Dan Ireland was not about to become a statistic.
Initially he’d cursed his father for making him drive all the way out at night. Then he cursed the rain. Not even the stupid weatherman with the irksome banter and sickly smile who’d forecast blue skies had escaped a profanity or two from Dan’s lips tonight. Finally, Dan cursed himself for being a bastard; northern New South Wales was in for a hammering and his father was lost in the middle of it. Dan figured if luck was on his side he might—might—get a grunt of recognition out of the old man for his trouble. That’s when his father saw his son. And he would see him. The all-drinking, all-smoking Charlie Ireland was famous around town for saying, ‘It hasn’t killed me yet.’
Nothing had killed the old bugger—yet.
After going home to Calingarry for the school reunion, dwelling on Maggie and her father, Dan had been thinking of ways to reconnect with his old man, ways that would be acceptable to a father who’d never known how to be one. Ironically, Charles Ireland’s estrangement with his family had been brought on by the very land he’d loved and worked so hard to keep through rollercoaster decades of rising interest rates, flooding rain and cruel droughts. A farmer’s lot was not easy. Sometimes something had to give. All too often what people lost was the people in their lives. Dan had fought against becoming the same distant hard-arse, a stranger to his family.
Only when Charlie had fallen off his quad bike in the field one day, pinned there until the next morning when someone dropped by to borrow the slasher after theirs broke down mid-paddock, did Dan and Charlie reconnect, thanks to Telstra.
‘S’pose it makes sense,’ Charles had grunted over the phone the Christmas Dan had posted the mobile. ‘I’ll be paying you back,’ he’d said, stubborn pride clear, even though the reception wasn’t. That had been three—no four—years ago.
And just where was the mobile phone now, eh Dad?
The persistent image of the thing sitting in a cupboard, flat as a tack, or in Charlie’s car rather than in his pocket in case of emergency, had left Dan tired and grumpy. Not to mention the headache from driving into headlights. Not just any headache either. The wrecking ball kind that perforated your eye sockets and distorted your vision.
He’d never been more relieved to see that sign: Welcome to Calingarry Crossing.
All the times he’d thought about seeing Maggie, never had their meeting looked anything like the scene that greeted Dan as he entered the main bar of Calingarry Crossing pub: a room full of mostly unshaven, bleary-eyed blokes who smelled a lot like wet dog. Some were probably the very same locals who’d once condemned the teenage Dan as a no-good lout.
The scene tightened the spring in his gut.
Seeing Maggie was an instant cure-all.
‘Dan, thank goodness.’ She rushed over with a fresh mug of filter coffee, which he took gladly, trying to read her expression—the tension in her smile and in the fine lines around her eyes. ‘I’ve been so worried about you driving all the way in this weather.’
‘I’ve done worse. Thanks for worrying, though.’ He wished they were meeting somewhere other than the pub, without the eyes of the town on them. He would have liked a hug hello. A smile seemed such a poor substitute given the circumstances. ‘Thanks for the call, too. I gather there’s no news yet?’ Maggie could only shake her head. It was then Dan noticed the puffy, bloodshot eyes. ‘Aw, and Maggie, I’m sorry about your dad.’
‘Okay, who have we got here? Rally around.’ A woman’s voice rang out over the pub noise, diverting Dan’s attention. They had a fresh team from Saddleton eager to start a first-light search upstream.
The woman in orange unrolled a large sheet of paper, anchoring the area map with empty glasses at the corners. Dan heard someone say her name, Kylie Swift, and Dan thought her the most unlikely looking SES Commander. She was short and a tad dumpy. She wore glasses perched on the tip of a ski-lift nose dotted with freckles that made her look twelve, and had a beaming smile. She was a woman, which meant better attention to detail, and the type of person to make a stressful situation easier. She also clearly had the respect of her unit and Dan knew good commanders got results. That was the reassurance he needed. The right woman was on the job and he knew his father could survive a stormy night, wet and in below-average temperatures. Dan could hear his father’s words now, ‘Being cold never killed anyone.’
‘We’re doing it by grid this morning, fellas.’ Kylie handed out a smaller version of the same map. ‘Take a printout and take a partner. Callum’s got fresh two-ways powered-up and ready to go for those who need ’em. You’ll call in every half hour with coordinates and an update. Clear?’
The fresh surge of orange overalls and peak caps spilling out of the hotel clashed with the drenched and bedraggled search crew checking back in and handing over their equipment to the next team.
‘Where do you want us?’ Maggie heard the woman’s voice from where she stood behind the bar setting out a tray of freshly washed glasses. She looked over to see Noah and Fiona at the side door.
The girl looked like a giant orange Gumby in SES overalls at least two sizes too big, pinched in at the waist with a plaited leather belt. An orange cap concealed her usual curls and large hoop earrings dangled below.
‘Us?’ Kylie asked, looking the pair over. ‘Only trained personnel. Sorry, guys,’ she said, smiling eyes giving Fiona what Noah called the elevator. ‘Although if our communications drop out we could probably do with those earrings of yours to re-establish radio reception.’
Noah’s snort landed him an elbow to the ribs and Fiona was about to huff off when Dan jumped in.
‘You two can come with me.’
Kylie looked like she was about to object, but changed her mind.
‘It’s all right,’ Dan said. ‘I figured I’d check around the property. It’s been done, but I know the place better than anyone.’
Kylie seemed happy to agree. ‘Keep in touch by phone.’
‘Right then you two, come on.’
‘Wait.’ Maggie rushed over to the door of the pub and yelled over the sound of heavy rain on the metal awning. ‘You can’t do this, Fiona!’
‘Of course I can. I want to help. I’m fine,’ she called back in a tone that said she was unaccustomed to hearing the words ‘can’t’ and ‘Fiona’ in the same sentence.
Maggie leaned down and slipped her Blunnies off, one boot at a time. ‘You might be fine, but those little canvas espadrilles will last two minutes out there. These should fit you.’
Dan’s laugh surprised him, the momentary euphoria unfamiliar to the street-hardened cop. Very few things shocked Dan after his years of policing, especially out here in the country. Extremes were normal in this part of the world: louder, stronger, more aromatic, more colourful, more amazing. They all helped zap life back into his anaesthetised senses.
He was back in Calingarry.
He was with Maggie.
He was going to find his father.
And he was going to start making up for lost time with them all.
After checking the old house and the property immediately around it, Dan asked Noah to drive so he could concentrate on the fence lines by shining a spotlight out the window. The various sheds that dotted the property Dan could easily check on foot. Fiona had insisted she accompany him to the first shed, where she walked through a spider web. Such a hullaballoo Dan had never heard as she raced back to the car, screaming ‘Get it off me! Get it off me!’ at Noah. The old sow sheds and tumbledown structures housing dilapidated machinery parts and scrap metal were not safe in the dark anyway.
The mood in the car was quieter as they headed back to the pub. Dan had been certain he’d find old Charlie trapped somehow, like he’d been pinned under his quad bike that time. Convinced no spider in its right mind would weave a web across a gate, Fiona volunteered to open and close each one, and although enthusiastic at the start, the girl had so far slipped in muddy tyre ruts three times, much to her chagrin and Noah’s delight.
Dan assumed her disappearance as they arrived at the hotel was to change back into Fiona Bailey-Blair. Although maybe not completely, he thought. There was a little bit of magic about Calingarry Crossing that seemed to transform people.
‘Hot shower for you, Noah,’ Maggie said while sorting a tangle of hot, dry towels that had been dumped on a table in the corner of the room.
‘Maggie? You’re crying.’ Dan’s stomach lurched. ‘Have you heard something?’
‘No. Nothing.’ She hesitated in a way that told Dan there was more. ‘I wish they’d find him. It’s been so long. Where can he be?’
Dan slipped out of the borrowed Driza-Bone and hooked it on the wall-mounted hat rack inside the front entrance.
‘Try not to worry. I’m not,’ he said, hoping he sounded convincing. ‘Tough old bastards like him don’t go down too easy.’
‘He’s hardly a tough old bastard.’ Maggie tossed Dan a dry towel and he patted his face dry before running the towel through his hair and along the back of his neck so it draped over his shoulders. ‘You need to get to know him again.’
‘If it’s not too late,’ he grumbled.
‘Don’t let it be too late.’
Dan hadn’t considered the impact of his words until he heard the sniffle and saw Maggie wiping a tear from her cheek.
‘Shit, I’m an insensitive clod. Your dad. I’m sorry, Maggie.’ Instinctively, Dan reached out and wrapped both arms around her shoulders, pulling her close until he was cradling her head to his chest, his face buried in the sweet-smelling tangle of Maggie’s hair. ‘Don’t cry,’ he whispered, his lips brushing the edge of her forehead. When she didn’t pull away, Dan knew he should. ‘Hey, come on, look at me. I know you miss him, and here’s me firing from the mouth.’
‘It’s not that. It’s not about my dad.’
‘What, then? Talk to me.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t think about Charles earlier, when it was still daylight.’
‘You’re shaking.’ Dan led her to a chair and made her sit before perching on one opposite so that their knees knitted together. ‘Blaming yourself does no one any good. Besides, Charles Ireland is not your responsibility. None of these characters are. You told me your father spent the last part of his life in the pub administering his very own special spiritual guidance, but that doesn’t mean you’re obliged to carry on the tradition.’
‘But—’
Dan hushed her with a finger to her lips. He was sitting so close to her now, close enough to reach out and tuck the one stubborn tress of hair behind her ear. Tired, worried eyes stared back, confused and blinking, his heart beating with perfect synchronicity. What were the odds of finding himself sitting opposite the woman he’d been trying to talk to since the reunion, to explain, to confess how he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since that night, and even before? When they eventually found the old bugger Dan would have to remember to thank him for dragging him out here.
‘Maggie, you protect people. It’s what you do, always have done. I remember that.’ Dan saw questioning in her eyes. He smiled. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I remember everything about you. The thing is, you haven’t changed that much. I see you still protecting people. You’ve protected your son all his life. You’re still protecting Brian, God knows why. And while you’re doing all that, Maggie, who’s protecting you?’
He saw the Magpie swoop, her glare a warning. He’d dared get too close to the nest by talking about her family.
Idiot! He seemed to have left at home the self-control he prided himself on, even when confronted by the worst of people in the worst of circumstances. He felt stripped bare and vulnerable sitting here, desperate to offload every thought that had disabled his brain these past weeks. He had the urge to get it all out, get it said, and then he could start dealing with the fallout.
‘Just hear me out, Maggie. All I’m saying is that if you won’t let anyone protect you, then you’d best start protecting yourself. Better still you could let me help. I could protect you a little, too.’
Maggie reared up, her hands pressing into her lap, exasperation responsible for the husky timbre in her voice. ‘Why are you doing this, Dan?’
‘Because since the reunion I’ve been going crazy. It’s been impossible to think about anything else except Calingarry Crossing and you.’
‘Me? What are you on about? I don’t fit into your life, Dan.’
‘Yes, you do. I want my life to change and I want you to be a part of it.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘No, Maggie. Ridiculous is me—a grown man with a life so desperately mundane I was about to watch a Tom Cruise movie last night. Your message saved me.’
Maggie didn’t laugh with him. She didn’t smile, grunt—nothing. She just sat, staring and blinking with big, beautiful, mind-blowing brown eyes.
‘So, sitting here now and telling me you want me, even though you know I’m married, is your way of protecting me?’ Maggie accelerated out of the chair so fast it fell backwards, crashing to the floor. ‘I don’t think so. You don’t need me to bring about change. Babies tend to do that all by themselves. You have Tracy to think about.’
‘Hey, slow down.’ Dan’s palms waved in truce. ‘I love Tracy as the mother of my children, but our marriage is over. What she does is not my business. I need to find my own happiness.’ Maggie tried to speak, her jaw dropping, but Dan wasn’t finished. ‘And while I know you’re married, and while we’re on the subject, I don’t think you should be married—to Brian—any more.’
‘What say we leave my marriage out of all this and talk about you and Tracy and the baby.’
The only thing more intense than the mood was their sudden silence, making the moment more awkward, her glare more piercing. Dan cursed under his breath. He knew this wasn’t the time, but he had her to himself. Any minute now the SES crew would be walking in with his father and Dan’s focus would shift. Things needed to be said and he was going to sit right here and bloody finish, or else …
‘Please, Maggie,’ Dan grabbed her hands, tugging on them a little more roughly than he’d intended. She stood above him, resisting, a single tear rolling down her cheek and he realised from the look in her eyes she wasn’t angry. ‘I don’t want my past, and that includes my family, who I love very much, to define me. Can’t a guy want more from life?’
‘What is it with you men? You decide at some point in your life that it’s okay to dump the parts holding you back, but saying you still love them makes everything all right?’
‘Maggie, Maggie—’
‘Don’t bloody Maggie, Maggie me, Dan. Why are you doing this? This isn’t the sort of person I thought you were.’ Maggie seemed to concertina back into the chair, her body telling him she didn’t want to hear any more. ‘This is terrible. Terrible.’
The craziness of the situation warranted laughter. If she hadn’t looked so serious, Dan might have given her a thump on the knee and told her to buck up, like he did with Emily.
He didn’t do either.
‘What are you talking about? What’s so terrible that you have to say it twice?’
Maggie simply shook her head.
This was definitely not the reaction to his coming back to Calingarry Crossing that he’d hoped for.
‘Say you felt something the night of the reunion, too. I’m not mistaken, am I, Maggie? Let’s talk about that.’
‘Now is hardly the time, Dan. You should be more concerned that your father’s lost somewhere out there.’
Nothing spoiled the moment like being castigated by the woman you’re falling in love with.
Dan matched her gaze, his voice taking on the same ticked-off tone. ‘My father! Yes. That would be the man who turned his back on me when I needed him, wouldn’t it? For some crazy bloody reason I am concerned, which is why I’ve driven through the night to be here. Until a few minutes ago, talking to you was a helpful distraction. So no, Maggie, I am not a heartless bastard like my father. I do
care.’
‘I know you care. I didn’t mean … I’m just thinking about the baby.’
‘Baby? Why do you keep going on about—?’
‘Dan, calm down and listen to me.’ Maggie used her mothering voice, the kind he guessed she’d used whenever she had to settle Noah. To his surprise it worked. ‘Don’t you care about Tracy having a baby?’
‘Do I care? Ah, well, of course I care about Tracy having a baby at her age. I’d care even more if the baby was mine.’
Maggie’s head jerked back, as if someone had pulled her ponytail. ‘It’s not?’
‘I told you, Tracy and I are separated.’
‘Sort of.’
‘Pardon?’
‘You said you were “sort of” separated and that you’d stay together while the kids settled into Year 10.’
‘I meant we weren’t going to do the official divorce thing straight up.’ The laugh he’d held back earlier refused to stay put. ‘Trace and I haven’t been together for a while, and not like that for a bloody lot longer.’
‘Baby. Not. Yours,’ Maggie repeated as though the concept didn’t quite compute.
God, the woman looked even more beautiful when she was thinking.
‘I knew she was seeing someone; I’m not a total moron. Besides, Tracy keeps a secret like a dirty beer glass keeps a head.’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘My point, exactly. While the arrangement might sound strange, it’s totally mutual,’ Dan explained. ‘We made a conscious decision to keep things together for twelve months. The kids were just starting high school and we figured that was a big enough adjustment. We only decided to make it official with a divorce when she told me about the new bloke. That’s when I moved out. Guess I should be flattered. Apparently he’s like me, only better—whatever that means.’ Dan laughed, pleased to see Maggie’s lips waver into some semblance of a smile. He wanted her to laugh so they could move on, but her face said she wasn’t in the same place. ‘I’ve really stuffed this up, haven’t I? Forgive me. I’m an idiot for not telling you all this outright. I wasn’t keeping secrets by not telling you at the reunion. None of it seemed to work into the conversation at the start and I had no idea how distracting it would be to see you again, or how it would make me feel. Then …’ he shrugged, ‘… look, I didn’t want to destroy the moment, okay?
Simmering Season Page 36