Starting Over

by Susanne Bellamy

  ‘Scumbag.’ Hayden joined them and kicked the gates, rattling the chains and drawing mutters of agreement from those nearby.

  Emily looked at Warren. ‘I don’t know. Did you catch his name?’

  Warren folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. ‘Yeah, I recognised the bastard all right. He’s out of prison and turned up here as soon as he heard the town’s down on its luck. My advice, Paul, stay well away from him. Bad like his old man, and twice as mean. But you know that better than most.’

  ‘If he’s back, then we have a score to settle.’

  Warren gripped Paul’s arm and stepped in close. ‘Leave it, son. Sergeant Johnson might be on your side and choose to look the other way—hell, I think he’d like to shed his uniform and join you after what he lost in that scam—but the young coppers won’t. They’re strictly by the book. Don’t let Frankston do your head in.’

  Tight-lipped, Paul pulled his arm out of Warren’s grip, knocking Serena’s arm as he did so. The union rep looked worried, but Paul wouldn’t make a promise he couldn’t keep.

  ‘Paul?’ Hayden dragged him out of the crowd and stopped beside a dented forty-four gallon drum around the corner from the gate.

  Serena excused herself. ‘I’m going to phone my supplier and postpone further deliveries for this job until I know what’s going on.’

  Hayden waited only until she was out of earshot and turned his back on the crowd. ‘Let’s find out where he’s staying and go give him what he deserves.’

  Paul’s hand fisted. He could see Frankston’s sneering face bleeding from the nose, sprawled on the ground looking up as the Carey brothers meted out justice. It would feel so good to do something for their father.

  Their father’s ‘forgive and forget’ attitude had been sorely challenged following the pine-tree debacle, but he still believed there was good in every person. Some, you have to look harder, dig deeper, to find it, but it’s there.

  And that was how Frankston had been able to convince their dad to invest in the bogus scheme. Paul sighed. ‘Dad wouldn’t thank us for roughing him up, even now.’

  Hayden strode several steps, stopped and jabbed a finger in the direction of one of the trucks in the yard. ‘If I don’t get our cotton out in the next week, we’re going to be up shit creek. And if that bastard has money to buy this place, that’s the last straw. We might as well lie down and roll over like bloody dogs.’ Anger rolled off him in waves. He glanced past Paul’s shoulder.

  Paul drew a deep breath and turned. Serena stood a few metres away, fiddling with her phone. He relaxed his fists and stepped towards her.

  She gave him a smile, one of those overly bright, I-wish-I-was-anywhere-but-here smiles. ‘It’s okay. I should probably go and give you space to—do what you have to.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Serena. This isn’t a great introduction to Mindalby. I’ll show you the way to Trish’s B and B now.’

  ‘No need. I mean, Mindalby isn’t that big. Surely I won’t get lost.’

  She wouldn’t, but he wanted time to think and Hayden needed time to cool off. ‘It’s fine. We’ve finished our—discussion.’

  ‘For now.’ Hayden glared at him, then looked at Serena and tempered his tone. ‘Welcome to Mindalby, Serena. Be glad you don’t live here.’

  ‘Enough, Hayden. We’ll talk again later.’ Paul took Serena’s arm and led her back to his ute. ‘The mill closing is bad enough on its own, but this—man who everyone is talking about—’

  ‘You don’t have to explain anything. It’s none of my business, but I can see you’re busy.’ She climbed into the passenger seat and settled her handbag on the floor between her feet, bumping a couple of boxes that rattled as she moved them with her toe. ‘Thanks for showing me the mill. Now I understand the situation here I’ll think carefully before I sink more money into my design project for the festival.’

  He held onto the door, knowing he had to get his head together before she decided he was crazy. ‘If you’re free in the morning, we could have coffee?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll text you.’

  ***

  What a day to arrive.

  As Paul made a U-turn, Serena looked at the men in the small crowd and wondered, was her father among them? Had he lost his job when the mill closed? Was he even alive and living in Mindalby? Her mother’s answers had always been vague, and without benefit of a name she didn’t have much to go on, but she’d already seen several men who fell into the right age group. Yesterday, as she’d driven into the sunset on her way out of Sydney, she’d decided to visit the dress shop before meeting with the saddler and begin her search by chatting with Veronica. The near accident had blown her plans apart. Finding herself in Paul’s yard had been sheer dumb luck, but his friendliness changed her mind. As they’d waited for their lunch, she had mentally geared up to tell him about her search. He seemed—nice. Nice, but extroverted.

  That little squelch of fear had almost stopped her. Extroverted men, men with charm and good looks, were to be avoided. But Paul Carey had a larrikin sense of humour and a pair of smiling, dark brown eyes, and she’d tossed a mental coin and decided to ask him about people in town. Asking oblique questions to find her father might not be sensible, but it felt safe. And guiding the conversation to the segment of males aged from their late forties and older could flow naturally from conversation about the mill.

  But then someone had called the name ‘Max’ and she’d panicked.

  Stupid to panic out here. It wasn’t her Max—her stomach curled in on itself; never hers again, she didn’t want him. Not after his casual breaking of their engagement, and his callous disregard for the people who were important in her life.

  If she never saw Max Zinsky again, it would be too soon. She’d pushed thoughts of her ex into the back of her mind and looked at Paul.

  Into his kind brown eyes.

  Then Hayden had turned up and she had gone with the brothers to the mill.

  Now she glanced at Paul’s profile, at the muscle ticking in his cheek and his fierce grip on the wheel and wondered. What sort of man was this Frankston to inspire such a level of loathing? An awkward silence hung between them. She looked in the side mirror at the receding crowd of unemployed mill workers. After what she’d just witnessed, asking Paul for help to find her father was out of the question. Whoever this Frankston was, his arrival had compounded the difficulties of the mill closing. She wouldn’t add to Paul’s burden with her problem.

  ‘So, your brother’s cotton is locked up in the mill? This is a major cotton growing area; can’t he just collect it and take it to another mill?’

  ‘He tried, but couldn’t talk Sergeant Johnson into releasing it. Pity, because I could have got a truck to deliver it to Bourke.’

  ‘So his entire crop is being held hostage?’

  ‘A third of the crop. He planted in three stages. Because of the drought, Dad thought we might catch a bit of luck, weather-wise, if La Nina kicked in this year.’

  Curious about his use of we, Serena leaned forward. ‘So you only have a third of your crop caught up in this drama? Isn’t that better than losing the whole lot?’

  That same muscle ticked in Paul’s cheek and suddenly, she regretted her inclination to spout optimism at the drop of a hat. She knew nothing about cotton, nothing about the intricacies of mills closing, nothing about Paul Carey and his family’s business. Nothing about Mindalby, where her father may or may not be involved in what was happening.

  ‘Every last bale we can pick is committed. Water allocations dropped because of the drought and reduced the amount we can grow. If we don’t meet delivery, we’ll have more problems than just lost income.’ Paul’s words were clipped, his tone almost neutral except for the way he bit off the final word.

  He didn’t speak again until he pulled into the driveway of a well-maintained garden. ‘Here it is. I can wait while you go in, unless you think you can find your way back from my place?’

  ‘Now I know where it is I’ll be a
ble to get back easily. Take me back to my car please and I’ll be fine.’

  Maybe fine wasn’t the word. Could she have chosen a worse time to embark on her search? She was already exhausted by the drive from Sydney; the emotional turmoil in this place was draining the last of her reserves of energy.

  She’d lived twenty-six years without her father; one more night was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

  Tomorrow her search could begin in earnest.

  But the memory of anxious faces and angry voices at the mill plagued her imagination. Maybe she’d get lucky and find her father.

  But would her father be happy to see a daughter he knew nothing about?

  Chapter Three

  Paul sat on the edge of the sofa and listened to Trish Jenkins tap on a door, before her clear voice rang down the hall. ‘You’ve got a visitor, Serena. Paul Carey’s here.’

  ‘I’m coming.’ Moments later, Serena appeared in the doorway, eyes heavy-lidded, cheeks flushed. ‘Hi, what are you doing here?’

  He stood, feeling awkward. What had possessed him to show up on her doorstep tonight? It was crazy, but her company this afternoon had made him forget his worries. Until Hayden mentioned Greg Frankston.

  Paul wanted that sense of calm Serena wore like a winter coat. He wanted not to think about the farm, or the mill, or the man he blamed for his father’s heart attack. He wanted a couple of hours thinking of nothing more than the attractive woman watching him with her curious emerald gaze.

  ‘I should have phoned first. I thought you might like to sample more of Ruby’s cooking for dinner and we didn’t get a chance to really talk about your ideas. Whether you still want to go ahead with them now you can see what’s happening here.’

  She blinked, and looked at Trish.

  ‘Fine by me, dear. I held off cooking until I knew if you were awake, and the Ace in the Hole serves great food.’

  Serena turned back to him. ‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready. Honestly, I could eat a horse.’ She darted through the door.

  Trish grinned and patted his arm. ‘Thanks for recommending my place, Paul. I’m glad of the custom, especially now the mill’s closed. Will you excuse me? I’ve a batch of parmesan pumpkin scones in the oven.’

  ‘Sure, Trish. Thought something smelled good when you opened the front door.’

  She paused with her hand on the door handle. ‘Did you hear who’s back in town?’

  ‘Yeah. Bad news travels fast.’

  ‘He won’t be able to con anyone here again. We’re all wise to him now.’

  Trish left but the dark mood descended as he slumped into an armchair. If only he’d held off signing the damned contract on the Cotton Bale just one week, if only he’d managed to pay more principal off the bank loan, if—

  A whole lot of ifs that meant fuck all.

  And the biggest if of all was the pine trees. If only his father wasn’t soft-hearted and hadn’t been conned into sinking farm profits into a scam. Four years may have dimmed the collective town memory, but not his.

  And now Frankston was back in town.

  Paul thumped the arm of the chair. In the dark days after his father’s heart attack there’d been no option. Paul had borrowed heavily to keep their farm afloat. If it came to the crunch, would the bank lend him more to keep the farm this time?

  And what if—

  Frankston’s appearance at the mill appalled him. The conman had skimmed tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands of dollars from the community before his lawyer fiancée and Paul’s father had discovered his criminal activity and given the evidence to the police. But what if the man had hidden the profits of his crime until he got out of prison?

  What if he really could buy the mill?

  Whichever way Paul looked at it, he was screwed.

  Serena opened the door and smiled. ‘I’m ready. Your car or mine?’

  ‘I walked so if you want to drive, it had better be yours.’

  ***

  Listening to Serena’s light-hearted conversation eased the tension in Paul’s shoulders. He needed this, needed the break from a lousy week and too many hours shut up alone in his workshop.

  ‘I’m glad you gave me a chance to make up for our cut-short lunch.’

  ‘We both rushed our meals. Besides, you had me at steak.’

  ‘Good to know the secret. You were saying—’

  Hayden strolled up to their corner table, beer in hand, and sat down uninvited. ‘You living in the pub these days?’

  ‘Geez, Hayden, join us, why don’t you.’

  Serena gave him an odd look and smiled at his brother.

  Paul rarely employed sarcasm, but tonight, he wasn’t in the mood for his brother’s company. He looked at Hayden more closely. His eyes were red and bleary, and the degree of sway as he sat on the chair was better suited to standing on the deck of a boat. Was it too much to ask for a couple of hours’ break from everything, including a brother who’d obviously had too much to drink?

  Hayden ignored him and focused on Serena. ‘Paul said Veronica Carter commissioned you to make cotton clothes for the festival. Doubt that will go ahead now. Why are you still here?’

  ‘Hey, bro, let’s leave the bad stuff out of the conversation.’ How long had Hayden been at the pub? ‘Won’t Mum be expecting you home for dinner?’

  ‘Shut it, bro. I’m having drinks with my mates.’ He raised his glass towards the bar. ‘Can’t I have an evening off once in a blue moon?’

  ‘Of course you can, but it looks like you’ve had a few. Want a bed at my place for the night?’

  ‘Why? Because you think I’m pissed? Ha, I’m drinking to forget why I’m pissed. Off, that is.’ Hayden drained his glass and put it down hard, then leaned towards Serena. ‘My big brother’s not the only smart one in the family.’

  Serena flicked a glance at Paul, and eased away from Hayden. The sour smell of beer and defeat wafted across the table and smacked Paul in the face. He had to get Hayden away before he did something stupid, like make a move on Serena. He opened his mouth to apologise for Hayden’s behaviour and take his brother back to the saddlery, but Serena beat him to the punch.

  ‘You asked about my business, Hayden. I’ll be okay, but it’s my workers and suppliers I’m worried about. Don’t suppose there’ll be any jobs going in this area in the next few months?’

  ‘You staying around?’ Paul had expected her to hightail it back to Sydney when the depressed state of the town became obvious. Mindalby was no place for a holiday.

  ‘Yes. I—have my reasons. Something might be able to be salvaged. From my holiday, I mean.’

  Salvaged?

  He couldn’t see a single positive in the whole damned situation, aside from Serena’s arrival. But her cockeyed optimism could do nothing for him tonight. Not while Hayden loomed over her.

  ‘Okay, Hayden, it’s time to—’ Paul was halfway to his feet when Serena interrupted. She pinned him with a hard look and he sat down.

  She touched his brother’s arm. ‘Our meals will be here soon. Have you eaten, Hayden?’

  Oh, you clever woman. He sighed, but brotherly love extended to seeing that Hayden stopped drinking, even at the expense of his own evening. ‘Yeah, have a bite to eat with us.’

  ‘I had a burger and chips.’ Hayden picked up his glass, looked into its empty depths, and tipped it upside down. ‘My shout. What are you drinking?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. Paul mentioned he had plans for—’ Glancing at Hayden, Serena bit her lip, cutting off reference to their earlier discussion. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Hayden knows about the art school and the contract on the pub.’ He shared everything with his family, including his brother.

  Including his date with Serena.

  Her relief was clear. ‘I didn’t want to break my word to you.’

  Hayden frowned. ‘You told her your plans? Wow.’

  ‘It came up in conversation.’ Damn it. Even in his current state, Hayden was capable of sussing
out his brother’s attraction to Serena.

  ‘I was thinking about the pub. You might be able to sublease the space. Does it still have its licence?’ She sipped her drink, leaving an imprint of pink lipstick on the rim of the glass.

  He consigned Hayden to hell for intruding and focused on Serena’s mouth. ‘It closed its doors ages ago. Besides having no money for a new licence, I don’t want to be a publican.’

  ‘Is there a chance of getting out of the contract?’

  ‘I’ll see my solicitor, but I doubt it. There won’t be anybody in town not affected by the closure.’ His gut clenched. He picked up the glass and finished his beer.

  ‘You know we’re all up shit creek and I know who’s responsible.’ Hayden shoved the table as he pushed up off the bench. ‘I’m going to Carter’s place and demand answers from the bastard.’

  Paul stood and grabbed his brother’s arm. So much for a quiet evening in female company.

  ‘What good will that do?’

  Hayden’s muscles bunched beneath Paul’s hand. ‘It will make me feel better.’

  Paul’s fingers twitched with similar longing to grab Carter by the fancy lapels of his camel coat. ‘Right before Sergeant Johnson locks you in the slammer. Short-term relief. You’re better off smashing your fist into the side of the barn like we did in our teens.’ Cold weather still made his knuckles ache with the remembered pain of broken bones.

  ‘Or—’ Serena’s calm voice interrupted their brotherly argument, ‘—you could sit down and brainstorm ideas together. Receivers will sort out what belongs to the mill and what doesn’t. Clearly your cotton is yours, not Carter’s, and you’ll get it back.’

  ‘Probably not in time to meet the buyer’s contract. Maybe the only bit of luck we’ve had is that the bales haven’t been processed. At least I don’t have to pay Carter and still lose everything. Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake?’ Hayden slumped back onto the bench.

  Paul released his breath and sat on the edge of his chair. At least Hayden hadn’t gone off half-cocked—yet.