Snowy Mountains Cattleman, page 8
Grace looked over her shoulder to check where Bundy was. She hadn’t forgotten about the figure she’d seen in the storm. City life had made her cautious but at the same time she wanted to know if anyone was loitering about. Instead of Bundy being near the tree where she’d last seen him, the kelpie had ducked through a hole in the boundary fence and was heading away from Crookwell Park and into the bush. He stopped and turned his black-and-tan head to look at her as if to say, What’s taking you so long?
She checked she had phone coverage, in case they encountered trouble, before climbing through the gap in the wire. The further they walked the more certain Grace was that the kelpie knew where he was going. The narrow tyre tracks led to somewhere he must have visited before. Somewhere close by she could hear running water and through the thinning trees she caught glimpses of green. But whatever she’d expected when the trees opened into a clearing, it wasn’t what she saw.
Nestled in a tiny valley cupped by the hills was a large bluestone cottage. Unlike her neglected home, this dwelling had been well-preserved and loved. A neat vegetable garden lay tucked by the side and a small garden shed was stocked with winter wood. Beside the cottage a second shed contained some sort of farm vehicle that resembled a golf buggy, its wheelbase a perfect match to the tyre prints.
She followed Bundy towards a chook pen filled with five white speckled hens. When the kelpie drew near, he gave a bark. At first there was only the cackle of the chickens and then a thin figure made his way out of the enclosed back section. Moving with the use of a cane, the old man carried two eggs in his other hand. He lifted his walking stick to shut the wooden door before slowly turning to face them.
‘Bundy, how good to see you.’ The stranger glanced across at Grace with a smile. ‘And you brought a friend. I’d offer to shake hands but my balance isn’t what it used to be. I’m Frank Williams.’
Even though she didn’t trust easily—she was very careful about who she let in—Bundy having faith in this man eased her reservations.
She matched his smile. ‘I’m Grace, your new neighbour.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ Frank’s faded blue eyes twinkled. ‘Hope those possums aren’t bothering you? On a still night, I can hear them from here.’
‘They’ve much nicer homes now than my draughty roof.’ She looked around. ‘I didn’t know anyone lived nearby.’
‘Not many people do.’ Frank’s well-modulated voice hardened. ‘I don’t go to town … I’ve dealt with enough people to last a lifetime.’
She fell into step beside him as they made their slow way to the cottage. It seemed as though she wasn’t the only one to have come to the mountains to heal. ‘If you ever need anything, please let me know.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’ Frank halted to rest on his cane. ‘I hope I didn’t worry you the other day. I know you saw me.’
Grace nodded as relief unfurled inside. What she’d seen had been on her mind. While Frank’s tall frame was now stooped, she could tell he’d once been a powerful man and in the poor visibility would have looked bigger than he was.
‘I wasn’t sure what I saw until I realised Bundy had seen you as well. To be honest, it did put my nerves a little on edge.’
‘I apologise. I’d come to introduce myself and then the storm beat me over. The main house can be eerie but you don’t have to worry about seeing or hearing anything unusual.’ He winked. ‘My arthritis might stop me from doing many things but I can still pass as a pretty respectable ghost when I need to. It doesn’t take much to send those hooligans packing.’
Grace smiled, liking her new neighbour more and more. ‘So that’s why the back of the house has hardly been touched.’
Frank’s grin was of a much younger man. ‘Blame the ex-judge in me; I can’t abide wanton damage. Now, would you like to come inside for a cup of tea?’
It didn’t matter how loud Rowan cranked up his country music in his Land Cruiser ute cabin, the volume wasn’t enough to distract him from thoughts of Grace.
Saturday was technically a Grace-free day and he couldn’t now spend his weekend wondering what she was doing. The only thing on his mind should be the latest project of the local historical hut volunteer group that he and Taite were members of.
As busy as he’d been all week stabilising and rebuilding the section of crumbling wall, he’d been just as busy listening out to see if Grace needed help with lifting things into the skip. He’d meant what he’d said to Clancy and Heath about not making a fool of himself a second time.
But that didn’t stop him from looking forward every morning to chatting with Grace over a coffee. And now from thinking about her. He skipped a too slow song and took the turn that would take him into the mountains and to the high-country hamlet of Riley’s Crossing.
Once a stopover for the herds of cattle heading south to the markets, now all that remained was an old schoolhouse and a riverside camping area. A fire ignited by a lightning strike had damaged the 1860s schoolhouse last summer. Since he’d returned from the Cotswolds, he’d repaired the stone foundations so that the wooden walls could go up. The plan for this weekend was to replace the roof shingles. Once the schoolhouse was completed, the volunteer group had an old miner’s hut to restore so it could provide shelter to cross-country skiers.
It took several seconds to recognise the ring of his phone amongst his blaring music but the recognition of Grace’s name was instant. He answered via Bluetooth, hoping his voice sounded far more casual than he felt.
‘Hi, Grace.’
‘Hi.’ There was a slight pause as if she were processing that he either knew her number or had her in his contacts. ‘Sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you were on your way to the schoolhouse yet.’
He slowed, ready to turn if she had a problem.
‘I am but I’m not far away if you need any more Aubusson rugs or homes for deceptively cute possums?’
Her soft laughter, just like her smile, had the power to further weaken the hold he kept on his resolve. ‘No, Frank just needs his car jump-started.’
Frank. It wasn’t a name he knew. He kept his tone neutral as he did a U-turn. He’d soon find out if Grace had a city visitor. ‘Flat battery?’
‘That’s what we’re thinking. Neither of us have jumper leads and Frank has to leave for Canberra soon. His driveway is the first gate on the left when you drive into Crookwell Park. There’s no mailbox.’
‘Frank’s a … local?’ He was pretty sure he knew everyone in town, plus he’d never heard of any house out near Grace.
‘Yes. I had no idea I had a neighbour.’
Rowan pressed harder on the accelerator. That made two of them. He hoped whoever this Frank was he was legit. ‘Is Bundy with you?’
‘He is.’ Even without seeing her face he could hear the smile in her voice. ‘Rowan, it’s fine. Bundy took me to see him.’
Rowan’s grip on the steering wheel loosened. ‘Bundy knows Frank?’
‘He’s been to visit a few times.’
‘Okay. I’ll see you in about ten minutes.’
He ended the call and rang Taite.
‘Let me guess …’ Taite’s deep voice rumbled. ‘You’re running late. Monet and Primrose bury your keys?’
‘Ha, too funny. For the record I was late that one time because I was chased by Mrs Moore’s goose. And, in my defence, I was on one crutch.’
Taite chuckled. ‘So where are you?’
‘Heading to Crookwell Park. Have you heard of a Frank who lives near there?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Grace is at some guy’s place who has no mailbox.’
‘Are you on your way? It sounds suss.’
‘I am. Bundy’s with her and she says he knows him.’
‘Actually, I think there is a place at the back of Crookwell Park. Dad once went there to collect a butter churner.’
When Taite and Brenna’s father passed away, he’d left numerous sheds filled with all sorts of collectibles, from meat safes to vintage cars. It was his extensive collection of old-fashioned tools that the historical hut group used to maintain the authenticity of the miner and grazier huts they restored.
‘I’ll let you know what I find. Tell the others I’ll be there soon.’
‘No rush. We’ll save all the good jobs for you.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
On the day he’d been late he’d ended up working on the stone chimney in the rain while the others had taken a long beer break under the tarpaulin. It wasn’t always an advantage being the sole person with a specific set of skills.
The phone dropped out but not before he heard Taite’s laughter.
It wasn’t long until he turned onto Grace’s road and there as described was a regular farm gate on the left. He’d always thought the entry was an access point for the section of the Smiths’ farm that ran along this side of the road. Obviously not.
He opened the gate and drove through. Instead of an all-weather gravel road, the driveway was little more than a grassed track. Whoever this Frank was he’d have trouble getting out in wet weather let alone the snow.
The track wove through the gum trees as it climbed its way into the foothills. To his right he could see the distant rooflines and chimneys of Crookwell Park. The trees abruptly stopped and he found himself in a small green valley on the edge of which stood a large bluestone cottage. He’d been interested in stone since a child and over the years had become familiar with what he’d thought were all of the local bluestone buildings. He’d no idea this one existed.
As he drew near he registered the solar panels and a generator housed in its own shed at the back of the cottage. Frank most likely lived off-grid plus he was a stickler for order. The only sign of disrepair was that the left corner of the dry-stone wall surrounding the garden was missing some capstones.
Rowan parked near the open door of a garage which housed a fancy bronze four-wheel drive. There was no way Frank had ever driven this vehicle to town. Someone would have noticed.
Bundy raced out of the cottage doorway, closely followed by Grace. She gave him a wave which he returned. A smile relaxed her face, and it wasn’t her usual gone-too-soon one. He left his ute as a figure leaning heavily on a cane approached. Rowan wasn’t deceived by the stranger’s age and apparent frailty. The shrewd look he shot him from beneath bushy grey brows was formidable. Even in his twilight years, Grace’s mysterious new neighbour was a man to be reckoned with.
An impression confirmed by the steely strength of his handshake. ‘Rowan, you making a detour is much appreciated.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
It wasn’t just Frank’s expensive car that would have caused a stir in Bundilla had he been a regular visitor but also the formal way he spoke. Frank definitely wasn’t from around here, even if it looked as though he’d lived in the cottage for years.
Frank continued to study Rowan, his gaze sharp. ‘I knew your father. He was a good man.’
‘Thank you.’ Rowan weathered a surge of loss that he fought to keep from showing in his expression. He didn’t want the conversation, or his reaction, to trigger Grace’s grief. ‘He was.’
Rowan didn’t ask how he knew his father. If Frank wanted to volunteer the information, he would.
Respect glinted in the older man’s gaze. ‘I had a flat tyre one winter and your father stopped to help. We shared a common interest in chess and a good red.’
Conscious of Grace’s hazel gaze having never left his face, Rowan nodded before changing the subject. ‘I take it your car hasn’t been driven lately.’
Frank manoeuvred himself around on his cane so he could look at the four-wheel drive, which didn’t sport a speck of dust. ‘There’s no need to go anywhere. I have everything I need.’
Rowan went to the toolbox on the back of his ute to collect his jumper leads.
When Grace passed him the four-wheel drive keys that she’d brought with her from the cottage, their fingers brushed. He didn’t dare look at her even though the brief touch ricocheted through him. Frank watched the two of them closely and Rowan was sure he didn’t miss a thing.
He lifted the bonnet on each vehicle and matched the jumper leads to the corresponding battery terminals. In Frank’s car he attached the last clamp to the engine block to prevent an explosive spark. He turned on his ute and went to start the bronze four-wheel drive. After a moment, it spluttered and fired into life.
Grace beamed a smile so full of thanks that he forgot all about Frank and kept his attention on her for longer than he should have. Realising he was staring, he moved to remove the jumper leads.
Frank hobbled over as Rowan turned off his ute. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m happy to help.’
Frank looked across at Grace. ‘Could I offer you and Bundy a lift home?’
‘We’d love one. After all those scones, I can hardly move, let alone walk.’ Grace turned to Rowan and took a step closer. She half lifted a hand towards him. ‘I hope we haven’t held you up.’
He kept himself still, caught between moving forwards to feel her touch and the need to take a step back. The way Grace’s gaze searched his warned him that he hadn’t buried his earlier grief deep enough. ‘It’s all fine. I’ll make it to the schoolhouse for morning smoko.’
Then, knowing that every second he stood with Grace an arm’s length away increased the likelihood she’d discover his thoughts, he gave Frank a nod and climbed into his ute.
It was only when he’d made it back onto the bitumen road the tension in his jaw unlocked. So much for having a Grace-free weekend. The memory of how her smile lit up the gold in her eyes would distract him long after tonight’s campfire flames had dulled to embers.
When his phone rang, this time the console screen displayed Clancy’s name.
He cleared his throat to erase his lingering strain. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey yourself. I hear you’ve had an eventful morning.’
‘Word travels fast.’
‘It does when Brenna’s involved. You know what she’s like with her theories.’ Brenna enjoyed people watching and often concocted outlandish and sometimes spot-on reasons behind why people acted as they did. ‘Taite was a little light on details. What’s this Frank like?’
‘He speaks like he’s a university professor and isn’t someone I’d want to get on the wrong side of. He must have someone who collects his mail, brings him groceries and chops his wood. He also knew Dad.’
‘I’m pretty sure he’s the man Dad used to visit. He’d take a bottle of wine and Mum would send a cheese platter. When I asked where Dad was going, she said out to Summit Road to keep a friend company who’d lost his wife.’
‘It’s definitely Frank.’
‘It has to be. So, Brenna’s theory, and mine too, is that the rumours of Lawrence Russell Senior’s arranged marriage to his society wife being a nightmare were true. He fell for someone else and this woman lived in Frank’s cottage.’ Clancy’s voice turned dreamy. ‘I think Lawrence Senior and the love of his life raised a family over there.’
Rowan frowned, hoping his scepticism wouldn’t be obvious in his reply. ‘Possibly.’
‘Possibly? It makes perfect sense. Now you’d better hurry up or your sweet tooth is going to miss out. Brenna said Taite has already started on morning smoko.’
After their call ended, Rowan’s frown deepened, food the last thing on his mind. Clancy’s romantic faith in happily-ever-afters had sustained her for the decade Heath had been away. He wished he could share her optimism. Letting someone into your life came with risks, and even if he couldn’t stop thinking about Grace, his risk-taking days were long gone.
CHAPTER
6
‘Too much?’ Grace asked Bundy, who lay sleeping on the rug in front of the fireplace.
Bundy lifted an eye to check out her wardrobe and then went back to his nap. No tail wag meant no tick of approval.
Grace smoothed her hands down her skirt before tugging at the top of her shirt. ‘It is rather black.’
She went back into her bedroom. When she’d packed in a hurry to leave Sydney, she hadn’t thought about what clothes she might need. To match her mood she’d thrown in any item that was dark coloured. She went to the tallboy Rowan had delivered and opened the middle drawer. The only clothes that weren’t black or navy were a white T-shirt and a tan skirt. They’d have to do.
She changed into the outfit and then rummaged around in her suitcase where her shoes still lived. Just like the rest of the wardrobe, her choices were limited. She either had black flats, hiking boots, winter ugg boots, which she had no idea why she’d tossed in, and strappy gold sandals. Again, these had been an odd choice. It wasn’t as if she had anything to wear them with let alone anywhere to wear them to. She slipped on the black flats. Surely a Monday morning quilting class in the community hall didn’t require heels?
Bundy leaped to his feet as gravel crunched beneath car tyres. Rowan had arrived to start work.
After making two coffees, hands full, she manoeuvred her way through the cottage door. When the brisk breeze blew hair across her eyes, she remembered she hadn’t straightened it let alone tied it back. Not that it really mattered how she looked. It might be week two of Rowan working at Crookwell Park but today was day one of re-establishing the ground rules between them.
As much as Aubrey had been right about her needing a friend, things had changed since their Saturday phone call. She’d now met Frank and as they’d shared a pot of tea they’d bonded over their fondness for history and having their own space. Since he’d stayed in Canberra for the weekend, she’d popped over yesterday to take his hens kitchen scraps and to collect their eggs.
But the most important thing to have changed since her conversation with Aubrey was that she’d again glimpsed the pain Rowan hid behind his smile. When Frank had mentioned Rowan’s father, even though he hadn’t appeared to react, she hadn’t missed the hardening of his jaw. The urge to comfort him had been so strong it had made her forget about her own grief. When he’d gone to leave, she’d even taken a step towards him only for an unfamiliar brittleness in his eyes to stop her from going any further.
