A Reason To Stay

by Linda Charles

  He eyeballed her. ‘You’re not going to like this, but I have a deal for you.’

  ‘A deal?’ She grinned at him.

  ‘Come on, Rach,’ he sang out with a lilt in his voice that made her stomach quiver. ‘Give me an answer. You up for it or not? My terms are non-negotiable.’

  ‘Oh?’ she whispered, and stepped forward wanting to touch him. The sudden rush of tender feeling took her by surprise. A small voice screeched inside her head, you’re only here for two weeks.

  The glint in his eyes darkened. She wavered and took a step back.

  You fence-sitter.

  A smile quivered on her lips. ‘Hit me with your worst, I’m up for it.’

  Chapter 6

  The following afternoon Rach stared out the back window of Bert’s office in the bakery with one eye on the side street of the council chambers and the other on her watch. It was nearly five and Mike should be finished work soon. She and Shar were fast running out of time to get her ready.

  ‘I can’t believe you agreed to this,’ grumbled Shar as she navigated her way around an assortment of empty boxes and shopping bags in Bert’s office in the bakery to stand behind Rach.

  Rach couldn’t either. Thank God for Bonnie’s Country Threads and their little hidden corner that specialised in ladies undergarments. Many a Saturday morning she’d crossed the street to Bonnie’s and waited while Nancy squeezed herself into the latest girdle. Thankfully they now had a lovely range of body shapers.

  ‘It’s only a run. It’s no big deal.’

  Shar giggled. ‘Some run when you’ve clearly spent a small fortune buying designer underwear to go with designer leggings.’

  Rachael bent and gripped the top of her leggings which held fast at her knees. ‘I have to get designer leggings to look semi-decent at Gordon’s team get-togethers. Ready?’ she asked.

  Shar stood behind her and gripped the leggings from behind.

  ‘Remember, this is what you paid top dollar for, these spring-loaded leggings are designed to get you your man.’

  Rachael pursed her lips. She hadn’t brought them to get a man; she’d brought them so, should she get a chance for exercise, she wouldn’t have to borrow from Shar. She was long over secondhand clothing. But this was the first time she’d ever worn the gear.

  ‘Pull,’ she called.

  Together they pulled, and inch by inch the leggings encased themselves around her thighs until they fitted snug all the way to her waist.

  ‘There, you’re ready,’ said Shar as she slumped into the nearest chair. ‘I’m exhausted. You can always run with me and the Bush Babes. We only run twice a week.’

  ‘No thanks, Shar. I think this run will be a one-off anyway.’

  She walked around the room stretching and bending. All day her mind had been churning about running through the streets. Her uncoordinated body was not fit, but at least she looked the part.

  She grinned as she did a little twirl. ‘I’m trussed up tighter than a chicken.’

  ‘So, answer this,’ said Shar as she swung her legs over the arm of the chair. ‘How is running with Mike part of a deal to get this place painted?’

  Rachael closed down her laptop.

  ‘Mike’s bought a renovator’s delight and he suggested that if I help him paint some rooms at his place, he’ll help me paint this place. Simple.’

  Her sister threw back her head and laughed out loud. ‘Oh god, Rach, you don’t know, do you? He didn’t tell you, did he?’

  ‘What?’ She shot a quick look at Shar whose eyes were wide with delight.

  ‘Mike’s only bought the old Donaldson place. There must be at least five bedrooms there, and the lounge room is huge—’ she spread her arms wide, ‘—humongous.’

  Rachael let out a soft groan.

  She knew the place. It had been vacated ever since old Donaldson senior was found dead on his back verandah. Years earlier his wife had been found dead in the front bedroom and until the day he died too, the old man had sat on his front verandah screaming obscenities to anybody brave enough to walk past his place; he’d been mean, cruel and spiteful.

  Shar sat up, rubbing her hands. ‘You walked into that one. The Donaldsons have tried to sell that place for years.’

  Despite herself, Rach shivered. ‘We’re going there tonight. I promised.’

  Her sister walked out of the small room with a cheesy grin on her face. ‘Good luck. Don’t call me to come and collect you. You’re on your own. That place is haunted.’

  None of that mattered, a deal was a deal. Mike was new to town and on his own. He had no choice but to ask for help. Experience had taught her that when things really mattered, when things were critical in your life, you were on your own. People offered help, offered plenty of advice, but were missing when it mattered most.

  She picked up the recipes she’d printed earlier. The pastries looked gorgeous and sophisticated. It would be a completely new range for the bakery and she hoped her plan worked. People bought with their eyes, didn’t they?

  Tomorrow she’d start on trying out a few new ones and test out the locals. She’d do a little bit of her own reconnecting with people. It shouldn’t be too hard; she’d grown up with most of them.

  Putting the photos away she started clearing up the mess in the back room.

  Whatever possessed him to buy such a big home? If ever there was a man with a huge question mark above his head it was Mike O’Malley. Why would such an educated man choose to live in Mindalby? Where did he see his future?

  The doorbell tinkled.

  ‘Anybody in? Rach? Shar?’

  Mike’s voice rumbled, deep and low, into the small shop; Rach thought it sounded like dark honey oozing slowly out of a jar and wondered if he sang. Don’t go there. He’d already roped her into running and she wasn’t going to risk another out of body experience.

  ‘Come in, Mike. She’s down in the back room working.’

  Sometime between the tinkle of the bell and Mike walking into the back room her heart rate shifted gear. By the time she’d swung around, Mike was standing in the doorway, dwarfing the room and everything about him. His eyes swept over her and a rush of heat ballooned throughout her body. She wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or from the knowing look in his dark eyes.

  ‘Ready?’

  With so much holding her in, her legs felt as if they were wading through thick mud. Who knew that new running gear could be such an impediment to movement?

  ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

  His eyes met hers. ‘It’ll only be us. Nathan’s running with the boys this evening.’

  She held his gaze; she needed his calming presence to get her through this.

  She knew the Donaldson place was three blocks away at the end of a very long road. Even though Mike’s demeanour seemed reassuring, cold hard dread gnawed at her insides.

  ‘If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t. You know you don’t have a willing pupil here.’

  Mike chuckled. ‘By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be addicted to it and you’ll run every day of your life.’

  She followed him out of the shop and gave an amused Shar a nod on the way out.

  The icy breeze whipped about her body. Suddenly Mike was in front of her, blocking the wind. Above Mike’s head the tops of the trees further on down the road were swaying in the breeze. He stood still in front of her like a granite rock, firm, secure and committed.

  ‘Follow me. We’ll take it slowly.’

  Before she could respond he’d turned and started a slow jog down Burton Park Road.

  He was as good as his word and by the time they had jogged three blocks she was happy with her progress.

  They jogged past all her old familiar haunts—the bowling club where they’d held her twenty-first, the local pool where she used to swim after school—and by the time they turned into Locker Road her body had fallen into a nice rhythm. She was warm and her fear had all but gone.

  At t
he end of Locker Road Mike stopped.

  By the time she’d caught up with him he’d jumped over a low wooden fence with the gate tied to the fence post. Instantly light flooded the front yard of the old Donaldson place. On the verandah, Mike was patting a dog and in the corner a cat was stretching out on a rug where old man Donaldson used to sit.

  She stood by the tiny gate as fragments of memory filtered into her brain.

  Two large apple trees at the front stood as silent sentinels. Shar had dared her to climb one of the trees and sit on the front branch for a full five minutes. On the second minute old man Donaldson ran through his home, bursting out onto his patio screaming at her in a frightening rage.

  She smiled at the memory. It had been the longest three minutes of her life.

  ‘Okay?’ Mike’s voice sliced into her memories.

  She nodded at him. ‘Better than I expected. I can still walk.’

  Her words cemented her surprise. The last time she ran was down the hall at work, to catch a lift, for a meeting with Gordon.

  A border collie ran up to her and sniffed about her feet.

  ‘That’s Molly, don’t mind her. She’s an old sook. Behind you is Eliza. She came with the property.’

  Rach bent down and stared into the border collie’s soulful eyes. ‘I know we’re going to be buddies, aren’t we?’ She ruffled her neck and Molly responded by rubbing against her legs.

  Together she and Molly followed Mike down the narrow pathway leading to his backyard. As they turned the corner lights came on.

  She let out a gasp.

  Shar’s definition of humongous did not come close.

  At the far end of the yard were a couple of old knock-down sheds. In front of the sheds were mounds of dirt alongside an old forlorn-looking trellis in an overgrown garden bed. An old barbecue sat propped up against a side wall of an empty chook pen.

  ‘Why did you buy such a big place?’ The question flew out before she could think straight.

  In her childhood she could only dream about growing up with such a large backyard. The Henderson home had started its life as a worker’s cottage. Over the years Nancy and Bert had added the second floor, but the plot was narrow.

  She estimated you could fit three of the Hendersons’ home on the Donaldson plot.

  Mike kicked at a tuft of grass.

  She went up to him and leaned against the clothesline, the centrepiece of his backyard. ‘Well?’

  Mike nodded and rubbed at his jaw. ‘I’m one of six kids, Rach, and in a few months my father and some of my family are coming out. I need to house them somewhere.’

  She grinned at him as a little tension eased out of her body. For some inane reason she’d imagined he had a woman stashed away somewhere. Why would that matter?

  ‘But such a big place?’

  For a single bloke he was going to a lot of expense and trouble to house his family. His family. Guilt like hot molten steel started to pour into her gut as her mind riffled through all the times she’d put herself first.

  ‘I want to make some roots, and I loved this place from the get-go.’

  She swung her head up, surprised at such a personal admission.

  He sat on his verandah, his long legs dangling over the edge. He smiled at her, a nice easy smile she could get sucked into liking very much.

  ‘I want a home, Rach. I want the lot.’

  The honesty and simplicity of his words caused her gut to quiver.

  Shar’s words ‘he’s a good man who’s going to make someone a lovely husband’ swirled into her brain. He moved and in the soft light she saw a wistfulness skitter across his face. She caught his gaze and he gave her a half smile.

  A sudden hit of envy shook her. He’d find love and satisfaction. No woman on earth could walk away from such a good wholesome man. Her mind stretched a little further and pictured his hallway, a gallery showing off family photos.

  Her life would be different. She’d be busy with a career which, fingers crossed, would be littered with illustrious milestones.

  Hard questions, difficult questions, clawed at her brain, but one potent one dominated above all the others. Would her work give her the real bone-deep love and satisfaction she yearned for?

  ‘What about you? Don’t you want a home, a family?’ he asked.

  She took a deep breath and was glad to be standing in the semi-darkness. Her thoughts were going to places she’d kept hidden for too long. Work dominated her life; it kept her so busy she didn’t have to think about the uncharted parts of her life.

  She grinned at him, her stock answer coming to the fore. ‘I haven’t got time to fit all that in. I suppose one day.’

  He eyed her, his expression serious, and her heart beat ratcheted up a notch.

  ‘When “one day” turns up, will you know?’

  Embarrassed, she shifted from one leg to the other. ‘Of course I will, doesn’t everyone?’

  ‘Or, maybe it’s been and gone while you were checking your emails?’

  Her breath stalled in her throat. I hope not.

  He could be right. How many times had she envied the secretaries on a Friday night as they jostled for space in the ladies toilets getting ready for a night out on the town while she stayed on and worked?

  She swallowed hard. ‘Very funny.’

  Some questions were too hard to ask and far too difficult to face. Her career dominated her life. If she didn’t fight and get her partnership now, she could kiss it goodbye. The competition was everywhere and not only the lawyers she worked with, there were outsiders knocking on the partnership door as well. None of that could be underestimated.

  She kept that thought at the forefront of her mind as she pushed herself off the clothesline pole. ‘Aren’t you going to show me around this palatial renovator’s delight you call home?’

  The boyish Mike returned. He jumped down off the verandah and in half a dozen strides stood beside her. He held out his arm. ‘Shall we?’

  She wrapped her arm around his. Her skin tingled at the touch. Oh god, she had her work cut out fighting that reaction.

  By the back door, head down and tail wagging, was Molly. Eliza came running across the verandah and walked between Mike’s legs.

  He pushed open the weather-beaten door and she stepped over the threshold into a large cavernous room. One half was a lounge room and the other half a dining room. The lounge was a comfortable plush-looking three-seater with a few scatter cushions. It was the type of lounge that beckoned you to flop down with a good book. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished. His dining-room table was pushed up against a side wall with books and magazines stacked high on it.

  She settled on a stool by the kitchen table. The walls had been sanded back ready for painting, the hardwood floors looked in good condition but not yet ready for a final polish.

  ‘You certainly have your work cut out for you.’

  ‘A room at a time, that’s my theory,’ he said, ‘and I’m sticking to it.’

  Within minutes Mike had put out a dish of food each for Molly and Eliza. Then he bent down and disappeared from view. A minute later he popped up with a triumphant expression on his face, holding aloft a bottle of red.

  He grinned at her. ‘This or coffee?’

  She pointed to the red. ‘That’s perfect. So, which room first? You must have a plan stashed away somewhere.’

  Her phone buzzed. She jumped up and pulled it from her pocket.

  She grimaced. ‘Excuse me, I have to take this, it’s Rosie.’

  She turned and answered her phone. A high-pitched screech burst through the line nearly piercing her eardrum. She shook her head.

  When would they improve the service out here?

  ‘Sorry, Mike, I’ll have to put it on loud speaker.’

  He nodded and mouthed okay.

  ‘Rosie? Can you hear me?’

  ‘I can now.’ Rosie’s voice echoed into the room.

  ‘You’re working late. What’s going on?’
<
br />   ‘Billing. The Smithson case settled today and Gordon wants to bill them while they’re on a high.’

  She smiled at that; the appreciation curve with clients was not very long.

  ‘I’m calling to warn you. Gordon’s sending you docs tonight on a new matter with Rosemore and he’s got a meeting at ten with the client, so he’d like your take on things before then.’

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Damn.

  ‘Also, Gordon wants a ten-minute chat sometime this week to discuss the New York office secondment with you and Oliver Chase.’ Rosie’s words came out in a rush.

  Rachael froze mid-movement. She tightened her grip on her phone. Oliver Chase! She’d been asking Gordon about the New York gig for the past eighteen months and now Oliver was sniffing around for it. Trust him.

  What a disaster.

  She paced in a circle, stunned by Rosie’s revelation.

  What more could she tell Gordon? Eighteen months ago at her six-monthly People Equals Purpose meeting she’d presented him with a set of strong strategic business-related reasons why she should be the next secondee to the New York office. Since then, they had discussed it on several occasions.

  In New York she would be working alongside key partners, the main decision-makers in the firm, and with major clients; it provided her with the best launching pad to strengthen her argument to be nominated as a partner in the Sydney office. New York was crucial to her partnership campaign.

  A shadow played on the wall opposite. She turned and saw Mike put away the bottle of red.

  ‘Thanks, Rosie. Tell Gordon I’ll fit in whenever he wants that call. Speak soon.’

  She hung her head as disappointment took the place of anger. How could she justify giving up an evening with Mike to work? She would—she had to. Work was her life, her lifeline to a bigger better life.

  She stood in the centre of his lounge room at a total loss.

  ‘Sorry about that.’

  He rubbed his jaw. ‘That must be at least three sorries in five minutes. By my reckoning that must be a record of some kind.’

  ‘It’s two actually, and you can bank on another lawyer trying to break it.’

  She winced. It was a poor attempt at a joke. Normally the thought of starting a new project at work lifted her spirits, but not this time.