They had canoed down the river, fulfilling her girlhood dream of a Pocahontas or Hiawatha experience. At night they’d camped on the riverbank and cooked on an open fire. They’d made love under the starry heavens and again in the mornings, when mist had drifted up from the river as white and pretty as a bridal veil.
Of course the more had Carrie got to know about Max the more deeply she’d fallen in love with him. She’d discovered his quiet sense of humour and been awed by his knowledge of the bush. He’d seemed to have a botanist’s knowledge of native trees and plants, and an impressive understanding of the birds and animals.
He had told Carrie about the storm birds that migrated from Indonesia and New Guinea each summer and returned north at the end of March. On the river, he’d pointed out Burdekin ducks, ibises and white-breasted sea eagles.
‘OK, David Attenborough,’ she’d joked. ‘I expect you to be able to name every bird we see.’
And of course he had. There had been whistling ducks, kites, goshawks, brolgas, pelicans. Way more than she could remember.
She had also learned that Max was surprisingly well travelled, having spent six months on a rural scholarship in South America, then backpacking around Europe, as well as hiking in the foothills of the Himalayas.
By the end of her stay at Riverslea Downs there had been no doubt. Max Kincaid was the man of her dreams. She’d adored him and she’d adored his Outback lifestyle, and nothing her mother could say would change her mind.
Not that her mother hadn’t tried. Many times.
Even just a week before their wedding, she’d warned Carrie again. ‘You’ll live to regret the day you met Max.’
Carrie had been certain this prediction could never come true, and she’d been angry with her mother for trying to pass on her own prejudices and hang-ups.
Sylvia had never been reconciled, though. Carrie could still remember the strain on her face at their wedding—the tears in her eyes when she’d watched Carrie coming down the aisle on Doug Peterson’s arm.
I was too in love to let her spoil our joy.
But now, fighting the sobs that welled in her throat, Carrie lay in the dark, clinging to her side of the mattress so that she didn’t inadvertently make contact with Max, and knew that she should have listened.
The sickening truth was that her mother’s warning had come true. Carrie had lived to regret the day she’d met Max.
After hearing the doctor’s terrible news about her infertility she’d sunk into an awful, creeping sense of gloom. Perhaps it had been delayed shock, or a kind of depression, but whatever her mental state had been she’d arrived at the painful conclusion that she was the wrong woman for Max Kincaid and his vast rural inheritance.
Her mum’s aversion to the bush had become handy when Carrie had found it necessary to walk away from her marriage.
* * *
Max soon realised his mistake. It was impossible to sleep next to Carrie. They were both as tense as trapped animals, but they weren’t even able to toss and turn for fear of touching.
It was a ridiculous turnaround. Just twenty-four hours ago, in this very bed, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other.
Around midnight he gave up and went back to the spare room, hoping that Carrie, at least, would be able to sleep if she was alone. He had no expectations of sleeping, and was surprised to wake a few hours later, just on dawn.
Unwilling to lie there, with his desperate thoughts clawing through the mess of his life, he got up quickly and dressed. A glance through the bedroom doorway showed that Carrie was asleep at last, lying on her back now, with one arm thrown out like an exhausted swimmer, collapsed on the shore at the end of a marathon swim.
The sight was almost too sweet to bear.
He left the house and whistled up Phoenix, his favourite stock horse from the home paddock. In the past Max had always been able to rely on a long, hard ride to calm his heart and clear his head.
This morning wasn’t one of those times, unfortunately. Despite the crisp autumn air, the clear blue sky and the thundering pace of the stallion beneath him, Max couldn’t throw off the gut-tearing reality that his marriage was circling the drain.
Tension still nagged at his innards as he returned, unsaddled his horse and gave him a good rub down. The problem was these past few days since Carrie’s accident had been bittersweet, inescapable reminders of how good their relationship could be. How good it had been until Carrie’s fateful trip to Sydney last November.
Max knew Carrie must be aware of this, too, and as he gave Phoenix a friendly farewell slap on the rump and strode back to the homestead he could only hope that she hadn’t reverted to her former uninterested behaviour.
One good thing—he was prepared for it this time and he had no plans to back away. He was determined to get their relationship back on the rails.
* * *
‘That smells great,’ Carrie said as she came into the kitchen looking pale and tired, as if she hadn’t slept well.
‘Are you hungry?’ Max turned from the stove.
He’d decided to rustle up a full breakfast of coffee, bacon and eggs, fried tomatoes and toast. He was hungry after the ride and he’d hoped the smells might entice Carrie out.
‘I’m starving, actually. I’ll do the toast.’
The toaster popped up two slices just then and she was already at the fridge, fetching butter, which she spread while Max served up the contents of the sizzling pan.
Despite the veneer of normality, however, he soon realised that things weren’t entirely peachy as they sat down to breakfast. He knew Carrie well—when she was happy she was quite a chatterer, but this morning she had nothing to say except to comment that the coffee was good and the bacon crisp.
Max tried a couple of times to start a conversation. He made a comment about an item on the news, and another about the football team they both followed. But Carrie had the glazed-eyed look of someone whose mind was somewhere else entirely.
As Max finished his meal he poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back in the chair, trying to look a hell of a lot more relaxed than he felt.
‘I guess we need to talk,’ he said.
Carrie’s face tightened and she looked distinctly uneasy as she shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’m ready, Max. I still feel really confused.’
‘What are you confused about?’ He had a fair idea, but he needed confirmation.
Carrie closed her eyes, as if the question was far too difficult to answer. ‘Everything,’ she said at last.
‘Carrie.’ With an effort, Max reined in his decreasing patience. ‘I’m not going to let you withdraw from me. Not again. Not after these past few days. It doesn’t make sense.’
At this, Carrie opened her lovely eyes, and the message in their chocolate-brown depths was all about guilt. ‘I know,’ she admitted softly. ‘Right now it doesn’t really make sense to me either.’
Dropping her gaze again, she fiddled with the handle of her coffee cup. ‘I’m sorry, Max. I am—truly. I’m really sorry about the way I’ve carried on...especially the way I threw myself at you.’
‘But why should you be sorry?’
She’d certainly seemed to enjoy herself. Max was sure that level of passion couldn’t be faked. But he also knew that fantastic sex alone couldn’t save a marriage. Even so, it surely had to help.
‘It was wrong,’ Carrie said. ‘I—I wasn’t myself. I’d forgotten how I feel.’
‘Feel?’ She wasn’t making sense.
‘About this place.’
His innards turned to ice. ‘So,’ he said, more coldly than he’d intended. ‘We’re back to this, are we? One minute you’re carrying on about how much you love the bush, and begging for a campfire by the river. And the next you can’t wait to get away from Riverslea. Is
that what you’re saying? Are you going to tell me the sex was a mistake as well? You only thought you wanted to make love with me? You only thought you enjoyed it?’
Looking as unhappy as Max had ever seen her, Carrie drew a deep breath and appeared to hold it as she stared hard at a spot on the floor. It was pretty clear she was struggling to come up with a reasonable answer.
Then the phone rang, cutting through the bristling silence like a sword.
Max cursed. It was the worst possible moment to be interrupted.
Carrie, on the other hand, seemed to welcome it. Jumping at the chance to escape their awkward conversation, she hurried to answer the phone.
‘Hello?’ she said, standing with her back to Max.
The caller seemed to have a great deal to say. It was probably Sylvia, Max realised, and he grimaced at the thought of everything his mother-in-law would want to tell her daughter. He began to collect their plates, knowing this was, almost certainly the end of this attempt at a deep and meaningful conversation with Carrie.
He would have to bide his time and try again later.
‘I see,’ Carrie was saying. ‘That’s terrible. Yes, I’ll come straight away. Yes, of course.’
Come straight away?
Fine hairs rose on the back of Max’s neck. What evil scheme had The Dragon come up with this time? There was no way he was letting Carrie leave this place until they’d had a proper, in-depth, no-holds-barred discussion.
This time he wasn’t going to be fobbed off with vague excuses. He loved Carrie too much. If she had problems with their relationship he wanted her to spell them out. With luck, if he at least understood he might be able to negotiate a strategy.
He was so busy getting this straight in his head that he hadn’t noticed the expression on Carrie’s face as she hung up the phone. It was only when she flopped back down onto a kitchen chair that he saw how upset she was.
‘What’s happened?’ he said. ‘Who was on the phone? Your mother?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it was Jean—Mum’s neighbour.’ Tears welled in her eyes and her lips trembled. ‘Mum’s in hospital. She’s had a heart attack.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’
In two strides Max was beside Carrie. She felt his fingers stroking her hair and she longed to reach out to him, to have him wrap her in a big, warm, comforting hug. But she’d just spent an entire night lecturing herself that she mustn’t weaken like that again.
‘Do you know how bad Sylvia is?’ he asked gently.
‘Not really. But Jean said she’s on the cardiac ward, not intensive care, so I guess that’s a good thing.’
‘I imagine you’ll want to get to Sydney as soon as you can.’
‘Yes.’
She was grateful that he understood—especially as she knew her mum had never endeared herself to Max. She also knew he would be sick at the thought of her leaving in the midst of their marital mess. And she would feel guilty about taking off when things were so up in the air.
But it was typical of her husband that he put her needs before his.
‘Pity you unpacked your suitcase,’ he said.
She managed a weak smile.
‘I’ll come with you, Carrie.’
Her smile faded. ‘You can’t. You’re too busy getting ready for the muster. Max, you don’t have to come.’
He shook his head. ‘The mustering won’t start for another couple of weeks, and Barney can look after things here. I want to come.’
Oh, Max.
After her erratic behaviour following her last trip to Sydney there was every chance that he didn’t want her out of his sight. But despite the amnesia, and their recent closeness, their big problem had not disappeared. She was still infertile. She still needed to give Max his freedom. She was supposed to be distancing herself from him so their separation could ease into divorce.
But the news about her mother had scared Carrie. For all she knew her mum’s life might be teetering on a knife-edge. And deep down she knew that she would love to have Max with her in Sydney.
She needed his calming strength, his ever-reliable love and support. But how could she ask that of him if she was still planning to leave him?
CHAPTER TWELVE
AS ALWAYS, MAX was magnificent. While Carrie dragged her suitcase out again and began to pack he organised their flights to Sydney and made bookings for a hotel close to the hospital.
The nearest big airport was in Townsville, and as they made the familiar journey Max refrained from asking any more difficult questions.
He and Carrie had listened to an interesting hour-long interview with one of their favourite crime authors on the radio, but Carrie leaned forward and changed the station when a programme about depression among rural and isolated people started.
Max frowned at her, but said nothing.
At the airport, Carrie bought a couple of magazines to distract her during the two-and-a-half-hour flight.
After her sleepless night she found the journey exhausting, but they went straight to the hospital and she was relieved to be there at last. Max suggested he should stay in the waiting room, which was sensible. His presence might only distress her mother.
Carrie, carrying a bunch of her mum’s favourite pink roses, ventured somewhat nervously into the cardiac ward. She found Sylvia awake and apparently well, despite looking pale and tired and being attached to an alarming bank of monitors.
‘Darling,’ Sylvia said when she saw Carrie. ‘What a lovely surprise. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.’
The news was good, Carrie soon learned, or at least much better than she’d feared. There was to be a new medication regime, but the doctors had assured her mother that she should be fine.
Her mum pointed to the chair beside her bed. ‘Take a seat, Carrie. Tell me your news.’
Carrie wished she had pleasant, uplifting news.
She explained that her memory had returned. She didn’t add that in her current state of mind her memory was her worst enemy—that it had presented her with a reality she didn’t want to face.
‘I found it very stressful, worrying about you all on your own way out there in the Outback, with no memory,’ her mother said. ‘Poor thing—you didn’t even know that you weren’t supposed to be there.’
‘No,’ Carrie agreed, grateful that her mother had no knowledge of the messy details of this past week at Riverslea Downs.
‘I suppose you’ll stay on in Sydney now you’re here?’ her mother said next.
‘Well...’ Carrie dropped her gaze, wishing she had a quick and easy answer, wishing she didn’t feel so confused and torn about her previous decision to leave Max. ‘I’ll certainly stay while you need me.’
‘But you’re not going back to Max? You told me you wanted to leave him. What’s going on?’
Again, Carrie hesitated. The easy option would be to reassure her mum that her marriage and her life in the Outback were over, but she was wasn’t ready to commit to any clear course of action. She still felt terribly confused.
‘I’m still coming to terms with everything,’ she admitted.
And then, to change the subject, she reached into her handbag for the magazines she’d been reading on the plane.
‘Here’s a little light reading. You’ll love the house and home section, and there are even some yummy recipes designed by a heart specialist.’
Carrie stayed for another five minutes and managed to steer the conversation to her mother’s interests and friends.
‘I should leave you to rest now, Mum,’ she said, leaning in to kiss her mother’s cheek. ‘I was told that I shouldn’t stay too long.’ She gave her mum’s hand a gentle squeeze. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’
‘I’ll look forward that.’ Her mother’s eyes were shining with unexpe
cted fondness, and Carrie felt the sting of tears as she left.
She found Max in the waiting room. As soon as he saw her he stood, inadvertently drawing her attention to his height and his strapping physique, his healthy outdoors tan. Such a handsome, vigorous contrast to the pale, listless patients on the ward she’d just left.
A painful rush of longing caught Carrie square in the chest. She blinked hard, terrified that she’d burst into tears.
Perhaps Max sensed this. He frowned and looked concerned, clearly fearing bad news.
‘Mum’s OK,’ she quickly reassured him.
He let out a huff of relief. ‘That’s good news. You looked so upset you had me worried.’
‘Sorry. I guess I’m tired.’ She could hardly admit that the sight of him looking so hot and handsome had brought her to the brink of tears. ‘But, honestly, Mum seems to be in pretty good shape. Much better than I expected.’
‘That’s great.’ Max nodded towards the exit at the far end of a corridor. ‘You want to get out of this place?’
‘Yes, please. I’d kill for a really good coffee.’
‘Let’s find one, then.’
They were halfway down the corridor when Carrie recognised the man coming towards them. He was wearing a white coat and a bow tie and carrying a pile of folders tucked under one arm.
Unfortunately Dr Bligh also recognised Carrie. ‘Mrs Kincaid,’ he said, stopping to greet her. ‘How are you?’
Carrie felt a bright flush spread over her skin. She’d never told Max about her visits to this hospital for scans and X-rays, or her subsequent consultations with the gynaecologist. Before she’d come to Sydney last November she’d been confident that everything would be sorted easily—that she would be able to tell Max about it afterwards, reporting that she’d had a minor ‘feminine’ problem and all was well.
Now, she could hardly pretend she didn’t know this man. ‘Hello, Dr Bligh.’
‘Is everything OK?’ he asked, as if he was worried to find her back in the hospital.
The Husband She'd Never Met Page 13
