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He smiled. Bazza was right. She did look a bit of a dag. Still, clean her up and she’d be bonza—tall, with long, strong limbs. He liked a woman who didn’t look as if she might snap in a stiff breeze. She had the warm coloring that went with auburn hair and the clearest green eyes he’d ever seen.
“Why, that’s…fifty miles!” she exclaimed. She whipped her head around to look through the rear window at the road down which they’d come. “Please don’t tell me Murrum is the nearest town.”
“Didn’t you know that?”
“I knew it was a long way from Burrinbilli to the town, but from what my mother said, Murrum was a bustling place.”
“Things have changed since your mother’s day.” He couldn’t keep the trace of bitterness out of his voice. “First the train stopped coming through. Then the banks pulled out. Then we lost the post office and the government offices were relocated. Wasn’t much left after that except the pub, the petrol station and the general store. Oh, and the church. They share that around the various religions.”
She shook her head sympathetically. “Economic rationalism strikes again.”
She was right, but something in him didn’t want her feeling sorry for the place he called home. “Some folks say Murrum’s picking up again. Tourism and such.”
There was the briefest pause. “I’m sure it is.”
Luke had spent enough time in cities to know what she must be thinking: why would anyone live out here? It wasn’t something city folk understood. Not many people who came from the “big smoke” stayed long to discover the attraction. Rose had stayed. But Rose had married Tony, the owner of the pub. Luke couldn’t see someone like Sarah settling down with anyone around here.
“How long did you say you were here for?”
“I’ve taken my two weeks’ annual leave. I’ve also got a few weeks’ worth of flextime owing me, but I’m hoping to be home before the end of the month.”
He reckoned she’d be long gone before that. Bazza and Len each had five dollars on the departure date. They’d wanted to cut him in, but seeing as she was staying at his house, he didn’t think it right to participate.
But it wasn’t just his house, he realized. Their house? That didn’t sound right. He and Warren had never felt the need to clarify who had rights to the homestead.
They passed a small wooden cottage set back from the road. Luke pointed it out with a nod. “That’s where my daughter’s great-aunt Abby lives. Becka’s visiting her this afternoon after school.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“Nine.”
“You didn’t mention a wife. Are you divorced?”
She inquired with such innocent directness he found it hard to take offense. But some people needed to understand that other people didn’t like to talk about their personal lives. He told her part of the truth. “I’ve never been married.”
“Oh.”
He could tell she wanted to know more, but this time she just nodded and pressed her lips together. There was nothing shameful about his relationship with Caroline. She just hadn’t wanted to get married, not even after she’d gotten pregnant. She’d said she didn’t want to marry anybody, but she’d died before it could be proven one way or the other.
“Are you going to have to go all the way back for Becka?” Sarah asked.
Luke shook his head. “Abby’s bringing her out later.”
Silence fell over the truck. She must be thinking up more questions, Luke thought. He stared straight ahead, not wanting to disturb the peace, and wondered if the fencing materials he’d ordered would arrive tomorrow. Halfway to the station turnoff the bitumen ended and they continued on a hard-packed red dirt road. A road that developed deep pockets of fine dust called bulldust in the Dry and became a red bog—and often a lake—in the Wet. When they had a decent Wet.
“I can’t wait to go for a swim,” Sarah said, plucking her damp top away from her chest.
He gave a short laugh. “Swim?”
“Yes, in Lake Burrinbilli.” Sarah leaned back with a dreamy smile. “When I was a little girl Mom told me how she and her brother, Robby, used to swim there. With this heat I can see why it’s important to have water nearby.”
“Your mother told you she swam in a lake?” He wanted to laugh, but it wouldn’t be nice.
“Everything sounded beautiful, the way she described it—the old Victorian homestead set among ghost gums, and out the back, not far away, Lake Burrinbilli. I am so hot and that water is going to feel so good.”
Ah, that lake. Luke wished he’d placed a bet with Bazza and Len after all. He would have cut Bazza’s estimate of four days in half. “The, ah, water level’s down a little. Not too good for swimming.”
Her mouth drooped, but only for a moment. “Oh, well, splashing around will cool me off.”
“There might be a water hole in the creek that hasn’t dried up.”
Her eyes widened. “But…?”
He caught sight of the old refrigerator they used as a mailbox and geared down. “Here we are.”
“Where?” She gazed around at the featureless landscape. He could swear he saw her shudder.
“The driveway,” Luke said, and turned off onto a rutted dirt track.
Sarah took another glance outside and this time he was positive about the look of revulsion.
“The driveway?” she repeated, aghast.
“Yep. Only thirty kilometers to the homestead from here.”
Sarah heard this with a sinking heart. By now she knew every detail of the dashboard as well as she knew the keyboard of her computer. She watched the digital speedometer with glazed eyes. Anything to take her mind off the weird feeling that stopped her from looking out the window. She’d never experienced anything like it before. But then, she’d spent all her life nestled between the mountains and the sea, swaddled in cozy enveloping clouds that lowered the sky and brought the horizon in close.
Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it another minute, she saw in the distance a stand of smooth white-limbed trees and the sloping roof of the homestead, half-buried among their leafy branches.
Burrinbilli at last.
She’d never been here and the landscape was completely foreign, but she’d heard so many stories that she felt a strange sense of homecoming. Here, her mother had lived as a child. Here, her grandmother had given birth to her mother. Here, her great-great-grandparents had built the homestead and run cattle.
Luke lived here now. Had for ten years. It probably felt like home to him, too, and for more tangible reasons than hers. She glanced sideways at him, wondering what he really felt about her visiting. His chiseled profile gave nothing away.
“Have you given any more consideration to my offer to buy you out?” she asked.
Luke stopped in front of a wire gate across the road and put the truck in neutral. “Only how I might convince you to sell, instead. I was a signature away from owning it all.”
“I’ve brought back your deposit.” She rummaged in her purse for an envelope and held it out to him.
Ignoring it, Luke swiveled on the bench seat to face her, one elbow resting on the seat back, the other on the steering wheel. “I would have thought you’d honor your father’s intent.”
Luke was a big man, Sarah realized, tall, broad shouldered and well muscled. But being tall herself she wasn’t intimidated by size. “I don’t know my father’s intent. Anyway, I owe him nothing.”
Luke pushed a hand through his hair, sweat dampened at the temples from his hat. “How can that be?”
“After he and my mother split up he bought Burrinbilli from her for a pittance. Not long after that he remarried and moved to the east coast,” Sarah added bitterly. As good a father as Dennis had been to her, it still hurt that her real father had cared so little about her.
“I’m surprised your mother didn’t return to Australia after her marriage broke up.”
“Her father died fighting a bushfire not long after she came to America. Her brother had been killed in Vietnam the year before. With no men left to run Burrinbilli, my grandmother passed it on to Mom, thinking she and Warren would come back. Nana went to live on the coast, where she died when I was about ten. So even though Mom owned the station, none of her family lived there anymore. I guess she didn’t feel she had much to come back to.”
Sarah paused to take a breath. The glazed look on Luke’s face suggested he already knew more than he ever wanted to about her family history. But she wanted to get it all over at once. “Also, Mom thought I should be raised near my father. The trouble was, his second wife didn’t want him to have anything to do with us. By the time Mom realized Warren wasn’t going to go against her to see me, she’d met my stepfather, Dennis, who had an established business in Seattle. So, she stayed.”
“I see.” Luke eyed her warily a moment, as if to make sure she’d really stopped. Then he yanked on the hand brake and jumped out of the truck to stride toward the gate.
Sarah sat where she was, her stomach churning as it always did when she thought about her father. Watching Luke walk back to the Land Cruiser, she recalled the old Mills and Boon romances by Lucy Walker, which were set in the outback and which she used to sneak from her mother’s cache of books as a young girl. It was the passenger’s job to open and close the gates.
Luke got back in and drove through the gate. “I’ll shut it,” Sarah said when he stopped on the other side.
She jogged back to the gate through the searing heat. The metal latch burned her fingertips as she pushed it shut. Then she made the mistake of glancing over the top of the gate. The land was so huge, so open. Nothing for her eyes to fasten on except the haze of heat that shimmered over the dusty track. To her surprise, a wave of panic quivered through her. Oh, no…
Her chest tightened until she was literally gasping for breath. Black spots appeared before her eyes and she doubled over, wrapping her arms around her waist. Beads of cold sweat popped out on her forehead. She was going to pass out…
Strong hands gripped her shoulders. “Keep your head down. Breathe deeply.”
She did as he said and after a minute she was breathing easier. “Thanks,” she said shakily, and struggled upright.
Luke’s eyes searched her face. “What happened? You went as white as a ghost gum.”
Sarah smiled feebly. “I felt…a little…faint. It must be the heat.”
He regarded her dubiously but said nothing as he helped her back to the vehicle.
Sarah was quiet the rest of the way. The heat, although a fierce contrast to autumn rains in Seattle, hadn’t caused that panic attack. She knew that was what it was because of Quentin, even though she’d never experienced one before.
Finally they topped a low rise and her worry fled as she got her first close-up view of Burrinbilli. The homestead was a long single-story building bordered by two stocky palm trees. Built of creamy sandstone blocks, it had a sloping roof of sage-green corrugated iron and a wide wraparound veranda. Tall narrow windows flanked by shutters were set into the walls at intervals. The iron pillars supporting the veranda were lush with a tangle of purple bougainvillea that almost obscured the intricate iron filigree trim.
“Vines are overgrown,” Luke said, braking to a halt.
“It’s beautiful,” Sarah declared from the edge of her seat.
A speckled black-and-white dog with pointy ears and stubby legs rose from the veranda, barked once and wagged his nether regions furiously as Luke got out of the truck.
“How ya goin’, mate?” He bent to rub the dog behind the ears, then presented him to Sarah. “Wal, the Wonder Dog.”
“Hello, Wal. Aren’t you gorgeous.” She crouched to let him sniff her hand. “Wonder Dog? Does he do tricks?”
“Nah, he’s a blue heeler, a working cattle dog. I call him Wonder Dog just to make him feel good.”
Sarah rose and gazed around. A hundred yards away to the left of the homestead gardens was a meandering line of huge gum trees. They must mark the path of the creek, she thought excitedly. To the right was a field dotted with horses. A glossy chestnut trotted along the fence toward them, arching its muscular neck and tossing its mane.
Sarah noted the spring in its step and briefly regretted her lie about not knowing how to ride. “Summer camp” had been a series of intensive courses in advanced equitation. The lie had come on impulse, an instinctive denial so she wouldn’t be expected to ride in the open country.
She would have to get over this phobia. That was all there was to it.
She climbed the single shallow step onto the shady veranda, her sandals sounding dull on the wooden flooring as she crossed to the entrance. A fanlight topped the door and on either side were panels of engraved glass. Sarah traced the roughened surface of a Scotch thistle twined with roses and shamrocks. Her mother had an antique silver-and-garnet brooch in the same pattern.
She’d known none of Warren’s family background and precious little of her mother’s. Here at last was her heritage. She hadn’t missed it until this moment, but now the smidgen she glimpsed left her wanting more.
She heard a step behind her and turned to find Luke with her suitcases in hand. “Thanks. Sorry, I should have helped bring those in. I was just so excited at seeing the house. I never thought it would affect me this much. Suddenly I’m reliving all sorts of memories—my mother’s memories, really—stories she’s told me through the years. I feel I know Burrinbilli almost as well as if I’d lived here myself.”
Luke gave her a dry glance and gestured her inside. “Make yourself at home.”
Oops, her pride of ownership was showing. Sarah stepped into the large entrance hall, her gaze rising to the high, ornate plaster ceiling before alighting on an impressive glass-encased display of butterflies.
“Of course, I couldn’t ever live here,” she assured him. “I’m an urban girl through and through. Bright lights, skyscrapers, the sound of traffic in the streets. To tell you the truth, all this quiet makes me nervous. Give me an apartment, a café and a view of the city over Puget Sound and I’m at home. Speaking of water, will you show me the lake?”
Luke hung his hat on a peg beside the door.
“Okay. But like I said, it’s not what you’re expecting.”
CHAPTER THREE
HE LED THE WAY to the other side of the house, through the biggest country kitchen Sarah had ever seen. She just caught sight of a stone fireplace you could stand up in enclosing a modern stainless-steel stove before Luke pushed open the sliding doors to the back veranda.
This section of the veranda was enclosed with fly screen and clearly used as an extension of the living space. At one end stood a child’s school desk and bookshelves, while at the other end wicker chairs padded with cushions were grouped around an outdoor table.
She gazed eagerly through the screen, past the sheds and the clothesline and the tall trees whose spreading boughs shaded the yard to—Huh? Where the lake should have been was nothing but a broad dent in the dry red earth. Tufts of salt grass grew here and there.
“That’s it?” Although he’d warned her, seeing the empty lake bed made her feel like crying. Anticipation of Lake Burrinbilli had sustained her through the long hours of the journey and now…It simply didn’t exist. “When did it last have water in it?”
“Three, maybe four years ago. It’s not really a lake, just a depression that holds water when it floods. It’s been six years since it was deep enough to paddle in.”
Sarah pressed two fingers to her closed eyelids and felt moisture seep beneath her lashes. Fatigue was sending her emotions up and down like a yo-yo. She was dying for a coffee, but even more than that she wanted to be alone with her disappointment. “I think I’ll take a shower and lie down.”
“It’s a different world when the rains come,” Luke said, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Green shooting up over the Downs, thousands of wildflowers. Frogs seem to spring right out of the mud. Flocks of birds so large they darken the sky.”
Sarah opened her eyes. He was gazing across the dry lake bed, looking into the past. Or maybe it was the future.
“I wish I could see that,” she said, blinking at the sun-bleached landscape. Faced with reality, she numbly realized that even her mother’s memories failed her.
“Life will flourish here again.” His eyes, locked briefly with hers, seemed to add, For those who stay.
He led her back through the kitchen and down a long hall. “This is my room. Becka’s room.” He gestured to closed doors. “Loungeroom’s out the front. Bathroom’s in there. And this—” he pushed open a door and stood aside “—is your room.”
Sarah stepped past him into a square room with faded floral wallpaper. The matching curtains were clean but frayed around the edges. A white coverlet lay across the iron single bed. On the opposite wall sat a dresser made of distressed pine that her antique-collecting friends in Seattle would pay big money for. In one corner stood a matching old-fashioned wardrobe. Overhead a ceiling fan whirred quietly.
Luke set her bags down beside the bed and returned to the doorway. “I was going to move out of the main bedroom while you’re here, but—”
“I wouldn’t want to put you out.”
“I reckon this was your mother’s room.”
“My mother’s room?” she said, glancing around with new interest. “What makes you think so?”
He nodded toward the dresser and a notebook lying on top. “I found her diary tucked under a loose floorboard beside the bed. Must have been there for years. I told your father about it, but he didn’t mention returning it. Don’t know why, but I kept it instead of throwing it out.”
