by Mandy Magro
His expression hard to read, Zane took her by the shoulders and peered down at her. ‘Thank you, Em, for caring so much. You’ve always had my back, and I adore you for that, more than I could ever put into words.’ He paused, then said, ‘I think you and I both know it would be a really bad decision for me to come and stay at your place, for any length of time.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said, ever so gently. She bit her lip in a bid to stop it quivering. ‘But then again, maybe you’re wrong.’
‘I’m really not sure it would be wise for us to try and find out. You know what happened the last time I was here.’ The tenderness in his eyes stole her breath.
‘That was different, I was married to your brother, for god’s sake.’ A sob broke from the depths of her heart, one that had nothing to do with her loathing of being here, or what she was keeping from him, and more to do with the fact they’d just never found the right time or place to be together.
‘Oh, Em, please don’t cry. It tears me apart to see you upset.’ He pulled her close and tucked her head beneath his chin, and she felt a warm sense of coming home after a lifetime away. ‘You’ll be right, and so will Riley, you’ll see.’
She closed her eyes, her heart clenching with both nostalgia and heartache. She’d gone and chosen the wrong brother, and now, it seemed, there was no going back from that mistake.
‘Emma?’ Michael’s stern tone and heavy footsteps carried from the end of the verandah.
Untangling from Zane’s embrace, she quickly tried to wipe the tears from her eyes.
Michael’s expression was fierce. Scotch in hand, he sculled it and then slammed the empty tumbler down on the railing, knocking the empty beer bottle to the floor.
‘You’ve had way too much to drink,’ Emma said, her angry gaze matching his.
Michael’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment. ‘Have I now? And just who the hell are you to decide that?’ He took her by the arm and gave it a firm tug. ‘Come on, it’s time to leave before you make any more of a fool of yourself, or me, with the likes of him.’ He eyed Zane as if he were gum beneath his shiny shoes.
‘If I were you, I’d let her go, Michael.’ Zane stepped forwards, but Emma blocked his path.
‘Here’s the thing, though, Zane, you’re not me.’ Michael’s words were slurred.
Growling, Emma tugged her arm free. ‘You have no right to tell me what to do, Michael,’ she snapped.
‘Haven’t I, Emma?’ Michael’s smirk reminded her of Peter’s, the day he’d wrapped his hands around her throat.
Zane’s breathing was becoming more and more laboured, and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. Emma knew she needed to get Michael away, before Zane decked him. ‘Please, Michael, just leave me the hell alone.’
‘You know I like it when you get all feisty on me.’ Michael reached out and grabbed hold of her arm once more, but this time her pained expression gave away just how much it hurt.
Zane stepped in, and Emma was helpless to stop him this time. ‘Oi, I said get your filthy hands off her.’
‘Make me,’ Michael snarled through clenched teeth.
The crack as Zane’s fist met with Michael’s face was bone crushing. Emma cried out as she grabbed his arm, desperately trying to drag him away from where Michael was now sprawled out on the verandah.
A hand cupped over his nose, Michael tried to scramble to his feet, and once he did, backed away, well out of Zane’s swinging range. ‘I’m going to make you pay for that, you son of a bitch.’ A trickle of blood ran over his lip.
Zane’s eyes burned with hatred. ‘Like I said, keep your damn hands off her.’
Riley raced across the backyard and rushed to Michael’s side, her steely gaze glued to Zane’s. ‘What in the hell are you two doing? It’s Grandad’s funeral, for god’s sake. I know you hate each other, but can’t you control yourselves, just this once?’ She waved an arm towards the crowd. ‘This isn’t right, letting everyone see this.’
Zane shook his head, clearly disappointed with himself. ‘You’re right, I’m so sorry, Riley.’
Riley huffed and turned her attention to Michael. ‘I watched you grabbing Mum’s arm. Twice! A guy shouldn’t touch a woman like that, ever! Uncle Zane was only protecting her. You need to learn how to treat women, including me.’
‘I’m sorry, Riley.’ Michael tried to pull her to him.
She stepped away. ‘Don’t you touch me.’ Heavy tears now falling, she wiped at them as she stormed away, arms folded across her chest as if trying to hold herself together.
Racing after her daughter, Emma could feel the weight of Zane’s stare. She ached to look back at him, to somehow, telepathically, tell him how much more she loved him for protecting her as he just had. But instead, one hurried step in front of the other, she did what she had to, sidestepping Michael with an angry glance, and went to Riley. She would call Zane and beg him not to go back to the States just yet, and also hit home that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer to him staying in the workers’ cottage. She needed to make things right, and come hell or high water, she was going to do just that. But to do so, she needed Zane here, and she needed a little time to gather up the courage to do it. Regardless, she would do everything in her power to stop him stepping foot on a plane out of here. She wanted him to stay, and not only for now.
CHAPTER 13
Strolling along the busy footpath, hands shoved deeply in his jeans’ pockets and his hat brim pulled low, Zane tried not to let his gloomy thoughts consume him. Sitting in a room with Michael, while being told he’d been left jack shit, was not his idea of a morning well spent. He avoided looking at passers-by, knowing full well some of their gazes would be bursting with condemnation and judgement after he swung a hard-hitting punch Michael’s way yesterday. No doubt he’d be the talk of the town; it came with the territory in a small place like Silvergum. With his reputation for being a bit of a hooligan in his younger years, he really couldn’t blame them. But feeling like death warmed up and then some, he wasn’t in the mood to hear their ignorant opinions. None of them knew the brute Michael Wolfe was behind closed doors. He was a narcissist to the very core, although he knew how to make himself appear saintlike.
Zane’s boots pounding the pavement, he tried to stretch out the kinks in his neck. He’d found it impossible to sleep; he had endured another long night filled with regrets and guilt, pooled with the deep sense of not really belonging here. That is, except when he stood by Emma’s side. Filled with remorse for brandishing his fist, not for Michael’s sake but for Riley and Emma, he’d spent the entire night staring at the squeaky ceiling fan and checking his phone for a reply from Emma to his text apologising for his behaviour. All the while he was chastising himself for stooping to Michael’s level. There was no doubt the egocentric bastard had deserved it, after grabbing Emma the way he had. How a man could lay a finger on a woman was beyond him, but he could have handled it better given the circumstances. It was always the way with him, though – his instincts were to react first and think about it later. Seeing the pain written all over Emma’s face, a red rage had stolen his ability to think straight, and wild adrenaline, fiercer than what he’d ever felt on the back of a bull, had owned him.
Rounding a corner, the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread snatched his attention away from his incessant thoughts and his stomach growled. Not having eaten since the sausage roll he’d inhaled on the way to the funeral yesterday morning, ravenous hunger had driven him from his hotel room early in the morning. Slowing down, he noticed the sandwich board advertising the weekly special of authentic sourdough. He walked in, pushing aside the beaded curtain designed to keep the flies out. It reminded him of happier days. His mum had thrown herself into the craze when he was a kid, and strings of colourful beads had dangled from almost every doorway in the homestead, driving them all nuts, apart from his mum. God, how he missed her and her quirky ways.
Today was one of the only days to score a loaf of the
Italian head baker’s ridgy-didge sourdough, and as it was also pension day, the little shop was a hive of activity. Sidestepping a kid devouring a cream bun, more of it seemingly on the little boy’s face than in his mouth, Zane joined the long line to the counter. Although not in the mood to wait in a slow-moving queue, he was pleased that some of Silvergum’s traditions hadn’t changed over the years. Hoping it would be a good peace offering when he braved calling in to Serendipity later, he made a mental note to buy a loaf of the sourdough for Emma – it had always been her favourite. He remembered the many times they’d ridden their pushbikes all the way into town on a weekend to buy one. Then they’d race back home to devour it. Sandwiches of sourdough with his mum’s legendary homemade corned beef, slices of tomato, mustard pickles and thin slices of onions, were to die for. He’d give his right arm to devour one right now.
Patiently waiting his turn to be served, he stifled a yawn, his eyes so heavy they could do with a set of toothpicks to keep them open. Nearing the counter, he admired the decadent mini lemon tarts, cream horns, oozy chocolate and walnut brownies, and mammoth lamingtons piled high in the display fridge. He added a few of the coconut and chocolate-encrusted mounds of spongy heaven and a couple of the brownies to his ever-growing wishlist. Hopefully Riley would like some treats – it was the very least he could do after the upset he’d caused her yesterday. Worried Emma hadn’t replied to his text last night out of anger, he needed to see her face to face. He just hoped he was still welcome to call in on them, especially as he was meant to be going there for a ride and dinner later this arvo. He refused to leave Australian shores on bad terms with her again. Their silence had been a never-ending struggle for him last time; his heart just couldn’t cope with it a second time.
A wave of longing came over him as he watched a little girl jumping up and down on the spot while her mother ordered her a pink meringue topped with hundreds and thousands. The bond between parent and child was so special. Then the phone in his top pocket vibrated. Reaching in, he plucked it out, relief flooding him when he spotted the caller ID. Gladly giving up his place in line, even though he was next to be served, he stood off to the side and pressed it to his ear. ‘Morning, Em, how goes it?’ He did his best to sound high-spirited, hoping it might help her to forgive him.
‘Hey, Zane, I’m okay, thanks. I’m so sorry I didn’t reply to your lovely text last night. My phone went flat and I plugged it in downstairs in the office, and I haven’t had a chance to check it until now.’
Zane felt a massive weight lift, from both his shoulders and his heart. Even so, he tried to sound nonchalant. ‘Oh, all good, Em, I thought you must’ve got caught up.’
‘Yeah, after cleaning up after the wake, and then having to feed all the critters after dark, time kinda got away from me.’ She sighed as though exhausted. ‘Anyway, enough about me, how are you going?’
‘I could do with a few more hours’ sleep, but not too bad. How’s Riley? Is she still mad with me?’ Grimacing, he held his breath. Emma’s quiet little chuckle soothed him.
‘She’s still upset, but not as bad as she was yesterday. The poor kid has had a really crappy time of late, so everything affects her much more than it usually would.’
‘I’m really sorry, doing that in front of her.’
‘Hmmm, it wasn’t the best decision you’ve ever made, but she gets why you did it, and to be honest, I appreciate you standing up for me … although, just for the record, you do know I’m big enough and scary enough to have my own back, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, I know you got fire in your belly, little Miss Firecracker, but it doesn’t stop him from being aggressive towards you, Em. If anything, it makes him worse.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it. After almost seventeen years of dealing with him, I’ve learnt the hard way that nothing I do will change who he is. A leopard doesn’t change its spots, huh?’
‘And a tiger can’t change its stripes … but I don’t agree with any of that. We can all make choices to change, or not. Saying otherwise is just a poor excuse.’
‘Gee whizz, that’s pretty deep for this time of the morning, Zane.’
He chuckled. ‘I’m a deep-thinking guy.’
‘Yeah, you always have been.’ It was said softly, and then a deep breath followed the silence. ‘Anyhow, the reason I’m calling, other than to thank you for your apology text is because I’ve just made up the bed in the workers’ cottage, and I’ve pulled a couple of fillet steaks out of the freezer for dinner, so you’re coming to stay, whether you like it or not. And then we can maybe go for our ride tomorrow – Riley has made plans with her friend for this arvo.’
‘Far out, Em, you don’t beat around the bush, do ya?’
Emma laughed. ‘Why waste the time and energy doing that?’
Zane stole a few brief moments, his heart aching to say yes, but his mind screaming not to do it. He couldn’t go getting attached, even more than he already was, only to leave again. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. ‘Thanks, Em, but I really don’t reckon it’s a good idea—’
She cut him off with a playful groan. ‘For once in your life will you stop thinking so damn much. We’re adults, with bucket-loads of willpower, so we’ll be fine.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Maybe she would be fine, but he wasn’t sure he could say the same for himself. His self-control all but vanished whenever he was around her.
‘And besides, at least here, you can eat good food, have good company, and you can give me a hand around the place. It’s a win–win for both of us.’
He stood in silence, not knowing what to say.
‘Why’s it so noisy in the background? Where are you?’
He glanced around, the line to the counter now disappearing out the beaded doorway. ‘I’m just at the bakery, getting brekkie.’
‘And there you have it, my point exactly. You can’t live on pies and sausage rolls.’
He grinned. ‘Why not? It’s been done before.’
Emma huffed, and he could picture her rolling her spectacular green eyes at him, with a coy smile on her kissable lips. ‘I’ll see you this arvo, with your bag. I’ll even make some of my famous béarnaise sauce to go with the steak, if you’re lucky.’
‘Well, in that case, how can I say no?’
‘Eggzacory.’ She sounded mightily pleased with herself. ‘I’ll let Riley know. She’s looking forward to spending some time with her famous bull-riding …’ She stalled.
‘Uncle,’ Zane added as he smiled into the phone. ‘Catch you and Riley sometime after lunch, Em.’
‘Sounds like a plan. See ya round like a rissole, Zane.’ And she was gone before he could reply, ‘With “gravy and all”.’
A spring in his step, he joined the line, the length of it not worrying him one bit now his anxiety had eased and his mood had lightened. By the time he bought his breakfast, along with the second last loaf of sourdough and the sweet treats for Riley, the sun was high in the bright blue sky and the air was so thick from the heat it was a job to draw a decent breath. Paper bags and can of Coke in hand, he strode back to where he’d parked in the shade of a soaring Bowen mango tree. Black spots all over the bonnet, he glanced up and shook his head, cursing as the acid stench hit him. No wonder there’d been so many parking spaces here – the hundreds of fruit bats hanging from the branches of the mango tree caused one hell of a mess. He’d been too preoccupied to notice when he’d pulled up. Before he dropped the rental back, a drive through the car wash was on the cards.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, he tugged his seatbelt on, loosening it off as much as he could before turning the ignition on. Adam Harvey and Troy Cassar-Daley’s twangy country voices rang out; their rendition of ‘He Stopped Loving Her Today’ gave him goosebumps. Tearing the little sauce sachet open with his teeth, then swirling the tomato sauce around on the top of his beef and mushroom pie, he went in for the kill. Burning his tongue on the first bite, he grabbed his can of Coke from the dash to try to ease it. Experience
told him it was going to be sore later, but that wouldn’t stop him tucking in.
Catching sight of the clock on the dashboard, and realising he now only had minutes to spare before he had to be at the solicitor’s office, he swung into action. Time having got away from him with Emma’s phone call, he needed to get a shift on. Balancing the pie on his lap, he reversed out and then headed up the main street, making sure to stick to the forty k speed limit, even though his inclination was to speed. With the kind of skill worthy of many a pie-loving Aussie eating from behind the wheel, he carefully controlled the steering with his knees and ate as quickly as the temperature of the pie would allow.
Windows down, he breathed in the town he’d once called home. Every shopfront on Silvergum’s main street was different, the buildings borrowing this and that from different eras. Dusty four-wheel drives parked in between others so shiny that they looked as though they’d never seen a dirt road, let alone the bush. On the busy footpaths, mothers pushed prams and fathers carried or held the hands of distracted children; a group of hoody-wearers walked by quickly, everything about them seemed shady; old Italian men hung on the corners of the local IGA, smoking and chatting while their wives shopped. And farmers, both men and women, hurried in and out of the agricultural shed. There were busy people everywhere he looked. He couldn’t help but notice the majority of them had their heads buried in a mobile phone – gone were the days when people exchanged smiles, slapped backs or shook hands in greeting.
Pulling to a stop at a pedestrian crossing, an old lady with hair so white it was almost iridescent began to hobble across, a walking frame in one hand and two bags of groceries in the other. She gave him a half-apologetic smile, her steps slow and laboured. If on foot, he would have helped her. Halfway to the other side of the street, the handle of one of the plastic bags snapped, and apples and oranges scattered everywhere. Covering her mouth, the lady watched the fruit roll away from her. Leaving the four-wheel drive running, Zane flicked his seatbelt off, made sure the handbrake was on, and jumped out, grabbing the fruit as fast as he could as he dashed towards her. By the time he’d gathered it all up, cars were lined up behind him, one dickhead even feeling the need to beep. Gritting his teeth, he fought back the urge to give the impatient bloke a mouthful.