The House On Burra Burra Lane (8 page)

Ethan shifted the stick into gear. Her responses. Her optimism. So unlike the young woman he’d married. So very different, even, from the women he’d been with between the then and the now.

Ethan parked close to the stables. Sammy leapt out of her seat before he’d put the handbrake on.

Ray Smyth walked towards them with his easy gait.

‘Ethan.’ He took hold of Ethan’s hand as Sammy placed hers behind her back, bouncing on the balls of her feet as though itching to move to the colt.

‘How’s he doing, Ray?’

‘Not bad, but he doesn’t want to get up much. I’ve been with him all night.’

‘I’ll take a look then.’ Ethan shifted his bag from one hand to the other. ‘This is Samantha Walker, she’s come along to see the colt.’

‘How are you, Miss Walker?’

‘I’m good, and thanks for letting me visit your baby, Mr Smyth. I appreciate it.’

‘No problem, young lady, when you have some of your own, I’ll come along and take a look at yours.’

She laughed, and followed Ethan towards the stables.

‘The colt was born last night, Sammy, around midnight.’

‘Wow. A real baby. Did you help?’

He unlatched the half-door to the stable. ‘Well, let me think.’ He swung it open. ‘The foal’s front hooves weren’t showing as they should, and the mare was straining.’ He let Sammy go through before him. ‘I had my arm stuck inside the birth canal for a minute or two, so I suppose, yes, I helped.’

She turned to him. ‘Hope you’ve had a shower.’ She threw her head back and laughed.

Beautiful, dazzling Sammy. Her smile warmed everything inside him. His heart was erupting, unused to being filled with pleasure. And his throat felt full, as though there were a barrelful of words to be said.

He swallowed them and led her towards the end stall. The mare stood quietly, but lifted her head when he unlatched the gate and walked through.

Sammy stayed by the metal gate, her attention wandering between the mare and the black colt, its long silky limbs jumbled in the straw.

Ethan put his bag down and took out a stethoscope. ‘You can come in and say hello.’ The colt raised his head. ‘You can help by stroking his neck. A new foal has to lie down a lot to rest, but this little fella might need looking after a bit longer than we expected.’

She slid into a cross-legged sitting position. She hadn’t bothered to check if the straw was dirty, she simply gave herself to the moment. His heart filled again. She put her hand on the colt’s neck. He moved his gaze to her face.

‘Oh Ethan, he’s beautiful. What an amazing job you have. What’s Mr Smyth going to call him? I’d call him Black Onyx if he was mine. He’s not going to the racetrack is he?’

If she caught his gaze now, she’d find something it was best she didn’t see.

She looked up at the same instant he looked away. ‘He’s not going anywhere.’ Ethan placed the stethoscope headset around his neck. ‘He’s staying right here.’ Perhaps it was something she did only to him. Perhaps other men wouldn’t feel the same way about her. He checked himself. That wasn’t his concern. She deserved someone who would be with her without reservation, and if she found joy, he’d have to sit by and watch. Didn’t mean he had to feel happy about it. ‘We have to keep an eye on his respiratory ability, he had trouble breathing at birth. The dam had a normal pregnancy though, and he’s suckling well.’

‘Ethan? Can you make him better?’

He’d never been closer to her. It wasn’t that their bodies were near, it was the emotion brimming inside him that closed the gap.
You’re the beautiful one. You’re extraordinary. You make my heart sing …

‘Sammy.’ He tensed his muscles so he wouldn’t move. She sat looking up at him with expectation. She wanted to believe he could make it better and he wanted to do that for her, knowing he couldn’t if it wasn’t meant to be.

It wasn’t a decision. It didn’t demand any explanation or reason. He didn’t care where her hopes lay, what she expected or how any other man would feel about it. He bent to her, placed his mouth on hers and kissed her.

Her warm face. The fruity-soap aroma of her skin, her hair. Her gentle mouth. The way she responded to the soft pressure from his—enough to shatter him. Her lips parted. He touched her tongue with his. Her mouth wet, soft. He didn’t want to release it.
He had to.

She softened—tilting her chin, her body giving the tiniest melt against his.

He broke from her. ‘I’m sorry.’ He spoke quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ But he wanted to do it again. And again, and again. The touch of her mouth was stamped on his. His longing for her suddenly uncontrolled. He could wrap himself around her in a second. Take hold of her body and crush it against him, hard. Hold onto her.

He’d grown into a man of balance, of reasonable equilibrium but her damned mouth was so inviting. He could take her here, now, on the straw. In a stable full of animals.

‘We’re not supposed to
kiss,’
she told him quietly, her fine russet eyebrows arched. ‘We’re friends.’

‘Sorry.’ He had to fix this, before he confused her. ‘We are friends.’ He could hardly get his breath. ‘I aimed for your cheek and missed.’

She paused a moment. ‘I understand.’ She reached out and put her hand on top of his. She smiled. ‘I feel the same way.’

How could she
possibly
feel the same way? He’d nearly pulled the clothes from her body and fallen on her.

‘It’s that nature thing again,’ she said, shuffling closer to the colt. ‘It happens a lot around here, doesn’t it?’

Somebody give him strength
. ‘It does tend to throw a person off stride. I’m very sorry, Sammy.’

‘Forget about it.’ She swept her ponytail over her shoulder. ‘Just make the colt better.’

Sammy stared at the fine art paper on her dining room table and flicked the waxy lead pencil between her fingers. The green and gold colours of the evening dress she was drawing looked too bold; out of place with her hushed thoughts.

Ethan.

She dropped her hand to the table. It happened to friends occasionally, she knew that. They got emotionally tangled with each other as recognition of similarity or even disparity became apparent in the new bond. Especially when it was a friendship between a man and a woman. The boundaries were messed about, the lines of communication were different because of gender.

When he’d kissed her she’d accepted it as a token of friendship. But she could still taste him on her lips.

She picked up her artwork and focussed on it. No flow. No inner movement, regardless of the buttery texture of her favourite pencils. She scrunched the drawing into a ball and pushed it across the table.

She closed the pencil case and slid the art folder away. She couldn’t grasp the mental grounding her drawing normally gave her. It wasn’t usually a chore, but tonight she had no patience for it.

She pushed the chair back and stood. Had Ethan seen the similarity in how they both used their hands for their skilled work?

She walked to the middle of the room and rested a hip against the sideboard. It had been a struggle to shift the heavy and unfashionable Victorian piece of furniture, but she’d managed to inch and slide it away from the wall so she could get to the skirting boards; wash them down, ready for a fresh lick of paint. She wouldn’t get rid of the wallpaper on the sideboard wall though. It was thick and elegant, good for another ten years. It had a loving feel to it, with its trelliswork background and the yellow rosebuds climbing between. Someone had loved this wallpaper.

She picked up the letter she’d found, stuck at the back of a wooden shelf in the sideboard.

Two pages, fragile and burnt with age at the creases.

She walked into the hallway and made her way up the stairs. Dark jarrah shone with an aged patina either side of the yellowish-brown threadbare carpet—an old-fashioned runner carpet with metal slides holding it in place.

She went to the end of the long landing and plumped a cushion before throwing herself into her favourite wicker chair. She sat here when she wanted a little peace, and to gaze out of the dormer window at her land and wonder at how she was shaping up in the newness of her life.

She slipped the letter’s pages apart carefully.

…
The boy’s got a mind of his own, Linnie, you can’t change it. And while I’m on the subject, he’s not a boy anymore, he’s a man. Time you put aside your concerns about Thomas passing on bad things to your boys (note I say ‘your’ boys
—
Thomas didn’t want them). Each has his own path to tread. They both took to the woods and it wasn’t your fault. It’s the one who came back you need to be worrying about…

The ink was faded over half of the next page.

…
I’m talking about the emotional punches. Those will sit hard with him, Linnie. Mark my words now and let him be. Robert has gone. You give all that love to the son you have. He’s going to need a lot of love, and it won’t be the girl who changes him, and it won’t be you. I just hope there’s someone in his future who’ll see beyond …

… sooner she’s gone, the better. He should never have done it…

… God bless, Linnie, I’m thinking about you. I’ll be down soon, and you won’t be alone when the time comes, if he’s not around …

Your sister …

It sounded tough, as though there were no chances left for the persons involved in the story. But it wasn’t a story. Some woman had written this letter a long time ago and sent it to the woman Linnie, who must have lived in Sammy’s house. Perhaps their ghosts still wandered around, invisible, looking at the wallpaper and glad the new owner had decided to keep it.

There was nothing bad in her house. It was warm and living and breathing, if a bit tatty and run-down. Not hopeless, just forgotten. She’d turn the neglect around, had already altered the house with love.

She looked at the dusky night outside the window.

Ethan.

A feeling of loss wedged inside her, as though she’d been promised a present but hadn’t received it.

He had taken extra trouble for her and it wasn’t fair to take him up on every offer of assistance. Perhaps that’s why he had appeared troubled after he’d run her home from the Smyth farm. And snappy. She knew him well enough to recognise his frustration, controlled though it was. More than the way he’d held his shoulders stiffly, or the way he hadn’t met her gaze for too long. A disturbance shimmered around him sometimes, as though he was drawing a deep breath and holding something back.

She wanted him happy and content again. To let him know she’d forgotten about their warm kiss in the stables, but he hadn’t come round. They didn’t have a schedule worked out or anything remotely like a contract. He just turned up, usually every afternoon, sometimes each day at the weekend, and got on with the next task.

His non-appearance for two days was a frightening stab in an otherwise safe world. Had she ruined something by responding to his kiss? It had been a moment between friends sitting in a barn with a sick animal, that’s all. The kiss had stemmed from companionship … friendship … love. Was he worried about it?

A light breeze fluttered the hair over Sammy’s shoulders. She plucked a sheet from the washing basket at her feet. No grass, it had been cleared. Her messy garden looked forlorn without so many weeds.

Three days since she’d heard Ethan’s truck roll up the packed earth of the driveway. She didn’t turn to it. She pegged the sheet.

The gravel crunched as he brought the vehicle to a stop outside the shed.

She bent for another sheet and watched him through the veil of her hair.

The tarpaulin snapped as he threw it back on the tray.

‘Hi,’ she called.

He picked up a tool case. ‘Hello, Sammy. I’ll go on in and make a start.’ He headed for the shed.

‘Okay.’ She billowed the sheet, the ache of being dismissed knotting in her stomach. She wouldn’t go to him. She’d peg the bed linen, then go to the house.

Ethan put his toolbox onto a makeshift work table, settled his weight to one side and put his hands to his hips. He looked out of the grimy old window.

She pegged a large white sheet. The washing line was too high but he ignored the knowledge he’d have to lower it for her. His intent was to look at her. Just take a good look now, while he had the chance. He felt a fool, but he had to get this done and remove the need from his system.

Leggy like a colt. Her russet hair a long straight mane. The way she moved, even hanging out washing, set his lower belly ablaze. She wore little running shorts today. Skin-tight over her bottom and the tops of smooth thighs. An unfortunate pleasure which fed the desperation of wanting her beneath him. Well … he’d wanted to make an evaluation of her body and he was getting it.

She stretched up to the line, the little muscles in her arms gracefully taut and the T-shirt riding up, exposing her stomach.

This was ridiculous
. He took his study away with a jerk of his head and an indrawn breath.
She didn’t need this nonsense from him, she needed his friendship, his help.

Something in Sammy needed healing. He didn’t know what had happened to her, but she was here in the country because she’d run away from an event and persons who had harmed her. Must have been the man she’d spoken of who’d caused her pain.

What could her mother do except make gripes, or have too high an expectation? But a man was a whole other issue. A man could manipulate and play her for his own gains and this guy had obviously done just that, with her mother’s approval.

Dysfunctional relationships. Dysfunctional families. He’d had his share of both. He hadn’t been a decent son, or a better husband. What goodness would he give to any children he had? Sammy would want children, and he didn’t know anything about parenting except how to …

He slapped his hand on the makeshift table.
What the hell was he thinking?
He sounded like a guy about to get down on one knee.

He dragged the toolbox off the table and bent to put it on the floor.
Don’t go there
. But the memories of his wife, Carla, were suddenly so vivid he couldn’t breathe. His brother, Robert, hadn’t cared about anyone. Carla hadn’t cared either, not about her unborn child or about Ethan. He’d pushed those people into something he should have stayed well out of. They hadn’t wanted his interference. His mother had told him, advised him against it, but he’d known better. Big, strong, heroic Ethan Granger had thought he’d known it all.