‘Perhaps we should swap numbers?’
‘Sounds like a good plan.’
Once they’d exchanged numbers, she slid her phone into her bag but didn’t relax into her seat. The WELCOME TO WOODLEA sign flashed past. Her hands found each other.
Hewitt’s kindness had only bought her a little time. She may have been spared the stress of driving on the wet roads, but now she’d have to be prepared to deal with being out in public. Even though it was common knowledge she wasn’t home to practise medicine, every town visit brought with it requests for medical advice. And with every request came a rush of uncertainty and self-doubt.
Anxiety coiled around her midriff and pulled tight. No one but Cressy and her close friends Ella and Taylor could suspect her composure was anything but a fragile facade.
Hewitt allowed the ute engine to idle as he watched Fliss walk down Main Street. With her dark hair, pretty features and curves in all the right places, she’d stop traffic even when wearing her farm clothes. She waved at the driver of a mud-covered Hilux who honked as they drove by. From Fliss’s serene expression no one would know she had her game face on.
But he did. The moment they’d entered small town Woodlea, her knuckles had shone white and her lips had pressed together. Whatever hell she was going through she wasn’t letting it get the better of her. Just like she would have driven her city car into town even though the prospect had etched lines of strain around her eyes. The relief and beauty in her smile when she’d accepted his offer to drive had winded him harder than any fall from a saddle.
Hewitt caught a last glimpse of her before she disappeared into the post office. The scent of gardenia lingered and the ute cabin felt strangely empty. Jaw tight, he set the ute into motion. He couldn’t lose sight of why he was at Bundara.
Fliss saw too much with those large hazel eyes and she understood too much for her, and his, own good. Nobody could know the depth of his guilt or his sadness. After his brother died, when their father wept silent tears, when their mother wouldn’t leave her bed and when Brody’s widow, Ava, didn’t know what day it was, Hewitt had shouldered their anguish. He’d cooked and stocked the pantry with food, he’d taken the twins to the play sessions when the preschool Bush Mobile came to town and he’d kept the cattle drenched and the farm machinery running.
He slowed to let a man walking a liver-coloured kelpie cross the road. He’d managed to hold everything together until, emotionally and physically exhausted, he hadn’t seen a rock in the paddock he’d ridden over hundreds of times before. Instead of racing after a cow who’d made a break for the gate, he’d been thrown from the ag bike.
When Denham had visited him in hospital, he’d mentioned Fliss needed a hand if Hewitt was after a quiet place to recover. His gut had told him that until he came to terms with losing Brody, he’d be of no real use to anyone. He’d be another accident waiting to happen. So he’d organised for a neighbour to finish putting in Mayfield’s winter oats crop, arranged for Ava’s mother to stay the six weeks his fractured shoulder needed to heal and packed his duffle bag. And here he was in Woodlea.
The ute indicator clicked as he turned right at the historic two-storey pub. The white wrought-iron trim gleamed in the morning sun. No small town seemed complete without an obligatory watering hole. In some towns, the pub was one of only a handful of buildings.
Hewitt parked beside an old ute outside the Woodlea Rural store. On his list was the tap part as well as wood and nails to fix the gap beneath Fliss’s back door. He’d also pick up some padlocks and NO TRESPASSING signs. Denham had mentioned local farms were having trouble with theft, vandalism and illegal trespassing. Fliss’s remote location could make her a target. He found everything he needed and as he retraced his steps, the tension gripping his muscles eased.
This was exactly what he needed—anonymity and normalcy. No one knew him as the pickup rider who’d been too slow to reach his brother when he’d fallen from a rodeo bull. He left his purchases in the ute and crossed the road to enter a side street. A rainbow scarf, decorated with knitted lollipops, gummy bears and jelly beans, entwined the front fence of a lolly shop. Guerrilla knitters and their textured, colourful creations decorated much of the Woodlea streetscape and had put the small town on the tourist map.
The doorbell tinkled as he entered. A riot of colour filled the large glass jars sitting in neat rows along the back wall. He chose an assortment of lollies for his niece and nephew, Lizzie and Quinn, some chocolate almonds for Ava and a bag of liquorice for his father. His mother didn’t have the Sinclair sweet tooth so he’d look elsewhere for a gift for her.
Back on Main Street he found a gift store and selected a linen handkerchief hand-embroidered with the initial of his mother’s first name. As he left the lavender-scented shop, he checked his phone. There wasn’t yet any message from Fliss saying she was right to leave.
When he looked up, he saw a woman with short, stylish grey hair, wearing a navy skirt and white blouse, staring at him from across the street. A string of heavy pearls gleamed around her neck. He gave her a polite nod before making his way to the post office. Here the secret Woodlea yarn bombers had struck again. The post box was blanketed in vibrant crocheted and knitted squares. He snapped a photo on his phone for his mother before heading inside.
He sat his presents, and the box he’d selected from the side wall, onto the bench, but made no move to pack his parcel. The well-dressed woman had followed him. The farmer beside him covered up the address on the large envelope he’d been writing on, while the teenage girl across from them quickly shoved the item she was posting into a padded bag. Whoever this woman was, his business would soon become hers.
She sailed over, her heavy perfume overpowering and her smile broad. The speculation sharpening her eyes reminded him that as well as pubs, every small town had a social queen bee. The two other customers headed for the counter.
‘Well, hello there.’
The woman’s exuberant voice oozed interest and excitement. If he could have he would have pulled the wide brim of his hat low over his face but he’d deliberately left it at Bundara. He was supposed to be re-engaging with the world not hiding from it.
He gave a brief, non-committal smile and glanced at the empty box. The woman ignored his non-verbal cues.
She stuck out her hand. ‘Edna Galloway. You must be Hewitt. Welcome to Woodlea.’
He shook her hand, not surprised to find her grip vice-like. ‘Thanks.’
‘My pleasure. I wondered when you’d arrive. It’s a relief for Cressy to have someone staying with Felicity. Those two girls are so close.’
Hewitt nodded. There had been a subtle hardening in Edna’s voice when she’d called Fliss by her full name.
Not put off by his reserve, Edna spoke again. ‘So you’ve known Denham since his rodeo days?’
‘I have.’
‘So that’s how you met Cressy?’
‘It is.’
When he failed to elaborate, Edna’s pencilled brows rose as she looked at the bags of lollies. ‘Some lucky little person will be happy when they open that box.’
‘They will be.’
Movements deliberate, he packed his parcel. Edna’s silence didn’t fool him or the way she scanned the ring finger on his left hand. She wasn’t going anywhere until she’d had her questions answered. He placed the handkerchief on top of the liquorice and closed the lid. But their conversation was over, whether she liked it or not.
A man entered the post office. Tall and tanned, with dark-blond hair, his Wrangler jeans and boots marked him as a cowboy. The stranger’s blue eyes met Hewitt’s and as the man sent him a quick grin, Hewitt had no doubt who he was. This had to be Tanner, Denham’s cousin and Meredith’s son. Hewitt gave him a nod.
‘Hello, Edna,’ Tanner said, as he drew near. ‘We meet again.’
Hewitt was sure Edna’s lashes fluttered. ‘We do. That’s three weeks in a row our paths have crossed in town. What a shame Bethany didn’t come
in today. She was only saying this morning she hasn’t seen you for a while.’
‘Yes, it’s been a month since I was out to help with her young colt.’
Tanner threw Hewitt a glance that communicated they needed to leave. Now. It was an expression Hewitt usually saw before a cowgirl dragged a cowboy onto the dance floor. If he was a betting man he’d lay money down that Bethany was Edna’s daughter and that Tanner ticked all of Edna’s potential son-in-law boxes.
Edna’s smile widened. ‘He’s such a fine looking horse but I’m certain she’s still having issues. Why don’t you come for lunch Sunday and she can chat to you about them?’
‘I’m away this weekend but Bethany’s welcome to call anytime.’
‘That’s so kind of you. I’ll pass on that you’re expecting her to call.’
‘No … problem.’ Tanner tugged at his shirt collar. ‘Sorry to drag Hewitt away but I promised Fliss I’d show him around and no tour of Woodlea is complete without a counter lunch at the Royal Arms.’
‘So true. My Rodger’s always been partial to their chicken schnitzel even though he says mine’s still his favourite.’ Edna pinned Hewitt with a narrow-eyed stare. ‘I have no doubt I’ll see you again so we can finish …’ She glanced at the box. ‘Our conversation then.’
‘Or we can start a new one.’
Edna’s pink-painted lips thinned. She hadn’t misinterpreted the resolve in his quiet tone. But as she played with her pearls, respect fired in her eyes instead of displeasure.
‘Let’s start one now. As a fundraising committee member, I’d like to personally invite you on our upcoming trail ride.’ She glanced at Tanner. ‘If those Ridley boys come, you’ll need a strong hand to keep them in line. Denham’s gone soft now he’s with Cressy.’
Tanner chuckled. ‘I won’t mention that to Denham.’
Hewitt masked his own amusement. ‘Edna, I’d like to help out but I doubt I’ll be around for long.’
Before she could open her mouth to convince him otherwise, he strode over to the counter. When he turned, Tanner was already at the door, Edna by his side.
It wasn’t until they’d walked half a block from the post office that Edna bid them farewell with a cheery wave and a reminder for Tanner to expect Bethany’s call.
After they’d walked a few paces, Tanner looked over his shoulder and slowed. He blew out a breath. ‘Okay. We’re safe.’
He stopped to hold out a hand to Hewitt. ‘Thanks for playing along. I couldn’t get out of there quick enough.’
Hewitt shook his hand. Even if the drover hadn’t been related to Denham, Hewitt would have liked him. ‘No worries. Thanks for coming to find me.’
They started walking again. ‘Anytime. I saw Fliss and she asked me to run an intervention if Edna tracked you down. I’ve never seen Edna walk so fast as she did when she crossed the road to follow you.’
‘I take it Bethany’s Edna’s daughter?’
‘Yes, and according to Edna she’s single. But according to Bethany she’s going out with a city bloke she met at university that her mother doesn’t approve of.’
‘Ouch.’
‘I know.’ Tanner held open the pub door and the timeless smell of beer rushed to greet them. ‘One thing’s for sure, I already like having you around. It isn’t every day Edna makes … personal invitations.’
Hewitt only nodded as he entered the pub. He took his phone from his pocket but there was still no message from Fliss. He smothered a surge of warmth that she’d looked out for him by making sure Tanner had his back. He was maintaining his emotional distance. As he walked past the large window he turned to search Main Street. Wherever she was, he hoped she hadn’t also run into Edna, and that the concerns that had plagued her when they’d arrived had eased.
CHAPTER
3
Fliss stopped at the end of Main Street and looked back to where the ancient plane trees were dressed in spring green. Their spreading, graceful branches threw shade over the dogs asleep on the back of parked utes.
Over the years Woodlea had changed very little. This had once frustrated her but now the familiarity brought with it an unexpected sense of belonging. When she was younger she couldn’t wait to leave for the sophisticated city lights but now she was back, she had the unsettling feeling this possibly was where she was meant to be. She may have bought Bundara and made it her home, but the reality was she continued to have no idea where her future lay.
She sighed and adjusted her hold on the five pink helium balloons she’d bought for Zoe. Edna’s white four-wheel drive hadn’t moved from where it was parked between the hair salon and the charity shop. Thanks to a heads-up text from Taylor, Woodlea’s local hairdresser who’d recently returned from London, she’d managed to avoid the notorious gossip. It was no secret she wasn’t Edna’s favourite person.
She hoped Tanner had managed to extricate Hewitt from Edna’s Welcome-to-Woodlea interrogation. There was no better person than Edna in an emergency. She knew where everyone lived and how many members were in their family, along with their phone numbers. But when it came to private information, Edna’s passion for gossip was only rivalled by her quest to find Bethany a husband who came with acres.
Fliss continued walking only to stop for a second time to untangle the balloons that were intent on gift-wrapping her in metallic pink ribbon. Visiting the quirky gift shop beside Woodlea’s only grocery store hadn’t been one of her better ideas. Keeping the balloons together was like herding cats. She unwound the pale pink balloons from around her neck and shortened the ribbon strings as much as she could.
She passed the museum with its white picket fence and headed for the Anglican stone church with its distinctive bell tower. Her calf muscles burned. The steep incline felt like she was climbing the narrow steps that led to the church bell. Last year the town had banded together to raise money to restore the worn bell mountings. The iconic bell would now ring out in celebration for another hundred years.
Her steps slowed as she bit the inside of her cheek. As hard as she’d tried to contain the ripple effect of her failure, Cressy had still been affected. Cressy and Denham were supposed to be the first couple married after the bell restoration but, since Fliss had been their chief wedding planner, and hadn’t been able to continue after Caitlyn died, they’d put their wedding on hold. The bell had instead tolled when the local agronomist, Shaun, had married Brooke, a vet nurse, just before Fliss had moved to Bundara. Shaun and Brooke had then moved south to be close to Shaun’s elderly parents.
Cressy had reassured her that she and Denham were in no rush and would wait until Fliss was ready to pick up from where she’d left off with the planning. She swallowed past the ache in her throat. Cressy did so much for her. When she had her life back under control, she’d do everything she could to make sure her sister had the wedding she’d always dreamed of.
This time, even when her breathing became laboured and the balloons battered her, Fliss kept walking. She reached the top end of Main Street and turned left. There was a reason why the red-brick building before her was affectionately called the Hospital on the Hill. Home owners in the city would pay a fortune for the three hundred and sixty degree view the historic hospital boasted.
The first of the canola crops in the rolling rural landscape were in flower. The intense yellow contrasted with the fresh green of oats and young wheat crops. The frequent rain had brought unprecedented growth but also the risk of waterlogging as the underground water table rose. When she’d bumped into Old Clarry at the pharmacy, he’d bemoaned the loss of one corner of his grazing oats until he changed the topic to his bunions. It was only the timely intervention of a young sales assistant that had saved Fliss from making a fool of herself. Self-doubt had stolen her words.
She stopped at the hospital door and battled the panic that accelerated her heart rate. She was the third Knight generation to walk through the doorway. Her mother had been a nurse before she’d stopped to raise Fliss and Cressy, while he
r beloved grandmother had been a devoted hospital volunteer. But such family connections meant little when guilt writhed inside. Her failure to preserve life undermined her mother’s and grandmother’s good works.
She hesitated, then pushed open the door. An onslaught of memories hit her. The beep of monitors and the scent of antiseptic returned her to the emergency ward she’d left behind. Her hands trembled and nausea roiled in her stomach. When she’d stopped resuscitation and had looked down at Caitlyn’s lifeless face it was as though the world had closed in. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t process what had happened. Somehow she’d looked down at her shoes to check there was no blood on them for when she spoke to Karl. Somehow she’d drawn a deep breath and said the words that would forever change his and his newborn’s lives.
For a moment, Fliss stilled. The need to leave proved so strong she half turned. Behind the sliding glass panels on her left a young brunette gave her a wave from where she sat at her desk. Fliss swallowed and returned Christi’s wave. A second woman was writing on a whiteboard and when she saw Fliss, her lined face broke into a warm smile.
Fliss managed a smile in return and headed for the waiting room. To her relief the small area was empty. Kellie and Zoe were still on their way from Sydney. Fliss took a second to compose herself and to remember why she’d come today. Two years ago Zoe had been a patient at the Sydney Children’s Hospital where she’d battled leukaemia. Yesterday the seven-year-old had returned to be given the all-clear. This morning Kellie and Zoe were calling in on their way home to celebrate.
Fliss settled the small weight anchoring the balloons onto the table beside the cabinet that stored handmade gifts. All proceeds from the sale of the embroidered handtowels and pretty baby bibs would go towards buying a portable ultrasound machine.
Janet entered the waiting room and they exchanged hugs. She’d known the old nurse ever since she’d accompanied her mother and a young risk-taking Cressy into the hospital’s emergency department.
The Red Dirt Road Page 3
