Northern Heat

by Helene Young

  The direct danger from the McDonalds might have receded, but Freya was now a key witness in the prosecution of Evelyn and what was left of the crime family’s dynasty. That would be no short process.

  Kristy picked up the laundry basket and dangled it from her fingers, sweat sheening her arms. She’d need to make sure she was home before the afternoon thunderstorms kicked in or the washing would get rinsed again.

  The angry buzz of a chainsaw reverberated from three houses up, followed by the thump and grind of a mulcher. At least the local gardens would be well covered for the next twelve months. The resilience of the Cooktown community astounded Kristy. Less than three weeks after Cyclone Kate had blasted through the district, life was back to some semblance of normality. The pubs had never closed. Operating with generators and goodwill, they’d watered the townsfolk and the army of SES volunteers who’d come from all over Australia to help in the clean-up.

  The big supermarket had been hard-hit, with its roof now scrap metal at the dump, but the smaller local ones were thriving. The last of the evacuees had left the PCYC and moved into demountables in a caravan park. The insurance assessors were still doing their rounds with clipboards and cameras and insincere smiles.

  As the handyman had predicted, the generator at the hospital had run sweetly and the building survived, with damage only to the vegetation and signage. Nothing time wouldn’t fix.

  School had reopened the previous week. The community needed somewhere to send their kids while they got on with it. The media glare had moved on. Fires in the Blue Mountains and another great white shark attack off one of Perth’s popular beaches had dragged the journos all away to the next big story.

  Kristy heard Mary’s screen door slam and footsteps thudded down the short stairs.

  ‘Hey, love you got time to run me down to the shops in a mo? That useless panelbeater reckons he might have me car back on the road next week.’ Her face with a halo of grey hair appeared over the paling fence.

  ‘No worries. What time?’

  ‘Any time in the next half hour. Got things to do.’ Her grin looked far too contrived. ‘What are you up to later?’

  ‘Might curl up in the air-conditioning and read a book. It’s been a while. Luxury having time to myself.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  An hour later, Kristy parked in the driveway and let herself back into the cool of the house.

  She had no idea what she was going to do with her first day off in weeks. Her ribs were healing and the bruises had faded, but she was still bone-weary. And if she was honest, she was still on edge, unsettled.

  In the aftermath of the cyclone, Conor had moved into the spare bedroom in Mary’s house. He spent more time next door at Kristy’s, but it allowed everyone some space. Organising repairs on the Veritas had absorbed him. The yacht had been found floating 15 miles off the mouth of the Endeavour, bilge pumps thudding. Free of the debris with only the leak in the bow and damage to the rudder, it had escaped lightly and been towed back into town to the ragged cheers of the onlookers. Conor would likely never need to pay for another beer in Cooktown. The couple on the yacht that he’d nearly sideswiped had been singing his praises to anyone who’d listen.

  Almost two weeks ago, three men in a Commodore had come and collected him. According to Mary, he’d left with a promise to call Kristy when he could.

  And he had, two days ago.

  ‘I’m tidying up some loose ends,’ he’d said. ‘But I will be back. I just don’t know when. I’ve seen Bill and he’s doing better. Walking even. He’s pretty ticked off that he’s stuck in Brisbane. Missing his beers. I snuck a couple in for him, but we got into trouble when I wheeled him out to one of the smoker’s decks and we cracked the tops off them. They don’t make doctors like they used to. No bloody sense of humour.’

  ‘And patients are getting increasingly demanding,’ she retorted, glad to hear his voice sounding lighter again.

  ‘I miss you guys,’ he said after a brief pause. ‘I’m sorry I left without telling you. It all happened so fast.’

  ‘Will it be all right, whatever it is you’re doing?’

  ‘Yeah, more than all right. Pretty confident they can pin the murder of my family on Steve McDonald. It’s a closure.’

  ‘Of sorts.’ She waited for him to say more. His voice was rough when he did.

  ‘I was prepared to kill him myself, Kristy.’

  ‘Then thank heavens the horse did it for you. I’d hate to be visiting you in Lotus Glen.’ She kept her voice light.

  ‘Something good out of that crazy night.’

  ‘A new beginning after the devastation.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘How’s Abby?’

  ‘Doing okay. She’ll be glad to hear you’re not on death row, to be honest. She’s been fretting.’

  ‘And you? Have you missed me?’ She heard the uncertainty in his voice. It was tempting to tease but too serious to risk.

  ‘I have.’ More than I would have believed possible, she admitted to herself, not brave enough to say it aloud.

  ‘Can we go on a date when I get back?’ he asked, and she laughed.

  ‘Sure. What did you have in mind? Dinner in the top pub? Everyone already has an opinion about us.’

  ‘Not exactly. It will be my surprise.’

  And now here she was, wondering if she should bother shaving her legs and painting her toenails or if that would jinx her, and Conor would never reappear. She flopped on the couch. Maybe a movie, something romantic. Something light and uncomplicated. She leant over and thumbed through the DVDs.

  A knock on the front door distracted her. Foolishly, her heart jumped. A bunch of flowers filled the doorway, held in familiar tanned hands.

  ‘Conor.’

  ‘Kristy.’ They looked at each for a long moment before he angled his head. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Sure, of course.’ She stepped back and he brushed past her, the light touch exquisite torture. ‘When did you get back?’

  His smile disarmed her. ‘About twenty minutes ago.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Long enough to go to the supermarket.’

  Kristy glanced at a familiar floral shopping bag. ‘Just long enough to collect shopping from Mary?’

  He grinned. ‘Here. You do have a vase, right?’

  Kristy knocked a cup over in her search for a suitable vase. Why did she feel like a star-struck teenager on a first date? He’d seen her naked, for heaven’s sake. And all he’d done was bring her flowers.

  ‘Perfect.’ He took the oversized crystal vase, filled it with water and dropped the flowers into it. The perfume from the lilies was intoxicating. ‘And so are you.’

  She held her breath as he sauntered back to her, filling the room with a restrained urgency. He stopped in front of her, ran his hands down her arms. His touch sent a wave of heat through her, pooling low in her body as he intertwined their fingers.

  ‘About that date?’ she managed to squeak, feeling control slipping away as he drew her close enough for their clothes to brush.

  ‘Hmm? Date. Yes, of course. I thought we could start here. A picnic in the lounge room.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I failed to impress you with my food last time. This time I had some assistance.’

  ‘I knew Mary was up to something.’

  ‘She’s a most willing accomplice.’ His lips brushed across her eyebrow and the kiss finished on her temple. ‘I think she likes me.’

  ‘She’s a diehard matchmaker.’

  Conor’s lips travelled lower, down her cheek to the corner of her mouth.

  ‘It’s a time-honoured tradition,’ he said, punctuating each word with a kiss. ‘Runs in her family. Said she saw us written in the stars.’

  Kristy smiled. ‘Look out, she’ll be reading your palm next.’

  ‘Already did. Foresaw a dark-haired woman and her daughter taking me on the ride of my life. Something to do with horses.’

  ‘You’
re kidding me?’

  ‘You’ll never know now,’ he said with a laugh, releasing her hands and cupping her face in his. ‘God, I missed you. I thought about you every minute of every day. I know I said we’d back up, start with a date. I’ll go as slowly as you want. You call the shots. I’m yours. But it’s hard to back away.’

  The honesty, the intensity was clear in his eyes, and Kristy didn’t hesitate. In the weeks after the cyclone all she could think about was the lost opportunity with Conor. She wasn’t making that mistake again.

  ‘Then maybe we should pick up where we left off,’ she murmured, reaching up and lacing her hands behind his head, surprised afresh at how silky his hair felt against her fingers.

  ‘But what about my picnic?’ He waved a hand in the direction of the shopping.

  ‘It will keep. Right now, there’s no inquiring thirteen-year-old and no interfering neighbour. It’s just you and me and some unfinished business.’

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  The winter frosts had turned the grass between the stands of eucalypts to a shimmering silver carpet that rippled in the breeze. The land was still recovering from the savagery of Cyclone Kate, its resilience obvious in the new growth on the tree trunks. Kristy pulled her jacket close as she walked down from the homestead. She was still stiff from the two-hour drive, and Ruby Downs’ elevation meant the cold crept in as soon as the sun dipped low towards the purple hue of the Great Dividing Range.

  In the paddock, dust from the horses’ hooves rose in the lingering light, swirling like wraiths. The jingle of the bridles and the girls’ laughter sounded like the tinkle of bells. Her eyes filled and she blinked to stem the tears. There was no room for sadness on a day as beautiful as this.

  Conor was standing beside her father, bending to listen to the older man’s words. The dusty hat sat low on his forehead, the collar of his jacket up against the chill. One long denim-clad leg was propped up on the lower rail of the new log fence. His arms rested on the top rail. He looked like he’d been born to the bush.

  Abby urged her horse into a trot, steering it over the small jumps with her knees. The dark mane of the horse flowed back along its glossy neck. From underneath the bright blue helmet, Abby’s hair rippled in the breeze. As one, they turned smoothly and gathered speed as they headed to the highest of the obstacles. The muscles in the horse’s flanks bunched as its gathered itself and launched, Abby high in her stirrups as she leant forward. For a heart-stopping moment, Kristy thought her daughter had mistimed. Then the pair was over, heading for the finish line, Abby fist-pumping in delight. Sissy and her horse waited for their turn, restless but controlled.

  Conor turned, sensing Kristy’s approach as always. Desire wove a sinuous path through her body as he smiled. Abby called out to her.

  ‘Mum, Mum, did you see me? It was a clear round!’

  ‘You looked fantastic,’ Kristy replied. ‘Worth all the hard work.’

  ‘Yep,’ Abby agreed before wheeling her horse to give Sissy room to start her run.

  ‘Hey.’ Conor voice was a low rumble. He moved to his left as she approached, leaving a gap in the middle.

  ‘Hey to you too.’ She fitted between the men in her life, brushing against her father’s shoulder. He was studying Sissy’s seat as she made it over the first three jumps. He grunted at his daughter, focused on the girl and her horse.

  Kristy smiled at Conor, understanding her father’s total concentration. Conor slung an arm around her shoulder.

  ‘You smell good,’ he murmured, his lips close to her skin.

  ‘You need a bath,’ she replied, with a sidelong smile.

  ‘Only if you’ll scrub my back.’

  Craig cleared his throat and Kristy laughed. ‘Sorry, Dad.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You’re interrupting my training.’

  ‘Conor’s not part of the training.’

  ‘Yes, he is. For a man who’s never ridden horses before, he’s got good seat and coordination we can work with.’

  ‘I even managed to stay on for a whole round myself.’

  Kristy hid her smile. ‘Just to prove you can teach an old dog new tricks.’

  With a clang, Sissy’s horse clipped one of the rails, but the girl hung on, determination in the jut of her chin. They made it over the last jump and she whooped with delight. Sissy had come a long way from the young woman who’d not known whether to grieve or cheer over the death of the only man she’d ever called Dad.

  ‘Well done, ladies,’ Craig called. ‘Off to the stables, brush ’em down, clean your tack.’

  The two girls urged their horses out of the arena towards the recently repaired stables, a minor part of Cyclone Kate’s multi-million-dollar bill. Cooktown had borne the brunt of it.

  The Lady Leonie had weathered the storm and Bill was back at the helm. An anonymous benefactor had paid off the bank.

  Conor had reluctantly retired as his deckhand. ‘Women,’ he’d said to Bill with a shake of his head. ‘They expect you to be home occasionally, mate. Got responsibilities now. Dinner to cook, teenage girls to babysit.’

  ‘You’re one lucky bugger,’ Bill replied, with a wink at Kristy. ‘If I was fifty years younger meself, I’d give you a run for your money.’

  ‘And you’d be in with a chance, Bill,’ she’d replied, planting a kiss on his cheek.

  The Veritas bobbed at anchor near the Lady Leonie, waiting for the promised trip to Lizard Island.

  Now Craig stirred beside Kristy, breaking into her memories. ‘Better go and supervise. You know what kids are like.’ He pulled his brim a little lower and, with legs that mimicked the rounded shape of a horse’s broad back, strode after the girls.

  ‘Where’s Freya?’ Conor asked.

  ‘With Meg in the kitchen. Buddy’s sat up like a little Buddha, licking the beaters.’

  Conor laughed. ‘The three of them have travelled a difficult road in six months.’

  ‘Yeah. And Sienna and Freya have brought designer panache to the bush. Who knew akubras came in pink? And those boots of theirs?’

  ‘You want a pair? I’m pretty good at online shopping.’

  Kristy looked down at her dusty R. M.s. ‘Happy just the way I am, thanks.’

  ‘Are you?’

  She looked up in surprise. ‘You need to ask?’

  ‘The last six months have been crazy. Evelyn’s trial, the inquest into the other deaths. This is the first time you’ve really stopped. You look so relaxed out here, away from the hectic pace of the hospital. I know it’s been tough back at home. Two teenage girls and me all under one roof.’

  ‘I’m loving it.’ She reached up and kissed his lips, revelling in the velvety softness. ‘And loving you, Conor No Name.’

  She recognised the sheen in his eyes as he bent to deepen the kiss. For a fiercely competitive man’s man, Conor had a gentleness that disarmed her. He’d even cried at a rerun of the movie Cider House Rules, although he refused to admit it. She thought of him as the darkest noir chocolate with a caramel centre. Right now she was melting in his arms, heat flooding through her, loving the strength of him against her curves.

  High above, the clear keening note of a wedge-tailed eagle drifted down. To Kristy it always sounded as though it was crying, ‘See you, see you.’ She broke the kiss and leant back in the circle of Conor’s arms. The dying rays of the sun caught the bird as it rode the breeze.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘He’s back.’

  Conor turned his face to the sky. ‘Who?’

  ‘The wedge-tail. He left before the cyclone, but the nest survived. There!’ She pointed, tears filling her eyes. ‘He’s found a new mate.’

  The two birds rode the currents, circling each other, calling as they descended, closing the gap as they spiralled.

  ‘There’ll be chicks in a month or two,’ Kristy said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘That’s a mating dance. He’s showing off.’

  ‘Just another bloke, huh?’

  She l
aughed and reached up to run her finger down his nose. ‘I thought of them when I first saw you. Fiercely proud, but capable of great tenderness. You remember that little boy who’d split open his knee at training?’

  He nodded. ‘I remember. You appeared out of nowhere and took over without making me feel incompetent. I fell hard and fast that day.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Lucky for me, then,’ Kristy said, resting her palm against his cheek. ‘And lucky for Abby.’

  The call of the eagles rang out again.

  ‘Mum, Mum, he’s back.’ Abby’s feet were flying over the ground as she ran from the stables. Sienna and Craig were still deep in conversation by the horses.

  ‘He is, with a new lady,’ Kristy said, catching her daughter as she cannoned into them. Conor made room for Abby between them. They watched as the birds came in for their precision landings on the immense nest that had been growing for many years. The smaller male landed first; the female followed. Her mate sidled up next to her and with slow, deliberate moves, he started preening her feathers.

  Kristy rested her head on Conor’s shoulder and breathed in the comfort of soap and skin and sweat, with Abby nestled close.

  Conor’s arms tightened around them and she was reminded of his words as they had emerged into the fiery red dawn after Cyclone Kate had blasted through. He’d held her so tight her sore ribs complained, but there was a desperate need in his touch and she’d returned his embrace, so glad that they were all alive.

  ‘Getting out of bed in the morning will never be enough after this, Kristy Dark,’ he’d said. ‘I think we can both do a whole lot more than treading water.’

  He was right. Their scars were healing, sometimes painfully, but each day they stretched a little further. Each day their memories softened.