends you out feeling all warm inside, satisfied and with a wide smile on your face.

  Evie – Bookish

  “It's so easy to fall in love, but hard to find someone who will catch you.”

  - Anon

  They say it’s the quiet ones you have to worry about, and she was quiet, very quiet – when she wasn’t busy despising me with a burning passion.

  Ringo ‘Ringer’ James has a no-strings-attached policy.

  Love them, leave them, and remain the eternal bachelor.

  After a summer in which every one of his mates has succumbed to settling down, or so it seemed, Ringer is on the lookout for a quick exit. Having had enough of the stomach-turning love fest witnessed over the past three months, Ringer jumps at the opportunity to help out his mate, Max, by heading to Max’s dad’s property for a working holiday.

  It’s just what he’s looking for. A remote, dusty homestead in Ballan, with only hard work, a cold beer and a comfy bed to worry about – no women.

  Until Miranda Henry.

  The privately educated daughter of his boss has returned home from overseas and things are about to get very complicated, very fast. As summer draws to its end, Ringer is about to learn that sometimes attraction defies all logic, and that there really is such a thing as ‘enemies with benefits’.

  Chapter One

  RINGER

  I was suffocating.

  I could feel it restricting my brain, exhausting me in ways I could barely describe.

  “Do I look fat in this?”

  I rubbed my eyes, sighing in disbelief that my best mate beside me was about to actually answer the question.

  Seriously?

  I rested my elbows on the clothes rack, in the only women’s fashion outlet in Onslow. I raised my brows questioningly at Sean who stood on the opposite side of the rack. Ha! Sean. A six-foot-three grown man rubbing the back of his neck with guarded unease as he half laughed his answer.

  “Of course not.”

  He only visibly relaxed when his girlfriend, Amy, beamed a winning smile at him.

  Ding-ding-ding – that’s the right answer!

  Amy’s adoring eyes glimmered with approval until they shifted towards me.

  Her shoulders slumped. “What’s wrong with you, Ringer?”

  Without too much emotional investment, I lazily tore my eyes away from her accusing stare, casually running my hand down the sleeve of the silky shirt that hung in front of me.

  “Who, me?” I asked, examining the overpriced tag before stepping aside with disgust. I returned my glance towards my awaiting audience.

  Nope, nothing wrong with this scene. When a mate rings me up to say, “Do you want to catch up?”, what better way to do it than waiting outside a women’s changing room while his girlfriend tries on the latest fashion to hit Onslow?

  I gave her my best sickly sweet smil
e. “I’m just fine and dandy, but, hey, thanks for asking,” I offered sarcastically.

  Amy shook her head. “You’re an idiot,” she said, before she stepped back into the alcove, parting the curtains with a diva-like flick.

  My eye roll was short lived by an unexpected whack to the back of my head.

  “Hey, what was that for?” I said, clasping the back of my skull, my outcry loud enough for the permed-hair shop lady to dip her head with a squint of disapproval through her bifocals.

  I tore my eyes away, annoyed at the Judgy-McJudgment death stare; anyone would think we were in a fucking library.

  Sean offered her his best dashing smile, as if nothing untoward was happening. His demeanour changed somewhat when he fixed his gaze on me and lowered his voice.

  “Stop being such a snappy arsehole, Ringo.”

  Here we go.

  It would never be the words snappy or arsehole that made my blood boil; I had become quite accustomed to those. It was the fact he called me by my actual name—something he knew only my parents used when I was in the shit. If I had learnt one thing about Sean Murphy in all our years of friendship, he enjoyed deliberately winding me up. He knew I would never actually tell him what was pissing me off unless he wound me up so bad, I would explode.

  Yeah, well, fuck that for a joke. I was out of there.

  I pushed off from the clothes rack, refusing to stray from Sean’s challenging stare. It wasn’t entirely a pissing competition; I could see a glimmer of something in his eyes, concern or whatever. Not interested.

  “Have fun shopping, I hear Beauty Bliss do great bikini waxes if you’re interested.”

  I flipped on my Oakleys from the top of my head and offered my best ‘fuck-you grin’.

  Sean shook his head, but a smile creased the corner of his mouth.

  “You need to get laid, Ringer, you’re turning into a grumpy old prick.”

  Before I could retaliate, a cough from behind Sean sounded. The bifocal-devil granny’s lips were pursed in disgust. She obviously wasn’t used to a couple of Onslow boys hanging out in the aisles of the women’s department.

  “Miss Henderson will take these.” She motioned with an armful of clothing.

  “Thanks Mrs C, just put them on my account,” Sean said, before turning and pausing before me. “What?” He frowned.

  I flicked my sunnies back on my head, propping my elbow back onto the rack.

  “You have an account at Carters?” I asked, laughter threatening to rise in my chest.

  Sean straightened. “Yeah, what of it?”

  “No, nothing.” I shook my head. I had had enough. I moved past him and Mrs C who was still holding the pile of clothes.

  I paused, turning towards Sean, and said, “But you really must look into getting your vagina waxed before the day’s out.”

  I didn’t linger long, but it was long enough to hear the gasp from Mrs C, and almost ran into Amy as she came out of the changing room, still tucking her shirt in.

  “Where are you going?” she called after me.

  I waved without a backward glance. “To get a drink.” Because, God knew, I needed one.

  ***

  I twisted the top off my VB stubby and turfed it into the tray at the base of the bar.

  “Do you ever feel like you’re drowning in a sea of goddamn love?” I asked Max as I took a deep swig of my beer, a sip that still didn’t manage to lift the scowl from my face.

  “Hmm? What’s that?” he asked half-heartedly, lifting his eyes from his Nokia screen as he read through a text. Max, the barman, and incidentally one of the last of the dying breeds amongst men—yep, he was single—was one of the rare few I could hang around comfortably. At least, so I thought.

  Maybe he was texting some chick. Great.

  You wouldn’t usually see Max hovering over a phone, but it was the graveyard, Sunday shift. ‘Hotel California’ playing in the background, and I, his sole company. That, and whatever had him frowning at his screen.

  I sighed. Surely not him, too? Against my better judgment, I put down my beer, and asked the million-dollar question I wasn’t really interested in. Still, I reasoned, he was a mate.

  “Trouble in paradise?” I pressed.

  Max’s eyes slowly broke away from the screen. “Hmm? Oh shit, sorry, mate,” he said, shaking his head and pocketing his phone.

  It was as if he were seeing me for the first time, instead of having agreed to every part of my insistent whining for the past half hour. Had he heard a single thing I had said? Probably just as well.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Max ran his hand through his matted blond locks. “It’s my dad.”

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, yeah, no, he’s fine, it’s just that …” His phone beeped. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he growled, delving into his pocket and pulling his phone out.

  By then he had my full attention as I rested my elbows on the bar top, watching intently as he read through another message with a stony expression.

  Max shook his head. “He is such a cranky old bastard sometimes.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, lifting my beer to my lips.

  Ha! Cranky old bastard, hey? Sounds like my people.

  “He wants me to drop what I’m doing and go man the farm, while he and Mum go to the Wahroo Cattle Auction. As if I can just up and leave like that. Yeah, right, no worries.”

  My eyes drifted over the lean, gangly frame of the blond, baby-faced Max. He didn’t strike me as a farm boy and it was certainly news to me that he was.

  “Where’s your family’s farm?” I asked with genuine interest.

  “Ballan; it’s about five hours from here.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I know the place.” As in, you would blink and miss it. It had a pub, a corner shop-slash-post office-slash-petrol station, and a little school that probably had about twenty students from surrounding properties.

  If Onslow was a one-horse town, Ballan was a no-horse town, and that was based on the horse who would probably die of starvation. If memory served me well, Ballan was not famous for its rolling grassy hills, either. It was as flat as a tack and drier than a biscuit. A stark contrast to the rolling green ranges and lake that surrounded Onslow.

  Yeah, Onslow was beautiful; it was also bathed in romance. Sweet doe-eyed looks, hand holding, giggles, freakin’ sunshine and rainbows. It was enough to make your beer go flat.

  “So, I take it you’re not tempted to obey Dad’s orders?” I asked, motioning for another stubby.

  Max scoffed. “No freakin’ way.”

  Interesting.

  I suppose I could understand; escaping the dusty plains of Ballan to Onslow would seem like a massive inland sea change. Hell, Onslow would seem like paradise. A great escape.

  Escape.

  It was only the dull thud of Max placing my stubby in front of me that shook me from my thoughts.

  Max laughed. “What’s up with you, then? Woman troubles?” he asked, seriously misreading my troubled expression. I now had no doubt that he hadn’t listened to a bloody word I had said before.

  I broke into a grin. “Not bloody likely,” I said, twisting the cap off my beer.

  “Look out. I’ve seen that look before.” Max shifted uneasily, as he noted the devious glint of mischief in my eyes.

  “Max, my old mate,” I said, toasting him with my beer in the air. “I think I have just thought of an offer you simply won’t be able to refuse.”

  Chapter Two

  Miranda

  “I’m not going back, I don’t care how desperate they are.”

  I folded my arms indignantly as I sat across from my aunty at her kitchen table.

  “Oh, you’re just jet lagged.” Aunty Megan waved me off.

  “I’m fine.” I straightened. “I just don’t need the guilt trip right now.”

  Not ever.

  From the streets of Paris to the dusty plains of Ballan: no way, I thought, as I studied the glos
s on my manicured fingertips.

  “Well, you know your brother’s not going home?”

  My eyes flicked up. “What?”

  “Max has a job and he can’t go home.”

  A new panic surfaced inside of me.

  But Max always goes home.

  It was the unspoken agreement that he would do the dirty farm work, and I would travel around, because, well, that was just the way it was meant to be. I had wanted to escape Moira Station so badly, I had resorted to hitching rides into town, any which way I could, to get out of the most boring place on earth.

  “Well, they will just have to make him.”

  Aunty Megan curved her brow at me, as if to say, “How can you make a Henry offspring do anything?”

  Damn straight, I thought, because if there was one thing I was completely, totally, whole-heartedly defiant about, it was that I was not going back to bloody Ballan.

  Four years.

  That’s how long it had been since I had been back home; I couldn’t believe it had really been that long.

  I had been kind of a nightmare—playing up, getting drunk at the only source of entertainment, the local pub. I had planned to gain some of my parents’ attention in a way and, boy, had I ever. They decided that perhaps a private all-girls’ school would be best. And I had completely agreed, aside from the all-girls’ thing.

  My school became a welcome reprieve from the dust and solitude. I excelled academically, probably because it had given me hope that I wouldn’t end up a farmer’s wife. Instead, I did so well that my parents allowed me to be a foreign exchange student in Paris for my final year of high school, and even supported my desire to stay on afterwards. Mum and Dad had been good to me—so good—but expecting me to come back home to do something so completely foreign to me was a bit of a joke, and an absolutely ridiculous ask. I had been in Australia for less than a week, and they wanted me to come home and play caretaker because my dad didn’t want to hire someone in place of Max? And it’s not like my little sister, Moira, could be anything other than a thing under foot; she was only thirteen. And, yes, she was named after Moira Station, so naturally she thought she owned the place, little brat.