Snowy River Man

by Lizzy Chandler

  Don’t do this, an inner voice warned. Not till she knows.

  With supreme effort, he detached himself, murmuring against her hair. ‘There are things I haven’t told you, Katrina. Important things.’

  ‘No words, Jack. Not now.’

  ‘But —’

  She touched a finger to his lips. ‘Whatever it is will keep till later, won’t it?’

  His heart tightened. ‘I should be the judge of that.’

  ‘I’m scared, Jack. I’m scared that if we talk, I might convince myself not to make love to you.’ She kissed his neck, sliding her hand beneath his t-shirt, her fingers grazing his hardened nipples. ‘Please.’

  Like river ice cracking, his self control shattered. His mouth found hers. He pulled her tank top up over her head, his hands smoothing over her stomach while he drank her sweetness like nectar. Reaching back, he unclasped her bra, his hand moving to cup her breasts, feeling their soft fullness. He kissed her neck, her ears, her face. She groaned, her lips parted, her eyes closed as he pulled down her bikini briefs. When he felt her fingers unbutton his jeans and start undoing his zipper, he tensed. As her cool fingers touched his hot flesh, he came to his senses. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his chest heaving.

  What was he doing?

  Outside, lightning flashed against the window. Thunder shook the shingles on the roof.

  ‘What is it, Jack? What’s wrong?’

  Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he leaned his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. How could he have let this happen? How could he have let things go so far? He hadn’t even thought of protection. How could he even think to risk getting her pregnant a second time, when he hadn’t even told her the truth about her son?

  ‘Tell me,’ she whispered, sitting up beside him on the bed.

  ‘I don’t…’ he began, his body awash with physical frustration and self-disgust. ‘I didn’t come prepared.’

  She stroked his hair, his neck, nibbled his ear. ‘There are other ways we could make love.’

  He tensed. Making love? Was that what they were doing? Maybe for Katrina that was true, but not him. It wasn’t love that had brought him to this. Not when he was holding back from her something which she ought to know. And when she knew, far from wanting to sleep with him, she would probably want to get as far away from him as possible.

  Turning, he braced himself, summoning the courage he needed to tell her the truth.

  ‘Katrina. What I wanted to tell you. It’s about Nick. It might seem incredible, impossible, even but…he’s your son. You see…’

  * * *

  Jack’s words were lost in a deafening roar that filled her ears.

  Blankness. Then…

  She was running, out of the bedroom, off the veranda. Running naked across the paddock, leaping, stumbling, the night clammy on her skin. Sounds, heavy footsteps, crashed behind her. Someone was following her, crying out her name, but she had to get away.

  A painful light pierced her eyes, and then was gone. Thunder filled her head, shuddering her bones. Dragging in breath after agonising breath, she ran barefoot over the dry grass. Mountains rose on either side, huge black walls, consuming light. A stitch grew in her side. A bush leaped out at her, branches tore her skin and caught her hair. Her neck snapped back.

  The physical pain felt almost like a relief as she ran on.

  Gulping in air, she looked up. The sky was dark: no stars to guide her, no moon to light her way. Her heart was like a black hole sucking up all possibility of love, of forgiveness, of understanding.

  Her baby.

  He had taken her baby. And he expected her to understand?

  Stumbling on, she caught her foot, fell on the hard ground. Her world spun. Black.

  Long ago, before she could walk or talk, Katrina had sat at her grandfather’s knee. He was a kind man, with a beautiful face, and eyes that could see the future.

  ‘Remember this place, granddaughter,’ he told her. ‘This is your home. Whenever you lose your way, come back here. Then everything will be all right.’

  Her mother had scoffed at her crazy grandfather and brought Katrina up away from him, but deep inside, she hadn’t forgotten that voice.

  Katrina knew it now.

  She was in the right place. Everything would be okay, eventually. But just for this moment, the world was flooded with a darkness so acute it felt like death. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t hear, she couldn’t feel. Her baby…

  How could Jack have taken her child?

  Out of the silence, she heard breathing, ragged, gasping — her own. A still point appeared in the darkness; a light, grower larger, coming closer, closer still, growing. Soon it was like the headlight of a train hurtling toward her, coming at a full speed. The truth exploded inside her.

  Nicholas Fairley was her child!

  * * *

  Jack stumbled over the dry paddock, the lantern swinging, shadows lurching crazily. Grass whipped against his jeans, jagged rocks cut his bare feet. The wind had picked up, no longer a gentle breeze but a cold, harsh wind, straight off the mountain peaks.

  Overhead, lightning flashed; huge arcs split the sky. Thunder shook the ground.

  He called out, but his voice was swept away.

  What had he done? He should never have told her. Not like that, without any preparation. And he should never have let her run away into the night.

  One minute, she was sitting on the bed, listening. The next minute she was out the door, running naked into the dark. Those few moments it had taken him to gather his wits and grab the lantern had cost him. Now, with the black night, the wind roaring in his ears, he had no idea where she’d gone. He could only follow his instincts, follow where he hoped she might be.

  Ahead, he saw a shape, lying next to a granite outcrop. Katrina! He dropped the lantern and pulled her into his arms, his mind screaming no! Her eyes were unfocused. Blood marked a gash on her forehead. He rocked her against him. If only he could take back his words, take away her pain. But how could he? She had to know. And the truth hurt. There was nothing he could do to change that.

  She roused and clasped her head, a mournful wail escaping her lips.

  ‘Katrina? Are you okay?’

  ‘Wh-where’s my baby?’

  His heart tightened, his throat constricting. ‘He’s back at the house.’

  ‘Who is?’ She stopped rocking.

  ‘Nick,’ he said swallowing, his eyes flooding with unshed tears. ‘Our son.’

  She lurched to her feet and grabbed hold of his arm, speaking with a sudden, fierce urgency. ‘We have to go back. He’s not safe. Someone’s going to take my baby.’

  ‘It’s okay, Katrina,’ he said gently. ‘He’s safe at home in bed. Wayne’s there, looking after him.’

  ‘No,’ she cried. ‘We have to get back. Now! Someone’s going to take my baby.’

  His breath collapsed in his lungs, grief ripping him apart. It was what he’d feared. The news had tipped her over the edge. And it was his fault. Getting her pregnant. Not querying her mother about taking custody. Telling her before she was ready.

  A thick drop of rain fell on his shoulder, then another and another. The sky was opening up at last. At any other time, he would have sunk to his knees in relief and thanks, but tonight the drops felt like tears, as if the sky were crying for Katrina and her baby.

  ‘Let’s get back inside,’ he said.

  It was all he could do to walk her back to the cottage. She kept trying to break away, to head for the truck.

  Once inside the hut, she sat on the bed as he helped her into her clothes. His heart filled with remorse. This was how she’d been when he saw her at the hospital. Except now, instead of staring blankly out of a hospital window, she was looking in the direction of the homestead.

  Once she was dressed, she turned to him with desperate eyes.

  ‘We have to get back to Yarrangobilla, Jack. Nick needs me.’

  Unease
shot through him. This wasn’t an unbalanced woman he was talking to. She recognised him, knew his name and Nick’s. Could something really be threatening their son? But Wayne was there. Nick was safe.

  Nevertheless, once they got into the four-wheel-drive, he accelerated into the darkness, taking the corners too fast, skidding on the dirt road. The rain was coming down hard now, thick dusty drops landing on the windscreen, the wipers barely sufficient to keep up.

  As they forded the creek and approached the homestead, he saw red tail-lights swerve from the main entrance onto the bridge and disappear over the rise of the nearby hill. Had Wayne had a visitor? He sped up the dirt road, bounced across the cattle grid and pulled into the turning circle. The outside light switched on automatically, haloed by rain.

  Katrina lost no time. She leaped out and raced up the stairs, disappearing through the lamp-lit entranceway. He followed, reassured by the sound of the TV in the family room.

  Jack found Wayne dozing on the couch. His cousin roused at the sound of his footsteps.

  ‘Everything okay, Wayne?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure,’ his cousin answered, swinging to his feet and stretching his arms over his head. ‘I checked on Nick a little while ago. No problems. Looks like the drought’s broken at last, eh? Hey, look at you! What have you been doing, mud wrestling?’

  Jack looked down at his filthy jeans and grimaced.

  ‘It’s not what you think.’

  His explanation was cut short by Katrina’s cry. She appeared in the doorway, her face ashen.

  ‘He’s not here, Jack,’ she said. ‘Not in the bedroom, not in the bathroom. I called his name as I came down but there’s no answer.’

  ‘He must be here somewhere,’ Wayne said.

  Jack felt a leaden weight settle over him. ‘Who was here with you, Wayne? A car left the property just as we came back. Did someone come over?’

  Katrina crossed to the window and pulled the curtain. Rain streamed down, and wind-whipped branches clawed the glass.

  His cousin gave a shrug. ‘Sandra popped in to collect some things from the office and I offered her a drink. She didn’t stay long. Nick must be here somewhere.’

  ‘I’m calling Fisher.’ He strode to the door.

  Katrina turned from the window, her face lit by lightning. ‘He’s out there, Jack.’

  He stopped, his heart in his throat. ‘Where?’

  She stared into the night, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Where he goes when he’s lonely.’

  Her words rocked him. Jack knew exactly where his son was.

  ‘Grab a blanket, Wayne. Nick’s down at the old graveyard.’

  Racing out of the house, he was hit by the full fury of the storm. Icy droplets pelted through the darkness, stinging his face. He ran with his shoulder into the wind, rain saturating his shirt and jeans. Flashes of lightning lit the landscape with an eerie clarity. Stumbling over the drought-toughened grass, he made it down to the tall pines. Nick was crouched up against the wrought-iron fence, where Katrina had been earlier in the day. Beyond him was the simple sandstone marker of Ann-Marie’s grave.

  He pulled the boy into his arms, feeling Nick’s heartbeat next to his chest. His son was soaking wet and shivering, but he was okay.

  ‘Hey, mister,’ he said, the lump in his throat almost preventing him from talking. ‘What are you doing all the way out here?’

  ‘I heard mummy calling.’

  Jack looked back up at the house. Katrina appeared on the stairs, lamplight flooding on her hair.

  ‘Let’s get you back inside and into bed, eh, sunshine? You must’ve had a bad dream.’

  ‘It wasn’t a dream, Daddy,’ the boy said.

  Too fraught to fully take in his son’s meaning, he carried his son back toward the house in the freezing wind and rain. Pine needles arrowed down. Gum branches cracked. Leaves and dirt swirled in the air. Katrina met them on the stairs, and Wayne covered Nick with the blanket.

  By the time Jack got him back up to the bedroom, the boy was sleeping. Laying him down gently, he kissed him on the forehead. He had wanted to give Nick the world. Now he couldn’t even promise what tomorrow might bring.

  Katrina was waiting by the door, looking in with anguish at the sleeping child.

  ‘He’s fine,’ he told her, his voice breaking.

  She turned slowly to confront him, her eyes black and terrible. ‘How can he be fine, Jack, when he doesn’t know who I am?’

  * * *

  Katrina stared at the man who had stolen her child. Even with his damp, wind-tousled fair hair and sodden clothes, he could have posed as an angel. Seeing how tenderly he carried Nick in from the rain, she might’ve believed he was incapable of harming a soul.

  But she would’ve been wrong. Jack Fairley might have a soul, but he didn’t have a heart. He couldn’t have. If he had, he would never have taken her baby.

  ‘You’ve had a shock, Katrina. You need rest.’

  ‘Rest? How can I rest until I know how this happened?’ she said in a harsh whisper. ‘We need to talk. Now. Downstairs in the library.’ She strode back along the corridor, not waiting for his reply.

  Her mind worked like a blade, cutting to the heart of the matter. She was in shock, all right. Never could she have dreamed that anyone could do this, let alone a man she had taken into her heart. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now. Already she suspected no excuse would ever be good enough. Seven years of her son’s life she had lost because of this man. Seven years!

  Someone would have to pay.

  * * *

  Jack closed the library door behind him. Katrina was pacing. Her face still bloodied and mud-stained, her whole bearing had taken on a feral beauty. She turned on him.

  ‘How did you do it, Jack? How did you get him away from me?’ Her eyes glittered. ‘It was at the hospital, wasn’t it? While I was on that medication. Whose idea was it to tell me my baby was dead? Yours?’

  ‘Your mother said you wanted me to adopt him.’

  ‘I would never have agreed to that.’

  ‘I realise that. Now.’ He took a breath, his heart drumming. ‘That’s why I visited you in hospital. I wanted to make sure you knew what you were agreeing to. I’m sorry you had to go through that, Katrina.’

  ‘Sorry?’ She raised her head high. ‘Can sorry give me back those years? Can it take away my grief? Do you what it’s like to lose a child, Jack? How could you? You have Nick. You’ve had him all his life.’

  Jack stared at the mother of his child. In that moment, he couldn’t have felt more love for her, or more sadness. But what could he say that wouldn’t make things worse? Tell her the extent to which her own mother had deceived them both? How Robyn Delaney had forged her daughter’s signature? Was that a truth she could bear to hear? Besides, he didn’t want her to think he was making excuses, shirking responsibility for his part.

  ‘I know it’s painful,’ he said. ‘But there’s nothing to stop you being a mother to him now.’

  ‘Nothing to stop me?’ Her rage spilled over. ‘I am his mother. That’s not something you can give or take away. Nick. Is. My. Child.’

  ‘I know that, Katrina. And I know this is probably not the right time to tell you, but I want us to be together. You, me, Nick. I want us to be a real family.’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ she cried, gripping her stomach and buckling over. ‘Don’t dare pretend.’

  ‘I’m not pretending.’

  ‘Now I know why you were so suspicious when I arrived. You knew I had the right to be here, to make sure Nick was okay. And you’ve let me stay for days without telling me the truth, even after I told you I thought our baby had died.’

  He couldn’t deny it. Everything she said was true.

  ‘This afternoon,’ she went on, ‘you practically asked me to be his nanny, for God’s sake! You nearly made love to me tonight. How can you say you want us to be a family — based on what? Lies, lies and more lies?’

  She was right in all
respects. He had no defence.

  ‘I didn’t know how to tell you, Katrina. At first I was afraid of how it would affect you. It was worried you might…’

  ‘What?’ she said with icy stillness. ‘Go crazy again?’

  ‘I don’t think you’re crazy.’

  ‘I don’t care what you think!’

  ‘I admit, I didn’t understand what you were going through when I saw you in hospital. How could I have known? But I understand now. You’re a special woman, with very special gifts. You came here to find Nick, and you found him. Part of you must’ve known, deep down, that he was your son. Why else did you dream of him? Why else did you come here?’

  ‘You really believe that?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  Her head and shoulders dropped. The anger seemed to go out of her. But the bleakness of her expression tore him apart.

  ‘What am I going to do, Jack?’ she whispered. ‘He thinks Ann-Marie was his mother. You saw him out there at her grave. I can’t suddenly take her place. I couldn’t do that to him.’

  His heart squeezed tight. If ever he’d had any doubts that Katrina would be a good mother, he had none now. Her first priority was their child. Incredibly, she already loved him with a mother’s love, unselfish and complete. And she was strong, mentally and emotionally, despite all that she’d been through.

  ‘I think he knows partly already,’ he said, hoping it was true. ‘You remember what he said about baby chicks being just like him, being born outside their mother’s tummy? I never told him that Ann-Marie didn’t give birth to him, but somehow he knew.’

  She tilted her head. ‘You’re saying he’s psychic, too?’

  ‘He takes after you in looks. Why not in other ways?’

  She stared at the floor, going very still.

  ‘My baby didn’t die,’ she said, looking up at him as if slowly taking in the miracle of her son’s existence. Tears rolled down her face and she did nothing to check them. ‘What’s wrong with me, Jack?’ she added with a shudder. ‘I ought to be shouting from the rooftops that my little boy didn’t die.’