by Janet Gover
Kayla wasn’t sure whether to laugh or blush. Lachie was a famous and fabulous chef, dynamic and sexy and fun—pretty much everything a girl could want. And he wanted Kayla. That made her feel good and she was beginning to think that this relationship, new though it was, might be exactly what she needed.
‘Come back to my place tonight,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘We could get naked and drink Champagne to celebrate another of your triumphs.’
It was a very tempting idea. ‘I shouldn’t …’
‘Come on. Let me pamper you. A bottle of the Dom somehow found its way to my fridge, and it’s waiting just for you.’
Just as she was about to say yes, a door swung open and a kitchen hand appeared.
‘Chef Henderson, you’re needed. The sauce …’
‘My sauce?’ Lachie roared. ‘Who has defiled my sauce?’ He winked at Kayla as he followed the terrified kitchen hand back into his personal domain.
It was well after midnight when Kayla let herself into her flat. She was alone, having declined Lachie’s offer because she was exhausted and just wanted a little peace and quiet. She’d call him tomorrow and arrange another night for the Dom. She dropped her bags at the entrance and kicked off her shoes. Her feet were killing her. She padded across the carpet to her small kitchen and reached into the cupboard for a shot glass. She had a bottle of eighteen-year-old single malt scotch in her bar, her reward on nights like this. One shot: that was all she allowed herself. But that one shot, and the ceremony surrounding it, was enough to unwind after a frantic day. She poured the shot into the glass and added water. Just a few drops; enough to awaken the aroma of the fine spirit. She started to carry it out onto her small balcony. Her view of the harbour was a mere glimpse, but it was enough because it was hers and hers alone.
Then she stopped.
The light on her answerphone was blinking. That was strange, she never used her landline for anything. She only had it because it had come as part of the package deal with her broadband and cable TV. Only a handful of people had that number. Actually, only two people had that number and Pascale never used it. Only one person ever called her on the landline. Kayla couldn’t remember when the last call had been. A year? Two?
She didn’t want to pick up the phone. She just wanted to go and sit on her balcony, relax and take a few minutes to herself. But that flashing light would still be there when she came back inside.
With a sigh, she walked over to the phone and hit a button.
‘We need to talk. Please call me as soon as you can.’
Her sister was not one for long telephone calls. Or messages. Or long face-to-face conversations for that matter. At least not with Kayla. There had to be a very good reason for this call. Kayla glanced at her watch; it was too late to call now. Liz had always been an early-to-bed, early-to-rise sort of person. Waking her at this hour was not going to make whatever conversation they were about to have any easier.
She walked into the kitchen to pour her drink down the sink and headed for her bedroom.
The next call came at seven thirty, pulling Kayla out of a deep sleep. She was reaching for her mobile on the nightstand before she realised the ring tone wasn’t right. Her landline was ringing. She dragged herself out of bed, but before she got to the phone the machine cut in. She heard her own voice and then a pause.
‘It’s me again. I really need to speak to you …’
Kayla picked up the phone. ‘Hello, Liz.’
There was a moment’s silence before her sister answered. ‘I guess I woke you.’
‘Yes. I was working late last night. I didn’t get to bed until the wee small hours.’
‘Working?’
‘Yes. Weddings happen on Saturdays. And they usually last until Sunday morning.’ She sounded annoyed. She hadn’t meant to, but she was tired and this was her sister. Those were the two things absolutely guaranteed to make her annoyed.
‘Yes. Well, sorry. I guess.’ Liz hesitated. ‘I need you to come home.’
‘I am home.’
‘All right then, I need you to come to Willowbrook. We have things to talk about.’
‘Can’t we do that on the phone? Or on Skype? This is a busy time for me. Spring brides and all that. I can’t get away.’
‘Apollo is dead.’
The blunt words shocked Kayla. The news shouldn’t be a surprise; the stallion must have been a million years old. He’d been at Willowbrook almost as long as she could remember. He’d been her father’s horse, and so many of her memories of him also included Apollo. It was hard to think of them both gone.
‘I’m sorry about Apollo, but why do you need me to come back there?’
‘Because—’
Was Kayla imagining it, or did Liz’s voice break?
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.
‘No. Not really. There’s stuff we have to talk through. Decisions to make. When can you come?’
Kayla hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to go back to her childhood home. The last person she wanted to see was her sister. But something in Liz’s voice disturbed her. It had to be more than just losing the stallion.
‘I’ll talk to Pascale—my boss—and see what I can do. I’ll let you know.’
‘It has to be soon.’
‘I’ll get there when I can.’ Kayla hung up the phone before she could say anything she might later regret. She glanced at her watch and winced. There was no point going back to bed, she’d never sleep. She was far better off getting organised for a quick trip to Willowbrook. Liz would be back on the phone if she didn’t—she had always been the impatient one.
CHAPTER
3
The sun has barely risen above the top of the hills when three people emerge from the stone house and start walking towards a cluster of outbuildings. The oldest girl skips ahead of her father, who is carrying her younger sister. She is dressed in jeans and riding boots and her hair is caught into a ponytail. She is ready to start her day. The younger girl is still wearing her pyjamas, and her hair is tousled from sleeping.
‘What colour is he, Dad?’
‘He’s going to be a dark chestnut, Lizzie. Like his sire. With a small white star like his dam.’
The stables are not new, but they are well kept, the stalls clean and the laneways free of mess. The nearby yards are strong and in good order. The horses that are moving restlessly in the half-light are also well cared for. Generations of men and women have worked hard to build Willowbrook Stud. It is much loved.
‘Slow down now, Lizzie,’ Sam Lawson says. ‘The foal is just a couple of hours old. His dam is nervous. You don’t want to startle her.’
‘I won’t.’ At twelve years of age it’s hard to contain the excitement of such a momentous event, but Lizzie does. She’s already good with horses. She has her father’s skill and empathy for them.
Two faint lights illuminate the foaling boxes. Only one is inhabited and the father takes his daughters there. Lizzie is tall enough now to see over the stall door if she stands on tiptoes.
‘Where is he, Dad? I can’t see him.’
‘Wait a minute, Lizzie. You will.’
Inside the box, the mare turns her head to stare at the intruders. Her ears flicker as she recognises the whispered voices. There is no threat here. She lowers her muzzle to nudge the dark shape at her feet. The foal lifts his head and senses the newcomers. He scrambles to rise on legs that are too long and too shaky and falls forward, almost onto his nose. His mother nickers her encouragement and gives him another gentle nudge. The colt somehow untangles his legs and has a second attempt. This time he makes it, despite a pronounced wobble in his knees. With his mother’s gentle nudges to guide him, he finds his way to her side, where the scent of rich, creamy milk is all the encouragement he needs. He shoves his head under her belly and fastens his lips around a teat, drinking deeply.
‘Look, Kayla.’ The dad gently rouses his youngest daughter.
The little girl opens her eyes. He
r face splits into a huge smile as she watches the tiny foal’s tail wagging. She laughs, a light, gentle sound that causes the mare to flick her ears.
‘Shh. We don’t want to scare him,’ Sam whispers.
‘What’s his name?’ The five-year-old voice is soft, with a hint of a lisp.
‘He hasn’t got one yet. I told your sister she could name this foal. So, Lizzie, what is his name?’
Lizzie hasn’t taken her eyes off the colt. She has been preparing for this moment ever since her father told her she could name their stud’s most eagerly anticipated new arrival. All the Willowbrook horses have a connection to the sparkling night sky and are named after stars or planets. She has talked to her teachers and she has taken books out of the library. Now she has seen him, she knows who this foal is.
‘Apollo,’ she says confidently. ‘He’s a god. And it’s also the name of the rocket that went to the moon.’
‘Willowbrook Apollo.’ Sam nods. ‘That’s a good name.’
‘He’s going to be a champion, Dad. I know he is.’
‘I think you might be right.’
But at just a few hours old, the colt is not concerned about Lizzie’s dreams for his future. His belly is full now. Carefully, he turns in a circle then starts to bend his legs. Halfway down, he loses control again and drops into the bed of straw. His mother nuzzles him again, but he is already falling asleep.
So is Kayla. Her father carries her back to the house while Lizzie stays behind. She climbs onto a stack of hay bales and settles herself where she can watch over the mare and foal.
CHAPTER
4
Liz didn’t hurry her morning workouts. The horses needed her time, and Kayla would be late. Her little sister was always late for everything. It had driven Liz mad during those years when it was only the two of them. She always heaved a sigh of relief when Kayla headed back to boarding school or off to uni. No more waiting around, wasting time while Kayla got dressed or found her hairbrush or got off the phone. It was only after she was gone that Liz realised how big and quiet the house was without her. How lonely.
She had just finished lunging a horse in the covered round yard when she saw the flash of sunlight off a small red sports car coming up the drive. Leading the horse to the stables, she glanced at her watch. If that was Kayla, she was right on time. That was new. By the time Liz had hosed the horse and turned it back into the sand-covered yard for a roll, Kayla was walking from the house. If she hadn’t been expecting her sister, Liz might not have recognised her.
Kayla looked like something out of one of those magazines Liz sometimes glanced at in the dentist’s waiting room. Her younger sister had always been slim and a touch taller than Liz, but now she looked even taller. It must be her clothes. She was wearing a pair of black pants that hugged her like a second skin. Her shirt was made from some soft, silky material and her boots were purple. Unlike Liz’s RM Williams riding boots, Kayla’s boots had heels. Liz wasn’t even sure she’d be able to walk in them. Not that she was ever likely to try. But the greatest change of all was in Kayla’s face.
She was wearing make-up, her lipstick bright red. Her hair fell in gentle waves around her shoulders. When the sun hit it, it gleamed with a bright chestnut shine. Where had that come from? Kayla’s hair used to be exactly the same shade of dark brown as Liz’s. Kayla walked with an easy stride with her head held high. She looked well-off, confident and attractive. As their eyes met, Liz wondered what her sister was seeing. Where Kayla had curves, Liz was thin and muscular; almost masculine. Her face hadn’t been touched by make-up in years. Her boots were workboots; her legs encased in faded and stained blue jeans. Liz was a worker, and that’s exactly what she looked like. Where Kayla looked successful, Liz was worn down by years of hard work in all weather, and by worry.
When had they both changed so much? Liz tried to remember the last time she and her sister had been together. It couldn’t have been a year ago, could it? Or was it longer?
‘Four years and nothing has changed. The place looks the same.’ Kayla’s voice was like her face. Confident. There was no sign that she felt in any way awkward about this reunion.
‘Has it really been that long?’
‘The last time I was here was to sign the paperwork for selling that land on the other side of the creek. Is that why you wanted me to come back this time too?’
‘Kind of. Let’s go inside.’
Liz began to walk up the slope to the house. She turned towards the rear of the homestead. Kayla hesitated a second then followed her.
‘You don’t use the front door?’
‘I’m usually wearing boots. I don’t want to traipse mud and dung through the house. The back door is easiest.’ Were they really talking about which door she used? Four years since Liz had last seen her sister. Four years since Kayla had set foot in the place where her family had lived for a hundred and fifty years, and she was talking about doors. Was that what an expensive education and living in the city had done to her?
Once they were inside the kitchen, Liz opened the fridge and reached for the jug of water. ‘It’s not that fancy bottled stuff,’ she said a touch defensively, ‘but it’s cold and it’s wet.’
‘It’ll be fine.’ Kayla wandered around the room, her fingers touching the cupboards, the top of the table where they had eaten as kids. Then she vanished through the door into the hallway. For a moment Liz felt her hackles rise, then she shrugged. Technically Kayla owned half of Willowbrook. She had a right to go anywhere she wanted.
There was no sound from the front rooms as Liz poured two glasses of water and waited.
‘Do you ever go into the front of the house?’ Kayla asked as she returned to the kitchen.
‘Not much,’ Liz admitted. ‘I use the office. And here.’ Liz was reluctant to take Kayla through to her office. The room was tidy and well organised. She wasn’t ashamed of it. But it was pretty obvious that she spent most of her time in there. She didn’t really want her sister to comment on that, or to notice the sofa where she slept most nights.
‘Where do you relax? You know, watch TV. Or read a book?’
Liz started to prickle at the implied criticism in Kayla’s voice. ‘I don’t get much time to relax. Running this place on my own takes up all my time.’
‘You could get help, you know. A jackaroo or a stable hand.’
‘No. I can’t. There isn’t the money for a jackaroo. That’s what I need to talk to you about.’ She went into the office and returned with a folder of papers. She’d read and re-read these papers every day since the bank manager’s visit. And every day she’d come to the same conclusion. She dropped into a chair and put the folder on the table in front of her.
Kayla ceased her restless moving and sat down opposite. ‘So tell me what’s going on.’
‘I can’t do this any more,’ Liz said. The words didn’t come easily. ‘I can’t keep running this place. The drought was hard, and I had to increase the loan to buy feed. There’s not enough money to meet all the payments. And now that we’ve lost Apollo there’ll be no stud fees and less agistment income.’
‘Then get a new stallion.’
‘I can’t afford a new stallion.’
‘What about one of the colts you’ve bred here? One of Apollo’s sons? Continue the bloodline.’
‘For the last few years, I’ve sold the best of them. I had to. There isn’t a horse on the place that can replace Apollo.’ Liz took a deep breath and said the hardest words of all. ‘I need your help.’
‘What do you expect me to do?’
Liz pushed the folder towards her. ‘It’s all in here. You’re the smart one. The one who went to university. This place paid for your fancy business degree. Now I need you to put that degree to good use and come up with a way to save our father’s legacy.’
Kayla looked at the folder. ‘It’s not that easy.’
‘Do you think running this place all alone is easy?’ Liz heard the tightness in her voice.
‘Never!’
‘You might not have that option.’ Kayla pulled the folder towards her. ‘I’ll take this home with me and have a look. I’ll come back next week.’
Liz felt a weight lift from her shoulders. ‘All right. Do you want to stay for a while? I could make us some lunch. Nothing fancy. Maybe a sandwich but—’
‘No. It’ll take me four hours to get home. And I have to work tomorrow. It would be best if I headed back now.’
‘If that’s what you want.’
And Kayla was gone again. Just like that. It wasn’t until Liz was standing in the drive, watching the last of the dust settle behind the departing car, that she realised two things.
Neither sister had asked the other how she was, far less anything about her life. And they had not touched—not so much as a handshake.
Liz could remember a time when she and her sister were inseparable. When hugging each other was as natural as breathing. But that was a very long time ago; a lot had changed since then, and the blame lay squarely on Liz’s shoulders. She had broad shoulders. She could handle it.
She could handle anything except losing Willowbrook.
CHAPTER
5
Kayla dropped into her chair and deposited her take-away coffee—a latte with an extra shot—on the desk in front of her. She sighed deeply. After the unsettling trip to Willowbrook, it was good to be back at Elite Weddings. From the framed wedding photos on the pastel walls to the flowers at the reception desk and the worktable covered with sample books of fabrics and stationery, this was her world. She felt at home here; strong and in control.
‘So, how did it go?’ Pascale asked from her desk on the other side of the office.
‘I don’t think I was there long enough for it to “go” any way.’
Pascale raised one carefully groomed eyebrow. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’
Kayla shrugged and removed the lid from her latte.
