by Diana Fraser
Morgan liked to think Leah loved Joe, he liked to believe that Leah realized that Joe would be better off with him than with the men she liked to hang out with. And he’d made sure that Leah knew that she could visit Joe any time she was in New Zealand. But he also made sure she realized that he wouldn’t be returning to the States.
Just then the clouds parted and the white surf-edged coastline of the South Island became visible. Morgan gave a deep sigh of relief. Then the landing announcement was made.
He bent down. “Joe,” he whispered.
“Um,” came the sleepy rumble.
“Look, out the window. It’s New Zealand. We’re almost home.”
Joe propped himself up on one hand and peered sleepily out the window. Then he got excited and knelt before it, his finger tracing the white-fringed coastline of New Zealand. “Is that Christchurch?” he said pointing to the sprawl of buildings on the plain.
“Yes.”
“Wow, are they the mountains you told me about?”
“The Southern Alps. Or Ka Tiritiri o te Moana as Maori call them.”
“They’re awesome,” he said with his American accent.
“And you see the highest one? That’s Aoraki, or Aorangi, who was a person.”
“A real person?” Joe’s eyes widened.
“He’s real in Maori tradition. The story went that he and his brothers were in a canoe which wrecked. And he scrambled to the highest point of the canoe’s upturned hull. So that’s him we’re looking at.”
Morgan had to contain a smile at Joe’s disbelieving expression.
“And you live in the mountains?”
“Close by. You’ll like it. There are lots of animals—horses, cows, sheep, even llamas.”
“Cool.”
“And my dog, Annie.”
“You’ve got a dog?”
“Sure have. Goes everywhere with me.”
“Mum wouldn’t let me have a dog. But there was one that used to come around the trailer at nights and I used to feed it after Mum went to bed.”
Morgan’s heart contracted a little at the image Joe’s few words created in his mind. “I reckon you could do with a dog of your own.”
“For real?” Joe began jumping up and down excitedly, squealing. Morgan tried to calm the over-tired, over-excited little boy down, all the while thinking that there was more to this parenting lark than he’d first imagined. In the end it wasn’t anything Morgan did that stopped the boy. White-faced, Joe suddenly stopped, his mouth trembling. “I feel sick.”
“Christ,” Morgan muttered as he fumbled, too late, for a sick bag.
Outside the terminal building, Morgan hitched the now sleeping Joe higher onto his hip and looked around. Callum had said he’d have a ute available for him to use but there’d been no keys waiting for him at the airport. Then he saw him.
Callum walked around the building and nodded at Morgan in his typically understated way. Morgan nodded back.
“You got the little fella, then.”
“Yep. Leah didn’t need much persuading.”
“Let me take your bag.” Callum approached and grimaced. “Christ, you stink.”
“Yeah, I know. Joe was sick.” He looked ruefully down his shirt which had caught the full impact of Joe’s vomit. “Got through Customs pretty quick, though,” he grinned. “One whiff and the crowds parted.”
“You got anything to change into?”
“In my bag. Haven’t had a chance yet.”
“Here, give the lad to me.”
Joe didn’t wake while he was transferred to Callum. Morgan swiftly pulled off the soiled shirt, oblivious to the stares of passing women, and pulled on a t-shirt from his bag. He stuffed the soiled shirt at the bottom. “Cheers, mate.” He took Joe back again. “So where’s the ute?”
“No ute. I brought the plane. Thought you both might appreciate a quicker journey back.
“Thanks.”
Callum Mackenzie was a good man, Morgan thought as they walked to Callum’s plane. Before he’d come to Glencoe he’d never have imagined Callum would be like that, and he still had a hard time coming to terms with it. But he sure appreciated his generosity now.
They were soon taxiing down the runway. Joe remained fast asleep in Morgan’s arms. Morgan looked at him and yet again felt a wave of pure love pass through him. It was becoming familiar to him now and he knew he’d never be able to live without it again.
He turned to see Callum had been watching him. “You going to stay on a bit longer at Glencoe?”
“No. Joe needs to be close to the city, for doctors, school, friends. And I need help looking after him when I’m away.”
“You could have that at Lake Tekapo.”
“I’ve other reasons, too, for leaving. It’s time to move on.”
Morgan looked down at the mountain pass that led from the plains into the high plains of the Mackenzie country in silence.
“Gemma says she’s happy to help out as much as she can. Her being at home with the baby and all.”
“That’s good of her. But I wouldn’t want to impose. And, as I say, it’s time to move on.”
“You wouldn’t be imposing, and why not accept her offer? At least until you’ve sorted yourself out.”
Morgan looked at Callum, who was grinning. “I’m not going to have a say in it, am I?”
Callum shook his head. “No way.”
They fell into companionable silence as the miles slipped away and the lands of Glencoe were revealed beneath them. First up were the merino sheep, brought down from the high snowy pastures into the fenced corrals closer to the homestead. And then the estate buildings came into view, with Glencoe homestead, grand and central behind the lake. It was a world within a world. Like a small country, Morgan thought. And within that small country was a woman who hadn’t left his mind in all the time he’d been away.
“Seen much of Rebecca?” Morgan asked in what he hoped was a casual voice. But from Callum’s twist of the lips, he didn’t think he’d managed it.
“She was at Glencoe when I left.”
“Right.”
“Don’t know if she’s still there though. Gemma reckons she’s pretty cut up about things.”
Morgan winced and looked out the window, hating the thought of how much he’d hurt Rebecca.
“Personally, I reckon some crawling on your part is in order.”
“Hmph! Crawling? I’d do more than that if I thought it’d make a difference. But I reckon I’ve stuffed things up good and proper with her.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“I am.” He sighed. “She’s a woman who knows her own mind and it’s a fierce mind at that. I’ve a feeling that once she’s made up her mind that I’m not to be trusted there’s nothing that will change it.”
“You could try.”
He could, Morgan thought to himself. He could.
Rebecca was about to get into her car when Morgan and Callum rounded the corner of the house. They were early. As soon as she’d heard the sound of the plane entering the valley she’d handed Violet back to Gemma and grabbed her bag. She couldn’t see him. She didn’t want to see him. But Gemma had stalled her with various excuses making her unable to leave before they’d arrived.
She gripped the keys to her car tightly and held them up by way of explanation. “I was just leaving.”
Morgan ignored what she was saying and approached her with Joe in his arms, wrapped in a blanket which Callum had thoughtfully brought with him. “It’s good to see you.”
She swallowed and nodded, unable to trust herself to answer. Luckily, at that moment, Gemma appeared—passed a sleeping Violet to Rebecca who could do nothing but accept her—and pushed down the blanket so she could see Joe’s face. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired. Got sick on the plane coming into Christchurch.”
“Here, give him to me and I’ll take him to his room.”
Morgan looked over to his worker’s cottage. “His room?”
/>
“You don’t think I’d let you take him to your cottage, do you? No,” Gemma continued, not waiting for Morgan to respond. “No, you’ll both stay with us in our guest room until we can come up with a better arrangement.”
Callum passed Morgan’s bag to Maria, the housekeeper. “Better take it to the guest room which you’ve no doubt prepared.”
“But… but you have your family staying,” Morgan remonstrated. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“It’s no inconvenience,” Gemma replied firmly. “We have eight bedrooms, may I remind you. Plenty of room for everyone. Besides, it’ll give us all a chance to get to know Joe. And Maria and I will help you look after him when you need to be out on the estate.”
Rebecca could see he was relieved. “I’m grateful for your help over the next few days. But I won’t be staying.”
“Well, promise me you’ll stay at least for a few weeks. Give Joe a chance to recover.”
Morgan hesitated.
“For Joe?” Gemma added.
Morgan nodded. “Sure. Thank you.”
Despite all the talking to herself Rebecca had done over the past few weeks, she couldn’t help feeling hope stir inside her. She’d thought she’d buried it. She’d thought wrong.
Gemma looked at him with a smug expression as though she’d always known she’d get the outcome she wanted. Then she looked back at the sleeping boy. “Poor kid. Leave him with me and I’ll call you when he wakes up.” Gemma turned to Rebecca. “Becks?”
“I’m just leaving.”
“Not with my baby, you’re not. Come back inside and have some lunch.” But before Rebecca could give Violet back to her parents, Gemma and Callum had disappeared into the house.
Morgan grinned at Rebecca. “You’ve been outmaneuvered.”
Rebecca looked down at Violet, not wanting to get caught in Morgan’s gaze. “Looks like it.”
“It’s good to see you, Rebecca.”
She bit her lip, took a breath, tried to think of one of the million retorts that she’d practiced over the past few weeks, but drew a blank. She sighed. “I need…”
“Yes?”
“To get Violet inside. She should go into her cot.”
Morgan nodded and together they walked up the steps and into the house in silence. By the time they entered the grand hall of the homestead, there was no sign of Gemma, Callum or the housekeeper. There was an awkward pause. Morgan looked around uneasily, obviously unused to the grandeur of the front entrance. He looked tired. Still gorgeous, of course, but exhausted. She couldn’t keep the defensive anger in place any longer and her heart went out to him.
“So… how was it?”
He turned to face her as if surprised by her sudden question. He shrugged. “Difficult.”
“To find them?”
“No. Thanks to Callum, that bit was easy. And even getting Leah to agree was easier than I thought. But all the paperwork, the lawyers, all that stuff, I’m not used to that. That was hard.”
“But you got there in the end.”
“Yeah, I go there in the end. Thank God.” A chill blast of air suddenly came in through the open door and her hair flicked across her face. He reached forward and pushed it back behind her ear. “It’s good to be home.” He looked surprised at his own words. “Back in New Zealand, I mean.”
“It’s good to…” she stopped herself just in time. “I mean I’m glad it worked out for you.” She cleared her throat. “Gemma has some lunch ready for you. Are you hungry?”
At that moment a boy’s sleepy voice could be heard from up in one of the bedrooms. “That would be nice. But”—he shot a look upstairs—“I’d better go and check on Joe.”
Rebecca watched him take the stairs two at a time, anxious to get back to his son. His son, about whom she knew nothing. That road down which Morgan had gone, leaving her, didn’t seem to be circling back to her at all. He seemed more distant than ever.
Rebecca turned to find Maria, the housekeeper, standing with outstretched arms. She gave her the baby and wandered into the drawing room where Gemma and the housekeeper had laid out lunch to welcome back Morgan and Joe. She left the food untouched and wandered over to the window. Seeing Morgan again had sent her thoughts and exploded her emotions into a state of confusion once more. She’d wanted to run into his arms as soon as she’d seen him. But the feelings of anger and disappointment still lingered and she’d stayed put. Even if she’d ever get over them, what then? He would be leaving soon. There was no future with him.
And then there was Joe. He was the spitting image of Morgan but there was undoubtedly a mark of his mother there too. And Rebecca felt an unfamiliar blast of jealousy.
No matter what lies she’d told herself, she’d come to Glencoe to see Morgan who obviously couldn’t wait to leave her. And she’d come to help Joe. But he didn’t need her either. He had Gemma who, since Violet’s birth, had become exceedingly motherly. And he had Morgan who seemed instinctively to know what to do. Fat lot of use she was going to be. Unless someone needed to know how nuclear fusion explains how stars shine, she was going to be of no help whatsoever. For once in her life she felt lost. She was in a situation in which no amount of theorizing would give her the right answer. She had to try a different method, and she hadn’t a clue what. And why bother anyway? He’d be gone soon. A few days… a few weeks? It hardly mattered when the outcome would be the same. He’d be gone from her and she’d stay on here, alone… and lonelier than before.
She watched some of the estate workers doing some maintenance work on the trees and gardens around the lake, preparing for next month’s ice-skating party—one the Mackenzies held every year on their lake. She’d been looking forward to it. It was usually fun. She loved ice-skating and she’d enjoyed the event in previous years. But she’d hardly given it a thought this year. Would Morgan still be here for it? If he agreed to Gemma’s suggestion, and it looked like he would, she might have a few weeks with him.
A few weeks. The thought of time with him filled her with pleasure despite herself. A few weeks. If that was all she had with him, then why not follow her instincts and enjoy them? There would be nothing more… no future for them. He was determined to move away and she never would. He was a drifter, a loner and she needed order in her life. They were poles apart, not destined to be together, but… she had these few weeks.
At that moment the door opened and Morgan stood there, looking tired but as strong and dependable as ever. She jumped up and only just stopped herself from rushing over to him.
“Your coffee’s here.”
He held his hat uncertainly, not moving. “This is Lady Mackenzie’s drawing room.”
“She’s not here. And Gemma reckons it has too nice an outlook to keep it for Lady Mackenzie’s exclusive use. Besides Gemma can’t stand her.” She walked up to him, took his hat and placed it on the sideboard and passed him a coffee. “I wouldn’t worry. Lady Mackenzie is a terrible old snob. She’s been as mean as heck to Gemma. I reckon she deserves a little disrespect.”
His face tilted into a brief smile. “Reckon you’re right there.”
But he still didn’t sit down in one of the over-stuffed chairs. He stood by the window and knocked back a coffee and ate a couple of sandwiches.
“You’re hungry.”
“It’s not easy to eat with a kid either jumping around you, or asleep on your lap.”
“Must have been difficult to adjust to.”
“Not really. It’s what I dreamed of for years.”
She just managed to stop herself from bridging the gap between them and touching him on the arm, making a connection. She swallowed. “I’m glad it worked out for you.”
He looked down at her. “It’s just the beginning. I know it won’t be easy but I’ll make it work.”
She felt a shadow of sadness that Morgan would make something work for his son, but not their relationship. She nodded and stepped away. “Do you want another coffee?”
“
No.” He looked around like a caged animal. “What I’d like to do is get out of here.” He looked around at the portraits that hung around the wall. Above the grandly carved fireplace, replete with gilt frame, hung a picture of Sir Hugh Mackenzie, Callum, Dallas, and James’s father. Morgan’s roving eyes stopped on the portrait. Sir Hugh Mackenzie was standing in a commanding position with Glencoe as the backdrop. Morgan walked up to the portrait and stood frowning before it.
Rebecca came up behind him. “That’s Callum’s dad. Wasn’t such a nice man by all accounts.” She was puzzled by Morgan’s fascination. “Gemma says that there would be no Glencoe, no properties in Wellington where Dallas and Cassandra and their family live, no wealth at all, if it hadn’t been for Dallas in the first instance and then the other brothers stepping up and saving their inheritance. And not only saving it but increasing it. Sir Hugh Mackenzie nearly lost it all.”
“And yet there he stands, as if he has the world at his feet.”
“I think he did. Then, anyway. His grandfather had built up quite an empire.”
“Which this man”—Morgan nodded dismissively at the portrait—“frittered away.”
“In just about every way he could. From what Gemma’s told me, he had a drinking problem among other things. He hated Cassandra’s father and took over his company, which led to an awful tragedy for Cassandra. No, not a nice man at all.” He turned slowly to her, the portrait hanging directly behind him. She looked from one to the other and frowned.
“You worry about your genetic inheritance, Rebecca. Look at Sir Hugh Mackenzie’s sons—Dallas and Callum—they’re good men. Not like their father at all.”
She nodded. “James is too.”
“Hmph!” He turned away.
“Don’t you like James?”
“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
She took a step closer to him, unable to prevent a small smile. She knew she shouldn’t, but she liked this possessive Morgan. “And which way is that?”
