Heart of the Valley

by Cathryn Hein

  At lunchtime she joined Andrew and Chloe in the clubhouse, munching sauce-smeared steak sandwiches, chatting to riders and parents, before heading out to help set up the junior showjumping courses for the afternoon’s competitions. The senior course was already built. She and Andrew had walked it earlier, goading each other as they measured strides, and Brooke remained confident that Robert had the jump on Marchment. She’d watched Andrew on the arrogant show-off earlier, and while the colt demonstrated undoubtable talent, Andrew had yet to harness it. The horse only trusted himself, not his rider.

  After tacking up Robert, she spent a few moments with Sod, who kept casting her confused, sulky looks, not understanding why he wasn’t being booted and saddled when he was, after all, the yard’s resident superstar.

  ‘Your day will come,’ she said, kissing the tip of his nose. Although not until autumn when the local show season ratcheted into action. A nice relaxing summer growing fat was Sod’s reward for enduring a difficult year. In fact, a holiday was what she planned for all the horses, and, bar haymaking, for herself. She’d earned a break. They all had. And when the new year rolled round, with it would come a new outlook, a new life.

  Another lifetime.

  She sighed and patted Sod’s cheek, and moved round the float to Robert. Another lifetime was a dream. This one was real and she had every intention of making the most of it, with or without Lachie.

  She rode out to the warm-up area on a loose rein, letting Robert peer around. As expected, the horse remained unperturbed by the activity – one of the advantages of picking up a horse with experience of Pony Club and shows. After several minutes’ warm-up, she popped him over the small practice jumps provided, revelling in the immediate change in his demeanour. Robert reminded her so much of Poddy. They both shared the thrill of the jump, were supremely confident in their ability and, more importantly, trusting of their rider.

  ‘Ready for a butt-whupping, Chiang-Man?’ she taunted as she cantered past Marchment. The black horse skittered sideways, nostrils flaring, glossy coat rippling like satin. Only Andrew’s strength and gluelike seat kept the colt in check.

  ‘You don’t stand a chance on that big dope.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She cantered back to his side. ‘Then put your money where your mouth is.’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t, Brooke.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ And to her delight she found it was. ‘One bet. Come on, what have you got to lose?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t know yet, do I?’

  Brooke indicated the clubhouse, where Chloe sat on the top rail of its surrounding fence, licking an ice-cream and laughing at some joke of the club secretary’s. Her bright-pink top stretched tight over her ample bosom, its glittery silver motif matching the sparkle of her fingernails. A tightly woven French braid kept her hair from her face, exposing her delicate profile and creamy skin. Expertly applied makeup highlighted her sapphire eyes, matched by navy capri pants that clung to her long slender legs. She looked happy and gorgeous, a woman to make any man proud.

  Brooked fixed her challenging gaze on Andrew. ‘I win, you kiss her.’

  ‘If I recall correctly, last bet I made like that turned pear-shaped.’

  ‘Maybe this one will too. But then maybe it won’t. You’re the gambler. Play the odds. Anyway,’ she said, gathering up Robert’s reins as she dug home. ‘I thought you said Robert and I had no chance?’

  Grinning, she urged Robert into a canter and rode off. If that didn’t get Andrew’s competitive juices flowing, nothing would.

  With fewer than a dozen competitors, Brooke didn’t have to wait long for her round. Andrew drew second position, and as he passed her on the way into the ring he tossed her a ‘You’re on’, leaving Brooke smiling smugly. Someone had to poke her friends in the right direction, and it may as well be her.

  In their attempts to act normal in each other’s presence, Chloe and Andrew had become a pair of robots. The teasing, confident banter that had once marked their friendship had been replaced with shyness and uncertainty. But there was something there, a quiet wondering of what might ensue should one of them make a move, and Brooke sensed it as surely as she sensed Robert’s rippling eagerness.

  A win, and she’d force Andrew to do something about it.

  Marchment’s untidy but clear round put him into the jump-off, quickly followed by Robert, whose flawless performance pitched Brooke’s morale skywards. She shot out of the gate slapping Robert’s neck, whooping inside as she poked her tongue out at Andrew, who responded with, ‘The carthorse just got lucky!’

  Three other clears meant five horses made it through to the final round. Chloe wandered ringside to watch and hold the horses while Brooke and Andrew walked the jump-off course.

  ‘You’re toast,’ said Brooke as she stood in front of a tall yellow and black upright, looking back at the line. The course designer had cleverly cut the course so that one of the out-of-play fences blocked a turn. Competitors could either ride on its outside and approach the upright square on, which was safe but time-consuming, or cut inside and take the fence at an angle, saving valuable seconds.

  ‘In your dreams,’ replied Andrew, tapping his whip against the side of his half chap as he contemplated the same move. ‘Marchie will skid round that. Your carthorse doesn’t have the turn.’

  ‘Maybe not, but one of his strides is worth two of Marchie’s delicate little skips.’ And Robert did have the turn. He might be big, but he could spin on a twenty-cent piece. ‘Face it, Chiang-man. You’re beat.’

  ‘One of the things I’ve always loved about you, Brooke, was your ability to delude yourself.’

  They returned to the horses, Brooke observing closely as Andrew took Marchment’s reins from Chloe. The moment their gazes met both looked away before furtively glancing back again; Chloe in her sexy, under-the-lashes manner guaranteed to twist even the most detached of men into knots. Even after Andrew vaulted into the saddle, the dance continued, hesitant and tense with confusion. A flirtation made clumsy by long-term friendship, but building in confidence with each smile, each touch.

  Swamped with bittersweet emotion, Brooke mounted and rode away. She was happy for her friends, delighted, but watching them reminded of her of what she and Lachie had briefly enjoyed.

  ‘Doesn’t matter, does it, boy?’ she whispered to Robert, swallowing the rough edge of her envy. She had more than enough. She had Kingston Downs, Sod, Robert, Elly and Venus. Friends, and a family who loved her. A rich life, one with more happiness than many enjoyed. So her heart was hollow, but it would fill again. One day.

  The steward called her name. Brooke trotted to the ring, Chloe wishing her luck as she passed. She stroked her hand down Robert’s neck as he broke into an impatient canter. The ground noise faded, overtaken by the sound of Robert’s hoofbeats and snorts. She glanced at the course, tracing the jumps and the track in her mind, heart thumping as her excitement grew. Prepared, she saluted the judge and circled one last time.

  She lined up the start flags. Immediately, Robert’s head went up, his huge body coiling as he snatched at the bit in excitement. Hand on his mane, she leaned forward to whisper into his swivelling ears. ‘Come on, Robert, my darling. Time to show everyone how brilliant you are.’

  With an ease of her hands and a drop of her seat, he speared through the flags.

  Clear over the first, a sharp turn to the left and three strides to the second oxer. Another slide left and a rustic gate. Robert took off and landed without a single check. As they thundered towards the double, such was the horse’s power and enthusiasm that Brooke could have sworn it was Poddy beneath her. Robert bounded over the double without missing a beat, and when Brooke steered him inside the jump that Andrew had scoffed she’d never make it round, he spun as balanced as a ballerina, hurtling over the upright at an angle so acute Brooke almost took out the wing with her knee. The second last flew past and though his hind toe tapped the
final fence, they bolted through the finish flags with clear round and a time flashing on the clock so low it left even Brooke goggle-eyed.

  She trotted back to the edge of the ring feeling like an Olympic medallist. This was what she lived for. The thrill of competition, the proof of all the hours she and the horses had put in at home. The roar of blood as her heart pumped pure exhilaration.

  ‘Carthorse, huh?’ she yelled to Andrew in the warm-up area before sliding off Robert and hugging the blowing horse hard. ‘Champion, more like.’

  ‘Holy shit, that was fast!’ said Chloe, bounding over to take Robert’s reins and rub his face. ‘And he didn’t even look like dropping a rail.’

  ‘I know. He’s awesome. And you, Missy, are going to be forever in his debt for that round.’

  ‘Why?’

  She threw a smug look at Chloe. ‘I made a bet with Andrew.’

  Chloe’s eyes widened in astonishment. ‘What?’

  ‘If I win he has to kiss you.’

  A blush spread across Chloe’s face, a secret smile playing around her mouth as she hugged her arms to her chest. She nodded at the ring, where Andrew now circled on Marchment. ‘Watch.’

  But Brooke didn’t need to. The sound of the first rail falling was enough. Andrew had thrown it. Though she rolled her eyes in mock disgust nothing could stop her smile. The chance Chloe wanted so desperately was hers, and Brooke couldn’t be happier.

  She gave her friend a nudge. ‘This could be it.’

  Chloe looked longingly towards the ring. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Hey,’ she said, hugging her. ‘You’re friends. That’s most of the relationship done. The rest is icing.’

  Brooke threw a light rug over Robert’s sponged and towelled-off body and fastened the buckles. Though she’d tried her hardest to cast it off, the same bittersweet emotion she’d experienced earlier kept swirling through her veins, keeping her fussing over Robert when it wasn’t needed. She should be at the clubhouse, enjoying a cold drink and chatter about horses. Instead, she remained by the float, shielding herself from Chloe and Andrew’s anticipation-laden glow.

  Buckles secure, she patted Robert and wandered around to placate Sod and reward his good behaviour with a dose of attention. Leaning her shoulder against the float, she stroked his cheek and traced lines over his brow. Warmer weather had brought a tinge of gold to the outer edges of his coat, and at certain angles his normal dark colouring appeared an appealing deep bronze. Even the almost-black tips of his ears were lighter.

  ‘I’m so proud of you,’ she whispered, running her finger down his face to caress the velvety hairs of his muzzle. ‘You’ve been so good, and I bet you miss your friend Poddy, huh?’

  As though in answer, Sod’s ears began to swivel. Bunting her out of the way, he shuffled sideways, head up, nostrils flaring, ears pricked.

  And then he whickered.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  Brooke’s stomach flapped and flipped like a silk flag in the wind. She didn’t turn round. She couldn’t turn around. Fear that this was imagination, a manifestation of her wishful thinking, held her rooted, breathless and trembling.

  But Sod only whickered for one person.

  ‘Hey, Brooke.’

  And figments didn’t talk with Lachie’s deep gentle voice.

  Her fingers fluttered to her mouth, eyes filling with joy and disbelief. Her entire being felt stretched, as though her body already reached for him. She turned, eyes widening as they devoured every magnificent, muscled centimetre of him. From the tips of his sun-lightened hair to the end of his shiny leather boots.

  He stood, his hand on Sod’s rump, in a pair of dark jeans and a crisp blue and white wide-striped shirt with the sleeves folded neatly up to expose tanned, golden-haired forearms. A hint of stubble flecked a jaw tense with nerves, while his hazel eyes, still surrounded by those gorgeously long lashes, were fixed intently on her.

  Not even in her dreams had he appeared so handsome, so strong. So absolutely, perfectly real.

  ‘Lachie.’ It was the only word she could force past her choked-up throat.

  Their gaze remained locked, neither able to break it. A gaze of yearning, of love, of hope.

  Lachie slid his palm over Sod’s rump and across his back as he moved closer, the horse curling under his touch like an arching cat, leaving Brooke with the irrational urge to push the horse aside and force her body in its place.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Good. And you?’

  He smiled in a way that made her stomach somersault. ‘Better for being here.’ He took another step closer, hand gripping Sod’s mane. ‘I thought you might be interested to know I’ve been offered a job with Pitcorthie Rural as an agronomist.’

  Brooke pressed her palm to her chest as her heart hiccupped. Pitcorthie. Here. Not Delamere.

  ‘Nancy’s offered me room at her place until I find somewhere permanent,’ he continued. ‘But I wanted to ask you if maybe I could rent the dairy.’

  ‘No.’

  His smile dropped. ‘Oh.’ He looked away.

  ‘I mean, it’s not possible. I’m still living there.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The cottage …’ She uselessly raised her hand. ‘Memories, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m here.’ He dropped his hand from Sod and moved in, huge body shadowing hers, re-emerging smile tickling the edges of his mouth. ‘You remember that other-lifetime thing we talked about?’

  She nodded, insides singing as his earlier revelation began to sink in. Pitcorthie Rural. Renting the dairy. It was true. Oh God, it was actually true. Lachie was coming back.

  ‘I decided I couldn’t wait. So here I am.’

  ‘But what about Delamere? Your home, your dream.’

  ‘A wise man once told me that there’s a lot to be said for knowing happiness is where your heart lies.’ He stroked his knuckles down her cheek. ‘And my heart – my everything – lies with you. I love you. I want a future wherever you are. This lifetime. Now. If you’ll have me.’

  Her eyes filled. ‘Of course I’ll have you. I love you. Kingston Downs hasn’t been the same since you left.’ Her arms wrapped around him, and she clung to him like he’d vanish if she let him go.

  He buried his face in her neck, holding her with the same intensity as she held him. ‘I missed you so much. Nothing seemed right. I kept replaying your phone messages just to hear your voice.’

  ‘I did the same,’ she admitted with a sob. ‘I kept wandering around the cottage hoping to catch an echo of you. Not an hour passed when I didn’t think of you. I thought I’d never recover.’

  He cupped her face and kissed her. ‘Now you don’t have to.’

  She sighed deeply, completely lovesick. ‘You are the most amazing man, Lachie Cambridge.’

  ‘Not sure about amazing, but I’m the luckiest for having found you.’

  ‘No, I’m the lucky one. Can you kiss me again? I haven’t had enough yet.’

  ‘Me neither,’ he said, bending his mouth to hers. ‘I don’t think I ever will.’

  At the sound of a slow clap Brooke broke the kiss. Chloe stood near the end of the float grinning at them, Andrew by her side. Catching Brooke’s eye, he smiled and gave a subtle nod. Years of friendship gave the gesture meaning. They’d navigated the rapids and survived. It’d be all right.

  Chloe ceased her clapping and stepped forward, tears turning her blue eyes even bluer. ‘That was so romantic.’

  ‘You watched?’

  ‘Not all of it. We did give you some privacy. But we had to see if Lachie’s plan worked out.’

  Brooke glanced at Lachie.

  ‘I had to find out from someone where you’d be,’ he said with a shrug.

  Chloe rubbed Brooke’s upper arm. ‘I’m so pleased.’ She smiled at Lachie. ‘For both of you.’ She glanced back at Andrew before returning her attention to Brooke. ‘Andrew and I are going to head off now. Will you be all right getting home?’


  ‘I’ll be fine. You go.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And good luck.’ She watched them saunter off, as Lachie stood with his arms wrapped around her from behind, hugging her protectively as he kissed the top of her head. Brooke sank into him, amazed at how the day had panned out.

  ‘Shall we go home, or is there other stuff you need to do?’ he asked.

  Home. She liked the way he said that.

  She turned in his arms, smiling. ‘There’s plenty of stuff I need to do, but not here.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? Like what?’

  She fingered the buttons on his shirt. ‘Like, I don’t know. Remove all your clothes and kiss you from head to toe and all places in between.’

  ‘I like the sound of all places in between.’

  ‘So I can feel.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Lachie, removing his arms. ‘We really need to get out of here.’ He dug in his pockets for his keys and handed them over.

  Brooke looked them, frowning. ‘What are these for?’

  ‘For the ute. I can’t leave it here.’

  ‘I realise that. But you can drive it.’

  ‘And who’s going to drive the float home?’

  ‘Me.’

  He blinked and then a delighted smile dawned. ‘You can tow the float?’

  She nodded, buoyant on a cloud of pride. ‘I’m a bit slow and not fully confident yet, but I’m getting better.’

  He cupped her face. ‘You’re amazing, you know that? Amazing, clever, beautiful and talented … and I am going to do really, really sexy things to you when we get home.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’

  ‘You bet it is.’

  ‘I thought I’d find you here,’ said Lachie, settling down next to Brooke in the space between Poddy’s and Oddy’s graves.

  She smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder. Three days Lachie had been back and she still found it hard to believe he was here, that he’d chosen her and Kingston Downs over Delamere. She kept waking in the night, staring at his sleeping form in the darkness, listening to his steady even breaths while her heart raced.