Promises

by Cathryn Hein

  She looked at the ground and gnawed her thumbnail. Her aunt would laugh if she found out Sophie had captured an admirer, and laugh even harder if she discovered it was the wrong one. Tess had marched into Vanaheim the week before, looked Sophie up and down and announced it was no bloody wonder Aaron wasn’t interested in her. Wreck didn’t begin to describe the mess Sophie had made of herself.

  She had snapped back that Tess was hardly one to talk, but the insult had taken effect. As soon as Tess marched off with another bottle of purloined red wine, she’d walked into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror, trying to see herself through Aaron’s eyes. A puffy-eyed, mousy-haired disaster looked back at her. The girl Aaron had once called pretty had turned ugly.

  So she’d drawn on her fortitude and done something about it. But now it appeared her attempt to make herself attractive had not only failed, it had backfired.

  Ben’s hand settled lightly on the small of her back, sending her nerves buzzing like wires in a high wind. She could see him looking at her, a teasing smile on his lips as though he thought her discomfort was an act. She whistled for Sammy and Del. The heelers wandered out from behind the stables and, seeing someone touching their mistress, trotted to Sophie’s side. She gave them each a pat. Ben’s hand fell away.

  She peered at the cluttered interior of Ben’s car. The passenger seat was piled with plastic bags of soil, rural newspapers and fertiliser brochures. ‘Maybe we’d better take the Range Rover.’

  Sophie deliberately kept the radio up as she drove Ben out to the lucerne paddock. She wanted this over and done with as quickly as possible so she could go back to Aaron’s and apologise. Sammy and Del sat panting in the rear, fogging up the windows with their doggy breath. She smiled. Ben wouldn’t try anything while the two dogs were protecting her. Blue heelers weren’t renowned for their genial nature and although her dogs were lazy, they were also ferociously loyal.

  Ben raised his voice over the radio. ‘I had a good time on Saturday. It was a pity you had to go.’

  She kept her eyes on the muddy track. ‘Horses take up a lot of time, I’m afraid.’

  ‘There’s more to life than horses, Sophie.’

  ‘Not in my world.’

  She concentrated on driving. The track was hard from years of vehicles compressing the soil, but it was still slippery, and although she wasn’t interested in Ben romantically, she wanted his respect. Sliding off the track and bogging the Range Rover would make her seem amateurish, like the spoilt, rich-kid-playing-farmer many thought she was.

  They pulled up at the gate. Stretching east over the hill toward Dixon Road lay ten hectares of vibrant green lucerne. There were other stands at Vanaheim, but they were older, and this was one Sophie had planned and planted herself.

  Twelve months’ hard work had gone into preparing the paddock. Dull days spent on the tractor spraying weeds, applying lime and fertiliser, cultivating the soil to get the seed bed perfect. She’d spent hours talking to seed company representatives, the Department of Agriculture’s district agronomist, and local lucerne growers, who’d indulged her interrogation with bemused expressions.

  She’d immersed herself in brochures and research papers and management books until she was so stuffed with knowledge about lucerne she dreamt about it. Then came the actual planting and the watching and waiting as it emerged from the soil and unfurled its tiny leaves into the cool autumn. Fourteen months on, and it was magnificent – a testament to a life that revolved around nothing but Vanaheim and horses.

  A life before Aaron.

  She unlatched the gate and wandered out into the stand, picking at leaves and studying them. The heelers took off with their noses down, following rabbit and mice trails. Ben lagged behind, slowed by his football injury.

  She waited for him to catch up and then handed him a stalk of lucerne. ‘Phosphorus?’

  He took it from her fingers and inspected the sprig’s small, purplish leaves. ‘Shouldn’t be, not after the preparation you did. Are there any others?’

  Sophie crouched down and went through the plants at her feet. ‘Can’t see any’

  ‘It’s probably just an isolated patch, but if you’re worried we’ll do another soil test at the end of winter.’ He looked around. ‘It’s looking great. With good management, you’ll get ten years out of this. You should be proud.’

  She smiled her thanks and stood up, staring into the distance toward Hakea Lodge, wondering if her suspicion about Aaron was right. That it was Ben’s visit that had made him so fractious.

  ‘You’ve done all this on your own, plus you’re a successful eventer and now a place-winning racehorse owner.’ He smiled and fixed her with soft brown eyes. ‘You’re one special girl, Sophie.’

  She crossed her arms and contemplated her feet, puzzled as to why someone as good-looking as Ben was bothering with her. He’d been out to the farm enough times to know she wasn’t really that girl he’d seemed so interested in on Saturday. She didn’t usually wear dresses or make-up or perfume. She wore jeans and jodhpurs, and smelt of horses and hay, and kept herself deliberately isolated because for so long she hadn’t been strong enough to face the world. But now she was, and the world was proving more complicated than she ever imagined.

  ‘You make it hard for a bloke. Saturday was the first time I’ve seen you anywhere out.’

  ‘I don’t go out much.’

  He took a step closer. Sammy and Del bounced towards her, tongues lolling. Without instruction, they took position either side of their mistress, heads cocked as they regarded Ben.

  ‘Maybe you should. Ever been to Chez Nicolette?’

  Sophie shook her head. Chez Nicolette was Harrington’s posh-est restaurant, though in a town whose dining experiences barely extended beyond pub food, Chinese and a solitary Thai restaurant, that didn’t mean all that much.

  ‘I’d like to take you there for dinner on Saturday night.’

  ‘It’s sweet of you to ask, Ben, but I’ll have to say no.’

  He brushed his boot through a lucerne plant. ‘You seemed pretty keen last Saturday.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She wanted to leave. This was becoming awkward.

  ‘I don’t like being used, Sophie,’ he said quietly.

  She didn’t know how to respond. He was right. She had used him to get at Aaron and now he was hurt. She felt dismayed by her immaturity. She was twenty-two. It was about time she grew up. With the dogs at her heels, she began walking hunch-shouldered back to the car. Ben hesitated, then limped to follow.

  She drove him back to his ute, fingers curled hard around the wheel. When she pulled up, they both stared through the windscreen in heavy silence, trying to find something to say. After several long seconds he hooked his fingers in the door handle and pushed it open.

  He was halfway to the ute when she lowered her window and called his name. Turning back, he leaned an arm against the car and fixed her with a hopeful expression.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He shrugged and smiled. ‘It’s okay. My mum always says all’s fair in love and war. But if you change your mind, the offer still stands.’ His expression turned serious. ‘I just hope that horse trainer of yours realises how lucky he is.’

  The moment Sophie turned Buck into Hakea Lodge’s drive the horse seemed to gather himself. Instead of the head-tossing, snorting and skittering he’d performed at home, he held steady, neck arched, ears pricked and prancing like an Olympic dressage horse. It was as though he knew competition awaited, and wanted to show the others exactly who was the star around here.

  ‘You think you’re so cool, don’t you, Buck?’ she said, scruffing his mane. ‘But you wait until Aaron gets on your back. Then we’ll see how cool you are.’

  Arrogant as ever, Buck simply broke into a canter so round and elevated, he seemed to bounce down the drive.

  After Ben’s departure she’d stayed in the car, gnawing on a finger nail and thinking. When taken in context with Ben’s visit, the
reason behind Aaron’s conduct that morning seemed plain, but she was hardly in good form when it came to interpreting people’s behaviour. Someone like Ben was easy. He made it clear what he wanted, through words and actions. Aaron, on the other hand, said one thing and then looked at her in a way that belied those words. While her heart told her the truth lay in his eyes, her head remained cautious. And her father’s assertion always echoed through her mind.

  He’ll hurt you, and you’re going to let him.

  One thing she’d decided was that she wasn’t prepared to embarrass herself by rushing around and interrogating Aaron. She needed an excuse to return, and none came better than Buck.

  Aaron was sitting on the verandah step with a heavy canvas rug over his knees and a needle threaded with waxed cotton in his hand when she clip-clopped into the yard. He glanced up, frowning at the sight of her on Buck. Noticing an intruder, the other horses came to life, calling out and stomping. Nostrils flared, Rowdy glared at Buck from his stable before snorting and tossing his head, and whirling around to present his rump.

  As Sophie dismounted, a ray of sun broke through the heavy sky and covered the quadrangle in a golden glow. Puddles and water drops sparkled with reflected colour. The wind, which had been absent and kept the weather front over the district, began at last to rise, shuffling the trees and shifting the clouds. She sucked in a breath, hoping it was a sign.

  She led Buck to the step and sat down beside Aaron. ‘I’m sorry about this morning.’

  He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. ‘Me too.’

  They both stared at Buck, standing stock-still with his muscles quivering, haughty head held high. Only the twitch of his tail and the swivel of his ears betrayed his mood.

  ‘Was it because of Ben?’

  ‘I’m just tired, Sophie, and worried about the yard. I took it out on you and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.’

  She twisted Buck’s reins in her fingers, doubt circling again. Each time she thought she’d worked out where his heart lay, he acted in a way that made her question what she’d determined. Maybe he spoke the truth. Maybe she’d misread all he’d said and done, just as she had her father.

  She looked at the feed room, remembering. Aaron’s touch so gentle, the desire burning in his eyes, the way he’d said her name. The way he’d rejected her and continued to do so. She bit her lip.

  He lifted his chin toward Buck. ‘Please tell me you’re not hoping to retrain him as a racehorse.’

  ‘No. I was hoping you might teach him some manners.’

  ‘You can do that yourself.’

  Sensing he was the topic of discussion, Buck lowered his head toward them. Aaron held out his fingers to sniff before scratching Buck’s nose. The horse took a step closer so Aaron could reach his ears, and closed his eyes. Sophie regarded Buck sourly.

  ‘Believe me, I’ve tried. Please, will you ride him? You’re twice my size and a lot harder to get off.’

  ‘He’ll probably kill me.’

  ‘No he won’t.’ Waylaying any further protest, she grabbed his hand and slapped the reins onto his palm. ‘Think of it as a return favour for the ute.’

  Aaron said nothing for a moment, eyeing Buck with scepticism. The horse blinked innocently back at him. He sighed, set the canvas rug he was repairing aside and stood. ‘All right. But I’m putting him in the stock saddle, just in case.’

  Fifteen minutes later, Sophie stood in the centre of Aaron’s lunging ring with her hands on her hips, looking sulkily at Aaron as he circled around her. The lunging ring was a large, fenced circle filled with deep sand, which served a dual purpose – a way for Aaron to work the horses on his own, and as a sand pit in which they could roll and scratch after exercise. Wary of Buck, Aaron had suggested they work him there first, but from the way the horse plodded around, a portrait of equine docility, the precaution proved unnecessary.

  ‘I hate you,’ she announced.

  ‘Come on, Soph,’ replied Aaron, blue eyes twinkling. ‘I thought we were friends.’

  ‘We were until today. How the hell do you do it?’

  Aaron couldn’t stop laughing at her and now, as if her humiliation wasn’t complete, he sat sideways in the saddle, one leg hooked around the stock saddle’s knee pad, the other dangling free of the stirrup. He’d even let go of the reins, but Buck, the rotten traitor, continued plodding along like a cart horse.

  ‘Don’t you know? It’s my manly touch.’

  She stomped toward them. ‘Right. Get off.’

  Aaron slid from the saddle and grinned at her. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about, Soph. Old Buck here seems fine to me.’

  She poked her tongue out at him and mounted, determined to show Buck’s behaviour had nothing to do with Aaron. The horse was simply in a benign mood for once, perhaps made obliging by the breaking sunshine. The moment she landed in the saddle, Buck perked up, his ears swivelling like periscopes. Recognising the signs of developing discontent, she kept her concentration, feeling with her foot for the other stirrup in case he started up.

  ‘See? He’s fine,’ said Aaron from the centre of the ring.

  Sophie cast him a dirty look before gathering up the reins and urging Buck into a trot. As they circled, she marvelled at the mighty effort it must have taken Rowdy to jump over the fence from a standing start. The sand was deep, the enclosing fence high. She doubted Buck could manage it, or even Chuck, and they were trained to jump enormous fences under difficult conditions. If Rowdy could be trained, there’d be no stopping him. She just hoped she was up to it.

  Though tenser than he had been with Aaron, Buck kept his temper, and Sophie’s flagging faith in her ability and her horse began to rise. She eased him back to a walk and asked him to collect himself. Romping around the ring was one thing, but like all the racehorses watching the scene with interest from their yards, Buck wasn’t a pleasure horse, he was a performance horse. She needed him to behave like one.

  Using her legs and weight, she brought him to hand, feeling him elevate and lighten, as though all his muscles had tightened into a ball of controlled power.

  ‘Looking good,’ said Aaron, and from the tone of his voice he seemed genuinely impressed.

  She gave the aid to trot, and Buck responded, bouncing along through the sand as though his hoofs were made of springs. Her spirits soared. He hadn’t performed like this for months. With each circle, her confidence ballooned. She directed him to canter, and the change came like clockwork. A grin broke across her face. She looked at Aaron.

  ‘I don’t know what you did but I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘I told you, it was just my manly touch.’

  ‘I think you horse-whispered him.’

  He laughed. ‘That’s your style, Soph, not mine. Anyway, Buck’s not as gullible as Costa Motza.’

  ‘Costa Motza is not gullible. He’s a champion.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? And who was the one who described him as not a racehorse’s backside, huh? Had to eat your words on Saturday, didn’t you?’

  ‘Saturday was a fluke.’

  Sophie turned Buck into the centre of the ring. ‘Was not.’

  Aaron stared at the sky, shaking his head in feigned exasperation, the dark gold stubble on his chin glittering, his mouth quirked. Though his jeans were faded and tatty, his wool jumper full of pulls, they only made him appear more rugged and leg-jellying handsome. Ben Moore might possess chiselled movie-star looks, but it was Aaron who made Sophie’s insides melt.

  ‘Go on. Admit it. Even you were impressed by his performance.’

  He eyed her through long blond eyelashes in a way that made her tingle all over. ‘Maybe a little.’

  Grinning, Sophie cupped a hand to her ear. ‘What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.’

  ‘Bugger off.’

  As she reached out to pull his hat off, Buck dropped his shoulder and skidded sideways, neatly depositing a caught-out Sophie onto the sand at Aarons feet. The horse trotte
d around the ring, stirrups flopping, reins flapping and his head held disdainfully in the air as though delighted to at last be rid of the woman on his back.

  Aaron crouched on one knee beside her, blue eyes crinkled with concern. Are you all right?’

  Sophie sat up, rubbing her left shoulder and biting her lip to stop from sobbing in frustration. How dare Buck humiliate her in front of Aaron?

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are we talking pride or an actual injury?’

  ‘Both.’ She rolled her shoulder and though it gave a bit of a twinge, she decided it was fine.

  He pressed gentle fingers against her collarbone. ‘Sore?’

  She shrugged. ‘A little.’

  This might help.’ Kneading carefully, he worked his way to the base of her scapula and back again. His touch was tender and sure and made her nerves buzz. As he massaged her shoulder, his breath brushed her neck, shooting goosebumps down her back. She felt his gaze on her cheek, sensed it drifting toward her mouth. She swallowed, thinking again of how he’d caressed her in the feed room, how he’d looked at her, breathed her name. The feel of his mouth so close to hers. How she yearned to experience that just one more time.

  Unable to help herself, she pressed back into him and closed her eyes.

  The kneading ceased. She thought she heard him swallow hard but when she opened her eyes he was focused intently on her shoulder, not her mouth. And his own mouth was held in a resolute line.

  ‘That should do it,’ he said, letting her go.

  He stood, dusted sand off his knee, and held out a hand for her to grab. She searched his face for insight to his feelings, but his expression remained shuttered, his gaze not quite on hers. Only his eyes had darkened, though it was likely an illusion caused by the shadow of his hat.

  She stared at the sand, blinking away her pointless longing.

  ‘Come on, Soph, you know the rules. Time to get back in the saddle.’

  Buck had stopped gallivanting and was patiently waiting for someone to pay him attention. When Sophie was upright, Aaron strode over to him and grabbed the reins. After dusting herself down, Sophie joined him, and though she knew she needed to remount, her heart wasn’t in it. If today had taught her one thing, it was that Aaron had told the truth. Friendship was all he wanted.