The Purple Hills, page 1
The Purple Hills
Alissa Callen
www.harlequinbooks.com.au
When USA Today bestselling author ALISSA CALLEN isn’t writing, she plays traffic controller to four children, three dogs, two horses and one renegade cow who believes the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. After a childhood spent chasing sheep on the family farm, Alissa has always been drawn to remote areas and small towns, even when residing overseas. She is partial to autumn colour, snowy peaks and historic homesteads and will drive hours to see an open garden. Once a teacher and a counsellor, she remains interested in the life journeys that people take. She draws inspiration from the countryside around her, whether it be the brown snake at her back door or the resilience of bush communities in times of drought or flood. Her books are characteristically heartwarming, authentic and character driven. Alissa lives on a small slice of rural Australia in central western NSW.
Also by Alissa Callen
The Long Paddock
The Red Dirt Road
The Round Yard available February 2019
For Luke
Contents
About the Author
Also by Alissa Callen
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Epilogue
Excerpt
Chapter One
Sibylla Elliot could have sworn a miniature pony ambled past the kitchen window.
She collected a teaspoon from the cutlery drawer before scanning the view beyond the oversized glass. Apart from the autumn wind swaying the leaves of the jacaranda tree and a magpie swooping down from the top of the pergola, nothing else moved. She made sure she didn’t look at the paved outdoor area that once had been her mother’s prized bed of fragrant mauve roses.
She added one spoonful of sugar instead of the usual two to her father’s favourite mug. Her stepmother might have erased as much as she could of her gentle mother’s presence but Bernice hadn’t tackled her father over his sugar consumption. That task had been left to Sibylla.
As she reached for the kettle, the click of small, hard hooves on concrete had her swing around. Abandoning her father’s mid-morning coffee, she headed for the next-door sitting room. A breath-misted pane of glass on the French doors failed to obscure the big pony eyes looking in at her. The door rattled when the pony’s knee bumped the glass as she pawed the ground.
‘Shhh Jelly Bean.’ Sibylla turned the glossy brass handle and stepped outside. ‘If Bernice sees you, she won’t be happy.’
The bay pony, with a white snip on her nose, turned to face her. Sibylla rubbed her warm neck. With her thick winter coat Jelly Bean resembled an adorable fluff ball. ‘What’s up? Where’s Riley?’
She looked left past the open garden gate to the track the pony had taken from the neighbouring farm. Usually her freckle-faced partner in crime wasn’t far behind. While some rural kids had puppies, five-year-old Riley had a tiny pony as his shadow. Smaller than a great dane, Sibylla was sure Jelly Bean thought of herself as more of a dog than a horse.
Heavy breaths sounded to her right before the soles of Riley’s running boots slapped against the concrete. Even with energetic Riley taking the shortcut, Jelly had worked out where he’d been going and had arrived first.
Sibylla’s smile slipped. This was no normal visit. Dried tears streaked Riley’s dusty cheeks. She bent to catch him as he threw himself against her. His small, wiry frame was as rigid as a corner fence post, his chest heaving.
Concern caused her arms to tighten around him. Pragmatic and cheerful, she’d never seen Riley upset, even when his eardrum had perforated or when his mother had failed to call last week for his birthday. ‘Where’s your dad, Riles?’
His words rushed out as a breathless torrent of anguish. ‘On the ground. Jelly bit his boot … he won’t wake up.’
‘Where? Near the house or in the paddock?’
‘Near the shed.’
Sibylla had her phone out of her jeans pocket even as she straightened. While she made the emergency call she kept her arm around Riley’s narrow shoulders.
‘Everything okay?’ her father’s voice rumbled from behind them.
Sibylla took her time to return her phone to her pocket. She couldn’t allow her father to glimpse how worried she was about Hugh. She also had to hide the fear that never left her whenever there was a farm accident. Her father’s recent stroke and vulnerability was why she’d temporarily left the coast to return to the family farm. She couldn’t remind him of all they’d lost on that long-ago summer day.
‘Yes.’ She took Riley’s hand. ‘Hugh’s somehow knocked himself out. The ambulance is on its way.’
Her father nodded as he shuffled from the room. The intense expression on his weathered face communicated how hard he was concentrating to move as quickly as he could.
She squeezed Riley’s fingers. ‘Dad’s gone to get the gator key and then we’ll check on your dad.’
When her father returned he was only halfway across the living room when he nodded. Sibylla lifted her hand to catch the key he threw across to her to save time. A bittersweet happiness briefly shouldered aside her worry. As strained as their relationship was, in a time of crisis they were still the team they’d been in her childhood.
‘Thanks,’ she said, voice quiet.
He gave her a barely-there smile before lowering himself into a nearby chair.
With Riley’s hand in hers, she headed for the side-by-side gator in the corrugated-iron shed. As fast as her heart beat and thoughts raced, she kept their pace even. Riley would be exhausted and she wanted her composure to reassure him. When she clicked in his seatbelt, he looked over his shoulder, his eyes teary.
She dropped a kiss on his tousled nutmeg-brown head. Even covered in red dirt he smelt like fresh, sun-dried cotton.
‘Jelly will be okay, she’ll be right behind us.’
When Riley nodded and sought Sibylla’s hand, she blinked to keep her own emotions at bay.
It had been only three weeks since she’d stopped at her neighbour’s front gate to chat to the boy and his pony who were waiting for the mail contractor. It had only taken three visits for motherless little Riley to sneak into the space she always made sure her small audiologist patients never accessed. Brave, curious and intellectually-gifted Riley was special. She turned on the gator before the thought could follow that his slow-smiling father was too.
As she’d predicted, the bay mini-pony cantered behind them as they made their way through the boundary gate between the two properties. But the closer she drove to Hillside the less she turned to see where Jelly was. Her attention fixed on the shiny roofline of the large shed beyond the green expanse of the back garden. She then focused on where Hugh’s white farm Hilux was parked in front of the end bay. As it was the weekend, the local horse chiropractor would have been busy doing farm work with his tan kelpie, Diesel.
Her fingers locked around the steering wheel as she searched the ground. But the only thing out of place was a fallen branch from the old gum that stood between the shed and the stables. There also didn’t look to be any ominous patches of blood darkening the dust.
Riley tugged at her arm. ‘Dad’s gone.’
She turned the gator towards the house. ‘He’ll be inside.’ She failed to keep the relief out of her words. ‘Look, there’s Diesel by the back door.’
It made no sense that Hugh being conscious should ease the tightness in her chest. As much as Riley had welcomed her into his life, his distant, taciturn father hadn’t been as open. She could count on one hand the times he’d said more than two sentences to her. It was only when he was with his son that she glimpsed the warmth and humour beneath his reserve.
Riley had his seatbelt unclipped even before the gator engine noise quietened. She made sure she took his hand before they entered the back door. The kitchen appeared empty. Then, a crash sounded down the hallway.
‘Dad.’
Riley ploughed his way through the open door. Sibylla slowed him when she saw Hugh leaning against the wall outside Riley’s bedroom. Dirt and grass covered his left side and his usual wide-brimmed hat was missing.
‘Ril—’
Sibylla may as well have not spoken. When father and son saw each other, Riley dragged his hand free and Hugh pushed himself away from the wall. It was only Riley’s tight arms around his father’s waist and Sibylla grabbing Hugh’s shoulder to hold him upright that stopped him from slumping forward.
‘Let’s get your dad into the kitchen,’ Sibylla said, working hard to get Hugh’s arm around her shoulders.
From her previous stealthy glances she knew he was all bone and work-hardened muscle, but the reality of supporting his large frame rendered her breathless. When they made it to the kitchen and he was finally in the closest chair, she left her hands where they were on his shoulder and chest to drag in a breath.
She caught the scent of cedar and registered the stubble softening the firm line of his jaw. Beneath her palms, the heat from his skin bypassed the cotton of his green work shirt. Beneath her fingertips, corded tendons rippled as he reached for Riley’s hand. Never could she have imagined what it would feel like to touch Hugh. Even dazed and unsteady, his vitality and strength flowed into her.
She swallowed. It was too soon to appreciate the irony. All her friends said she was too fussy. But when her parents divorced she’d made a vow to never settle for anyone who didn’t tick certain boxes. Finally, here was a man that her head and her hormones approved of. Yet he barely acknowledged that she existed.
She needed to lift her hands and to step away. But it was as though she were anchored to him like metal to a magnet. The steady rise and fall of his broad chest reassured her that he was, for the most part, okay.
Muscles again flexed as he shifted in his seat. Then, his whisky-brown gaze met hers.
*
Hugh Mason was living his own personal nightmare.
The woman he’d been battling to ignore ever since Riley brought her home to show her the solar system hanging from his bedroom ceiling stood close beside him. Even with a raging headache and blurred vison, the beauty of her ebony hair, pale skin and large grey eyes moved him. Her blue shirt and dark jeans hugged her in all the right places and further reminded his testosterone that he was a man.
The gentle pressure of her hands on his shoulder and chest did nothing to ease the world spinning around him. Knowing she was touching him only heightened the dizziness stealing his stability. Before all he’d smelt was dust and now all he could smell was the fragrance of spring flowers. All he needed was for her to smile and the self-control he prided himself on would snap. She had a soft mouth made for kissing.
But as she carefully lifted her hands and stepped away, her expression remained serious and unsmiling.
‘Dad?’
Riley’s scared, thin voice brought the world back into focus.
‘I’m okay.’ He touched Riley’s smooth, grubby cheek. He’d give his life for his son. Even now, every day he said a silent thank you that Clarisse hadn’t contested his request for sole custody. ‘You went next door?’
‘Jelly came too.’
Hugh tried a smile but the wave of nausea turned it into a grimace. He risked a glance at Sibylla. ‘Thanks for coming over, I’m fine.’
Her only answer was a lift of an eyebrow.
He tried to come to his feet. Suddenly Sibylla was by his side. ‘Sit tight. Dr Fliss will soon be here.’
He silenced a groan and settled back into his chair. He couldn’t stand even knowing that Fliss was on her way. The local doctor wasn’t to be messed with. Her do-what-you-are-told stare had worked on patients who were far less confused than he was. Right now he was trying to remember what Riley’s Jelly looked like. He had a feeling she could be a pony.
Sibylla bent towards him and he stiffened thinking she would touch him. But all she did was examine the left side of his head. He didn’t have the energy to lift a hand to work out why his temple pounded like it did.
‘What happened?’ she asked, voice low.
He went to shake his head, then stopped himself. ‘I think I was … at the shed.’
Riley nodded. ‘A branch fell. Jelly and I heard it.’
‘What day is it?’ Sibylla asked.
Hugh repressed a sigh. He’d had a concussion at the start of the rugby season and knew low-order questions were important to clarify the extent of any injury plus to keep a patient awake. But he had no idea what day it was. It hurt to think but if Mrs Poole wasn’t there looking after Riley, it meant it had to be the weekend. He made a guess. ‘Saturday.’
Riley smiled. Sibylla didn’t.
‘Okay,’ she said, her eyes never leaving his. ‘What’s my name?’
‘Sibylla.’
Not even a knock to his head would make him forget who she was and how her quick smile made him feel.
‘Can you say these words after me?’ Sibylla said. ‘Bird, rabbit, cat?’
The crunch of tyres saved him from making more of a fool of himself. Even when not concussed, Sibylla Elliott disturbed his equilibrium. It was bad enough she’d been privy to his physical weakness. She’d now lost him after the word bird.
Before she left to walk to the front door, she gave him a last intense look.
Alone with Riley, Hugh relaxed the tense line of his shoulders. He ruffled the top of Riley’s hair. ‘Remember how last time I had to go to the hospital? I’ll have to go there again.’
‘Okay.’
Hugh thought hard. It was as though a thick winter fog had engulfed his brain. An elusive thought half-formed and then disintegrated. ‘Mrs Poole will look after you until I get back.’
Riley didn’t answer, just turned his head towards the sound of footsteps at the kitchen door. Instead of the paramedics, Sibylla and Dr Fliss walked in. Fliss, with her symmetrical features and shiny brunette hair, was a taller image of her cowgirl sister, Cressy. Both lived on historic properties on the other side of small town Woodlea.
Fliss’s smile flashed as she greeted Riley. ‘How’s my favourite little astronomer?’
‘Good.’
‘And your sore ear?’
‘Better.’
‘Can I take a look at it after I check over your dad?’
Riley nodded and looked towards Sibylla. When she held out her hand, Riley squeezed his fingers before moving to sit on Sibylla’s knee.
Hugh was glad of the sudden quiet. Even normal speaking voices were too loud.
Just like at the rugby ground when he’d taken a hard hit, Fliss asked him questions before she examined him.
When she was done, she considered him with a slight frown. ‘I don’t need to tell you you’re concussed. What I don’t know is whether the branch knocked you out or if it was the impact of your head hitting the ground.’
He didn’t answer. He had no idea. Another wave of nausea hit him.
‘You’ll need another CT scan.’
‘Okay.’
‘This is your second brain injury. No cheating again by going back to work early.’ Fliss’s voice firmed. ‘And absolutely no driving until I give you the all clear.’
This time he didn’t reply because he had no intention of sitting around doing nothing. He had a business and a farm to run but most of all Riley to take care of. He’d recovered quickly last concussion. He would do so again.
As the silence stretched, Fliss gave him her take-no-prisoners stare. But between the light being too bright and trying to watch Sibylla and Riley out of the corner of his eye, he missed the full impact.
Another engine sounded. The ambos were here. He went to stand but Fliss’s hand was already on his shoulder to keep him in his chair. No wonder her fiancé, pickup rider Hewitt, made sure he didn’t injure himself again. Perceptive Fliss was wise to country boys who hated fuss, let alone being out of action.
When she was sure he’d remain seated, she left to update the two paramedics who entered the kitchen.
Riley came to his side. Hugh pulled him close to drop a kiss on his forehead. ‘Love you to Neptune and back.’
‘Love you to Neptune and back too.’
‘Be good for Mrs Poole. I’ll be home soon.’
When Sibylla approached he fought through the fog in his head. He couldn’t let her, or Riley, know how much she occupied his thoughts. If he remembered what happened he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been thinking about her instead of taking notice of strong wind gusts and falling branches. There was a reason why gum trees were known as widow makers; their branches could just give way.
‘Hugh?’
Sibylla’s soft voice hit a sweet spot that was a perfect volume level.
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s Saturday, remember.’
He pressed his mouth shut. He didn’t.
She spoke again. ‘Mrs Poole isn’t here. Riley also said she’s not coming next week as Mr Poole has been in hospital. You were taking the week off to put up a new fence.’
The half-thought formed into a coherent sentence. Sibylla was right. That’s what his subconscious had been trying to remind him.
She placed a hand on Riley’s arm. The need to also feel her touch hit him hard. He closed his eyes to blank out the intense longing. He and Riley were fine on their own. They didn’t need anyone else, even if the woman before him fired his blood.
‘Hugh?’ Again her soft voice sounded. ‘I’ll stay.’
His eyes snapped open and, uncaring of the pain, he shook his head. Finally, he could think clearly. This nightmare was not continuing. He wasn’t having her sleeping two doors down from him. He wasn’t seeing her every day. He wasn’t having her laughter wrap around him, stirring the yearnings he’d long ago discarded.
