‘He’ll be fine, Jack,’ the doctor said, pushing up his spectacles on the bridge of his nose, ‘as long as he gets plenty of rest. Apart from mild dehydration and a few cuts and bruises, there’s nothing essentially wrong with him. I’d be more concerned with what he went through emotionally.’
The doctor mentioned various symptoms to look out for. Bed wetting, night terrors, fear of being on his own.
Jack couldn’t bear to think that the ordeal might scar his son. Kids had to be tough, living isolated on a farm where the nearest neighbours were kilometres away. Nick would cope. He had to. He was a Fairley.
As the doctor was leaving, Detective Fisher appeared and asked when he could question Nick about what had happened. Jack herded him into the corridor, determined to put him off. His son had been through enough. There’d be time for questions later.
‘He’s told me all about it, Rob,’ he said. ‘He wanted to go home, wandered off and got lost. That’s all.’
The police officer frowned. ‘Maybe he’s not telling you everything?’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Just a hunch. I’d like to talk to him to make sure.’
‘Leave it for now, Rob. He needs rest, and I need time with him. Alone.’ It was the closest he could bring himself to admitting to anyone how much his son’s return meant to him.
‘I’ll debrief the rescue teams and come back,’ he said. ‘See how he’s doing. Jack, you know, we’re all very glad he’s safe.’
Jack turned away, his throat tight, not wanting the other man to see the strength of the emotion that gripped him.
After he’d recovered, he said, ‘I’ve told Wayne to open a keg in the woolshed as thanks for the search teams. There’ll be plenty of steaks and snags, too.’
‘You’ll be popular.’
Teams had driven in from all over the district to help with the search. The woolshed in the home paddock had become a makeshift barracks for the visitors. If Jack knew anything about his country neighbours, they’d be up till the small hours, celebrating Nick’s safe homecoming.
‘You do look buggered, mate,’ the cop added. ‘Guess we all do.’
‘You’re not wrong there.’
When the officer left, Jack returned to Nick’s room and pulled a chair up to the bed. Nick lay scrunched up beneath the cover, eyes closed. It was still light outside, but with the blinds drawn against the setting sun, the room felt cool after the day’s heat.
Stretching his arms back and rolling his shoulders, Jack felt his neck crick, still stiff from the way he’d slept in the early hours of the morning. He’d probably sleep for a week, if he gave himself half the chance, but he didn’t want to give in to the exhaustion yet. He had to savour the moment. His son was safe.
Nick opened his eyes and looked up at him. ‘Daddy?’
‘Yeah, tiger?’ He ruffled the boy’s glossy dark hair. ‘What’s up?’
‘Is that lady going to be my new mummy?’
Out of the mouths of babes! ‘What makes you say that, sunshine?’
Nick’s brown eyes shone, as if he were running a fever. ‘She looks like Mummy.’
Jack rocked back. How could he possibly remember? He’d only been, what, two years old when Ann-Marie died?
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the photo of Ann-Marie on the bookshelf. She was sitting on a picnic rug, smiling, with baby Nick lying on her lap. It had been taken the year before she died. Of course his son would see the resemblance. Nevertheless, guilt cramped his stomach.
‘You’re right. She does.’
‘Do you miss Mummy?’ Nick’s brows drew together.
‘Of course.’ He stroked the boy’s cheek. ‘Do you?’
‘Sometimes I wish I had another mummy.’
‘Hey.’ He smoothed his hand across his son’s forehead. It felt hot. The graze above Nick’s temple looked slightly swollen. Maybe, despite the doctor giving him the all-clear, he had a touch of concussion? Why else would he be getting such ideas now? Unless…
He dismissed the thought. His son wasn’t psychic. Nor was Katrina. She’d stumbled over that mining shaft, nothing more.
‘Get some sleep now, eh, little man?’
Nick rolled over, snuggled into his pillow and stuck his thumb in his mouth, something he hadn’t done since he was a toddler. Reflexively, Jack reached out to take his hand away, then stopped. His own father would never have let him suck his thumb at the age of six. Even from that young age, he’d had to prove he was a man. But Jack was reluctant to apply the same tough code. If it gave Nick comfort, where was the harm? He’d been through so much.
The sucking stopped. Nick blinked his eyes open. Thumb still half in his mouth, he mumbled, ‘I forgot to say thank you to Katina.’
The way his son abbreviated Katrina’s name, missing out the ‘r’, sounded like an endearment.
‘I’ll tell her for you. She has to go back home now.’
‘She promised not to leave me.’
His heart hammered. ‘She said that?’
His son nodded. ‘And she didn’t. She stayed till the helicopter came. Do you think she could tuck me in?’
Jack curled his fist, feeling torn. He wanted to do anything his son wished right now, but he didn’t like the idea of Nick and Katrina having contact. Not yet. Not till he knew for sure Nick was in the clear.
‘Can she, Daddy?’
‘All right,’ he relented. ‘Just for a moment. But you have to promise to go to sleep straight after.’
‘I promise.’
He left the room, overcome by a sense of inevitability. It was probably better to get it over with.
* * *
Watching Jack disappear through the crowd, Katrina felt a moment of hurt pride. He might not give her psychic abilities any credit, but she wasn’t going to let his dismissal of her gift spoil her satisfaction at having found his son.
Evidently, the journalists agreed. With Jack gone, it seemed they considered her the best source of a story.
‘Is it true you’ve worked for the police before?’ one pressed.
‘How many kids have you helped to find, Katrina?’
‘Since you’re psychic,’ asked another, ‘can you tell us when the drought’s going to break?’
At this last quip, the others laughed.
She debated whether to say anything. Maybe if she answered a few questions they would leave her alone and she could be on her way? The easiest way to do that was to stick to Jack’s version of events.
‘It’s true, I have helped the police find lost children from time to time,’ she said at last, after pausing for the voices to die down. ‘But Mr Fairley’s right to say there was nothing very psychic involved this time. My horse saw a snake and bolted. When I fell, I landed next to an abandoned mining shaft and heard Nicholas crying. I was trying to get him out when the helicopter arrived.’
‘But what are the chances you’d fall at the right place?’ called one. ‘A million to one?’
‘When did you discover you had a gift?’ someone else urged.
Katrina tensed. She didn’t want anyone looking into her past. There was too much she had done her best to hide.
‘The real story here,’ she said with a forced smile, ‘is how a six-year-old boy survived falling down a mineshaft. He’s your hero. He’s the one you ought to be talking to. Or his father. Jack has said he’d make a statement later. Why don’t you wait for that?’
‘Has he invited you to stay at Yarrangobilla?’ asked another.
‘Did you know the man’s a virtual recluse?’
She blinked. Jack Fairley, a recluse? That was news to her.
‘What do you think of the Snowy Mountains district’s most eligible widower, Katrina?’ asked another, pushing a microphone under her face. ‘Is this what it takes for a woman to get his attention? Saving his son’s life?’
Heat flooded her cheeks. She hoped people wouldn’t start to think she’d been involved in some stunt to get
Jack’s attention. The quicker she put paid to that idea and got out of there, the better.
‘Get back, you lot!’ came Jack’s cousin’s voice. ‘Let me through.’
The crowd parted as Wayne limped over the grass, wielding a silver-tipped black cane, his hair fiery in the rays of the setting sun.
‘Can’t you see she’s injured? Give her a break.’ He handed her the cane, and spoke in a low voice. ‘Take this, Katrina. And if anyone hassles you, you have my permission to hit them with it.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Turning to the crowd, he announced, ‘Of course Ms Delaney will be invited to stay at Yarrangobilla. We’re very grateful for what she’s done in finding Nick. But right now, if you don’t mind, she deserves some peace.’
He took her elbow and pushed a way through the crowd. Katrina had to hobble to keep up with him, but the cane meant she could minimise the weight she put on her ankle.
‘Thanks again,’ she said, as they made it inside. From the hot, dry air outside, the cool of the old house came as a welcome relief, the soft air wrapping round her. ‘I’ll just get my things from the laundry and be off.’
‘You’re kidding, aren’t you?’ His ginger eyelashes blinked in surprise. ‘Jack’s not going to let you get away that easily.’
‘I…I have to get the hire car back and…’ It was a lame excuse and she knew it.
‘Phone them. Get an extension. Listen, Katrina, you’re a celebrity. The rescue teams will want to meet you, for one. Jack’s arranging for a keg over at the woolshed, so you’ll have to make an appearance. You’ll be the guest of honour. He won’t hear of you leaving yet.’
She suppressed a grimace. That was doubtful. The way Jack had acted toward her so far, he probably couldn’t wait to get her off his property.
‘No, really, I…to tell you the truth, this stuff takes a lot out of me. I’d prefer to slip away quietly.’
‘Well…’ He frowned. ‘I guess, if you must go. There’s a guest bathroom down the hall where you can get cleaned up. And that ankle of yours could do with some ice, I reckon. Unless you’d prefer a good soak in the bath?’
She hesitated, but gave in. ‘A bath does sound good. I’m aching all over.’
‘That’s more like it,’ he said with a grin. ‘We’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done. Auntie Gwen’s making a pot of tea. Or maybe you’d like something stronger?’
‘Tea will be fine,’ she said. Wayne might not have the intensity of his cousin, but he was certainly persistent. ‘I’ll just grab my things from the laundry.’
‘Leave that to me. I’ll bundle them up and put them outside the bathroom door for you.’
He hobbled off, leaving her to find her own way to the bathroom.
When she closed the door, she leaned back against it, grateful to be left alone. Looking around, she took in the gold fixtures and hand-made tiles, the frosted leadlight windows and art nouveau lampshade. An old-fashioned bath with clawed feet and a curving back stood in the corner. She turned the taps and hot water poured steaming into the porcelain. Fresh towels lay folded in a basket on a huge marble vanity. Everything was tasteful, elegant and expensive. A woman’s touch, she guessed. And this was just the guest bathroom! She caught her reflection in the huge wall mirror and gasped.
A wild woman stared back at her.
Cheeks smeared with dust, hair frizzed up, dirty sweater and jodhpurs. No wonder Wayne had suggested she take a bath!
As she pulled the sweater over her head, several grazes stung. Her body was covered in bruises and scratches, she discovered. She unwound the bandage and climbed out of the jodhpurs. Stripped down to her skimpy bra and pants, she looked even worse. There were red angry grazes on her arms and thighs, and dusty smears on her stomach. This was how she’d looked at the mineshaft when Jack found her.
Heat flooded her cheeks.
She glanced at the window above the sink. For a ridiculous moment, she considered crawling out and getting away without anybody noticing.
Get a grip, girl! she told her reflection. She’d done what she came to do. She’d found Jack’s son. Now she could return home and get on with her life. She had no reason ever to have anything more to do with Jack Fairley. That was a good thing, wasn’t it?
Looking for a shower cap, she opened the vanity cupboard. Lying folded neatly on a shelf was a beach towel with a picture of the Bananas in Pyjamas on it. Alongside lay a tiny pair of board shorts, obviously belonging to Nick.
A deep-buried hurt rose inside her and slowly intensified. She clutched her stomach, pain tightening round her midriff. She knew why she felt so bad. Grief. Grief for the child she had lost.
Jack’s child.
Of course finding his son would bring it all back to her. It was only to be expected. If things had turned out differently, Nicholas could’ve have been her child. In fact, her baby and his son must have been conceived around the same time. That fact alone made Jack’s betrayal — of her and his then fiancée — that much more heinous. One thing she was grateful for; she had never told Jack about her pregnancy. She was glad now that he didn’t know, even though it meant she’d had to suffer the terrible loss alone.
Checking the water temperature of the bath, she switched off the taps and stepped in, mindful of her sore ankle. At first the grazes stung, then the steaming water soothed her muscles. She lay back and tears ran down her cheeks.
Finally.
The frozen grief that had been locked inside for so long was beginning to thaw. Maybe that was what she had needed to be able to move on with her life, once and for all. To see Jack again. To give herself permission to grieve for what she had lost, for what might have been, and what would never be.
It was impossible, now. That much was certain.
Seeing Jack again, sensing his hostility toward her, had finally convinced her. It had doused that tiny, treacherous flame that her heart had harboured for so long. The hope that somehow it had all been a mistake, that he hadn’t really used her, that he’d cared for her, despite appearances to the contrary.
It was clear now. Even if their baby had lived, Jack Fairley wouldn’t have deserved to be the father of her child.
Chapter 5
Jack left Nick and went downstairs, his head spinning from exhaustion. The sound of laughter at the back of the house drew him toward the huge country-style kitchen. He leaned against the doorway into the corridor, taking a moment to collect himself. Katrina was sitting at the table with Wayne and Gwen, her profile to him.
She had obviously cleaned herself up. Her mass of curly dark hair was damp and pushed back behind her ears, revealing her delicate neck. Her pale linen shift outlined her curvy figure. Her ankle was bandaged, but she had managed to slip into her sandals. Pink painted toenails, he noticed. Beside her on the floor was the silver-tipped cane that had belonged to Ann-Marie’s father, Ted Harrington. Through the window, the last rays of the sun struck the mountains, setting a bank of clouds above them aflame. The reflected light gave her face a golden hue. Despite her scrapes and bruises, she looked all too beautiful.
He stepped into the room.
‘Jack, there you are!’ Gwen cried. ‘I was just about to say to Katrina how much she reminds me of someone. Are you sure your people aren’t from around here, Katrina?’
Wayne snorted. ‘Auntie Gwen. Isn’t it obvious? She’s a dead ringer for Ann-Marie! Don’t you reckon, Jack?’
Katrina’s body stiffened and she flashed him a look. She’d probably concluded that it was her similarity to Ann-Marie that had attracted him to her, but she’d be wrong. He had never felt for Ann-Marie a fraction of the desire he’d felt for her. Ann-Marie had been more like a sister. If she hadn’t been so ill, he would never have agreed to their engagement.
‘You think so?’ Gwen raised her eyebrows. ‘I suppose there’s a similarity, but no…it’s someone else. I wish I could remember. My memory’s not what it used to be.’
‘I really must be going,’ Katrina s
aid. As she bent down to pick up the cane, the swell of her cleavage showed. Jack turned away. Her figure was every bit as womanly as he remembered. Soft, round, sexy.
‘Thanks for the tea, Mrs Harrington.’
‘You’re sure we can’t convince you to stay?’ Gwen replied. ‘There’s more than enough room here, isn’t there, Jack?’
‘Katrina might feel more comfortable making her own arrangements,’ he said.
Wayne and Gwen exchanged surprised glances. Clearly they had expected him to insist.
‘Could I have a quick word with you before you go, Katrina?’ he asked. He’d promised Nick to let him see her. But first he had to make sure the meeting wouldn’t lead to trouble. And that wasn’t something he could discuss in front of Gwen and Wayne.
‘Sure.’ The colour heightened in Katrina’s cheeks. ‘So long as I get away in time to catch a connecting flight back to Sydney.’
‘That settles it,’ Wayne said. ‘You’ll have to stay. Nobody’ll be flying out from the airfield till eleven tomorrow morning.’
She bit her lip. ‘I’ll find a hotel room in Adaminaby.’
‘We won’t hear of it, will we, Jack?’ Gwen put in. ‘There’s plenty of room for you here.’
Jack raised his eyebrows. The irony of Gwen treating Katrina with civility wasn’t lost on him. If his mother-in-law knew who Katrina was, the younger woman wouldn’t be allowed to be within spitting distance of Yarrangobilla.
‘Katrina?’ He nodded out the door. ‘Nick wants to see you so he can say thank you.’
‘Of course!’ She stood up quickly, wincing as she put down her injured foot. Turning to Gwen, she said, ‘It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Harrington.’
‘My pleasure, dear. And thank you once again for finding my grandson. He’s a little villain for running off like that and causing all this fuss.’
Jack couldn’t let the comment pass. ‘He’s only six, Gwen.’
The older woman frowned. ‘Six or sixteen, it’s all the same. The child needs a firm hand.’
He felt like telling her to put a sock in it. The last thing he wanted was for Katrina to think Nick was unhappy at Yarrangobilla. But he didn’t want to get into an argument with Gwen about how to raise his son, either. She’d keep for another day.
Snowy River Man Page 4