Stone Castles (2 page)

Chapter Two

T
he last thing Luke needed in the middle of harvest was to have to head into town. But the fuel filter had clogged in the harvester he'd been nursing and the whole thing had finally sputtered and died and he couldn't put off a visit to the local John Deere dealership any longer. Besides, it wasn't like he had nothing else to do while he was in town. The running repair he'd made to the back sheep paddock fence wouldn't last forever, so he might as well get those extra droppers he was short of, not to mention pick up the mail and grab a few groceries into the deal. A pre-Christmas ham in the fridge made meal preparation easy, sure, but even he was getting sick of ham sandwiches.

By the time he'd talked himself into the inevitability of it, he was almost happy to forget the inconvenience of leaving the harvest unfinished and load up Turbo alongside him. For a couple of hours they'd leave the troubles of the farm behind. Just the thought of chicken and chips for lunch for a change improved his mood. And god knows, he could do with a bit of company.

The dog whimpered and laid his head on his paws where he was sitting on the seat beside him, and Luke almost wondered if he'd spoken out loud. Then again, his dog had always been uncanny in picking up on his moods. ‘Sorry Turbo,' he said, curling the fingers of one hand around his ears. ‘Nothing personal, but a bloke needs a bit of human company every now and then.'

Turbo snorted his disagreement and sulked into a restless doze as the ute headed down the back roads towards the highway to Kadina.

Luke smiled. The dog was right. Turbo had seen him with human company – of the female variety at any rate – and hated every mismatched minute of it. And most of the time he had no need for two-legged companionship anyway. Turbo was a better companion than just about any friend he'd had. Honest, hardworking and loyal to a fault. If only the dog could learn to rustle up a steak sandwich or a feed of chicken and chips for them every now and then, he'd be just about perfect.

Luke changed his plan of attack as he drove by the local agricultural supplies dealership. The Ag store car park was in gridlock, a combination of harvest needs and pre-Christmas shopping. Forget waiting in line, he'd come back after lunch when there might be more chance to catch a minute with his mate Craig, the manager. He needed to check the details for Sunday's christening – it wouldn't do to turn up late, not given he'd agreed to be Chloe's godfather.

The supermarket welcomed him with air-conditioned comfort, canned music and the occasional nod from other customers, none of which he minded as he made his way around the aisles filling his basket. Until Sheila Ferguson bailed him up in the frozen food section, her trolley blocking the only part of the aisle her ample body didn't. And damn it all, she was between the potato gems and him.

‘Did you hear the news?' she crowed, bright-eyed and delighted, holding her ground after exchanging the usual pleasantries. Luke raked fingers through his hair, scratching for a clue. Sheila headed the local native animal rescue network and was famous for her work adopting orphaned wildlife. There was hardly a week went by when Sheila and the latest orphaned babies weren't featured in the local newspaper. Maybe she'd finally been awarded an Order of Australia for her efforts and he was the only one who hadn't congratulated her for it?

His seeking fingers gave up, drawing a blank. ‘Sorry, Sheila. I've been busy with the harvest. What did I miss?'

The woman's eyes widened, as if she'd just hit the mother lode. ‘You really haven't heard? Then it's lucky I found you. Priscilla Martin is coming home.'

He blinked. A really slow blink. To give his gut a chance to deal with the shock and move on before any hint of surprise might show in his eyes. Before any hint could be transmitted that he might actually be interested in the news. Because he wasn't – interested, that is – he just had to get used to the concept.

And he was glad he'd taken his time, because when he opened them he found Sheila Ferguson examining him much like he imagined she'd examine one of her marsupial roadkill victims. Closely. Intently. Studying them for any signs of life before she plucked whatever newborns were hanging around the pouch waiting to be rescued.

He grimaced. Lucky for him he wasn't brandishing a pouch. The woman did good work, it was true, but he wouldn't fancy Sheila's gnarled hands rummaging around his nether regions.

‘That's nice,' he lied, as nonchalantly as he could. And, after all, why shouldn't he be nonchalant? It was long since he cared what Pip Martin did. So long ago it was ancient history. ‘So, what brings her back?'

‘Violet Cooper is fading,' the woman continued, nodding sadly, her fingers tightly wound around her trolley handle, still blocking the aisle and any chance of escape. ‘They say she's not long for this world.'

It shouldn't have come as a surprise. Pip's grandmother had managed to hang on for so long she was almost part of the furniture at Kadina's nursing home. She had to be pushing ninety years old. But the bigger surprise was finding that her granddaughter actually cared enough to leave her highly paid job in New York City to come. As far as he knew, she hadn't visited for nigh on a decade. Why bother now?

Not that he was about to ask Sheila that, because then she might think that he cared. And then everyone Sheila spoke to might think he cared. And that would be wrong.

Because he didn't care.

Not about Pip, at any rate. Long ago she'd more than severed any connection they'd had.

‘I'm sorry to hear that,' he said instead, because it was far safer territory and he truly was sorry. And because he felt guilty. He'd loved Pip's grandmother like his own once. But his had been taken out by a sudden stroke while Pip's had lingered through the slow decline of Alzheimer's. And while he'd meant to pop in and say hello from time to time – and had, once or twice, in the beginning – the visits had tapered off as Violet's disease had taken hold. ‘Thanks for letting me know, Sheila, but Turbo's waiting in the car. I better get going.'

*

Port Wakefield Road was even more chaotic than she remembered. It had always been busy, sure, but now it seemed more frenetic than ever, its sides heaving with businesses hawking the likes of caravans, boats and prefabricated houses. As Pip passed mile upon mile of new suburbs backed up against the highway, she found herself wondering if the expanding city would ever end.

Norah Jones on her iPod did her best to soothe her fraying nerves, and for all its showiness, the Audi ate up the bitumen with ease, but still the sprawling city seemed interminable.

This had all been open paddocks once, the highway nothing more than a long straight ribbon of asphalt heading north-west through flat, drab countryside.

Not that it had been any more inspiring then.

But it had been more familiar.

Finally the long belt of city fell away and broad paddocks opened up either side. Flat and brown, this was how she remembered it – just about as different from Manhattan as you could get. The tallest things around her now were the B-Double trucks hurtling along the highway, and there wasn't a yellow cab in sight.

It should have felt wrong after so many years living away, the first five years in Sydney, the last ten in New York. She should have felt like a stranger. But it didn't feel wrong and she didn't feel like a stranger.

Instead, it just – she just – felt sad.

It was a long flat road back to nowhere. Nowhere she wanted to be, at any rate. Nowhere she would be heading now, except for . . .

‘Oh, Gran.'

And maybe it was mad, rushing home to be with a woman who hadn't recognised her the last two times she'd visited and wouldn't know she was here now. Except that Violet was her grandmother and she had no other family.

None that she knew of anyway.

Damn.

Pip swept a stray tear from her cheek. She'd known coming home would stir up all kinds of questions from the past, but right now she couldn't afford to let herself think of anything besides Gran.

The Audi rolled on, past the oddly named towns of Dublin and Windsor and the more fittingly named Two Wells and Wild Horse Plains. Weariness dragged at her. She'd bought a business class ticket in the hope that it would give her the comfort and space to sleep, but she'd been kidding herself. She'd been too worried about Gran to get anything more than patchy sleep, and once she'd landed in Auckland, the knowledge that she was nearly home had been too powerful to let her rest. Now the time wasted at the airport hung heavily on her. By rights, she should already be there.

The town of Port Wakefield appeared before her, a cluster of bakeries and crowded fuel stops, and then disappeared before the road split and suddenly it was quieter, the bulk of the traffic travelling north while she swung west, the low domes of the Hummocks rising before her, the range that had always signalled the divide between Adelaide and the Yorke Peninsula.

The range that was the final barrier to her former life. She shivered, and not only because she was worried about her Gran.

Not long now . . .

Chapter Three

T
he groceries safely stashed in the esky in the back of the ute, Luke pulled up outside the post office. He didn't bother turning off the engine, he'd only be here a minute. He was pulling out the wad of mail curled tightly inside his letterbox when the post office door opened beside him.

‘Luke Trenorden!' he heard. ‘Fancy meeting you here.'

He groaned inwardly, even as he recognised the voice and turned to greet his high school English teacher. Jean Cutting liked nothing more than to talk. And talk.

‘Hi, Mrs Cutting,' he said, a habitual greeting forged through three years of classes and somehow never shed. No matter how long ago his school years were, she'd never be anything but Mrs Cutting. ‘How's it going?'

Her eyes were bright and her ruddy cheeks were lit up like a pair of Red Delicious apples, and for a moment his stomach tightened and he wondered . . . But no, there was no reason to panic, because his old high school English teacher was always glad to see him. It didn't have to mean anything.

‘So what brings you into town today?' she asked, studying the pile of mail in his hands and nodding knowingly. ‘Looks like you haven't been in for a while.'

‘Got to pick up a part for the harvester. Figured I might as well grab the mail while I'm here.'

‘Oh,' she said. And then gave a lilting girlish laugh. ‘And here was me thinking you'd come in to see Pip.'

Good grief.

So much for those ruddy cheeks and bright eyes not meaning anything. The bush telegraph was clearly alive and well. ‘Pip?' he asked, and was grateful his voice didn't squeak.

‘Pip Martin. I hear she's coming home today to see Violet Cooper before she goes. I thought maybe you'd come in to catch up with her.'

‘Uh, actually, no.'

‘Because you two were so close in high school, of course.'

He scuffed an imaginary clod of dirt from his boot against the concrete verandah. ‘Yeah, well, that was a long time ago.'

‘And a lot of us were hoping that one day you might end up as more than just friends.'

‘It's funny how things turn out, for sure.'

Her eyes turned sympathetic as she shook her head. ‘I know. It was so sad about you and Sharon not working out.'

He scratched his head, wondering how long he was going to have to stand here while she prattled on about all his past failures. Any minute now and she'd launch into a blow-by-blow critique of every essay he'd ever written. ‘Yeah, well –'

‘Do you think you'll look her up?'

‘Who? Sharon?'

‘No. Pip, of course.'

He looked towards his car where Turbo was sitting panting in the driver's seat, the engine still running. The dog looked like he was ready to reverse and drive away, and Luke had never wanted to change places with him more. ‘I really hadn't thought about it. I imagine she'll be pretty busy with her gran 'n' all.'

‘Well, it's not a very big town, is it, really?' And then she did that lilting laugh that had always set his teeth on edge. ‘You're bound to bump into each other somewhere along the line.'

Not if he had anything to do with it. In fact, as soon as he was done with the Ag store, he sure as hell wouldn't be setting foot anywhere near town again until he knew she was gone. ‘Anyway, I probably should be getting on. Get those parts, you know. Nice seeing you, Mrs Cutting.'

‘Call me Jean.'

‘Sure, um, Mrs Cutting. Catch you later.'

Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. She'd imagined when she'd scaled the Hummocks that she was nearly at Kadina, but she'd been kidding herself. Forty kilometres to go. Forty kilometres that had never seemed so long. She felt a pang of guilt passing the turn-off to Melton, the tiny collection of farmhouses clustered around the one-time railway siding where she'd lived what seemed a lifetime ago, but she'd make time to visit the old place some other time. Turning off now would mean passing those three black markers on the side of the road, and she wasn't ready for that yet. She had Gran to think about first. Gran, who needed her more right now.

Besides, Luke lived down that way, and she had no desire to meet up with Luke just yet. No desire to make small talk and learn he and Sharon had a clutch of kids by now. She wasn't fooling herself, in a community as tightly knit as this one, and with mutual friends, it was almost inevitable their paths would cross sometime during her stay. But she was in no hurry for it to happen.

So she'd go and visit the old place another time. But for now the long straight road to Kadina stretched out in front of her and all she could think was that she wanted to be there already. Already parked. Already at the nursing home at Gran's bedside and not battling weariness behind the wheel.

She turned up the stereo so Norah Jones could keep her awake, but ‘The Nearness of You' came on, and she wasn't going to go there. Hearing it while she was half a world away had been one thing, but that had been
their
song and the last thing she needed was a reminder. Especially now she was so close to where they'd both lived.

She picked up her iPod, flashed through her collection, settled on Muse and ‘Starlight' – she could belt out the words and stay awake – and too late realised she was going through a town and had missed a speed sign. Her foot hit the brake. But not before the world behind her lit up in flashing red and blue.

Shit!

She pulled over, her head flopping against the headrest as the police car pulled in behind her. Could this day possibly get any worse?

She saw him coming in her wing mirror, tall and lean in his navy blue uniform, dark glasses hiding his eyes as he pulled on his peaked hat, and she buzzed down her window, ready to hand over her New York State driver license.

‘Afternoon, miss,' he said, as he drew alongside, his fingers at his cap. ‘Do you realise –' And then he paused, his brow puckering above his glasses. He took her license and examined it. ‘Pip Martin, it is you. I heard you were coming home.'

‘Do I know you?' she asked, searching for a clue. He had a voice that was pure Aussie country and a jawline that could have been chiselled from the limestone on which the peninsula was built, but still she drew a blank.

He peeled off his wraparound sunglasses. ‘You don't remember the man who played Prince Charming to your Cinderella in the Kadina Primary Year Seven school play?'

And realisation jolted through her. ‘Oh my god, Adam Rogers? You're a policeman?' She blinked, her mind going a gazillion miles an hour trying to remember. ‘Isn't your father a policeman as well?'

‘Yeah, like father, like son. Though he retired a few years back. I hear you've got some high powered job in New York?'

‘I'm a market risk analyst for an investment bank. It pays the bills.'

‘Wow.' He took his hat off, her license still locked between two fingers on that hand, and ran the fingers of his other through thick, sandy hair. ‘I don't even know what that is.'

‘Less exciting than your job, that's what it is.'

‘And so I guess,' he said, tugging his hat back on, and turning hazel eyes upon her, ‘you've got yourself a fancy New York type husband or boyfriend to go with it?'

An image of Chad flitted through her mind for all of about a second, mostly because she was still pissed at him for hiring her this show-pony of a car. ‘Nope,' she said, taking direct aim at him and firing with both barrels. ‘Still footloose and fancy free.'

Adam huffed. ‘Always knew there was something wrong with those Yankees.'

She laughed for the first time in what seemed like forever and it felt good. ‘What about you? You married?' He had to be. He was too good-looking not to be.

Something skated across those hazel eyes and he gave an all too brief smile. ‘I was married. Marnie Smith from Moonta, her folks had the deli on the main street. Remember her?'

She searched her memories, but could pull nothing out. She shook her head.

‘Yeah, well . . . Anyway, she died a few years back. Breast cancer. There's just me and Jake now. He's eight next month.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. That's rough.'

‘Well, there's a lot of rough going around. I hear you're back to see Violet.'

She nodded. ‘Just flew in this morning.' Her teeth found her bottom lip, scraping it, thinking he hadn't pulled her over merely to talk about old times. ‘Look, Adam, I'm sorry if I was driving a bit fast. I was changing the music and must have missed the sign.'

‘Yeah.' He tapped her license against the thumb of his other hand. ‘You were going almost twenty k's over the speed limit.'

‘That much? Oh god. I slowed down as soon as I realised I was in a town.'

He looked around at the empty street and the row of buildings set a block back from it. The place might as well have been deserted. They'd been passed by all of one car since he'd pulled her over. ‘Well, it's not like you were in too much danger of hitting anyone. How about this time I let you off with a warning, seeing as you've just stepped off the plane? Wouldn't be very friendly to welcome you home with a speeding ticket.'

‘You mean it?' she asked, as he handed back her license.

‘Yeah, but only on one condition.'

‘Don't do it again?'

He smiled. ‘That goes without saying. I actually meant something else.' He rested a hand on the roof of her car and leaned closer to the window. She could see the play of muscles under the tanned skin of his arm. It was a good look – Adam Rogers worked out and it showed. ‘Come out with me for a drink sometime. We can talk about Cinderella and Prince Charming and how the fairytale could have ended.'

Her eyes flicked back to his. He was flirting with her? Seriously? ‘Look, I'm not sure –'

‘Yeah, I know you'll be busy with your gran, but you'll probably need a drink sometime while you're dealing with the rest of it.'

Wasn't that the truth? And why shouldn't she have a drink with Adam for old times' sake? It wasn't like she was planning on marrying him. She wasn't planning on marrying
anyone
from out this way.

She smiled. ‘Okay, you're on. That'd be nice.'

‘All right!' His knuckles rapped out a rhythm on her roof before he pulled out a notebook and pen and handed them to her. ‘Give me your number,' he said, ‘and I'll give you a call.'

‘Sure,' she said, writing it down. ‘And otherwise, you can always reach me at Tracey and Craig's. I'm staying in their B&B.'

‘I know.'

‘You do?'

‘Mum's one of the cooks at the nursing home. I reckon there's not a soul in Kadina that hasn't heard about the return of its most successful export.'

‘Oh.' She looked down at the steering wheel and blew out a breath. So much for flying under the radar. ‘Great.'

‘Just make sure you drive carefully, okay.'

She smiled up at him and nodded. ‘I will. And . . . thanks.'

‘Anytime.' He rested his hand a moment on the sill of her window. ‘It's good to see you again, Pip. You're looking good. All glamorous and New Yorkified.'

He didn't look so bad himself, but it was one thing to agree to a drink and maybe flirt a little, another to start something that could have no ending. ‘Um, thanks. I'll be seeing you then.'

‘You will,' he said, and nodded before heading back to his car, her eyes following his progress, wondering how she'd never noticed that tight butt before. But then, she'd gone to college in the city for her high school years and only seen him occasionally during that time. Besides, she hadn't had eyes for anyone other than Luke back then. She'd probably missed all kinds of stuff while she'd been wasting her time on him.

Adam pulled out and waved before doing a U-turn, heading back to his speed check hidey-hole just inside the town limits. She turned the ignition and took a few deep breaths before easing carefully back onto the highway. There was one good thing about being pulled over by the cops, she mused. Suddenly she wasn't tired any more. After that little heart starter, she was wide awake.

Craig was just finishing up with another customer when Luke walked into the Ag store. Craig didn't smile, Luke noticed, just looked decidedly sheepish as he came over to greet him, and he gritted his teeth, knowing what was coming.

‘Don't bother,' Luke bit out, before his friend could utter the question on his lips. ‘I already heard.'

Craig raised his eyebrows. ‘Trace reckons she'll be here this afternoon. Her flight was due into Adelaide this morning, apparently.'

Luke turned aside and made a show of inspecting a display of gumboots that held absolutely no interest to him at all while he cursed the harvester's fuel filter for choosing today of all days to give up. ‘That's nice.'

‘You don't mind?' his friend asked.

‘She's a grown-up. She can do what she wants. Why should I mind?'

‘Luke –'

‘About that part I need . . .'

Craig regarded him levelly. Took a deep breath. Huffed it out before taking another. ‘Well, given you don't mind, you might as well know – she's staying at our place while she's here.'

His head whipped around. ‘Your place?'

‘Jesus mate, you know Pip's not my favourite person. But Trace invited her to stay in the B&B – seeing we're doing it up and it's free and all – and I have to live with Trace.'

‘Sure.' He turned back to the display. The gumboots were on sale, he noticed. How long since he'd bought gumboots? He picked up a pair, tested the weight in his hands, checked the sole and the height of the heel. All the things he'd never bothered about with gumboots that seemed vitally important right now. If only because they distracted him from the knowledge that not only was Pip coming home, but that she was staying at his best friend's place and he'd been too bloody gutless to tell him. ‘These come in any other colour?'