by Stella Quinn
‘Nothing’s wrong. That …’—she waved a hand in the air, near her mouth, indirectly in the direction of his chest—‘whatever it was, shouldn’t have happened.’
Like hell it shouldn’t have. He took a deep breath in, let it roll out slowly, tamping down the buzz in his head as he exhaled.
‘That “whatever it was” was always going to happen. And it’ll happen again if I have any say in it.’
She was pale now; the colour that the horseride had brought to her face had faded. ‘Yeah.’ Her voice was bitter. ‘Like what you want, or I want, or any of us wants actually matters a damn.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t get it. What do you mean, Vera?’ He got the feeling the topic of this conversation had just leapt about a hundred feet out of his reach. They weren’t talking about him and her and one soul-scorching kiss on a bridle trail anymore. This was about her past, about which he knew exactly zilch.
He eased back a little. If the bulldozer approach wasn’t going to work, maybe patience would. Time, along with the opportunity to get to know each other a little better, because now that he’d seen—felt—her connection with him, he wasn’t stepping away.
He could give her all the time she needed. And what better way to start than here, by the waterhole, under the warm spring sunshine?
‘Okay,’ he said, making his tone as friendly and unloverlike as possible. ‘If kissing’s off the menu for today, what are your thoughts on coffee?’
‘Oh, right.’
He could see the effort it took for her to pack her feelings down into the secret place where she hid them.
‘Coffee. Well, it depends.’
‘Yeah? On what?’
‘The barista. I’ve got Graeme in my life now. He’s turned me into a coffee snob.’
He grinned. ‘Luckily I swung by The Billy Button Café and had Graeme fill my thermos then.’
She looked at the battered grey object he’d pulled out of his pack. ‘I can’t believe Graeme condescended to let that grotty-looking thing within eyesight of his espresso machine.’
He winked at her. ‘I think your barista has a sweet spot for me.’
Her posture eased, finally, and he relaxed. The Cody charm offensive hadn’t grown totally rusty with disuse.
‘Graeme has a sweet spot for everyone. He’s like a marshmallow, only buffer and way more talkative.’
‘And he made me donate a twenty into Marigold’s community hall fundraiser.’ He poured a cup of coffee into the mug-shaped lid of the thermos and handed it to her, then took a swig straight from the neck of the bottle. Coffee bounded down his throat like a stroppy kangaroo. Strong and fierce, just the way he liked it.
‘So,’ he said, keeping his tone light. ‘You want to tell me why kissing’s a no-go zone?’
She froze. ‘No.’
Fine, Vera’s life could be off limits for the moment. He searched for a different tack. ‘Okay then. Abrupt change of topic coming up. Did you know I’m hoping to get council approvals back soon for a renovation project for the Cody building?’
Vera perched her lid of coffee in a crack in the granite. ‘Oh? I thought you were underway already fixing up the apartments.’
‘Hannah’s apartment is done. Mine’s a total mess, but no, we’re going to restore the downstairs shopfront to its original condition. The building is a great example of Federation architecture, except for that dodgy plywood and glass front window. I’ve been researching heritage building methods—the Community Hall is home to the historical society archives—and I think it’s totally doable. We might even be able to source some bluestone from the original quarry that was used in the area. It should be a perfect match for the rest of the building.’
‘That sounds incredible.’
He shrugged. ‘Well, as much as being a vet was always my dream, I didn’t hate working construction. But this will be my first building project working on something for me. For the Codys. That building is our history, so it means the world to us.’
‘You’re lucky to have such a strong family connection,’ she murmured.
‘I know. I took it for granted when I was Poppy’s age, but now? I feel like the luckiest guy to have a second chance in Hanrahan.’
‘I guess kids are never interested in old buildings and heritage.’
‘So true. I told you, I think, that Poppy didn’t want me to move back here.’
‘Yeah. And I kinda figured that after the crying episode by the skip bin.’
He stared out over the mountain ridges in the distance. ‘I should be thanking Kelly Fox for making me lose my temper that day.’ He glanced over to see her raising her eyebrows at him. ‘What?’
She shrugged. ‘You don’t seem the type to lose your temper very often.’
He grinned. ‘Well, I did that day. I’m lucky Braydon’s guinea pig didn’t go into cardiac arrest. But Poppy running off, you offering her a job, me worrying about her all afternoon … it was like a dam wall bursting. Poppy and I talked it out, and I think she finally understood that me choosing to move back here to Hanrahan didn’t mean I was abandoning her.’
Vera’s voice was low. ‘Nobody wants to feel that.’
He pulled on a tuft of grass, ran its length through his fingers so the seeds speckled the ground. ‘Who abandoned you, Vera?’
Her eyes shot to his. ‘We’re not talking about me.’
‘We could. If you wanted to. It’s just me and the horses listening, and we can all be trusted.’
‘Trust.’ She said the word like she’d forgotten what it meant. ‘Listen, Josh—’
No conversation that started with the phrase Listen, Josh ever ended well. He leaned back on his hands, turned his face to the sun.
‘This you-and-me thing. Whatever it is. I’m sorry, I can’t be a part of it.’
He wondered if she knew how defensive she sounded. ‘You don’t like having friends?’
‘Of course I like having friends. I just don’t like having … complications.’
He grinned. ‘Honey, I’m not that complicated.’
‘You know what I mean. Friends don’t kiss each other beside romantic alpine waterholes.’
He reached out a hand and smoothed her ponytail. ‘You think it’s romantic here?’
She blushed again, and flicked her hair out of his hand. He was really getting a kick out of seeing the pink warm her face.
‘I’m not joking, Josh.’
Neither was he. He just hadn’t realised how totally serious he was about pursuing this … complication … until she’d told him he couldn’t. But he wasn’t going to push anymore, not today.
‘Okay. I’m listening, Vera, I am. Even if I don’t agree. You ready to hit the saddle again?’
She tipped the dregs of her coffee into the grass and handed him back the lid. ‘Sure.’
He boosted her on to Calypso’s back and turned his thoughts to befriending Vera. Sharing laughs, sharing problems and ideas and dreams … it would be a start, and luckily he had just thought of a problem of his own he could share.
‘You want to hear something funny?’
‘Funny weird? Or funny ha-ha?’
‘Good question. Definitely weird and I’m only laughing about it to keep it from pissing me off.’
Vera ducked her head as Calypso walked in close to a low-hanging spruce limb and he trotted in beside her to hold the branch out of her way.
‘So tell me.’
‘We’ve been getting these complaints from town council—well, someone is complaining about us to town council, who then send us stroppy letters which we have to reply to or else they’ll suspend our business licence.’
‘That’s outrageous. What sort of complaints?’
‘Oh, one was about farming chickens, which was pretty random. The next one was about exercising dogs in a public area without them having adequate identification on their collars. The councillor we’ve been talking to has quashed them, but it’s got Hannah a bit rattled.’
‘I
bet it has.’
He glanced across at her. The prickles were back in her voice, and she looked as spiky as an anxious echidna. ‘Hannah said you mentioned something about legislation being a bugbear of yours.’
‘Oh, well. I guess.’
‘You guess?’
She shrugged. ‘Before I moved here and opened up the café, my job often required digging up facts from public records. Real estate, city by-laws, federal legislation, corporate ownership structures. Boring stuff.’
‘This was when you were a journalist, right?’
She took her time answering him, and when she did, it wasn’t exactly an answer. ‘That’s in the past. I cook now. It’s what I’m good at.’
Fair enough. She could keep her secrets. For now.
‘Vera. You want to give me a lesson?’
Her look was startled. ‘In cooking?’
‘Honey, why would I need to learn how to cook? There’s a perfectly good pizza joint twenty feet from my front door. No, in searching through public legislation.’
‘Oh.’
‘I want to get a copy of any likely laws, council or state or federal, that we need to comply with. And put a protocol in place so if any more of this nonsense comes our way we can prove we’re acting like responsible business owners. We don’t need this bullshit in our lives, so we want to be proactive about it.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t help you.’
The tidy, busy enclave of Ironbark Station opened out on the grassy plain ahead of them, and Vera made a clicking noise to spur Calypso ahead of him down the trail. He watched her go and wondered why the day seemed a little less bright.
‘Can’t? Or won’t?’ he muttered.
His horse gave a soft little whinny, then headed down the path in Vera’s wake.
CHAPTER
21
She had to get away. Being near Josh, especially now with that kiss scalding her brain so badly she could barely string two thoughts together, just reminded her how weak she was. How foolish.
All he’d had to do was lower his voice and get all warm and schmoozy, and she’d melted into a puddle of want.
She knew better. When her feelings were involved, she lost her objectivity. Her judgement. She couldn’t make that mistake again.
She’d resolved to tell him why she was a bad bet, but then she’d let pretty views and sun-warmed man smell override her prudence. And now here she was, acting like a monster, saying no to a simple request for help hunting through dusty filing cabinets and online databases.
Had Josh sent her a bill for helping with the cat? No. He hadn’t asked for one cent. And she’d repaid him by turning her back and trotting off into the distance like a teenager enjoying a sulkfest.
She had to stop. Literally. As in pull on the straps, or whatever the hell these leather things in her hands were called, and bring Calypso to a halt.
And she had to stop pretending she could live a normal life and go on horsey dates in grassy valleys with kind-eyed hot vets.
She couldn’t. She had a court case hanging over her head like a vat of boiling oil, and she couldn’t risk that oil tipping down and scarring anyone but herself.
Café, aunt, solitude … they were her goals and it was time she remembered them. She’d apologise for being a cow. She’d go home. She could spend the afternoon planning stuff she could do without screwing up: maybe a fun brunch menu, or a new lamb shank potpie. It would take her mind off the things she couldn’t do, like start a relationship. Help people. Spend one damn day without this awful weight of shame on her heart.
Calypso finally seemed to get the hint that she wanted her to stop moving and ducked her head down to nibble on the long grass by the side of the trail.
Vera twisted in her saddle and practised what she had to say while she waited for Josh to catch up. Oh, Josh, just in case you were wondering why I rode off like a crazy woman, here’s a few reasons: the last man I kissed betrayed me and I can’t put it behind me, because the betrayal led to a court case and I may end up going to prison and I can barely acknowledge that thought to myself, let alone to anyone else.
Was that too much all in one go? Because that wasn’t even the half of it. Oh, Josh, also, my state of mind is pretty dire and I could fall at any moment down into the black pit of not-coping. My aunt’s health failed because I chose a terrible aged care home for her, and then I became a vigilante and failed.
There were also mundane worries, like if she went to prison, what would happen to the lease she’d signed on the café premises. Her loan. And the new concern she had no room for but which had piled up anyway: who would feed one cranky grey cat and her umpteen kittens if she was in an orange jumpsuit in a cement building with bars on the windows and despair in the air?
She looked back up the trail. Whatever she was going to say, she’d better work it out fast, because Josh and his horse appeared through the trees, sunlight flickering over them. He had sprigs of lavender blooms tucked into his shirt pocket, and another posy of them in his hand, but his face was shadowed by the deep brim of his hat.
Heaven only knew what he was thinking.
She waited until he’d brought his horse abreast with her in the shade of an ancient grass tree.
‘Josh. I’m sorry about before.’
A dimple flickered on his cheek. ‘Which is the bit you’re sorry about?’
She pulled a lock of Calypso’s mane through her fingertips. ‘Getting huffy when you asked me for help.’
‘You want to tell me why you got huffy?’
‘I’m going to try. It’s not easy.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘You’re right, I am a journalist. At least, I used to be. But then I messed up my job and my life and my aunt’s security in a really bad way, and the thing is, Josh, soon, like in just a few weeks, I might have to go to pri—’
A buzz went off in her jacket pocket. The café had run out of milk, she thought. Or the fridge was leaking, or old Mrs Lim had wandered in wearing her pyjamas again and was asking for help finding her way home.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered as she checked her screen. The call wasn’t from the café, but the number was local. No reason to suppose the city journalists had followed her up here to harass her about the lawsuit.
‘Vera De Rossi,’ she said, bringing the phone up to her cheek.
‘Vera. It’s Wendy Boas from the nurses’ station at Connolly House. We have you listed as next of kin for Jill De Rossi.’
Oh no. No, no, no. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Your aunt’s had a fall. It’s likely she had a stroke, but we’ll let the doctor confirm that. I think you should come over if you can.’
‘Of course. I’ll be right—’
Crap. She couldn’t be right there. She was on some fool’s errand up a mountain on horseback, and she hadn’t travelled here in her own car.
‘I’ll be there as soon as possible.’ Back to Hanrahan; find car keys; roar down the highway to the outskirts of Cooma as fast as the speed limit allowed. ‘Maybe two hours, hopefully a bit less, I don’t know. How is Jill? Is she talking?’
There was a short silence, into which Vera managed to squeeze half a dozen ugly scenarios.
‘Not talking, no. She’s breathing well, and she has good colour, but she’s non-responsive. We’re keeping her warm and comfortable, and the doctor’s expected in the next few minutes.’
‘What about an ambulance?’
The nurse—Wendy, wasn’t it?—was kind, but firm. ‘The doctor will decide the next step. Now don’t rush here in a fluster; we have one of the duty nurses sitting with Jill, holding her hand. She’s not alone, so—’
Vera didn’t hear the next bit; her brain had stumbled on the nurse’s words: she’s not alone.
Jill wasn’t. But she, Vera, would be if this was to be Jill’s end. Alone. And lonely. And who would be there to hold her hand?
She choked back a sob. ‘Thank you, Wendy. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘We’ll be waiting for you.’
Her fingers felt numb as she stuffed the phone back into her pocket.
Josh was frowning at her. ‘Vera?’
She swallowed the numbness down. ‘That was the hospice calling. My aunt—I have to go.’
He reached over as though to touch her hand and she lurched away, Calypso snorting as she jerked on the leather straps in her hands.
His hand paused. ‘Come on. I’ll take you back down the mountain. You think you can canter on that old slug-a-bed they’ve given you?’
This morning, she would have said no. ‘I can do it.’
His outstretched hand closed into a fist and he gave her a friendly rap on the leg. ‘I’ll lead. Calypso will know to keep up. You ready?’ Yeah. She was ready.
Josh clicked his tongue and drove his heels into the sides of his horse, who grunted in surprise before obliging him by breaking into a run. Josh hauled on Calypso’s bridle as his horse sped past, urging the pony to keep up.
‘Keep the reins low,’ he said as they raced down the track. ‘Calypso knows what to do. We’ll be back in Hanrahan in no time.’
It wasn’t quite no time. It was about sixty minutes of time—racing helter-skelter back to the horse stud, rushing through Mrs LaBrooy’s efforts to hug Josh and force him inside to the tea table she’d set up, and waiting while she bundled him up a slice of apple pie. Josh had flung the lavender he’d collected at a startled groom and told him to tie it on a post in Buttercup’s stable, then they’d shot off out of the car park so fast gravel spit out behind the wheels of the truck.
Josh had tried to talk to her as they drove down the mountain. Kind words, comforting words, but she’d shot them all down. Worse, she’d been curt with him, and all he’d done was be a stand-up, all-round saint …
When had she become this horrid, bitter woman?
Forty minutes after Josh had pulled up outside her apartment block, she was clicking on the indicator of her battered little car and parking beside the sweep of lawn at the front of Connolly House. A young nurse sporting a retro hairdo and concerned eyes walked her through corridors that smelled of lemon cleaner and tea trolleys and into the quiet hum of a room set up like a hospital ward.