Lies That Bind

by Shirley Wine

  ‘Some choice,’ he muttered.

  He drummed his fingers some more, his impatience obvious.

  ‘I’m a busy man.’ He was first to break the impasse. ‘I hold down a demanding position out at Whitby Downs and can’t be in two places at once.’

  This is not my problem.

  ‘If I bring Otto and Rose into Sweetwater for their therapy, could you bring them home? I will reimburse you for your time and fuel.’

  This was a workable compromise. Brooke fiddled with the spoon on her saucer; she didn’t want to appear too eager. ‘That would work for me. I have bars and all the equipment I need already set up in Dad’s garage.’

  ‘I also have the necessary equipment for my wards’ physical therapy at Whitby Downs.’ He leaned across the table, his gaze pinning her to her seat. ‘It’s your expertise Otto and Rose need.’

  She was well aware of this.

  A cursory study of his wards’ medical files made this very plain. It was the emphasis he placed on this that piqued her curiosity. ‘How are your wards dealing with the loss of their parents?’

  His swift, veiled glance disturbed her and the incessant drumming of his fingertips on the table did little to calm her edginess.

  ‘It’s hard to tell,’ he said at last. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve been a child.’

  Brooke squelched an involuntary grin. One glance at his very lived-in face was proof enough that this man was light-years removed from his childhood. She studied him, her head on one side. ‘And you, how are you coping with the loss of your sister?’

  Rage and grief flashed across his face in quick succession before he schooled his features into an unreadable mask. ‘That’s irrelevant.’

  ‘No, it’s a valid question.’ She met his gaze fearlessly. This was a conversation she’d had many times before. ‘Physical therapy will not cure emotional trauma. How those children deal with their loss and the upheaval in their lives depends on you. Like it or not, Mr Calloway, Rose and Otto will take their cue from you. How close were you to your sister?’

  ‘Close enough. What has this to do with anything?’

  Oh yeah, he was thoroughly ticked. Brooke took a slow breath as she sought the right words. ‘Were Rose and Otto hurt in the same accident that killed their parents?’

  ‘They were.’

  ‘Poor little beggars.’ She shook her head, looking directly at him. ‘I’m not sure if you understand, Mr Calloway. Physical therapy is not a magic bullet. Your niece and nephew may need professional help to deal with their emotional trauma.’

  ‘It’s Luke, Brooke.’ He leaned closer, radiating menace. ‘Do you think I don’t know this? Brooding and being unable to move freely isn’t doing them any favours either.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ She continued toying with the teaspoon on her saucer.

  ‘Can you?’

  Pinned by his hard stare, she swallowed, confused and dismayed. Was he really as hard, pragmatic and uncaring as he sounded? She was sure she’d seen a crack in this tough facade, a flash of fury and pain, when she’d asked about his sister; before he once again concealed his emotions behind that aloof mask.

  The man by turns repelled and intrigued her. Luke had the air of a loner—sealed off from all and any spontaneity. He was a cop, for God’s sake, and a man she’d do well to avoid. He was without a doubt one tough nut.

  That instant flare of sexual awareness was an aberration, pure and simple.

  ‘So will you work with my niece and nephew?’

  The brusque challenge threaded anger through her consternation. ‘I’m a professional, Luke. You know full well that, ethically, I can’t refuse to help your wards.’

  He leaned back in his chair, a cynical smile on his lips. ‘And here’s me thinking it was the money I was offering.’

  The man was insufferable. Brooke wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to hit him, or strangle him, but she itched to wipe that cynical smile off his face.

  ‘All the money in the world won’t help your wards with their physical therapy,’ she said through her teeth. ‘You know this, or you wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Touché.’ He held up a hand.

  Brooke stifled an instinctive caustic response. Hands palm down on the table, she half rose out of her chair and leaned across the table and looked him square in the eyes.

  ‘If those kids are to recover from such an horrific ordeal, you need to be there for them, Luke—emotionally as well as physically. Their recovery will depend on far more than physical therapy. You are a fool if you try and ignore this.’

  Something dark and dangerous glittered in his eyes before he leaned back in his chair, and smiled. ‘I’m sure they will appreciate your touching championship.’

  She rose, signalling the end of the interview, before her temper got away from her. She had long ago learned that anger took far more energy than she was willing to expend, and seldom achieved anything positive.

  ‘I work with my father in the afternoons,’ she said, her voice clipped and professional. ‘Bring Otto and Rose to me at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. That will allow me time to assess their mobility and what level of therapy they need.’

  Luke stood and Brooke had to tilt her head to look up at him. Sexuality oozed from him and hit her with all the force of a solid roundhouse punch.

  ‘You will bring them home afterwards?’ He rocked back on his heels, his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans.

  ‘I will.’ Brooke hated to concede even this much, but professional ethics placed her in an impossible position.

  Something Luke Calloway knew full well.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll borrow Dad’s hatchback. It will be easier to stow Otto’s wheelchair. Before tomorrow, you will need to clear it with their doctors to allow me access to their full medical records. You will also need to give your permission to enable me to consult your wards’ orthopaedic specialists about their recommendations and treatment plans.’

  ‘I can do that.’ He paused a moment, frowning in his scrutiny of her. ‘I’ll see you first thing in the morning.’

  Brooke nodded and walked towards the door.

  Luke walked beside her, and outside on the pavement he paused, looking down at her and still frowning, his thumbs again hooked in the front pockets of his jeans.

  ‘Brooke …’ He hesitated as if weighing his words. ‘Otto and Rose are emotionally fragile, Rose in particular.’

  ‘In what way?’ She felt a spike of elation. This was the reaction she’d sought earlier. Did the man have a softer centre than he showed the world?

  ‘I can’t explain it, but I get the sense that she’s struggling with far more than her parents’ deaths.’

  The hesitant admission eased Brooke’s hostility and she laid a hand on his arm. ‘She’s fourteen, Luke. This is a given.’

  ‘If that comment is meant to reassure me, it falls a long way short.’ A rueful smile tugged at his lips. ‘What I know about teenage girls would fit on the head of a pin.’

  Brooke smiled shaking her head. ‘Look on it as character building.’

  He cocked an eyebrow; his slow smile and the twinkle in his eyes made her squirm. ‘And you think I stand in need of “character building”.’

  Embarrassed heat flooded her face, but no way was she touching that comment. Then why did I make such a personal remark?

  Luke chuckled and with a casual wave, turned and strode away.

  As she watched him get into his dusty ute, she wondered if she was touched in the head to initiate any sort of personal interaction. When she was dealing with the aftermath of Brad’s suicide one of his fellow officers had commented, You can take the cop out of the Force, but you can’t take the Force out of the man—something Luke Calloway’s demeanour reinforced.

  She shivered. And this is something I’d do well to remember.

  Frowning, she walked a few steps before she recalled promising her father she’d bring him home a latte. She retraced her ste
ps and came face-to-face with Pat Brewster.

  ‘Brooke, how nice to see you.’ Pat’s face was wreathed in an insincere smile.

  In a pig’s eye … Brooke gave the woman a cool nod.

  The nosy bottle-blonde caught Brooke’s arm, halting her mid-step. ‘Luke Calloway has asked you to work with his wards?’

  Brooke bit her lip before she said, ‘He has.’

  ‘So you’ll be living out on Whitby Downs then?’

  The nosy bat!

  The emphasis Pat put on Whitby Downs made the huge grazing property out on the North Island’s wild western coast sound like a den of iniquity.

  ‘No. Mr Calloway is bringing his wards into Sweetwater as I have the physio equipment set up at my dad’s place.’

  ‘That’s so kind of you.’

  The effusive comment annoyed Brooke. ‘It’s not an issue of kindness. Those young people need my professional expertise.’

  Pat stiffened and her sly smile faded. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’ Brooke took a step closer to the other woman. ‘Listen up. Life has dealt those two youngsters a cruel blow. They have enough trouble without your brand of speculation—about them, or their guardian.’

  Colour flooded up under Pat’s sallow skin. Her throat worked and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘You have a nerve talking to me like that.’

  Brooke snorted and the derisive sound increased the blonde’s colour. ‘Look in the mirror, lady!’

  Ignoring Pat’s angry hiss, Brooke shouldered past her and walked to the counter where Cherry was now serving. ‘I’ll have a latte to go, please.’

  ‘Don’t let that woman spoil your day.’ Cherry’s smile was warm and welcoming.

  Cherry Stanaway had been running this cafe for as long as Brooke could remember, and she always had a kind word for everyone. She was one of the few people in Sweetwater who was always delighted to see Brooke whenever she returned home to visit with her parents.

  ‘Just seeing Pat Brewster is enough to ruin anyone’s day,’ Brooke said, frowning.

  ‘Ignore her.’ Cherry shook her head so hard her tight grey curls bounced. ‘Everyone knows Pat’s penchant for gossip and troublemaking.’

  ‘Easier said than done,’ Brooke muttered, angry with herself for rising to the woman’s baiting. ‘She needs to get a life.’

  ‘For sure. How’s your dad doing?’ Cherry spoke a little louder so she could be heard over the hiss of the espresso machine.

  Brooke’s smile faded. ‘Nowhere near as well as I’d like.’

  ‘I guess you’ll be here for a while yet?’

  ‘I’m here for as long as it takes.’

  ‘Then you’d do far better to ignore Pat, she’s not important in the scheme of things.’

  Brooke flushed, knowing that Cherry was right.

  Cherry smiled, secured the lid on the latte and passed it across the counter. ‘You’re a good daughter, Brooke, and Frank’s blessed to have you. And Luke’s wards are very fortunate, too.’

  ‘You know them?’

  ‘I’ve seen them with him a time or two. And like Pat, I’ve heard the scuttlebutt.’

  Brooke frowned down at the coffee she held. ‘Those kids have had a raw deal.’

  ‘I know—’ Cherry looked directly at Brooke, ‘—but if anyone can help them heal, it’s you. Those kids are so fortunate that you’re here and willing to work with them, and don’t let anyone tell you different.’

  The woman’s kind words stayed with Brooke as she walked the few blocks to the house where she’d spent her childhood.

  ‘That you, Brooke?’

  Her father’s quavering voice greeted her as she walked in through the back door. ‘Yes, Dad, I’m back.’

  She heard the distinctive sound of his shuffling gait, the thump of his walking stick and the drag of his right leg as he made his way towards her.

  ‘I brought you a latte,’ she said cheerfully in an attempt to mask her grief at seeing her once robust father reduced to such straits.

  ‘I’ve decided to make tea, you were so long. I’m not completely helpless, you know.’

  The testy words had Brooke gnawing on her lower lip as she set the coffee on the bench. Her dad wasn’t helpless, and while it pleased her to see him assert some of his former fierce independence, it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to stand back and watch as he filled the kettle with water. By the time he’d set it back on its stand and switched it on, sweat beaded his brow.

  ‘Well done.’ She grasped his elbow and guided him back to his recliner. ‘I’ll make your tea.’

  ‘Thanks, love.’ He slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. Brooke made tea and poured it into his special mug with its sipping straw, then set it on the table near his elbow. He opened his eyes and gave her a shrewd look from under bushy eyebrows. ‘You met up with Calloway?’

  ‘I did.’ Brooke sat in the chair opposite, sipping at the latte; there was no point in letting it go to waste. ‘You didn’t tell me he was a cop.’

  Frank avoided her accusing gaze as he picked up his mug and, frowning with concentration, managed to get the straw to his mouth, his movements shaky and uncoordinated.

  Brooke felt tears burn behind her eyes as she watched the man she’d always considered invincible struggle with the simple task.

  Be grateful. Last week he couldn’t lift the mug to his lips.

  When he finished the milky concoction, Frank said, ‘That hardly matters, Brooke. He’s a good bloke doing his best to make a home for two orphaned kids. They are the important people here and they deserve the benefit of your expertise.’

  The gentle rebuke stung. She’d already had this conversation with Pat and Cherry. ‘I do know this, Dad, and after reading their records I’m very aware of how much they need my expertise to regain their mobility and lead useful lives.’

  ‘Then what’s your problem with their uncle being an ex-cop? Surely you’re not fool enough to muddle Calloway with Thornton.’ Her dad’s acerbic tone was one she remembered well.

  ‘I do know this,’ she muttered.

  Her stomach churned at the mere mention of that man’s name, and the memory of the way he had used and manipulated her. Ever since that affair had blown up in her face and her subsequent very public humiliation, she was wary of trusting anyone. Brad Thornton coloured every interaction she had with the opposite sex. Caution and suspicion were now as ingrained in her as breathing.

  ‘What Thornton did to you was despicable,’ Frank said with gruff kindness. ‘But it’s more than time you stopped allowing his actions to define you. It’s time you looked on the past as a lesson, Brooke. It’s not a life sentence.’

  She struggled with the bitter sting of tears.

  ‘And this is like all advice, easy to give and hard to practise.’ He leaned across the space and covered her hand with his gnarled one.

  That comment elicited a shaky chuckle from Brooke and she was glad all over again that her dad’s stroke hadn’t robbed him of his intellect. It still hurt her heart to see the way his lips drooped and his face muscles hung flaccid. One of his eyelids was now permanently fixed at half-mast.

  ‘What do you know about Luke Calloway, Dad? And how come an ex-cop is foreman of Whitby Downs?’

  Brooke knew she hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of avoiding the man while she worked with his wards. She hated going into any situation under-prepared, even if this did make her appear paranoid.

  ‘That’s something you need to ask Matt Daintry, Brooke, not me,’ Frank said with a lopsided smile. ‘This is a whole new era for Whitby Downs and the Daintry family.’

  Listening to her dad underscored for Brooke how far removed she’d become from the people of Sweetwater. She’d grown up here and knew the bare bones of the scandal surrounding the Daintry family, but only had a vague understanding of the current situation. Matt’s father had accrued such heavy gambling debts that Whitby Downs was forced into a
mortgagee sale. For the longest time this scandal was the subject on everyone’s lips. The station was bought at auction by Lachlan Buchanan.

  If the current scuttlebutt was to be believed, years ago when he worked on the station, Matt Daintry had eloped with Buchanan’s daughter Charlotte, and he was the father of her young son. And now, against all expectations, Matt Daintry was ensconced at the helm of the huge grazing property, an event the locals were still dissecting amid a welter of speculation.

  Despite this turbulent history, Matt and Charlotte Daintry were by all accounts a blissfully happy couple.

  ‘I might just do that when I next see him,’ Brooke said, laughing ruefully and lifting a hand to acknowledge her father’s dry humour. ‘But that’s for another day. It’s time for your exercises.’

  Frank Galbraith grimaced, but struggled to his feet.

  Brooke was humbled by his courage.

  Too often courage was associated with people who put their lives on the line to protect others, or the grit and intrepid determination of explorers who scaled untamed mountains and uncharted territory.

  As Brooke watched her father’s struggle and saw his determination to overcome the effects of that debilitating stroke, she understood that courage was very often a quiet thing. The last tiny piece of yourself you found when you thought everything that mattered was gone, and you were unsure if you had the strength to carry on. She swallowed her own grief at the bitter unfairness of it all.

  As she guided her dad through his exercise regime, she offered him gentle encouragement. She knew full well that pity was something her indomitable father would not tolerate.

  Chapter Two

  Luke drove away from his meeting with Brooke Galbraith shaken and off balance, his thoughts a jumbled mess. That sting of instant attraction was one complication he did not need.

  It was lust. Pure and simple.

  I’m too damn old to be enticed by the lure of lust.

  Maybe, but he was well aware that the attraction was not one-sided. Beneath a shock of wayward dark brown hair that almost reached her waist, Brooke’s face had paled. Her dark eyes had opened impossibly wide as she gave him a thorough once-over from across the coffee shop.