by Bowes, K T
“No way! I’m employed to run the stables and elite equine breeding programme.” Lincoln quoted straight from his job contract. “There’s nothing in there about babysitting morons who get hurt in the bush.”
“I don’t need babysitting.” Caleb looked hurt, slapping the cold flannel over his damp forehead, his face pinched with pain. “And I’m not a moron. I’d be doing it tough on the streets if it wasn’t for Mrs Du Rose. That means I can manage by myself in a flash motel room.”
Hana placed the telephone by Caleb’s hand and fetched a glass of water from the small kitchenette. “I’ll pop back with some afternoon tea,” she promised, hitching Phoenix above her hip as the child dozed. “Dial zero for reception and Marla or Kevin will fetch me if you need something.” She added the remote for the TV and another pillow.
Lincoln snorted over her fussing and Hana suppressed the urge to kick his shin. He was close enough for a backwards jab, but it would overbalance her and Phoenix’s head lolled sideways as Hana contemplated the maneuver.
Lincoln pulled the ranch slider closed and faced Hana on the deck as she propped her snoozing daughter’s head up with her hand. “What’s your problem?” she demanded. “What’s Caleb ever done to you?”
Lincoln shrugged. “Nothing, miss.” He narrowed his eyes to slits and a mask crashed down over his expression. “Is it okay if I go back to doing my proper job now?”
“No.” Hana shook her head. “What’s the deal between you and my husband? Why are you here and why does the local doctor object?”
The tall male heaved out a sigh and looked towards the rising turret of the main house above the trees. He pondered his answer for a moment, ordering the words and anticipating their effect. “If you were anyone else, I’d tell you to mind your own business.” He glared at Hana. “I’m also wondering why your husband didn’t think to mention it. Maybe I should leave him to fill in the gaps.”
Hana felt the sting of his words as he hit the bulls-eye. Logan promised to share details of the business with her as an equal, whilst leaving out salient parts which often came back to bite her. The realisation he’d done it again lit a fire in her heart and she took a threatening step forward. Her chin barely reached Linc’s collar bone. “Why are you here?” she repeated, her tone angry.
“I took over from the previous stable manager, who died last year. My role is to...”
“I don’t need the sanitised version!” Hana snapped. Inside her brain she dreaded the sound of Jack’s name; his crime against her still fresh in all its dismay and horror. “Why are you here?”
For a moment, Linc’s mask failed him and Hana saw his vulnerability. His mouth opened and closed and she seized on the loose thread which instinct directed her to. “What’s your last name?”
Linc swallowed. “Haines.”
“So the new doctor’s your wife?”
“Ex-wife.” He closed dark eyes against an inner pain which threatened to eat him from the inside out.
“You’re not a Du Rose?”
He shook his head. “Fiona is. Was. She’s Logan’s cousin. We both grew up here in the township.” Hana watched the huge fists ball at his side, unable to imagine the pretty, slender doctor in the giant’s embrace without breaking bones. Her eyes widened.
“Did you hit her?”
Linc’s mouth dropped open in horror. “No! Never. Why would you jump to that conclusion?” Shock dropped the mask and Hana saw a man who’d suffered unimaginable emotional trauma. His eyes held the same haunted look which used to drive Logan and she saw a glimpse of how far her husband had journeyed since the start of their marriage.
“Because you’re so bloody aggressive!” Hana retorted. “You behave like a dick!”
Linc’s pupils dilated and he took a step back, seeing himself through another’s eyes. He glanced at the sleeping child on Hana’s shoulder and whirled away, striding along the deck and down to the gravel, crunching away with footsteps which slammed into the earth. “Nice one, Hana,” she rebuked herself with a sigh. “How to make friends and influence people.”
Will approached in his wheelchair, shunting across the grass in a series of lurches over the uneven surface. Mac lounged on his knee with tiny fingers clasped around the chair arms either side of him, examining the sky with intense interest. Wiri trailed behind, his face set in a sulk at being yanked away from play. “Yer don’t wanna be poking that wasps’ nest,” Will advised, when he got close enough for Hana to hear his hushed warning. “Yer’ll get stung.”
“I just did,” Hana sighed, watching as Linc rounded the end of the lane and set off towards the main house. “Why would Logan employ someone so rude?”
“Appen youse best ask him.” Something in Will’s answer alerted Hana’s suspicious mind and she smiled a slow, fake smile.
“I’m asking you, my friend.”
“Aw, darn!” Will complained. “Bloody women!”
They wandered to the hotel and used a side entrance with a purpose built ramp for the wheelchair. Hana carried Phoenix and held Wiri’s hand. “I didn’t mean to make her fall,” the little boy muttered. He caressed Phoe’s dangling toes and stared up at her with doe eyes. “I thought she wanted to swing high.”
“It’s fine.” Hana stroked the downy head. “She knows you didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I didn’t, Ma,” he reiterated and Hana’s heart quailed at his use of the maternal tag, not knowing how to point out his error. The small boy had latched onto her like a life raft and correcting him resulted in tears and then painful silence as his fragile world tipped on its axis again. He resumed the grip on her fingers as though terrified she might disappear like his own mother and Hana felt a lump in her throat at his agony.
“Your new wheelchair should arrive soon.” She changed the subject and Will grunted back at her, his sparse hair sticking upwards like antennae.
“Youse didn’t have to buy that,” he protested, navigating the corridor to the kitchen on the west side of the house.
“I know I didn’t.” Hana sighed. “But I wanted to.”
“But what if the electrics pack up and I’m stuck in the middle of the car park like a bloody bollard?” he said, waiting for Hana to push on the heavy door.
“Keep it charged at night and that won’t happen,” Hana promised. “And it comes with a warranty. You worry too much.”
“Said the prostitute to the vicar,” Will retorted with a dirty chuckle. Wiri laughed too, which was even more worrying and the old man licked his lips and looked ashamed.
Leslie sat at the dining table in the family room, reading the newspaper with a large scone between her fingers. Alfred tucked in to a chocolate muffin, spreading icing on his long nose.
“Poppa!” Wiri exclaimed with pleasure and bounced across to the old man. Leslie raised an eyebrow at Hana and rolled her eyes.
“There’s nothing I can do!” she hissed at her mother-in-law. “His mum’s on a mental ward, his father’s clueless and his grandfather’s dead. Just give the kid a break.”
Alfred accepted the child’s hongi, pressing his forehead to Wiri’s in an affectionate Māori greeting. He settled his brother’s kin on his knee and fed the little boy chocolate muffin; the heart cry of all males. Food. Hana settled her children and sat with a mug of tea in front of her. She waited until the kitchen girl retreated back to the clattering of pots and pans next door. “Right then, who’s gonna tell me what’s going on with Lincoln Haines?”
Alfred inhaled through his nose, Leslie shifted on her large bottom and Will found the chocolate chips in his muffin worthy of great concentration. Phoenix limped over to the sofa in the corner and snuggled down, choosing sleep over nourishment. Hana observed her whilst watching the others through her peripheral vision.
“What about him?” Leslie ventured, feigning disinterest. “Hasn’t he just replaced...himself who’s not here anymore?”
Hana sighed, waiting for the punch line. She heard the men clear their throats in discomfort. �
�I want to know what Lincoln’s done? I figured it must be along the usual lines; an illicit affair, drug taking or a mixture of both. Aren’t those the most common Du Rose vices?”
Alfred squirmed in his seat and Hana caught a faint whiff of marijuana. Her eyes flickered at the memory of the series of lies she told her husband to protect the foolish old man’s secret and resentment bubbled in her chest.
“That’s harsh, Hana,” Leslie complained, darting a sideways look at her husband. “We’re not all shaggin’ and draggin’!”
Wiri let out a peal of laughter and repeated the phrase like a rhyme. Alfred sank lower in his chair, possibly guilty of both since breakfast. “Shaggin’ and draggin’,” Wiri sang, continuing with a full mouth until Hana gave him the evil eye.
“He got out of the big house after Christmas,” Leslie said, ignoring the collective groan of the men either side of her.
“Now you’ve done it!” Will jibed, buttering a scone and adding an artery clogging blob of jam.
“Prison?” Hana slopped tea up her wrist and put the mug on the table, her hand shaking. “What for?”
“Man’s served his time,” Alfred chided her. “It don’t matter no more.”
“What did he do?” Hana knew the answer before anyone uttered it, certain it would be something her husband thought best not to tell her. “He killed someone, didn’t he?”
Leslie nodded. “Yeah. A woman.”
The memory of Jack’s face as he held the gun on her tiny newborn shuddered into Hana’s inner vision. She saw his lips move in gibberish as he accused her of bearing another man’s child; a baby he helped to slide blood soaked into the world. Her heart quickened as she remembered Mac’s red hair glinting beneath the sunlight, condemning him as not a Du Rose. She saw Jack pointing the pistol at the baby’s delicate, fine-boned face, wishing the newborn dead with every fibre of his bitter old body.
Hana’s chair scraped backwards as she stood. Her hands shook and she looked sick. “I need some air,” she gasped and fled the room, leaving Mac gumming pieces of scone from Will’s gnarled fingers and her daughter asleep on the sofa. She stopped at the end of the corridor, knowing she shouldn’t abandon her babies but panic drove her on. She sought the cool air outside the hotel and the sense of calm the bush offered. Lincoln Haines killed a woman. Hana shook her head. Logan knew about the night terrors which woke her in the darkness, panicked and gasping as she screamed for her son and tried to shield his fragile body from a madman. “How could you, Logan?” she groaned, pitching forward on the steps and hugging her knees. “How could you?”
Chapter 15
Du Rose Future
Sacha grazed with easy grace, lipping sweet blades of grass with her ears flicking forwards and back. Her dinner plate hooves lifted and fell as she strolled and her tail flicked at imaginary flies. Hana leaned her chin on her forearms and sighed. She repeated the sound louder, wanting the mare to notice and comfort her with soothing snuffs of air and bristly kisses. But Sacha only mirrored the noise, blowing out warm puffs into the coolness of the mountain.
Hana clambered over the post and rail fence, sitting on top for a moment to absorb the silence of the bush. A mist descended from the highest points of the mountain, drifting down to cover the landscape with a hazy blanket. A native tui fluttered from tree to tree, clothed in his feathery dinner jacket and white bow tie. He tilted his head to get a better view of the woman and cackled like a lunatic, fleeing to the lacy heights of a silver fern in the canopy.
The grass felt lush underfoot and Hana’s boots swished through Sacha’s feast as she approached the mare with caution, remembering the rules of the game. The white horse lifted her head in a swift action, feigning surprise although her different coloured eyes channelled amusement. “Yeah, very funny,” Hana grumbled, moving with slow deliberation to the biting front end and avoiding the murderous back feet. “I’m not really in the mood to play.”
Sacha lowered her head and peered through the tops of her eyes as though Hana played the part of naughty schoolgirl approaching the head teacher for a growling over a minor misdemeanor. She snorted, appreciating Hana’s deference but sensing the play act.
“Hey, don’t make me beg.” Hana reached for Sacha’s broad cheekbone and ran a hand along the coarse fur, closing her eyes to savour the sensation. Acknowledging the blue wall-eye she turned the noble head with gentle fingers, making sure Sacha saw her through the brown eye too, uniting both halves of the equine brain in a realisation of her presence so there would be no surprises. “I wish I was a horse,” Hana declared, wondering if the calm of the mountain and the lure of mineral rich grass would be a fair swap for her crazy, tumultuous world as a prosperous farmer’s wife. Sacha snorted, coating Hana’s fleecy jacket with a fine, grassy spray. She lifted her huge head and nuzzled into Hana’s neck, pushing her whiskery nostrils beneath the long, curly tresses. “You say that,” Hana continued, as though Sacha had spoken words of great wisdom and contradiction, “but I have no more control over my life than you do. Logan makes the big decisions and I’m meant to smile and go along with them.” Sacha’s tail went flick, flick, swish in reply.
“I can’t get it out of my head.” Hana sighed and kissed the leathery lips close to her face. “Is this how it must be? Every year on Mac’s birthday instead of celebrating my son’s safe arrival, I’m reminded of the deaf man who helped me deliver him and then held a gun on us.” She shuddered, unable to say Jack’s name and Sacha breathed warm air onto the side of her face. “I shouldn’t be glad he’s dead. It makes me sick to think of how he died, but my heart feels relief because he’ll never come after us again.” Hana released a sob into the silent paddock. “And then I remember how sweet he was to me in the early days. All those years playing the role of stable manager just to make sure Logan grew up safe in the Du Rose wasps’ nest. That’s the action of a loving grandfather; not a killer. I’ll never understand what happened.”
The white mare shifted closer, rubbing her hard forehead against Hana’s shoulder. She braced her feet against the steady pressure of half a ton of horseflesh. It grazed her tender skin and fragile bones and she grounded herself in Mātakitaki Mountain’s unshakeable foundation, feeling the earth hum beneath her feet. Hana smelled the familiar Sacha-scent and her body relaxed under the mare’s maternal safeguard. “Logan’s replaced one murderer with another. Why wouldn’t he warn me? It’s cruel.”
Sacha’s head rose at the sound of the quad bike and she gave a whinny which came from her chest. It spelled excitement and thrill and heralded Logan’s arrival. Without a backward glance she turned her huge body and clopped to the fence, pushing her face over the top rail and whickering to the tall male delivering hay and chaff. Logan leaned his sinewy forearms on the top rung and let the mare scold him for his absence. She tugged at his shirt and lipped his face, scenting his hair and rubbing her whiskers against his stubbly cheek. Hana stood alone in the centre of the paddock, isolated and forgotten. She felt a flicker of jealousy at Sacha’s abandonment but resigned herself to the mare’s affection for her husband being greater.
“Leave me alone and get on with your business,” Logan crooned, pushing the mare’s face away from his. She returned like an irritating wasp until he relinquished the apple hidden in his jeans pocket, crunching the delicacy in huge molars and dribbling juice like a baby.
Hana turned away from the happy scene and strolled towards the bush line, meaning to escape into the dense canopy and return to the hotel another way. She heard Logan’s long stride catching her up and squeaked, breaking into an ungainly run. He laughed as he seized her from behind and lifted her into the air. “Oh no, you don’t!” he exclaimed, holding her around the waist and breathing soft kisses onto the back of her neck. “Leslie’s worried about you.”
Hana groaned. “I just wanted some peace!”
Logan spun her around and crushed her into his chest. “Did you find any?” He kissed the top of her head.
“No!” she grumbled
into his shirt.
Logan held her close, rubbing her rigid back and soothing her with his strength. He said nothing, offering no explanation for his omission and her rational self agreed with him, seeing how irritating her flash of self-pity might seem from the outside.
“Come for a walk with me?” Logan’s voice rumbled through his chest and Hana fought the smirk which rose to her lips.
“You mean a lie down.”
Logan snorted. “Only if you insist, babe. But the mist is closing and I meant a short walk. There’s something I wanna show you.”
“I’ve seen it.” Hana’s sarcasm made her husband throw back his head and laugh.
“One track mind, wahine. No wonder you’re always pregnant.” He dodged the slap she aimed at his bicep. “Come on; humour me.”
Logan seized Hana’s tiny fingers in his big paw and pulled her towards the far end of the paddock, opening the gate and waiting as she passed through. Hana glanced back to see Sacha tossing her head and dancing towards them, her round hooves slapping the ground in a series of excited steps and leaving clods of soil in her wake. “Come on then!” Logan yelled and she picked up speed, crossing the ground with effortless grace, blurred legs and white mane and tail streaming behind her like sails.
“Where are we going?” Hana asked, stepping back as the white mare squeezed through the closing gate with a snort of warning.
“Not far.” Logan gave her a sexy grin and Hana felt her heart lurch in her breast.
“Then can we discuss the new stable manager?” she asked, her voice tight.
“Yeah. Reckon so.” Logan held out his hand and she took it, hoping he kept his promise.
They clambered up a steep side and onto a ridge. Sacha climbed next to them, bracing herself against outcrops and tufty hillocks, digging in with her front hooves and shifting her weight with jerky, awkward movements. Rugged bush spread out either side of them, the uppermost parts of the canopy shrouded in drifting white mist. The tui bird followed, alighting in overhead pungas and mimicking Sacha’s snorts and grunts.