by Joan Kilby
She took the plastic container from him and emptied the contents of both bags into it. Combined there was about three quarters of a cup of sugar. There went her nightly hot chocolate, one of her few indulgences. “I hope that’s enough.”
“Perfect.” His gaze flickered at the realization that he’d taken the last of her sugar.
Before he could do something stupid like try to give it back, she said, “Well, you’ve just done me a favor. I’ve been trying to use this up so I could go on a sugar-free diet. That stuff will kill you. Better you than me.”
“Come for dinner,” he said suddenly. “Summer would be glad to have company other than her father for a change.”
Lamb chops with barbecue sauce. Probably mashed potatoes and green beans or salad. For a moment she was so tempted she actually salivated. If she stayed home she’d be dining on canned tuna and toast. Or lentil soup, which was tasty enough and nutritious but uninspiring after the third or fourth night in a row. “Thanks, but I can’t.”
He waited for more. She shrugged and smiled but didn’t utter another word. She didn’t owe him an explanation. And frankly, she didn’t have one. She was no martyr. If anyone else had invited her for dinner she would’ve gone in a heartbeat, just for the company. But Adam, well...
He looked pretty tasty himself....
Admit it, you’re attracted to him.
No, no way. She was not attracted to him.
He was generous and kind. And hot, don’t forget hot. But that didn’t mean she was attracted. He didn’t belong here and he couldn’t wait to get away. He’d said so himself.
Leif hadn’t been gone a year. Getting involved with the man whose property he’d died defending when that man hadn’t even bothered to show up would feel like betrayal. She and Leif hadn’t made love for six months before he died, but so what? Despite their problems, she’d been loyal in life and she was loyal in death. And what would Molly and Rolf think if she started seeing someone so soon? Hurt and disappointment wouldn’t begin to describe their reaction.
It was only dinner, not a date. Don’t overreact, she told herself.
Finally Adam raised his hands in surrender. “Okay. If you change your mind you know where we live.”
She was relieved he didn’t press her to come. The fact that he didn’t proved he was only being polite. “I’ll drive you back.”
“You don’t need to,” he began, then stopped as he realized the alternative was her doubling him again on Bo. Heat flared in his eyes, kindling an answering response from her. For a moment they just stared at each other. She recalled the press of his thighs against hers, the feel of his arm around her waist, his legs tightening around her butt.
Then he shook his head. “Actually, I’d appreciate a lift. Next time I won’t wander into the woods so impetuously.”
Nope, he clearly didn’t want a repeat of that kind of togetherness any more than she did. Hayley released her breath.
He held up the container of sugar. “Thanks for this. I owe you.”
She gave him a tight smile and grabbed her truck keys. What he owed her, he couldn’t begin to repay.
CHAPTER THREE
“THANKS ANYWAY,” ADAM SAID, and scratched the last name off his list of potential counselors. “You have my number if you get an opening.”
He tried Diane for the fifth or sixth time. After leaving another message he pushed back from the desk in his study and went upstairs to knock on his daughter’s door. “Summer?”
“Yeah?” she said in a distracted, muffled voice.
He peeked in and found her lying on her stomach in bed, still in her pajamas, her red hair spilling across her shoulders. She didn’t even look up as her fingers flew over her phone, texting.
“Hey, kiddo. What do you call a lazy baby kangaroo?”
“Dunno.”
“A pouch potato.”
She groaned. “You need new material.”
“Can you give me a hand outside?”
“I’m talking to Zoe.”
“Say goodbye for now. I want to move the woodpile away from the house.” And he figured Summer would benefit if she got outside and did something physical instead of moping around indoors.
“That’s dumb. We’ll just have to walk farther to get wood for the fireplace during winter.”
He hoped she wouldn’t be living here next winter, but he wasn’t foolish enough to mention that. “It’s a hazard in the event of a bushfire. Come on.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes, you need to do something to earn the exorbitant allowance your mother gives you.”
“Hey, I do the dishes and clean my own room.”
“Wear sturdy shoes or boots and get yourself a pair of gloves from the toolshed.”
“Oh, all right.” With a heavy sigh she put down her phone.
Adam had moved two wheelbarrow loads from the house to a new woodpile he’d started beside the barn by the time Summer shuffled outdoors in Ugg boots and a hoodie. She waited with her hands tucked into her sleeves for him to trundle back.
He began loading wood, sparing a brief nostalgic thought for the old days when she’d been eager to help Daddy. “Come on, then.”
Slowly she pulled the gloves out of her back pocket and put them on. Then she picked up a chunk of firewood by her fingertips and dropped it into the wheelbarrow. “There are probably spiders in the woodpile. Maybe even snakes.”
“They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“I didn’t believe that when I was five and I don’t believe it now.”
He chuckled, and her sullen expression cracked into a reluctant smile. “Fair enough. If you see a snake or spider you’re allowed to run screaming. Until then, pick up the wood like you mean it.”
“I don’t think it’s something you can ‘mean.’ You just do it.”
“Ever heard of mindfulness?” He wasn’t even sure where he’d picked up that expression. Probably from overhearing the women in the office talking. But it made sense. He’d done chores on his grandfather’s farm when he was a kid. He’d forgotten how enjoyable it was to focus on a simple, repetitive act like hauling wood. Doing reps on a weight machine at the gym just wasn’t the same.
“Mom’s the yoga person in the family.” Summer tossed three chunks of wood on the pile so hard one bounced out of the barrow. “Oh, I forgot. We’re not a family anymore.”
Twelve months had passed since the divorce. Adam had hoped Summer wouldn’t be feeling so raw by now. They’d never really had much opportunity to talk about his and Diane’s breakup. Since they’d moved out, his access visits with Summer had been movie-and-dinner combos with stilted conversation.
He picked up the fallen piece of wood and replaced it on the pile. “Sounds like you’re still pretty angry about that.”
She shrugged. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
“How you feel matters to me.”
She stared at him, unsmiling. “What’re you going to do about it?”
He’d never felt so helpless. And that made him angry. “Not much I can do, I guess. The marriage is over and we all have to deal with it.”
“Why didn’t you and Mom try marriage counseling?”
“It wouldn’t have done any good.” He’d promised himself he would never say anything bad to Summer about her mother, but it was so tempting to set the record straight. Diane had been unfaithful and unrepentant. “Never mind.”
“Yeah, that’s right, brush off any talk of her. If you hadn’t been working all the time, maybe Mom wouldn’t have—”
“Maybe she wouldn’t have what?”
Summer looked away. “Nothing.”
Wouldn’t have had an affair? Was that what she’d been about to say? Adam picked up the wheelbarrow even though it w
as only half-full and pushed it quickly across the grass to the barn. Damn Diane for not being more discreet. It was bad enough that she’d cheated on him but to be so careless, so sleazy, around their daughter...
He didn’t know who her lover was and he didn’t want to. It didn’t matter. But he’d found evidence a few times when he’d come up for the weekend. Secretive phone calls, disappearing for unexplained long periods, an air of excitement that he knew darn well wasn’t about him.
“Hey, Dad, wait.” Summer caught up with him, panting from running. “Sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” He tipped the barrow and the wood tumbled out. Reaching for a piece, he wedged it into position on the top layer. “Place it bark-up and point-down, see?”
He simply couldn’t talk to Summer about the five-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. It was possible she didn’t know about her mother’s lover. Maybe all Summer had meant was that if he’d been around more her mother wouldn’t have left their city apartment. Maybe she simply wished he’d cared enough to ask Diane to stay....
As angry as he was with Diane, he was guilty of working long hours. He didn’t want Summer to have bad feelings about her parents—or at least no more than any normal teenager. He’d known when Diane moved to Timbertop and he stayed in the city that their marriage was over. He wasn’t concerned about her affair for his sake, only for his daughter’s.
“I am though. Sorry.” Summer kicked at the ground and dislodged a pebble. “I’ve caused you both problems.”
“The divorce wasn’t your fault.” He’d said it a million times before but he kept saying it because he wasn’t convinced she believed it. Otherwise, why else had she gone off the rails? He didn’t think it could be only about Bailey.
“I know.”
“Do you?” He searched her face.
“Yeah. ’Course.” She lifted her chin, cocky and defiant. “It’s never the kid’s fault. That’s in all the books and movies. It’s the grown-ups that mess things up.”
He gave her a wry smile that was more of a grimace. “And kids never do.”
She dropped her gaze as a tinge of pink crept over her cheeks. “I said I was sorry.”
“Oh, Summer.” He pulled her into a clumsy hug. She hesitated, then her arms circled his waist. “I just wish I knew what was bothering you so much.”
“Nothing’s bugging me.” She pulled out of his embrace and turned away, dashing her gloved hand across her eyes. “I’ll push the wheelbarrow.”
Adam let her have a few minutes by herself and stacked the wood he’d just dropped. When he got back to the woodpile she seemed calmer, if no more talkative.
“I haven’t been able to find a therapist nearby,” he said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. He never knew what would set her off. “On Monday I’ll start phoning around in Shepparton and Healesville.”
“It would take forever to drive there and back.”
That was a slight exaggeration but it would be a hassle. “It’s either that or move into the city.”
“No.” She redoubled her time moving logs.
They loaded wood in silence for a moment. When the barrow was full, Adam paused and said gently, “If you talked to me, maybe you wouldn’t need to see a therapist. I’m on your side, Summer. Can’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
Her face looked as if it was about to crumble and he started to reach for her, to give her another hug. Surely now she would tell him what was worrying her. Then she drew in a breath and her features hardened into a brittle mask that was so unlike his young daughter he instinctively took a step back.
“For the last time,” she yelled, her hands clenched at the end of rigid arms. “There’s nothing wrong and I’m not hiding anything.”
She stomped back inside the house, slamming the kitchen door behind her so hard the windowpane over the sink rattled.
Adam stared after her, feeling sick. Her intensity, her fury—or was it fear?—was downright frightening. Something was seriously wrong. And she was hiding something.
* * *
HAYLEY EMERGED FROM the woodland trail on Major and dismounted in her yard. She tied him to the fence, removed his saddle and slung it over the top rail. Then she brushed him down, wiping away flecks of sweat and removing tiny burrs. Hopefully with better weather coming she would get some trail rides. It wasn’t easy exercising all the horses by herself.
Hayley bet Summer Banks would love to ride. She had nothing against the girl and would happily have her help exercise the horses. But how did she ask when she’d turned down Adam’s request so brusquely?
“All right, big fella. You’ll do,” she said, giving Major a scratch behind his golden ears. She exchanged his bridle for a halter and put him back in the paddock with the others.
Carrying the saddle over one arm, Hayley headed back to the garage, Shane at her heels. As she went through the door her phone rang. She placed the saddle on its wooden peg and pulled her phone out of her breast pocket, hoping the caller wouldn’t be her friend Jacinta or her mother or anyone who wanted a long chat. She barely had time for a quick lunch before her therapy session with Dave, a retired man in his sixties.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hayley, hi.” It was Ian Young, the director of the Horses for Hope program. Based in Shepparton, he coordinated the funding for her and two other horse therapists in the state.
“Hey, Ian.” She dropped the saddle next to the door and shrugged out of her jacket. “I hope you’re not calling because you have another rescue horse for me. I can barely afford to feed the ones I’ve got.”
She was only joking, as Ian well knew. If another horse needed saving she would be the first to put her hand up. However, she was down to her last ten bales of timothy and didn’t have a clue where the next lot was coming from. She probably shouldn’t have been too proud to take Adam’s offer of grazing. If it had been anyone else she would have jumped at it.
“No, it’s not another rescue horse. But how’s Bo doing?” Ian sounded down and distracted, unlike his usual upbeat self.
“Excellent. The mange has cleared up and his new coat is coming in nice and glossy. Drop in next time you’re up this way. Are you coming to the bushfire memorial next month?”
“I’ll be there.” His parents had lost their home and Ian had lost a good friend. The bushfires had touched so many lives. Everyone had lost someone, it seemed, or knew someone who had. “Hayley,” he began haltingly, “I’m sorry, but...”
“What?” A chill settled over her shoulders. Instinctively she knew he was no longer talking about the memorial service.
He cleared his throat. “The program is finished.”
“I beg your pardon?” She walked over to the couch and sank onto a lumpy cushion.
“The government cut our funding.”
For about two seconds she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Then she got to her feet but she didn’t know where to go. “In the middle of the program? They can’t do that.”
“They did. Nearly a year has passed. People have forgotten. The state wants the money for something else, a new highway or a railway crossing. Who knows?” Ian sounded defeated.
“What about my clients? What am I going to tell them? These people need help.”
“They can still access social services for counseling.”
“They’ll be shunted onto a waiting list.” Needing air, she opened the door and wrapped an arm around her waist against the chill. “If they can see a regular therapist why can’t they see a horse therapist?”
“You know what it’s like, Hayley. The bean counters move their columns of numbers from one ledger sheet to another and suddenly they’re able to balance the budget even though no more money has come into the coffers. It’s sleight of hand.”
“But why pick on Horses for
Hope?”
“According to the official letter I got it’s been deemed ‘nonessential.’”
“Nonessential?” Hayley repeated forcefully. “Tell that to Dave Green, who suffers survivor’s guilt because he couldn’t save his wife and granddaughter. Working with Bo has given him a reason to go on living.” Hayley went outside to pace the muddy yard ringed by the charred skeletons of trees. “Or Samantha, who spent six hours huddled in her car while the forest blazed around her. Her anxiety attacks make it impossible for her to work.”
“Hayley, calm down,” Ian said. “You don’t need to convince me of the program’s importance.”
“Who do I talk to in the government to restore funding? Tell me and I’ll be down there in Melbourne tomorrow on the steps of Parliament.”
“It won’t do any good. I’ve talked to them all. There’s simply no money left.”
“Are there any other agencies that might fund the program? I could get testimonials from my clients.”
“I’m pursuing other options. So far nothing has panned out. I’ll keep you updated.”
“So how long can I continue before I have to pull the plug? Next week, the week after?” Ian didn’t reply and his silence told the story. “Oh, you’re kidding me. Right away?”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “We’ve been operating in the red for the past month, waiting for the next check. Now we find out it’s not coming. You need to call your clients now, today, and let them know there won’t be any more sessions.”
Hayley tried to catch her breath around the tightness in her chest. As well as her concern for her clients, there was the impact on her. Her primary livelihood was over as of this minute. Trail rides were few and far between, partly because it was too early in the season and partly because so many of the trails had been burned out.
And then there were her horses to think about. What would happen if she couldn’t afford to feed them? If she had to sell one or two, which would she choose? She loved them all. Asha was her own special horse, though she couldn’t ride her without difficulty. But how could she get rid of her when she’d been through so much? And Bo and Blaze, Sergeant and Major. All were so dear to her.