Standing Strong (17 page)

He hadn't even risked meeting her gaze. One look into those eyes and he'd be spellbound. And if he'd got close enough to get a whiff of her hair, he'd have been a goner. He would've wrapped his arms around her and never let go. And she'd been wearing that top – or one the same colour – that made her browny-green eyes look bright emerald. Nope, no way he was going anywhere near her until she could be properly his again.

Not that she'd ever
really
be his, even if they were an item. He wasn't stupid enough to think a woman such as Jacqueline – well, any woman, really – was something to be owned. They were free spirits to be admired, adored and treasured. The idea that if you loved something then you should set it free and if it came back then it was yours, or however it went, had it sort of right. He reckoned most people had the wrong end of the stick about this love business: you had to set it free and welcome it back every waking second of every day. Being together was mutual, equal. Though, hell, look where he was on the old love wagon. Absolutely nowhere.

Squish hopped into his lap and snuggled up.
But I do have you,
Damien thought, as he scratched the little dog behind the ears. Humans really could learn a thing or two from the animal kingdom. Animals were good judges of character and didn't seem to go in for this cruel emotional manipulation crap that humans seemed so good at and seemed to do just because they could. He was sure Jacqueline hadn't been deliberately trying to bait him at the CFS meeting, though. She was a free agent and twenty-three and a bit months was a very long time to expect her to stay true to him. This wasn't the 1950s.

Damien had the sudden thought that if he couldn't have Jacqueline, he didn't want any woman. And it wasn't just a woe-is-me moan; the knowledge had settled upon him like any other major conviction, like his new venture, and the need to stand up to his mother. He chewed it over for a few moments, testing how he felt – really felt. Fine. Good. Okay. He knew all the women around here and it wasn't like he had the time or energy to go looking for love elsewhere. Most new arrivals came already attached – Jacqueline had been the one exception in many years and she really seemed to fit in, even down to the classy but understated way she dressed – and they usually only stayed just long enough to make their men miserable before realising this country thing wasn't for them.

As far as Damien could see, most men failed when choosing a wife, especially those who brought back a slick, well-made-up girl strutting around in white and tottering on high heels. Who in their right mind wore white out here and expected it to stay clean? And how could these men not see that the look they were attracted to – the one most likely to impress their mates and mothers – took maintenance and cost money? So it stood to reason that if you were happy to pay for the upkeep – which you would when you married and what was yours became hers – then a dolly bird would be a fine thing. But if you weren't – and let's face it, farmers were known for only spending their money on what could make them more money – then they were in for a rocky road and eventual heartbreak. And a substantial loss of funds.

Perhaps it was because he had a sister who fancied herself as a bit of a sophisticate, but from where Damien was sitting, it all looked crystal clear. Year after year, he'd watched the well-to-do farmers – or those who liked to think they were – trot off to the city and return with a lovely ornament. And then, after the lavish wedding and interest from the local ladies had died down, so did the girl's love for her farmer and her tolerance of the dust, flies and lack of decent shopping centre within cooee. If only the men put them through a bout of shearing, seeding and harvest first, they'd be much better off. A girl who could support you through all that without much complaint, few hissy fits, and only the odd mistake, like pranging into an auger and denting it, was a keeper in Damien's mind.

When it came to Jacqueline, however, his theory was totally shot. He couldn't believe she didn't at least have one grandparent who had been born and bred on the land. ‘Yep, she's a really special one,' he told Squish wistfully. ‘So, how are we going to get her back?'

He'd set the day aside to write his letter of support and get the Facebook campaign to keep Jacqueline in town up and running. It was forecast to be a stinker – 42 degrees. It was meant to be autumn, for goodness sake! He was planning to hunker down in the caravan with its little air-conditioning unit. Hopefully it was up to the task. The idea of sitting down and writing a letter, let alone one where he had to spill his guts on his private stuff, didn't exactly fill him with joy. But it had to be done.

‘Whatever it takes, Squish,' he told the dog. It would be hard and would take him ages, but he'd do it. What he was more concerned about was the Facebook petition. They didn't have time to get a big enough response. But his biggest worry with it was the wording. How could you ask for votes for Jacqueline to stay without telling everyone what she'd done wrong and embarrassing her? You couldn't ask people to get on board with half-arsed, wishy-washy wording. And it would still have to be expressed well enough to gain credibility with the medical board people, whoever they were.

He needed more coffee to nut this one out, he thought, getting up.

Back at the table, he added a few more notes to those he already had from his discussion with Ethel about what to include in his letter. His main problem was how to write it so he got everything across without sounding like a dumb hick farmer. And, worse, doing more damage to Jacqueline's cause. If he came across desperate or pleading, she'd be screwed.

He felt a stab of anger and frustration towards her. It wasn't too strong and was fleeting, but it was there. How could she have so badly fucked up? Yet if she hadn't, he wouldn't have had those couple of nights where he'd got to hold her in his arms and taste those sweet lips of hers …
Oh, God. This is so not helping
.

Damien almost leapt on his phone with joy when it began ringing. ‘Hi, Auntie Ethel.'

‘How are you going with your letter?'

‘Um. Er. Bit slow actually.'

‘As in, you haven't started yet.'

‘Yes, that. I'll get there.'
I have to.
‘But, hey, how do we word a Facebook page and status post to drum up support for her without letting the cat out of the bag and embarrassing her? No one can know what she's done or that she's in deep shit.'

‘I've had the same thought. That's why I'm ringing.'

‘So what are you writing for your petition? Please tell me you've come up with the perfect thing and I can steal it.'

‘No. I'm actually thinking of scrapping the petition and suggesting you scrap the Facebook petition too. You're right, there's no way of handling it delicately. The best I've come up with is, “If you think Jacqueline is an asset to this town and district, then sign below.” But that will make it look like her funding is being cut and her job is in jeopardy, which then puts Doctor Squire in the firing line. And which runs the risk of sending people to Jacqueline to personally offer their support, which totally defeats keeping it on the quiet.'

‘Hmm. So what else can we do? You've got a plan B, right? You always do.'

‘Not really. The only thing I can think of is getting more individual letters from the right people. Yes, we have to broaden the inner circle a little, but I think they can be trusted. Did you get a chance to speak to Keith at CFS last night?'

‘Yep. He's on board.'

‘Good. I've got the others we talked about. Hopefully it's enough to get her over the line and it won't backfire on us. Oh, what a mess! How did last night go, anyway?'

‘Good. She was great.' Damien was fully aware his tone was dreamy, but he didn't care. His auntie Ethel knew the score.

‘We all know she's great, Damien, but how was she received? It was a slightly different talk than what she's been doing.'

‘It went well. She was brilliant. And that's not just me – everyone was going on about how good she was afterwards. She really does make a lot of sense and does it without all the textbook-sounding crap.'

‘Yes, Damien, we all know you're in love with Jacqueline,' Ethel said with a laugh.

‘That obvious, huh?'

‘Yep. Don't worry, we're going to do our best to remedy the situation.'

‘Thanks, Auntie Ethel, for everything.' But the thing that bothered Damien was the two-year waiting period. They might be able to get her out of trouble and keep her in her job, but the rule would still be there. And he was feeling so much worse about that now he'd seen the sharks starting to circle. But best he keep that to himself; saying it out loud would make it so much more real, and no doubt give Ethel another cause to try to fix.

‘Oh, before I forget. I had a call from Philip, Jacqueline's dad, just before. They're heading over with her new car tomorrow. He was checking on her on the quiet – she apparently told him everything last night over the phone. Anyway, I've invited them for dinner Saturday night. So now I'm inviting you – and your furry friends, if you like.'

‘Are you sure it's a good idea for me to be seen socialising with Jacqueline?'

‘I don't know,' Ethel said wearily. ‘But the way I see it, the damage is done. And we're all friends. It will be good to be together again.'

‘Has Jacqueline agreed to this?'

‘Um, no, not yet.'

‘What are you up to?' he asked, having noticed her cagey tone.

‘Well. I'm going to notice their car in the driveway and pop across and invite them to dinner. Philip has agreed to play along and get Eileen on board too.'

‘I'm not sure about tricking Jacqueline like that.'

‘It's entirely up to you if you come or not. If so, be here at six-ish. Your choice. I'd better go and get the groceries. We're having trifle for dessert, if that helps your decision-making process,' Ethel added with a laugh.

‘It does. Though trifle is hardly last minute if you're wanting everything to look spur of the moment to Jacqueline. But that's up to you.'

‘Hmm. No, she'll be fine. And we've got her parents as back-up.'

‘Well, I guess if her parents are on board, it can't hurt too much. At least we'll all be in trouble. And, Auntie, if anything can win her over, it's your trifle.'
At least I'll know she won't be out with Paul – or anyone else
.

‘So I take it you're in.'

‘Yep. Count me in.'

‘Good boy. As I say, in for a penny, in for a pound. Now go and write that letter.'

‘Okey dokey. See you then, if not before.'

Damien hung up feeling a little icky about being part of the subterfuge around dinner, but much better about the whole campaign to help Jacqueline. He reckoned Jacqueline would have said if the Facebook page was causing him so much grief then maybe that was a sign it wasn't meant to be. She was big on listening to your intuition, said it was there to protect you – you ignored it at your peril. Phew. He was glad he hadn't. Deep down, he'd known it wasn't the right thing to do. If Jacqueline hadn't come into his life, he'd still be a miserable git getting into all sorts of trouble through ignoring the little voice in his heart or soul, or wherever it was located.

That's where he'd begin, he suddenly realised, grabbing his lined pad and pen. At the start.

Chapter Seventeen

Jacqueline was in her lounge room, eagerly awaiting the sound of a vehicle pulling into her drive. She couldn't sit still, and for the last hour had regularly leapt up and gone to the window every time she'd heard a car drive past or just to check she hadn't missed their arrival.

Finally there was the
toot toot
of a car horn. Jacqueline raced outside to find her mother emerging from a VW hatch that looked identical to the one she'd owned before, though much cleaner and shinier.

‘How was it?' she asked, hugging her mother, who looked a little dishevelled and travel weary.

‘Exhausting. It's a very long way,' Eileen Havelock said, patting down her hair, as was her habit when things were a little off-centre in her world. ‘I've never driven so far in my life.'

‘Well, you did it. Well done,' Jacqueline said, trying to build her mother's spirits and reduce her own level of guilt for putting her through the ordeal. She should have insisted on having the dealer put it on a truck.

‘It really is a nice little car to drive, though,' Eileen added.

‘That's good. Thanks so much for bringing it over for me.'

‘It's our pleasure. I just need to catch my breath. There were a lot of trucks out that last stretch – quite unnerving,' she added with a nervous little laugh.

At that moment her parents' familiar Holden Statesman pulled into the driveway. Her father got out and she hugged him, overcome by the familiar feeling that everything would be okay. She struggled to let him go and lose that sense of security, but did so reluctantly when he gently eased himself out of her clutches.

‘Let me look at you,' he said, holding her by the shoulders and staring into her face. ‘You look worried.'

‘I am worried, Dad.' She tried to laugh it off, but failed, almost to the point of bursting into tears.

‘So, what are you doing about it, other than not sleeping? That won't do you any good.'

‘Dad, can we discuss this inside? Better yet, after I've had a chance to check out my new car? Thanks so much for taking care of it all.' Jacqueline wasn't too fussed about looking over the car – it would be just like her other one – but she welcomed the reprieve from her father's scrutiny. She leapt inside and had a quick look around. The only difference she could see was a little bluetooth symbol and what looked like an inbuilt GPS. She couldn't even be bothered to turn the key and check. The major difference was the smell and the state of cleanliness. She wished she could get more excited, but she had this other business taking up most of her brain power. And, anyway, the fire had been an all too stark reminder that a car was just a car – something that could easily be replaced if anything happened to it.