by Helene Young
‘Oh God, that’s embarrassing.’
‘It’s kind of sweet. She mentioned she didn’t have a dad.’ He hurried on as storm clouds gathered in her eyes. ‘I have no intention of trying to replace him, Kristy. But there’s something here, something between us that crackles and sparks. Something special.’
She was silent for a minute, her teeth worrying her lip. ‘So we’re talking friends or sex?’
He laughed at her candour. ‘Only if you insist.’
Her mouth twitched, almost a smile. ‘I’m neither cheap nor easy, despite what it may have looked like. Maybe we can start with sailing again. The three of us this time.’
‘Sure.’ He raised her hand, feathered a kiss across her knuckles then let it go, relief lightening the weight in his chest. It was a chance for a new beginning. ‘Better check out the horses first. We’ll need to have an opinion when we head back to the lion’s den.’
They walked the fifty metres in silence, their shoulders almost touching. He matched his stride to hers. The faintest trace of her perfume made him breathe a little deeper. The strong sunlight picked up chestnut in her dark hair, and her dress clung to her curves and flared from her waist. It swished around her knees with each step. Her toenails, neat but unpainted, peeked through the open toes of plain black sandals that looked comfortable rather than pretty. Long feet, like her long hands. Although she didn’t seem like someone who spent time on her appearance, she was elegant, with an unconscious style.
‘Conor, Conor! Come and meet my new horse.’ Sienna was in the saddle, blonde hair draped over one shoulder. It wasn’t Abby he was worried about having a crush on him. Sienna was much more dangerous and he stayed on guard when she was around.
‘Looks like a champion. Does he bite?’
‘She, silly. It’s a filly. Esmeralda. She’s a dressage horse.’
‘Right.’ He patted the horse’s neck and it tossed its head. He moved back as Sienna rattled off the horse’s finer points.
Behind, he could hear Kristy and Abby discussing the other horse. Old Jeff nodded from his mount and pulled his battered hat more firmly on his head. ‘We’d best head off.’
‘How long are you going for, Jeff?’ Kristy asked, glancing at her watch.
‘An hour and a half, maybe two?’
‘That sounds good. I don’t really want to be driving at dusk with the number of roos around.’
‘Right you are.’ He tipped two fingers to his hat. ‘Come on, ladies. Let’s go.’
He might well be the only honest person on the place, Conor thought, watching the horses move off, glossy hides over taut muscles.
‘I guess the horses keep the girls off the street. Better than hanging around at the supermarket like some of their mates,’ Conor said.
‘Yeah.’ Kristy sounded dubious.
‘So you don’t want Abby to sleep over because you don’t trust Jonno.’
‘Don’t mince words, do you?’ she said, squinting up at him with the sun in her eyes. ‘Do you trust Jonno?’
‘I’ve only just met him.’
She tapped him lightly on his bicep. ‘You didn’t look happy to be left alone with them. And you think someone driving his car has committed a murder.’
‘I know men like that. They don’t respect women, children or men they perceive as weaker than themselves. I did wonder about domestic violence. Sissy’s so volatile, but Freya always seemed so upbeat. I’d decided that I was imagining it. Now I know I wasn’t.’
Kristy angled her head and hit him with a long look. ‘Very perceptive.’
‘Coaching’s not just about ball skills. A whole lot more goes into building a team and nurturing players.’
‘So it seems.’ Her smile went straight to his heart.
They ambled back along a track towards the house before branching off towards the airstrip. Beneath his calm exterior anger still simmered, but there was nothing to be gained by allowing it to surface. He was sure he was right about Steve having killed not just Danny, but Annabel and Lily. Four weeks ago he would have considered taking matters into his own hands, and to hell with the consequences. Now? He snuck a glance at Kristy. Now it wasn’t an option. He only hoped Miller and Joyce were up to the task of bringing Steve to justice.
‘So, your story? You want to start at the beginning?’ Kristy asked.
He blew out his cheeks. ‘Not sure I want to start anywhere.’
‘We’ve agreed to try a family date and you think I don’t have the right to know a little more?’
He laughed. ‘When you put it like that, I’d be rude not to share.’ Still he hesitated.
‘If it’s really that bad, then forget it. Dredging up memories is painful.’
‘Yeah. It’s not easy, is it? They tell you time heals, but they lie. Just means you can’t remember their faces or their voices so clearly any more. Can’t recall as many precious moments. Time strips away the very things you want to keep closest.’
She slid her hand through the crook of his elbow and squeezed his arm. ‘Sorry. Tell me when you’re ready.’ Her voice sounded shaky and her fingers held tight.
‘I may never be ready.’
The silence of the place was enveloping. With everyone inside in the air-conditioning, not even human voices broke it. The smell of dust and grass and cattle dung mixed with the aroma of the barbecue still drifting on the wind. The wind ruffled the heads of the long grass in one of the paddocks. A couple of crows squabbled over lunch. Beige and rust-brown cows lay in the shade of a clump of trees.
‘Droughtmasters,’ she said. ‘Bred for these conditions and they do just fine. I hear the McDonalds have upwards of five thousand cattle when the place is fully stocked.’
‘That’s a lot of rump steaks.’
‘It is. My parents run closer to two and a half thousand. The land’s a little drier out where they are. More bore water, less running water, except if we get a proper wet – then they find themselves under two metres of muddy floods with fences and stock washed away.’
‘Sounds like a tough life. Why does anyone bother?’
‘Lucky for carnivores they do.’ She opened her arms wide and stopped, turning a circle as she spoke. ‘Look around you. There’s nothing like lying in your swag, counting stars in a sky that’s studded with millions of lights. I know you’ve probably seen that at sea, but in the bush you hear the creatures of the night, the scratchings, the slithers, the pitter-patters. The air’s coldest just before the sun rises. You can feel it on your nose and your cheeks when you’re snuggled into your swag. You burrow deeper; scrunch your toes tight in your woolly socks. If you’re mustering, you hear the horses stamp their hooves, moving to ward off the chill. The cattle too. The last whine of a mosquito will have disappeared. The sky turns grey, then pink, and you smell the eucalypts as their leaves uncurl just a tiny bit, releasing a hint of antiseptic. If you’re in lemon myrtle country the smell will take your breath away. And then the birds start. The dawn chorus. It’s real. I smile every time.’
‘You love this land.’
‘I do.’
‘So why live in Cooktown?’
‘Being a country doctor has drawbacks, not least lack of education options for a teenage girl. I was sent away to boarding school and while I enjoyed it, I hated leaving the property, leaving Mum and Dad. I don’t want that for Abby. This is a compromise. We can visit my parents, Abby’s still getting a good education, and I’m gainfully employed.’
‘And you moved here after your husband . . .’
Her nod was jerky. ‘Yep, after he died. A fresh start. He could never leave Brisbane. He was a lecturer. Not too many openings this far north.’
‘I guess not. Do you see your parents often?’
‘Holidays, long weekends. It’s crazy at the moment because we’re short a doctor. When he’s back it will be easier. It’s good for Abby to spend time with her grandparents. They adore her. Family is important. At least to me, anyway.’
‘My wife died to
o.’ He knew his voice would crack. ‘It’s a bit over three years ago now. She and my daughter were both killed at the same time.’
Her hand flew to her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry. No wonder you don’t want to talk about it. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘No. You deserve to know that much.’
She threaded her arm through his, drew him back into a slow walk. He felt as though a door had been cracked wide open inside him, releasing a flood of memories he wanted to capture one last time before they flew away.
‘Lily was ten with long blonde hair. She dreamed of being a ballerina. She loved to do pirouettes in her pointes. She loved being tickled and her giggles were infectious. She looked like Annabel, my wife, and they shared so many mannerisms. The arch of an eyebrow, the toss of the head if they thought I was having them on. They loved hot chocolates half-full of marshmallows. Lily adored nothing more than curling up between us in the morning and reading her latest book. She hated broccoli and was rebelling against having to wear braces. We would have talked her around . . .’ His words petered out, his throat thickening. Kristy leant her cheek against his arm, her tears soaking through his shirt. He couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her that Annabel had been a doctor too.
‘Lovely memories,’ she whispered.
He shook his head. ‘The worst part? Every day I live with the knowledge that through my actions I was responsible. Because of decisions I made two people died, one of them an innocent girl. How do you reckon that makes me feel every morning I wake up and see the sunrise? I understand in my head that I didn’t kill them, but . . .’
‘I know that feeling. Even understanding it doesn’t make it easier to bear.’
They’d reached the airstrip now. He patted his pocket, handed over a rumpled hanky. She blew her nose without looking at him.
‘Very flash commuter aeroplane. I wonder if it’s a charter or they own it?’ He memorised its registration and the helicopter’s. It gave him something to do other than fight ghosts.
‘I’ve seen it here once before, so maybe it belongs to the family? Maybe Jonno’s brother. The two regos are in series, aren’t they?’
He looked at the helicopter in surprise. ‘You’re right. Probably do belong to the McDonalds then.’
‘So you think this has something to do with Danny and or Bill?’ She’d taken his arm again.
‘I do.’ He looked down at her. ‘I believe one of those men in there shot Danny and maybe Bill. I just don’t know why.’
‘Hey!’ A voice hailed them. It was Peter. ‘You’re wanted back at the house. It’s an emergency at the hospital.’
‘Oh no.’ Kristy palmed her cheeks dry, blew her nose one more time and looked for somewhere to put the hanky.
Conor held out his hand for it, his brow furrowed. ‘Why wouldn’t they have called your mobile?’
‘I gave them Freya’s number,’ Kristy said as they hurried back up the track. ‘I never know where my mobile will actually work.’
‘Do you want me to stay with Abby or come with you?’
‘Let’s see what it is first in case I can talk the nurses through it.’
‘Okay.’
Kristy stumbled and he steadied her with a hand under the elbow, loving the soft skin on the inside of her arm. She flashed him a look that warmed him to the core.
‘Hell of a way to finish a conversation,’ she said. They reached Peter, and Kristy hurried after him to wherever the phone call was waiting.
Conor looked across to the stables. The three horses and their riders had disappeared over the ridge. Should he worry that this was all a little too convenient?
18
The minute Jonno came out of the study with Steve, Freya knew something was up. Jonno she could handle most days. When she couldn’t, she curled into a defensive ball and took her punishment. She never thought he took any great pleasure in meting out what he considered to be justice. It’s what his father had done before him and what his mother expected of him. He knew no better. She hated him for the humiliation, but still she knew he’d saved her from the gutter. She wouldn’t have survived on the streets – no one wanted a pregnant stripper. She would have ended up doing tricks for sweaty middle-aged men with fumbling hands and beer breath. She would have hated herself more than she already did. More importantly, she would have lost Sienna.
Jonno had made her laugh in the beginning. He used to come into the club five, six times a week to keep an eye on the business in the middle of Kings Cross. A gentlemen’s club with doormen, proper barmen and bouncers, to deter the bad behaviour before it began. She’d been stripping there since she was sixteen. Jonno’s attention was intoxicating. But was he Sissy’s father? Jonno never asked and so she never volunteered.
Steve was different. He had this urbane front that fooled most people. He spoke with a cultured drawl, his voice rarely above a mild tone, and he wore designer clothes. But he had a way of looking at her that made her want to gather her children close. She’d never seen him on a horse and he showed no interest in Glenview or anything to do with farming.
She’d caught the flash of sadistic pleasure in Steve’s face the night one of the bouncers took a patron out the back. He hadn’t done the hands-on work, but he’d enjoyed viewing it. When the patron’s body was fished from Sydney Harbour with a gunshot wound to the back of his head, Freya was certain she knew who’d delivered the final shot.
Steve made no pretence of liking her, but she read desire in his eyes when he looked at her. Thankfully she saw indifference when he talked to Sissy. His face softened when he talked to Buddy, though, and he was one of the few who really did talk to him. He brought women to the ranch when he visited, but never the same one twice. Evelyn took that in her stride. Jonno grumbled. If they were hookers they must have cost a bomb, because they never had a hair out of place and their clothes would have been right at home in any classy Sydney joint.
Freya raised her glass, watching the brothers out of the corner of her eye. They looked so similar today and their expressions were hard, uncompromising. She watched Jonno raise a finger at one of the men, Pete. They had a hurried conversation then the man left the room. She tuned back into the conversation, wondering where Conor and Kristy were. She’d watched the three horses head down the trail ten minutes ago. She touched a jumping nerve in her eyelid.
Several of the men were getting ready to leave, their partners air-kissing as they collected their bags. Even by McDonald standards the afternoon had been a success. Evelyn loved to play lady of the manor. Freya had never got to the bottom of how a city girl from Sydney came to have married into grazing royalty in the north of Queensland. It never seemed like a good fit to her. Old Mr McDonald, and she’d never called him anything other than Mr McDonald, was a grazier through and through. He must have thought his dreams had all come true when his wife produced five strapping lads. It also must have broken his heart to find only one had any interest in the property and the others had eyes for the bright lights.
Much as she’d been scared by him, she wished he’d lived long enough to meet Buddy. She’d seen the tenderness in him when he played with Sissy. A grandson was something he would have prized.
‘Your friend needs to get her arse back into the hospital.’ Jonno spoke from behind her and she almost jumped. ‘There’s been a pile-up on the road past Black Mountain. Tourist bus and a four-wheel drive, both of them down an embankment. Lots of people hurt.’
‘Oh no, that’s terrible. I’ll go tell them.’
‘Pete’s already gone.’
Freya’s eyelid jumped again. ‘Great, great. I don’t know when Sissy and Abby will be back.’
‘Someone else can take her home.’ He went off on a tangent. ‘Why’d you invite their coach? You know I think he’s a dickhead. And you didn’t ask.’
‘He’s seeing Kristy. I thought it would be nice for her to have company too.’
‘They don’t look like fuck buddies to me.’
‘I’m watching you.’ He leant a little closer and whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t fuckin’ forget who puts the clothes on your back and who could rip them off again, right now.’ He leant away again. His smile could have been mistaken as caring. With a pat to her bottom he marched away and the door closed behind him.
She knew his threat wasn’t idle. Late one night, when he’d had too many rums, he’d become irrational because she’d left his coat on a chair. He’d literally ripped the shirt from her shoulders, buttons flying across the room. She’d lain in bed later, vowing it would never happen again. But of course it had.
Freya’s heart was pumping. Was this her chance? She could drive Abby home, take the kids along. It would be harder for him to find her in the dark. If there was chaos on the road already, emergency services around, perhaps it was a sign. She could say Kristy asked her to stay with Abby for the night, make it sound plausible. She’d been drinking, so that wasn’t a good thing, but if she stopped now, waited for the girls to get back, she’d be sober enough.
After last night she knew she had to act. For the first time, Jonno had backhanded Sissy in the same careless way he hit his wife. Sure, he’d smacked her before, but on the bottom, around the legs, not like this, not with a disregard for the injury he could cause and not because his daughter was wearing clothes that displeased him. ‘You look like a slut. I’m not spending money on clothes if you end up looking like a tramp,’ he’d roared at her.
Sissy for once hadn’t taken it with downcast eyes. She’d curled her lip and sneered. ‘One day I’ll be gone and you’ll be fucking sorry.’
His open-handed slap knocked her off her feet. Freya had screamed, launching herself across the room to her daughter. ‘Don’t you dare hit my daughter, don’t you fucking dare!’
She’d huddled on the floor with Sissy, wrapping her girl up, pressing kisses to her forehead. Jonno stood above them, arms crossed, legs wide.
He’d leant a little closer. ‘Your daughter. She’s always been your fuckin’ daughter. Think I don’t know a cuckoo when I see one?’ In the dim light she’d seen his hands ball into fists and she’d covered her daughter’s body as much as she could before he stormed out.