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Heidi’s jaw dropped with a satisfying clunk.
‘We would fly to New Orleans for a party,’ Milla went on. ‘Or to Buenos Aires to watch a polo game. I never dreamed I’d ever have such excitement and fun, such astonishing luxury and comfort.’
‘I used to hear bits and pieces,’ Heidi said, overawed. ‘But I never realised you were living like a princess. Wow! It must have been amazing.’
‘Yeah.’ Milla wished she could sound more convincing. She couldn’t quite bring herself to tell Heidi the rest of her story—about Harry’s gambling and endless affairs, and if she mentioned the baby she would burst into tears.
Crazy thing was, she’d come back to Bellaroo Creek full of pity for Heidi, but, looking back on her own life, she felt as if she’d achieved next to nothing that really counted. In terms of happiness and self-esteem, she was at an all-time low.
And it wasn’t long before she sensed that her friend had guessed. She could see the questions and the dawning compassion in Heidi’s eyes. And then, out of the blue, as if they’d never lost their best-friends-for-ever closeness, Heidi jumped out of her chair, circled the table and gave Milla an enormous hug.
‘Mills, you have to tell me why you’re here on your own and looking so sad,’ Heidi said gently. ‘And what are we going to do about it?’
CHAPTER TWO
AT LAST...A road sign announced: Welcome to Bellaroo Creek... Population 379...
Ed slowed the car and surveyed the cluster of tired houses and the narrow strip of faded office buildings and shops set in the middle of wide, almost featureless plains. It was like arriving on the set of a Western movie. And potentially as risky, he thought wryly.
A new tension replaced his frayed and jet-lagged weariness as he pulled over, took out his phone and punched Gary Kemp’s number. He’d given Milla no warning of his arrival—he’d more or less come here to ambush her. It wasn’t a pleasant prospect.
‘Mr Cavanaugh,’ the Australian drawled, recognising Ed’s number. ‘Welcome to Oz.’
More like Kansas than Oz, Ed almost told him. ‘Milla still here?’ he asked. ‘Still staying at the pub?’
‘Sure, her room’s booked through till Wednesday and she’s still in town, but you’re more likely to find her in the old bakery across the road.’
Ed frowned. He’d heard of pregnant women developing food cravings, but he couldn’t imagine his slender sister-in-law wolfing down endless strudels.
‘Apparently her family used to own the bakery,’ Gary Kemp clarified. ‘It’s closed now, but she seems to have the keys.’
‘OK, that’s helpful.’ Ed scratched at his jaw, finding a patch of stubble he’d missed during his hasty shave at Sydney airport. ‘I’ll take it from here.’
‘Glad to hear it, Mr C. I certainly don’t want to hang around in this hole any longer than I have to. It’s probably safer if you and I don’t meet. I’ve just fuelled up on the other side of town, so I’ll head off.’
‘So the bakery’s easy to find?’
‘Can’t miss it. In the main street, opposite the pub and about three doors along.’
‘Thanks.’ Ed edged his car forward, cruising into the almost deserted main street where a few battered pickup trucks and dusty sedans were parked. A couple of pedestrians crossed the road at a shuffling snail’s pace—a young woman, arm in arm with an elderly, white-haired man huddled inside a tweed jacket.
Further down the street, two women holding laden shopping bags were deep in conversation. A spotted dog slept in a sunny doorway.
Otherwise, the street appeared empty, but despite the lack of people the town didn’t look completely neglected. A neat and colourful strip of garden cut the wide street in half, clear evidence that someone cared. There were shade trees, too, and noisy, brightly coloured birds were feeding in the blossom-filled branches.
The taller buildings were no higher than two storeys, but they looked solid and stately and over a century old, signs to Ed that the town had seen better days. Opposite the post office a memorial had been erected to fallen soldiers and there seemed to be a hell of a lot of names on it.
Bellaroo Creek had boasted a bigger population at one time, he decided as he parked a few doors away from the pub and took off his sunglasses, conscious again of his tiredness after the long flight and the five-hour drive on the wrong side of the highway.
Tension nagged and he grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to the task ahead.
He told himself he was doing it for the kid’s sake. Now, with Harry gone, Ed’s role as the unborn baby’s uncle loomed as a greater responsibility, with higher personal stakes. He would cope best if he concentrated on the kid and erased from his memory his fleeting history with its mother.
Frowning, he climbed out of the car and stretched his long, cramped limbs. Across the road, he could see a row of rundown, empty shopfronts in stone buildings that still showed traces of their former elegance. One door was open and above it, in faded green paint, the shop’s name, Bellaroo Bakery, was faintly visible.
With an air of determination Ed crossed the road and stood on the sidewalk outside, observing. He couldn’t see anyone in the front part of the store, but he listened for voices. Although he planned to take Milla by surprise, he didn’t want to embarrass her if she had company.
There was silence, however, so he knocked on the open door.
And waited impatiently.
No one came and he was about to knock again when Milla appeared at the back of the shop, wiping her hands on her jeans. She looked pale and tired, but her delicate features and candle-flame hair were as lovely as ever. And, as always, the sight of her sent a painful dart spearing through Ed.
Her face turned white when she saw him.
‘You?’ she said softly and her sea-green eyes looked stricken. Her lips trembled, parted and then shut again as if she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Ed swallowed to ease the sharpness in his throat and Milla came forward carefully, almost fearfully.
‘Hello, Milla.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I—’ He was halted by her fragile air, suddenly afraid that his news would flatten her completely. ‘There’ve been...developments.’ Damn, how clumsy was that? ‘We need to talk.’
‘No, thanks.’ Green fire flared in Milla’s eyes. ‘I’m finished with you lot.’ She shot him a tight, haughty glare. ‘I have nothing to discuss with you or with your brother.’
Turning away, she tossed her next words over her shoulder. ‘I know why you’re here, Ed. Harry sent you, because he didn’t have the guts to come and try to con me himself. But I don’t care if he wants me back. I’m done with him. It’s over.’
‘Harry didn’t ask me to come.’
Milla stiffened, half turned towards him again. Her eyes were sharp, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. ‘How did you find me?’ Before Ed could answer, a knowing light crept into her eyes. ‘It was that weasel-faced guy in the pub, wasn’t it? He’s watching me. He’s a private investigator.’
Ed shrugged.
‘Cavanaugh money,’ she scoffed bitterly. ‘It’ll buy anything.’
‘Milla, I’ve come a long way and we need to—’
‘You shouldn’t have bothered, Ed. I know your role in the family. Mr Fix-it. The others are always getting you to clean up after them and to sort everyone’s problems.’
At least her voice wasn’t quite as harsh as she said this.
And Ed found himself fumbling to explain. ‘Well...listen...I had to find you. I knew you couldn’t know what’s happened.’
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Milla, it’s bad news about Harry.’
‘Harry’s always bad news.’ Now she gave a theatrical eye-roll, as if she hadn’t heard the seriousness in his voice. ‘It took me four years to discover what you and your family probably knew all along.’
‘Milla, Harry’s dead.’
To Ed’s dismay Milla’s face turned whiter than ever. She clamped a hand to her mouth and she seemed to crumple and sway.
Instinctively, he stepped forward. The reaction was timely as Milla sagged against him as if her knees had given way.
Horrified, Ed remembered too late that she was pregnant. He should have delivered the news more gently, instead of oafishly blurting it out.
Scooping her into his arms, he scanned the empty shop, but there wasn’t so much as a chair. He carried her, trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore her soft curves and the flowery fragrance of her hair. Through the doorway, and at the back of the shop he found a huge cleaned space with, among other things, a scrubbed table and chairs. But already, Milla was stirring.
* * *
‘I’m sorry.’
Milla realised she was being carried in Ed’s arms with her face pressed against the solid wall of his chest. ‘I’m OK, Ed,’ she protested, although she was still feeling dizzy. ‘Put me down, please.’
He was incredibly gentle as he lowered her to a chair. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ It wasn’t completely true. She was still dazed by the news.
Harry couldn’t be dead. It was impossible. She felt sick and faint and she propped her elbows on the table and sank her head in her hands, trying to take the astonishing news in.
Her husband was dead. The man who’d caused her so much initial joy and subsequent pain. Desperately handsome, dangerously charming, hurtful and selfish Harry Cavanaugh. Gone. For ever.
When she’d left America she’d hated him. He’d lied and cheated on her one time too many, and in the worst possible way. In his final act of faithlessness, she’d come home unexpectedly early from an appointment with her obstetrician and found him in bed—their bed—with one of her so-called girlfriends.
It wasn’t the first time and Milla knew she’d been foolish to forgive him in the past. Leaving Harry had been easy after that.
But now...
Death.
No chance for forgiveness either way.
Milla was aware that Ed had moved to the sink and was filling a glass with water.
‘Thanks,’ she said as he offered her the drink. She took a few small sips.
‘Milla, I’m sorry. I should have been more thoughtful—’
‘There’s no thoughtful way to break this kind of news. I made it difficult to be found, so it was good of you to come, Ed, to tell me face to face.’ She took another sip of water and forced herself to ask, ‘What happened? How did Harry—?’ But she couldn’t bring herself to say the dreadful word. ‘How did it happen?’
‘He crashed his plane.’
‘No.’ Milla flinched as she pictured the beautiful sleek and shiny jet—Harry’s pride and joy—crumpled. Burned. Harry inside.
‘It happened over the Mojave Desert,’ Ed said. ‘The funeral was last Thursday.’
It was the same day she’d lost the baby. Remembering, she was so overwhelmed she had to cover her face with her hands. Sinking forward, she compressed her lips tightly to stop herself from sobbing out loud.
By the time she was once again under control, Ed was at the side window, standing with his back to her and with his hands plunged deep in his trouser pockets as he looked out into the untidy, narrow alley between this shop and its neighbour.
‘I would have come back to the funeral,’ she said.
Ed nodded. ‘I knew you would have, but we couldn’t find you.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She was. Truly sorry. Despite the many times Harry had hurt her, she still felt something for him, although she wasn’t quite sure what that something was.
‘Was there anyone else in the plane?’
A muscle jerked in Ed’s jaw. ‘Yes.’
‘Not Julie?’
‘No,’ Ed said wearily. ‘Julie had already been passed over.’ He looked down at the floor and his throat worked as he swallowed, as if he hated what he had to tell her next. ‘It was Angela.’
A groan broke from Milla. ‘Angela Beldon?’
‘Yes,’ Ed said unhappily.
Another from her circle of so-called friends...
Harry, you poor silly man...
‘It must be genetic, don’t you think?’
‘What’s that?’
‘The Cavanaugh male’s wandering eye.’
Ed frowned. ‘You’re probably right.’ He sighed and turned back to the window, as if he hoped this difficult conversation had come to an end.
He was every inch a Cavanaugh, with the family’s typically strong features and broad-shouldered muscularity. An inch or two taller than Harry, he was as dark as his younger brother had been fair, but, like the rest of the family, he had an indefinable masculine ruggedness that inevitably drew admiring glances from women.
That was where the similarities ended, however. Ed was the serious, responsible member of the Cavanaugh clan. The Good Son, Harry had dubbed him, but, while Harry’s tone had been mocking, there’d been a hint of envy, too.
Milla, for her part, had always been a little in awe of Ed, even a bit afraid of him.
She was nervous now, realising that there had to be more to his sudden arrival in Bellaroo Creek than the delivery of bad news that could have been handled—now that they’d tracked her down—with a phone call.
‘I suppose you came all this way to talk about money,’ she said dully.
Ed turned from the window. ‘It has to be discussed. Apart from anything else, we have to settle your inheritance.’
She shook hear head.
‘As I’m sure you know,’ Ed went on, ‘my father placed certain restrictions on Harry. He made sure it was in your pre-nup.’
