‘That’s a great idea,’ Jason enthused, oblivious to the look of dismay that flitted across his wife’s face.
‘It’s thoughtful of you to offer,’ she said through gritted teeth, wanting to kick both Jason and Wes. ‘But, really, I…I’m too busy. What with the baby and the boys and everything, there’s so little spare time.’ The excuses sounded weak even to her own ears, and she wasn’t surprised when Wes’s grey-eyed gaze challenged her. He knew she was scared, and that concerned her because she didn’t want Wes Sinclair to think she was scared of anything. ‘B– besides, you hardly have any spare time yourself,’ she finished, but with a lack of conviction.
‘One can always make time if one needs to,’ he replied enigmatically, but then, surprisingly, gave her an out: ‘Perhaps when Sheridan’s older.’
‘Yes, we’ll see,’ she replied, uncommonly discomforted by the turn in the conversation.
‘Right.’ Ric rubbed his hands together. ‘Nathan, get Domino out of the float so we can settle her in.’
Sharon’s eyes narrowed as she drove past the d’Winters cottage at a snail’s pace in time to see a boy unload a pony from the float. She caught a glimpse of Wes, noted that he was grinning at the d’Winters and observed how relaxed he looked in their company. Stirrings of jealousy niggled at her and her hands tightened on the steering wheel. His friendship with Jason and his family was too cozy for her liking. And then a rogue, way-out-of-left-field thought struck her: could he be attracted to Jason’s wife? In her mind’s eye she recreated the woman’s image: short, thin, attractive in a boyish way. Could he be attracted to her?
Her brittle laugh mingled with the sound of the country and western song playing on the radio. No way. Brooke was too nondescript, too ordinary, too ‘Mrs Average’ to appeal to a man like Wes Sinclair. It was Jason’s companionship he craved, the man-to-man bonding commonplace in the bush. Yes, that was it.
But she was going to have to work hard to snare the owner of Sindalee. She already knew that Wes was the wealthiest man in the district—even wealthier than her own father, which was no mean feat. All she had to do was find a chink in his armour and exploit it to her advantage.
It was a beautiful evening, quiet now after the twins had said their lengthy goodnights to Domino. Brooke smiled despite her misgivings, for she was sure they would have slept with the pony had she okayed it. As she fed Sheridan, she thought back on her sons’ expressions at various times during the day, when they were around the pony. They had taken turns to ride Domino around the yard, jointly groomed her and organised the horse’s food and water, and they had loved every minute of it.
She smiled again, moved by their obvious happiness. Already they loved the little pony, which was so docile and slow. At least she was sure that, if they ever fell off, they’d do minimal damage to themselves. It was going to be hard—no, she admitted, impossible—to send the horse back. She was sure that Ric, cunning man that he was, had banked on that. Hmm! She admitted defeat. Now she would have to buy Adam and Luke safety gear: fibreglass-lined riding helmets, and heeled boots that would sit in the stirrups better.
She watched her tiny daughter settle as sleep came gently to her. Despite her rough entry into the world, Sheridan was coming along beautifully, and at four and a half months was now a normal weight and height.
If Sheridan would settle down for a good sleep now, Brooke might be able to hit the books for a while. Sometimes she almost despaired at her aim to juggle her naturopathy studies, which she was doing by correspondence, with a hectic family life.
Jason, fresh from the shower, plonked himself down beside her and broke her reverie. ‘We did a good day’s work today. I think we’re almost there with the chook run.’
‘It was good of Wes to help you.’
‘Yeah.’ He made a low, grunting noise, the closest he got to a sigh. ‘He’s a lonely man, you know.’
Brooke’s expression showed surprise. Jason was a sensitive man and she guessed that he, like her, had seen beneath Wes’s veneer of confidence and masculinity. His sensitivity made her love him all the more. ‘Did he tell you that?’
Jason chuckled and slapped his thigh. ‘He’d strangle himself first. But I can tell. I watch his eyes. They give him away.’
‘Pity he can’t find a nice woman…’
‘He thought he had a nice woman, and look what Claudia did. I don’t think he’ll ever trust another woman again; not enough to marry her.’
Brooke had a thought. ‘What about Sharon Dimarco? They make a nice couple.’ If she gauged Sharon’s feelings correctly, marriage was certainly on the beautiful divorcee’s mind. But was Sharon the right wife for Wes? On the few occasions she had met the woman, she had sensed her shallowness and a high level of self-centredness, masked by a capacity to play a role well. What about Fleece and Drew? What kind of stepmother would she make for the children? Still, if it was what Wes wanted and it made him happy…
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ He yawned and stretched. ‘I’m bushed. You staying up to get some study done?’
‘I’ll try, but frankly I’m exhausted too.’
‘I’ll put Sheridan into her bassinette.’ Jason scooped up the sleeping baby and kissed Brooke on the forehead. ‘Don’t be too late to bed. I worry about you burning the candle at both ends.’
Once she was alone with her thoughts, Brooke found them straying back to the earlier conversation, when Wes had issued a challenge to teach her how to ride. As much as she wasn’t looking forward to it, she knew that eventually she would give in and do it. Still, she didn’t enjoy being backed into a corner, and it rankled that Wes, aided and abetted by her dear husband, had successfully done so.
Brooke got up and paddled off to the bedroom. Study could wait. Sleep couldn’t.
‘Of course, dear, when I arrived at Bindi Creek I had to be somewhat creative about my background,’ Jean said with a conspiratorial wink at Brooke. The older woman was watching Brooke play with six-month-old Sheridan. Brooke was trying to help her sit up, but the baby kept falling over onto a pile of pillows and thought it great fun as, smiling up at her mother, she kicking her legs with gusto.
Brooke was a superb mother, Jean thought. It was one of the attributes which had drawn her to the thirty-four-year-old when they had met at Galea’s service station. She could handle herself in an emergency, too, as she had proved that day.
‘How creative?’ Brooke asked.
‘Well,’ Jean began lowering her voice confidentially, even though no-one was in the waiting room and Jason had left to do a house call. ‘The part about my nursing background, the places I’ve been, that’s all true. But for Greg’s sake, from the day he was born I told folks that my husband died in a car accident when I was seven months pregnant. The truth of the matter is,’ she said, pausing, ‘I’ve never had a husband. There is no Robert King, I made him up.’
Brooke’s eyes darted across to Jean, her interest lifting several notches. ‘So, Greg’s a love child?’
‘Oh, yes. Definitely that,’ Jean confessed, her voice softening. ‘I met a man at Halls Creek in WA. Royce Lansing was his name. We…we fell in love almost straightaway. He worked as a mining engineer up around the Kimberleys. Royce,’ she continued, ‘came from a poor background and had grown up in a place called Blackwater, just out of Rockhampton. His dad was a miner, as was his grandfather. Royce had pulled himself up by the bootstraps, got his degree and worked his way through several mining companies. He wanted more than just to be a mining engineer, though: he wanted to find his fortune. It was an obsession with him.’
Jean’s shoulders shrugged and she shook her head. ‘Royce took a job in Borneo—he said he’d be away two years and when he got back he’d have the grubstake needed to go exploring on his own. He asked me to marry him but said he wanted us to wait until he’d found his strike—gold or diamonds, that’s what he was looking for.’ She smiled at the memory of what he’d said more than nineteen years ago. ‘He said that he’d happily settle for
an oilfield or two if they came up.’
Brooke listened as Jean continued with the story, which she made sound low profile, almost commonplace. It had been anything but! Jean had found herself pregnant soon after Royce departed for Borneo.
Brook asked. ‘You didn’t tell him you were pregnant?’
‘No. I decided not to tell him ’cause I knew he’d rush back to marry me. That might have spoiled the grand plan of making his fortune. Keeping the news from Royce was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.’ She stopped, thought for a couple of seconds then added, ‘I wonder if he ever did. I moved from Halls Creek when I started to show. I had enough money to tide me over till Greg was born, then I moved again, making up the story of Robert and the rest of it. Even Greg doesn’t know about Royce. I’m going to tell him before he gets married, whenever that might be.’ She looked at Brooke and the need for acceptance was evident in her gaze. ‘D– do you think badly of me?’
‘No,’ Brooke smiled reassuringly at Jean. ‘I think you’re very brave. It must have been hard, bringing a child up on your own and having to work as well.’
‘I managed.’ Jean’s smile was one of relief: Brooke hadn’t been shocked by her disclosure. Jean found it easy to talk to Brooke, despite the difference in their ages, and it had weighed on her conscience that she’d told untruths to the people in Bindi who’d become her friends. Telling Brooke somehow alleviated the guilt she felt, and she was sure that her secret would be safe with her friend.
The waiting room door opened and their conversation was put on hold as Amelia Gross’s grandson came into the room.
‘Hello, Mrs d’Winters, Mrs King.’
‘Hello, Craig.’ Brooke answered for them both. ‘If you’re looking for Dr d’Winters, he isn’t here. He won’t be back for an hour or so.’
‘I called to get a script for my grandmother,’ Craig said. ‘The Doc said he’d leave it at the surgery for me.’
‘I’ll go and look on his desk.’ Jean got up and walked into Jason’s surgery.
Brooke picked Sheridan up and nursed her on one hip as she made a casual observation of the young man. Something about him didn’t look right. He looked nervous, twitchy. His eyes were half-closed and he had dark circles under them, and occasionally he sniffed as if he had a cold.
‘Not catching a cold, are you, Craig?’
He shrugged and moved forward to put his index finger up so that Sheridan could grab it. ‘Hey, she’s got a good grip.’ He grinned for a second or two. ‘I could be, I guess,’ he said offhandedly. ‘It’s cold at night on Nonna’s property because we’re higher on the slopes. The place had two snowfalls last year.’
‘Oh, that is cold. When you’re at the chemist, get a bottle of echinacea and some vitamin C tablets—500 milligrams. That should help.’
He nodded as he pushed his hands into his jeans pockets. ‘I’ll do that.’
Jean came out of the surgery with an envelope. ‘Here, Craig. Hope Mrs Gross will be feeling better soon.’
He shook his head vigorously, his expression serious. ‘She won’t be, I’m sorry to say. The family is concerned about Nonna. She might have to go to a nursing home soon.’
‘That’s too bad,’ Brooke sympathised. ‘Would you stay on and manage her property, Craig?’
He shrugged. ‘Dunno. I might.’
After he’d said his goodbyes and gone, Jean commented archly, ‘Didn’t sound too keen on the idea of looking after the property, did he? Maybe young Craig doesn’t like hard work.’ She glanced across at Brooke, who was preparing to take Sheridan inside for her afternoon nap, and added, ‘Thanks for listening to my story; it’s a weight off my conscience. For so many years I’ve wanted to tell someone.’
‘I’m honoured you chose me. Really.’ She frowned as a thought came to her. ‘But what happened to Royce? Didn’t you keep in touch?’
‘We did, for over a year, and it was hard not to tell him that he had a son. Then, gradually, the letters became less frequent and finally stopped. I’d done a lot of moving and, I don’t know, maybe the postal authorities in Borneo or wherever he might have gone to didn’t send my letters on.’
‘What if he’d come back and was looking for you?’
Jean’s sigh was long and sad, as was her tone. ‘If he’d really loved me he’d have found me. I guess his love wasn’t as strong as mine.’
Brooke leant across to pat Jean’s hand. Her friend was a proud woman. Jean had told her about the hardships she had endured as a child, so it was clear that the decision to confide such a secret had not been made lightly. Funny, we have secrets, skeletons in the closet, all of us! She was fairly sure that if she scratched beneath the surface of the lives of most of the people in town, she would find something each of them was not comfortable with, or had nightmares over. Just like she did about her mother and Travis. Fortunately for her, time, coupled with Jason’s love and forebearance, had made the difference. The nightmares rarely visited her these days.
‘Life doesn’t always work out the way we want it to, does it?’ Jean said, her expression as enigmatic as it was melancholy.
Brooke knew that there was more truth in that statement than her friend was aware of. She hugged Sheridan to her, loving her sweet, baby smell: a combination of milk, baby oil and talcum powder. ‘Time for a nap, young lady, so I can get some work done.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
She’s so big! Brooke bit her lip and cautiously eyed the mare named Lucinda, as Wes led her out of the stable into the breaking-in yard. She’d had to psych herself up a lot to get to Sindalee for her first riding lesson. The twins were being amused by Fleece and Drew, Jean was minding Sheridan, and Jason was doing a house call but intended to drop over once he’d seen the patient.
Inside her chest cavity her heart beat wildly, and she had to rub the palms of her hands down the sides of her jeans to wipe away the clamminess. This is crazy. I’m crazy! How did I let myself be talked into doing something I don’t want to do?
Pride, that’s how. The answer came easily enough. She had let Wes’s challenge get under her skin. The thought of the twins and of Jason being able to ride, and her not able to, had made her bite the bullet and organise a day to start. Oh, well, she thought, as Wes beckoned her to approach the mare, it couldn’t be any worse than a visit to the dentist, could it?
‘Okay, Brooke, first thing to do is to make friends. Pat Lucinda’s muzzle—she likes that.’ He took something out of his pocket—half an apple—and gave it to Brooke. ‘Feed this to her. Lucinda loves apples, don’t you, girl.’
For a moment Brooke envied his ease with the animal, until she remembered that he had spent all his life around animals of one type or another, so it was natural for him not to be fazed or awed by them. He had a casual, confident way with the horse, as if he respected her and vice versa. Whereas Brooke was quaking inside her new, elastic-sided riding boots.
Sensing her unease, Wes said in that laid-back tone of his, ‘A horse can often tell when a human is nervous around it. It seems to pick up some kind of invisible vibe, or maybe it’s an odour. See?’ He pointed to Lucinda’s ears. ‘How she’s pricked her ears up and forward, sensing your nervousness?’
‘I can’t help it. I told you about the horse I rode, how it bolted. The memory keeps coming back and I get scared.’
‘And I agreed that it was a bad experience,’ he said with a nod. ‘However, riding a horse is like riding a bike. If you fall off, you get back on straightaway before you start to think too much about falling off again and how much it hurt. Drew and Fleece had many falls when they were learning to ride. Occasionally they still fall off, but they know it’s imperative to get back on, quickly, before they lose their nerve.’
‘Well,’ she said, giving him a wan smile, ‘I think I’ve lost mine—nerve, I mean.’
Secretly, she believed she wouldn’t get it back, no matter how good a teacher or how patient Wes was with her. As well she felt guilty about taking up his time. He was a busy man.
Sindalee was a large property to run and she knew he had other business interests in the district and beyond. But over the years she had come to know him well enough to believe that if he didn’t want to teach her, he wouldn’t have offered. Wes was that kind of man.
‘That’s why we’re going to take it slow, to build up your confidence. Some instructors would just plonk you on a horse, tell you not to be silly and hope that you’d conquer your fear all by yourself. I don’t believe in that approach. If you have a problem, then the best thing to do is to minimise it.’ Wes tilted his hat back and looked at her through slitted eyes. ‘Your problem is that you’re frightened of horses ’cause you don’t think you can control them, when really, being able to control them is a confidence trick.’ He grinned knowingly. ‘You trick them into believing that you’re smarter than they are and because you are, they have to do what you tell them to do.’
She gave him a droll look. ‘You make it sound easy.’
‘It is. But it won’t be for you until you believe it. Till you do, I just want you to get used to Lucinda. You’ll feed her, walk her around, learn how to saddle her, groom her…’ His grin widened. ‘Until you get to the point where you’re so used to her that you’ll long to ride her to escape the mundane tasks associated with caring for a horse.’
‘I won’t be riding her today?’ She hoped the relief she felt didn’t show in her voice.
‘Not today, maybe not even next week or the week after. It depends on you, when you’re ready to.’
And Wes was right. It took six weeks of being at Sindalee twice a week before Brooke was riding comfortably. The first time she sat astride Lucinda and didn’t feel afraid or nervous about being so high off the ground, in alien territory, was a source of wonderment to her. It had taken several weeks to gain this level of comfort with the animal and, from then on, Brooke began to look forward to riding lessons.
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