Snowy River Man

by Lizzy Chandler

  ‘Katrina?’ He stepped back from the door, allowing Katrina to pass and limp along the hall ahead of him. At the bottom of the stairs, she hesitated, looking up.

  ‘Do you need a hand up?’

  ‘I can manage,’ she said, glancing back at him.

  ‘Let me carry that,’ he said, nodding to the cane.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  Holding onto the banister for support, she hopped up the stairs. Jack noted the way her dress hugged tight over her hips and thighs. Even with the scratches and her bandaged ankle, she looked beautiful, shapely, fit. But she was clearly in pain.

  ‘Here. Lean on me,’ he said, moving alongside her.

  She flinched away. ‘No. Really. I can manage.’

  He gritted his teeth. She obviously hadn’t lost her stubborn streak.

  At the top of the stairs, she rested against the wall, her face flushed with colour, her lips slightly parted. Her breathlessness reminded him of another time, when she had lain beneath him.

  His body hardened at the thought. Sheer animal attraction.

  When she reached for the cane, her fingers brushed his. He held the cane a fraction longer than necessary, forcing her gaze up to meet his. He knew the silent message he was sending. He wanted her to know what effect she had on him, how he’d like to pull her into his arms, to feel her soft body against his, taste her lips, bury his head into the curve of her neck and trail kisses down her throat. The image was so strong he could almost feel it.

  Would she let him, if he tried? She had slept with him once, barely knowing his name.

  Get real! The last time he’d fallen for Katrina Delaney, he’d stuffed everything up severely. So much so that he was still paying for the consequences. Even if she wanted him to kiss her, it would be insane to do so.

  ‘I meant to thank you for finding Nick,’ he said, his voice husky. ‘And I’m sorry for leaving you at the silos. I should have taken you with me.’

  ‘You were in a hurry. It’s understandable. Besides, it worked out for the best.’

  He took a breath. That was the easy part. Now to lay down some ground rules.

  ‘Nick is exhausted, Katrina. Dr Tan says he has to rest. I can count on you not to say anything to upset him, can’t I?’

  She blinked rapidly. ‘Why would I say anything to upset him?’

  ‘You promise not to tell him who you are?’

  A spark of indignation lit her eyes. She pulled her shoulders back, barely leaning on the cane for support. Her chin up, she looked proud, beautiful, and very pissed off.

  ‘You might have good cause to doubt my judgement, Jack,’ she said. ‘After all, I once made the mistake of sleeping with you. That aside, what on earth would make you think I’d say anything to upset a little boy? Especially one who’s just been through a traumatic experience.’

  He gritted his teeth. ‘Keep your voice down, Katrina.’

  ‘Why should I?’ she said, dropping to a harsh whisper. ‘It’s the old double standard, isn’t it? You blame me for what happened, don’t you? It’s all right for you to act however you want before your wedding day. You’re a man. But the woman you sleep with? She must be some kind of monster.’

  ‘It’s not like that, Katrina, and you know it.’

  ‘Isn’t it? What is it like, then?’

  He frowned, resenting her for being so obtuse. She knew what he was talking about. And he wasn’t going to spell it out for Gwen or Wayne to overhear.

  ‘I thought so,’ she muttered under her breath. She lurched down the corridor toward Nick’s bedroom, stabbing the floor with the cane.

  Jack stared after her, unsettled. Either she was a very good actress, or…no. The alternative was impossible. She knew exactly what he was afraid of. She must do.

  He had her signature to prove it.

  * * *

  Katrina sat by Nick’s bed. The lamp on the bedside table created a circle of light around them, the rainbow-coloured quilt lending the corner of the huge cluttered room a cheery air. She tried to listen to the boy, but at the same time she was painfully conscious of Jack Fairley leaning against the door in the shadows, observing her.

  She wished he would go and leave them in peace.

  In all her life, she had never felt so angry. The worst of it was that despite everything, she still felt attracted to him. For a moment there, in the corridor, she thought he wanted to kiss her! More than that, she had wanted to kiss him. She had wanted to feel his lips on hers, to draw into herself whatever made his green eyes look so stormy.

  Idiot! Jack Fairley might still desire her physically, but that meant nothing. Less than nothing. He had wanted her the first time, too; that’s how she’d gotten into so much trouble. She would have to be insane to think anything good could come of the attraction now. Particularly considering everything that had happened after.

  With an effort, she dragged her attention back to the little boy. He was the innocent party in all this. She couldn’t blame him for his father’s behaviour.

  The six-year-old was chatting like his life depended on it. But his eyes were glassy, his cheeks bright pink.

  ‘He’s not really my pet,’ he was saying, ‘because really he’s wild and he doesn’t live here exactly, but Daddy said I could give him a name, so I thought of Wilbur. Wilbur the Wombat. What do you think of that?’

  ‘I think it’s a wonderful name,’ she said, summoning a smile.

  ‘Really?’ The little boy looked up at her shyly.

  She breathed out. ‘When I was little we lived in an apartment in the city, so I couldn’t keep any pets, but there was a blue-tongue lizard who lived in the rock garden in the park. She wasn’t really mine, but she used to be sunbaking every day when I went down to play. I called her Sally.’

  ‘Hey, that’s just like me with Wilbur!’ he said. ‘Sally, the Blue-tongue Lizard. I like that.’ He sank back against his pillow and was quiet for a moment. ‘Did you live with your mummy and daddy and lots of brothers and sisters?’

  Her chest tightened. ‘Only my mummy.’

  ‘Did your daddy die and go to heaven?’

  ‘No, he…’ She felt a constriction in her throat. ‘He just didn’t live with us.’

  The boy didn’t mean any harm by the question. He couldn’t know how painful it was for her, the shame of not having known her father. It wasn’t something she particularly wanted Jack to know, either. Yet she could almost feel his interest from the doorway.

  ‘I wish I had a mummy,’ Nick said, his dark lashes fluttering. ‘I dream about her sometimes.’

  Katrina sucked in a breath. Somewhere in the back of her head, she heard a child’s cry. Mummy! The voice she’d heard in her dreams, Nick’s voice. The voice from the shaft. She breathed deep, steadying herself. The moment passed. A flashback, that was all. She was overtired, exhausted. Once she was away from Yarrangobilla, things would return to normal, the dreams would end. Until the next time.

  ‘I’d better be going now, Nick,’ she said gently. ‘You need to rest.’

  He reached out and grasped her hand, his fingers tiny in hers. ‘Dreams can come true, can’t they, Katina?’

  Her heart contracted at the shortened form of her name. It sounded so sweet, so innocent. So painfully affectionate.

  ‘Some dreams come true,’ she said, ‘but not all. Sometimes we have to accept things the way they are and be brave.’

  ‘I was brave when I got lost,’ he said. ‘My dad said so.’

  ‘He’s right. You were brave. Very brave.’

  ‘Time to sleep, Nick.’ Jack’s deep voice sounded from behind her.

  She stiffened. For a moment, she’d almost forgotten he was there. She tucked his hand back under the cover and gave him a quick hug. His body felt tiny in her arms.

  ‘Will you be here when I wake up tomorrow, Katina?’

  She hesitated, his loneliness like a ribbon tugging her heart. If circumstances had been different, she would have liked to get to know this child.
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  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘I have to go back home.’

  ‘But you can’t leave with a sprained ankle.’

  ‘It’s not sprained. Only twisted a little.’

  ‘You can stay here with us till it’s all better. This is a very big house.’

  ‘I know,’ she said smiling, her heart aching at his persistence.

  ‘Nick…’ Jack’s voice sounded a note of warning.

  ‘But Daddy. Katina can stay with us, can’t she?’

  Katrina looked back at Jack. In the shadows from the corridor, he looked bone-weary, but a light shone in his face, as if the boy’s desire for her to remain had touched his heart, too.

  ‘I’ll make sure Katrina’s happy with where she stays,’ he said in a gruff voice. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ the little boy said, snuggling down beneath the bedclothes.

  Katrina smiled. Like father, like son. They both liked to get their own way. She hated to disappoint the child, but she knew she couldn’t possibly stay till morning.

  As she left the bedside, she felt a sharp pang, a wrenching inside. She shivered. The old house had suddenly lost its charm. The high ceilings and shadowy corners seemed eerily alive and threatening. But there was no reason to feel spooked, was there? The boy was safe. He hadn’t been badly injured. Nothing else could go wrong, could it?

  As they closed the door, Jack said softly, ‘You were very good with him, Katrina. I appreciate it.’

  She turned to face him. Her anger had evaporated, and now she simply felt bewildered. Why did he seem so surprised?

  ‘Can I use the landline?’ she asked. ‘I’ll ring and book a room somewhere in town. Then I’ll be on my way.’

  * * *

  Jack followed Katrina toward the staircase, trying to figure her out. Seeing her with Nick, he had to concede she was a natural. Gentle, kind, warm, protective. It had taken her no time at all to relate to the boy, to get down on his level. What was more, there seemed to be no subtle pressure in her manner, no hidden agenda.

  Could it all be an act?

  The crazy thing was, she seemed genuinely mystified when he asked her not to tell Nick who she was. So mystified that it was hard to believe she wasn’t genuine. But she must know what he was talking about, what he had been afraid of. For six years he had kept their secret. But seeing her and Nick together, the truth was more obvious to him now than ever.

  Surely she knew that his son Nicholas was her child?

  Chapter 6

  Katrina put the phone back in the cradle, cursing all provincial towns. She looked around the plush, antique-filled sitting room, as if something there could help solve her dilemma.

  The gloomy portraits on the walls mocked her. A collection of finely carved emu eggs squatted, obstinately silent, in their cabinets. Even the fresh vase of flowers sitting on a table by the window looked dispirited.

  She sighed.

  The hotel at Adaminaby was completely overloaded with the influx of volunteer rescue workers who’d come to join the search and who wouldn’t be leaving till morning. The rural centre of Cooma, some 70 kilometres away, was no better. Entrants in the charity marathon and their support teams had booked the accommodation solid for days. Short of driving the hire car back to Sydney, she was stuck for now. Unless she slept in the car. She shuddered at the thought. Yet almost anything seemed preferable to spending a night under the same roof as Jack Fairley.

  ‘No luck?’ a cheerful male voice inquired from the doorway.

  She turned around as Wayne Harrington hobbled toward her.

  ‘Wayne,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise you were there.’

  The redhead grinned cheekily. ‘There’s plenty of room over at my place, if you don’t want to stay here.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said, catching her breath. ‘You don’t live here?’

  ‘Nuh, I’m across the valley.’ He looked around. ‘The place isn’t quite as grand as this, but it keeps the wind out. So, is it a deal?’ he prompted. ‘You’ll come over and stay?’

  She hesitated. She liked Wayne. He had a boyish enthusiasm she found charming. In other circumstances, she could imagine being friends with him. But she couldn’t accept his offer.

  ‘Thanks, but —’

  He held up a hand. ‘I know a refusal when I hear it coming.’ He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘I’ll just have to put you on my casualty list.’

  She tilted her head. ‘What casualty list is that?’

  ‘Jack’s walking wounded. He’s got to you, too, hasn’t he? He has that effect on women. Ann-Marie was the first. She was a goner by the age of twelve. Then there’s been, oh…’ He shrugged. ‘Dozens of hearts broken since then.’

  Heat stung Katrina’s face. Wayne couldn’t know how painfully his remark hit its mark. Jack Fairley was a heart-breaker. She was a living testimony to that. But the suggestion that she was one of a whole string of women he’d slept with was humiliating.

  ‘Hey, you look done in,’ Wayne said kindly. ‘I’m not surprised, after the day you’ve had. Why don’t I talk to Jack for you and see about getting you into bed?’

  She glanced at him in horror. But his expression was innocent, as if he had no clue what his words implied.

  A vivid image sprang to her mind of being in bed with Jack, and how free they had been with each other. She pushed the memory away. There was no way she could afford to sleep anywhere near Jack Fairley. Simply no way.

  * * *

  Jack had only gone a few steps from showing Katrina to the sitting room when Detective Fisher ambushed him in the hallway.

  ‘I know you’re dog tired,’ the officer said without preamble, ‘but we should talk. Privately.’

  Giving in, Jack led him through a connecting corridor to the old coach house which had been transformed into a suite of offices. Sandra worked in the largest room, with a separate entrance and a meeting room off to one side. The smaller attached room was his. He wasn’t much of a desk man. The room had all the space he needed.

  Once inside, he said, ‘So. What’s so important it can’t wait?’

  The other man scratched his bald patch. ‘That mineshaft is a fair way from the showground, Jack. And it’s hardly on the way back to Yarrangobilla. Buggered if I know how the boy could’ve wandered that far away without anyone noticing.’

  ‘What are you getting at, Rob?’ he asked, feeling tight in the chest.

  Frowning, the police officer withdrew his smart phone from his pocket.

  ‘One of the Johnson women from Kiandra came down yesterday for the show,’ he said. ‘She took some photos and only looked at them this evening. Her husband is one of the search volunteers. He got her to email me this.’

  Jack’s skin went cold. ‘What is it?’

  ‘See for yourself.’ Fisher handed him the phone and adjusted his belt below his paunch.

  Jack stared at the photo. In the foreground one of the young Johnson boys posed for the camera. In the background, Nick was talking to an instantly recognisable figure. Murray Tom. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a distinctive long, grey beard and a dirty overcoat. The two appeared to be deep in conversation.

  The policeman cleared his throat. ‘You can see why I’d to talk to Nick.’

  Jack looked up. ‘Just because he and Murray Tom were talking doesn’t mean anything sinister was going on.’

  ‘No, but old Tom might know something he’s not saying.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, frowning. ‘Send me this, will you?’

  Fisher shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  He handed back the phone.

  The idea that anyone would deliberately lure his son away was sickening enough, but Murray Tom? No. He’d known the old man all his life. He was incapable of harming anyone. More than that, he’d risked his own life to save Jack’s mother. A man who would do that wouldn’t harm a little boy. Fisher didn’t know him the way Jack did. A lot of people jumped to the wrong conclusions. Given how Tom dressed and where he lived, it was understandable. Pe
ople forgot that he was blind.

  But could the old man know something without realising it? It was possible.

  ‘Another thing. This psychic.’ Fisher said. ‘I’m thinking of asking her what she thinks happened.’

  ‘Don’t, Rob. She found that shaft by accident. The place she’d described to me was completely different.’

  ‘That’s how those psychics work, though, isn’t it? Hit and miss. She found him in the end.’

  ‘Even so. She’s already spoken to Nick. She didn’t find out anything useful.’

  ‘I’d still like to get her impression, before she goes back to Sydney.’

  Jack tensed. He didn’t want Fisher talking to Katrina. He didn’t want her talking to anyone. At least not until he’d figured out if she had some agenda. ‘Let me speak to her first, Rob, and I’ll get back to you.’

  The officer gazed at him steadily. ‘All right.’

  They walked outside to the turning circle. The last of the media crews had disappeared. Jack stood back as the policeman climbed in his four-wheel-drive and fired it up, watched as the red tail lights disappeared down the drive.

  Further up the road, lights blazed from the woolshed, the sound of laughter ringing out into the evening air. He’d go over there soon, make an appearance and thank the crews, but he wouldn’t stay long. He was dead on his feet.

  A sheep bleated somewhere in the darkness. A dog barked.

  Yarrangobilla was slowly sinking back into the peace Jack had known since childhood, in the years when he and his parents lived in a stone-built hut further inland, when his father worked as manager for the wealthy Harringtons. Below that peaceful surface, however, unease smouldered.

  He frowned, trying to dismiss the sense of foreboding. It was just Rob Fisher, being over-diligent. His son was home safe. Nothing could go wrong now.

  He looked back to see Katrina stepping out of the house. The outside light had switched on automatically, making a halo behind her hair. The sight of her heartened him, as if she had the power to dispel his dark feelings. But that was an illusion. She was part of the problem, not the solution. No matter what Fisher suggested to the contrary.