Heart of the Valley

by Cathryn Hein

  The thought had him tugging his boots off in a rush. Leaving them where they fell, he pushed open the door.

  Brooke sat at the end of the kitchen table, her fingertips lightly resting on the lid of a blue velvet box as she regarded him with rounded eyes.

  He halted, posy held dumbly, and looked from her to the ring box and back again.

  Shit.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have looked but I saw the box and …’ She shrugged and bit her lip. Then she held his gaze, her expression so pleading it made his heart clench.

  ‘What does it mean, Lachie?’

  ‘Nothing. It – she – means nothing.’ He moved closer and laid the flowers on the table before crouching down to take her hands in his. ‘There was once a time when I wanted to marry her, but it turned out she didn’t feel the same. I kept the ring, hoping she’d change her mind. She never did. And then I met you.’ He took a breath, preparing his words, needing her to understand it was over. ‘When Nick told me Tamsyn had married someone else I got it out, figured it was about time I sold it. I never imagined you’d see it.’

  She smiled a little. ‘I shouldn’t have looked.’

  He returned her smile, confidence building. ‘It would have been hard to resist, especially after last night.’ He squeezed her fingers. The time had come. ‘I don’t love her any more, Brooke. I love you.’

  Relief flooded her face. Taking a shaky breath, she pulled her hands from his and curled them around his neck, pulling him close until their foreheads touched and they were eyeball to eyeball. His stomach somersaulted in anticipation as he sensed her mouth curl.

  ‘And I, Lachie Cambridge, am completely crazy in love with you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Good, because I need to take you to bed again.’

  Brooke quirked an eyebrow. ‘Who says we need a bed?’

  ‘You want me to make love to you here?’

  ‘I don’t care where you do it, Lachie,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Just so long as you stop talking and get on with it.’

  Not about to disobey orders, he shut up and kissed her. It was desperate, stupid with happiness, and aflame with need, made more intense by her ardent, equally desperate response.

  In seconds, his hands were inside her T-shirt, skimming her warm satiny skin. He hauled her up to the table, accidentally squashing the flowers. Her legs parted, drawing him between them as he kissed his way across her face and down her throat. Hands grappled to release his clothing. Dislodged by the frenzy, the ring box flew to the floor. Grinning at her, he tugged on the hem of her T-shirt and dragged it over her head, her lust-drugged gaze and exploring fingers nearly setting him off.

  He wanted her now, here. Everywhere. Forever.

  His mobile jangled. Intent on Brooke’s left breast, Lachie ignored it.

  She touched his hair, voice breathless. ‘You want me to grab that?’

  ‘No.’

  He nibbled, enjoying her gasp, thinking he’d like to taste lower, moving his hands in readiness. The phone stopped for a few seconds before starting up again. He pulled away and glared at it.

  ‘You should probably answer. That’s the third time it’s rung.’

  He probably should, but he was busy and as horny as hell. And one look at Brooke’s flushed cheeks and neckline told him she was too.

  She tilted her head to the side. ‘It could be important.’

  He let out a breath. She was right. ‘Don’t move.’ One hand holding up his lowering jeans, he moved to the end of the table and inspected the screen. He pressed answer, eyes raking over Brooke’s trembling, pale body, contemplating where to kiss her next.

  ‘This better be good, shortarse.’

  ‘It’s Dad.’

  Lachie froze. ‘What about Dad?’

  Brooke slid off the table and scooped up her T-shirt, moving to his side to place a hand on the centre of his back.

  ‘He’s collapsed. They’re flying him to Dubbo.’

  ‘Shit. What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t get much sense out of Mum. All she said was she found him out by the hayshed. The paramedics called for the chopper.’

  He tucked the phone under his chin and began buttoning his jeans. ‘Heart attack?’

  ‘No one knows for sure, but Mum didn’t think so. He’s been sick, short of breath, lost a shitload of weight. More since we saw him. It could be anything.’

  Lachie closed his eyes, picturing his father from his last visit home. The stiffness of his once powerful body, the deep crags in his face; Harry Cambridge was an age-ravaged shell of the man he had once been. Lachie had known something was wrong, they all had, but all he’d cared about was sticking it to the old man.

  But that didn’t mean Lachie didn’t love him.

  He focused back on Nick. ‘Okay, I’m leaving now.’

  ‘Me too. I’ll see you there.’

  He hung up and immediately called his mother, but her number went straight through to voicemail. Most likely her phone still sat on the kitchen table at Delamere. She’d never seen the point of a mobile. He checked his own voicemail and found her breathless message. Anxiety shuddered through her voice and he cursed himself for having left his phone behind when he’d risen to sort out the horses.

  He turned to Brooke. ‘It’s Dad.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s collapsed. They’re choppering him to Dubbo.’ He touched her face. ‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’

  ‘Of course. What can I do to help?’

  ‘Look after Billy.’ He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think past the cloud in his head. ‘And you’ll need to move the irrigation pipes in the Aquarius stand.’

  ‘Don’t worry about the farm. I can take care of that. And Billy.’

  He kissed her quickly and headed to his room to grab a few clothes. When he returned to the kitchen he found her rapidly assembling a cheese sandwich. A bottle of water already stood on the table.

  ‘For the drive,’ she said, handing over both. ‘You haven’t had breakfast.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He glanced at the door, needing to leave. His mum needed her boys. Maybe the old man needed them too. But Brooke made him hesitant. He didn’t want to leave her so soon after Poddy’s death, after the joys of last night, after their momentous admissions. ‘I meant what I said. I love you.’

  She smiled and reached up on tiptoe to kiss him on the mouth. ‘And I love you. Now go, your family needs you. Call me when you know something.’

  The news wasn’t good. For the fourth day in a row, Lachie sat beside his father’s bed, holding his mother’s hand, while Nick continued his endless pacing as they waited for the results of yet more tests. Lachie had given up snapping at Nick to stop. Pacing soothed his brother, helped him cope with the news. All Lachie had was his mum’s trembling hand.

  ‘He wouldn’t go to the doctor,’ she kept saying. ‘I tried and tried but he refused to go.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Mum.’

  How many times over the last four days had Lachie said that already? Too many, but that didn’t stop Minette castigating herself. That it was no one’s fault didn’t shield any of them from guilt’s savage sting.

  Cancer. Terminal. No one to blame but fate or God or whatever mean-spirited entity controlled their lives. Blinking hard, Lachie raised his eyes to the ceiling, choking back thoughts that wouldn’t stop steamrolling him flat. This was his father waiting for death’s call. A man who wasn’t old. A man with a family who loved him, despite his faults. Lachie should have done something. If the doctors had caught it earlier, they could have dug into their bags of tricks and saved Harry – chemo or whatever they did – but unchecked the insidious cells kept working on his body, burrowing into places they had no place, destroying the man from the inside.

  Lachie lowered his gaze to the bed. The shock his dad’s appearance first elicited had dulled to a sad ache. The specialist
was amazed his father hadn’t collapsed earlier, and put it down to Harry’s size and strength. No sign of that size and strength existed now in the gaunt creature with watery eyes and hands curled like bird’s claws; his appearance made even worse by the loss of will to live. No fight, only resignation. Out of everything, Lachie hated that the most.

  He stood suddenly. ‘I need some air.’ He touched his mum’s hair. ‘You’ll be okay for a while?’

  She nodded and returned her puffy-eyed attention to her husband.

  ‘You want company?’ asked Nick.

  Lachie shook his head. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think away from this stifling room with its thick haze of sorrow and antiseptic.

  He headed out the front of the hospital and crossed the road to the park that fronted the Golden Highway. In vibrant contrast to the park’s dusty-leaved gums and drying grass, the sky glowed electric blue. Trucks and cars rumbled past, but even their fumes couldn’t mask the clean herbal smell of the open air. Halting, he stared eastwards into the shimmering horizon as the afternoon sun soaked his back.

  East, where Kingston Downs lay. Where Brooke was.

  Moving into the shade, he pulled out his mobile phone and eyed the screen. So tempting to call her, to let her distract him from his pain, but the moment the specialist passed his verdict, Lachie understood things had changed forever. Best leave whatever they might have shared to his imagination, reserved for the countless lonely nights ahead at Delamere.

  Voices floated towards him, a couple of smokers escaping the hospital grounds. He slotted the phone back in his pocket and cast another look up the road. He’d get over it. Like he’d get over the death of his father. Like he got over Tamsyn. He had to.

  His dream of running Delamere had finally come true.

  And the price was losing two people he loved.

  Two weeks after his father’s collapse, Lachie returned to the Valley. Spotting the familiar blue and gold Kingston Lodge Racing sign, he indicated and slowed. Hard to imagine only two months had passed since he came to work at Kingston Downs. Two months that had changed his life.

  Now his life would change again.

  Only this time, he couldn’t shrug the feeling it would be for the worse.

  At the first glimpse of Brooke riding Sod around the ménage his heart hiccupped like a drunk. Until that moment he hadn’t realised how badly he missed her. Too much of his energy had been spent on coping with his father, his mother and, to a lesser extent, Nick, for him to focus on his feelings for Brooke. Now, longing sucked at his resistance, calling him to stay, asking for the impossible.

  At the sound of his ute she halted Sod, a grin splitting her face as she waved. Then she leaned forwards and with an excited whoop urged Sod into a canter, performing a lightning turn to chase the ute across the yard.

  He pulled up next to the cottage and quickly alighted, desperate for her, but Billy made it first. The little dog hurtled around the corner of the house yapping hysterically, before launching himself at his master, claws scrabbling Lachie’s knees as he bounced up and down. Grinning, Lachie hoisted Billy up and ruffed his head, enjoying the ecstatic reunion.

  Not to be outdone, Sod skidded to a standstill and let out a welcoming whicker. Dumping Billy, Lachie approached to scratch the horse’s forehead while Brooke dismounted.

  ‘I think he missed me,’ he said, trying to keep things light.

  ‘We all did.’ She moved close to touch his arm. ‘How’s your dad?’

  He shrugged. ‘Better now they’ve let him go home. He hated the hospital.’

  ‘And your mum and Nick? How are they coping?’

  He stroked Sod’s silky muzzle. ‘Getting through.’

  ‘And you?’

  He blinked as the pang hit. The truth was he wasn’t coping. Each time he looked at his father he felt guilty. Earning the run of Delamere this way seemed so wrong, but he acted strong. For his mum’s sake, for Nick’s, but mostly for his dad, who wanted the property where he’d lived all his life to be in a man’s hands. A man whose heart lay as buried in its soil as Harry’s own had done.

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘You sure?’

  He nodded, using the silence to control himself. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m okay.’ She smiled. ‘Like you’re okay. In other words, I’m crappy, but coping.’ The smile dropped. ‘I miss Poddy. Sometimes I can’t breathe I miss him so much, but each day it gets a bit easier. Each day I try to do what you said, and remember that it’s the future that counts.’

  Unable to help himself he reached out to brush her cheek with the back of his hand, his heart squeezing as she closed her eyes and pushed against it. The urge to hold her, to kiss her was like a roar in his head, but it would be better for both of them if he kept his distance.

  He let his hand drop and returned his focus to Sod, whose eyes almost rolled into the back of his head at the extra hard head rub he received. ‘Why don’t you put the big sook here away so we can talk?’

  ‘Okay.’ But she didn’t move. Instead, she pressed against him, arms circling. ‘I missed you.’

  ‘I missed you, too,’ he whispered, lowering his face into her hair, breathing the sweetness of her, while pointless longing pulled harder and harder at his bones. ‘Come on,’ he said, letting her go.

  He waited for her on the verandah steps, watching her fuss around Sod, admiring her riding-muscled body, the way the sun shot bronze highlights through her brown hair. Storing memories. In an hour, maybe two, he’d be gone. He couldn’t afford more time. The latest verdict from his dad’s GP was that it could be any day; the palliative care nurse thought it might be longer. Whenever his dad passed away, Lachie wanted to be there.

  Brooke sat next to him, smelling of horse and leather and her own special scent. He soaked it in, as he soaked in the changing colours of the yard as fast-travelling clouds decorated it in shadows and light. As he soaked in the fragrance of grass and soil, the cottage’s old timbers. The tormenting sense of home.

  He stroked the soft edges of her hair. ‘It’s getting longer.’

  ‘I’m growing it out. Back to the way I used to have it. Ponytail girl. More me.’

  He found it hard to take his hand away, but like this conversation, it had to be done. Two days ago, he’d phoned Angus to formally resign. It should have been Mark he called, but when it came to Brooke he trusted Angus more, and, as Lachie hoped he would, Angus had agreed to keep the news under wraps for a few days. Brooke needed to hear of his resignation directly from him, not her brother or anyone else. So Lachie had arranged to meet Brooke today. To talk, explain, pack his things and leave Kingston Downs and her forever.

  He’d kidded himself it’d be simple. Now, in her presence, it felt impossible, but this was one farewell that couldn’t wait.

  He closed his eyes, bracing himself. The time had come.

  Her hand clasped his, worry adding a tremble to her voice. ‘Lachie?’

  ‘I’ve resigned, Brooke. I can’t come back.’

  Her fingers tightened. ‘Not even after?’

  ‘No. I’m moving back to Delamere. Permanently.’ Her shaky breaths scraped his heart but he kept going. ‘So Kingston Downs is all yours again. We’ve both got what we wanted.’

  She snatched her hand from his and balled it against her stomach, her body curling in on itself as though for protection. ‘I knew this would happen. From the moment you told me your dad was dying I knew you mightn’t come back, but I couldn’t help hoping you’d change your mind. I kept thinking about the time you said you’d like to stay.’ She shook her head. ‘But deep down I knew you wouldn’t. Your heart wasn’t here.’

  On that she was wrong. His heart lay with hers.

  She stood suddenly, brave and strong and clever and sexy even in heartbreak. All the things he loved about her. ‘You’ll be in a hurry to get back to your dad. I’ll help you pack.’

  He stood and placed his hands on her shoulders, gaze on hers. ‘None of this me
ans I don’t love you.’

  She smiled, eyes glittering with moisture. ‘I know. And it doesn’t change the way I feel about you either. I still love you like crazy.’

  They smiled at one another, high on their declarations, but then reality hit. He was going to Delamere. Brooke was staying here, the place she’d never leave, the place he didn’t want her to leave. They loved, but their dreams, their lives, ran at tangents.

  The realisation made him want to roar his frustration at the world.

  His grip on her shoulders tightened. He didn’t want to let her go. Not now. Not ever. ‘We could try the long-distance thing.’

  Hope flared and faded just as fast. ‘It’d only make things harder in the end. Because there would be an end, wouldn’t there?’

  ‘No.’ Closing his eyes, Lachie let out a breath. He hated it, but she was right. ‘Yes.’ His grip eased. He opened his eyes and steadied his gaze on hers. ‘We’ll keep in touch, though.’

  ‘You bet we will.’

  She reached up to kiss him, the connection fierce, sad and edged with recklessness, as though she didn’t care that each second only made the fissures in their hearts deeper, the damage irreparable.

  She drew away to give him another courageous smile. ‘Maybe in another lifetime.’

  ‘Yeah, another lifetime.’

  But as they stood in the shadow of the cottage clinging together, Lachie knew he didn’t want another lifetime. He wanted this one.

  Packing ended too soon. The cottage had come fully furnished and Lachie owned little. All he needed was to throw his clothes into bags, grab Billy’s things, collect toiletries, books and other junk he’d collected in his time there, and dump it in the back of the ute.

  He carried the last bag out with leaden feet. Brooke hovered by the back of the ute, her falsely bright expression belied by the desperate way she hugged Billy to her chest. He threw the bag in the tray and began securing the tonneau, all too conscious of the rapid drip of time.

  The last loop secured, he opened the driver’s-side door and turned to Brooke.

  Smiling, she kissed the top of Billy’s head and passed him over. ‘I’ll miss him.’

  ‘He’ll miss you. We both will.’