Whispers At Wongan Creek
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Whispers at Wongan Creek
Juanita Kees
www.escapepublishing.com.au
Whispers at Wongan Creek
Juanita Kees
Travis Bailey has his hands full managing his canola farm while taking care of his orphaned niece and his elderly neighbour who is battling Alzheimer’s. He doesn’t have time to fall in love. Social worker Heather Penney knows what it’s like to care for someone with a debilitating illness. She lost her mother to motor neurone disease. Initial blood tests show she might carry the same gene so her future isn’t guaranteed. Travis and Casey are fast winning her heart, but the small goldmining town of Wongan Creek holds sad and dangerous secrets. Travis’ twin sister drowned under suspicious circumstances and the town bully he suspects of her murder has turned his attentions to Heather.
About the Author
Writing fun, action-packed, sexy stories filled with feisty, caring characters ready to risk everything for love.
Juanita graduated from the Australian College QED, Bondi with a diploma in Proofreading, Editing and Publishing, and achieved her dream of becoming a published author in 2012 with the release of her debut romantic suspense, Fly Away Peta. Under the Hood (Book 1 in the Tag Raiders series) followed in 2013 as one of the first releases from Harlequin’s digital pioneer, Escape Publishing.
In 2014 Juanita was nominated for the Lynn Wilding (Romance Writers of Australia) Volunteer Award, and was a finalist in the Romance Writers Australia Romantic Book of the Year and the Australian Romance Readers Awards.
She escapes the real world to write stories starring spirited heroines who give the hero a run for his money before giving in.
Acknowledgements
Thank you as always to my critique partners: Jennie Jones, Lily Malone, Anna Jacobs, Claire Boston, Susy Rogers, Teena Raffa-Mulligan, Lorraine Mauvais, Kerrie Paterson and SE Gilchrist. To my family who put up with my eccentricities whether I’m writing or not, thank you. My wonderful editor, Brooke, thank you for catching my mistakes. And to the readers of rural romance, you are the reason I keep writing about this land I love so much.
For my dad, Hylary, whose gift for storytelling I inherited and my mum, Jean, who loves her e-reader and Aussie authors.
Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
Chapter 1
Travis Bailey tucked the oily rag in his hands into his back pocket, dragged the hat off his head and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. Casey needed new school shoes, the bloody tractor had thrown a piston and old man Murchison had stolen his own sheep—again.
‘Where did you see them last, Harry?’ he asked, thinking how much more bowed his seventy-two-year-old neighbour’s back had become in the last few months.
‘Down by the creek. I’m sure I put them there this morning. I betcha some bastard’s stolen them again.’
More like he’d herded them out to pasture and forgotten where he’d put them. ‘Are you sure they’re not in your back paddock?’
Travis put his hat firmly back on his head and squinted at the sun. The school bus would be along in another hour or so and then Casey would be home. The rest of his day would be taken up by peanut butter sandwiches minus the crusts, and reading homework. He didn’t have enough time to go looking for sheep that were likely not missing in the first place.
‘Any chance you didn’t put the sheep out to pasture this morning?’
These days his good friend could barely remember a conversation he’d had five minutes before. But, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that someone had played a prank on the old man.
‘They’re trying to scare me off my property, I tell ya.’ Harry leaned on his cane.
Now there was a possibility he couldn’t ignore. Mine shareholder cum property developer and all round arsehole, John Bannister was trying to snap up property to expand mine operations wherever there was so much as a hint of gold.
Still, Travis couldn’t risk being late for the bus and leave his niece to wait at the side of the road, especially not with their social worker due for her routine visit.
His application for adoption had raised the level of assessment in their case, put more focus on his parenting skills and Casey’s welfare as an orphan, but he knew deep down it was what his sister would have wanted. And what he wanted too.
On the bright side, it brought the lovely Heather Penney out to the farm, and Travis didn’t mind that at all. New in town, pretty and already a hit with the locals, Heather was breaking hearts all the way from Collie to Kalgoorlie. Lucky his heart wasn’t available for breaking, but at least he could enjoy the view.
‘All right then,’ said Travis. His day had turned to shit and he wouldn’t get another thing done without his tractor anyway. ‘Let’s go over to your place and see if we can find them. We need to hurry though, I need to clean up and put the toilet seat down before Heather Penney arrives.’
‘You’re a bloke. We have a right to keep the toilet seat up or we piss on it and then the missus complains anyway. Who’s Heather Penney?’
‘You need a filter on that mouth, Harry. Heather is my case worker. Doc Benson will be enrolling you in the welfare department’s care program soon if you keep forgetting where you put your sheep. Anyone would think you’re losing your mind,’ Travis teased.
Harry growled under his breath, the irony of the truth not lost on him. ‘Sounds like one of those government people who come in and tell you how to run your life.’
‘She is. Kinda. Except she’s really nice about it.’
‘What’s a bloody social worker going to do about my sheep anyway? Find them a foster family? I don’t need a social worker, I need a friggin’ policeman and Riggs can’t handle the whole damn town on his own, so it will be days before he gets out here to do something about it.’
Travis sighed. He and Harry had this same conversation so often he didn’t even have to think of a response because it came naturally. Harry never remembered anyone other than Riggs running the small town’s police station which, until the opening of the Wongan Creek gold mine ten years ago, had been a one-man show. Now they had five cops in town and if things got out of hand when the boys let loose in the pub, they’d call in reinforcements from one of the closest towns—which added at least one or two more to the town’s head count.
‘Come on, Harry. Since my tractor is shot to hell, we’ll take your ute. I’ll drive.’
He steered the old man across to the firebreak along the fence line where Harry had parked the ancient, rusty vehicle—if you could call it parking. More like stopping inches before he drove right through the perimeter fence. Travis made a mental note to check it for damage later.
Riggs would have a fit if he knew Harry was driving. He’d taken his licence off him last winter when Harry had almost driven into the flooded creek and couldn’t remember how he got there. It might be time to hide the keys, although the old bugger would probably just hot-wire it instead.
‘I can drive,’ Harry insisted.
‘I can still drive,’ he grumbled.
‘And I wouldn’t be a good neighbour if I let you. Now, keep an eye out for those sheep. We’ll do a quick drive past the creek and then back up to your place. I’ll have to let Heather know what’s happened and try to delay our appointment otherwise I’ll run out of time.’
‘Who’s Heather?’
Travis bit back a grin and turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed to life and rattled loudly as he drove along the fire break to the road. It wouldn’t be long before Harry’s ute joined the other rusting carcasses in the back paddock on his property. That could only be a good thing for Harry’s safety.
Travis turned left out onto Crossman Road and drove the five kilometres to the creek that ran through Harry’s property. As he drove over the old steel bridge, he looked but couldn’t see any sheep. Not that he’d expected to.
Harry muttered and cursed in the seat next to him. ‘Nope, nothing. Bloody mongrels.’
‘Nothing here, Harry. I’ll have to come back and look again after I’ve picked Casey up from the bus stop.’
‘Yeah, yeah, righto. How’s the kidlet doing at school?’
Travis glowed with pride. There was only room for one girl in his life and that was the almost six-year-old Casey. ‘She loves it. Come right out of her shell.’
‘That’s good. Poor kid. To lose her mum like that …’ Harry’s voice trailed off.
The glow Travis felt turned to a dull ache. It had been two years since his twin sister drowned in the same swollen creek they could have lost Harry to, and he felt the horror of it as if it happened yesterday. If he’d been home when she went missing that day, he might have been able to find her, save her, avoid the horrible suspicion surrounding her death, silence the rumours that it might have been suicide. Guilt and regret danced a tango in his gut. He only had himself to blame for the selfishness that took him away that day.
He’d needed—wanted—an escape from the terrible silence that had taken hold of their family. He’d thought trying out as the next Australian Buckjump champion was the perfect opportunity to ride off the anger and frustration, and the need for revenge that gnawed at his gut. Every time he’d looked at his sister, he’d watched her retreat a little more. So he’d packed his bag and headed to Newman to scratch the itch that ate at his soul. His father had warned him against it.
Grow up, son! Stop chasing pipe dreams. You belong on the land in Wongan Creek, doing things that won’t break your legs or injure your spine and destroy your future.
Travis grimaced at the irony of his father’s words. His actions had destroyed their futures.
His mother had begged him not to go. Tracy had called him a frigging idiot—the last of the few words she’d spoken since the party at the Bannisters’ place that changed their lives forever, the catalyst for the situation he now found himself in. He should have listened. The twelve hundred kilometre drive home with Tracy’s death on his conscience had been the longest two days of his life.
‘You’ve done well raising that kid, son. Tracy would be proud of you. I’m bloody proud of you.’ Harry’s quietly spoken words pulled him back from the memory.
‘Yeah, cheers, mate.’
Travis let silence hang heavily in the air as he turned into the bumpy driveway of Murchison’s Run. Pride was all well and good if you’d earned it, which he hadn’t. The result of his actions had driven his parents out of Wongan Creek. Even though his mother had denied it, his father’s stony silence had confirmed it. The blame for what happened to Tracy lay squarely with him. If he’d stayed home, she’d still be alive.
His mother had said they were ready to leave the farm to him, but he knew the truth was that they couldn’t live with the sadness of how much they’d lost that day. They couldn’t look at Casey and not be reminded of their own little girl they’d buried too soon, or the circumstances they suspected his niece had been conceived in.
The thought that the truth might come out one day as to who Casey’s father was scared the shit out of him. He didn’t doubt for a moment that if that happened, she’d be torn from him in an instant and thrown into a family who didn’t know the meaning of love.
But, there were days when his life felt as desolate as Harry’s rundown farm with its rusting sheds, patched fences and empty paddocks. He wondered why he stayed on his own farm with all the memories while his parents travelled the country trying to escape them.
He sighed. He knew the answer as well as he knew every inch of his paddocks and the creek below them. He loved his farm out here in the south-eastern corridor of Western Australia. The land was a beautiful, rough and challenging mistress. He could never be cooped up in a city apartment, or even in one of the sprawling suburbs where the houses were so close together you could hear your neighbour fart. And he owed it to his family to stay. He owed it to Tracy to give Casey a loving home and a good, stable upbringing.
He might have to reconsider their future when Casey got to high school age. Even though Wongan Creek had a perfectly good high school, he wanted to explore the best options for her education. He wasn’t sure he could bear to send her away to a boarding school, but if that’s what had to be, he’d just have to man up and do it.
As he pulled up outside Harry’s old weatherboard house, he spotted the white four-wheel drive with the Wongan Creek council logo on the door and the coppery mane of the loveliest girl in town. Heather Penney.
Sunshine chased away the gloominess of his thoughts. Her pretty face and wide smile would take the edge off, but his stomach took a dip at her presence on Harry’s farm.
He hadn’t had a chance to call her yet, so why was she here already? Please God don’t let her have come to take Harry, not before he’d had a chance to secure the old man’s future.
***
Heather Penney watched the rusty old ute rattle up the driveway. Sergeant Riggs should slap a yellow sticker on it and declare it unroadworthy. Harry Murchison should not even be driving. Hadn’t his licence been suspended only six months ago?
Damn the stubborn, grumpy old codger. It would serve him right if she had the old rust-bucket towed away and carted him off into a care facility.
Unofficially, she was keeping an eye on him at Doc Benson’s request. More to make sure he was eating and managing around the house on his own, but so far it seemed his neighbour had the situation under control.
Doc knew the incidents of forgetfulness were on the increase, and that something would have to be done sooner rather than later. With some extra time on her hands before her visit to the Bailey farm next door, Heather had stopped in to say hello and have a cup of tea with Harry.
Her heart did a little flutter as she noted it wasn’t Harry behind the steering wheel. Travis Bailey—eligible bachelor—fancied by every woman in town who didn’t need assisted-breathing apparatus and a walking cane.
Even the ladies of the Country Women’s Association were knitting jumpers and scarves for him. Travis—with his easy smile, twinkling eyes and big heart—was the kind of man you wanted to marry and nurture.
It seemed there wasn’t a single person in Wongan Creek or the surrounding areas who hadn’t been on the receiving end of his help at some stage or another. All you had to do was drop his name at a CWA meeting and they’d wax lyrical for hours on his generosity.
Heather ignored the swarm of butterflies partying in her belly, smoothed her ponytail and adjusted the broad-brimmed hat designed to keep the bite of the sun off her face. No way would she join the Travis Bailey fan club or try to snag his attention.
She sighed as Travis pulled to a halt behind her four-wheel drive, turned off the engine and opened the door. The man was so very sexy with his jeans worn in all the right places and his work boots covered in red dust. And oh lordy, that crop of thick, dark blond hair when he pulled off his hat like he was doing now … she just wanted to run her hands through it and get her fingers tangled. Heather shivered ag
ainst the heat that tickled her spine. Lovely to look at, but no hope to hold because she was a professional assigned to his case and his arms were a no go zone. Not that she was interested. No way.
His green eyes twinkled with humour below the shock of gold fringe that contrasted against the rest of his dark blond hair. Occasionally she saw that laughter replaced with sadness.
The ladies of the CWA had tried hard to sell him to her at High Tea last week, singing his praises and listing his attributes. There were many, if you believed the grapevine. She smiled at the efforts of their matchmaking attempts. The old dears were keen to see him find a wife, and she could understand why. Even with the smear of grease on his cheek, he was damn near perfect.
But she’d also heard about his parents moving away, his sister’s accident and his total devotion to raising his niece. He had no time for dating so she knew her single status was safe. Her own heart was best kept firmly in her job. She couldn’t afford to lose either.
He’d thrown on a flannel checked shirt, rolled up the sleeves and forgotten to button up, God bless him. The edges flapped as he walked towards her, giving her the perfect view of washboard abs and sun-kissed skin tainted only by a hard day’s dirt.
Her knees threatened to buckle so she leaned against the fender of the four-wheel drive and blamed the heat of the post-midday sun for the weakness.
‘Hi, Heather,’ greeted Travis.
‘Travis.’ Heather swallowed. Oh Lord. The way he said her name sent tingles down her spine. ‘Harry,’ she said as the old man hobbled towards her.
‘Eileen? Is that you?’ Harry asked, squinting against the sun. ‘No, you’re not Eileen. Who are you?’
Heather sighed. She might as well record her responses and hit replay. Harry forgot every time. ‘No, Harry, I’m Heather Penney, remember? I’m with the Department of Health and Welfare. Who’s Eileen?’
‘Nobody.’ Harry sighed. ‘For a minute there you looked just like someone I knew a long time ago. Are you here about my sheep then?’