by Cathryn Hein
The appetising smell of toast drifted through the kitchen. A pot of tea, steam rising from its spout, sat brewing on a trivet in the middle of the table, with an open packet of Vita Brits, butter and a jar of Vegemite placed alongside. Lachlan had set two places at right angles to one another. Without thinking, Brooke took her usual seat at the head of the table, still a fraction light-headed after suffering another coughing fit in the bathroom. She reached for the mug of tea in front of her, frowning when she saw it was black instead of milky, then put it down quickly and scraped her chair back when she realised what she’d done.
‘No, stay,’ Lachlan said, his hand light on her shoulder. He shifted his mug and placed a clean one in front of her and filled it with steamy tea, before handing her the carton of milk. A few minutes later he passed her two slices of toast.
‘Would you like me to bring you anything from the dairy?’ he asked when he sat down with his bowl of cereal and last week’s copy of The Land. ‘Books or magazines …?’
‘No need. I’ll be going back today.’
His spoon halted halfway to his mouth. ‘Another day or so here won’t hurt; that cough sounds bad.’
‘It’s just a cough, and I have things to do.’ She leaned forward. ‘Speaking of which, would you be free this afternoon?’
He chewed slowly, eyeing her. ‘Why?’
‘I was hoping you could drive me to pick up Robert.’
Confusion furrowed his brow. ‘Who’s Robert?’
‘The horse I bought on Saturday.’
He dipped his spoon into his cereal and moved it about, but didn’t eat. She could almost see his brain working. She liked that about him, the way he always thought about his answers. There was a reassurance in it, a recognition he would never do anything stupid or harmful. That he cared – about himself, about others. About her.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not with that cough of yours.’
‘I’m twenty-four. I think that makes me old enough to make decisions about my own health, don’t you?’
He said nothing. It was another thing Brooke noticed he did whenever he sensed a row, and a characteristic she’d liked. Except at this moment, the trait irked. It was as if he thought her a child not worth arguing with.
A hush descended, broken only by the old cottage’s grumpy awakening as it stretched its cold timbers and settled into the morning. Every creak, ping and crack made the tension worse. She sat back with her arms crossed, frustrated and, although she knew it was puerile, more than a bit disappointed. Now she’d have to call Andrew. Or a horse-transport company. Word would soon filter back to Kingston Lodge if she took that option, but she had to do something. The owner had been paid and it wasn’t right or sensible to leave him or Robert languishing.
Lachlan flicked another page on The Land. Though he acted interested in the articles, she sensed his mindfulness, as if they were connected by a strip of elastic that kept shrinking, compelling surreptitious glances between them, eyes flicking away before meeting.
She rubbed her face, thinking of Andrew and how eager he’d be to help. How he’d laugh and joke all the way to Salt Ash, making silly bets and talking nonstop about horses. But no matter what he said, she wasn’t convinced things were back to normal. She couldn’t shake the memory of how he’d looked at her as they sat on the ménage wall at Willowgrove.
Despondent, Brooke rose to take her plate to the sink, the hunger she’d felt now a cold rock in her stomach. She stood, staring out the window at the orchard and beyond to Nancy’s, admiring a vista she once took for granted. That she’d thought she’d have forever. Liquid welled in her eyes. A life here, with her horses, her friends, her home, seemed so little to want, though she knew in her heart how huge it all was, how lucky she was to lead the privileged existence she did. So many people had nothing. No home, no purpose, no love. She still had all these things and had no right to feel sorry for herself simply because she couldn’t tow a float with a living creature inside. It was selfish and stupid and wrong.
Yet it hurt. So badly.
‘Brooke?’
She stared at him, adrift. Carefully, as though he was approaching a flighty horse, he reached for her wrist. She peered down, frowning as he gently prised her fingers from where they’d dug hard into her flesh. She hadn’t realised she’d been touching the pressure point. He held her hands apart, his touch gentle. His dark-lashed hazel eyes skimmed over her face.
‘You should go back to bed.’
Tugging her wrists free from his hold, she turned away. ‘I can’t. I need to call Andrew and sort Robert.’
‘Is the horse really that important?’
Her throat convulsed in a cough. She held it in as much as she could but it rattled and scratched. ‘Yes.’
‘Christ, Brooke, listen to yourself. How can you expect me to help you when you’re coughing like that?’
She wanted to yell at him that it wasn’t just Robert. It was her need to do something. To feel useful. To engage in the one thing that made her feel strong and talented, that kept the hydra in her head at bay. Training showjumpers was what she loved, what she was good at. With the farm out of her hands it was all she had left.
He gripped the back of a chair. Arms braced, he turned his head towards her, and though his tone was calm she couldn’t miss the serious intent behind his words. ‘I know you think I’m treating you like a child, but you have to remember my position here too. You’re the sister of my employers, and while it’s not my job to look after you, I doubt they’d be impressed if I let you catch pneumonia. I need this job, Brooke. Not forever, but for now. And I don’t want to jeopardise it.’
‘You think I’m being selfish.’
‘No, but I do need you to understand how much being here means to me. I could get a job labouring or driving a truck in the mines, but working on the land is what I love. And every day I’m here I’m learning more. From you, from everyone else. Knowledge that I hope to take home to Delamere and use to turn the place around. Make it into something to be proud of.’
He stopped, expression unsure, as if he didn’t know from where all those words had suddenly come. He pushed off the chair and straightened. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘I don’t know. Laying all that on you.’
She smiled. ‘Maybe I deserved it.’
‘No. You didn’t.’ He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. ‘All right. I’ll take you to pick up Robert. But first you need to clear it with Nancy.’ At her raised eyebrow he smiled crookedly. ‘I think I’m more scared of what she’d do to me if anything happened to you than your brothers.’
Soporific winter sun streamed warm and sweet through the windscreen of the Land Cruiser as it journeyed down the New England Highway, the road much busier now as they neared Rutherford, at the lower end of the Valley. Brooke stretched and eased her head back against the seat, slowly emerging from the sleep she’d fallen into less than fifteen minutes after turning onto the highway. Billy raised his head from her lap to eye her before settling his chin on his paws once more. She laid a hand on his back and stroked, listening to the quiet rumble of the wheels and the soft music Lachlan had feeding from his iPod into the stereo.
He glanced at her and back at the road, smiling, his hands easy on the wheel, his touch sure. The sleeves of his crisp blue striped shirt were rolled up to expose strong forearms and an expensive-looking chrome-banded watch. Bone-coloured jeans sat snug around his thighs, long legs ending in a pair of polished but worn brown leather boots. Clean-shaven, smelling of soap and that same citrusy scent, his short dark hair neatly combed, he looked like a male model for the legendary bush outfitter RM Williams.
‘You’re awake then?’
She smiled back. ‘Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.’
‘How’s your chest feeling?’
Besides clearing the trip with Nancy – who had proven even harder than Lachlan to talk around – Lachlan’s other rule was that they call into
a chemist for a chat and some cough medicine before commencing their journey. Fortunately for Brooke, after quizzing her closely and accepting her fudged answers, the pharmacist agreed she’d be fine as long as she kept warm and drank plenty of water. Though it left her drowsy, the medicine he’d suggested eased her chest and made her feel human again.
‘Still a bit rattly, but better, thanks.’
She surveyed the landscape and grimaced at the sight. Each time she reached this section of the New England Highway she seemed to discover suburbia creeping another tentacle into the Valley. Swathes of new, identical-looking houses intermeshed by sleek bitumen roads extended into the distance. The constructions were so close together their eaves almost kissed.
‘I remember when this used to be paddocks,’ she said.
‘Lot more money in subdivision than running a few cattle. People like their big houses and small bits of dirt.’
‘Not me.’
‘Me neither, but a home isn’t just a building. It’s what you make of it, the people you love in it.’
‘That’s very profound.’
His gaze slid to hers, a smile twitching his mouth. ‘Don’t you know? I’m a very profound kind of guy.’
She laughed. ‘So I’m learning.’ Her laughter gave way to a cough. She thumped her chest and, exhausted, leaned her head against the window and let out a groan. ‘I’m so over this flu.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll come good.’
They passed through Rutherford and into Maitland, slowed by roundabouts, lights and thick traffic. As they hit the other side of town, where the speed limit returned to eighty, Lachlan turned up the stereo, fingers tapping on the wheel. Brooke tuned in, curious to know what music he liked, but she didn’t recognise the song or the band.
The music swelled from a quiet melody into a sweeping, rocked-up chorus, the lead singer’s gravelly voice making the lyrics sound even more heartfelt.
‘I like this music. Who is it?’
‘A Sydney indie band called Blackheart. Tamsyn put me onto them.’
The moment the words were out, Lachlan stiffened. The line of his jaw sharpened and his mouth thinned. Though the traffic was less dense and the road a broad dual carriageway, he kept his focus straight ahead, hands gripped at ten to two on the wheel. Whoever Tamsyn was, he hadn’t intended to say her name.
Brooke stroked Billy’s soft head, admiring the dog’s pretty black and tan ears, trying not to ask the obvious question when her heart kicked with the desperate need to know who this Tamsyn was. And more importantly, what she meant to Lachlan.
Finally, she could hold it in no longer. ‘So who’s Tamsyn?’
‘Just a friend.’ He indicated the bottle settled in the holder in front of the centre console. ‘You should drink some of that water. The pharmacist said it was important to keep your fluids up.’
Aware she’d just been fobbed off, Brooke did as she was told, her mind racing. Tamsyn. Whoever she was, she wasn’t ‘just a friend’.
Neither spoke until they reached Hexham, where Brooke indicated for him to take the exit to the bridge crossing the Hunter River, then to follow the signs to the airport. Twenty minutes later, at Salt Ash, she directed him past the Pony Club grounds, finally pointing to a red mailbox at the head of a palm-lined drive.
‘That’s Robert,’ she said, indicating an enormous dark-brown horse grazing in the front paddock. At the sound of the Land Cruiser, Robert’s head jerked up. Warm optimism curled inside Brooke as she admired the line of his noble, white-striped nose, the massive shoulders and muscled rump, the calm, intelligent eyes. Even from this distance she could sense the horse’s latent talent, the raw promise of greatness.
‘Christ,’ said Lachlan, peering through the windscreen. ‘He won’t be too strong for you, will he?’
‘No way. He’s as gentle as lamb.’
The changeover progressed smoothly. Anton Gulliver, Robert’s owner, was a chubby, florid man with an unruly bush of hair the same colour as his two overweight golden retrievers, and a nature as amiable as his horse. He kissed Robert goodbye with genuine tears in his eyes and a request that Brooke keep him informed of his well-being, a favour she was more than happy to provide. She knew what it was to love an animal, and Anton clearly adored all his.
‘Don’t worry, he’ll be spoilt rotten, I promise,’ she assured Anton through the window, sympathetic tears filling her own eyes as she held Billy’s comforting body close in her lap.
‘Thank God for that,’ said Lachlan as they turned back onto the main road, the unease that he’d shown since the mention of Tamsyn seemingly forgotten. ‘I was worried he wasn’t going to fit.’
‘Oh, come on. He’s not that big.’
‘He’s big enough.’ He glanced at her. ‘Will he really make a good showjumper?’
‘I think so. He has the conformation for it and he rides beautifully. It’s like sitting in an armchair, and I like his temperament. He’s so calm and sweet, but last week the moment I showed him at a jump he really came to life. His head bobbed up and his ears pricked and he had that real ‘let me at ’em’ feel.’ She paused, her heart clenching at the memory. ‘Poddy had that.’
‘Is that why you bought him? Because he reminded you of Poddy.’
‘Actually, I bought him because he reminded me of you.’
Lachlan grinned. ‘What? Big and dopey-looking.’
‘Robert’s not dopey-looking. He’s a gorgeous horse.’ She turned away, biting her lip, wondering if he understood the implication of what she’d said. Her gaze slid back his way. Though his eyes remained on the road, his mouth held a hint of a smile. She stroked Billy’s head, feeling as silky within as his soft fur.
For most of the journey back up the Valley, Brooke dozed. Despite her nap on the way down, she couldn’t prevent her eyes drooping as the rhythmic rumble of the road and the tranquilising soft music weaved their magic. She roused again halfway between Singleton and Muswellbrook, to the mines of the upper Hunter and the cooling towers and stacks of the Bayswater and Liddell power stations.
‘Okay?’ asked Lachlan, glancing at her.
‘Fine.’
‘Robert’s been good. Hasn’t moved.’
‘Anton said he was a good floater.’
He glanced at her again, hands twisting on the wheel. She waited, alert to his body language, the shifts and grips, the pensive expression. The signs he wanted to ask something but was wary of doing so. The road narrowed back from four lanes to two. Trucks whooshed by, rocking the car and the float. Lachlan pulled down the visor as the sun streamed low through the windscreen and returned his hand to the wheel, twisting.
Brooke watched him closely, curious.
‘Can I ask you something?’ he said finally.
‘Sure.’
He hesitated, then went for it. ‘Are you worried? About the promise you made to Anton?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You told him he could come and visit Robert whenever he liked at Kingston Downs.’
‘So?’
‘But you mightn’t always be there.’
‘I will.’ She set her jaw. ‘I’m not leaving, no matter what Mum or Mark or anyone says.’ She expected further argument but to her surprise he shook his head, smiling as though he found her determination funny. ‘What?’
‘Angus was right. You are stubborn.’
‘Runs in the family. Nan’s worse.’ She stroked Billy’s shiny sunlit coat. ‘I’m sorry, for what it’ll mean for you. I know you need this job.’
‘I’m sure I’ll survive. Anyway, until we get you sorted I doubt I’ll be going anywhere soon.’
We. The word had a nice sound, a rightness that made her feel fuzzy.
‘You still want to help? Even after the other day?’
‘Yeah.’ He grinned at her, shiny-eyed, the gold-green flecks in his eyes sparkly as they reflected the sinking sun. ‘I’ve always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.’
The sky had turned indigo
by the time they turned in to Kingston Downs, the horizon a pale-gold glow of rapidly fading sun. Grazing horses raised their heads at the lights in the drive. Robert released a loud whinny that was repeated around the farm, calls of greeting and curiosity. With night coming in fast, Brooke hurried to unload Robert and bring in Poddy and Venus. She let Lachlan deal with Sod, confident the horse wouldn’t be able to put anything over him.
Poddy nudged her as she led him up the lane and warmed her face with welcoming breaths, and she returned his affection with kisses and pats in between telling him about their new arrival, her voice flushed with enthusiasm and an emotion she was trying to ignore. It felt like a secret flowering of trust between her and Lachlan and, perhaps, something more complex. And exciting. Venus bustled alongside, greedy for dinner, ears twitching as she listened in.
Sod squealed and stomped when introduced to Robert, nostrils flaring, eyes widening, body quivering with animosity, but the gentle half Clydesdale didn’t react. He stood calmly, taking in his surrounds with interest, while Sod carried on like a pouty prima donna until Lachlan ordered him to settle down and show some manners. After a few more snorts and foot stomps, Sod calmed and Lachlan rewarded his good behaviour with mane ruffles, ear tugs and assurances he was still his favourite. News Brooke digested with bemusement. Sod wasn’t anyone’s favourite. Most thought him a nutcase. Herself, on occasion, included.
When the horses were settled and tucking in to their night-time feeds, Brooke leaned cross-armed over Robert’s yard and watched him in the moonlight. Deeming Venus the safest companion, she’d placed him next to the pony, and the contrast between the two made her smile. Both were shaggy-coated, with unruly manes and thick feathers running down their fetlocks, but side by side Robert stood so tall and strong he made Venus look like a child’s toy.
‘Cute,’ said Lachlan, coming to join her from Sod’s yard where he’d been placating the deeply sulky horse with more scratches and head rubs.
‘Very.’ A cough rasped her chest, reminding her she hadn’t taken any medicine since lunchtime. With no sun left, the air temperature was dropping fast, the cold tickling her lungs. ‘I suppose I should head to the dairy before this gets any worse. You’ll call me if you hear them playing up, won’t you?’