The night was warm and still. A mopoke was calling from the gums around the house. She could hear water rippling over stones, and frogs.
She climbed out of the car and the beauty of the place felt breathtaking. To have had the week she’d had, and then to find herself in a place like this …
Her eyes were suddenly filling with tears and she swiped them away with desperation. Luke was carting her suitcase up the steps. He stopped and looked back.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I … Nothing.’
‘There are no padlocks here,’ he said, mistaking her hesitation. ‘I promise.’
I wouldn’t mind if there were, if I got to stay here, she thought, filling her lungs with the gorgeous night air.
She could smell horses!
A million memories were crowding in. Her father, their farm, the horses she’d grown up with.
‘When can I meet Merrylegs?’ she managed, and made her feet head for the steps. All she wanted to do was stand and sniff the air.
‘Merrylegs might be a bit hard to arrange,’ he told her. He grinned. ‘Though come to think of it, Tom told me we have a new colt since last time I was down. Merrylegs … Shall we take a look tomorrow and see if the name suits?’
‘You’d name a colt for me?’ She practically gasped.
‘Think about it in the morning,’ he said gently. ‘You’re shaking.’
How had he known? But she was. This stupid bug had left her so weak she was struggling not to cry.
She was out of control. But no. It was simply that she wasn’t under her own control. Luke was calling the shots and for the first time since her father had died someone had lifted responsibility from her shoulders.
She was back on a farm, without the burden of care.
She thought suddenly of the day of her father’s death. Of him sitting at the kitchen table, a mass of bills around him, his face as bleak as death. ‘Lily, if anything ever happens to me, you’ll take care of your mother? Promise!’
She’d promised.
‘Coming?’ Luke said, and she looked up at this big, stern stranger, whose eyes were gentle but whose voice was inexorable. If she didn’t move he was quite capable of striding down the steps, lifting her up and carrying her to bed.
The thought was …
Unwise. She made herself walk up the steps, into the beautiful little house, then up the stairs, into the made-up spare room and into bed.
She was asleep in an instant.
How could he sleep?
He didn’t sleep much anyway. He lay staring into the night. So what was new?
Lily sleeping in his spare room was new.
He didn’t invite people to this house. Hannah had made it beautiful, but he only used his bedroom and kitchen. He’d made the bed up because last year when the local stock and station agent’s car had broken down a few miles from the house, he’d decided having the spare bed ready was sensible—but there was no question that this was his place.
To have Lily here was even more disconcerting than having her back at his apartment.
Why should it be disconcerting? She was a guest, a stranger in the next bedroom. A colleague. She was no different from the stock and station agent.
Or not.
Lily of the gaunt face. Lily who had been too thin even before the gastro. She seemed shadowed.
She needed this weekend. What harm was there in giving it to her? So what reason was there, then, to stay awake and be aware that she was just through the wall?
The whole hospital thought they were an item.
It’d been a spur of the moment deception but now … the thought seemed to be closing in on him. Deception or not, he didn’t connect with people. Especially with complicated women.
Lily.
Hannah.
‘Stand on your own two feet.’ His father’s voice seemed to boom from the darkness.
Luke’s father and also his paternal grandfather were wealthy, foul-mouthed bullies. Luke’s mother and grandmother were society gadflies, only interested in social standing. It was amazing they’d come together for long enough to produce children. Luke’s father certainly hadn’t wanted him. A son with a disfiguring birthmark had meant contempt from the day he was born.
What a family! His Uncle Tom had escaped Singapore as soon as he’d been old enough to emigrate, and Luke had been sent away at ten. Even though Tom had taken rough care of him since he’d arrived in Australia, Tom didn’t seem like family. Neither uncle nor nephew knew what that was about.
Stupidly, Luke had tried family with Hannah. He’d spent four years thinking it might work; knowing it wouldn’t. Then disaster.
Family was disaster. Emotional attachment was disaster.
‘I have my farm and my medicine,’ he told the darkness. ‘That’s enough.’
Whether Lily Ellis was his make-believe lover or not.
She woke and had to pinch herself to think she wasn’t dreaming.
The bed was high, cast iron, the kind you’d expect in your grandmother’s attic with a chamberpot underneath.
There was no chamberpot. There was a tiny bathroom right through the door. Lush towels hung from antique towel rails. Her patchwork quilt was gorgeous. The thick lemon carpet meshed beautifully with the soft blue walls.
This was no garret. This whole wee house was beautiful.
Had it been furnished by Hannah? Certainly there was a woman’s touch—this was a far cry from the cool greys of Luke’s city apartment.
She’d gone to sleep listening to mopokes and night owls.
Now there were kookaburras right by her window, their raucous laughter making her smile. How come they hadn’t woken her until now?
She rolled over and reached for her watch. And practically yelped.
Ten o’clock in the morning? What the …?
Where was Luke?
She glared at her watch like it had betrayed her. What sort of guest was she? He’d think … he’d think …
Why worry? He already thought she was loose and fast; why not let him think she was a total slob? The damage had been done. She could sleep until midday.
Or not. Kookaburras. Sunlight on her coverlet. Smells, pure country.
It was Friday. She was here until Sunday; three whole days of farm.
She was out of bed, heading for the shower before she finished the thought.
They needed to be independent. Luke decided this at dawn, when he woke, headed to the kitchen for his standard eggs and bacon, and then hesitated and thought he should wait for Lily to wake.
No. She needed to sleep. Independence was the go. He needed to ride the boundaries, head over to the big house, spend a bit of time with Tom, do what he normally did on his first day here.
Lily needed to sleep for as long as her body required.
So he headed for Tom’s but he made a phone call first. There was enough in what Lily had told him to think maybe some intervention might be needed. Without pushing the thought further, he called a lawyer mate in Adelaide. Then he left a note directing Lily to breakfast and headed out.
He found Tom, out with his dogs, eager to be doing things. Even though Tom was fiercely independent, he usually greeted Luke with a list of jobs the length of his arm. Today was fencing.
Excellent, Luke thought. Building fences, a man could get his thoughts together. Building fences, a man could forget about a woman with shadows, who’d melted into his arms and who’d …
No. Concentrate on fencing. He’d made the call to the lawyer. His conscience didn’t require he worry any further.
Funny things, consciences. They had a will of their own.
The horse was young, Lily thought, watching him skittering toward her. Full grown. A gelding—he wasn’t big enough, tough enough to be a stallion. He didn’t look tough but he looked … bad? He pranced toward her and she could almost see challenge.
‘Oh, you’re beautiful,’ she breathed as he came closer. She stood motionless against the fence, lettin
g him assess her.
He was wearing a halter of tooled leather with a metal name-plate attached.
Glenfiddich.
He’d have been called Glenfiddich because he was pure spirit, she thought, and couldn’t resist reaching to touch.
Or not. The contact had him skittering back, rearing, then tearing round the paddock at full gallop. His coat gleamed in the morning sun, every muscle clearly delineated. He was glorying in his strength, in the morning, in the sheer joy of being alive.
Which was exactly how Lily was feeling. The sun was on her face. She was out of the city. For now her mother was the vicar’s responsibility. She felt like she’d shed a too-tight skin.
‘Did he rescue you as well?’ she whispered, and the big horse dashed past her once, twice, and then paused. Slowed.
Decided to investigate.
She stayed absolutely still. He reached her and touched her cheek with his nose. He blew against her hair.
She swung onto the fence-rail, slowly, but he didn’t shy away. He nuzzled her again, pushing his nose into her armpit.
She scratched him behind his ears and he threw back his head, backed away again, then tossed his head and came back for more.
He was a wild, beautiful thing.
She looked at the halter. Maybe not so wild.
Wildish.
He looked at the gate. So did she.
Dared she?
This was Luke’s horse.
What had he said to Ginnie? All my horses are her horses.
There was soft rope by the gate; rope that could be looped as makeshift reins.
At twelve there wasn’t a horse she couldn’t ride. She’d helped her father break them. He’d taught her well.
She hadn’t been on a horse since.
Oh, he was beautiful.
She slipped down from the rail and he started nudging her toward the gate.
She giggled and he shoved her in the chest. Hard. Like, hurry up, there’s a world out there. Let’s go.
Let’s go …
They might find Luke. He had to be somewhere. On this horse she could go anywhere.
Not since she was twelve …
‘Don’t you dare throw me,’ she told the nose shoving her toward the gate. ‘My pride’s at stake.’
Luke spent four hours with Tom. Thirty satisfactory fence posts later he decided he needed to check on his guest.
He swung himself up back onto Checkers, his favourite horse, elderly, big, black and docile, with the gorgeous white blaze that had given him his name. He needed to head back to the house and make some lunch. He’d take Lily for a gentle stroll over the more accessible places on the farm.
Or not. For suddenly he saw her, over the ridge, cantering down along the track toward them. And she was riding … Glenfiddich.
His breath caught in his throat. Glenfiddich was a half-broken yearling, as spirited as his namesake. Lily was riding him without a saddle, with the halter he always wore but no bridle or reins. She was using rope as reins.
The last time Luke had ridden Glenfiddich it had taken him an hour to settle him; to make him trustworthy. But here was Lily, her canter turning to gallop.
Was she crazy?
Even as the question hit, he was flying. Checkers was almost an extension of himself. He touched his flanks and his big horse flew toward Glenfiddich, veering at the last moment so Luke could grasp his halter. Glenfiddich tried to rear—of course he did—but Luke had him in a grip of iron. He swung off Checkers so he could take full control.
Glenfiddich objected—and so did Lily. ‘What are you doing with my horse?’ Even though Glenfiddich had reared back she hadn’t shifted on his back.
‘He’s not your horse,’ he said through gritted teeth. He was fighting Lily for the rope-cum-reins. ‘Give me the reins and get off. Tom,’ he yelled to his uncle. ‘Come and lift Lily off.’
‘Does Lily want to be lifted off?’ Tom asked mildly, strolling up to meet them and raising his battered hat to Lily. ‘Seems to me she’s got a pretty good seat. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Get off the horse,’ Luke snapped.
‘So … you didn’t mean what you said about me being free to ride whatever horse I liked?’
‘He’s not trained.’ When he thought of what could have happened … a slip of a girl on a half-trained gelding … he felt sick.
‘And I’ve forgotten my training as well,’ Lily said happily. ‘So we suit.’
‘Get down!’ His anger reverberated through the bush.
Lily stared at him in dismay and then slid expertly from Glenfiddich’s back.
‘I haven’t hurt him.’
‘You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.’
‘I know horses.’
‘Not this one. Of all the stupid, risk-taking behaviour … You’re just like those kids, rollerblading over tallow.’
‘You don’t think you might just be overreacting?’ she ventured.
‘I didn’t give you permission.’ He had both horses in hand now, keeping them well clear of Lily. Glenfiddich was objecting but Luke was in no mood to let him show it.
‘I believe you told Ginnie I rode every horse here,’ Lily said, sounding angry herself now. ‘I ate breakfast as your note said, but there were no instructions after breakfast. I inspected the creek, the home paddock, the horses close by, and then I thought I’d like to go further. Glendiddich asked me to ride him, so we’ve been exploring and here we are.’ She smiled at Tom and carefully ignored Luke’s fury. ‘You must be Luke’s Uncle Tom. I’ve very happy to meet you.’
Glenfiddich asked me to ride him …
He tried to take it in. This morning Glenfiddich had seemed to take his decision to ride Checkers as a personal insult. He’d kicked out as they’d left the paddock, and it was only because Checkers was an old and wise horse that there had been no damage.
To see Lily flying along the track toward him, bareback …
Gorgeous didn’t begin to describe her, and fear didn’t begin to describe how he’d felt.
‘You’re out of your mind, riding a strange horse,’ he snapped.
‘He’s not a strange horse. We introduced ourselves before we got familiar.’ She tilted her chin defiantly. ‘Not like you and me.’
It almost defused his anger. A lesser man would have blushed. He almost did.
‘Let the girl back up,’ Tom said from behind them. ‘She looks a picture on horseback.’
‘I’ll find you a quiet mare,’ Luke snapped.
‘Or a tractor?’ Lily said, suddenly teasing. ‘Tractors are safe but they’re not nearly as much fun.’
‘You’re not here to have fun.’
Her smile died. ‘Of course I’m not. I’d forgotten. Sorry.’
‘Lunch,’ he said, tugging the horses round to face the house.
‘I guess we’re not riding, then.’
‘No. I’ll find you a safe horse after lunch.’
Her smile died completely. ‘It’s okay. I guess I don’t need to ride. I should have learned that a long time ago. Tom, are you joining us for lunch?’
Tom shook his head, but amazingly he looked almost tempted. ‘No, but let the girl back on,’ he told Luke.
‘And have her break her neck? In your dreams. I’ve had one woman die on me; there’ll not be another.’
‘Hey,’ Lily said, startled. ‘I’m not your woman.’
‘Of course you’re not,’ he said shortly, and he led two horses along the track to the house without saying another word.
Luke worked with Tom again in the afternoon and Lily wandered the farm alone. She dropped by to chat—to Tom. She offered to help and when Luke said she should be resting she seemed rebuffed.
‘She’s a decent woman,’ Tom said, eyeing Luke sideways. ‘Good seat on her, too. Find her a horse.’
Luke had quiet horses but Lily’s reaction had been blunt. ‘I don’t ride,’ she’d said flatly. ‘Forget it.’
He’d hurt her but he couldn’t help i
t. He wasn’t about to let her risk her neck.
But he did feel bad—and he had a foal she needed to see. Toward sunset, as Tom headed off to feed his cattle, Luke joined Lily on his veranda.
‘I’m sorry I snapped,’ he told her. ‘I don’t like people taking risks.’
‘I wasn’t taking risks,’ she said mildly. ‘But apology accepted.’
‘I have something I need to show you.’
She looked at him, considering whether to take the conflict further. She shrugged, moving on, and he was relieved.
What he had to show her should lighten the atmosphere, he decided, and led her over to Tom’s home paddock to visit Zelda.
Zelda was a roan with soft white markings, a lovely gentle mare. The foal by her side was a tangle of spindly legs with his father’s markings. Checkers’s markings.
‘Meet Zelda,’ he told Lily, and Lily gazed at the foal in delight. ‘And Merrylegs. Just named this morning.’
Tension was forgotten. ‘He’s beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘Is Checkers his dad?’
He nodded.
‘A family,’ she breathed. ‘Mother, father, son. How lucky are you!’
‘It’s all the family I ever want.’
‘Really?’ she said, sounding startled. ‘Why?’
Why?
He hadn’t intended to say it. It had been a dumb thing to say.
So why had he said it?
Because she was too close.
Because she was too beautiful?
He’d hurt her today. He didn’t intend to hurt her again.
He didn’t intend to be hurt himself.
He forced himself to recall the day Hannah had died. She’d been unwell at breakfast but she’d thought it was the take-away meal she’d eaten the night before. She’d eaten too much of it, she’d snapped, because he hadn’t arrived home in time to share.
‘Ring me if you need me,’ he’d said, knowing she was angry but not knowing what to do about it. He’d kissed her goodbye, intending to come home at lunchtime and check.
And then there’d been cojoined twins, one dead, one close to death, surgery impossible to delay. Fourteen hours in Theatre. At some stage he’d asked a nurse to ring and let Hannah know what was happening.
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