‘Good on you.’ Serena had been quiet, but she seemed to have taken a liking to Emily. ‘That should open some opportunities for you.’
Emily’s face became more animated and, as she smiled, Paul realised how young she really was. And what a difference the certainty of a place to rest her head had made to her peace of mind.
Certainty, security: things he’d taken for granted because he’d always known them. Precious gifts only appreciated when life ripped them away.
‘I hope so. People don’t realise how bad this closure is going to be. There’ll be others who can’t make rent payments, or buy food. What are they going to do?’
‘That’s true.’ Paul looked around the bar. Dust covered every surface and the air of neglect was strong. But an idea was forming in his head, one that might help a few out-of-work mill workers. ‘You’ve made one room habitable. How would you like an exchange—your cleaning skills for free rent?’
‘I don’t want to be a cleaner like Mum all my life.’ Emily’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Ooh, I don’t mean there’s anything wrong with what Mum does, but I want to do more with my life.’
So did Paul. He squashed down a horrible feeling of having bitten off more than he could chew and stood at the nearest door. If he couldn’t find a way to service his bank loan, both this building and his saddlery would be lost, and the farm would be under threat. But right here, right now, he had an opportunity to make a difference to the lives of a few.
He rubbed a clean patch on the window pane and peered through it. Clouds of dust and an old newspaper tumbled along the street, caught in random mad whirls of wind before a flurry of rain plastered them against the pub fence. On the far side of the street, Trish Jenkins scurried away from the IGA store, her head bowed and one gloved hand gripping the sides of her coat together. A cane basket hung off her arm, heavy with groceries.
Luxuries like employing a cleaner would be the first economies made to household budgets. How would Emily feed herself if she lost her few private jobs? He turned back as Serena strolled to the bar. Leaning over the swinging gate, she peered into the gloom.
Paul already knew what was behind the bar. ‘Two half-empty bottles, one each of vodka and rum. Not much to be going on with.’
Emily joined Serena. ‘Or, you could say you have two half-full bottles. Depends on how you look at it.
‘I can see this place converted into a family home.’ Serena wandered over to the mantelpiece above the wide stone fireplace, a dreamy expression in her eyes.
‘Family home?’ Paul’s breath snagged in his lungs. What was it about Serena that she saw things he wanted; wanted so badly he ached with the longing. Beyond the mountain of debts and the art school lay another dream: a family and home of his own.
‘Why not? People have converted old churches and warehouses into homes. Why not a pub? Imagine a big, open-plan lounge-dining area here. Wouldn’t it be lovely on a summer day to open those doors onto the verandah? I can see it—’ Serena broke off and cleared her throat.
Emily folded her arms and looked around the space, an assessing look on her face. ‘Mr Carey is right. As long as the mill remains closed there won’t be a need for housing at the upper end of the market. But others like me who are chucked out of their homes would appreciate temporary lodgings for a small rent.’
‘Like a hostel? I don’t know—’ He thought of an older couple Warren had mentioned who lived from payday to payday. There were several rooms that could serve as emergency accommodation if need be.
Emily raised her chin and looked up at him, confidence and compassion in her gaze. ‘I could ask Mr Leadbeater if you like. He’ll know of any workers doing it tough. I’m happy to cook as well as clean in return for my lodgings.’
Serena clapped her hands together and spun to face him. ‘That’s a great idea, Emily. What about some sort of fundraiser? People could donate non-perishable food, and you could hold chook raffles or whatever. Is that what you do out west?’
‘Yes, Serena. Just like you do in city pubs.’ His brain tried to catch up with the possibilities contained in Emily’s comments.
Was this a way to both help his community and get through the next few months without losing all he’d worked for?
‘Maybe the CWA committee can organise something. I’ll raise the idea with the president.’
For the first time since Hayden had announced the news of the mill closure to his brother, a glimmer of light appeared in the dark clouds. Many in the community were worse off than he was, but despite his money worries, he could offer a roof over their heads.
As for the Cotton Bale—
Something would turn up before he ran out of savings. He had to believe that.
Chapter Six
Serena sat at a corner booth in the Ace in the Hole, sipping red wine. A schooner of beer sat on the table, waiting for Paul when he joined her. She looked up as he slipped into the seat opposite, picked up his glass and touched it to hers.
‘Here’s cheers.’
‘Cheers. Although a pub meal two nights in a row seems extravagant.’
‘It might be if your landlady hadn’t dashed off to visit her sister in hospital. What was it? A broken hip?’
‘Yes. Still, I could have made toast at Trish’s place.’ And planned her approach to begin her search. The drama unfolding around her had pushed it into the background, but tomorrow, she would make a proper start.
Maybe tonight.
She considered the older men at the bar and wondered.
‘You’d deprive me of chowing down on the best steak in the west?’
Paul’s comment brought her back to the present. She hadn’t decided if she was ready to tell him about the search for her father. His actions towards young Emily had made her reconsider. There were hidden depths beneath Paul’s charming exterior, but was it fair on him to bring serious stuff into a night out?
She opted for pleasure over business. ‘I’d never come between a man and his steak. Or his beer.’
Paul chuckled and swallowed a mouthful. ‘Herbie said Warren Leadbeater is at a meeting. Knowing Wazza, he’ll stop by the pub for a debriefing when it’s finished. I should be able to catch him then.’
‘That’s what you call a trip to the pub, is it—a debriefing?’ She laughed and ran her finger around the rim of her glass, but her gaze was drawn back to the drinkers at the bar. ‘I guess he knows all the workers at the mill?’
‘For sure. Warren can be blunt to the point of rudeness, but he cares about the people he represents.’
‘They need somebody looking after their interests.’
There was a good chance her father worked at the mill, and the idea of him losing his job because it closed made her angry. Maybe Hayden was right—maybe confronting the mill owner and demanding answers was the way to go. Leaving aside Paul, would the union rep be a better person to ask for help finding her father? When Warren showed up, she’d introduce herself and her search. ‘I’m glad I decided to visit Mindalby rather than chat online with you.’
‘So am I. Just curious, but what do those last two statements have to do with each other?’
Serena’s heart leapt in her chest. She frowned; now that Paul had asked, maybe it was the right time to tell him her other reason for being in town.
‘Look, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you came. I only meant Mindalby is a long way to drive from Sydney for a meeting.’
Serena wrapped both hands around the bowl of her wine glass and smiled at him. ‘You’re right; it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Talking to you online would have been more convenient. And quicker and cheaper.’
She sipped her wine, came to a decision and set the glass down. ‘Coming here was only partly about the cotton festival. The offer to design for the show was purely coincidental, but what pushed me to make the trip in person—’
A raucous laugh and some heavy-duty table thumping at the next table interrupted her explanation.
Three middle-aged mill wo
rkers stared into half-drunk beers. Lifting her glass again, she peered over the rim and tried to see if one of them had green eyes. Was there a faint resemblance to her in the nose of the nearest man? Was the one with an unusual whorl in his ear her father?
Trying to imagine what she would say when she met her father for the first time, she turned back to Paul. ‘It must be difficult to get work when you’re over fifty and your job suddenly disappears.’
‘You mean because of their age?’
‘Yes.’
‘They’ll find it tough, poor buggers.’
She nodded. Paul had confirmed her fears. She was riding a crazy emotional rollercoaster—excited about finally connecting with her father, angry at what might be happening to him. Her stomach clenched, and she blinked away moisture from her eyes and sniffed.
Even if she found him, there was any number of reasons her father wouldn’t welcome the appearance of an unknown daughter. Would he feel angry he hadn’t known about her, or be overjoyed to finally learn of her existence? And meeting her, would he feel ashamed of his unemployed status?
Regardless of the reception she received, she wanted—maybe needed—to know the man whose DNA she carried.
But it wasn’t like she could waltz up to someone and ask if he’d had a one-night stand at Byron Bay twenty-seven years ago. Paul was her best chance.
‘Penny for your thoughts. What’s got you checking out the men here? Should I be jealous?’
A chair scraped along the wooden floor as the stocky man at the neighbouring table stood and gathered the empty glasses from his mates. Serena followed his passage to the bar before meeting Paul’s dark brown gaze.
‘I was thinking—I turned twenty-six at the end of January and I don’t know how I’d handle what’s happening here.’
‘I was twenty-eight on the thirtieth of January.’
Diverted by the small coincidence, she smiled. ‘Snap. Same day, but two years apart.’ Rolling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers, she sought a way to begin telling Paul. What was the beginning of her story?
The end of her mother’s innocence?
‘For most of my life, for every one of my twenty-six years, I’ve been missing something—someone—’ Paul had both parents and a brother. How could he begin to understand the depth of her longing to know her father?
She reached over and touched his hand where it rested on the table beside his glass. His skin was warm, much warmer than hers. He turned his hand and held hers, and a slow burn began low down in her belly. There was something about Paul that attracted her in spite of her determination to avoid the Max-type extrovert.
Squeezing her thighs together she pressed her feet into the floor before she did something silly. Like slide in beside him and press her lips to his in front of half the town. That would set tongues wagging.
‘Emily was right, you know. You’re a good man, Paul.’
Before Paul could reply, a shadow fell across their joined hands as someone stopped beside the table. Slowly she lifted her head as an all too familiar voice interrupted them.
‘Serena, what are you doing here?’
Chapter Seven
Paul looked up at the newcomer. Neatly trimmed brown hair and a carefully shaped, short beard marked him as a city boy before Paul registered the grey suit and loosened tie. Amongst the King Gees, yellow safety vests, and steel-capped boots, he stood out like a sore thumb.
Beneath Paul’s hand, Serena’s fingers tensed and her lips set in a straight line. Paul looked the city boy-dipstick up and down, and squeezed Serena’s hand.
Her voice was calm, almost disinterested, but she gripped Paul’s hand as though he was her lifeline. ‘Hello, Max.’
Paul looked from one to the other, but the silence lengthened and Serena seemed unwilling to speak. ‘I’m Paul Carey.’
‘Max Zinsky. I’m a journalist with Fairfax.’ Max glanced down at their joined hands and a frown creased his forehead.
‘Of course, you’re here working on a story.’ Serena exhaled a short, sharp breath and Paul imagined it held a hint of relief.
This is Max! It explained her odd fearful reaction the day she arrived.
Max spread his hands wide and looked around. ‘Why else would I be in the back of beyond, darling?’
Darling? Paul’s hackles rose as his heart took a dive. That darling sounded way too familiar as it slipped from the guy’s mouth.
Max placed a hand on Serena’s shoulder and stroked a thumb over her collarbone as though he knew the shape of her body very well.
Paul gritted his teeth and fought the urge to relieve Serena of Max’s casual possessiveness, taking an instant dislike to the guy.
‘You two know each other from Sydney?’
Max flicked a second glance at their joined hands. ‘We were engaged.’
Were, as in once upon a time, but not now.
Paul liked that past tense.
‘Actually, darling, I want to talk to you privately. Where are you staying?’
Serena was shaking her head before Max finished speaking. ‘I’ll meet you for coffee tomorrow. Anything you want to say to me can be said in a cafe. Joe’s.’
Max’s mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed as he looked at Paul, but when Serena looked up at her ex-fiancé, the frown was instantly replaced by an urbane smile. ‘Okay. Joe’s it is. Sounds pretty redneck but this place is so far west—’
‘One suggestion, mate.’ Paul’s free hand itched to make the point. He pressed a fist on the table and glared at Max. ‘Watch what you say about people in this town or—’
Serena squeezed his other hand. ‘I wouldn’t have thought a mill closing was of much interest to a big city newspaper.’ Having neatly cut him off, she eased her hand out of Paul’s clasp and out of sight.
Max smoothed back his hair. ‘Depends who’s involved. Big fish in a small pond misbehaves and grabs a headline.’
That damned smug grin must get him into trouble even in the city, Paul thought before the journalist’s words registered. ‘You’re chasing Don Carter?’
‘I want to interview him. Where can I find him?’ Max looked around as though the mill owner might materialise at his side.
‘Most of the town would like to know the answer to that question. He disappeared before the gates were locked last week. Nobody’s seen him since.’ Even if he’d known where Carter was, Paul wouldn’t have revealed the information to an outsider.
Especially this sleazeball. How on earth had a woman like Serena dated a guy like him, let alone contemplated marriage?
Max shrugged and turned his attention to Serena. ‘Where are you staying? Would they have room for me?’
Serena leaned back and held out her hand. ‘No, there wouldn’t be.’
Max hesitated before he took hold of her hand. ‘How about lunch? One o’clock suit you?’
‘Okay. Good night, Max.’ She snatched her hand out of his and lowered her gaze.
Paul broke the frigid silence. ‘We should order dinner before they close the kitchen. Nice to meet you, Max. If you ask over at the bar, they might know of a room to rent.’
Max sketched a flippant salute and sauntered back to the bar. Serena closed her eyes and rested her head against the squab of the booth.
‘Are you okay?’
She pressed her lips together and opened her eyes. ‘I’m fine. I—Max is the last person I expected to see here.’
Between that damned darling and Max’s possessive hand on Serena’s shoulder, a stab of jealousy knifed through Paul. Regardless of the fact she’d turned to him for support when Max appeared, the man clearly had a past with her. She turned and looked at the bar where Max the journalist stood in animated conversation with Max the barman. Her lips thinned and she raised her chin as though defying someone. Paul grasped his glass and risked delving into unknown territory. ‘Look, I don’t want to tread on any toes but does darling mean anything?’
For a moment when she looked at him, her eyes w
ere unfocused and he had the impression she hadn’t been aware of him, despite his position across the table from her. But her mouth lost its pinched look and her shoulders relaxed their statue-hard line. ‘I’m staying in Mindalby for now, Paul. Can we leave it at that and just enjoy the rest of the evening?’ Serena picked up the menu and gave it fierce attention. Paul had no idea if Max Zinsky was still in her life but out of favour. The one certainty was, she was sticking around.
For now. He wanted to work with that for now.
‘And if you’re very good—’ she lowered the menu and peeped over the top, emerald eyes holding a hint of mischief, ‘—I might show you how little that darling means when you take me home.’
***
Paul pulled up in the driveway of the B & B beside the front stairs, and switched off the engine. Serena had regained her good humour once Max had disappeared. He’d kept the conversation light, made her laugh and banished the shadows from her eyes.
And now Paul intended to discover just how strong their attraction was when he kissed her. Because that was what she’d meant by her comment about being good, wasn’t it?
Her strawberry scent filled his senses. They turned to each other at the same time in the dim interior of the ute. He turned on the light.
She was smiling, but she was also clutching the straps of her handbag against her chest. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening.’
‘My pleasure. I’m glad you enjoyed it. So, about what you said.’ Keeping his tone light, he asked, ‘Have I been very good?’
Her gaze lowered—to his mouth? He wasn’t certain, but her smile wavered. Was she having second thoughts about her teasing remark? He hardly dared to breathe as the moment stretched out before him. Unwilling to make her feel uncomfortable, he held his smile and opened his door. ‘It’s okay, Serena. It’s no biggie.’
Taking his time, Paul strolled around the ute, willing the chill wind to cool his need. So she’d changed her mind, or decided that Max-pain-in-the-proverbial was still on the scene. He opened her door and stood behind it, giving her a barrier if she needed one. She climbed out and stood looking up at him. ‘Were you really teasing or just being nice?’
Starting Over Page 6