by Janet Gover
‘Hey! This is me, remember. Talk to me.’
So she did.
It had always been like this, since the two of them had met on Kayla’s first day at uni. She’d been feeling totally lost and out of place, a lonely orphan girl with no self-confidence and a reluctant student in a business course she didn’t want to take. A country hick in the big city. Pascale Bonet had walked into the room like she owned it. It wasn’t just that she was tall and blonde and probably could have been a model. And it wasn’t just her fabulous clothes. It was the way she held herself. Pascale had confidence dripping from every pore, and if some of the people in the room assumed she was a dumb blonde bimbo, she was happy to let them—right up to the moment she floored them with a brilliant essay, or aced her exams.
Pascale was everything that Kayla wanted to be, and somehow the two had become friends. While Kayla put her nose to the grindstone of accounting practices and legal courses, Pascale spent her final year at uni specialising in event management and hospitality and left with an honours degree to start a high-end wedding planning business with funding and contacts from her wealthy family. Three years later, the ink barely dry on her own honours degree, Kayla had joined her. Although Pascale was the owner of Elite Weddings, Kayla had never felt like her employee. They were partners, even if it wasn’t official, with complementary skills that had helped make the business a success. Kayla understood the laws regarding the hiring of staff. Pascale knew how to design a sales brochure. And they were friends. Pascale was probably the only person in the world Kayla trusted completely.
‘I spent last night going through the papers,’ Kayla finished. ‘My sister’s right. The place can’t survive without a new source of income.’
‘I thought you owned half of it?’
‘Technically, I do. But … I don’t have anything to do with it.’
‘You don’t get any income from it?’
‘No. Liz used to lecture me all the time that Willowbrook had paid for my education. Boarding school after our parents were killed and then uni. I was supposed to run the business side of things, but that was never going to work for me. When I graduated, I vowed I would never take another cent. And I haven’t. Not that there’s been much to take.’ Kayla tapped the folder lying on the desk in front of her. ‘The place is going bust.’
‘Why doesn’t she just sell it?’
Kayla shook her head. ‘She’ll never sell it. The bank will have to drag her out in handcuffs if they want to repossess that place. Come to think of it, that’s probably exactly what they will do.’
Pascale frowned slightly. ‘How come you’ve never talked about this with me before?’
Kayla brushed her hair back, at the same time lightly touching the place where a small white scar was hidden by make-up and hair. The scar that was a constant reminder of the car crash that killed her parents. A crash she had survived but could not remember.
‘It’s my old life. I didn’t really think it would—should—have anything to do with me any more.’
‘But she’s your sister. And that’s your family home.’
Kayla shrugged again, but deep down she didn’t feel as nonchalant as she tried to appear.
‘What’s the name of the property?’
‘Willowbrook.’
Pascale’s fingers flashed across her keyboard. She said nothing for a few moments then let out a low whistle. ‘Really? This is where you grew up?’
Mystified, Kayla went over to see what Pascale had found. Her screen showed a beautiful image of the homestead, with a horse standing proudly in front of it. Apollo. The photograph had been taken years ago, when the horse was in his prime. Although the stallion dominated the picture, Kayla guessed it was the homestead that had captured Pascale’s attention. Gentle early morning light and the faintest hint of fog disguised the faded paint and stained stone, while highlighting the refined lines of the building and its sense of history. The homestead looked beautiful, almost ethereal.
‘How did you find that?’ Kayla asked.
‘I assume it’s your sister’s website. It’s all about breeding horses. But seriously. You own this?’
‘Mostly the bank does. What’s left is my sister’s. I walked away a long time ago. I wouldn’t have gone back this time, but she insisted.’
‘So what are you going to do now?’
‘I’ll take another look at the papers, in case there’s something I missed. Then I guess next week I’ll drive up and give her the bad news.’
‘I’d like to come with you.’
‘Really?’ Kayla blinked in surprise. ‘Look, I appreciate the support, but I can do this alone.’
‘I know you can. I’m just not sure if …’ Pascale’s voice dropped off and two small creases appeared between her perfectly shaped eyebrows. Kayla knew that sign. Pascale’s razor-sharp mind was kicking into high gear.
‘If you want to come, I’d appreciate the company on the drive. We won’t be staying long.’
Kayla settled herself behind her desk. Before checking her emails she googled her way to the site Pascale had found. While the homestead had interested Pascale, Kayla couldn’t take her eyes off the horse. He really was a beautiful creature. Had been. Apollo. The horse Liz had named and their father’s pride and joy. Although she hadn’t seen Apollo for years, Kayla felt a deep sadness at his loss. He was probably the last horse her father had trained, and now he was gone.
Kayla closed the website with a firm click and opened her emails. She had weddings to organise. Across the office, Pascale was staring at her computer. But she had raised her right hand and her fingers, with those long and perfectly manicured nails, were twitching, as if she were writing on a mental whiteboard. Pascale’s mind was in overdrive, working on whatever idea had materialised in that light-bulb moment. She’d tell Kayla when she came up with something concrete. And if not … well, it couldn’t do any harm to take Pascale with her on her next trip to the Hunter Valley. If she had to break bad news to Liz, it might be nice to have some support.
She wondered who Liz went to for support. Because even someone as tough and unfeeling as her sister must need a shoulder to cry on sometimes.
CHAPTER
6
The mare was obviously distressed. She was standing with one front leg held off the ground. Her head was low and her sides were dark with sweat. The mare had the quality and elegance of all the Willowbrook horses, and she looked pregnant. She barely twitched her ears as Mitch rode along the other side of the fence on his big black gelding. He stopped a few metres away and swung out of the saddle then flicked his reins around a fence post and stroked the gelding’s nose. All the while he studied the mare. He could see that her leg was caught in the wire fence, three strands cutting into flesh that was badly swollen. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, but quite a while judging from the look of her. That probably wasn’t surprising. This was the far corner of his land, and also the far corner of Willowbrook land. Liz probably hadn’t been up this way in a day or two; maybe longer.
Mitch opened the saddlebag in which he always carried fencing pliers, a basic first aid kit and some light rope. Then he slipped through the fence.
‘Hello, girl. You’ve got yourself in a bit of trouble there, haven’t you?’
The mare slowly raised her head and looked at him with dull eyes. She must have been here for a day or two without water. It was a good thing he’d found her.
Mitch paused to give her a chance to get used to him. If he startled her, she might panic and pull back. If she did, that fencing wire would cut through skin and flesh pretty easily. He was here to help her, not make things worse.
‘Okay, old girl, let’s see what we can do about all this.’ He was by her side now, and began stroking her neck. The mare didn’t flinch as he twisted the rope into a halter and slipped it over her head. ‘I’ve got you now. Let’s see if we can get that leg free.’
He ran his hand gently but firmly down the mare’s leg. She twitched and he could see th
e wound. There were flies buzzing around the dried blood. He wasn’t going to be able to free her by simply lifting her leg through the wire.
He pulled the pliers from his back pocket and carefully cut the first wire. The taut wire snapped back, but he was ready for it, catching it and twisting it away from the horse. She flinched, but stayed still as he cut the remaining wires. At last she was free.
‘Come on, old girl, put that foot down. Let’s see how badly you’re hurt.’
He tried to lead her forward. The mare hesitated and then tentatively put her injured leg on the ground. She took one cautious step. Then another. After a few more steps she was moving with just the smallest limp.
‘That’s good, old girl. Now let’s do something about those cuts.’
The wounds weren’t as deep as he’d feared and wouldn’t need stitching. The flies were a concern, but there was an answer for that, and it was found in every stockman’s first aid kit.
The mare jumped a little as Mitch directed the purple spray onto her wound. That was actually a good sign—it meant she was much more alert now. She needed water, but he was pretty sure that once she’d had a few minutes to rest, she would head off in the direction of the creek. He’d come this way tomorrow to check on her. Most likely she would have moved on to join her fellow brood mares.
Although the mare was a dark chestnut, the colour of the antiseptic spray was clearly visible. If Liz saw her mare in the next twenty-four hours, she’d know someone had given her horse first aid. It wouldn’t take her long to figure out it was him. A part of him wished she would. She might come by to say thanks, because that was the sort of person Liz was.
Who was he kidding? She wouldn’t come by to say thanks. Liz would be furious that he’d been on Willowbrook land. The creek and the fence that separated her land from his might as well be gaping chasms.
He still hadn’t found a way to bridge that gap, and he was no longer certain he ever would.
He gave the mare a final pat and turned away. It was the work of just a few minutes to repair the wire he’d cut, then he slipped back to his side of the fence and returned his things to the saddlebag. He mounted the gelding and headed home, wishing that his and Liz’s wounds could be healed with a simple bit of purple spray.
CHAPTER
7
‘Come on, Kayla. Come with me!’ Lizzie’s voice is pleading, but Kayla shakes her head.
‘Dad says I’m not allowed to go riding without him.’
‘He’s not here. He’ll never know.’
‘Mum’s here.’
‘She’s working in the office. She won’t see us if you’re quiet. Come on.’
Kayla puts down her book and follows her sister out of the room. Lizzie is the adventurous one and Kayla is the one who follows.
The two girls creep carefully down the stairs and into the kitchen. The back door creaks ever so slightly as they open it but a second later they are running across the lawn to the stables.
Several of the stalls are occupied by yearlings being groomed and prepared for sale. They’re mostly colts. The fillies will remain for a bit longer. So will Apollo. He is destined for great things. Lizzie stops by his stall for a moment and the colt immediately puts his head over the door. He’s Lizzie’s favourite, and knows that she’s likely to be carrying a treat for him. Not today though. After kissing the end of his nose, Lizzie moves on.
A grey pony is waiting in the last stall. Lizzie goes into the tack room and emerges with a bridle. She slips into the grey’s stall and reappears in a few seconds, leading the animal.
‘Lizzie, I don’t think we should do this,’ Kayla says. ‘Dad says I’m too small to ride on my own.’
‘You’re not on your own—I’m with you. Come on. Don’t be a coward. Look, I’ll help you with Ginger just as soon as I’ve done Tasha.’
Kayla nods. She always goes along with her sister’s plans.
As soon as the grey is saddled, Lizzie collects a smaller chestnut pony from the next stall and in a trice Ginger is ready for his outing. Side by side, the sisters lead their ponies out of the stables and through the gate. Lizzie holds Ginger’s head while her sister mounts, then effortlessly swings onto her mount.
‘Let’s go.’
She kicks Tasha into a brisk trot. Ginger follows on behind, and the two ponies break into a canter as they start to climb the hill. Kayla grabs the front of her saddle with one hand. She’s only cantered once before. Ginger is a fast pony, and she’s a little bit scared.
By the time they reach the top of the hill, both ponies are sweating. The girls pull up beside a tall tree, white flowers dotted amid its dark green leaves. Nearby, a wrought-iron fence surrounds a small collection of old headstones. From here they can see the whole of Willowbrook Station. They can see the whole world!
‘Our family has lived here for more than a hundred years,’ Lizzie says. ‘See those graves? Those are all our family. And someday you and I will run Willowbrook together. We’ll breed the best horses ever. Dad says they’re starting to talk about exporting Australian Stock Horses to other parts of the world. Maybe one day we’ll export horses. You and I can travel with them to all sorts of exciting places.’
‘But we’ll come home again, won’t we?’ Kayla’s voice trembles.
‘Of course we will. The Lawsons have always lived here and they always will. Come on, let’s go to the creek.’
The girls turn their ponies down the slope towards the line of tall river gums that marks the watercourse. There’s a crossing just shallow enough for their ponies. The girls laugh as their mounts slap at the water with their front hooves, sending droplets high into the air to glint in the sunlight like diamonds. On the far side of the creek the bank is steep, but both ponies bound easily to the top.
The girls kick the ponies into a trot and within a minute or two they are at the old wooden church.
‘This is where Mum and Dad got married,’ Kayla says, although she is well aware that Lizzie has heard the story as often as she has. ‘Mum looks so pretty in all the photographs. Her dress is so beautiful.’
Lizzie agrees, although she really isn’t interested in dresses. She runs an eye over the weatherboard building, noting how the paint is starting to fade. The church is closed now. It hasn’t been used since her parents’ wedding, which is a shame. Lizzie knows that her great-great-grandfather built this church, as he did all of Willowbrook. She doesn’t like to think of it standing empty and unloved. She doesn’t like to see any part of Willowbrook being neglected.
As they turn away, Lizzie notices movement on the other side of the creek. There’s a car coming down the long gravel driveway that leads from the main road to the homestead.
‘That’s Dad’s car. We’d better get back.’
Kayla is about to turn Ginger for home when the pony suddenly flings his head up and shies violently. Kayla falls. As she does, movement in the long grass catches Lizzie’s eye. A huge brown snake slithers away. Lizzie flings herself off her pony and races to her sister. Both know how dangerous snakes are.
‘There was a snake! Are you all right?’
Sniffing, Kayla shakes her head and starts to cry.
‘Did it bite you?’
Kayla shakes her head again. ‘My backside hurts.’
A sore backside isn’t too bad. Lizzie checks Ginger, running her hands along the pony’s legs, feeling for a bite. Ginger calmly nuzzles her hair.
Slowly, Kayla gets to her feet, rubbing her sore bottom. ‘Is Ginger all right?’
‘He’s fine.’
Kayla’s sobs subside. Her backside doesn’t really hurt that much. And Lizzie is here. As long as she is with Lizzie, everything will be all right. Dad will probably be annoyed that they took the ponies out and her mum will worry when she sees the dirt on Kayla’s jeans, but Lizzie will fix everything, because Lizzie always does.
CHAPTER
8
Liz didn’t normally ride across the creek, although there was nothing preventi
ng her. It wasn’t trespassing if she had permission from the owner—but that was the problem. She didn’t want to be reminded that she now needed permission to ride on land that had belonged to her family for more than one hundred and fifty years, until Lizzie let it go. She’d sold it to the one person in the world who should have understood what it meant. The one person who should have helped her to keep it, rather than take it away from her. Four years later, she felt the same anger and shame as strongly as she had the day she’d signed away a part of her heritage.
But young horses had to be trained and a stock horse that wouldn’t cross a creek was no good to anyone. The best place to cross the creek just happened to be on what was now the boundary between her land and the land that was no longer hers. If that wasn’t painful enough, Kayla was also coming today, with what Liz knew in her heart would not be good news. It seemed a reasonable time to head to the crossing. Nothing could make today worse than it was already destined to be.
‘Come on. Let’s see what you’re made of.’
She turned the colt’s head towards the creek. The old road was still visible. In times past, carriages had taken this route from the homestead to the crossing. The church was on the other side of the creek, and her Irish forebears had made the trip often. Even after the road bridge was built, her great-grandfather had taken his family to church across his own land. But as the nearby town of Scone had grown, services had moved. The priest stopped coming to Willowbrook and the family had, in Irish terms, lapsed.
The church was no longer a church. The wooden cross had been removed from the corrugated-iron roof, although the round stained glass window remained. The faded cream paint had been replaced by a crisp white, and outbuildings and yards had sprung up around it. The old weatherboard building looked lived in and loved, but it no longer belonged to the Lawson family. Liz rode this path only when she had to.
When they arrived at the creek, Liz nudged the young horse with her knees, expecting him to refuse or at least hesitate. To her surprise, he walked in without breaking stride, wading through the knee-deep water and out the other side.
