Damn, he wanted that woman.
And he’d gone and cut her out.
It was for the best. There was too much at stake even to think down that road. She was plain wrong for him, and now he needed to focus on his job and on his family. The future.
“Hey, Slugger,” he said into the phone, using the tag his buddy Mitch had earned in a dust-up outside the Crook Scale Pub some years back. “Can you ask that gorgeous nurse Jenny of yours what a dance frock costs?”
“What the hell you want with a dance frock?”
“Just ask her, okay?”
“No wuckers, mate, but first you’ve got to tell me why the cop wants a fancy dress.”
“Heidi’s got a school dance coming up in two weeks.” He tossed another burger, flames searing up in a burst of fragrant smoke. “I need to put some cash into her account so she can get something special.” Dylan had no idea where in Pepper Flats village one bought dance dresses, let alone how much they cost. He was totally out of his depth here.
“Jenny’s on the late shift. I’ll ask her when she gets back from the clinic. Say, we haven’t seen you down at the Crook, mate. You coming round any day soon?”
“Soon as this APEC crap dies down and I can take a day off.” Dylan needed time with his mates again. He needed to get back into his old groove.
And as far away from Megan Stafford as he could.
Heidi came bounding out of the house as he hung up and hooked the phone back into his jeans.
“Dad! Oh, my God, I love you guys!” she said, rushing out onto the patio, the old Heidi sparkle back in her brilliant green eyes, her young body lithe with the vibrant energy of a happy child, yet the look of a woman.
It made Dylan smile in spite of everything else.
“I had the best day ever! Anthem is sooo happy.” She threw her arms around his neck, squeezing with all her might. “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you so much.”
His eyes misted instantly. She hadn’t called him Daddy for almost a year now. And be damned if he didn’t have Megan to thank for this, too.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said with a grin, hooking his knuckle under her chin, his chest expanding with a surge of paternal emotion. “I’m putting some funds into your account for a new outfit, okay?”
“What?”
“For the dance.”
Her jaw dropped open. “I can go?”
He nodded. “I checked Zach out. I think he’ll pass.”
“You what!”
“Just to find out a bit more about who’s going to be going out with my daughter.”
“I don’t believe this. You have got to be kidding me. You had Zach investigated?”
“Hey, chook, I’m just being a dad. Gimme a break, okay?”
Her mouth tightened. She crossed her arms over her waist and glowered at him. “Geez, Dad, you could have just asked me about him.”
He shrugged. “You haven’t been talking to me much, kiddo.”
She was silent for a moment, thinking about that. And almost as quickly, her outrage was gone. “I still love you, Dad.” She hugged him quickly, then rushed back inside.
“Heidi, wait! Where are you going? Supper’s almost ready.”
“I have to phone Megan,” she called over her shoulder.
“Why!”
She stilled in the doorway, looking at him as though he was an idiot. “Because, Dad, she has the best fashion sense ever. Have you seen her clothes? I need to ask her what to wear.” And she disappeared through the door.
Dylan swore. This had to stop. But it was already way too late. And the irony was, Heidi was happy. Megan had come like a ray of sunshine into his daughter’s life. She was the mother—the female role model—Heidi seemed to be searching for right now.
The trouble was, he didn’t want Heidi filled with artsy ideas of living in the city. He didn’t want her aspiring to things she couldn’t have. A life he couldn’t afford.
Dylan snagged his bottle of beer and took a deep, hard swig. He slumped down into his deck chair, put his head back and watched the stars, stealing a brief moment of relaxation as his mother fixed the burger buns inside.
But Heidi was already back out the door. “Dad! Guess what?”
“What, chook?” He felt tired.
“Megan has invited me to go shopping tomorrow! The whole day in Newcastle, to help me find a dress. She’s on the phone. She wants to check with you.”
Dylan swore softly. “Tell her it’s fine.”
“You…don’t want to speak to her?”
“No.”
Concern showed in her eyes.
He forced a smile. “Hey, it’s all right. You’re old enough to arrange your own shopping trip with a friend. I’ll put a bit of extra cash into your account so you can take her out to lunch.”
He owed Megan enough already.
Chapter Ten
Heidi was pooped, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, her arms loaded with shopping bags as they were seated at the small table of a busy bistro overlooking the wide Hunter River in Newcastle.
The city was a waterfront metropolis on a peninsula bounded by the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean to the southeast, and the mouth of the Hunter in the north. Rich in culture with museums, galleries and boutiques, Newcastle also served as the bustling port gateway for Hunter Valley goods and was a surfer’s paradise with ribbons of gold beaches.
And on this Saturday morning the city bustled with activity and Heidi was on a high. She and Megan had found the perfect dress. Heidi had chosen bloodred, bold and avant-garde, and she loved it to bits. She’d never have picked it without Megan. She trusted her style. She loved everything about her.
She wanted to be just like her.
Megan had taken her to galleries, pointing out the work of some of the artists she’d represented, and they’d talked more about Brookfield.
Walking past a boutique with magnificent hats, Megan had regaled Heidi with tales of how they dressed up for the big horse races in Sydney wearing the biggest, craziest hats possible.
And on impulse, Megan had laughed, her pretty green eyes twinkling, and they’d gone inside and bought the most gorgeously outrageous hat for Heidi, and it came with a promise. Megan would take Heidi to the next big race at Warrego Downs in four weeks, where one of Louisa’s stallions would be racing.
“What about my dad?” Heidi asked as she set her hatbox on the vacant chair beside her.
“What about him?”
“When we go to the races, what will he do?”
“He can come,” Megan said, before turning to the waitress and ordering a cappuccino and a mocha plus a slice of cheesecake to share. “If he wants to, that is.”
Heidi contemplated Megan again. She adored her large and eccentric designer sunglasses, the way the sunlight gleamed on her hair, the way it was so expensively cut. She wondered if her mother looked anything like that now. She’d be older, but maybe just as pretty and stylish.
She took a sip of her mocha, not something she ordinarily drank, and it made her feel ridiculously important to be sitting at a riverside table with a woman like Megan and a pile of boutique packages at her side. She wished some of the girls from Pepper Flats High could see her now. And the first little seeds of an idea began to grow—what if her dad and Megan started dating?
Then she thought of the divorce papers and got scared, her feelings confused.
“I e-mailed my mother,” she blurted out suddenly.
Megan set her coffee down slowly, obviously interested but trying not to show it. “Is that not something you ordinarily do?”
“No.” Heidi stared at her cup. “I’ve never ever spoken to her, or had an e-mail from her. Not since I was four.” She brightened. “But things could have changed, you know? If she got to know me now it would be different. I was thinking, if Dad doesn’t let me go to Brookfield, maybe my mother will let me go and stay with her in London. She’s artistic, like you. I thinks she looks a bit like you.”
Megan lifted her sh
ades, listening, her green eyes serious. “She really hasn’t contacted you once in ten years?”
Heidi felt her cheeks go hot, and her body defensive, as if the lack of contact was an indictment on her. As if she wasn’t good enough for a mother. “I got birthday cards…for a while.” She cast her eyes down. “But when she gets my e-mail, she’ll probably write back. I sent her some photos of myself and Anthem, and some of my art. She works for a fancy interior design company, so she may be able to help fund art school in London.” She looked up. “That would be cool, don’t you think?” She sounded unsure.
Megan leaned forward. “Heidi, when did you send her this e-mail?”
“A few days ago.”
“And you haven’t heard back yet?”
“She’s busy. She might be away.”
Megan nodded, sat back. “And you really think you’d like to go to London? Why? It’s gorgeous here, and you’re close to your dad, and there’s Anthem and the riding.”
Heidi felt the telltale burn of tears, and her lip begin to wobble. “Dad doesn’t care about what I need.”
“Oh, hon.” Megan reached for her hand. “I’ve never come across a man who cares so much for his daughter. He’s built his whole life around you, sweetheart.”
“He’s built a jail, that’s what. He won’t allow me to do a thing. And my gran is wearing me down.”
“What’s wrong with her, Heidi?”
She pulled a face. “She’s got some kind of dementia from something that happened long ago.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. No one wants to talk about it. It’s like not talking about it makes it go away. But Gran is losing touch with reality. She gets confused, and lost, and she leaves the oven on, and the water running. She’ll soon need to go someplace where someone can care for her full-time, Megan, and my dad can’t see it. He doesn’t want to.”
“He’s trying to hold on, Heidi. He’ll come round to what needs to be done.”
“He’s never going to change, Megan! I need to get out of Pepper Flats. I…” She swiped at a renegade tear. “I don’t even know if Anthem is going to make it anyway. And I want to see my mother.”
Megan leaned forward and took both Heidi’s hands in hers. “Heidi, if I can promise you one thing, I promise you we can heal Anthem. You saw her yesterday, how much more relaxed she was? Well, the vet has her physically under control, and trust me, we can do the rest. You and I.” She reached out and wiped away Heidi’s tear, a soft touch, and Heidi caught her fragrance, realizing just how deeply she ached for the tactile comfort of a mother. How envious she’d been of the other girls who’d gone shopping with their mums, just like she was doing with Megan today. It was making her both happy and sad, and all twisted up inside.
“Hey, this is supposed to be our fun day, Heidi.”
She sniffed. “I know.” She fiddled with her spoon. “It’s not like I’d go to London for long,” she said, unsure what she really wanted, because she did want her horse, and to ride. And she did love her stubborn old dad, and all the camping trips, and fishing and bushwalking and bike-riding they’d done together over the years. She loved Muttley, and even though Granny June was a nuisance, she cared bunches about her. She just wanted a chance to grow into a woman now, as dumb as that seemed.
She lifted her eyes cautiously. “Do you like him?”
“Who? Your dad?”
Heidi nodded.
Megan looked away for a while, over the river. Then she put on her glasses as if the sun dancing on the surface was suddenly too bright. She turned to face her. “I like him very much, Heidi.” She paused. “You’re a very lucky girl, because he’s a rare man. You need to cut him some slack.”
“He needs to cut me some slack.”
Megan smiled. “Yeah, you both need to give each other a bit of a break. How about we go get an ice cream upriver before we drive home?”
“Top down?”
“Of course.”
They walked toward the Aston Martin, arm in arm, and again Heidi felt rich and beautiful in Megan’s company. And more confused than anything.
It was dark by the time Megan pulled into the driveway of the Hastings home. She helped Heidi carry her parcels to the door, a nervous anticipation shimmering in her stomach as it opened, spilling a pool of warm light into the night. But it wasn’t Dylan who greeted them.
It was June Hastings.
Megan’s heart sank. She hadn’t seen Dylan since they’d relocated Anthem, and a strange hollow was gnawing into her stomach.
“Gran!” Heidi gave her grandmother a big hug, and Megan felt herself smile. A change of perspective had worked wonders for the kid.
June frowned at Megan. “Sally?”
“Granny June, this is Megan.”
Megan reached out her hand, and smiled. “Hi, I’m Megan Stafford. Nice to meet you Mrs. Hastings.”
June shook Megan’s hand, her frown deepening. “I…thought…you reminded me of—”
“Is Dad home, Gran? Are you coming inside, Megan?”
Megan hesitated.
“Yes, please come in,” June said. “It’s nice to meet you. Timmy isn’t here though. He’s at the Crook Scale with his mates. He works hard, needs his night off every now and then.”
Megan glanced at Heidi in confusion, then at June. “Is…is that Dylan’s nickname?”
Panic flitted through June’s eyes. “I…”
“Oh, Gran just likes to call him that sometimes,” Heidi interjected, quickly covering her gran’s fluster. “It’s Dad’s brother’s name, but Dad doesn’t mind.”
“I…think I should go, Heidi. We’ve had a long day, but a great one, right?”
“Yeah, a bonza day. Thanks, Megs. Thanks so much.” Her eyes said it all. Megan cupped the side of her young face.
“Anytime, hon. Give me a call whenever you want, and I’ll see you for riding tomorrow?”
She nodded.
Megan parked the Aston Martin in the Crook Scale Pub parking lot and sat surrounded by four-wheel drives, a shire utility vehicle and several motorbikes.
Small white lights winked in the branches of a giant gum that hung over a terrace out behind the pub, and live country music drifted through the open doors.
There was no squad car out front, but she recognized Dylan’s truck. He was here, off duty.
His world.
His terms. His friends.
This was clearly the local working-class watering hole, a predominantly male, English-style pub where farm laborers, shire workers, paramedics, firefighters and cops kicked back on weekend evenings, or enjoyed lazy pub lunches outside on sunny Sunday afternoons. This was where the battlers—the guys who toiled in the trenches—drank. The folk who did the honest work that kept the world turning, the roads paved, the bush and towns safe. While others slept, or played.
So different from Louisa’s and Megan’s world.
Or was it?
Where did she really fit? Megan wondered. How would Dylan react if she walked in?
She fiddled with the soft leather on the wheel. She felt honor-bound to go in there, tell Dylan that Heidi had contacted her mother and asked to go live in London. Heidi would see it as a complete betrayal of confidence, yet her father should know, for both their sakes, because Megan could see the child was going to get seriously burned. She was worried Dylan would miss the signs, not understand what was going on. Lose her.
Like she’d lost her own father.
Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted to see Dylan again, touch him. But was she ready?
Megan sat back in the seat and blew out a breath of nervous air.
Down by the river he’d lobbed the ball clearly into her court. She had to decide now if she wanted to cross that line he’d drawn in the sand, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to find out by sitting in a parking lot.
She pushed open the door to the Crook Scale.
The pub was packed. There were only two other women in the establishment, b
oth in tight jeans and cropped T-shirts, shooting pool in the corner. The men seated at wooden tables nearest the door stilled, looked up, and fell silent as Megan entered.
She felt conspicuous. She was still wearing the couture dress and high-heeled pumps she’d worn to Newcastle. What she’d give for her old pair of jeans and boots right now.
She caught sight of Reynard Lafayette at a table near the wall, hunched over a mug of beer. He was with Sandy Sanford from Whittleson Stud. Both glanced up. She nodded and smiled, relieved to recognize familiar faces. But Reynard just stared at her for a moment, said something to Sandy. They laughed, and returned to their beer.
Breaking Free (Thoroughbred Legacy #10) Page 14
