The Long Paddock, page 13
Jazz’s soft whicker alerted her to the fact they were no longer alone. She glanced up to see Denham leaning on the half-door. The wide brim of his hat threw shadows across his face. ‘That was quick,’ she said into the silence. ‘Reggie okay in his new paddock?’
‘Yes, all good.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine now he’ll be getting his daily dose of carrots.’ Cressy continued brushing Jazz’s grey coat. ‘I can’t believe how much better she’s looking and moving.’
‘Hugh came out yesterday and so her shoulder is back in along with all the other places she was out.’
Cressy ran her fingers through the mare’s long mane. ‘After where she’s come from, it’s so great she has a home here where she has the best of care.’
Denham lifted his forearms off the top of the half-door and straightened. ‘Cressy, Claremont doesn’t have to be Jazz’s forever home. Glenmore could be.’
Her fingers stilled in Jazz’s mane. She couldn’t heed the happy dancing of her heart that she could again have a horse to love. She had to do what was best for Jazz.
‘I’d love to give her a new life but Glenmore’s no place for her. There’s no grass and she wouldn’t have any company.’ Cressy shook her head. ‘No, she’s better off here.’
‘There’s no rush. She still has some healing to do. I’d also like to work with her to prove that us men can be trusted. It will rain, and when it does, Glenmore can become her forever home. How does that sound?’
Cressy didn’t immediately speak. A rush of emotion stemmed her words. ‘Sounds great. I’d really like that.’ Her fingers untangled from Jazz’s mane and she stroked her nose as the gentle mare turned her head towards her. ‘How about it? You can come and live with me. I’m sure Ella would know of a companion horse or pony if you get lonely.’
‘She would.’ Denham swung away but not before Cressy noticed his voice sounded deeper than usual. ‘Now, we’d better head in for lunch before Meredith sends out a search party.’
***
Denham used the short walk to the stables entrance to lock down his self-control. The sight of Jazz turning her head towards Cressy, as if giving her a hug, and the luminous sheen to Cressy’s eyes had caused his feelings to rush to the surface. Despite his best intentions, his emotions were getting harder to conceal and control. There’d already been one intense moment that would have ended up with Cressy’s soft lips beneath his; he couldn’t afford for there to be any more.
She fell into step beside him as they crossed the stable yard. Tippy followed close behind. Cressy scanned the nearby trees.
A smile broke through Denham’s tension. ‘If you’re looking for the magpie, he’s in the tree over there near Bandit. We’re safe.’
The corner of Cressy’s mouth tilted. ‘I never thought I’d say this but Bandit’s bad manners come in handy. The magpie suspects Bandit would be more of a threat to his babies than we would be.’
Denham nodded, his attention snared by Edna Galloway’s white four-wheel drive barrelling along the poplar tree–lined drive into Claremont.
‘Looks like Meredith will need to set another place for lunch.’
‘I have no doubt she will.’ Cressy’s wry tone and the way she walked slower to open up the space between them echoed his thoughts. They had to be careful. Edna would look for any titbit of news to broadcast.
He lifted a hand in greeting as the notorious gossip followed the curve of the driveway past them. Instead of stopping beside Cressy’s battered ute beneath the jacaranda tree, Edna parked outside the homestead’s impressive front entrance. Meredith had replanted the two ornate urns perched on either side of the bottom veranda step. Instead of bare dirt, tiny purple flowers now invited guests up the wide stairs and through the cedar door.
Denham led Cressy and Tippy around to the back of the sprawling house. Cressy wouldn’t ask questions. She knew after the death of his father he continued to avoid the front entrance and the walk past his father’s empty office.
He opened the sliding door to his mother’s flat. Cressy gave him a smile before she took off her cap and boots and walked inside. Tippy plonked herself in the shade beside Cressy’s boots and stared out over the garden. After working the cattle the aged kelpie would now take a midday nanna nap. Denham gave her a quick pat before too removing his hat and boots and following Cressy.
Cutlery clinked from inside the main house. Meredith had set the table in the dining room. Since she’d moved in, the downstairs rooms were slowly returning to life. The heavy curtains had been peeled back to let in the light. No longer did dust sheets cover the dark mahogany furniture. The wide floorboards shone, furniture gleamed and the sweet tang of lemon beeswax polish flowed through once musty and unused rooms. But still Denham spent the majority of his inside time in his mother’s flat.
As if sensing his thoughts, Cressy turned right to head to the small granny flat bathroom where she could wash her hands. He too rinsed off the cattle yard dust. They then walked through the kitchen door to the main house. They hadn’t even made it to the hallway when Edna’s strident voice carried to them.
‘That’s so kind of you, Meredith. I’d love to stay for lunch.’
Cressy looked across at him and he matched her cynical smile. When they entered the kitchen he waited two seconds before following her. It was long enough for Edna to crush Cressy against her well-endowed form.
‘It’s so good to see you, Cressida. It’s been weeks.’
‘It has.’ Cressy pulled away, her smile serene. Even as a child Cressy had known how to handle Edna.
‘As for you … Mr Champion Bull Rider …’ Edna sailed towards him, her plump arms outstretched. ‘I haven’t seen you since the market-day barbecue.’
Denham nodded and returned her embrace. ‘What brings you out here today? Not my steak sandwich–making skills?’
He took a step back but continued to breathe in Edna’s distinctive perfume. Her hug had transferred the strong scent onto his shirt.
Edna gave a breathless giggle and tucked her arm in his. From the corner of his eye he saw Cressy and Meredith exchange knowing looks. ‘No, your rodeo skills. But let’s not talk business until we’ve eaten.’
‘Sure.’
Denham glanced around the kitchen. If there had been an exit sign he would have taken it. He was sure there was a hole in the back paddock fence that he and Bandit needed to fix.
‘Phil not joining us?’ he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as desperate as it did to his own ears. He needed another male to balance the male-female ratio. Edna had just squeezed his bicep as though checking him over like he was one of her husband’s stud Red Angus bulls.
Meredith suppressed a smile. ‘Yes, he is. Why don’t you take Edna through to the dining room and Cressy and I’ll serve lunch before it gets cold.’
To his relief, Edna had only just seated herself at the dining room table when Phil strode in. He greeted Edna with a nod and sat by her side.
‘So how are Noel’s crops looking?’ he asked as Denham took the seat across from her.
‘Good, I think. But you know me. I’m more interested in town life than farm life. My mother says I was a social butterfly from the day I was born.’
All the while she spoke, Edna’s bright and speculative gaze remained on Denham. He resisted the urge to squirm.
Meredith and Cressy arrived with a platter of roast chicken, a leafy salad, fresh home-baked rolls and the unspoken message to ply Edna with lunch as soon as possible.
For a safe time the conversation revolved around the new yarn-bombing display outside the pharmacy, Harriet Knox’s wedding dress and the phantom pregnancy of her mother’s prize poodle. Cressy’s lips twitched as Edna echoed Mrs Knox’s thoughts that Chanel hadn’t been around any male dogs and couldn’t possibly be in pup.
Then Edna finished her last mouthful of roll and very carefully aligned her knife and fork in the middle of her empty plate. She looked across at him and smiled.
Denham chewed slowly. The business end of their meal had arrived.
‘The church fundraising committee would like to thank you for the framed and signed photo you donated to the auction. It is one of the items attracting the most interest and will fetch a good price on Saturday night.’
‘You’re welcome. The auction is for a good cause.’
Edna’s smile widened. ‘I’m so pleased you feel that way. Shaun, bless his heart, thinks the same as you. He’s such a thoughtful, community-minded young man and has made the suggestion that we capitalise on your popularity by auctioning off a date with you. He, of course, wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable so he kindly offered to auction himself off too.’
‘That’s very kind of him.’
If Edna registered his dry tone, she didn’t even blink. ‘So what do you think?’
Meredith’s smooth voice sounded. ‘I think it’s a great idea to raise much needed funds. I could whip up a gourmet picnic lunch that Denham could have for his date in the garden? His date could also involve a tour of the homestead. I know many people in town are interested in looking around Claremont.’ Sympathy flashed in her eyes as she glanced at him. ‘Perhaps also he could open it up to two people, as then perhaps people will be willing to pay more?’
Denham nodded. Meredith was turning an uncomfortable situation into one he might survive. With the focus being on Claremont, perhaps his date would be bought by a mother and daughter interested in gardens and history and not how firm his biceps were. He’d leave all the theatrics and chest-thumping to Shaun.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That sounds like a good plan. I’m in.’ As Edna’s smile took on a cat-got-the-cream glow, he held up his hand. ‘But … I’m not entering into any competition with Shaun to outdo each other and I’m not taking my shirt off.’
Edna’s mouth rounded into a perfect ‘o’. The sudden gleam in her eyes didn’t reassure him she’d understood what he’d said. It appeared Edna liked assertive men, even with their shirts on.
Phil covered a cough that was more a chuckle. Cressy reached for the salad bowl. ‘More of Meredith’s fetta and tomato salad, Edna?’
‘Thank you. I will have some.’
The conversation then turned to who was catering for the fundraising dinner. Cressy’s eyes met his and in the hazel depths he saw amusement but also concern. She knew as well as he did that Shaun had set him up.
Her phone pinged and as she read the text she grinned. ‘It’s Ella. The Higgins’ mare has finally had her foal. It’s a little filly and the twins have named her Sunbeam.’ She smiled apologetically at Meredith. ‘I’m sorry to run out on the washing up but I told the twins I’d visit when the foal arrived.’
Meredith stood, smile warm. ‘You know I’d never let you do the washing up anyway. That’s what Denham’s for. Even world champions can wash dishes.’ Everyone laughed. ‘I’ll see you out and get you Fliss’s jam drops on the way.’
Cressy’s departure signalled the end of lunch. The dust from her ute had only just settled when Edna’s four-wheel drive sped down the driveway. Denham stood on the veranda and watched as the dust rose for a second time. Phil came to his side.
The older man grinned and gave him a light thump on his back. ‘Lucky for you Edna’s Bethany has a steady boyfriend because otherwise you know who’d pay top dollar for your date? As thoughtful as Shaun is, he doesn’t come with acres or the Rigby name.’
***
Phil’s words, spoken in jest, replayed in Denham’s head all afternoon. By the time the first pinprick of starlight gleamed, the words choked like a noose.
He made his way to the sanctuary of his mother’s old library and settled into her green wingback chair. Jaw tight, he stared through the granny flat window into the night.
The Rigby name wasn’t something a mother should ever want for her daughter.
The Rigby name was … nothing but a burden, a life sentence, a curse.
Around him the house creaked with the memory of generations of footsteps. Built to withstand the years, and to affirm Rigby power and ambition, the homestead had outlasted its creators. A young mother lost at childbirth, a soldier killed in France, a grandfather drowned in a dam, a father careless with a gun, a brother whose ute collided with a tree. The family had suffered.
They weren’t the only ones. Other families had encountered bad luck or paid the price for the isolation and sometimes harsh brutality of the bush. Cressy had lost her grandmother to complications from routine surgery and her beloved grandfather from a fall off a grain silo.
Denham’s heart grew heavy in his chest. But unlike the loss other families had endured, death in the Rigby family could sometimes have a common denominator.
Life hadn’t been snatched from his grandfather, father or brother. They’d chosen to end their days.
Grief warred with anger. Loss fought with frustration. How could he not have known? His grandfather had been a strong swimmer. His father had been around guns all his life. His brother … Denham swallowed past the rawness of his throat … His brother had been driving since he could see over the steering wheel.
But he wasn’t the only one to not know. For three generations, the vigilant town gossips hadn’t pieced together the pattern. His sweet and gentle mother had no idea of the dark Rigby family secret … until Jake died.
Denham stood and placed his hands on his head. After their father’s death, Jake’s struggle to see the good in each day had deepened. He’d always liked a drink but had taken to drinking alone. His mood swings had intensified, pushing Denham and their mother away. Then just when all had appeared good again in Jake’s life—he had a loving fiancée and a baby on the way—Denham had received a late night phone call.
Jake had been drinking at the Royal Arms. Like he usually did, he caught a lift out of town to the Mulga Road turn-off where he’d left his ute. He’d then drive the short distance to Claremont. Denham could never sleep until he’d heard Jake stumble up the stairs. So when his mobile rang, he’d answered straightaway.
The caller had been Jake’s frantic fiancée, Kate. Jake had called her sounding emotional, disoriented and irrational. Concerned about his state of mind she’d contacted Denham. In his naivety, he’d reassured her Jake would never harm himself. This was just a low brought on by the upcoming anniversary of their father’s death.
He’d jumped in his ute to look for his younger brother. When the bright beam of Jake’s light bar had speared through the darkness, he’d eased his foot off the accelerator. Jake was okay and would soon reach home. Then the lights had suddenly veered left.
Denham’s stomach lurched and he paced the small room of the granny flat. The sound of metal hitting hard wood would never leave him.
The lack of brake marks on the road, the absence of any kangaroos and the smear of blood on the seatbelt clasp didn’t make sense. Until Jake’s eyes had fluttered and he’d whispered, ‘Let … me … die.’
A part of Denham had died that night too.
Jake hadn’t tried to stop. There’d been no wildlife to avoid. His brother hadn’t worn his seatbelt. The blood on the clasp was from where he’d clicked the belt into place to make the crash look like an accident.
As his brother hovered in and out of consciousness, and Denham prayed that the high beam of the ambulance would appear any second, the Rigby family secret had spilled free. In pained and halting words, Jake had confessed to discovering their father in the machinery shed with a gun to his head.
Just like his own father before him, their father couldn’t live with the extreme highs and lows of his life. Their mother’s cancer battle might have been won but the uncertainty had destroyed her husband. Jake had managed to stop their father from pulling the trigger, and he’d then promised to get help in exchange for Jake’s promise to never tell Denham or Audrey about what had happened. Two weeks later he was dead. Less than two years after that, Jake was too.
The day they buried his brother, Denham broke generations of Rigby rules to never discuss emotions or mental health. He’d made his mother a cup of tea, sat her in her favourite chair and talked. She deserved to know the truth.
He’d then talked again to the Dubbo psychologist he made sure he and his mother booked into. It was the listening he wished they’d never done. According to the statistics, he was at a significantly increased risk of following in his father’s and brother’s footsteps. Suicide could spread like a lethal virus and he could already be infected. The phrases ‘family history’, ‘at risk’ and ‘ripple effect’ still haunted him. With every word, colour had drained from his mother’s face.
She’d insisted that the Rigby curse continue to remain a secret, even from Meredith. She didn’t want to tarnish the family name or to muddy the memories of her husband or son. She also didn’t want Denham to live under a magnifying glass. She made him promise to live his life and to never look back.
But it didn’t matter how many times he told her he didn’t suffer from mood swings or feel down, and that if he ever did he’d seek help, the fear never left her eyes. One night he was late home from a rodeo. Cancer had already whittled his mother away to a shadow and now anxiety had as well. The reality of living with the Rigby family curse had hit him. Hard. He was nothing but a daily reminder of what his mother had lost and of her greatest fear that she’d lose him too.
He’d been planning to propose to Cressy on their two year anniversary, instead he booked a one-way plane ticket to Montana. He’d given his mother space to heal and he’d protected Cressy. He couldn’t sentence her to a life of uncertainty and worry. Should Cressy ever learn the truth she too would be fearful every time her ‘at risk’ husband was late home. He couldn’t extinguish the light in her eyes like Jake had done to his fiancée. The morning of his funeral, Kate had miscarried their child.
He stopped pacing to pass a hand over his face. And here he was years later, still the guardian of the Rigby family secret and still protecting the only woman he’d ever love.
