Matt cupped one hand against the side of her face, stilling her agitated movement. ‘It’s okay, Roni. I can. I’ve got him for you.’
Scritches’ legs kicked spasmodically, and Roni’s hand flew to cover her mouth. Was that an involuntary reflex? Or was it how rigor mortis set in? How the hell would she know?
‘Good lad.’ Matt moved the stethoscope, angling his head to one side and squinting as he listened intently. ‘Knew you’d be one tough dude.’ His eyes caught Roni’s. ‘I reckon he’ll be fine. Cats are pretty resilient to snake bite, and the antivenom intervention was immediate. Plus, the bite was here.’ He indicated Scritches’ hind leg. ‘Well away from his organs.’
He pointed to the dead reptile. ‘See his belly? Well, not the chunk Scritches ripped out of the poor bugger. Above that. The bulge? That’d be a rat or something, ingested within the last few hours. He’d used a good portion of his venom on that, so Scritch didn’t get a full dose.’
‘Poor snake be damned,’ she hiccoughed. ‘He could’ve killed Scritch.’ Relief overwhelming her, the tears she’d hidden for so many years rolled free.
‘Ah, Roni, it’s okay now.’ On his knees still, Matt tossed his stethoscope in the dirt and pulled her against his chest, strong arms wrapped around her as though he could shield her from … from what? Nothing threatened her, she didn’t need his protection.
But for a second, a tantalising, safe second, she allowed the embrace. Then she shoved him away. Swiped a hand over her eyes, as though she could somehow stop the tears. ‘Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m being stupid. It’s fine. I’m fine.’
Matt allowed her to move away a little. ‘Take a minute, Roni.’
‘I don’t need a minute.’ She wanted to thrust to her feet, to demand they return to the safety of her house, but her chin quivered so hard she knew her legs would do the same.
Matt’s voice dropped low, almost indiscernible over the warble of magpies. ‘Roni, you don’t have to be so tough all the time. Crying doesn’t mean you’re weak. It can mean you’ve had to be strong for too long.’
‘What the hell would you know? You know nothing about me, about my life.’ She snatched at anger, hoping to keep fear and exhaustion at bay.
He watched her for a long moment, absolutely still, completely silent. ‘You’re right. I don’t know enough about you. What I do know, though, is that vulnerability isn’t a flaw.’
She mashed her lips together. She had no right to attack the man who had just saved Scritches’ life, but she couldn’t afford to expose herself to any more pain. She had worked so hard to insulate herself from the world, she dared not let anyone in. Matt had to be kept at a safe distance. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Rationality and emotion aren’t exactly close bedfellows.’ He pushed to his feet and extended his hand, pulling her up and steadying her. ‘Right. Let’s get our patient home. And, by the looks of it, I need to get you home, too. I’m going to give Taylor a call and ask her to drop by, okay?’
Exhaustion washed over her in waves. She didn’t have the energy to refuse.
Chapter Thirty
Matt had mentioned he would be on the reaper for long hours for the next few days, but still she found herself listening for the noise of his ute each morning. He had checked that the landline worked, promising her he would only be minutes away if she called.
She didn’t need his support or reassurance. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want it.
Tracey came early on Tuesday, enormously pleased to share that Matt had tasked her with visiting. ‘Stone-fruit season’s starting upriver, so I whipped up a peach crumble for you. Oh, and Samantha called with the inside news. Not official until the meeting, but guess whose lamingtons took first place?’ Her hair vibrated with excitement. ‘Our recipe will be used for the fundraiser.’
‘That’d be your recipe, Tracey.’ Still, it was an achievement she could never have dreamed of.
‘Nonsense. It’s now our recipe.’ Tracey ladled out a generous serve of crumble and covered it with thick cream. ‘Now, get that into you. You’re wasting away, no wonder Matt’s concerned. I’ll teach you how to make this next, if you like.’ She smiled slyly. ‘I’ll bet Matt would like it. Oh, and I saw Taylor in the supermarket. She said she’ll drop by again tomorrow evening, and to warn you she’ll be able to tell at a glance whether you took your antibiotics. You know you had to take the full ten-day course?’
In a town riddled with secrets, few seemed to be tightly held. Roni could only hope hers was among them.
With Scritches remarkably none the worse for wear, though he had spent the previous couple of days acting the invalid, lying around until his saucer of milk was pushed close enough for him to lap without strenuous effort, Roni felt better. Still, fatigue hit her at the oddest moments. Like halfway through the delicious crumble. She pushed the bowl away, staring at it morosely.
‘Don’t like it, love? I’ll get some apricots tomorrow, make you turnovers if you prefer.’
‘Oh, no, it was amazing. Honestly, I’ve never in my life had anything like your baking.’
Tracey fluttered closer, patted at her hand, then pulled up a chair. ‘That’s because when I bake for you, I add an extra dose of love.’
Roni bit at her lip. Such a corny line. Tracey was joking, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to cry again.
Dammit, yes she was.
‘Oh, there, love, it’s all right.’ Tracey’s arm went around her shoulders. ‘Leaves you terribly ragged, this virus, doesn’t it?’
That, among other things.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Taylor will see you right.’ Another squeeze, then Tracey let go.
Instinctively, Roni leaned toward the other woman. She wanted those arms wrapped around her again, she wanted the comfort of that maternal embrace, but she snapped her back straight. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, I pick up plenty of bugs on Sydney’s snot-factory public transport. I was terrified when you were so sick, though.’
She sucked in a quick breath, like she could vacuum the words back. Tracey was neither young, nor seemed particularly healthy; caring about her was an invitation to hurt. But what choice did she have? She could continue to hoard her isolation, clutching her loneliness like a miser’s treasure, in the hope of remaining immune to the certainty of pain. Or she could accept this fragment of joy, made even more precious by its transitory nature. Much as Marian had done.
Tracey tutted, finger-pecking at crumbs on the wooden table. ‘Lordy, I’m a tough old bird. I get that darn flu every year, but I tell you, I’ve no intention of dropping off the perch anytime soon. Marian would never forgive me if I did, now I have you to look after.’
‘I wouldn’t forgive you, either.’ There should be a thunderclap, or a chorus of trumpeting angels, something cataclysmic and spectacular to acknowledge her epiphany. Instead, swallows swooped past the kitchen window, dipping water from the pond. Farm machinery chuntered in the distance and Baby lowed in the orchard. Scritches stretched and groaned on his yellow cushion. All good, safe, homely sounds.
‘Marian was right about you all along. She knew this was your home.’ Tracey sighed tremulously, excavating the edge of the crumble with a spoon. ‘I miss her terribly, but at least she sent you to me.’ She pushed the plate back in front of Roni. ‘Which means that I’m in charge, and I get to say that you need to eat a little more of this, and then I’m packing you back off to bed. You look about done in, love.’
Did Tracey really believe a few days of flu had knocked her about worse than it had a sixty-year-old woman? Or did she suspect there was more to her story? Roni scrubbed a hand across her face, the thought of bed suddenly irresistible. Did it truly matter what anyone thought when they seemed willing to accept her regardless?
She allowed herself to be herded back to bed.
Tracey drew the curtains, allowing the room to rest in soft twilight.
Safe and secure. Like a womb.
Except for her womb.
<
br /> The tears trickled across her face, dampening the pillow until Scritches padded in and curled close, his rough tongue licking at the back of the hand she used to stifle her sobs.
Thanks to Matt, she still had Scritches. The pain would get better.
It had to.
Though she was asleep, the change in air pressure alerted her to another presence in the darkened room a moment before the hand touched her face.
She knew how this went, the hand over her mouth stifling her cries, even as they tried to make her cry harder. She kicked her legs free of the covers, rearing upright before the words reached her sleep-dazed brain.
‘It’s okay, Roni. Tracey let me in as she was leaving. I wanted to check your temperature, make sure the fever has definitely cleared.’
It took her a moment to place Taylor’s soft voice. She sank back into the pillow, the brief reaction exhausting her. ‘Sorry. Nightmare.’
The doctor’s cool hand pressed against her forehead again. ‘Now you’re awake, we can do this the more professional way, but it feels like you’re okay. I need to speak with you about that D&C, though. There’s a risk of infection if we don’t—’
‘It’s all right. She’s gone.’ Roni couldn’t mask the hollowness in her voice any more than she could bring herself to look at Taylor.
The mattress dipped as Taylor sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t pretend to know how hard this is.’
‘It’s not hard.’ She kept her lips tight, so the sobs that welled in her chest couldn’t escape. ‘I’m being ridiculous, making a fuss about something that was never even there.’ Nothing except Roo, that was. Roo and her future.
‘That’s not true. A blighted ovum is a loss, not a phantom. Two weeks ago you believed you were carrying a healthy baby. You’re entitled to absolutely any emotion you choose.’
‘Any emotion?’ Her chin dimpled and wobbled uncontrollably. ‘How about guilt, then? Because not only did I fail my baby, but you know what? Maybe a tiny part of me is relieved. Actually bloody relieved. This way I’ll never have to face my ex, never have to hear how much I’ve messed up his life, how little he wants us. Never have to argue over rights or access or money.’ She shoved upright in the bed. ‘And you know what the worst thing is? Maybe my baby knew how scared I really was. How—no matter how hard I tried, how much I told myself everything would be perfect—I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to look after her. That I wouldn’t be able to keep her safe. Maybe she could sense all that, and that’s why she never grew.’ Her voice cracked as the emotions she’d not even dared allow to become thoughts poured out of her, a torrent of fear and shame. ‘See, I’d have been a crap mother.’
‘Sounds like you’d be a perfectly normal mother.’ Taylor frowned at the quilt, then glanced at Roni before focusing again on the fabric. ‘I’ll tell you something. The thought of having a baby terrifies me. That’s why I’ve been putting it off, even though Luke’s keen.’
Roni stared at her, nonplussed. ‘Why would it worry you? You’ve got everything so together. You’ve a job, a husband …’ And no memories that made her scared to move beyond the safety of what had become familiar.
Taylor pinched at her lip, her brow furrowed. ‘I think I fear the unknown. There’s never any guarantee how a pregnancy will go … something could happen to the baby, or to me. And I’m not certain I’m willing to risk changing what is, right now, a pretty perfect life. And you know what else? I guess I’m reluctant to share Luke. What if he loves me less when there’s a baby to love as well?’ She stood, smoothing the bedspread. ‘My point is, I guess we all fear what we don’t know.’
‘My issue is more with fearing what I do know. Anyway,’ Roni continued hurriedly, as interest flickered across Taylor’s face, ‘are you going to the meeting on Friday? Tracey tells me the official lamington laureate will be announced, and as she’s insisting my name also go on the award, I’m worried about a rebellion. Would be nice to see a friendly face or two there.’
Taylor took some chemist-wrapped packages from her bag. ‘I think most faces there are friendly. Well, with a couple of notable exceptions, I guess.’
‘Who—’ The rumble of a vehicle crossing the cattle grid throbbed through the room. ‘That’s Matt.’
Scritches stirred sleepily as Taylor tweaked aside the curtain. ‘Reckon you’re right. I’ll let him in.’
‘Actually,’ Roni tried to push her hair into place, ‘could you tell him I’m in the shower? I’ll be five minutes if he wants to stick the kettle on. Of course, you’re welcome to stay, too. Tracey brought a peach crumble.’
‘How about I keep him company until you’re finished in the bathroom? That way you don’t have to rush. I wanted a chance to see how he’s going, anyway. I rarely catch him alone.’
See how Matt was going? In a medical sense or as mates? She didn’t have time to ponder it now, she needed to scrub away any hint of tears. Oddly, having shared the secrets she’d not even realised she kept, she felt lighter, her chest less constricted.
His hair rumpled and face streaked with grime, Matt rubbed at reddened eyes as Taylor spoke to him, too low for Roni to hear the words. Taylor stood, then stooped to kiss his cheek. She glanced over at Roni. ‘I’ll get out of your way, then. I promise I’ll swing by the meeting on Friday. Better pack my boxing gloves, just in case.’
‘Boxing gloves?’ Matt sounded weary, his blue eyes lacking a spark, though he reached for a smile as she returned from letting Taylor out.
‘CWA thing.’
‘Ah. I see. You’re feeling better? You look good.’ A flush crawled under his tan and he ducked his head as the cat jumped into his lap. ‘Yeah, you too, Scritches.’ He chucked the cat under the chin.
‘Scritch is sooking about being locked in. He’s going to have to get used to it because I’m never risking him outdoors. I can’t go through that again.’
‘Me either.’
‘You look beat. Or did I breathe on you?’
Dust caked the weathered creases around Matt’s eyes as he grimaced. ‘A few eighteen-hour days will do that, but there’s more rain coming, so I have to get it done. Not my favourite time of year.’ He linked his hands above his head and cracked his back. ‘I’m starting your back acres tomorrow, so I finished up early and put some gear down the sheds. Figured I’d duck in and check you’re doing okay before I head home.’
Her teeth worried at a thumbnail as she leaned back against the sink, thinking. ‘What time do you start in the morning?’
‘About four, soon as there’s a hint of light.’ He glanced up at the kitchen clock. ‘Too soon.’
‘Then if your equipment’s already here, why don’t you stay the night? It’ll mean a quicker start for you, right?’
Thunderous silence greeted her suggestion.
Matt pulled at his chin. ‘Thing is,’ he said eventually, ‘I wouldn’t be good company.’
‘I know. Long day.’
‘Not only that.’
‘That’s okay. I’m not big on conversation.’
‘I’d noticed.’ A slight smile tipped his lips, as though her reticence could be a good thing rather than a withdrawal. Still, he hadn’t agreed, and, oh God, why did she even want him to? It was no skin off her nose if he wanted to waste time driving the slow, rutted roads between the properties.
He stood and reached for his akubra. ‘I’m sorry, Roni. Tonight’s just … not good. I have to get home.’
She turned quickly toward the sink, unnecessarily rinsing a cup from the drying rack. ‘Fine.’ Overwrought after the fortnight from hell, clearly she had read Matt completely wrong. But she didn’t need him, and didn’t need his rejection, either. ‘I’ll lock up after you.’
Lock him out.
It rained that night. Though it was warm, she burrowed further under the quilt with Scritches. The rain drummed a soft melody on the roof then swirled along the gutters and tumbled through the downpipes, a lullaby too beautiful to sleep through. She wondered w
hat the rain would mean for Matt’s harvest. Maybe he would get to sleep in. He’d certainly looked like he needed it.
Except his appearance seemed worse than fatigue. He’d seemed … melancholy.
But she couldn’t risk thinking about that, about him, so she thrust him from her mind.
Again.
Chapter Thirty-one
The rain turned to a solid downpour on Thursday, lightening to a morning mist on Friday, softening the sometimes harsh landscape. From the bedroom window she made out puddles reflecting the patches of blue sky between scudding clouds, the overblown roses in the garden bent under the weight of raindrops. ‘C’mon, lazy cat. Up you get. Tracey will be here soon.’
She dressed and pulled on a pair of rubber boots from the row lining the hall. She’d found two pairs of socks had her nicely filling Marian’s shoes. A piece of paper fluttered in the doorjamb and she tugged it free.
Sorry about the other night, Roni. My fault, not yours.
Matt
She snorted and crumpled the note, muting the voice in her head that suggested she had been disappointed. Then she slowly unclenched her fist and smoothed the page, folded it and slid it into her jeans pocket.
She tucked her chin down against the sharp breeze as she rounded the corner of the house, beneath the wisteria-covered pergola.
‘Ow!’ The breath exploded from her as she collided with a wooden post.
‘Hey, you okay?’
She rubbed her chest as she looked up. ‘Matt? What are you doing here? Or, rather, up there?’
Matt grabbed a horizontal beam, supported by the unfamiliar pole she had smacked into, and swung himself off the ladder, landing lithely alongside her. ‘Rained out. Can’t harvest for a few days so I thought maybe I could do something useful here.’ He stepped back and swept a hand wide. The pergola was now neatly enclosed with lattice and mesh, creating dappled patches of sun and shade. ‘I’ll put a gate in each end, maybe a water feature for interest. Then you can add some climbing gear, whatever you fancy.’
The Farm at Peppertree Crossing Page 27