The Cattleman's Special Delivery

by Barbara Hannay

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  A spidery fear crept down his spine. ‘Are you actually having second thoughts?’

  ‘No, no.’ She nestled against him, pressed a kiss to his shoulder. ‘I don’t have any doubts. Not about this.’

  * * *

  ‘Have you finished, Michael?’ Jess tried not to sound concerned next evening, when Michael pushed his plate away with half his dinner left uneaten.

  ‘I’m not very hungry tonight.’

  She’d cooked a lamb stew, which was one of his favourites, and he usually had a good appetite. When she met Reece’s gaze across the table, he looked a bit worried, but he answered her silent question with a faint shake of his head.

  ‘How about a little stewed apple and custard, then?’ Jess asked as she removed Michael’s plate of stew.

  He smiled. ‘That’d be nice.’ He had quite a sweet tooth.

  Jess fixed the dessert with her usual efficiency, pleased that she’d made another of his favourites. Over the weeks she’d spent at Warringa she’d become genuinely fond of Reece’s dad, despite the occasional difficult moments. She’d never known her own father or either of her grandfathers, so Michael was the first man from an older generation that she’d spent any amount of time with.

  He’d told her stories about his boyhood, spent mostly running wild in the bush in the company of young Aboriginal kids. And he’d told her about his days as a young drover when his team had overlanded a thousand head of wild cattle from Far North Queensland to Rockhampton, spending almost six months on the stock routes.

  As a young man he’d even had a stint working on the pampas in Argentina, and Jess had loved hearing about his adventures in a world totally different from anything she’d ever known.

  Tonight she was relieved that Michael ate almost all of his dessert. After dinner, Reece carried a cup of tea back to his father’s bedroom and settled him comfortably. There was a small television set on his chest of drawers and he liked to sit in bed, propped by a bank of pillows, and watch his favourite TV shows.

  Jess was stacking the dishwasher when Reece came back into the kitchen, a line of worry creasing his forehead.

  ‘First thing in the morning, I’m going to ring Doc Campbell’s office. I’m going to try to get Dad’s appointment brought forward.’

  ‘That might be a good idea.’ Jess closed the dishwasher and came to him, touched a hand to his wrist, a gesture of sympathy. She wished she could tell him that Michael would be OK, but they both knew this might not be possible.

  ‘He’s always been so strong.’ Reece’s eyes were extra dark, as if clouded with worry. ‘I know he’s old and this has to happen, but it’s hard to get used to. I haven’t seen him this weak since my mother told him she was never coming back.’

  ‘Really?’

  Reece glared at a spot on the floor. ‘He had a kind of breakdown then. Couldn’t get out of bed.’

  ‘Poor man.’ Jess frowned. ‘But if he didn’t get out of bed, I hope there was someone here to look after you.’

  Reece shook his head. ‘This was before he hired a housekeeper.’

  ‘So how did you cope? Who looked after you?’

  ‘I looked after myself.’

  ‘Reece, you were only five years old.’

  It was impossible. Jess couldn’t bear to think of it—a little boy alone and a father prostrated by grief.

  As much for her own comfort as for his, she slipped her arms around Reece’s waist and rested her cheek against his chest. ‘How on earth did you manage?’

  ‘Ate whatever I could find. Anything that didn’t need cooking. Bread and butter.’ He pulled briefly away from her, looked down with a wry smile. ‘The butter was so chunky on the bread. I didn’t really know how to spread it. But I found apples, oranges, cheese. Ice cream.’

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘I tried to feed him, but he would only drink water—and not much of that.’

  Jess hugged him close, but then she had to step back, needing air. She felt a little dazed and sick at the thought of Michael becoming so completely gutted by his wife’s desertion. He must have suffered the worst possible heartbreak.

  ‘What happened in the end?’ she asked. ‘Did Michael snap out of it?’

  ‘The Pearsons, our neighbours, called in. Actually, I think my memories are based on their story, rather than the true details. They called the Flying Doctor and Mary Pearson cooked up a big pile of meat and potatoes, and then they took me back to their place. I stayed with them while Dad spent some time in Cairns Hospital.’

  ‘Reece, that’s terrible. The poor man.’ She shivered, feeling chilled as she remembered the pain she’d seen in the eyes of one or two of her mother’s cast-off lovers. ‘I didn’t realise rejection could hit a man so hard.’

  She caught a change in Reece’s eyes, a momentary bleakness before his gaze steadied again. ‘Dad’s never talked about it. He’s actually tough as nails. I shouldn’t have told you. He’d hate it.’

  ‘I’ll never repeat a word. I promise.’

  Reece nodded. ‘Anyway, he got over it, Jess. He had to. He had no alternative.’

  Another shiver sluiced through her and she rubbed at her arms. Reece closed the gap between them and pulled her to him. But to her surprise she couldn’t relax. She still felt tense, inexpressibly disturbed by his story.

  ‘I’ll make coffee,’ she said.

  His arms tightened around her. ‘I want you, not coffee.’

  She smiled, relishing his words, and anything might have happened then, if a small wail hadn’t come from a distant bedroom.

  ‘That’s Rosie.’ Jess sighed. ‘She’s teething again.’

  ‘I’ll see to her.’

  ‘No, Reece. You’ve got enough worries with your father.’

  ‘I don’t mind. Honest. You make better coffee than I do. You see to the coffee. I’ll check on Rosie.’

  He was already on his way.

  ‘The teething gel’s on the cupboard in her room,’ Jess called after him.

  * * *

  A pink rabbit-shaped night light glowed in the corner of the baby’s room. As Reece pushed the door open he could see Rosie gripping the bars of her cot as she tried to stand on wobbly, bowed legs.

  ‘You’re stuck, aren’t you, mischief? You tried to stand up, and you don’t know how to sit down again.’

  As he gently lifted her she was already grinning at him and chuckling.

  ‘Hey, this isn’t a game. You’re supposed to go straight back to sleep.’

  Rosie had other ideas. With a gleeful shriek she clutched at his nose and squeezed and tugged.

  ‘Ouch, ouch, ouch,’ he joked, eliciting another chuckle from her.

  ‘Dad-da.’

  ‘No, poppet, I’m not your Dad-da.’ But even as Reece said this he felt a pang, as if the baby had fired a pygmy dart straight to his heart.

  He wasn’t sure if he would ever be a father, and tonight that thought seemed to highlight an emptiness inside him that he’d tried his best to ignore. For years.

  Rosie made another grab for his nose, and he caught her tiny hand in his and cradled it against his chest. ‘Shh,’ he whispered. ‘Just as soon as I rub this gel on your sore gums, you’re going back to sleep.’

  He kissed her soft, golden brown hair. ‘Shh.’

  She smelled amazing. He supposed it was the scents of baby soap and talcum powder, but she smelled so clean and fresh he could practically eat her. And she felt so soft and tiny in his arms as she let him apply the gel, then snuggled into him like a small koala.

  Holding her close, he paced the room, rocking her gently as he’d seen Jess do many times, amazed by how much Rosie seemed to love it, how she cuddled into him, utterly trusting.

  Man. This feeling was something else. New and totally unexpected. He was gripped by an urge to protect, and by an astonishing surge of fierce, strange possessiveness. How could any parent ever willingly walk awa
y from a cute little person like this?

  * * *

  With the coffee made, Jess came looking for Reece, but as she reached the door to Rosie’s room she hesitated.

  He was standing in the soft pink glow of the night light, cuddling her daughter, and the baby girl looked so peaceful and tiny in his powerful arms.

  Moments earlier, he’d been assisting his frail, ageing father and now here he was with her baby. This same man galloped on horseback at breakneck speed, rounded up thundering great beasts, wrestled wild and angry bullocks and wielded a dangerous branding iron.

  It choked Jess up to watch him now, with his eyes closed, gently rocking her baby daughter and making soft hushing sounds.

  Anyone who didn’t know him might assume he was Rosie’s father. It was so easy to imagine that he actually loved her baby girl...

  Perhaps he did?

  The thought caused a sharp pang in Jess’s throat. Reece had delivered Rosie. His hands were the first hands to touch her and he’d guided her safely into this world. Without Reece, Rosie might have been born on the edge of a track in the mud and the rain and, God knew, it might have ended in tragedy.

  As she remembered how wonderful he’d been that night Jess’s throat tightened so painfully she had to clasp her hand over her mouth to stop a sob from bursting out. Quickly, she hurried away before Reece caught her spying on him. And blubbing like a fool.

  * * *

  ‘So you got her back to sleep?’ Jess was pleased she was composed by the time Reece came back into the lounge room.

  ‘Yes, Rosie’s out to it again, and Dad’s asleep too.’

  ‘All’s well, then. Here’s your coffee.’ She handed the mug to Reece as he sat on the sofa. ‘I hope it’s still hot enough.’

  He took a sip. ‘Yes, it’s fine, thanks.’

  Jess drank her coffee, clasping her mug in two hands, as if somehow its warmth would banish the confusion inside her. She wished she could feel happier tonight, wished she could wind back the clock and feel the way she had yesterday evening, when she’d hurled herself into Reece’s arms with hardly a care in the world.

  It had been so easy then to effortlessly throw up phrases like ‘no strings’, and to separate her emotions from her lust. Tonight—only twenty-four short hours later—her emotions were unravelling. She hoped it was her hormones—her period was on its way—but she suspected it was way more than that.

  Last night she’d been focused inwards when she’d convinced herself that her feelings for Reece were solely about physical attraction. Her desire for him had been all that mattered.

  Tonight she was seeing the bigger picture—not just Reece’s lonely childhood with a heartbroken father. Not just his alienation from his mother, but also his current worries about his dad’s failing health. And now, his inescapable connection to her baby daughter.

  It was so clear to her now. She’d only been skimming the surface, not really getting to the bottom of who she and Reece were when they were together. There were so many threads to the ties that bound them, and now she was beginning to understand why sleeping with him had always seemed so much more than mere sex.

  They’d been fooling themselves if they thought they could have a casual, no-strings affair. They’d both witnessed hard evidence from their parents’ lives, and they both knew, deep down, that lovers could damage each other, sometimes without thinking, and sometimes irreparably.

  ‘You’re very quiet.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry, Reece. I’m in a weird mood tonight.’

  He made no comment, but he reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. It was only a small smile of sympathy, but his eyes were so very dark and clear and compelling, and, despite everything that was troubling her tonight, Jess still wanted him. She knew he could sweep aside her uncertainty and melancholy with a single kiss.

  And she let him do exactly that.

  * * *

  Jess woke around dawn, pleased to find Reece still in her bed. She snuggled sleepily against his warm, broad back, draping an arm over his hip, tucking her knees behind the backs of his knees. In her lovely bedroom at the end of the house, with Rosie’s little room and their own private bathroom attached, she felt cocooned and safe from the real world.

  Beyond these walls, people hurt each other through neglect or selfishness or the making of wrong choices.

  She wished they could stay there all day.

  * * *

  Michael was late for breakfast and Reece went to check on him, while Jess sat Rosie in her high chair and fed her rice porridge.

  ‘Cheeky, cheeky girl,’ she told her daughter as she scooped blobs of cereal from her chin. ‘Stop blowing raspberries.’

  Rosie cackled and banged her spoon on the high chair’s tray just as Reece came back into the kitchen.

  Jess turned and saw that his face was ashen.

  ‘What’s happened? What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s Dad.’ His eyes looked terrible and his throat worked as if he were swallowing sharp stones. ‘He’s not— I—I can’t—’

  He couldn’t finish the sentence.

  A flame of fear engulfed Jess. ‘Oh, no, Reece. No.’

  He stood, looking utterly bereft. ‘He—he’s dead, Jess.’

  She took a stumbling step towards him, arms ready to hold him, but she was halted by the stark horror in his eyes.

  He was already turning away from her. ‘I have to ring the ambulance.’ He flung this over his shoulder as he hurried out of the room.

  * * *

  It was the most terrible morning, waiting for the ambulance. Reece stayed in his study, pacing the floor, making phone calls, pacing some more. He felt cold and numb and he wanted to stay that way, at least till the ambulance officers arrived and confirmed the worst.

  Jess stayed in the kitchen and baked. She needed to keep busy and she was sure there would be visitors, so she baked the simple staples that Michael had loved—a carrot cake, Anzac biscuits, date loaves, an apple tea cake.

  She wouldn’t let herself think. She couldn’t bear to think about poor Michael, so she concentrated on chopping, weighing, stirring, wiping down floury bench tops. She let Rosie have her way with the pots-and-pans cupboard, bashing saucepan lids together, banging on baking tins with a wooden spoon, and the racket was strangely comforting.

  Outside, the sun was very hot and bright, which seemed wrong somehow. Surely, it should have been grey and dreary.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE dark clouds rolled in on the day of the funeral, and by the time Jess and Reece arrived back at Warringa the heavy tropical rain was bucketing down.

  Jess scooted into the house behind Reece, who was carrying Rosie, doubled over to keep the rain off her, and Jess was reminded of the rainy night she met Reece, when her baby was born. Perhaps it was fitting that it would be raining again now. Before too long, she would have to broach the subject of leaving Warringa.

  She and Reece hadn’t talked much over the past few days. Reece had retreated again, which was understandable. He’d kept super busy making arrangements for the funeral and notifying people of Michael’s passing, attending to his regular jobs around the property, as well as taking long rides on horseback, supposedly checking boundaries.

  Jess knew he was hurting way more than he let on. He’d been so close to his father, and he was too caring and sensitive not to hurt. She wasn’t surprised that he’d covered his pain with tough armour. And she supposed she didn’t really have the right to comfort him, although she wished she could.

  To keep occupied she’d cleaned the house from top to bottom. There was always the chance Reece’s mother might turn up. After all, Michael was her former husband and the father of her sons.

  The funeral was held in a little white wooden church in Gidgee Springs, and a surprising number of people packed into the pews and gathered afterwards in the church hall. Reece’s mother had not been among the mourners, and as Jess had served afternoon tea she’d battled with
murderous thoughts towards the woman who’d caused so much pain.

  At least Reece’s brother was there to honour his father and to support Reece. A slightly younger, citified version of Reece, Tony Weston declined to stay at the homestead, claiming he had an important court case in Sydney to hurry back to. Jess had spied him briefly chatting with Reece, so that was something at least. And there were plenty of other people wanting to offer their condolences, so Reece was surrounded by friends from all over the district and beyond.

  But now, so quickly, it was over.

  Jess was on the veranda at Warringa, damp and shivering slightly, as she waited for Reece to unlock the front door.

  ‘I guess you’ll need to get Rosie fed and bathed,’ he said as he handed her over. ‘She was very well behaved today, wasn’t she?’

  ‘She had a great time being passed around and having so many people making a fuss of her.’

  ‘While her mum slaved in the church hall’s kitchen.’

  ‘I didn’t mind.’

  ‘I know you didn’t mind, Jess. You never seem to mind and you were fantastic, and I’m really, really grateful.’

  He came to her and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. His lips were cool from the rain and the kiss was more courteous than sexy, so it should not have made her skin burn, but it was the first physical contact between them in days. Now he shrugged out of his suit coat and tossed it over the back of a lounge chair and began to undo his tie.

  As usual, Jess couldn’t tear her eyes from him. There was something so very masculine and sigh-worthy about the way he stretched his neck as he loosened the tie’s knot and then released the top button on his shirt.

  He was, of course, oblivious to her small swoon.

  ‘I’m going to shift a mob of cattle out of the bottom paddock near the creek,’ he said.

  ‘Now, Reece? But it’s pouring.’

  He smiled. ‘That’s why I have to shift them. If it keeps raining like this all night, the creek might come up and flood that paddock.’

  ‘Can it flood so quickly?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’

  * * *

  It was completely dark by the time he got back. Jess had bathed and fed Rosie and settled her to sleep to the lullaby sounds of the rain drumming on the iron roof. Tonight it was even louder than on the night Rosie was born.