Inherited: Baby

by Nicola Marsh

  The cry of a toddler came again, louder this time and Maya hurried towards the stalls, hoping to finish up quickly and head to the house. However, with her attention fixed firmly on the second storey lead-light nursery window, she missed her step, her right foot catching in a divot on the track and twisting painfully.

  ‘Darn it!’ she muttered, unwittingly yanking on the mare’s bridle, who let out an accompanying whinny of disapproval.

  ‘Sorry about that, girl,’she said, shocked at the mind-numbing pain shooting up her calf to her knee as she patted the mare’s neck, trying to soothe the horse while tentatively taking weight on her ankle.

  ‘Shi-shkabob!’

  Maya stopped dead, leaning on the mare and staring in dismay at her right ankle, which had apparently doubled its size in five seconds flat and was bulging against the worn leather of her boot.

  Material Girl turned her head and nuzzled Maya, blowing softly through her giant nostrils, and Maya managed a grimace-like smile.

  ‘You feel my pain, don’t you, girl?’ She rubbed the mare’s nose and the horse whinnied in response.

  However, as intuitive as the horse was, it didn’t help the sick feeling in Maya’s gut that she’d just done serious damage to her ankle. She couldn’t think about the repercussions on her job if that were the case.

  Thankfully, her workmate Albert, who’d just dismounted in the nearby yard, helped her to a bench and put the mare in her stall.

  ‘You reckon it’s broken?’ he said, sending a doubtful glance at her ankle and backing away when she shifted her other foot.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to kick you.’

  Albert grinned. ‘Hey, spend enough time around those stubborn mules and you get used to a few kicks, especially when they’re in pain.’

  ‘Firstly, I’m not a mule and neither are Brett’s thorough-breds. And secondly, if you think I’m in pain now, wait till I reach over and clobber you for being so insensitive.’

  His grin widened. ‘Is that any way to talk to the guy who became a human crutch for you a minute ago? Look at the size of me. You’re no lightweight, Eddy. You could’ve put a serious dent in my chances of riding in the Cup.’

  ‘You’re pushing your luck,’ she said, grateful for Albert’s banter, secretly rapt whenever he called her Eddy. She’d never had a nickname before working at the stables and it gave her a sense of belonging. However, by the way Albert kept sending furtive glances between her ankle and her face, she knew her pallor and the size of her ankle must have him worried.

  His worry had nothing on hers.

  ‘Can you help me take off my boot?’

  Albert’s smile faded fast. ‘It’s gonna hurt like the devil.’

  ‘Has to be done,’ she said, gritting her teeth against the oncoming onslaught of pain. ‘I bet it’s just a sprain but I won’t know till I take a look.’

  ‘Okay, you asked for it.’

  Albert squatted down and gingerly raised her foot to support it on his knee while she closed her eyes at the expected wave of agony that shuddered up her leg.

  ‘You set?’

  ‘Just do it already!’ she snapped, turning her head away as Albert eased the boot off her foot.

  The jockey had a magic touch. He’d tended horses with bruised fetlocks and strained tendons before. Still, even the gentlest tug on the smooth leather around her ankle sent waves of raw, sickening pain crashing over her, leaving her breathless and nauseous.

  As brave as she tried to be, a whimper bubbled up in her throat as she opened her eyes and looked down at her ankle, an ugly, swelling mass double the size of its left counterpart.

  ‘That’s some sprain,’Albert said, gently placing her foot on an overturned crate and straightening, dusting off his hands as if his work was done.

  ‘How do you know it’s not broken?’

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she tried a tentative testing motion, rotating her ankle a minute degree and wincing in frustration.

  ‘You would’ve passed out when I pulled the boot off if it was broken. You’ll live. Now, sit tight and I’ll get the doc.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Maya closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the rough-hewn stable wall, wondering when her luck would change.

  A few minutes ago she’d been looking forward to her first peaceful weekend in months and now this. She didn’t believe in superstition but maybe it was time to start carrying around a four-leaf clover and a rabbit’s foot?

  The doc, one of Melbourne’s elite vets, had a quick look at her ankle and diagnosed a grade two sprain of the lateral ligaments. She knew the treatment, having tended her mum’s sprained ankles several times over the years: alcohol and high heels definitely didn’t mix.

  However, she didn’t have time to rest, ice, compress and elevate her ankle. She had a fourteen-month-old child to look after and a Melbourne Cup fancy that wouldn’t perform without her strapper. And thanks to Joe’s selfishness, she needed Material Girl to win the Cup more than ever, the promised tip a necessity to provide for Chas.

  Brett Gould was a generous man and when one of his horses had won two years ago he’d tipped the strapper one hundred thousand dollars. That sort of money would go a long way to securing an education for her son, to give him the kind of start in life she’d never had, and she’d do everything in her power to make that happen for her precious little boy.

  ‘Is there anyone who can give you a hand while you recuperate?’Albert had stuck around through the doc’s visit, happily fetching bandages and ice and she marvelled at the huge differences between men.

  Joe had been hard-pressed to find a Band-Aid when she’d accidentally sliced her thumb while cooking one night. Yet here was a mate running around like a regular Florence Nightingale. And then there was Riley, ready to jump on his white steed and ride to her rescue if she needed him.

  Unfortunately, against every self-preserving instinct she possessed, now might be the time to whistle up that steed.

  ‘Yeah, I can call someone. If you pass me my mobile, I’ll give him a ring.’

  ‘Him?’

  Albert winked and sent her a cheeky smile. Obviously, he didn’t think it poor taste to tease her about a guy a week after her fiancé’s funeral.

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but the guy I’m calling is Joe’s brother.’

  ‘The stuffy dude in fancy duds who attended the Spring Racing Carnival with Joe every year?’

  Despite the dull throb in her ankle, Maya smiled at Albert’s description of Riley. ‘He may be a tad serious but Riley’s okay.’

  ‘He must be for you to go near another member of the Bourke family.’

  ‘Riley’s different. He seems pretty together.’

  ‘Whatever you say, but if the guy mistreats you in any way, he’s gonna have to deal with me.’

  Albert puffed out his scrawny chest and Maya bit back a grin at the ludicrous image of the pint-sized jockey sparring with six-foot plus of athletic Riley.

  Another anomaly in her crazy world: she had no right thinking about Riley’s body, about the way his clothes fitted just right to his toned body, about his strong arms, broad shoulders, lean waist and long legs.

  Riley Bourke was practically family. In fact, he was family to Chas and she’d better remember it. Given a choice, she would’ve rather eaten dirt than ask him to step in here. But then, fate had a happy knack of removing her choices one by one and knocking her on her butt in the process.

  ‘Thanks, Albert. You’re a good mate.’

  To her amazement, the brash jockey blushed to the roots of his spiky sandy hair. ‘Yeah, that’s me. Here, make your call.’

  She took the phone, hoping she was doing the right thing in letting Riley into her life.

  Riley parked his sedan in front of a row of derelict buildings and rechecked the address he’d jotted down when Maya had rung him, a sinking feeling deep in his gut telling him he hadn’t made a mistake.

  She lived here, in th
is run-down dump of a place with its sagging, rusty front gate, overgrown path, paint peeling and splintering off the front door and cracked bricks the colour of faded prison grey. His nephew deserved a palace and instead, thanks to his brother, Chas had ended up here.

  How ironic. If Joe wasn’t already dead, he’d want to strangle him.

  Stepping from the car and stabbing at the lock button on the remote, he headed up the path, pushing open the flimsy gate hanging on one hinge.

  How many knocks could one person take before they folded, emotionally, mentally, physically?

  He knew Maya was a survivor. That went without saying, the way she’d handled Joe and their troubles. But surely there was only so much her coping mechanism could handle? And what would happen to Chas if she crumbled?

  He needed to step up and fast.

  In the grand scheme of things a sprained ankle wasn’t so bad but he’d heard the desperation in her voice when she’d called him, the weariness, the defeat, and it had tugged on his heart-strings. He knew what it must’ve cost her to call him. She’d made it pretty clear how she felt about his offer to help earlier in the week so reaching out must’ve irked and he’d have to be damn careful how he trod from here on in.

  He knocked on the door, half expecting it to creak open. The ramshackle place had a haunted look about it, as if squatters or ghosts were the only inhabitants silly or desperate enough to take up lodgings within the dreary walls.

  ‘Come in, the door’s open,’ a faint voice called out and he frowned, turned the rusty doorknob and stepped into a dark, dingy, narrow hallway.

  ‘We’re in the front room.’ Maya’s voice, louder this time, came from somewhere on his right and he strode down the passageway, trying to ignore the horrible musty odour and putrid yellow wallpaper.

  They couldn’t live here. No way. He hadn’t even seen the rest of the house and he already knew he’d have to think of some way to get Maya and Chas out of this hell hole.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, stopping in the doorway to the ‘front room’, a tiny box of a space which had a threadbare sofa, a small table and a smaller TV on it. Maya had taken up residence on the sofa, her ankle propped up on a cushion while Chas lay on a bunny rug on the floor next to her, fast asleep.

  For some strange inexplicable reason, the cosy scene brought a lump to his throat. Him, the guy who thrived on the highs of stockbroking, the guy who handled millions on a daily basis, the guy who loved travelling, the guy who didn’t have time for a wife or the responsibility a relationship entailed because he was married to his job—just the way he liked it.

  Maybe the stress of Joe’s death was getting to him.

  ‘Hey, yourself. Why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable? Pull up a piece of floor and take a seat.’ She smiled, a tentative movement of her lips as if she expected him to launch straight into her for living in such a hovel. ‘It’s not the Taj Mahal but for the price it’ll do for now.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ was all he said, using every ounce of self control not to sweep Chas into his arms, grab Maya and rush them out the door. ‘How’s the ankle?’

  She grimaced and pointed to the walking stick propped next to her. ‘Not good. I need that thing to get around and even then I’m hobbling. It hurts like the devil and the doc said I have to keep off it for a few weeks.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  Let me help you.

  What about Chas?

  How can you care for a toddler let alone yourself?

  How can you live here?

  The questions flashed through his mind so quickly he had to clench his jaw to stop himself from blurting them out. After a few seconds when he’d calmed enough, he said, ‘How are you managing with Chas?’

  ‘Barely,’ she said, glancing down at her sleeping son with that special serene expression she got whenever the boy’s name was mentioned: the expression that made him feel as if he was missing out on something; the expression that allayed his fears about her maternal instincts. ‘He stayed up at the Gould house while I was checked out and the nanny brought him home for me.’

  A light bulb went off in his head as he looked at her ankle. ‘Right ankle. No driving, huh?’

  ‘You said it.’ She paused, a faint flush staining her cheeks and he stared, mesmerised.

  Maya wasn’t a woman who blushed. She coped with everything life dished out to her and more yet here she was, looking embarrassed about something. Interesting…

  ‘Riley, I know I acted like an ass when you offered to help me before and I’d like to say sorry for that.’

  Ah…so that was it. He bit back a grin, knowing apologies wouldn’t come easily to a proud woman like her.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’he said, hoping she’d go further and actually ask for his help. By the size of that ankle swathed in ice and bandages, she didn’t have much choice.

  Her blush deepened, adding lustre to her eyes and he silently cursed. Joe was barely cold in his grave and he was noticing way too many details about Maya.

  ‘If the offer still stands, I guess I could use your help now,’ she said, tilting her chin, looking him in the eye, as if daring him to pity her.

  Unfortunately, pity was the furthest emotion he felt as he stared into her heart-shaped face, the too-pale skin devoid of make-up in stark contrast to the intense green of her eyes and natural rosy pink of her lips.

  Those lips…Damn it, more of those details he needed to stop noticing.

  ‘Of course the offer still stands. I can have you out of here by tonight. You can stay in a hotel till I arrange alternative housing. I can hire a full time nanny to look after Chas till you’re better. I can—’

  ‘I don’t want your money!’

  Anger scorched across her face and she calmed with obvious effort. He could see it in the unclenching fists, the softening of her shoulders and he bided his time, watching uncertainty war with pride, fury battle vulnerability.

  She didn’t speak for several moments, her gaze darting between Chas and him before she straightened her shoulders and shuffled back in the sofa, as if needing some kind of support to brace against.

  ‘What do you want then?’ he finally prompted, increasingly uncomfortable with standing in this tiny room, feeling like a giant at an elf’s tea party—not knowing what to say or do, clumsy in his efforts to help.

  For a moment he wondered if she’d heard him as her attention remained fixed on Chas, the intensity of maternal love etched on her face taking his breath away.

  ‘I do want something from you.’

  Maya spoke so softly he blinked several times, wondering if he’d imagined it.

  ‘You know you only have to ask and I’ll help in any way I can,’ he said, sounding like a CD track stuck on repeat. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d said these words or something similar to her since Joe’s death.

  ‘Good. In that case, I want a commitment from you.’

  His world tilted as the impact of her demand hit him full-on and he struggled for a response, not surprised when he came up with nothing.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘I KNOW IT’S a lot to ask,’ Maya rushed on, taking Riley’s stunned expression as an instant ‘no’ and intent on making him see this from her point of view, ‘but I need a time commitment from you. I can’t take your money; it just wouldn’t be right. That woman at the funeral—’

  ‘Forget about that. You shouldn’t listen to spiteful gossip or let it affect your decisions.’

  Maya shook her head, wondering how long he’d stick around when he heard the rest of her proposal. ‘That woman was only reiterating what a lot of people in this city think. If you help me out by putting us up in a hotel, paying our bills, paying for accommodation, don’t you think it only adds fuel to the fire? Can’t you see that I won’t let the slightest bit of scandal taint Chas?’

  She looked down at her sleeping son, a tiny smile quivering around his mouth as he dreamed and she fervently wished that her son’s dreams were filled with hap
piness and light, the antithesis of her own most nights.

  ‘I don’t want my son exposed to any more talk than necessary and I already know what he’ll have to face when he’s older.’

  Confusion clouded Riley’s eyes, turning them stormy pewter rather than their usual startling blue of a Melbourne sky on a sunny day. ‘What will he have to face?’

  ‘People talk. They’re talking now. About Joe’s drink-driving, about how he was lucky to only kill himself and not some other innocent person, about his gambling, about me…’ She trailed off, afraid she’d said too much.

  She didn’t want to get into the whole ‘woe-is-me’ thing with Riley. If he’d thought that woman at the funeral had been harsh, it was nothing to what she’d heard doing the rounds about her previously.

  ‘What are people saying about you?’

  His voice had taken on a hard edge and she should’ve known he wouldn’t let this go. Riley was a go-getter, the type of guy who made things happen, who left no stone unturned. Just her luck…

  She shifted under the scrutiny of his stare, silently cursing her sprained ankle and her inability to escape.

  ‘I’m a horse strapper, Joe was part of the owner’s circle. I kept working after we met, he pursued me relentlessly till I moved into his condo. I got knocked up, Joe proposed. You do the math. What do you think people are saying?’

  She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice as the truth echoed in her head. Yes, people had said all that but there was only one reason Joe had pursued her and he’d made it all too plain on the night he’d written himself off. He’d given her a glaring reminder of her failure as a woman to attract a man, a clear message as to why a guy in Joe’s social circle would ever look twice at a scruffy tomboy like her. His words, not hers.

  ‘The people who matter don’t think like that. And when Chas is old enough, the gossip around Joe’s death will’ve blown over.’ Riley straightened, as if ready to don a superhero cape and protect his nephew against any hint of scandal to come his way.