Pain tightened around her midriff. An emptiness formed inside her, a black hole that sapped her strength. He didn’t know what he was asking. He couldn’t.
‘Thanks for the compliment, Jack, but I…I’m happy to look after him temporarily to help out, but I don’t think I’m cut out to be anyone’s nanny.’ She broke off. She had to get away. Turning back, she almost stumbled down the stairs.
‘Katrina? I didn’t mean…’
She escaped down the path and into the front garden area, choked up with emotion. Her head felt dizzy, her body ached, and tears blurred her vision. She wandered over dry grass until she came up hard against a wrought-iron fence near a thicket of pines trees. She steadied herself against the railing, her stomach cramping.
Her reaction was out of all proportion to what had triggered it, she realised. Jack had simply complimented her on how well she and Nick got on. There was nothing wrong in that, was there? So why did it hurt so much?
Tears fell in silent streams down her cheeks. The answers came.
She didn’t want to be a surrogate mother for another woman’s child. It wasn’t that she didn’t think she could love him. Just the opposite. Nick was a beautiful boy and she was sure if she took care of him, she would love him as dearly as her own. But he wasn’t hers. He could never be. Sooner or later, she would have to say goodbye and that would be too hard. She had already lost one child. She couldn’t bear to lose another.
No. The only way she would ever agree to looking after Jack’s son was if she and Jack had a proper relationship, and that was impossible, wasn’t it? There had been too much hurt.
* * *
Jack leaned back against the entrance way, mentally kicking himself. How bloody insensitive could he be? He should never have said she’d make a good nanny for Nick. She must know at some level that the boy was her son. That explained why she had reacted so strongly. Instinctively she knew it wasn’t right.
What the hell had he been thinking? Did he imagine that if he could get her to pretend they were a happy little family for long enough, she wouldn’t hate him when she discovered Nick was really hers? That she’d just slot right into place? Wife and mother, rolled into one? Hadn’t he learned anything? He’d already conducted one relationship under false pretences and suffered the consequences. He couldn’t afford to make the same mistake again.
He had to apologise. Tell her the truth. There was never going to be a good time to do that. But she had to know.
He found her standing by the tall pines, clutching the wrought-iron railing of the old graveyard. She looked pale.
When he approached, she didn’t look at him.
‘Katrina —’ he began.
‘I’ve done what you wanted, Jack,’ she said, speaking over him. ‘I’ve found out why Nick ran away from the showground. It was Gwen. She gave him the impression you were going to shoot the brumby stallion. That’s why he ran away.’
‘I see.’
‘Apparently he spoke to one of the environmentalists, too. That’s why they got the impression you want to shoot the brumbies. They’ve form a group at the front gate, protesting.’
‘Of all the…thanks, Katrina,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask Wayne to sort them out. But about what I said before, about you looking after Nick.’ He reached out and touched her hand. ‘I didn’t mean to…’
Her fingers stiffened beneath his. She gripped the wrought iron, her knuckles whitening. Perversely, her resistance to being touched made him want her all the more. He wanted to hold her, kiss her. Make love to her. The overwhelming urge to do just that burst up inside him. In spite of how crazy it would be, in spite of every ounce of good sense that urged him against it.
‘Katrina, I…’
She turned to him, her dark eyes gazing into his. In that moment, he saw the depth of her pain, not only at the loss of her child, but also something else, the loss of hope. The realisation avalanched through his brain, crushing him with a cold weight. Now he knew why she had reacted so strongly. It wasn’t only about Nick. It was about him, too. She wanted him. Despite his betrayal, despite her grief. She still wanted him. And he wanted her.
The question now was, what was he going to do about it?
Chapter 13
Jack didn’t kiss her.
But he thought about it.
He imagined pulling Katrina into his arms, there in the open, for the earth and sky to see. He imagined his lips touching hers, tentatively at first, then with more vigour as she responded. He could almost feel her mouth opening to his, welcoming him, her breath sweet. For one incredible moment, he felt connected to her, connecting in a way so intimate he never wanted to break away.
He loved Katrina Delaney. He had from the first. That was why he’d been afraid to tell her the truth about their son; he didn’t want to risk losing her again.
‘Stop,’ she said, her dark eyes brimming with confusion.
‘I’m not doing anything.’
‘No, but you want to,’ she said. ‘You want to kiss me.’
He couldn’t deny it. But that wasn’t what hit him. She felt the same connection he felt. She knew what he was thinking. Was this part of her gift?
‘You’re right, Katrina,’ he said, his voice husky. ‘I do want that. And so do you.’
Her pupils widened and her chest rose and fell more rapidly. He resisted the urge to pull her toward him.
‘You feel it, didn’t you?’ he urged. ‘Admit it. You feel me touching you.’
‘What if I do, Jack?’ She swallowed, a muscle in her throat flexing. ‘What we want and what’s best aren’t always the same thing.’
Triumph welled up inside him, flooding his body with energy. He was going to win this battle. Even if he still had a way to go.
‘We need to talk, Katrina,’ he said. ‘Not now. Tonight. I’ll ask Wayne to come over and look after Nick so we can go for a drive. There are things I need to tell you. Things about what happened. Things I should’ve told you before.’
She lifted her chin, her eyes glittering. ‘Such as how you could make love to me one day and get engaged to someone else the next?’
His triumph ebbed. He had hurt her. He could only guess how deeply. He was more than willing to make up for that, if she would let him. But that was the problem. Forgiving him for his engagement to Ann-Marie was one thing. But how would she react when he told her Nick was her son?
‘So we’ll talk tonight?’
She seemed to wrestle with some inner question.
‘If we must,’ she said, giving him an uneasy glance. ‘Even though I get the feeling I won’t like what you have to say.’
* * *
After their conversation, Katrina kept turning over what had happened. She’d felt Jack kiss her. Felt his lips on hers as surely and intimately as if he had actually touched her. More than that, she had sensed a deep connection to him that went way beyond anything physical.
Was she kidding herself? Could things really work out between them? The possibility ignited a flame inside her that turned rapidly into a blaze.
For the rest of the afternoon, she could barely bring her mind to concentrate on anything but Jack. His voice, his face, his hands, his eyes. How strong and determined he looked, kicking a football with Nick in the home paddock as the sun dropped toward the horizon. How he ate dinner with his fork in his right hand, instead of his left. How he cheated at cards to let Nick win. It was as if her entire world had contracted to him, this man who had been her lover once and who might be again. If only she could believe in him.
When it was time for Nick to go to bed, she was relieved when Jack opted to go up with him and tell him his bedtime story. It gave her time by herself. She sat out on the veranda, staring into the dying light. It was peaceful there, hearing the cattle lowing, the chuffs whistling in the gum trees. She watched as a blaze of colour spread across the sky, changing from a fiery red and orange to deep pink, pale mauve and blue.
But inside she felt anything but serene.
One imaginary kiss was nowhere near enough. She wanted the real thing. She ached for it. To taste Jack’s lips on hers, to run her hands over his naked skin, to feel him inside her. She wanted to lie all night in his arms and wake up beside him.
She closed her eyes and the memory of what had happened seven years earlier tapped into an inner reservoir of pain. The last time she had woken in his arms, he had hurt her. Betrayed her. Why did she think she could trust him now? If she were in her right mind, she’d get in the car and drive off as far as she could, as fast as she could. But she couldn’t go.
When Jack came down from tucking Nick in, he came out to where Katrina was sitting.
‘Ready to go?’ he asked.
‘What about Wayne?’
‘He’s already here. In the family room watching TV. Grab something warm, in case the weather turns.’
She went back inside for her coat, popped her head into the family room to say hi to Wayne, then met Jack outside. He drove them along the dirt road further into the property. Although the sun had set, there was a good hour of daylight left. Hills studded with snow gums rose on either side. In the distance loomed the granite mountains. After jolting over several cattle grids, she broke the silence.
‘Where are we going, Jack?’
‘An old hut on the property. It’s not far.’
After a couple more kilometres, he pulled off the dusty road, drove up a track and parked outside a small hut made completely of river stone. In front of the hut a paddock sloped down to a creek. To one side, ancient twisted eucalypts clawed the sky. Katrina sensed this place was important to him.
‘Who lives here?’ she asked.
‘No one now,’ he said. ‘It’s where I grew up. My father lived here till he died. It’s the oldest cottage on Yarrangobilla land.’
Katrina climbed out of the four-wheel-drive, smelling the eucalypt, the dry earth, the faint mustiness of cows. Jack leaped onto the veranda. From underneath a rusted tin jug, next to some wicker chairs, he extracted a key and opened the front door.
She stepped into the dusky light.
Inside a kerosene lantern stood on a wooden sideboard. He opened a drawer beneath the table and produced a box of matches, struck a match and lit the lamp. Yellow light flooded the room.
‘I come up here sometimes when I need to be alone.’ He lowered the wick and shook out the match flame.
She looked around. The place was tidy and clean. Cared for.
In the centre stood a potbelly stove, surrounded by a couch and armchairs. To one side was a kitchenette; through a doorway, a bedroom with a double bed. Her heartbeat accelerated. He’d said he just wanted to talk. But if Jack wanted to make love to her tonight, she wasn’t sure she would have the strength to say no. Yet she would have to say no. She should say no.
He glanced into the bedroom, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Maybe we should sit out on the veranda?’
They stepped outside, but she couldn’t sit down. Her repressed energy made it impossible. She stood at the veranda railing, looking out into the night. Clouds half covered the sky now, massive blue and grey billows. Near the horizon flashes of sheet lightning lit up the mountains.
Jack leaned against a veranda post. In the clearing in front of the hut, a mob of grey kangaroos appeared in the shadows. One bounded right by the house, pounding the dry earth.
‘They’re heading down to the creek,’ he said.
Katrina watched the animals disappear into the darkness. From high up in the hills, she heard the lonely cry of a koel. Ko-el! Ko-el!
She remembered the vision she’d had when she first saw Jack again. The lost boy and the man’s anguished cry, Coo-ee! It had been Jack’s voice, she realised. She remembered feeling his pain and anguish. They had been connected even then.
He turned toward her, his face half in shadow. ‘Katrina…’
Suddenly, she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She didn’t want anything to spoil this moment.
‘What was it like, growing up here?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t bring you here to talk about me.’
She had a vision of a young boy, crying for his mother. And a sullen man, his father, riding into the hills.
‘It was hard for you, wasn’t it, when your mother died. You couldn’t have been much older than Nick is now.’
He stared at her levelly before answering. ‘It was harder for my father.’
A breeze stirred, rustling the dry leaves. Silence lengthened between them. She knew why he had brought her there. He wanted to apologise, to explain whatever he thought there was to explain. But what could he say that would excuse what he had done? What could take away the hurt?
‘This isn’t easy for me, Katrina.’
‘Telling the truth?’ She looked down at the wooden railing.
‘Admitting how badly I handled everything back then.’
She waited for him to go on, her breathing shallow.
‘I know you must wonder why I made love to you that night, when I was already with Ann-Marie. I should have told you —’
‘Before I opened the newspaper and saw your engagement announcement?’ she said, unable to curb her bitter tone. ‘Yes, you should have. And I would never have slept with you.’
‘Wouldn’t you?’ he challenged softly.
‘No!’ She wouldn’t consider the alternative. She wouldn’t have slept with another woman’s fiancé had she known. She was sure of that.
‘You can’t have been feeling what I was feeling then,’ he murmured.
‘What was that?’ she asked, her voice hoarse. Desire? All-consuming, mind-numbing lust?
‘I wanted you, Katrina. But you’re wrong if you think it was just one last fling before I got married.’
He reached out and touched her neck. At his touch, a shiver ran down her spine. She groaned and pulled away. She didn’t want to hear any more. She didn’t want to pretend that it had been more than what it was — a one-night stand. Not even an affair. Only significant for the fact that she had fallen pregnant and everything in her life had changed.
‘Ann-Marie had already been diagnosed with cancer before we discussed getting married,’ he said. ‘It was a virulent form, very aggressive. She didn’t have much time. She’d always dreamed of being a bride, ever since we were kids. We’d been best friends all our lives. I hadn’t met you then.’
‘What are you saying, Jack?’ She struggled to take it in. ‘That you didn’t really love her, but you married her anyway, because she was dying? You think somehow that makes it okay that you slept with me?’
He turned to face the hills, his expression pained. Beside them, through the window, the yellow light of the kerosene lamp was beginning to shine brighter. ‘I’m not trying to excuse myself, Katrina. I’m just trying to explain why…how I could have done that, to both of you.’
‘But why didn’t you tell me?’ she cried. ‘Why didn’t you give me a choice?’
‘Sure.’ His face tightened with repressed emotion. ‘Wake up beside you and say, “I’m sorry but do you mind waiting for me till my fiancée’s dead?”’
‘I didn’t mean after we made love,’ she cried. ‘I meant before. Anyway, why are you telling me all this now?’
He reached out and took her hands, his rough palms belying the gentleness of his touch. She wanted to pull back. She didn’t want this intimacy, didn’t want the tumult of feelings that crashed through her. But she couldn’t let go.
‘Katrina. I didn’t intend for us to make love that night. But I’ve never forgotten a moment of it. I’ve spent the last seven years trying to forget. Even when I was angry at you, when I thought —’
‘You were angry at me?’ Breath whooshed out of her lungs. ‘What right did you have to be angry?’
He closed his eyes briefly, his jaw hardening. ‘You’re not making this any easier for me.’
‘Why should I make it easy for you?’ Tears stung the back of her eyes. She was going to cry, damn it! But she di
dn’t want him to see her like this, didn’t want to be so vulnerable in front of him.
‘I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. But I can’t change what happened.’ He stroked her cheek, his voice cracking. ‘Can’t you possibly forgive me?’
Katrina absorbed his touch, feeling his fingers smooth on her skin. She didn’t want to accept his explanation, didn’t want to forgive. If she did, then she would be even more vulnerable. What if he hurt her again? Years ago, she hadn’t known what she was risking. Now she had a choice.
‘Oh, Jack! If only I didn’t forgive you,’ she cried.
‘You mean…?’ His green eyes widened.
Expelling a breath, he drew her into his arms. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks. Then his mouth found hers. For a moment, she resisted; it was all happening too fast. Then she responded, welcoming him. She raked her fingers through his hair, pulled his head down to hers, lifted herself into him. He breathed into her ear, sending shivers over her skin.
The breeze stirred, rustling the gum leaves.
‘Let’s make love,’ she whispered.
His face grew contorted, as if her words caused him pain. But with an energy that exhilarated her, he lifted her into his arms, pushed the door with his boot and carried her inside. She closed her eyes, knowing what she was giving in to, but already too far gone to say no. The lantern light cast soft shadows into the bedroom. He lowered her onto the bed.
‘Are you sure you want this?’ he asked.
She stared up at him, wondering if even now she would have the strength to say no. She loved this man. She had never stopped loving him, in spite of what he’d done. Perhaps she could understand the lengths to which a man like Jack Fairley might go to bring happiness to a dying woman, his childhood friend. In a way, she even admired him for it. For all the pain he had caused her, she had never regretted making love to him. And she wouldn’t regret this, either, no matter what happened after.
She reached for him. ‘With all my heart.’
* * *
Jack lowered himself on top of her, feeling her body beneath his, already aching and hard for her. In the shadows, she couldn’t have looked more beautiful. He wanted her. She was willing. There was nothing to stop them being together, here and now. Nothing except one last shred of sanity.
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