Darkening Skies (32 page)

Checking her car – she hadn’t given it a thought. Grateful to Steve and to Adam, she unlocked the door and leaned in to pull the bonnet lever. Adam propped it open and spent long moments examining the engine and surrounds.

‘You seem to know what you’re doing,’ she commented.

‘Yeah. I was a mechanic for a few years.’ He dropped the bonnet and pressed it down closed. ‘She’s clear of any surprises. Explosive ones, anyway.’

She thanked him, and he sauntered off down the road. Although he’d assured her the car was all right, she still hesitated when she put the key in the ignition. The engine hummed to life, and she exhaled a long breath.

Mark waited out the front of Ward’s, a couple of sacks of dog food at his feet, and a few tarps and ropes. Once loaded, they
collected the dogs from the police cottage, and with the three animals lying on the back seat she reversed out the driveway and turned the car towards Marrayin.

So far their conversation had been practical, about tarps and dogs and Melinda running the store after her father’s death. Nothing about their discussion in the night or the connection between them that refused to be ignored. She kept her eyes on the road and the conversation away from that particular emotional minefield.

‘You’re confident you’re safe at home?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Pretty much. Franklin’s dead, and his prints are sound evidence he was the one out there. He was out there, and he had motivation.’

She gripped the steering wheel tightly, the black ribbon of road blurring slightly in front of her. ‘So, he killed Jim.’

‘We might never know exactly what happened, Jenn. But he left him unconscious in a burning room. That’s close enough to attempted murder.’

And for that, she hated the former police sergeant. But hate was destructive and she made herself consider reason and motivation instead. ‘I just don’t understand why he would have come back. If he’d faked his death and has been living anonymously for the past few years, why did he risk it?’

‘Could be any number of reasons, I guess. He’d been in the police service for his entire career. Maybe he wanted to reappear and claim his superannuation pension.’

‘If the truth about his role in the corruption came out, he wouldn’t be able to.’

‘Yes.
That’s purely conjecture, of course. And we don’t know for sure what he was searching for at Marrayin. He probably knew I had the police report, but perhaps he also knew there were photos in existence. Or if my mother had gathered information to hold over Flanagan, he might have been looking for that.’

She turned into the driveway and drove up between the long avenue of trees. The damaged homestead was quiet but for the flapping of the police tape in the breeze and the sounds of cattle in the distance.

Although the kitchen and the east wing had escaped mostly unscathed, sections of the roof were damaged and open to the elements. Not that the weather – huge blue skies and harsh sunlight – threatened more damage yet, but Jenn remembered how quickly a summer storm could come up in the evenings.

It took more than an hour to drag the tarpaulins over the roofline on each side and secure them to the veranda posts, Mark up the ladder and clambering on the roof, Jenn below holding ropes and hoping every moment that the beams were still strong enough to hold.

He’d lent her a hat but by the time it was done they were both hot, sunburned and sweaty. Mark splashed water over his head at the tank stand and she followed suit, drinking long from cupped hands to quench her thirst.

With water dripping on to his damp shirt, Mark slid his hat back on. ‘I had to put some cattle in the scrub paddock the other day but they need moving to better water. Ground’s rough there and they’ll need rounding up, so I’ll ride. How’s the foot?’ Despite the years and the worries, his grin took her right back to their teens. ‘Do you want to saddle up and join me?’

On horseback
through the bush with Mark? Oh, she was tempted. Memories of times she’d loved, felt alive, caught her imagination. But reality intruded and doused the short flight of fancy with practicality. ‘It’s better, but not that much better. I haven’t ridden for years. Give me something I can do in the car or on a quad bike, though, and I’ll do it.’

He didn’t tell her to rest and take it easy, or doubt her abilities despite the years she’d been away from this place. ‘Could you check the dam in the creek paddock? I was out there a few days ago and it’s getting low.’

When she nodded he added, ‘Take Dash with you, if you like. She’s only just started, not ready yet for serious work.’

The quad bike was a smoother ride than the old one she remembered and although she took it slowly, re-acquainting herself to the controls and the feel of a quad, most of it came flooding back quickly and her nerves evaporated.

The creek had only a trickle of water in it but the small dam still held enough for the stock, and enough for Dash to burn some energy swimming to the sticks she threw into the centre of it.

How many times had she been here with Mark? Sitting beside him in the shade of this old eucalypt at the end of a long day, while he threw sticks for his dog, Sammy. Quiet, peaceful, his contentment both a salve and an abrasion on her own restless, unhappy spirit. She loved this land, Mark’s land, but she didn’t understand it as he did; as steward and guardian, attuned to the rhythms, the ebb and flow of water, the wind, the heat and soil, the complex web of plants, animals, insects and weather.

Dash
bounded back and dropped the stick at her feet, shaking herself vigorously and showering her with water and mud. Jenn signalled her up on to the back of the quad and they headed towards the homestead. Closing a gate behind her, she paused and watched from the rise on the far side of the wool-shed paddock the mob of cattle moving out of the scrub, the single horseman guiding them along. For years she’d ridden those paddocks with him, and she knew exactly how he and a horse worked together. Perfectly.

He’d excelled as a member of parliament, representing his electorate with energy and dedication, but this, here – man and horse and the land and beasts to nurture and keep – this was where he belonged. He’d managed Marrayin and the other properties sustainably for more than a decade, respecting the land and its needs, taking a leadership role in the farming community even before his election.

As she left the quad bike in the shed, she heard the canter of a horse, its whinny as the rider dismounted, and Mark was there, sweaty, dusty, those rich brown eyes lit with energy and joy, the mare nuzzling him, dogs at his feet. At home. Lean and muscled and so damned attractive that the rush of desire caught her by surprise and she only barely stopped herself from gaping.

Fingers gripped around her heart and squeezed and she muttered something about seeing him up at the house and walked away, unable to think clearly.

When he returned from releasing the mare into her paddock, Jenn took a jug of tank water out on the terrace, and they sat together, their backs to the house, the paddocks rolling down
to the river in front of them, the dogs flopping to relax in the shade, tongues lolling out.

Mark leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasping the glass. ‘I remembered something last night,’ he said. ‘I remembered that when I came out of hospital after the accident, I went down to the shearers’ quarters and my old room there.’

She stilled.

He tilted his head around to look at her. ‘Apparently, in those days that have been erased from my memory, a girl lost a hair scrunchie on the bed down there. And it’s pretty unsettling to have no recollection of how, although I can guess. And it’s worrying not to know … not to know if what happened hurt her in some way. I assumed it was Paula, because I was told she and I got together. But that in itself puzzled me until the other day. And now I’m more concerned that it wasn’t Paula. That it was you, and that I may have hurt you – and that perhaps that’s why you left.’

Her face heated – a blush for heaven’s sake – and she didn’t know what to say, words scattering in her thoughts, elusive. How could she respond? How could she hide, protect herself?

The light breeze skimmed her face. Dash snapped at a fly and missed. The late-afternoon sunlight made long shadows of the trees lining the paddocks and the rivers.

And he waited silently.

Protect herself? From Mark?

All the careful words and phrases she might gather as emotional armour were meaningless, inadequate. Mark deserved nothing but honesty, and for the first time in a long, long time
she spoke without vetting the words, without caution, silencing her intellect and laying her emotions bare.

‘Paula and I were planning to leave for Melbourne that week. I had a great-aunt there, batty as all heck, but she had a big house and was happy for us to live with her. It was all arranged. But I wanted … I wanted to be with you before I left. So that I’d have that to remember you by. So, yes, it was me. And you. The first time for both of us. Gentle and sweet and more beautiful than I ever dreamed.’ She met his gaze steadily. ‘And then I told you I was leaving. I’m the one who did the hurting, Mark. Not you.’

He reached over, brushed a thumb against her cheek, a fleeting, so-soft touch. ‘I loved you, Jenn. But I always knew you’d leave. I’m glad I had the courage to show you that before you went. I just wish I had a memory of it.’

‘Maybe I’m glad that you don’t. I never gave back to you a fraction of what you gave me. Maybe you’d remember that and hate me.’

‘One afternoon change years? I doubt it. All the rest of that time is firmly in my memory, Jenn.’

Fear edged its way forward again, and she wasn’t quite sure which emotional shield to use to keep it in its place. ‘I wish sometimes that … that I could forget you. It was half our lifetimes ago. You’re supposed to be back there as just a fond remembrance of youth. But you don’t stay firmly in your place.’

What did it say about her choice in men that none of them made her as happy, as whole, as an eighteen-year-old youth had? She forged on blindly, unsure where she was going. ‘You should be married, Mark. Sharing this place with a partner. Begetting
Marrayin heirs and putting them on ponies and teaching them the relative strengths of Angus and Hereford cattle.’

She couldn’t quite read his expression: part closed, part amused, part … sad? ‘I’m not. Yet. I haven’t had much time for a personal life these past six years. There’s always too much else that needs doing.’

‘You should put yourself and what you want first sometimes. You don’t have to save the world every day.’

Now there was definite amusement. ‘Speak for yourself. Do you ever put yourself and your needs first?’

Her needs? She needed to step away from this intimacy, keep it from going any further. In an echo of that long-ago afternoon she had to make the break with him again.

‘The network’s correspondent position in Moscow will be vacant at the end of next month,’ she said brusquely. ‘I’ve put my hand up for it. The paperwork’s not through yet but I don’t expect any problems. I’ve worked out of Moscow a few times, and I have some good contacts in the region.’

‘Moscow.’ He took a mouthful of water and his gaze returned to the landscape in front of them.

Uncertain what to say, she kept her eyes forward to the view. The vista of dry brown paddocks, the wool shed and shearers’ quarters and the darker grey–green line of trees at the river, the vibrant blue sky crowning it all with the light starting to shift to gold as the sun dropped lower in the western sky.

‘The job’s based in Moscow but it covers Eastern Europe and Central Asia.’ Where there were steppes and plains and mountains and stunning views and hard-working people … and nowhere she belonged.

‘Sounds like you’ll be busy,’ Mark said, and although his words were perfectly courteous they lacked energy. When he rose and faced her, his eyes were shadowed, hiding his thoughts. ‘Just keep in touch, okay?’

‘I will.’ She stood up, too, busying herself with gathering their glasses and the jug, the quiet interlude between them over. If there was never another one, at least she’d told him the truth, put things right between them as best she could.

Dash danced around his feet and he leaned over to scratch her head. ‘With no refrigeration I don’t have enough food here to offer you a decent meal,’ he said, changing the topic evenly. ‘How about we go back to Dungirri and after I shower in hot water I’ll shout you dinner at the pub to thank you for your help?’

‘Thank you. I’d like that.’

‘Good.’

She laughed at something Karl said, the serious lines of her face relaxing, mischief dancing in her eyes as she quipped back at him, and the others joined in the laughter at Karl’s good-natured expense.

Mark hardly listened to the conversation flowing around the table. His senses overloaded with Jenn beside him, and it was all he could do not to stare at her, not to drink it all in – the sound of her voice, her too-scarce laughter, the profile of her face, animated by the easy company, the subtle scents of shampoo and some light perfume.

Mark had envisaged a quiet dinner with Jenn in the courtyard; not a romantic gesture with half of Dungirri around to see,
merely a chance to talk. A chance to spend time with her before she walked out of his life again. But he’d forgotten that Monday night usually saw some of the SES team share a meal after training – the younger, single ones without kids. Officially single, although there were definitely relationships developing. Karl and Gemma, the new young teacher at the Dungirri school. And Karl’s brother, Eric, back from uni for the summer break and Melinda Ward. Adam, off-duty for the night, and Keisha, the teaching assistant.