The Cattleman, The Baby and Me

by Michelle Douglas

  She was giving him the brush-off!

  She stared at him. She lifted her arms. ‘Well?’

  Well, what?

  ‘Agreed?’

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ he snapped.

  ‘Of course it is.’ She dusted her hands off on her jeans, as if that was a particularly onerous task out of the way. ‘I best go check on Harry. He should be awake by now. Dinner will be ready in about an hour.’

  ‘What happens now?’ he burst out.

  She turned in the doorway. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Are you still staying for the next fortnight?’

  ‘Of course I am. It’s what we agreed, isn’t it? You’ll start taking over more of Harry’s care while I step into the background. I still think that’s what’s best for Harry, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ She started to turn away again.

  ‘And then what? You leave and go back to your life in Perth?’

  ‘That was always the plan, Liam.’

  With that, she disappeared. Liam stared after her and willed the relief to hit him. He waited…and waited. It suddenly occurred to him that this scenario—Sapphie leaving—was just as bad as the one he’d imagined, the one where she told him she wanted him to marry her.

  And he didn’t know what that meant.

  Alone in bed that night, Liam stared up at the ceiling and tried to make sense of it all. He didn’t toss and turn, or shift restlessly against the cool cotton of the sheets, even though his body burned with its need for Sapphie. He stared up at the ceiling and replayed in his mind his every encounter with her—starting from the moment she’d jumped down from the mail plane, ending with their awkward and stilted dinner this evening.

  Whichever way he looked at it, he didn’t want Sapphie to leave. He didn’t want her returning to that perfect life of hers in Perth.

  In the darkness his jaw clenched. She could build a perfect life here, couldn’t she? She wasn’t one of those flighty city girls who needed shopping malls, beauty parlours and coffee shops on their front doorstep. She loved to ride. She loved the land. He could tell from the glow in her eyes whenever she surveyed the landscape, from the way she drew the air into her lungs.

  She loved Harry.

  And Harry loved her.

  She could make Newarra her home, couldn’t she? She could live and work here with him and Harry as…as part of the family. He’d stick to her friends-not-lovers dictate. It would kill him, but he’d stand by it because he couldn’t offer her marriage. He wasn’t opening himself up to that again.

  But…

  She loved Harry. Harry loved her. She had as much right to raise Harry as he did. Her staying was the perfect solution.

  Something about the way Liam looked at her when she set a plate of sausages and eggs in front of him for breakfast the next morning made Sapphie’s toes curl.

  ‘What are your plans for today?’ he asked.

  She busied herself making toast soldiers for Harry. ‘The usual, I guess. Harry and I have to bake some bread.’ She gestured to the pans of dough resting on the bench. ‘Perhaps whiz through this end of the house with the vacuum cleaner…maybe potter in the veggie garden for a bit. What about you?’

  ‘Need to finish the repairs on the cattleyards if we’re to start mustering in earnest next week.’

  She let out a breath, along with some of the tension that had her coiled up tight. The conversation might be inane, but at least it wasn’t as stiff and uncomfortable as it had been last night during dinner.

  ‘Sapphie, do you find it boring out here?’

  ‘Boring? What? On Newarra?’ She snorted. ‘You’re joking, right? There’s always something to do, and it’s different every day. I’ll tell you what boring is—it’s working in the same office day after day, clocking in and clocking out at the same time, spending eight hours or more staring at a computer screen. Out here you get fresh air and room to breathe. You get a chance to watch the way the light changes the landscape and see how the colours—’

  She broke off, suddenly self-conscious.

  He stared at her for a moment. ‘Is that what you do when you’re living in Perth—work in an office?’

  ‘No way!’ She buttered a piece of toast and bit into it. ‘I’d go crazy. I have three different part-time jobs. I get to meet lots of different people and I’m never bored.’

  ‘That sounds…all right.’

  ‘It is.’ It would be even better if all her part-time jobs paid as much as one full-time job and came with the same benefits. She frowned. ‘Why are you asking?’

  ‘More interesting than talking cattle prices,’ he mumbled, finishing the last of his breakfast. ‘Time I got to work.’ He paused by the back door, jammed his hat on his head. ‘You want to go on a picnic today?’

  She swung around in panic. ‘No!’ No more picnics. No more swimming in waterholes. No more making love!

  A slow grin spread across his face, filling her with heat. She had to turn away from the knowing glint in his eyes.

  ‘I’ll see you at lunchtime, then.’

  ‘Yep.’ The word emerged from her tight and hard. The back door swung shut, jarring her nerves. She pushed another toast soldier towards Harry and scowled at the table. ‘A girl ought to be suspicious when a cattleman says that anything is more interesting than beef prices, Harry. Real suspicious.’

  She placed the few dirty plates into the dishwasher, then dragged one of the pans of bread dough towards her and started to punch it down. ‘Darn man!’ What was he up to?

  Punching down the bread helped loosen some of the tension in her back and shoulders. Only after she’d started punching down the second batch did she allow herself to go back over the breakfast conversation. What was Liam up to?

  ‘Oh, dear Lord!’ She stopped mid-punch, stumbled across to the table to fall into a chair. He’d asked her if she found it boring out here. Why?

  Because he meant to ask her to stay?

  No, no…of course not. But when she recalled the look in his eyes her heart slipped and slammed. She stared across at Harry, and the ache inside her grew so heavy it expanded to fill her entire soul.

  She reached out and brushed one finger down his face. ‘Oh, Harry, I love you.’ She loved them both.

  But she couldn’t stay.

  When Liam returned to the house for lunch, Sapphie and Harry weren’t in the kitchen. Or the living room. He stopped, listened, and started to grin as the unmistakable sound of ABBA drifted to him from the direction of the theatre room.

  He stood in the doorway of the darkened room and his grin widened. Sapphie and Harry weren’t just watching the Mamma Mia! DVD he’d brought back from his trip to Kununurra—they were dancing to it.

  With gusto.

  Sapphie had picked Harry up and was swinging him around until they were both breathless and giggling. Liam longed to join them. It suddenly occurred to him that this—Sapphie and Harry, laughing and full of life—was what he wanted to come home to every day. It made him feel alive.

  Harry threw his head back and chortled. As if she couldn’t help it Sapphie started to laugh, and then couldn’t seem to stop. Eventually she collapsed to the ground, holding Harry close to her chest. Then she leapt back up, set Harry on his feet and, holding his hands, started to twist.

  Liam didn’t know what gave him away—perhaps he chuckled out loud—but Sapphie swung towards the doorway, and when she saw him for a brief moment her face lit up, making him feel ten feet tall.

  ‘Look, Harry—here’s Uncle Liam!’

  She turned Harry to face him, and Harry’s face lit up too.

  Harry let go of Sapphie’s hands, held his arms out and took one step, then two, in Liam’s direction. Sapphie’s jaw dropped. Liam momentarily lost the use of his limbs. Harry plonked down onto his nappy-clad bottom and clapped his hands.

  Liam swept him up. ‘Way to go, Tiger!’

  ‘Clever boy!’ Sapphie moved in close to kiss Harry’s ch
eek, swamping Liam with her scent. She glanced up into his face, her cheeks went pink, and she backed away. ‘I’ll, umm…go make lunch.’

  And she fled.

  He and Harry followed at a more leisurely pace.

  He didn’t speak while she made lunch, and he waited until Harry was happily engrossed in his food before turning to her. ‘Sapphie, we need to talk.’

  She practically catapulted a sandwich at him. ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ She swung away to make her own sandwich.

  Her eyes narrowed when she turned and found him watching her a moment later. She gripped the plate in front of her like a shield. ‘What?’

  It would be best to come right out and say it. ‘Sapphie, I—’

  ‘No!’

  He frowned at the panic that sped across her face. ‘What exactly are you saying no to?’

  She didn’t move from the bench. She didn’t set her plate down. ‘I’m not going to stay here at Newarra. And I have a feeling that’s exactly what you were about to ask me.’

  Frustration seized him by the scruff of the neck. ‘Why not?’ He leapt to his feet. ‘You like it here, don’t you? And you love Harry! Come on, Sapph—’

  ‘Don’t raise your voice in front of Harry.’ Her eyes spat green fire. ‘You know how it upsets him.’

  Liam bit back a very rude word. Harry didn’t seem the least perturbed. He leant across to ruffle Harry’s hair. ‘Hold the fort, Tiger. We won’t be long.’ Then he reached across and grabbed Sapphie’s hand, and pulled her clean outside to the back veranda.

  With his hands at her waist, he lifted her up to perch on the veranda railing. His hands moved either side of her—partly to support her, partly to ensure he had her full attention. Her sandwich slid off the plate she still held, to fall to the garden below. Liam seized the plate and sent it after it.

  ‘What is wrong with making Newarra your home?’ he demanded.

  She gripped the railing until her knuckles turned white. The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered. He ached to lower his mouth to it and touch it with his tongue.

  ‘Sapphie, you love Harry.’

  Her entire hands turned white.

  ‘You fit in here. You’ve made a difference to…everything!’

  ‘Please don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t say any more.’

  Her eyes filled with tears. Liam wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her. He wanted to make things right for her—so she’d laugh and dance and sing again. He rubbed his hands up her arms. ‘Sweetheart, don’t cry.’

  She clenched her eyes shut at the endearment. She opened them a moment later. ‘Please, Liam, let me down.’

  He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t keep her here against her will. He helped her down from the railing, then took a step back. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

  She dragged in a breath. Her hands shook. ‘There are things you don’t know about me. I’m not who you think I am.’

  He smiled at that. ‘I know all I need to know about you, Sapphie. I know you’re generous and kind, and that you can light up a room with your enthusiasm when you walk into it.’

  She pressed her hands to her ears as if to block his words. ‘You don’t know that I had an abortion!’

  The silence that followed seemed to ring in his ears. For three whole heartbeats Liam couldn’t move. Her words had doused him in ice. Very carefully, he rolled his neck and shoulders. ‘You what?’

  ‘I had an abortion. It was some years ago now…and I’m sorry for it.’ She dragged in a shaky breath. ‘But, considering how hard you and Belinda tried for children, I think it’s the kind of thing you should know about me.’ She drew in another breath, more ragged than the last. ‘I have a feeling knowing that will change the way you feel about me.’

  Her eyes pleaded with him to tell her she was wrong, that he still wanted her to stay. He stepped back, something hard and cold invading his insides. ‘Were you advised to have an abortion on medical grounds?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you tell the baby’s father? Did you even give him a chance?’

  She swallowed and shook her head. ‘No.’

  On that one whispered word, Liam turned and strode towards the steps. He stopped at the top one, cold and numb…yet behind it all blazed a red-hot fury struggling to burst free. She’d been given the gift of a child and yet she’d…

  He forced himself down the steps. He didn’t turn around. Sapphie was right about one thing—she wasn’t who he’d thought she was.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  LIAM didn’t return to the house for dinner.

  Harry ate. Sapphie didn’t.

  Liam didn’t return to the house to help bath Harry, or to put him to bed. He didn’t return to sing Harry a goodnight song.

  Sapphie spent the hour after she’d put Harry down pacing the kitchen. Eventually she pushed outside to the veranda and peered out into the darkness of the night which, with a three-quarter moon and more stars than a body could count, wasn’t all that dark. Liam didn’t emerge from any of the shadows.

  She recalled the shock that had whitened his face, the hardness that had entered his eyes and turned his mouth to a grim line, and she had to grip her hands together and close her eyes.

  What did you expect?

  She opened her eyes, searched the garden and surrounds once more. Nothing. ‘Regardless of how much you might hate me, Liam, I hate myself more,’ she whispered.

  At three a.m., Liam tightened the last of the bolts securing the tractor’s radiator in place, tossed the spanner to the nearest bench, and pushed his hands into the small of his back. What next? He turned a slow circle, his eyes searching the furthest reaches of the machinery shed. So far he’d greased and oil-changed the three utes. He’d cleaned tack. And he’d fixed a slow leak in the tractor’s radiator. There’d be more chores that needed doing. He just had to find them.

  His temples throbbed. His arms ached with fatigue. His body cried out for the oblivion of sleep. But he knew his brain wouldn’t give it to him.

  You don’t know that I had an abortion.

  Sapphie’s words hit him with the same force now that they had when she’d first uttered them.

  A low growl left his throat; he wheeled around. When they’d been teenagers his father had set up a punching bag in here for him and Lachlan. He wondered where it was now. The thought of taking his frustration out in such a physical way suddenly appealed.

  An abortion.

  Didn’t she know how blessed…how lucky…?

  He slumped down to an upturned crate and dragged his hands through his hair, remembering with agonising thoroughness the years he and Belinda had spent trying so hard to have children—the clenched-fist hope that had been dashed each month, the growing gut-wrenching realisation that his future might not hold children. And yet Sapphie had blithely rid herself of what he and Belinda would have done anything to attain.

  He leapt up, started to pace. She’d lied to him too. She’d let him believe she hadn’t been with a man since her rape.

  No, she hadn’t.

  That realisation dawned slowly. She’d told him she hadn’t expected to desire a man again. It didn’t mean she hadn’t tried to.

  An abortion, though? He swore. He couldn’t make it fit with everything else he knew about her. He’d thought her generous and kind, but now…

  She is generous and kind.

  But…

  But nothing.

  She’d… She’d…

  He froze, shock and a slow, dawning disgust flooding him. He’d condemned Sapphie without a trial—in an instant and without mercy. He’d thought only of himself—his own shock, his own disappointment, his own judgement. He hadn’t considered her circumstances, her frame of mind, or her fears. He hadn’t thought about her at all.

  She’d had an abortion. It didn’t change the fact that she was generous. That she was kind. That she made sacrifices that had his jaw dropping. She’d brought him his nephew. She’d helped him f
orge a bond with Harry—a strong, lasting bond. She’d forced him to confront issues in his past that he’d buried for too long. She’d made him hope again in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

  In Harry she’d given him a second chance at life, and then she’d shown him how to overcome his fears and reach out and take that chance. She’d trusted him enough to share her body with him. And what had he done? He’d stormed off.

  He hadn’t given her a chance to explain. He hadn’t given her a chance to do anything. By his actions he’d condemned her, when…when she deserved so much more from him.

  She’d made a mistake. One mistake. And he’d turned his back on her. He knew she regretted that abortion because a gut-tearing, the-world-had-come-to-an-end expression had enveloped her face.

  And he’d walked away.

  He collapsed back down to the crate. She was right—he was letting the badness win. His heart beat hard against the walls of his chest. Was that the kind of example he wanted to set Harry?

  Was that the kind of man he’d become?

  When Sapphie entered the kitchen the next morning, she found Liam already seated at the kitchen table, with Harry’s breakfast things in front of him. The sight pulled her up short. How long had he been sitting there? All night?

  He looked tired and strong and alone.

  A pulse pounded in her throat. She couldn’t seem to move. ‘Good morning,’ she finally managed.

  ‘Morning.’

  She had a feeling he’d left off the ‘good’ from his greeting deliberately. His face was impassive, unreadable. Beneath it he could be seething with anger or with pain. She couldn’t tell.

  He stood with that unconscious grace that even now she couldn’t help admiring, and came over to take Harry from her. Without a word he gathered up Harry’s breakfast things and walked straight out through the back door.