Snowy River Man

by Lizzy Chandler

  His heart ached to comfort her, to hold her in his arms. But instinctively he knew nothing he could say or do right now could take away her pain. Perhaps, in time, he would find a way to let her know how deeply sorry he was. But not now. She needed time to grieve alone.

  When the tears dried, her expression froze. The anger returned, but this time it was cold, like a blade, and far more cutting.

  ‘I don’t know exactly what happened or why, Jack,’ she said. ‘And I can’t begin to understand how you could convince yourself that any of it would be okay. But you should know this. I’m going to speak to a lawyer first thing in the morning. And if I don’t start custody proceedings, it’ll be because of Nick, not because of you. If it weren’t for him, I’d never want to see you again. But you’re his father. Much as I’d love for you to experience a fraction of my pain at losing him, I wouldn’t deprive our son of your company. I wouldn’t be so cruel.’

  Chapter 14

  Jack absorbed the impact of her anger. What in hell had made him think once he’d told her the truth that she would simply accept it? Of course she would be enraged. She had every right to be.

  As for her plans for Nick…

  She was his mother. She had a role to play in his son’s life, even if she wanted nothing to do with him.

  He stared at the beautiful woman in front of him, her tear-streaked face, her wild hair. Drawing back his shoulders, he summoned his strength. But it was an effort to remain standing. He felt weak, as if his bones were crumbling into ash.

  ‘I’ll go for a ride in the morning,’ he said. ‘Up into the mountains. There’s a trail I want to check out. You and Nick will need time together. To get to know each other properly.’

  As he looked at her, she seemed to recede into the shadows, as if the light had gone down a notch on a dimmer switch. He had to get away.

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘Goodnight, Katrina,’ he murmured, stumbling out the door.

  He felt his way along the hallway in the darkness, pain running like a poisonous river inside him, leaching all his hopes and dreams away.

  * * *

  In her dream, Katrina was riding along a track. Ancient gum trees rose on either side, and grey kangaroos and wallabies watched silently.

  She came to a clearing. Jack was there, crouched by a camp fire, a blackened billy perched on the embers. He looked up, his green eyes reflecting the mossy depths of mountain hollows, his blonde hair like sun shining on snowy peaks, his bronzed skin as beautiful as the river sand she glimpsed beyond the trees.

  ‘Katrina.’ His eyes filled with love. ‘I knew you’d come.’

  She sprang off the horse, landing on the leaf mulch as if it had no more substance than a cloud. She took a deep breath, giddy with the scent of crushed eucalyptus leaves.

  He took her hand, his grip firm, and led her through the shadowy woods, into a cave. On the walls were ochre hand-prints, the marks of a hundred generations who had come here before. He took her deep into the darkness, into the shadows, but she wasn’t afraid. This was where she was meant to be.

  Her home. With Jack.

  They lay together on the soft earth, naked, length to length. In the half-light, she drank in the sight of his golden body, his toned limbs, his proud beauty and strength. His hands glided over her soft curves, awakening her with his touch, until she was charged with life, electric, filled with an intense joy of being.

  He lay on top of her, entering her with a gentle fullness that took her breath away. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opening to him, wanting to be fused with him.

  ‘Katrina!’

  She heard him moan as he began to thrust, a cry of mixed pleasure and pain, as if some deep inner sadness still troubled him, held him back. But for her there was no holding back. She wanted him, and it was right to want him. Things were exactly as they were meant to be. With one final thrust he came inside her. She arched up, lifting her hips to him, as wave upon wave of pleasure crested through her.

  She woke up, naked, her sheets tangled, her heart pounding.

  ‘Jack,’ she said to the darkness, tears in her eyes.

  * * *

  The following morning, Jack sat in the saddle, squinting at the sun.

  He had been riding since first light, taking the chestnut mare up beyond the silverbarked snow gums, onto the alpine plains. The ground this high up was covered with tiny shrubs and lichens, hardy plants that survived the winter snow. Every now and then, granite boulders cropped up. A creek cut through the stark landscape.

  It was harsh and beautiful.

  There was no trail he wanted to check out. He had come there to be alone. To think. But for once his mind refused to cooperate. He found no answers. Only a deep pain that threatened to tear his heart apart. It was as if all the tears he had never shed, all the disappointments, all the grief descended on him now, demanding he face up to them.

  All his life, he’d tried to be thoughtful, to do the right thing. By his father, by Ann-Marie, by his son. Even by Katrina — he’d supported her all these years, hadn’t he? He’d stuffed up big time when he slept with her, but that was one of the few times in his life when he’d acted on impulse. And what had happened? It had all blown up in his face.

  He knew what he wanted now. He wanted a family, the family he’d dreamed of belonging to ever since his mother died. He wanted Katrina and Nick, and more children. He wanted them all to live at Yarrangobilla. He could almost taste how happy they could be — just as he had tasted Katrina’s lips in his dream the night before, felt himself inside her. With a connection like that, how could things have gone so horribly wrong?

  He had to face it.

  She didn’t want anything to do with him. Worse, he couldn’t blame her. He’d hurt her. Deeply. He hadn’t meant to, but that didn’t take away her pain.

  A shadow flickered overhead. A cloud of moths circled him. He shivered, unease striking like a falling branch. Something bad was going to happen to Katrina, something that he could prevent. Yet that was crazy, wasn’t it? He wasn’t superstitious, and he certainly wasn’t psychic.

  Even so, he turned and headed for home.

  * * *

  When Katrina woke the next morning her head throbbed, and her body ached and stung with fresh grazes from her scramble through the scrub the night before. But she was filled with a knowledge that made any discomfort worthwhile.

  Her baby hadn’t died. Nick was her child!

  She went out to breakfast but there was no sign of either Nick or Jack. Jack had done as he promised, gone for a ride into the mountains. Mike had laid out a feast in the kitchen. Bacon, eggs, tomato, mushrooms and fruit. But she could barely stomach the sight of it. Instead, she drank some freshly squeezed orange juice and nibbled a piece of toast.

  Hearing laughter, she walked to the end of the huge kitchen and looked out. The garden glistened, still wet from the rain. Nick was running down the side path with a cattle dog. He looked up, saw her and waved. Her heart leaped. Could he learn to love her and accept her, to give her a place in his life? Would everything be okay?

  He disappeared, skidded round the corner and reappeared round the back at the veranda, scraping his boots before he stepped inside.

  ‘Mike says Daddy’s gone for a ride. So can we go down to the lake for a swimming lesson, Katina?’ he said, pulling a chair up to the table, his dark hair tousled, his eyes alight. Whatever nightmare had led him out into the storm the night before had left no trace.

  ‘You bet,’ she said, longing to run her fingers through his dark hair, to smooth her hand over his cheek and hold him tight to her breast. How could she bear to be with him and not claim him as her own?

  He tilted his head. ‘You okay?’

  She nodded, blinking back tears. She could hardly trust herself to speak. ‘I’m fine, Nick. Eat up, and we’ll be on our way.’

  Her bag stuffed with a towel and Nick’s swimming trunks, Katrina drove down to the lake. It was a beautiful day, the sun shin
ing bright, the water an intense blue. The air was filled with magpies carolling to one another. Even the cicadas were singing.

  The walk round the shore to Murray Tom’s didn’t take as long as it had the first time, now that her ankle was better. Katrina looked at her son as he skipped by the water’s edge, her heart filled with gratitude. Her baby, returned to her. If only Jack…

  Pain stabbed her heart. She could never forgive him. There was no excuse for what he’d done. She had Nick, that was the most important thing. Yet she couldn’t help remembering her dream, how sweet it had been to feel Jack inside her, how right it had seemed.

  Murray Tom was on the veranda enjoying a mug of tea. He roused at the sound of their voices and greeted them with a broad smile. While Nick went inside to change, the old man insisted on sharing a mug with her. They sat out on the veranda, overlooking the lake, his sightless eyes staring into the distance.

  ‘Water’s pretty cold even this time of year,’ he said, handing her a mug. ‘Need something to warm the bones first.’

  Her son appeared in fluorescent green swimming trunks, jumped off the veranda and climbed out on the stone jetty that jutted into the water. Water lapped against the wooden boat anchored close by. He spotted a skink sunning itself on the rocks and scrambled to catch it. When he caught the lizard, he juggled it in his hands as it squirmed to escape.

  ‘Be gentle, Nick,’ she called out. ‘That lizard has a family to go home to.’

  ‘Funny.’ Murray Tom leaned back, the rickety chair creaking beneath him. ‘I had a daughter once, used to say the very same thing to her. She liked chasing lizards, too.’

  Katrina grew still. She remembered her mother’s stories of her childhood, her crazy father who was forever telling tales.

  ‘What happened to her, Murray Tom? Your daughter?’

  ‘She got herself in trouble, went off to the city. Came back once, though, so I could meet the little one. That was just before I lost these.’ He gestured to his milky eyes, his blank expression masking any evidence of pain. ‘A dark-haired little girl, my granddaughter was. Pretty as a picture. I used to dream about her.’

  Katrina clutched the side of her chair, her breath trapped in her chest. She could hear the lapping of water against the rocks, fish rising with a gentle ‘plonk’.

  ‘What was your daughter’s name?’ she asked.

  ‘Robyn,’ he said mildly. ‘Robyn Katherine Delaney. Katherine after my mother. There was a whole mob of us Delaneys down here in the old days.’

  The tin mug fell from her hands, splashing her jeans with tea. Murray Tom! He was the crazy grandfather her mother had so often disparaged. That was why she had dreamed of him. But he wasn’t crazy. No more than she was. He had a gift of seeing.

  He reached across and found her hand, speaking in a husky voice as he squeezed her fingers. ‘Welcome home, granddaughter. I’m very glad to meet you again after all this time.’

  ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘One of my mates saw your name in the newspaper, after you found the boy. He mentioned you were a Delaney. But I was pretty sure before then. I get a sense about these things.’

  She squeezed his gnarled fingers, too overwhelmed to speak. Her heart overflowed with gratitude. Her grandfather and her son, both returned to her! She’d had a whole family down here, without even knowing it. No wonder this place felt familiar. The mountains were in her blood, too.

  ‘What happened to my mother, Murray Tom? Why didn’t she ever come back here?’

  ‘She never told you?’

  She shook her head, forgetting he was blind. ‘She never liked to talk about the past.’

  ‘I guess I ought to respect her wishes, then. Maybe she’ll tell you one day.’

  ‘Oh, Murray Tom, I’m so sorry. She died several years ago. I would’ve contacted you, if I’d known.’

  ‘Don’t worry yourself. She’s at rest now. Maybe what happened is best forgotten. There’s been a lot of hurt at Yarrangobilla, one way or the other.’ Murray Tom leaned back in his chair. ‘It might be best if you don’t mention your background here for a while, either. Some people might not be so happy to hear whose daughter you are.’

  ‘Come on, Murray Tom,’ Nick called out, wading at the shore. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘I’m coming, grandson.’ The old man launched out of the chair.

  Katrina started. Murray Tom had called Nick ‘grandson’ the first time, too, and she hadn’t paid attention. She wanted to tell him the truth about Nick. But maybe, in that special way of his, he already knew?

  She sat back, watching her grandfather amble down to the water, throw off his coat and wade in, still wearing his trousers and shirt. Holding out his hands, he called for Nick to join him. The boy plunged into the shallows, water splashing up in shining droplets around him, laughing.

  Bittersweet. Her mother had been partly right. Her grandfather was eccentric. But Katrina wouldn’t have him any other way.

  * * *

  When Jack got back to the homestead, there was no sign of trouble. Katrina and Nick had evidently left to go down to the lake for Nick’s swimming lesson. Mike was already preparing lunch. Cindy, the local woman who came to clean, was busy vacuuming. Old Frank, who sometimes helped out with the vegetable garden, was sitting with his Thermos, taking morning tea. One of the farmhands had taken the tractor down to the river paddock.

  Everything was as it should be. On the surface.

  Jack wandered into his office, uneasy.

  With Sandra taking time off, it was up to him to check his messages. The first one was from Sandra, saying she was handing in her notice. A tourist development firm in Cooma had offered her a project manager’s job, she said, starting right away.

  A tourist development? The one that had put in the successful tender? He wouldn’t be surprised. It was far more likely that Sandra had done the dirty on him than Gwen. She’d certainly had the opportunity to leak his proposal to a rival bidder. He remembered the guilty look she had on her face when he’d offered her the holiday.

  Good luck to her, if she had. It didn’t matter now.

  He turned his attention to the second message. It was from Stefan Eriksson in Sydney. He dialled the number and put it on speaker phone. At first, he was too preoccupied to take in what the solicitor was telling him.

  ‘It’s probably nothing, Jack,’ the lawyer said. ‘But I’ve been looking into this business of the Delaney files. The first file dates back to when my father looked after Ted Harrington’s affairs. It seems you weren’t the first one to have an arrangement with Robyn Delaney.’

  With growing astonishment, Jack listened while the lawyer went over what he had discovered. When the call ended, he pulled out the drawer an old filing cabinet, looking to see what records he’d kept from Ted Harrington’s day. Vaguely, he registered the sound of footsteps retreating down the corridor.

  Totally absorbed, he read through an old file that contained papers that backed up the solicitor’s story, only breaking his concentration when Wayne poked his head through the door.

  ‘I finally got those protestors sorted, Jack. God knows where they got the idea we were into shooting brumbies. But what’s got into Gwen?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She passed me on the drive, asked where Katrina was. She looked pretty upset.’

  Jack’s heart thumped. He glanced at the speaker phone. If Gwen had overheard what Eriksson had told him, and somehow she got it into her head…

  ‘Did you tell her where Katrina is?’

  ‘Sure. She’s down at the lake with Nick, isn’t she?’

  Jack headed for the door, his feeling of foreboding returning. He had to get down to the lake. Quick.

  * * *

  While Nick was having his swimming lesson with Murray Tom, Katrina watched with a feeling of deep contentment mixed with sadness. Her grandfather was patient, kind, instructive. Nick was nowhere near being a proficient swimmer, but he was doing well, and he obviously trusted
the old man, his great-grandfather.

  She still hadn’t got use to the idea. The three of them had been connected all this time without knowing it. And Jack…

  Her gaze snagged on movement further round the shore. As the figure drew closer, she saw it was Gwen Harrington. The older woman was marching up to the shed, oblivious to the damage being done to her expensive loafers on the damp shore.

  Katrina walked out to greet her. Judging by the look on Gwen’s face, something had obviously upset her.

  ‘I know who you are,’ she said, her voice trembling. Her normally coiffed grey hair was brushed awry, her powdered face shiny in patches. ‘You might think yourself very clever coming here without a word to anyone. But I know. You’re that woman’s daughter, aren’t you?’

  Katrina stiffened at the woman’s thinly veiled hostility, glad they were out of earshot of the others. Murray Tom was right. Not everyone was happy to learn who she was. But she wasn’t going to be spoken to in that way.

  ‘I won’t pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gwen. But what does it have to do with you?’

  ‘I suppose it was your mother’s idea, was it?’ the woman said. ‘To come down here and worm your way into Jack’s affections? That would really give her something to crow about. To have her daughter as mistress of Yarrangobilla, the position she tried to take away from me all those years ago. I knew there was something familiar about you. Seeing that photo in the album brought it all back to me.’

  ‘The photo?’ Katrina remembered the picture of Ted Harrington and the dark-haired girl behind him. She remembered her feeling of his drunkenness and the girl’s terror. That had been why her mother never wanted to talk about the past, why she hadn’t ever mentioned the place she grew up in, except with anger and hurt. All this time, Katrina had blamed her mother for being bitter, for never letting her know who her father was. Now she could guess why.

  ‘You’re saying Ted Harrington is my father?’

  ‘So your mother claimed. As for you being Nick’s mother,’ Gwen went on, ‘I can believe that. Like mother, like daughter. What did you try to do, steal Jack away from Ann-Marie before her wedding day? Even when she was dying?’