The Wrong Callahan

by Karly Lane

  Karly Lane lives on the mid north coast of New South Wales. Proud mum to four children and wife of one very patient mechanic, she is lucky enough to spend her day doing the two things she loves most—being a mum and writing stories set in beautiful rural Australia.

  ALSO BY KARLY LANE

  North Star

  Morgan’s Law

  Bridie’s Choice

  Poppy’s Dilemma

  Gemma’s Bluff

  Tallowood Bound

  Second Chance Town

  Third Time Lucky

  If Wishes Were Horses

  Six Ways to Sunday

  Someone Like You

  First published in 2018

  Copyright © Karly Lane 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email info@allenandunwin.com

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  ISBN 978 1 76063 265 6

  eISBN 978 1 76063 779 8

  Set by Bookhouse, Sydney

  Cover design: Romina Panetta

  Cover photographs: Getty Images

  To my brothers, Darren and Brad.

  I wouldn’t trade you for the world …

  for horses maybe, but not for the world.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Acknowledgements

  One

  Lincoln Callahan pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned off the engine as he stared at the sign on the front gate. Stringybark Creek. Paddocks stretched out in front of him as far as the eye could see, and in the distance loomed the mountain range, casting its afternoon shadows over the valley. This was his home. Stringybark Creek, which was situated outside Rankins Springs in the dry heartland of the New South Wales Riverina, had been in his family for five generations. He came from farmers—hardworking, salt of the earth people who’d carved this property from the bush. Their blood, sweat and tears had been the soil from which the crops and cattle had grown for one hundred and thirty years.

  Lincoln could have flown from Brisbane to Griffith and hired a car, or even asked his parents to pick him up from the airport, but he’d needed the solitude of the long drive.

  It was late November and already the heat was unbearable. It wasn’t Afghanistan-unbearable, but it was bloody hot all the same. Summer was just around the corner and he knew it was only going to get worse. He rolled down his window and felt the cold air rush out, to be replaced by the oven-like heat from outside. A crow let out a dismal cry somewhere nearby, and in the distance he could hear cattle, but other than that there was only the rustle of the long grass and the buzz of insects.

  Lincoln slowly leaned forward and turned the ignition. He always got an anxious rush of adrenaline as he drove through these gates. Part of it was excitement to be back home, but another part was knowing what was to come. His parents always made a fuss about his career in the army. He had to admit that this used to make him puff his chest out just a little—praise from your dad was always a big deal, no matter how old you were. It was not what he needed now though. He craved only peace and quiet. He didn’t want to be reminded of his work while he was here. He wanted to be plain old Linc. He wanted to do everyday farming jobs, the stuff he never thought he’d miss but did. The stuff that his younger brother, Griffin, thought he was mad for volunteering to do when he was home on leave.

  He missed this place when he was away, which was weird considering he couldn’t wait to get away from it when he was younger. His heart had never been in farming the way Griff’s was. He’d always had his sights set firmly on the military—just like his great-grandfather who fought in the First World War. He’d wanted to see the world … okay, and blow things up, but mainly he’d wanted to get as far away from Stringybark Creek as he could. Life was too short to stay stuck on a farm all his life. There was more to living than fixing fences and planting crops. It was ironic now, then, that when he did have time off, that’s exactly what he looked forward to doing the most.

  Dirt billowed up around the car as he headed down the driveway. As he rounded the next bend, he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth when he saw the sprawling homestead come into view. Home.

  He hadn’t told his parents he was arriving today—he’d told them a vague ‘probably next week’. Even though he knew his mother would read him the riot act about not giving her notice so she could make up his room, he knew she’d already have it prepared for him. She’d cottoned on to his surprise tactics years ago.

  By the time he’d pulled the car up beside one of the three large machinery sheds across from the house, his parents were already on their way over to greet him.

  ‘Lincoln Callahan! How many times have I told you about sneaking up on us like this?’ Lavinia Callahan called out.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ he said, swooping her off her feet and twirling her around. It was the only way to stop the lecture in its tracks. It still gave him a bit of a shock to see her with grey hair; last time he’d come home, she’d informed him that she was tired of fighting nature, so she’d decided to embrace it instead. It didn’t mean any fewer visits to the hairdresser though—she still looked as stylish as always, with a sculptured cut, shorter at the back and longer on the sides. Over the top of her squeals of protest and threats of bodily harm, Linc swapped a knowing grin with his father. After setting down his mother, dodging her playful smack, he put his hand out. ‘G’day, Dad.’

  ‘Good to see you, son,’ his father said, dragging him in for a bear hug, and even as Linc braced himself for it, the hearty slap on the back still almost sent him sprawling.

  Bob Callahan was a big man. He was as tough as they came. Linc had always admired his father’s strength, not only physical but also mental. His hair may be silver now, but he was still a powerful man. There’d been times that Mother Nature and banks had tried to break his old man—but they’d never succeeded. Although it had come close on a few occasions. They all knew families in the district who hadn’t been so fortunate. Life on the land wasn’t always kind.

  ‘You’re home!’ his mother said.

  Her hands fluttered up to her mouth and Linc gave a moan. ‘Don’t start crying, Mum.’ While it had been two years since he’d been home, his parents had made several trips to Brisbane during the last eighteen months to catch up with him,
although anyone looking on would think she hadn’t seen him for a decade.

  ‘I can’t help it. My baby’s home,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Oh, for the love of God, woman. He’s a grown man,’ his father said, rolling his eyes skywards.

  ‘He’ll always be my baby, Robert Callahan,’ she snapped, before turning her gaze back to Linc. ‘I can’t believe you’re here so early. We weren’t expecting you until closer to Christmas.’

  ‘Change of plans,’ Linc said with an offhand shrug. ‘The opportunity came up so I took it.’ Well, it wasn’t really a lie.

  ‘What are we doing out here in this terrible heat, anyway? Come on, let’s go inside. I was just about to put the kettle on.’ It didn’t matter what time of the day or night you turned up, Mum was always just about to put the kettle on. It was one of the familiar things he’d been counting on.

  Linc pulled his large duffle bag from the car and they made their way across to the house. ‘So how’s business, son?’ his father asked.

  ‘Good. We’re picking up some big contracts now. Signed an insurance company that’s going to be a big turnaround for us. We’re looking at expanding into Papua New Guinea. Our name seems to be getting out there.’

  ‘Good,’ Bob grunted. ‘A reliable reputation makes all the difference in the world.’

  After leaving the army a year and a half ago, Linc had thrown in with two mates to start a crisis management company. Their aim was to provide emergency management to businesses with staff travelling overseas or into high-risk environments, offering assistance with incidents from car accidents and sudden illness to kidnappings and terrorist attacks.

  His father was right, in this business reputation was everything. It only took one mistake—one tiny balls-up—and the business you’d worked so hard for would be gone. No one wanted to hire a firm who’d failed to protect their clients.

  Linc dropped his bag inside his old bedroom and gave the room a quick once-over. While his mother hadn’t kept it as a shrine to his teenage self—there were no posters on the walls or trophies on the dressing table—she hadn’t turned it into a sewing room or gym either. There was a new queen-size bed with a dark blue doona and fancy curtains on the windows, but it still felt like his room. He headed down the hallway, past his brother’s old room, and two more bedrooms that used to belong to his sisters, one of which now housed his gran, and out into the kitchen.

  ‘Gran,’ Lincoln said, greeting his grandmother.

  ‘It’s so good to see you home,’ the older woman smiled, clasping her cool, soft hands around his, before reaching up to kiss his cheek.

  His grandparents had been part of his life for as long as he could remember. They’d moved from the main house when Linc’s parents had outgrown the smaller farm house at the end of the dirt driveway after having all their kids. Griff lived there now. After Grandad’s passing, Gran had decided she didn’t want to live by herself anymore and had moved back into the main house with his parents. So now Gran was back in the home she and Grandad had raised their family in. She’d come full circle. He knew she missed Grandad. He did too.

  His grandad had been the toughest man, besides his own dad, he’d ever known. He’d worked on the property until the day he’d died. It had been in his blood the same way it was in his father’s and Griffin’s.

  ‘You’re looking more like your grandad every day. He was so handsome,’ his gran sighed wistfully. ‘Is it time for afternoon drinkies?’ she asked, leaving Linc blinking at the rapid change of topic.

  ‘I’m making a cuppa, Ida. How about we start with that first?’ his mother said.

  Linc hid his smile as his gran muttered beneath her breath. Gran was known for her love of an afternoon Scotch; she claimed it was the reason her father and older brothers had all lived to be over one hundred.

  ‘I might take a drive out and find Griff after this,’ Linc said, pulling out a chair.

  His father gave a grunt as he reached for a side plate. ‘He’ll probably be over at the boundary fence to Pommy George’s. He’s been spending a lot of time over there recently,’ he said dryly, and Linc raised an eyebrow curiously.

  Pommy George, as he was known locally, was a quiet bloke who’d appeared one day and bought the small property that bordered part of Stringybark’s eastern boundary. He’d kept to himself for a few years, running a landscaping business, then headed off to Bali one day and returned with a bride.

  His mother gave a cluck of her tongue and frowned at her husband as she placed a plate of scones on the table. ‘Your brother’s taken a bit of shine to the new girl who’s running the spa while Savannah’s away.’

  ‘The spa? You mean that hippie joint next door?’

  ‘It’s not a hippie joint,’ Lavinia said briskly. ‘It’s a day spa, and quite luxurious too. It’s put us on the map.’

  ‘What map would that be?’ Linc asked, taking a scone and reaching for the butter.

  ‘People come out here from all over. You wouldn’t believe it. It’s won all kinds of awards.’

  ‘Don’t get your mother started,’ Bob groaned. ‘She’s been on about starting up a flamin’ B&B.’

  ‘What? Here?’

  ‘As I’ve told your father, there’s a huge market for boutique accommodation, especially now that we get people coming out here for spa treatments. They’re always looking for somewhere to stay when they book their appointments. At the moment the only place available is the pub. Savannah mentioned that she’s looking into adding more accommodation at her place to try and cater for them. It’s a good opportunity to get tourism happening in the district.’

  ‘All this from women getting waxed?’ Linc asked dubiously.

  ‘They don’t just do waxing, dear,’ his mother corrected somewhat impatiently. ‘Savannah did her training in all kinds of exotic places and she offers treatments that practically no one—not even in the big cities—offers. I’ve been trying to get your father to go over. He would benefit from a massage and detox wrap.’

  ‘Not bloody likely,’ Bob muttered as he took a bite of his scone—practically fitting in the whole thing in one bite.

  Linc tried his best to blink away the image of his father in a detox wrap, even though he had no idea what it was. ‘So Griff has a thing for day spas?’

  ‘More like the sheila running it.’

  ‘Robert!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Honestly,’ she said with a weary roll of her eyes. ‘She’s a delightful young woman. Her name’s Cash and she’s running the spa for the next few months.’

  ‘So is it serious?’ he asked, reaching for a second scone. No one made scones like his mother.

  ‘Doubt it,’ Bob put in from across the table.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He hasn’t even asked her out as far as I know.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with taking your time about these things, Robert.’

  ‘Well, he wants to hurry up or he’ll miss out. I reckon half the bloody town’s circling the poor girl.’

  ‘She’s not a piece of meat,’ Lavinia snapped.

  ‘She may as well be. Not many single women left in town. His options are running out.’

  Linc bit back a smile as he listened to his father. Not much changed around here. His brother really had left his run a bit too late. Most of his friends from high school were either married or had left town, and the pickings were pretty slim. It was the story of any small country town.

  ‘Told him he’d waited too long. He should have snatched up young Olivia Dawson when he had the chance.’

  ‘She’s a lawyer now, you know,’ Gran put in proudly. The Dawsons were the family from the neighbouring property. His youngest sister, Hadley, and Olivia had been inseparable growing up, and Olivia had been his brother’s high-school sweetheart.

  ‘Yeah, I think Hadley told me about it,’ he said. ‘Hey, speaking of Hadley, are the wedding preparations all on track?’

  ‘You know your sister,’ his mother said drolly.
‘Nothing would dare not be on track.’

  ‘Enjoy the peace while you have it, son. Once your sister gets here, this place will make downtown Afghanistan look quiet,’ his father added.

  His sister’s wedding was one of the reasons he’d decided to come home early. He’d been booked in for Christmas, followed by the New Year’s Eve wedding. Relatives from far and wide were set to converge on Stringybark. His mother had been planning this family reunion for months. He was hoping he’d get a bit of peace and quiet before all hell broke loose.

  ‘I don’t trust that fella of hers,’ Gran announced, reaching for a scone. ‘His eyes are too close together.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with Mitch’s eyes,’ his mother assured her.

  ‘Mark my words. He’s not the one for her.’

  ‘He’s won a Logie for TV personality of the year, he can’t be that untrustworthy,’ Bob said, reaching for another scone but changing his mind when his wife lifted an eyebrow at him in silent reprimand.

  ‘Logie smogie,’ Gran tsked.

  ‘Well, we’re not the ones marrying him, so we’ll have to trust that Hadley’s making the right decision,’ Lavinia said diplomatically.

  Linc couldn’t say he hadn’t had doubts about his sister’s choice of husband himself, but this was based on one encounter with the guy. He’d had the annoying task a few years earlier of escorting the pretty boy journo into a combat zone where the idiot had almost got them killed. Still, maybe he’d changed over the years. Nowadays he had his own TV show and rarely worked in the field, except when some huge international story broke and every man and his dog in TV news had to report ‘live from the scene.’ But his mum was right—they weren’t the ones who had to live with the guy, so if Hadley wanted to marry him, who were they to call her on it?

  Linc grinned as his mother passed the plate of scones across to him, then pulled it away when his father went to grab one. ‘You have your cholesterol to think about, Robert.’

  ‘And I will think about it, dear … as I’m eating one of your delicious homemade scones smothered in jam.’

  ‘But without the cream,’ Lavinia smiled sweetly, moving the small bowl of fresh cream away from her husband.