Where There's a Will

by Virginia Hale

  “You’re not her type.”

  “You’d be surprised. She’s hot—I’m willing to put in the hard yards.”

  Dylan knew Holly was only playing, but she couldn’t laugh about it. She just couldn’t. “If you don’t need a lift, I think I might take off now…” she murmured.

  Accepting the chaste kiss Dylan pressed to the corner of her mouth, Holly nodded.

  “Hey, Dyl?”

  She turned. “Yeah?”

  “Seeing as you’re a millionaire and all, maybe you should think about buying a new car.”

  “What’s wrong with my car?”

  “It’s older than the homestead.”

  * * *

  “It’s so nice having you home,” Maggie whispered.

  Dylan looked up from pouring cake batter into the muffin tray and smiled at her mother. Maggie stared down at the kettle as it boiled, and Dylan watched her mother’s face crumple.

  “Mum, what’s wrong?” she whispered. She dropped the spoon to the counter and looked to her father in the living room watching the TV at a deafening volume. “Is it Dad?”

  Maggie nodded.

  “Oh my god. What’s wrong with him?” she whispered.

  “Nothing’s wrong with him,” Maggie sobbed. Dylan’s heart fractured. Maggie waved a hand, shushing Dylan. “He’s fine, he’s fine.”

  “Then why are you crying?” she whispered.

  “Because he’s—he’s a bastard.”

  Dylan exhaled sharply. “Come here.” She pulled Maggie’s frail, slender form against her own. As she rubbed a hand up and down her mother’s back, she felt it expand beneath her touch as Maggie drew a shuddery breath. Dylan tightened her grip.

  “I know he’s been through so much but he can just be such a grump,” Maggie whispered. “I’m so tired, Dyl.”

  Dylan’s jaw set hard as she tried to fight back tears. “I know, I know.” But she didn’t. She knew it was difficult—she was there almost every day herself—but she didn’t live with her father, wasn’t aiding his recovery twenty-four-seven like her mother. Considering how much they needed Dylan at the club, she was in and out of the house for no longer than a few hours each visit. She hadn’t realised her father’s heart attack was taking such a toll. Her mum had taken on so much. She was doing the best she could. After everything they’d been through with Kyle, Dylan thought her mother could handle anything. But she wasn’t unshakable. She was a woman who had a permanently broken heart, and sometimes, that was hard for Dylan to remember.

  With a kiss pressed to Maggie’s cheek, Dylan pulled back. She squeezed her mother’s elbows. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower? A long one. Go on. I’ll look after this.”

  Maggie swiped at her wet cheeks and nodded. She stopped by the fridge and swivelled. “Don’t you say anything to him,” she warned.

  Dylan nodded. She turned back to the muffin tray and swiped up the drizzled batter between the cups with her finger.

  “Dylan.”

  “Okay, calm down, I won’t.” Still, she refused to turn and meet her mother’s eye—she couldn’t make any promises.

  As she watched the little cakes rise in the oven, she seethed at the memory of every little snap her father had made that night. She’d brushed off the odd snarky comment throughout dinner and put it down to his general moodiness—he was an independent man, and she knew recovery was making him restless, probably mildly depressed. But that wasn’t an excuse. Dylan could look past a lot of things if it meant avoiding confrontation—the saga with Beth had only proven that—but she absolutely would not have her mother suffering unnecessarily if there was something she could do about it.

  The shower was still running, the pipes humming above the kitchen. Dylan went into the lounge room. She stopped in front of the La-Z-Boy.

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “You need to stop being a dick.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Mum’s at her wit’s end trying to run you everywhere and help you shower and make you food, and you need to cut it with the ‘poor me’ attitude.”

  “I’m recovering from surgery! I had a double bypass,” he said, as though she weren’t aware.

  Dylan scoffed. “And she watched you have it. Now, you’re not an invalid, and she’s not your nurse—she’s your wife. You need to stop moping about and start treating her a little bit better. It’s…it’s time to start appreciating her and everything she’s doing for you.”

  Jack stared up at her, his expression blank. He dropped his gaze to the remote in his lap.

  Dylan shifted from foot to foot. “We know you’re not well, Dad, and my heart breaks for you and what you’ve been through, it really does.” She fought back tears. “But Mum’s about to go off the deep end. It would make her life a hell of a lot easier if you just said thank you every once in a while, if you were just that little bit kinder…”

  He didn’t look up, but his brow furrowed deeper.

  The oven timer rang out. “So,” Dylan said awkwardly, “You want blueberry or sultana?”

  He looked up at her through his lashes. “Blueberry, please.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Beth swivelled in the office chair and checked the time on the computer screen. “9.03.” The afternoon had passed in the blink of an eye, and she was glad for it. Spending the entire evening alone in her empty apartment was a bleak prospect.

  Since her return, she’d barely seen Rose. Her landlord was over in Cessnock so often that it almost seemed she had moved there. Beth had met Rose’s new girlfriend once during the first week of her return, and it was easy to understand why Rose was constantly away—Shannon was gorgeous, and one of the friendliest women Beth had ever met.

  Things had been remarkably different in the winter. Each night she’d drift off to sleep to the murmur of Rose’s television from the floor below, knowing that in a few short hours she would be driving across town through fog to watch the sun rise through Elma’s kitchen window. Hours after that, a soulful blonde swallowed up in an oversized dressing gown would crack eggs into the frypan while Beth typed away at her book.

  Life in the Lakes had changed for Beth. Convinced she’d be renting for a while—despite what she’d told Dylan, purchasing in the area was a kind of permanency Beth wasn’t confident she was ready for just yet—she’d almost completely unpacked this time. It was going to be a huge change of pace to live in a small town, but it was what she’d come to crave in the past six months away. In the Lakes, she felt safe, secure.

  In her twenties, she’d loved the fast pace of city life, but her return to Sydney had only reinforced that it was no longer right. There was nothing tying her there any more. Not a job, not a girlfriend. Her parents were always so preoccupied with her brother’s young children, his growing family—this year, they hadn’t even invited Beth to the family holiday house over the Christmas break.

  As for the loneliness? Well, the loneliness was just as loud in the country as the city.

  She reached across the new oak desk and turned off the fan. Instantly, heat broke over her back, around the band of her bra. Eugh. Brian’s budget had left her to choose between installing aircon in the office—formerly Dylan’s loft—or the arrival of a third staff member in March. She’d chosen the latter.

  Beth flicked off the large desktop computer and the upstairs lights. In the kitchen, she grabbed her blazer from the back of a chair. Under the watchful eyes of the mannequins, she turned off the separate aircon system in the parlour and tried to lift her spirits with the promise of takeaway for dinner as she locked the back door behind her.

  Beth’s clammy grip tightened on her phone as her pulse seemed to slip into rhythm with the dial tone. Oh god, what am I going to do if she doesn’t pick up? What if she—

  The dial tone ceased. Then: “Yeah?”

  Her heartbeat thundered. “Dylan. It’s Beth.”

  “I know. It’s twenty-eighteen. Phones have caller ID.”

 
There was an echo passing through the line, Dylan’s words cutting in and out.

  “Dylan, I—”

  “I can barely hear you, Beth.”

  “I know, I’m in a bad spot for reception. Look, I hate to have to call you but…my car’s broken down between the homestead and Rose’s house.”

  On the other end of the line, Dylan was quiet.

  “I called Rose,” she continued, “but she’s over in Cessnock.”

  Silence.

  “Dylan?”

  “Are you asking me to come and jump you?”

  “I—”

  “Where are you exactly?”

  Beth’s ears burned as Dylan’s Jeep rounded the bend, the high beams of her car blinding as she approached the intersection of Old Quarry Road and William Street. Dylan parked on the dirt verge, just behind Beth’s car. Torch in hand, she climbed out.

  Quickly, Beth pressed off the side of her car. “Thank you so much for coming.” She was glad for the darkness that concealed the sudden heat that flushed across her skin as Dylan came closer. “I’ve had my hazard lights on, but I don’t think anybody passing has been able to see me through the bushes, you know, to stop and offer a hand…” Stop talking. You’re rambling. She gripped the base of her neck. “I had nobody else to call. Truly.”

  Refusing to meet Beth’s gaze as she passed her, Dylan shrugged. “I’d finished work anyway.” She popped Beth’s bonnet and shined the torchlight into the engine. “It doesn’t look like it’s overheated,” she murmured. “How long have you been here?”

  “About an hour.”

  “You called me twenty minutes ago?”

  “Yes, I debated over that for forty. Can you fix it?”

  Dylan tilted her head. “Do I look like a mechanic?” She slammed the hood with a ka-thunk. “Come on, lock it up and I’ll drive you home.”

  Starting the walk back to her car, Dylan turned. “Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there?”

  “You said you’d bring jumper cables…”

  “No,” Dylan stressed as she pulled open the driver’s door. “I made a smart-ass remark about jumping you. I don’t even own jumper cables.” She gestured to the car. “Get in, and I’ll drive you home.”

  Beth looked between the vehicles. “I can’t just leave my car here…”

  “Yes, you can. Get it towed in the morning.”

  Beth took a moment to weigh up her options before she reached into the car to turn off the ignition. The central locking system beeped, red lights flashing once, twice, behind her as she stumbled across the dirt in her five-inch heels to Dylan’s Jeep.

  Beth flinched as tree branches swatted the frame of the rolled-down passenger window and the roof of the Jeep. The scent of pine was fresh, crisp. Where in the hell is she taking me? Dylan flicked on the high beams as they made their way further into the heart of the bush.

  “Are we allowed to drive down here?” Until now, Beth hadn’t even known the shortcut existed.

  “No,” Dylan admitted. “It’s supposed to be just for rangers.”

  The track narrowed. Beth gripped the console as the left front tire dipped into a pothole.

  “For their vehicles?”

  “No, for their horses.”

  She wet her lips. “Are you messing with me again?”

  “No,” Dylan said, a note of malcontent in her tone. “It’s really just for horses.”

  She studied Dylan’s face in the semi-dark. Tied in a knot atop her head, her hair was wet, darker than its usual close-to-platinum blond. Her gaze tracked lower, past Dylan’s neck to the black singlet that clung to the softness of her middle, and then further, to the swell of muscle below the line of her shorts, flexing ever so slightly as she worked the accelerator. She raised her gaze and watched Dylan’s chest. God. She was just as beautiful as she had been in the winter, but she looked more exhausted than ever. Her father’s illness had obviously taken a toll.

  Beth drew a breath and inhaled Dylan’s familiar scent. She pinched the fabric of her blazer in her lap and tried to calm herself. “Thank you again.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Dylan murmured.

  The front tire dipped on Dylan’s side.

  “Were you busy?”

  “No. I just got out of a shower.”

  They came to the end of the rough bush track and as Dylan turned onto Reed Lake Road, Beth found her bearings. “Just a left here…” she murmured.

  “Yeah, I don’t need directions. I obviously know where Rose lives.”

  Beth’s blood heated. Why did she have to word it like that? Dylan had visited Beth at her apartment before. Why did she have to call it Rose’s? Was she trying to make Beth jealous by reminding her that she had a history with Rose? Was she implying that they had renewed their affair over the summer? Dylan hadn’t been with Rose, and Beth knew it. Hell would have to freeze over before she let Dylan get away with thinking she’d been fooled.

  “Sorry that I called you,” she said. “Rose is always over in Cessnock these days. I think it’s getting serious.” There. Subtle.

  “You think what’s getting serious?” Dylan played.

  “Her new relationship.”

  Dylan looked up into the rear vision mirror. “I don’t know about that,” she said vacantly.

  “How would you know? Do you keep in contact with your exes?”

  “No. They just seem to have a thing about keeping contact with me…”

  Humiliation gripped her. Did Dylan think this was a ploy? That she’d orchestrated the break down so that they could talk? “I didn’t have anybody else to call,” she said softly. “You know that I don’t know anybody else in town.”

  For a second, the high beams of an oncoming car blinded them until they were switched down.

  “I know,” Dylan said softly. “Look, it’s fine. I’d rather you call me than try to hike home in the dark. That’s not safe.”

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  Dylan wouldn’t look at her. Once upon a time, she had held Beth’s gaze for so long it made her heart race. Now, it seemed a struggle for Dylan to glance her way for any more than a heartbeat. She replayed Dylan’s words in her mind. I can’t look at you without thinking about…

  Beth couldn’t stop thinking about it either. How could she possibly forget? The whole thing seemed like a brilliant feverish dream. Nobody had ever lusted after her the way Dylan had. Nobody had ever been so desperate in the heat of passion, so intent on memorising her. It had been more than infatuation, and now all that she was left with was the memory. A selfish hope simmered beneath the surface of her need to see Dylan happy again—hope for a second chance for them. Would she still be happy in Jembala Lakes if she couldn’t be with Dylan?

  As they turned onto Paterson Street, Beth shifted in her seat. There was something hard, rounded pressed against her tailbone. She slipped a hand behind and pulled out a pill container. She squinted down at the prescription label, tried to read it in the semi-darkness. Ritalin.

  Immediately, Beth wedged the container back into the seat where she had found it. She chanced a glance up at Dylan and found her eyes focused on the road ahead. Ritalin? Ritalin…for ADHD?

  As Dylan pulled into her driveway, Beth’s mind raced. Dylan had always been a private person. If she’d been so embarrassed about a puffer, Beth could only imagine how reluctant she would be to share that she had ADHD. It had taken them months to be frank with each other about their sexuality, and even when they’d grown closer at lightning-speed, there had still been things that Beth sensed Dylan was closed off about. But something like an attention deficit disorder hadn’t even crossed Beth’s mind. Dylan was energetic, definitely, but hyperactive? Beth supposed it didn’t help that her knowledge of ADHD was restricted to stereotypes of disruptive young boys swinging back on chair legs in primary school classrooms. Of course adults suffered from ADHD. Of course adults took Ritalin. But Dylan?

  “Um…how are you going to get to work tomorrow?” Dylan asked.<
br />
  The offer was there. Slowly, Dylan looked up and met her gaze.

  Beth raked a hand through her hair. She picked up her canvas bag from the floor. “Rose’s car is here. When I rang her to find out if she was coming home tonight, she told me to use it until mine was back on the road.” She paused. “Thank you for the offer, though.”

  Dylan leaned back against the headrest. Beth watched the tendons in her neck jump as she swallowed. “Night, Beth.”

  “Night.”

  Upstairs in her apartment, Beth got to Googling. What is Ritalin used for? and Why do adults take Ritalin? led her to articles like 10 Things Your Loved One with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder Wishes You Knew, 20 Struggles You’ll Only Understand If You Have ADHD, and the most upsetting, 11 Things People With ADHD Are Tired of Hearing.

  She thought back to winter, to Dylan’s sleeping problems, her inability to focus, her forgetfulness. Her keen nose and poor sense of time. How disgruntled she’d become when Beth would interrupt while Dylan was counting the till. Dylan’s own inclination to interrupt. Her restlessness the night they’d gone to the movies. Her struggle with spatial concepts. Her unmatched ability to begin a tour from any room in the house and work through the script in whatever direction she decided she desired in the moment.

  As Beth washed her face, confronted by her red-eyed reflection in the bathroom mirror, she had a sudden a thought. What if Dylan hadn’t always been on Ritalin? What if the prescription was new? Work as a tour guide would certainly have been an outlet for her hyperactivity. What if Dylan was on medication because Beth had pulled the rug right out from under her?

  As she tried to sleep, one thing she’d read beat like a war drum: the best way to manage ADHD is to seek out places where you thrive.

  Just after nine the next morning, Beth pulled Rose’s silver Honda into the empty parking lot of the bowling club and left her pride in the car. She showed her membership card to the woman at reception. “I’m just looking for Dylan?”

  “You’ll probably find her upstairs in the bistro. If she’s not behind the bar, just ask someone up there.”