The Patterson Girls
RACHAEL
JOHNS
www.harlequinbooks.com.au
About the Author
Rachael is an English teacher by trade, a mum 24/7, a supermarket owner, a chronic arachnophobe and a writer the rest of the time. She rarely sleeps and never irons. Rachael writes rural romance and women’s fiction and lives in rural Western Australia with her hyperactive husband, three mostly gorgeous heroes-in-training, two fat cats, one naughty dog and a very cantankerous budgie.
At 17 Rachael began writing, enlightened by the thought that she could create whatever ending she liked and so she embarked on a Bachelor of Arts in Writing. Almost fifteen years later, after joining the Romance Writers of Australia, she finally achieved her goal of publication. Since then Rachael has finaled in a number of competitions, including the Australian Romance Readers Awards. Jilted (her first rural romance) won Favourite Australian Contemporary Romance in 2012 and she was voted in the Top Ten of Booktopia’s Favourite Australian Author poll in 2013.
Rachael loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website—www.rachaeljohns.com. She is also on Facebook and Twitter.
Dear Lovely Reader
This story began a few years ago when the paddocks around the town where I live were covered in what looked to me like a beautiful purple flower.
As a converted country girl, I didn’t know anything about Paterson’s Curse or Salvation Jane as it is sometimes called but my farming friends told me it was actually an invasive weed. At the same time another friend of mine suggested that Paterson’s Curse would make a great title for a book. With this pretty weed and my friend’s suggestion in my head, I started dreaming of a story about a curse. It soon became a family curse and the Patterson clan was born.
Initially The Patterson Girls was going to be another rural romance and although it still has many of the trademarks of the much-loved rural genre, there were four sisters fighting to be heard and the story grew into a family drama with a big secret at its core instead.
I’ll be honest, there were times I wanted to give up and write a straight romance, but I mostly loved writing about the relationships between the sisters—their sibling rivalry and also their special bonds. All of them are remarkable women, struggling with everyday issues and I hope that every reader will be able to identify with at least one of the girls.
And for those of you who love your romance as much as I do … never fear. As there are four sisters, there are also a number of gorgeous suitors hoping to win their hearts.
So thank you from the bottom of my heart for picking up The Patterson Girls—I’m so excited to share this story with you and can’t wait to hear what you think.
Happy Reading
Dedication
To my cousins—Tom, Becky and Mikey, who were the closest I had to siblings growing up and are still some of my favourite people on the planet. Love you all!
Contents
About the Author
Dear Lovely Reader
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Epilogue—Six months later
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
‘Dad.’ The word slipped from Lucinda Mannolini’s lips on a whisper as she emerged from gate 21 at Adelaide Airport and spotted her father. Her heart squeezed. His standard uniform of black work trousers and checked shirt seemed to hang from his lanky body. In the last six months, he appeared to have gone a little whiter on top. He still stood tall though, his glasses perched on his nose and his arms folded across his chest as he waited amidst a sea of people desperate to claim their loved ones so the holiday season could kick off. Overhead, announcements were being made about delayed flights and missing passengers, but Brian Patterson looked lost in his own little world.
Thrusting her shoulders back and pushing her chin high to give an air of confidence she didn’t feel, Lucinda slipped into the stream of passengers, approaching a couple so lost in their passionate reunion that they either didn’t care or hadn’t noticed they were holding up the traffic. Once upon a time she and Joe had been like that whenever he returned from his two weeks on the goldfields, but lately, not so much. Pushing that thought away, she stepped around them as Dad rushed forward, his arms wide open for her. Her leather handbag slapped against her back as she flung herself into them and dropped her head against his strong, broad shoulders.
‘Dad,’ she said again as tears welled in her eyes.
‘Lucinda,’ he whispered back. ‘My Lucinda.’ His voice held raw emotion, making her feel safe and loved and needed all at once. Still holding her, he shuffled them out of the throng of people rushing past. There wasn’t room for her and him and the tongue-locked lovers.
‘How are you, sweetheart?’
His heartfelt question almost unravelled her. He was the one who had been six months without his soulmate. Although she’d been as long without her mother, living away in Perth she’d sometimes forgotten that her mum wasn’t still in their South Australian home town, making beds, cooking meals and greeting guests at the Meadow Brook Motel. Living away she could still pretend that Mum was alive, but being back home for Christmas would put an end to that illusion pretty damn quick.
‘I’m good,’ she lied, forcing a smile. She didn’t know whether to mention Mum. ‘How are you?’ she asked instead.
‘Fine, fine,’ he waved away the question as he led her towards the baggage carousel. She guessed he wasn’t speaking the whole truth either but neither pressed the other for this wasn’t the place for a conversation that would quite likely end in messy, messy tears—hers not entirely related to the loss of her mother.
She wasn’t sure her problem was the kind one discussed with one’s father. Her sisters maybe, although she doubted any of them would understand.
Madeleine might appreciate her desire to have a child but would no doubt tell her to stop being so emotional about it. She’d say science could fix almost anything these days and suggest she book herself an appointment with a fertility clinic. All very well to say, but you had to have been trying to conceive for a year before a specialist would give you the time of
day and she’d only gone off the pill eight months ago. Charlie would ask if she’d tried alternative therapy and suggest she and Joe go on a yoga holiday to get in touch with their inner fertility, or worse, visit some kind of sex therapist—as if that was the problem. And Abigail—the youngest—would get her drunk to try and take her mind off it all.
The Patterson girls were as different as the four seasons. Once upon a time, before careers and in her case a husband had scattered them, they’d been close—the way Lucinda thought sisters were supposed to be—but time and distance had drawn them apart and she missed the companionship they used to share.
‘Lucinda?’ Dad’s voice echoed around her head and she blinked. The crowds had thinned around them.
‘Sorry, Dad. What did you say?’
He frowned and then shook his head. ‘Abigail’s plane lands in half an hour but she’ll no doubt be a while getting through customs. Charlie’s next, then Madeleine. We’ll probably have an hour or so to wait then before Madeleine’s flight, but I thought we could grab some lunch.’
‘Sounds great.’ Lucinda injected chirpiness into her voice and linked her arm through her father’s as she looked for her suitcase.
‘Dammit.’ Abigail Patterson cursed and tapped her Manolo Blahnik heel against the grubby floor of the airport as she eyed the hundreds of suitcases that were doing the rounds of the carousel while weary travellers waited ready to pounce. None of them held her violin, which she’d rashly decided to leave in London. What a stupid mistake.
For one, she never travelled without her instrument, and doing so would likely raise suspicion amongst her dad and older sisters. And for two, how the hell would she get through the week ahead without being able to sneak off to her room and play some Pachelbel or Vivaldi? It would be hard enough trying not to let slip her recent failure, but the first Christmas at home without Mum was going to be plain and simple hell.
However, still raw from being kicked out of the orchestra, she had barely been able to look at her beloved violin while packing for this trip two days ago. She’d shoved it under the bed and decided that a little time apart would do them good. It would give her the chance to work out what to do with herself when she returned to London. What did one do with oneself when the dream you’d been working towards your whole life went up like a puff of smoke?
‘’Scuse me, coming through.’
A short, stocky woman with a face as red as her carrot-coloured hair barged past and launched herself at a massive purple polka-dotted suitcase. Abigail glared as the woman tried to wrestle her suitcase off the carousel and then felt a spark of jealous irritation when a tall, well-built blond God of a man slipped past her to assist, lifting the case as if it were no heavier than a box of movie popcorn. He smiled at the redhead as he deposited the case on a trolley and the woman started blathering her thanks. Maybe Abigail should feign difficulty with her case and he could help her? She glanced around the carousel again but saw no sign of it. Anyway, it wasn’t much bigger than an overnighter. If there was one thing Abigail was good at—besides playing the violin—it was packing lightly but still managing to look a million dollars.
Maybe that’s what she could do … start some kind of boutique travel consultancy. She would specialise in helping women like her sister Madeleine, who always took practically her whole wardrobe on holiday, to pack smarter. Not that Madeleine ever had holidays. This trip home was a necessary exception.
‘I swear my stuff is always the last,’ said a dreamy voice beside her.
Thoughts of the fashion-travel-consultant business fading, Abigail turned to smile at the owner of the voice. She met his gaze and her tummy fluttered at the way he looked her up and down, obviously admiring her long legs in their tiny yellow shorts and sexy heels. Perhaps there was a God after all.
‘Well, this might be your lucky day, ‘cause my belongings have a habit of being last as well.’ The guy smiled as her fingers inched up to her hair and she flicked her straight blonde locks over her shoulders, flirting without being fully conscious of it.
‘Pity there’s not a bar this side of customs,’ he said. ‘I’d buy you a drink.’
She swallowed, warmth flooding her at the idea of sitting down for a cocktail with this guy. He could be just the kind of tonic she needed. ‘Yes, pity indeed.’
‘Were you on the flight all the way from London?’
She nodded. ‘You?’
‘Yep.’ He ran a hand through his lovely thick hair. He looked like a surfer, which would account for his lovely body. ‘I always tell myself that next time I’ll stop over for a night somewhere, break up the journey, but I never do.’
Why-oh-why couldn’t she have been seated next to him instead of the two teenagers she’d been dumped next to? Apparently their parents had been up front in first class, drinking proper champagne and not supervising their sons, who kept pestering the flight attendant for soft drinks and talking loudly about the games they were playing while the rest of the passengers were trying to sleep.
‘You do this trip often then?’
‘Often enough.’ He hit her with that melt-your-insides smile again. ‘I work in London but the fam are still in Oz. I’d be written out of the olds’ will if I didn’t come home for Christmas. What about you?’
‘Pretty much the same.’ She wasn’t about to go into the details with a stranger—that one of her ‘olds’ had recently passed away and she technically didn’t have a job anymore.
‘That’s my bag.’ He turned away and bent over the carousel, scooping up a large navy-blue backpack just before it went in through the little hole and did another round. The action gave Abigail a rather nice view of his taut behind and she felt her tummy do that flutter thing again. She’d been so focused on her career the last few months (make that years) that she hadn’t had much time for men. There’d been that brief fling with the orchestra’s assistant manager, but after discovering he was married—he hadn’t mentioned it of course, but she should have done her research because everyone, she later found out, knew he was—she’d been avoiding the opposite sex. She had her violin, the true love of her life, and she didn’t want anything to get in the way of her career.
Unfortunately it had turned out that she didn’t need anyone else to stuff it up. She’d done a perfectly good job of that on her own. She sighed as the guy turned back towards her and hit her once again with his killer smile.
‘I don’t suppose you want to get a drink anyway?’ he said, tilting his head to one side like an adorable puppy. ‘I could wait for you to get your bag and then we could …’ His voice drifted off as he nodded towards the customs line and the exit that led into the rest of the airport.
Her imagination skipped forward to what he’d want to do once they’d finished their drinks. She’d never had a one-night stand before but right now the idea of a few hours in the arms of a handsome stranger was more appealing than facing her family, who would no doubt take one look at her and know something was up.
‘I’d love to, but my dad and sisters will be waiting out there.’
‘Damn.’ He didn’t hide his disappointment and it echoed her own.
She was about to suggest they exchange numbers and maybe catch up when they were both back in London, but she spotted her case out of the corner of her eye and instinctively lunged past him. ‘Sorry. That’s mine.’
He didn’t help her like he had the middle-aged woman and when she turned back she could already see that the moment—the opportunity—was over. He was moving on, ready to get on with his own family Christmas and forget they’d ever met. She didn’t even know his name.
‘Well, nice meeting you. Have a good Christmas.’ He heaved his backpack a little further up his shoulder, smiled and then turned away.
‘Bye.’ Abigail watched a moment as he headed towards customs and joined the other passengers in the line. How different her holiday could have been if she’d been able to say yes to that drink with whatever his name was. It would be something hot and
masculine like Jack or Adam, of that she was certain. One drink would have led to another, which likely would have led to some red-hot fun. How she longed for some red-hot fun.
But there was no point standing here and wishing things were different. The fact was, she wasn’t home for a holiday fling. She was here to help Dad get through his first Christmas without Mum. Her chest tightened at the thought, the emotion rising up into her throat, making crying in the customs line a very real possibility. It certainly put her orchestra woes into perspective.
Nothing had ever been as bad as losing Mum.
Charlotte Patterson smiled with a mixture of relief and anticipation as she waited to exit the plane. She’d almost missed this flight, which was becoming a nasty habit and would have made her the brunt of her sisters’ jokes. Again. It hadn’t been her fault, though. She’d been all packed and ready to go when the little old lady in the house next door had come knocking, sobbing her heart out because she’d locked her keys inside. Of course Charlie hadn’t been able to leave Mrs Gianetti until she’d called the locksmith and made sure he was on his way. As a result she’d almost been late to the airport.
It had been touch and go, but thankfully her taxi driver had been a pro at negotiating Melbourne’s morning traffic and she’d arrived in the nick of time. The flight had been uneventful and now she couldn’t wait to disembark and see everyone. They hadn’t had a family Christmas since Madeleine had moved to America five years ago and although Mum wouldn’t be there, going home to be together for this first Christmas without her felt like the right thing to do.
They’d sit around the table where she used to help them with their homework and they’d share a few wines and special memories. They’d uphold Mum’s Christmas traditions—attend the local church service on Christmas Eve, maybe help Dad make breakfast for the motel guests on Christmas morning and then open their presents sitting around the tree that was decorated solely with the primitive handmade ornaments she and her sisters had made in primary school. Mum had loved them and sworn she’d never ever throw them out. Charlie swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back the water in her eyes at the thought of going back to Meadow Brook, back to their home and the motel, without Mum there to welcome them.
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