Beneath Outback Skies (9 page)

‘I’m fine,’ she mouthed, knowing full well the hot colour in her cheeks made a lie of her words.

Paige had been prepared to trade a few curious glances and whispers about Tait and herself to hide the truth he was a paying guest at Banora Downs. But for Tait to so blatantly confirm they had a relationship to Mrs Jessop, ergo the whole district, it was simply too much. It would be all right for him. In a week he’d leave and never see these people again. But she would.

A shocked murmur through the crowd dragged her from her heated thoughts. She focused on what Mrs Jessop was saying.

‘So with the caterers pulling out this morning, we’re left with the mammoth task of working out how to feed everyone Friday week.’

‘Can’t we find another ball caterer?’ a woman questioned from the middle of the group.

‘The problem is,’ said Mrs Jessop, ‘that I can’t find anyone to do it for the same price as the catering company we’ve used in the past. The next closest figure would mean we’d have to charge for the tickets, instead of entry being free. The fund-raising we’ve done all year won’t cover catering over a certain amount.’

‘How much would a ticket cost?’ asked a sunken-cheeked farmer.

Mrs Jessop’s smile dimmed. ‘Thirty dollars per head.’

A collective mutter turned into a wave of foot-shuffling and head-shaking. Paige released her grip on the bench and looked around. Her anger at Tait didn’t compare with the disappointment of a community who’d worked tirelessly to put on a now annual Damn-the-Drought Ball. A ball that looked to be in jeopardy.

‘How about we all bring a plate?’ a too-thin mother with a baby on her lap and toddler at her feet suggested.

‘We could, and might have to, but remember we’re talking more than three hundred people.’

Silence, except for the creak of the wood beside her as Tait rose to his feet.

She went to grab his hand to return him to his seat but he’d already stepped away from the table. Now what trouble was he going to cause?

Tait walked to stand next to Mrs Jessop, who craned her neck to look up at him. He took off his hat and gazed around at the tables. ‘For those I haven’t met yet, my name is Tait Cavanaugh, and while I might be a stranger, I feel I’ve got to know at least a few of you today.’

‘You know me,’ Sean called out with a grin.

‘And me too!’ Chloe added.

Tait smiled at the two kids. Paige could almost hear the sound of dominoes falling as the brilliance of his smile won the crowd over.

He held up the hat in his hand, its new, store-fresh lines failing to be concealed by red mud. ‘I’m obviously not from around here.’ He paused as people looked at his Akubra and laughed. ‘But I might have a solution to your problem.’ He lowered his hat. ‘What you need is a ball sponsor.’

‘A sponsor?’ The woman from the middle table questioned.

‘Yes, you need a company or organization to financially contribute to your ball in return for advertising or promotion.’

‘And I hope, young man,’ said Mrs Jessop, ‘that you have such a company or organization in mind. And if you do, that it isn’t from around here. The big companies are suffering like the rest of us.’

He smiled again. ‘I do have one in mind and no, this company isn’t from around here. It’s a Sydney company called Digotech and they design farming software. If you give me a general figure to work with, I can make some calls.’

Mrs Jessop opened a folder with a flourish. ‘I can do better. Here is the actual quote from the local catering company.’

Tait replaced his hat on his head and took the paper from Mrs Jessop.

He grinned at the crowd as he slipped the phone out of his pocket with the other. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’ Then, phone to his ear, he walked to the school house and disappeared inside.

Paige didn’t even wait for the excited chatter to start before she stood and followed him.

As she approached the open door she could hear him talking. ‘Thanks, Cheryl. No luck. Okay.’

She stepped through the doorway. Tait had his back to her and continued speaking. ‘Keep trying to trace who owns the Three-M Pastoral Company and if you still can’t discover any information, I’ll try from this end as I’ll be in town …’ He turned, saw Paige and stopped. In the intense quiet, a feminine voice questioned on the other end of the phone, ‘Tait, you still there?’

‘Yes, I’m still here. I’ll call you later.’ He hung up, returned his phone to his jeans and smiled.

Anger spiralled through her. All the charm in the universe wasn’t going to save him now. The paper Mrs Jessop had given him peeked out of his shirt pocket as if already forgotten about. She folded her arms and glared at him.

He walked toward her. ‘I’m sorry. I had to come up with a plausible way about how we’d met and internet dating was it.’

She shook her head. ‘Forget about it.’

‘Oka-ay.’ He folded his own arms. ‘So what’s wrong? I take it you haven’t stomped in here to ask me to take you to the ball?’

‘I’m not even going to answer that.’

‘Then answer this, what have I done now?’

‘Why do you have this need to jump on a white steed and promise people the world?’

‘That’s not what I’m doing, and you know it.’ His voice lowered.

‘Yes you are. You talk the talk, smile your smile, and charm everyone into believing you’re a man of his word. You have decent, hard-working people out there,’ she waved a hand toward the window, ‘hopeful the ball will still go ahead and here you are having a work conversation that hasn’t anything to do with catering.’

A muscle worked in his tanned cheek. ‘That’s because I discussed the catering at the beginning of the conversation.’

‘In under a minute?’

‘Yes.’

‘Rubbish.’ Despite her best intentions her voice rose. ‘You damn city boys are all the same. You don’t deliver on your promises.’

‘I hate to disappoint you but this
city boy
does follow through on what he says. If you want proof …’ he took out his phone and offered it to her, ‘hit redial and talk to my PA, Cheryl, and you’ll find the catering all sorted.’

Paige didn’t accept the phone. She ground her teeth. ‘You’re the one sponsoring the ball, aren’t you? Digotech’s your company, isn’t it?’

He nodded.

‘I thought you said you had an investment company?’

‘I do. I have three companies.’ The phone again disappeared into his jeans pocket. ‘So what’s his name?’

She blinked. ‘Pardon.’

‘The other day you asked me Bronte’s name. Now I’m asking you the name of the man who’s given you a bad impression of city boys.’

She bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t going there. Her private life wasn’t any of Tait’s damn business. But he’d been honest with her about Bronte and about why he’d needed to leave Sydney, it was only fair she now be honest too.

‘His name was Chris.’ She spoke through stiff lips. ‘Chris Macintyre.’

Tait merely nodded, waiting for her to continue. And to her surprise she found herself wanting to keep talking.

‘I met him my first year at Sydney University. He might have failed academically but he majored in smooth words. We went out for two years and then Dad had his tractor accident and busted his pelvis and leg. Chris chose to go to the pub and celebrate his rugby
team’s win instead of coming to be with me and Dad in hospital. He promised he’d come the next day. Then there was a ute muster to go to. Then another rugby match to play in.’

‘I take it he didn’t ever make it out to see you?’

‘No, he did come, eventually. A month after Dad arrived home. It then turned out Chris’s commitment was conditional. He liked going out with a country girl, but only when she hung off his arm in the city. No amount of his charm could persuade me to again leave Dad’s side or convince me that Chris hadn’t only been interested because I came with acres.’

Tait took off his hat, expression grim. ‘I’m sorry Chris turned out to be a selfish, spineless bastard.’ His voice deepened. ‘I might be a city boy, Paige, but take a good, long look at me because I’m nothing like Chris.’

Before she could answer, Tait rammed his hat on his head. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve promises to deliver on.’

Connor sat in the front of Tait’s car but the throaty purr of the V12 engine didn’t fill him with any sense of admiration. The atmosphere inside the vehicle felt far cooler than the temperature reading on the dashboard. Tait and Paige hadn’t exchanged a single word since they’d left Balgarry. For a day supposed to bring relief and respite from the drought, it was ending on a far from positive note.

He knew Paige hadn’t appreciated the interest Tait’s internet dating revelation had attracted. Even as a child she’d hated standing up on a school stage and being the centre of attention. He looked in the side mirror at her pensive face as, chin on her hand, she stared out the back seat window. But her silence stemmed from far more than embarrassment. Whatever she and Tait had discussed in the tiny school house had wiped the colour from her cheeks and the day’s contentment from her gaze. Connor rubbed at his crippled leg that ached more from tension than physical pain.

To anyone else Tait would appear to be at ease as he drove but Connor knew better. A childhood spent reading faces to know when the next blow would be swung, or when the next
lash of the house-mother’s belt would land, had left him an expert at reading people. Connor had no doubt that beneath all the polish and the charm that so aggravated Paige, Tait possessed a good heart. The question now was could Tait hold his own against his strong-willed daughter? The set cast of Tait’s profile told him yes. But the troubled angle of his brows bothered him. Tait had his own demons to fight without the added strain of Paige’s censure.

Connor stared at the arrow-straight road that was as familiar as the deepening lines on his own face. The only good thing to come from their day away from Banora Downs was no one appeared to recognise Tait. No one except Anne. He’d seen her soulful gaze rest on him and glimpsed the grief that she kept hidden beneath her level-headed exterior. Connor swallowed. Oh, she knew all right.

It was now or never. Paige took a steadying breath and pushed open the kitchen door. The house might be quiet and the sky coal-black outside, but she knew Tait had to be in the kitchen. He wasn’t in his room or anywhere else inside. She should have fallen asleep an hour ago but she owed Tait more than his second set of car keys. She owed him an apology. She walked into the kitchen that was lit with only one light and spied Tait seated at the table, a steaming coffee and an open photograph album before him.

Weariness sharpened the planes of his face as he offered her a brief smile. Guilt twinged inside. He looked as drained as he had on the day he’d arrived. Thanks to her narrow-mindedness his outback stay wasn’t proving as restful as he’d expected.

Before her nerve failed, she approached the table. ‘You’re up late.’

‘So are you.’

She nodded, wishing she’d thought things through a little more before throwing off the
bed covers and scooping his keys from her bedside table. If she was going to get any sleep she had to clear her conscience but she should have at least put a shirt on over her pink tank-top and rugby shorts. She’d keep her apology brief and return to bed.

‘Here. These are for you.’ She set the keys on the table beside his coffee. ‘And I also owe you an apology.’

He pushed his chair out a little, leaned back and placed his interlocked hands behind his head. Thanks to digging her nails into his leg to shut him up, she knew exactly how muscled his thighs were beneath the fitted, dark denim of his jeans.

‘An apology?’

‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘You’re right. I let what happened with Chris taint my judgement.’ When Tait didn’t speak, or nod, she ploughed on. ‘I’m sorry I accused you of not delivering on your promises.’

He slowly lowered his hands.

‘Apology accepted.’ He leaned forward. ‘On one condition.’

She didn’t bother to hide the suspicion she knew would play across her face. She may have misjudged Tait’s motives but her instincts hadn’t been wrong in telling her he was trouble.

She shook her head and her hair brushed across her bare shoulders. ‘No conditions. It’s been a long day and I’m not playing games. You either accept it or not.’

‘Apology accepted.’ He smiled briefly. ‘But I was only going to ask if you could explain some of these photos.’

Such a simple condition didn’t match the gleam in his eye. But she let it slide so the conversation could move onto a safer topic. ‘Now?’

‘Whenever it suits.’

She looked towards the doorway and then at the photo album. If she explained the
photos now she wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow. She pulled out the chair to the right of him and sat at the table. He slid the photo album across until it occupied the space between them.

‘So where did you get this anyway?’ she asked, noting the taut line of his whiskered jaw.

‘Connor left a pile of albums over there on the sideboard for me so I can see what Banora Downs looks like when it isn’t in drought.’

‘Dad and this place.’ She smiled. ‘He loves it.’

Tait flicked the heavy pages back and pointed to a picture of her as a toddler carrying a blue watering can, wearing yellow gum boots and sporting a look of intense concentration.

‘Even with no hat on, I’m guessing this is you.’

‘Yes, and this is my mother, Molly.’ Paige touched the photo of a woman on her knees gardening beside a red rose bush. ‘Mum enjoyed growing roses, just like her mother did.’

‘So was Banora Downs your mother’s childhood home?’

‘Yes.’

Tait then returned to a page near the beginning of the album. ‘Was this where Connor grew up?’

Paige gazed at the faded, colourless photo of a grand country house that was very similar to Banora Downs. Both homesteads were two storeys high and the verandahs were trimmed in white wrought iron. But the house in the photo didn’t have the detailed porch that framed Banora Downs’ front door. She shook her head. ‘No, that’s Killora Downs, the sister house to here.’

‘Sister house?’

Paige looked at Tait. His string of early mornings helping her feed cattle must be catching up with him because she was sure she heard a rasp in his voice.

‘It’s a long story, I’ll tell you another day, but basically the two houses stood on
adjoining properties. Whereas Banora Downs’ fortunes flourished, Killora Downs wasn’t as lucky. The homestead was destroyed by fire about fifteen years ago.’

Tait continued to examine the photograph. ‘It hasn’t been rebuilt?’

‘No. It’s a mystery who owns the house and all the land now after the fire. Local rumour says it was a Sydney syndicate that went broke. No one visits there except teenagers on Friday the thirteenth. The land isn’t even farmed. It’s as though the whole place has been abandoned.’

Tait’s hand appeared to possess a slight tremble as he turned the page. Sleep deprivation had to be playing with her imagination; either that or Tait simply hadn’t had enough caffeine today.

‘This is your mother again?’ He inclined his head towards a photo on the top of the page.

‘Yes.’ Paige’s fingers drifted over the close-up image of her mother sitting in a white wicker chair on the verandah, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. ‘She was very beautiful.’

‘You look very much like her.’

Warmth crept from Paige’s throat into her cheeks.

‘Do you think so? Mrs Jessop keeps reminding me how my mother was the toast of the district.’ Paige looked to the hutch where a photo of her mother and father hand-in-hand rested in a silver frame. ‘I think I’m far more like Connor.’ She frowned. A photo was missing from the collection. There should be a picture of her mother and her best friend, arm-in-arm. Her father must have moved it. She’d ask him in the morning.

She glanced at Tait, who stared at her instead of Connor’s photo.

‘I’m afraid poor Connor didn’t get much of a look-in.’ Tait’s gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘You’re definitely your mother’s daughter.’

Her heartbeat filled her ears. It may have been a while between drinks, but she could have sworn Tait intended to kiss her. Ridiculous. Her breathing shallow, she closed the photo album. Tait could have any woman he wanted and she could guarantee he wouldn’t want one with bird’s-nest hair and eau-de-diesel for perfume.

Not looking at him, she stood. ‘That’s me done for tonight. Connor can fill you in on some more history tomorrow, if you’d like?’

‘I would.’ Tait too got to his feet. ‘If I’m not up in the morning, make sure you wake me to feed the cattle.’ An unfamiliar huskiness deepened his voice.

She risked a glance at him. With the kitchen light behind him, shadows masked his expression. ‘Are you sure? You don’t have to.’

‘I know.’

‘Okay then, see you tomorrow.’

‘See you tomorrow,’ he repeated as he thrust his hands into his jeans pockets.

Paige hesitated. There was no excuse to linger in the kitchen but there was something about being alone with Tait in the semi-darkness that stuck her feet to the floorboards.

‘Go, Paige. You need your sleep.’ Tait’s low words broke the silence. ‘I promise to turn the light off.’

‘If you’re not desperate for a coffee, we could visit the old church if you wanted to know a little more about Banora Downs’ history,’ Paige said the next morning on the way home from feeding the cattle.

Tait silenced the instant ‘no thanks’ that formed in his head. His addiction to caffeine had been replaced by another addiction. Paige. He needed to return to the homestead before he did something foolish, like kiss her soft lips. He’d stayed up late last night compiling the
business plan on his laptop, and he would do so again tonight. But he lacked a vital piece of information: Paige’s response to his question whether or not she saw Banora Downs as solely a farming enterprise in the future. Just as well he was staying longer to attend the Damn-the Drought Ball because until he received Paige’s answer he couldn’t finish the plan or focus on tracking down the owner of the Three-M Pastoral Company.

‘That sounds good.’ He stared out at the vivid, red landscape that merged with the brilliant blue sky. ‘The burned-down house you talked about last night, is it nearby?’

Paige waved to her left. ‘The second fence line over there is the boundary between us and Killora Downs. The church we’re heading to straddles the same boundary line. It was custom-built to service the two properties and was designed by the same colonial architect who planned the homesteads.’

‘Is it still in use?’

‘No.’ Paige paused. ‘Mum’s funeral was the last time the church was used.’

‘We don’t have to visit if it upsets you.’

She cast him a small smile. ‘It’s fine. I need to check on Mum’s grave. I don’t have any flowers to leave but I always give the headstone a good dust.’

Beyond a pair of emus, who sprinted along the fence as if trying to race the ute, Tait could see the outline of what had to be the church. It was the only structure brave enough to stake its claim on the endless flat plain. Soon the indistinct shape crystallized into a small, cream, sandstone building, complete with turreted bell tower and red-tiled roof. As they drew closer, Tait identified a railing fence painted white to match the church’s eaves and front door.

Paige stopped the ute by the narrow gate and killed the engine. She rested her forearms on the steering wheel as she inspected the boarded-up church.

‘For an old girl, she’s holding her age. Thankfully, she’s also too far off the beaten
track for anyone to vandalise.’

‘You can say that again,’ he said, looking out the window at the heat waves that shimmered around them. It was as though he and Paige were the only living things foolish enough to brave the mid-morning sun.

Paige pulled a dustpan brush from the door pocket and left the ute. Tait slowly opened his door, giving her a moment to collect herself before she visited her mother’s grave. But as she pushed open the small white gate, she turned to make sure he was following. He left the car, settled his hat lower on his forehead to cut out the sun’s glare and walked to where she now brushed down a headstone with careful, loving strokes.

He read the inscription on the polished face of granite.

‘Your mother’s name was Meredith? Yet you and Connor always call her Molly?’

Paige came to stand by him at the foot of the grave. ‘Yes, her given name was Meredith. It’s an old Reilly family name.’ Paige pointed to a series of graves that stood in neat rows behind her mother’s. ‘See Great-Grandma was called Meredith as well.’

‘So I take it your mother and Connor broke with tradition by calling you Paige.’

She laughed. ‘I didn’t escape totally. My full name is Paige Meredith Quinn.’

‘So where did the name Molly come from?’

‘It was a childhood nickname that stuck. Mum had two friends and the trio were inseparable. The three were known as Milly, Molly and Mandy.’

Paige pressed a kiss to her fingers, transferred it to her mother’s headstone and moved to a nearby small headstone that she also began dusting. ‘Actually, you’ve met Mandy. It’s Anne from the library. I guess she got the Mandy nickname as her real name sounded similar.’

‘Who was the third friend?’

‘Her name was Lillian, so she was obviously Milly.’

‘Obviously.’ He paused. ‘Did you ever meet this Lillian?’

‘Not that I can remember. I’ve seen photos but she left the district when I was little.’ Paige glanced towards him. ‘I’m not sure what happened but when her name was mentioned Mum always looked sad.’

Paige stopped brushing and as she straightened Tait caught sight of the inscription on the ornate headstone.

No age was listed, only a date.

She traced her brother’s name with her finger. ‘Patrick would have been three years older than me had he lived. But as Mum used to say, ‘’God took him home and one day we’ll all be together again.”’ Sorrow hushed her words.

‘Paige?’ Tait placed a hand on her shoulder. She stilled beneath his touch, then stepped away. ‘It’s fine. I like talking about him. It makes me feel like he’s a part of the family, which he is. Two months before Patrick was due, Anne and Mum were returning from town. Their car left the road and rolled. Mum went into premature labour and Patrick wasn’t strong enough to survive.’