by Juanita Kees
‘A crooked cop? So besides the parties and drugs, why would Zac want to keep her quiet?’
His hands slapped against the wood as his fingers gripped the railing, knuckles white against the enamel finish. ‘When Tracy came home from a party over at the Bannister’s one night, she was in a bad state. She was drunk and dosed up on drugs. She was a health freak so that in itself was totally out of character for her. We suspected her drink had been spiked. Even back then Zac was hanging out with some debatable characters. I had a bad feeling about it and wanted to go to the party too, but she said I couldn’t be attached to her hip forever. I was never a fan of the Bannisters. I didn’t trust Zac one bit. He’s always been a troublemaker. But she said her friends were all going and his parents and grandparents would be there to supervise, so Mum let her go.’
‘She lied?’
‘Yes. We found out later that his parents were away in Perth and John was playing an all-night poker challenge at the pub. The whole night, I had this feeling of being hunted, trapped, tortured. I wanted to go over there and bring her home, but Dad told me to stay put and to stop being over-protective. When she came home, her clothes were messed up and her legs were bloody.’ He closed his eyes against the memory. ‘We suspected she’d been … hurt … but she wouldn’t talk about it, refused to go to a doctor or report it to the police. She locked herself away in her room, withdrew from us, from the farm she loved so much. A few months later we found out she was pregnant with Casey.’
‘Sweet Jesus, Travis.’ The horror of it all left her cold. She saw many cases of abuse in families, but for Travis to have lived with it made her heart ache.
‘She refused to name the father, but deep down, I knew who it was—who it could be—and how it came about, but Tracy still refused to admit to what happened.’ He turned to her, cupped her face in his big hands. ‘Promise me, Heather, that you’ll never let the Bannisters take Casey from me.’
Fear, cold and hard, churned Heather’s stomach as she frantically searched Travis’ eyes, seeing the pain and the pleading in them. She’d seen what Zac Bannister was capable of and it wasn’t something a little girl should be exposed to.
If Travis’ suspicions were right and he proved to be Casey’s father, the children’s court could very likely rule in Zac’s favour as the only surviving parent. She couldn’t promise Travis they wouldn’t succeed.
She raised her hands to cover his and pressed them to her cheeks, but she closed her eyes against the vulnerability in his gaze. ‘Why have you waited this long to tell someone?’
Travis sighed. ‘I tried to get the police to reopen the case, but they said there was insufficient evidence. John Bannister labelled me the troublemaker for trying. Zac knows what he did. He’s capable of terrible things. I’d hoped Casey would have more of the Bailey genes so they wouldn’t recognise it, but the older she gets the more she looks a little like a Bannister. I can’t let him win a custody battle. John Bannister suspects who Casey’s father is and he’ll have no hesitation in making it look like Tracy’s fault. Her reputation suffered enough abuse at the hands of a Bannister. He’ll use Casey as a bargaining tool when his fight for Harry’s land and mine heats up. He’ll take everything I love from me. Casey, Harry, our land. Gold fever is a bitch, sweetheart.’
She felt his fear, his pain, but she was his case worker and she had a duty to do. ‘You know I have to report this, don’t you? It will reopen wounds, drag Tracy’s reputation through the mud again, raise gossip and speculation. The victims often get the blame in cases where drugs and alcohol are involved. And Tracy isn’t here to defend herself.’
He nodded. ‘It needs to be done. I want them to know the truth before they hear Bannister’s lies, so I at least have a chance at keeping Casey.’
Heather reached up and stroked the rough edge of his jaw where a day’s growth of stubble had formed. She wanted to comfort him, to reassure him they could win a custody battle against the most influential people in Wongan Creek, but it felt like an empty promise so she committed to what she could. ‘I’ll do everything I can to make sure Casey stays with you.’
‘I know you will. Thank you.’ His thumbs stroked across her cheekbones, long fingers cradling the base of her skull. ‘Thank you,’ he repeated as his gaze held hers.
Heather felt the depth of that look all the way to her toes as it changed from gratitude to something else, something deeper and hotter than it should. His eyes dropped to her lips and then he closed the gap.
Warm and full, holding only a hint of the flavour of his beer, his mouth brushed hers gently in the sweetest of kisses that had her wanting more. But even as she rose on her tiptoes to take it, he was retreating. He dropped his hands to his side and stepped back.
‘You should go. I’d hate for you to be out too late.’
Disappointment flooded her, but she knew he was right. As much as she wanted to take that kiss further, they had too much to lose, too much to fight for. Maybe when this was all over … maybe then she could admit she was more than a little in love with Travis Bailey.
Chapter 9
‘For God’s sake, Harry, give me that wrench. What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Fixin’ your tractor, you grumpy little sod.’ Harry pushed back his cap with a tap of the wrench on the peak and hitched up his jeans.
‘What for? Shouldn’t you be rounding up your sheep instead?’
‘Are you taking the piss, boy? You know my bloody sheep are in the paddock where they belong. I might be forgetful sometimes but I sure as hell know what’s going on in my own back paddock.’
Travis sighed. He’d seen the sheep down by the creek again which meant they were nowhere near Harry’s paddock, and he’d have to round them up later himself. ‘The tractor can wait another day, Harry. I’ll get to it tomorrow.’
‘You won’t have time.’
‘What do you mean I won’t have time?’
‘Bella called earlier. She said you hadn’t signed up for the annual rodeo yet. So you’re going into town to fill out the paperwork. God knows, in my day you didn’t have to do all that shit. You got up on the bloody horse and rode the damn thing, insurance and accidents be damned.’ Harry turned back to the tractor and attached the wrench to a nut.
‘Jesus, Harry! You know I don’t ride anymore. Not even for fun. I’d be no bloody good to you or Casey if I came off the bronc or got trampled by a steer.’
Travis ripped off his hat and tossed it onto the tractor seat. He was tired and grumpy from lack of sleep. He’d waited up for Heather’s call to let him know she’d arrived home safely last night and then they’d talked for another half hour after.
His attraction to her was wrong on so many levels yet it felt so damn right. And now he’d tasted her lips he just wanted more which had kept him awake right up until he’d heard Mrs Everett’s bloody rooster crowing from across the creek.
Then he’d felt guilty for thinking of Heather’s luscious curves when he should have been thinking of Casey’s future and the renewed threat the Bannisters posed to his family.
‘A man’s got to get back up on the bronco sometime. You’ll bloody ride that rodeo, boy. Going to Newman that day didn’t kill Tracy. Deep down, you know it. It’s time you got back on the bike so to speak. Do you think I’ll forgive you if you allow that fat arse Bannister boy the opportunity to win? Not a chance, matey.’
‘I don’t have time, Harry. Besides, I don’t think Zac will make it up onto a horse this year.’
‘You’ve got all the time in the world, son. Bella said to make time. She’s got something for you to do.’
Travis wanted to bang his forehead against the tractor hood in frustration. ‘Oh God. Not the kissing booth again.’
Harry smirked. ‘Nope, you know all that political correctness twaddle put paid to that one. Bella doesn’t want anyone getting sued for harassment.’
Travis’ brow shot up. ‘Twaddle? You learned to put that filter on your mouth?’
‘Fuck no, but that’s what Bella calls it and I don’t fancy a rolling pin to the head if I call it shit instead.’
‘Right.’ Travis let the word stretch out as he wondered what the hell Bella had in store for him this year.
Last year he’d had to kiss the ladies of the CWA three times each, and not on their powdery cheeks either. Not that he minded, not at all, he loved them all to bits, but it was the flurry of knitted jumpers and home-baked pies that appeared on his doorstep after the fair that had him worried, because each of them had an eligible daughter to marry off.
The irony of the situation was that the perfect girl was right here, right now and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it because she was the one who held Casey’s future in her hands. Pretty hands they were too. Soft and gentle, the kind a man wanted all over him. But it wasn’t just her hands that were beautiful, it was her soul.
For the first time ever, he’d found someone he could really talk to, someone who wasn’t connected by blood and an invisible telepathy who understood him, his fight for Casey and the preservation of his precious farm land. And that girl was so far out of reach she might as well be back in Darwin.
‘You still with me, son? Gone off into bloody LaLa land here. You thinking of that pretty little redhead again?’
‘No.’
Harry chuckled. ‘Liar. If I was your age, I’d be doing more than thinking.’
Travis grinned and tapped the peak of Harry’s cap down over his eyes. ‘Well lucky you’re not my age anymore then. Get back to work, you old bastard.’
‘Make up your mind, son. Do you want me to fix the tractor or not?’
***
Heather untangled her legs from the twisted sheets. She hadn’t slept a wink. At least that’s what it felt like. Every time she closed her eyes she felt Travis’ lips on hers and the sharp stab of disappointment that she hadn’t had the opportunity to taste more.
Then there was the whole mess with Zac Bannister and little Casey. Adorable, sweet little Casey who’d stolen a piece of her heart, the bit that didn’t already belong to her uncle and crazy old Harry. So much for not getting involved with the locals.
Swinging her legs to the floor, her eyes fell on the letter from the specialist, the stark white paper bearing the MND research centre logo a sharp reminder of her gene pool. She pulled it out from under the lamp and let her eyes blur out the content.
How was it she had the guts to stand up to bullies like Bannister in her job, yet the thought of taking a simple battery of tests that would determine her future had her wanting to curl up in a corner and pretend diseases like Motor Neurone didn’t exist.
She tucked the letter back under the lamp and stood. A shower would clear her mind and prepare her for the conversation to come with her supervisor. She’d never felt this much conflict in a case before. But then her heart had never been this invested. Rule number one of social work was not to let your heart rule your head. In Travis’ case, it was proving difficult. All she could do was pray that the department saw it the same way she did.
She considered delaying the submission of the report, but if Travis was right and the Bannisters were about to play their cards, a delay could cost him all he’d worked hard for.
The court would order DNA testing before proceeding, but too often they ruled in favour of the wrong party. Her heart ached at the thought. But it did buy them time because court orders and DNA blood test results all took time, especially in a small town. Hopefully that meant Travis could sort out one battle before starting another.
Going through the motions of showering and getting dressed, her mind churned. What if it all went wrong and the Bannisters got custody? Travis would surely hate her for unleashing those monsters on his niece. How was it possible for her to remain neutral when there was so much speculation around Tracy’s death and Zac’s behaviour already proved the violence he was capable of?
Which was why she was heading into her office at the Town Hall on a Saturday when she could be sleeping in. Perhaps if she put it all down on paper it would help separate emotions from facts and she could present an unbiased report. The short walk down Main Street would give her time to work through it all.
Locking her front door behind her, she set off down the gum tree-lined street, turned into Jacaranda Road then, a few blocks later, onto Main. The walk was peaceful and shady past the old cottages. Heather loved the rich history of the town. Originally cattle country, it grew into a saw mill then a railway town before giving way to gold in the eighties.
She could imagine the saw mill workers coming home, hot and itchy with sawdust clinging to their clothes, and the railway workers grimy and sweaty after a day laying tracks to extend the line to Narrogin, a mere one hundred kilometres away. Each little home would have a story to tell, if only walls could talk.
She opened the door leading into the hall and found it bustling with the ladies from the CWA and volunteers scattered around, either on ladders putting up bunting or stacking seats and moving tables.
‘Heather!’ Bella called out from across the hall, waving.
Well, that pretty much put an end to her plans for writing up the report today. With all the action going on, the ladies would be popping their heads in her door every five minutes to offer tea or ask advice. She made her way over and Bella seized her in a voluminous hug.
‘Hi, Bella, ladies,’ she greeted as they swarmed around her.
‘Are you okay after that little incident with the Bannister boy yesterday, dear?’ Bella released her from the bear hug.
‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you.’
‘Ah, I heard about that from Mavis Upton,’ murmured Mrs Everett.
‘That boy needs his ears boxed,’ agreed Mrs Benson.
‘More than just his ears from what I hear,’ added Miss Turner. ‘I could take my cane to his backside like I did to his father’s many moons ago.’
‘Oh, Virginia! You know they banished corporal punishment years ago. You can’t do those things anymore.’ Mrs Everett popped her hand over her mouth.
‘More’s the pity if you ask me!’ Virginia Turner turned to Heather. ‘You just let me know if he gives you any trouble, love.’
Heather smiled. ‘Of course, Miss Turner.’
Everyone in town knew not to mess with the should-be-retired school principal who’d probably started the first school in Wongan Creek. A woman of indeterminable age, she could still stop a scuffle in the street with the tap of her cane.
Heather decided it was best to change the subject before she took off in search of Zac to follow through on her threat. ‘So, what’s happening here today, ladies?’
‘We’re getting ready for the annual rodeo weekend markets.’
‘Oh? A rodeo? But surely your market stalls should be on the oval where the action is?’
‘Well you see, dear …’ Miss Turner adjusted her multi-focal eye glasses. ‘We had a little incident a few years back when a micky broke free and trampled all the stalls. It was chaos, I tell you.’
‘A micky?’
‘A wild, young bull,’ said Bella.
‘People running everywhere!’ added Mrs Everett, nodding enthusiastically. ‘Lucky no one got hurt though.’
‘Except for the bull. And he made an excellent steak. You could cut it with a fork.’ Miss Turner winked at Heather. ‘So now we have the market stalls here at the Town Hall where it’s cool and safe.’
‘Ah, makes sense,’ said Heather. ‘Well, I’ve got a report to write, so if you’ll excuse me?’
‘On a Saturday?’ Bella’s indignation was clear by the positioning of her hands on her ample hips. ‘You need some time off, girl. Surely it can wait until Monday?’
‘Erm, well …’
She wanted to protest that it couldn’t, but that would raise a flurry of questions from the ladies who would no doubt want to know what was so important that she couldn’t leave it for another day.
She was saved from replying as a collective sigh echoed throug
h the hall and heads turned towards the door. Her heart did a little misstep of its own and her cheeks blossomed with heat as Travis entered the chaos inside.
Looking devilishly handsome in a V-necked khaki T-shirt and faded blue jeans touched with a smear of grease on the thighs, he owned the room without even trying.
Heather searched his body language for signs of the tortured soul he’d been the night before, but he’d buried the hurt back under his mega-watt smile.
She watched as he made his way through the volunteers, stopping to shake hands with the men or pull the ladies in for a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. From the snippets of conversation and murmured words, everyone appeared unusually excited to see him.
‘Oh thank God he’s here,’ muttered Bella. She leaned her head to Heather’s. ‘We desperately need him to ride in the rodeo events or the bloody Bannisters will monopolise the competition.’
‘Does he ride every year?’
‘He hasn’t for a while now, dear, but he should. We ask him every year in the hope he’ll ride again. Poetry in motion on horseback, that boy.’
Oh, glory be, didn’t she know it? She’d seen that poetry in action.
‘He got thrown in Newman a couple of years ago. Nothing broken, but it shook him up a little. Then he was back looking after Casey on his own, and he hasn’t ridden since. We’re hoping he changes his mind this year, but he’s terrified that if he gets hurt, he won’t be able to look after Casey and Harry properly, you see.’
‘Well, that’s a fair call, isn’t it?’ Except he hadn’t been thrown, he’d fallen. Heather wondered how much Bella really knew about that day in Newman and the events that had unfolded here in Wongan Creek at the same time.
Bella sighed and nodded. ‘But such a shame to waste that talent.’
Talent indeed. She watched the sway of his hips, the stride of those denim-clad legs and the play of muscles in his thighs with every step he took. She’d seen those thighs clenched against the saddle in full gallop and wondered what they’d look like naked.
