Heart of the Valley

by Cathryn Hein

  The door flew open. She fell out, crawling on her knees to escape. Stones dug into her hands and knees but she kept scampering. Somewhere, underneath the scream, her brain registered a dog’s sharp yaps and the call of her name.

  Suddenly she bumped into something solid. Arms reached under her armpits and lifted her. Her face pressed against soft fabric and big hands stroked her head and back. Lanolin and citrus and dog filled her nose.

  ‘Shh, Brooke. Shh. It’s okay, I have you. You’re safe. Dorothy’s safe. Everything’s fine.’

  She let out a sob as the worst of her panic subsided. Her hands formed fists in Lachlan’s jumper. Despite his warm embrace, her sweat-covered body shivered with cold.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have stopped you.’

  She clung to him, heart still galloping, head still filled with fading red. ‘Oh, god. Make it end. Please. Just make it end.’

  ‘I can’t. Only you can.’ He stroked her hair, the movement rhythmic and soothing. ‘It’ll take time, that’s all.’

  He held her as she let loose her despair. Finally, the tightness in her chest eased and her breath slowed to shuddery heaves. She raised her head from his chest and stared at the gold lettering on his jumper. His hold on her relaxed and she sat back on her heels, wiping at her wet cheeks. Lachlan remained on his knees, watching her closely.

  ‘Better?’

  She nodded, cheeks blooming with heat. She couldn’t remember ever experiencing a more embarrassing day.

  He smiled. ‘I thought you said you looked really unattractive when you cried.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘A bit tear-stained maybe, but I don’t think you could ever look unattractive.’

  She stared at him. ‘Why are you being so nice?’

  He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I just want to keep my job. It’s never smart to get on the wrong side of the boss’s sister.’

  But Brooke didn’t believe him. This wasn’t about currying favour. Lachlan had gone out of his way and, she suspected, against his better judgement to help her. Strange behaviour for a man whose best interests lay in not helping.

  ‘Did Angus put you up to this?’

  His gaze slid away. Without answering, he stood and held out his arm for her to grab. She took it, taking his silence for assent. Disappointment left her numb. She wanted him to be helping because he wanted to, not because he felt obliged.

  They dusted their knees. She couldn’t look at him and sensed he felt the same way. For a heartwarming moment they’d shared a connection. Assuming she hadn’t imagined it.

  ‘You should go and rest for a while,’ he said. ‘I can bring the horses in.’

  ‘No. I’ll do them. You sort out Dorothy.’

  ‘Do you want me to take her back to Nancy’s?’

  Brooke looked into the distance, across the horse paddocks to Kingston Downs’ highest point. Pain speared her heart as she thought of Oddy rotting in the soil.

  After what she’d just been through it’d be so easy to concede defeat. To walk away from her fear and panic into the bosom of her well-meaning family in Sydney. Start a new life working at the stables with Angus and her dad, learning to be like her mother. Leave her beloved home behind.

  Easy, perhaps, but cowardly. And what had Lachlan said? There’s much to be said for knowing happiness is where your heart lies.

  ‘No. She can stay in the stable for tonight until we can organise somewhere sheep-proof.’ She met his gaze. ‘I’m not going to let this beat me.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m glad.’

  And though she couldn’t be certain, in his tone she thought she caught a hint of not just satisfaction, but also pride.

  Just after five, after she’d put the horses to bed for the night, Brooke drove in to Pitcorthie and parked out the front of Chloe’s Cuts. The salon faced the main street – a squat, white-walled and black-framed building wedged between the community bank and Pitcorthie’s newsagency-cum-post office. In the centre of the shop’s large front window was a black and silver scissor logo. Bright light poured through the window and the glass-panelled front door, the logo casting strange shadows on the darkening footpath.

  There was no privacy at Chloe’s Cuts, which was exactly how Chloe liked it. Often, if they could see she wasn’t busy, friends would drop in for a gossip on their way to or from the bank or the post office, while in quiet times Chloe could keep herself amused with the action on the street.

  Brooke stopped for a moment to watch her friend expertly wielding her scissors around the head of a Nintendo-focused boy. A younger boy sat in the chair behind, legs swinging in boredom. She suppressed a smile. Poor Chloe loathed cutting children’s hair but as a small-town salon owner and local, she wasn’t in any position to refuse.

  Sensing scrutiny, Chloe turned to the window and waved, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation when Brooke entered. Her client didn’t look up from his game, but Brooke recognised Matty O’Donnell and his brother Jeremy by their droopy eyes and extensive freckling. From his seat beside his brother, Jeremy regarded her with a snot-nosed blank stare before focusing once more on the black and white tiled floor.

  ‘Hey, Matty. Hey, Jeremy,’ said Brooke. ‘How are you both?’

  ‘Good,’ replied Matty without breaking his rapid fingerwork. ‘Jeremy’s sick.’

  ‘So I can see.’ She threw a look at Chloe, who grimaced.

  ‘But we’re not cutting his hair today,’ Chloe said, before adding a quiet ‘Thank Christ’. She continued on in the overbright, nervous voice she reserved for children, a species she found unfathomable. ‘But we need you looking slick for your concert tomorrow, don’t we, Matty?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  From the other seat, Jeremy sneezed loudly. For a brief moment, a yellow-green hank of snot hung from his nose before he wiped it on his sleeve. Chloe’s blue eyes widened in horror. Trying not to laugh, Brooke hunted around under the front counter for a tissue and handed it to Jeremy, who gave his nose a desultory wipe and passed the tissue back to her. Carting it by her fingertips, she dumped it in the bin, before taking another chair as far away from Jeremy as she could get.

  ‘Where’s Jas?’ Brooke asked, referring to the boys’ mother.

  ‘At Kennedy’s. She’ll be back in a moment. So how’re things with the sexpot?’

  ‘You mean Lachlan,’ answered Brooke, frowning a warning. Chloe was so clueless around kids she was liable to break into a discussion about her bet. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘Sounds interesting.’ Chloe eyed her. ‘You look tired.’ She stopped snipping and inspected Brooke more closely. ‘Have you been crying? Has he done something to upset you?’

  She held up her hand, shaking her head. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like nothing.’

  The timely arrival of Jasmine O’Donnell put a stop to any further probing. She bustled in, plastic bags full of groceries cutting into her fingers, and a harried expression on her round, normally cheerful face.

  ‘Sorry I took so long, Chloe. I ran into Trev and he’s a lovely old thing but he just wouldn’t shut up and then I couldn’t find any SPC spaghetti and Jeremy won’t eat Heinz, and Sue had to hunt out the back for it and … oh, hi, Brooke. How’s tricks?’ She frowned as she took a good look at Brooke’s face. ‘Everything all right? You look a bit tired.’

  ‘Fine, thanks, Jas. Sod’s been giving me a hard time, that’s all.’

  ‘Ahh.’ Jas and Chloe exchanged a look.

  Brooke probed at her wrist, preparing herself for what might come next. People were only being kind when they offered sympathy and concern, but it made her want to scream. It didn’t help that everyone believed she was wasting her time with Sod, that the accident had broken something in his temperament which could never be fixed. But she knew better. All it would take was time and a lot of patience.

  ‘So how’s that new manager of yours? All Sam can talk about is what an unbeatable second row the Panthers will have now he’s signe
d on – bloody rugby, I tell you – but word around town is he’s quite the hunk.’

  Brooke shrugged, unwilling to give anything away. ‘He’s okay.’

  ‘Okay is not how I’d describe Lachie Cambridge,’ said Chloe, dusting the back of Matty’s neck with a brush. ‘Anyway, Jas, you’ll be able to see for yourself tomorrow.’ She grinned. ‘But hands off. The man’s mine.’

  ‘A snap of your fingers and half the men of Pitcorthie would be yours, Chloe darling,’ said Jas, hugging a sodden Jeremy to her side. ‘Except for my husband, who values his manhood too much to stray. Although there are some days when I’d beg for someone to take him off my hands.’ She winked at Brooke and dug into her handbag for her purse as Matty, still game-engrossed, slid off his chair and headed towards the door.

  As soon as the O’Donnells had gone, Chloe turned to Brooke and plonked her hands on her hips. ‘Okay, what happened?’

  With a sigh, Brooke explained, although, as she relayed the afternoon’s events, she found herself playing down Lachlan’s compassion. Instead of the truth, she made it sound like his help was grudging instead of kindly offered, and gave no hint of her softening attitude towards him. She wasn’t sure why, except she felt a compulsion to keep it secret, as if her feelings were too young, uncertain and fragile to risk exposure. Even to Chloe.

  ‘You know what you need?’ announced Chloe, after reminding Brooke for the umpteenth time that fretting about her problem would only make it worse. ‘You need a big pamper session.’ She strode to the front door and flipped over the Closed sign, flicked the lock and hauled down the blind, then with clicking heels strode to the back of the salon to push open the door to the beauty room. ‘You. Inside. Now.’

  ‘You don’t have to do this, Chloe.’

  ‘I do. Now stop arguing, get in there and strip.’

  Brooke halted. ‘You are not giving me another Brazilian.’

  ‘No, doofus. I’m going to give you a massage. Then we’re going to do something about that diabolical haircut. Everyone thinks that God-awful bob’s my work. As if!’

  Three-quarters of an hour later, her muscles aching pleasantly, Brooke watched Chloe in the mirror as she assaulted her hair, her friend snipping expertly away as she outlined her plan of attack for Lachlan’s seduction. Now they were back out in the salon, away from the dim lights, calming Celtic-inspired music, scented candles, and Chloe’s orders to relax, conversation had resumed.

  ‘So, given he’s such a rural sort, I figure I’d go for the down-to-earth country girl look tomorrow. It’ll be too cold at the ground anyway to wear anything too revealing, and if he’s one of those shy types I wouldn’t want to frighten him off by being too forward.’ She whizzed her castored seat around to Brooke’s left side and eyed her work critically before whizzing back to the right. Brown hair fell in alarming hanks, but a distinct style was now emerging – a short, gamine look that accentuated Brooke’s cheekbones and made her eyes look enormous. ‘A bit of flattery here, a special smile there and he should be putty. God, I’m going to enjoy shaving Andrew’s head.’ She concentrated on snipping for a few minutes before resuming their chat. ‘Are you heading to Sydney tomorrow or are you going to pike again?’

  ‘I don’t know. Probably.’

  Brooke rubbed at her eyes, suddenly overcome with tiredness at the thought of driving to Sydney in the morning and coping with her family for another day. Maintaining the pretence she was fine, when the afternoon had proven so clearly that she wasn’t.

  The despondency she’d felt on arrival at the salon sank leaden on her again. ‘Maybe I should’ve taken Andrew up on his offer. It’d make everyone’s life easier – the family could use the capital from the sale of Kingston Downs to invest in another place closer to Sydney, and I’d be free to concentrate on showjumping. Things would probably be fine with Andrew. I mean, it’s not as if we’re not close. He’s one of my best friends. I love him. Just not the way he wants.’

  Chloe’s scissors halted mid-snip. She looked at Brooke’s reflection, appalled. ‘I can’t believe you’re even questioning that you did the right thing.’

  ‘But it would’ve solved a lot, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘For who?’

  ‘Well, both of us, I guess.’

  ‘But you don’t love him.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘No you don’t. Not the right way. Not —’ Chloe’s jaw snapped shut, her pretty face hardening in a manner rarely seen. She raised her scissors, mouth tense as she gave two savage snips. ‘This conversation’s stupid.’

  Brooke closed her eyes, wondering why she’d even brought it up. Chloe was right. It was a stupid conversation. She would never have done it to Andrew. She wouldn’t have done it to herself, for that matter. But it was as though her friend’s plans for Lachlan flicked a switch on her negative thoughts.

  ‘You’re right. I was just being an idiot.’ She stared at her hands. ‘I just feel so crap after today, like I’m never going to get better.’ She looked up. ‘And I feel useless, too. With Lachlan there I have nothing to do except work on Sod.’

  ‘So bring Elly back into work. Do what we said and find yourself a new horse to train. Get off your bum and do what you do best. You’re so good with the young ones – it’ll do wonders for your confidence.’ Chloe smiled, back to normal, and grabbed Brooke’s shoulders from behind, shaking gently. ‘Whatever you do, just stop being such a bloody misery guts. You’re driving me insane!’

  Eight

  The old gums lining Pitcorthie’s sole rugby field rustled, creaked and swayed in protest as an arctic wind gusted across the ground. Noisy clangs rang through the air as it caused a loose sheet of corrugated iron to flap on the canteen’s rusting roof. A crowd stood in front, chattering as they waited to be served, desirous of a hot cuppa to fend off the cold or lured by the comforting smell of barbecuing onions and sausages. Spying a loose bootlace, Lachie bent to retie it, wondering yet again what the hell had possessed him to join the Pitcorthie Panthers. There had to be better things to do than freezing to death on a winter Saturday.

  Bootlace secured, he performed another stretch and surveyed the ground. In the centre of the field, the referee and linesmen probed with toes and tamped down sods with shaking heads as they completed their inspection of the torn-up playing surface, a legacy of the morning’s junior competition. A low steel cyclone-wire fence, dotted with bright sponsors’ signs, surrounded the field. Dozens of cars were parked nose-in against it, their passengers tucked inside against the cold. A few well-rugged souls braved the elements, standing in groups with their backs against the wind and scarves and jackets pulled tight.

  Lachie spied Chloe perched against the bonnet of an older model Nissan Patrol, her hands around a steaming foam cup and slim legs stretched out. She wore dark denim skinny jeans tucked into long, light-brown boots, and a cropped, dark-blue double-breasted jacket with gold buttons and embroidered epaulettes. A dark-green and white scarf hugged her neck, the ends tucked inside the jacket front, adding further padding to her already ample bosom.

  Though the wind had caused tendrils to escape and dance around her face, most of her glossy brown hair was tied back in a thick, wavy ponytail. With her delicate features shown to their fullest, she looked even prettier than when he had met her in the pub. Yet when she cast her sparkly blue-eyed gaze his way, mouth widening into a broad gap-toothed smile as she lifted a hand to wave, Lachie found himself unmoved. Even during their first meeting he’d sensed something amiss. What it was, he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he couldn’t shed the feeling her interest lacked sincerity; that it was put on to impress those around her more than him. But she was Brooke’s friend and that meant extra courtesy was in order. He pointed to his shoulders, indicating her epaulettes, and gave a military salute, smiling when her mouth widened with laughter.

  Resuming his stretches, he scanned further afield, hunting for Brooke on the off-chance she’d stayed local instead of heading to Sydney. He hadn’t seen her sin
ce yesterday evening, when she’d taken off into town, and by the time he’d wandered out this morning the horses were in their day paddocks, the yards mucked out and her Land Cruiser gone. Though he knew she was due at Kingston Lodge, disappointment left him feeling hollow. He’d wanted to talk to her before she left, to tell her to keep faith, but most of all he wanted to make sure things were still okay between them.

  He still felt weird about yesterday. Half of him believed himself an idiot for getting involved, but the other half – the half unable to forget the torment he’d seen in her eyes – remained desperate to help. She’d tugged something inside him, something he hadn’t felt since Tamsyn had walked out of his life. Something he didn’t want to feel, but whose pull he couldn’t resist.

  It was the tour around Kingston Downs that did it. Her passion affected him, just as her expertise surprised. She knew her stuff – from which pasture and lucerne species performed best, to the intricacies of irrigation management. What he’d thought would be a casual wander around the property had turned into a three-hour tutorial, with him the student. She hadn’t been afraid to quiz him on his expertise either, asking pertinent questions, sifting through his knowledge to see if there was anything she could use to enhance her own. By the time they’d left Poddy and Venus he’d been in danger of developing a teenage crush. Which was why one glimpse of her sitting in the car so distressed had him acting like an idiot.

  All he wanted was to do his job, see Nick through uni, and go home to Delamere when the time was right. Getting sucked into helping the boss’s sister with her issues didn’t feature, but he couldn’t resist the look she’d given him. Clear brown eyes wide with hope, as if he was her last chance, the man who could change everything. The next thing he knew, his ego had taken over his brain and he was offering to come to her rescue.

  And what a mess he’d made of it.

  He lifted a leg and balanced it on top of the fence, leaning forward to stretch his hamstrings. His teammates milled around in their green jerseys with wide white Vs pointing down the front, clean white shorts bright, rubbing hands and complaining about the cold. Lachie estimated the team’s average age at somewhere around thirty, and while their camaraderie and enthusiasm were undeniable, it was apparent from their lack of warm-up procedure that these were men who considered their bodies more shacks than temples. But they were a friendly bunch, and Lachie didn’t really care if they were hopeless. He just wanted to have a run around and enjoy being part of a team. So long as he didn’t earn an injury in the process.