by Joan Kilby
“My horse died!”
Adam dragged a hand through his hair. “Bailey. Of course. I’m sorry.”
Bailey had presumably jumped the fence, terrified by the smoke and heat, and run into the woods. They’d never found the horse, or his remains, but undoubtedly he’d succumbed to the fire.
“And stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here.” Summer bounded to her feet. “Not everything is about the freaking bushfires.”
“Sit down and tell me what it is about, then,” Adam said.
She sank back into her chair and crossed her arms and legs, folding into herself. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re never around.”
The barb hit home. He was supposed to have Summer every second weekend, but for the past few months work had gotten in the way. He’d told himself he was doing his best in a bad situation. The fact he didn’t have a clue what was going on in his daughter’s head right now sent a message as big as skywriting that his best wasn’t good enough.
Adam was used to being in control of his world, moving with ease among architects, businessmen and government officials, designing and selling development projects worth hundreds of millions. Faced with one troubled teenage girl, he felt as helpless as a newborn kitten.
This was his daughter, his only child. She was the most precious thing in the world to him. And yet no one would guess it, considering how little time he’d spent with her. Diane going to Sydney to take care of her sick mother might have been a blessing in disguise, since it forced him to reconnect with the girl.
“What do you suggest?” he asked Tom. “Is there a school counselor she could talk to?”
“I’ve been seeing her for three months,” Summer said sulkily. “She’s an idiot.”
“Don’t be rude. Why wasn’t I informed?”
She shrugged. “Mom probably told you.”
“Where parents are divorced, school policy is to communicate with both mother and father,” Tom Dorian explained. “A letter would have been sent to your city address as well as your home in Hope Mountain.”
Adam chewed his bottom lip. Somehow he’d overlooked the communication. News of Summer’s downward slide had slipped through the cracks in his life. He and Diane had both failed Summer. But guilt and shame were unproductive emotions. He thrust them aside and focused on what he could do to make up for his neglect.
“So school counseling isn’t working.” He eyed Summer thoughtfully. “Maybe it would be best if we moved to my apartment in the city. I’d have more time to spend with you and we could find you a good private counselor.”
And they could get out of Hope Mountain. Living in a fire-prone wilderness was foolish in the extreme. Next time fire broke out they might not be so lucky.
“I don’t want to live in the city,” Summer said. “I don’t want to see another stupid counselor. You said I could get a new horse. I’ve been waiting and waiting. It’ll never happen if I’m living in Melbourne.”
Should he give in to her demand for a horse? Being lenient, giving her too much, hadn’t done her any good. He’d stalled all year on the subject, hoping to convince Diane to move out of the area. She’d pushed back, citing Summer’s love of Hope Mountain and her wish to let their daughter finish the school year with her friends. “Is that why you’ve been getting into trouble, because Bailey died?”
“No. Yes.” She dropped her head. “I don’t know.”
Tom Dorian cleared his throat. “There’s a program locally called Horses for Hope. A woman named Hayley Sorensen runs it. She and her late husband used to give trail rides, but the fires destroyed her stables and half her horses. Now she conducts therapy using horses.”
“That’s the Hayley we saw this morning,” Summer said.
“Her?” Now that his annoyance at being startled had passed, Adam recalled blue eyes, a full mouth and fresh, natural beauty.
“They call her the ‘horse whisperer.’” Tom’s voice was tinged with a hint of awe. “I can vouch for her expertise. My brother suffered from debilitating anxiety attacks after being trapped in his car by the fire. Hayley and her horse therapy healed him.”
“Do you have her number?” Adam asked.
“No, Dad,” Summer moaned. “She’ll just be another dopey do-gooder who tries to get me in touch with my feelings.”
Behind the sullen facade Adam caught glimpses of a desperately unhappy teen, and his heart broke. How had his little girl come to this? Where had he failed her? He was floundering, with no idea how to fix her. Therapy from a horse whisperer sounded flaky, but he had to help Summer, and right now he was feeling desperate. “You’d get to be around horses.”
“I want to ride, not...” She chewed on her thumbnail. “I don’t even know what’s involved.”
Tom had been searching his computer files for the contact details. Now he wrote down the information and passed it across the desk. “She’s not great at answering her phone but you’d probably catch her if you go out there.”
“Apparently she’s our neighbor. We won’t have time to stop in today but we’ll call on her tomorrow.” Adam pocketed the slip of paper, then placed a hand on Summer’s shoulder. “Now it’s time to face the music.”
“What do you mean?” She looked up at him, panicky.
“If you ever want to have another horse you have to show me you intend to clean up your act. First, we go to the gift shop so you can apologize to the owner. Then we visit the police station.”
“Please don’t make me go back to the shop,” Summer moaned.
“Come, sweetheart,” he said, tugging her to her feet. “We’ll do it together.”
* * *
“STEADY, ASHA,” HAYLEY MURMURED to the dapple-gray mare backed against the rough-hewn log rails of the corral. Slowly she advanced across the muddy ground, gently slapping long leather buggy reins against her legs. She lowered her shoulders, relaxed her mind and tried to radiate calm.
Shane, her black-and-white Australian shepherd, lay just outside the fence, his muzzle on his front paws, his eyes alert to every movement.
Asha snorted, eyes wild. She arched a neck marred with jagged scars and danced away from Hayley, tossing her silver mane and tail. Feeling her frustration rise, Hayley stopped. Nearly a year on, she’d made almost no progress with the registered purebred Arab.
Asha’s scars meant the show ring was out of the question, but she could still be bred and used in the Horses for Hope program—if she could be handled. Aside from the loss of income, which was certainly an issue, Hayley was hurt and baffled that she couldn’t connect with her own horse—especially given that her nickname was the “horse whisperer.”
Tipping back her battered Akubra hat, she pushed strands of dark blond hair off her forehead. At least no one was around to witness her humiliation except for Rolf and Molly. Her father-in-law was busy installing a hot water heater outside the garage where she’d been living since the fires destroyed her home. Earlier he’d put in a water tank to collect rain off the roof. Rolf wasn’t paying attention, but no doubt her mother-in-law was watching through the single small window at the back of the garage. Molly would be sympathetic, not critical, but still...
Molly emerged from the garage carrying a steaming mug. Her rounded figure was clad in a loose floral top and stretch pants, and she stepped gingerly over the muddy ground in her town shoes. “Coffee?”
Hayley hung the coiled reins over a fence post. “Thanks,” she said, accepting the hot drink. “I can use a break.”
“Maybe you’re pushing her too hard. That horse has been through so much. You should be easier on her.”
That was Molly-speak for You should be easier on yourself. But Hayley had to keep trying; it was what she did. “Left alone, Asha will never get better. I’m not hurting her. I’m trying to help her.”
“How is the rebuild
ing coming along?” Molly asked, changing the subject.
“Slowly.” Which was to say, not at all. “But I’ll get there.”
The 1880s homestead built by her great-grandparents had burned to the ground in the bushfires along with the stables and outbuildings. All that remained was the house’s brick chimney and the concrete block garage, a modern addition.
Hayley had cleared the car parts and junk out of the garage and put in a table, an old couch that pulled out to a bed and a makeshift kitchen. With the new hot water tank she would have the luxury of hot running water. A few pots of geraniums, her attempt at beautifying her dwelling, stood on either side of the door.
The fire-ravaged clearing was still charred and black in spots. Temporary horse shelters, a corral and a small paddock had been built between the garage and the dam for her five remaining horses. Besides Asha there were Sergeant and Major, who were brothers, both golden brown geldings with white socks; big old Bo, a palomino Clydesdale; and Blaze, a chestnut mare who’d disappeared the night of the fires. She’d been found three months later by a cattleman in the high country, running with a herd of wild horses. Several months had passed before Hayley realized Blaze was pregnant.
Despite the devastation, Hayley loved the property where her pioneer ancestors had homesteaded. She and Leif had started their trail-riding business here with the goal to expand to a dude ranch. Her plan to rebuild and fulfill their dream was all that kept her going.
And until that day came, she gave victims of the bushfires therapy using horses. Like her ancestors, she’d dug her heels in and said, “My land, my home. Nothing and no one will take it away from me.”
“Leif would’ve been so proud of you,” Molly said. She and Rolf lived in town, on a small block of land that had been spared the vagaries of the fires. They’d asked Hayley to come and live with them, but although their three-bedroom brick home was comfortable, it was no place for a cowgirl.
“I need an assistant part-time in the café now that winter’s over and the tourists are trickling back,” Molly added. “Do you want the job? You could probably use the extra money.”
Hayley adored her in-laws. Since the fires they’d been a lifeline. The hard part was keeping them from doing too much. “You and Rolf have been great. I appreciate the offer, but I couldn’t fit it in around my Horses for Hope program.”
“Leif wouldn’t want you to struggle so hard,” Molly insisted. “He’d hate seeing you all by yourself out here.”
“Yes, well...” Leif had battled the fire threatening Timbertop, the big estate on the other side of the ridge, and he’d lost. She still didn’t understand why he’d been there instead of at home, defending their property and their animals. Everything they’d worked for, built and loved, was gone while Timbertop’s double-story log home and the surrounding forest had escaped untouched. But that had been Leif’s way, always helping others. He was a hero and she loved him for it, but... “Leif is dead.”
The words fell flat on the quiet mountain air. In the blackened, twisted eucalyptus that circled the charred clearing, a kookaburra called to its mate. An answering laugh echoed deep in the woods. There was no mate and little laughter left in Hayley’s life—she just felt numb. But she carried on, because that was what she did.
Molly glanced at the dark clouds gathering overhead. “I heard on the radio we’re in for a storm.” She called to her husband, “Rolf, are you about done? Rain’s coming.”
“We could definitely use it,” Hayley said. The reservoirs and water tanks needed to be replenished, and the horses could sure use some grass in their paddock. The few brave spears of green that poked through the burned soil were nibbled down almost as soon as they emerged.
Shane gave a sharp warning bark and jumped to his feet at the sound of wheels crunching on gravel. Over the slight rise came a burgundy Mercedes-Benz convertible with the black top up. Fifty yards from the corral, the car slowed to a halt.
“Are you expecting someone?” Molly asked.
“Nope. It’s probably sightseers gawking at the burned-out town. They get lost and come down my track once in a while.”
“Don’t dismiss the tourists,” Molly said. “We need the business for the town to get back on its feet. I need them.”
“I know.” Her mother-in-law’s gift-and-coffee shop had been gutted by fire and had required major renovations. She’d reopened two months ago and was struggling to stay afloat.
The Mercedes had a sleek, almost retro look to it. Hayley didn’t know much about cars, especially luxury ones, but she would guess it was vintage. As the male driver got out, she saw he was a luxury model, too. Tall with dark hair, he wore a suit, pants and a dress shirt, with polished black leather shoes. City clothes straight from the big end of town. He looked vaguely familiar....
Hayley was suddenly acutely aware of her dirty jeans with the rip across the knee and the soft green flannel shirt she’d owned since forever, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows to hide the fraying cuffs. She tucked honey-colored strands of her fraying braid behind her ear, resisting the urge to pull out the hair elastic and retie it. A teenage girl with long red hair, wearing the local high school uniform dress of blue-and-white gingham, got out of the passenger side. She hung back, her gaze drifting to the corral where Asha trotted restlessly.
Molly sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s the girl I caught stealing a pair of earrings yesterday.”
“Really? Are you sure?” Hayley’s gaze narrowed.
“Can’t mistake that red hair. I recognize her father, too. Not many men around here look like they’ve stepped out of GQ.”
Now she recognized him. He was the jerk who’d yelled at her the day before when she was riding Asha. “Are they locals? What did you do when you caught her?”
“I called the police, told them I was pressing charges. I didn’t seriously intend to—she’s only a child—but I was upset and angry at the time. I wanted to give her a scare so she wouldn’t steal again. Her father brought her into the gift shop and made her apologize. I was happy with that. But he didn’t stop there. He emptied his wallet into the collection jar for bushfire victims I keep on the counter.” Molly turned to Hayley, her eyes round, and added in a hushed voice, “He donated nearly four hundred dollars.”
“He was trying to buy you off, Molly.” Who kept that much spare cash in their wallet and was rich enough to give it away without a thought? She was struggling to pay her electricity bill, small as it was now that the house was gone.
Shane stalked toward the newcomers, the fur along his spine ruffled. The stranger crouched and held out a hand, drawing the dog in closer. Shane sniffed it thoroughly then licked the hand. Having made friends with the dog, the man straightened and walked over to Hayley and Molly. He did a double take as he recognized Molly. “Hello again.... I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name the other day.”
“Molly Sorensen.”
“Molly. I’m sorry we had to meet under those circumstances.” His gaze moved to Hayley. “Would you be Hayley Sorensen?”
Hayley wasn’t as quick as Shane to give her approval. She tucked her thumbs into the loops of her jeans. “And you are?”
“Adam Banks.” He held out his hand to shake.
Banks. He must be her neighbor Diane’s ex-husband. She didn’t have much to do with Diane, as they moved in different circles. And then there was the fact that Leif had died defending Timbertop.... Leif’s death wasn’t Adam Banks’s fault, but she couldn’t help blaming him anyway. If Adam had been at home defending his property, instead of in Melbourne, Leif wouldn’t have had to do it for him. Leif might still be alive.
She tried to remember if she had met Adam before he’d almost run her over this morning. Probably not. Molly was right. She’d have remembered a man like him. Not that she was impressed by expensive clothes and a hundred-dollar haircut.
&n
bsp; Reluctantly, she accepted Adam’s handshake. It was firm and businesslike, but his warm palm and enveloping fingers reminded her how long it had been since she’d experienced a man’s touch. It felt so good that she pulled her hand away a fraction of a second too soon. “Yes, I’m Hayley.”
His dark eyes moved over her, openly assessing. “I understand you do some kind of therapy using horses.”
“Horses for Hope. It’s a government-funded program.” Hayley glanced at the girl hanging over the corral railing with her hand stretched out to Asha. The dapple gray snorted and tossed her head. “Careful. She’s not very friendly since the fires.”
“Summer, come and say hello, please. This is Hayley Sorensen and Molly Sorensen.”
The girl reluctantly left the corral and walked over, kicking up dirt with the toes of her black Mary Jane shoes. Her gaze flicked to Molly and she stopped short. She looked to her father. “I already apologized—”
“It’s just a coincidence,” Adam said.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Molly assured her. “As far as I’m concerned, that episode is in the past.” She turned to Hayley. “I see Rolf’s waiting for me in the truck. Think about what I said regarding the job, okay?” She gave Hayley a hug, nodded to Adam and Summer, then hurried off to the dusty red utility truck idling next to the garage.
Adam touched his daughter’s arm. “Hayley is the horse whisperer your principal was telling us about.”
“Hey.” Summer’s glance flicked briefly at Hayley, then returned to Asha. “She’s beautiful.”
“Summer’s horse, Bailey, died in the fires,” Adam said.
The sadness in Summer’s hazel eyes as she gazed hungrily at the mare told a story Hayley knew all too well. Over a hundred local horses had perished in the fires. “I’m so sorry. Did he get scared and jump the fence?” As far as she knew, Timbertop hadn’t been touched by the fires.
Summer shrugged and hunched deeper into her shoulders.
