And isn’t there some theory that creativity is boosted by the negative ions of moving water? Anyway, there’s lots of deserted beach to walk and rolling hills to climb. It’s a good place to come and get strong—away from prying eyes.’
‘You think so?’
‘Absolutely. Give me an hour, Russ, and I’ll call you back when I have something concrete to tell you, okay?’
‘I can’t thank you enough for doing this, Jo.’
‘We both know that in this instance it’s you who’s doing me the favour.’
It wasn’t wholly a lie.
She’d known Russ for eight years. They’d hit if off from the first day she’d walked into the mining company’s Outback office, with her brand-new soil sample kit and her work boots that still held a shine. Their teasing, easy rapport had developed into a genuine friendship. He’d been her boss, her mentor, and one of the best friends she’d ever had—but in all that time she’d never met his brother.
After his heart attack she’d confided in Russ—told him she wanted out of geology and away from the Outback. She grimaced. She’d also told him she couldn’t go back to Sydney until she’d developed a plan. Her jobless situation would only provide Grandma and Great-Aunt Edith with more ammunition to continue their silly feud. Battle lines would be drawn and Jo would find herself smack-bang in the middle of them. She was already smack-bang in the middle of them! No more. She was tired of living her life to meet other people’s expectations.
She pulled in a breath. When she was working in a job she loved and doing things that made her happy, the people who loved her—Grandma and Great-Aunt Edith—would be happy for her too. She squinted out of the window. If only she could figure out what it was that would make her happy.
She chafed her arms, suddenly cold. All she knew was that another twenty years down the track she didn’t want to look back and feel she’d wasted her life.
When Russ had found all that out he’d laughed and rubbed his hands together. ‘Jo,’ he’d said, ‘I’ve just the job for you.’
And here she was.
She glanced around, her nose wrinkling.
She loved Russ dearly. She enjoyed his twisted sense of humour, admired the values he upheld, and she respected the man he was. She did not, however, hold out the same hopes for his brother.
She planted her hands on her hips. A brother did not desert his family when they needed him. Russ had been there for Mac every step of the way, but Mac had been nowhere to be found when Russ had needed him. But here she was, all the same. Mac’s hired help. She didn’t even know what her official job title was—cook, cleaner, housekeeper? Russ had dared her to don a French maid’s outfit. Not in this lifetime!
Russ needed someone to make sure Mac was getting three square meals a day and not living in squalor—someone who could be trusted not to go racing to the press. At heart, though, Jo knew Russ just wanted to make sure his little brother was okay.
Cue Jo. Still, this job would provide her with the peace and quiet to work out where she wanted to go from here.
She pulled Mac’s note from her pocket and stared at it.
There should be absolutely no reason for you to venture onto the first floor.
Oh, yes, there was.
Without giving herself too much time to think, she headed straight for the stairs.
There were five doors on the first floor, if she didn’t count the door to the linen closet. Four of them stood wide open—a bathroom and three bedrooms. Mind you, all the curtains in each of those rooms were drawn, so it was dark as Hades up here. The fourth door stood resolutely closed. Do Not Disturb vibes radiated from it in powerful waves.
‘Guess which one the prize is behind?’ she murmured under her breath, striding up to it.
She lifted her hand and knocked. Rat-tat-tat! The noise bounced up and down the hallway. No answer. Nothing.
She knocked again, even louder. ‘Mac, are you in there?’
To hell with calling him Mr MacCallum. Every Tuesday night for the last five years she’d sat with Russ, watching Mac on the television. For eight years she’d listened to Russ talk about his brother. He would be Mac to her forever.
She suddenly stiffened. What if he was hurt or sick?
‘Go away!’
She rolled her eyes. ‘“There was movement at the station.”’
‘Can’t you follow instructions?’
Ooh, that was a veritable growl. ‘I’m afraid not. I’m coming in.’
She pushed the door open.
‘What the hell?’ The single light at the desk was immediately clicked off. ‘Get out! I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed.’
‘Correction. An anonymous note informed me that someone didn’t want to be disturbed.’ It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She focussed on that rather than the snarl in his voice. ‘Anyone could’ve left that note. For all I knew you could’ve been slain while you slept.’
He threw his arms out. ‘Not slain. See? Now, get out.’
‘I’d like nothing better,’ she said, strolling across the room.
‘What the hell do you think you’re—?’
He broke off when she flung the curtains back. She pulled in a breath, staring at the newly revealed balcony and the magnificent view beyond. ‘Getting a good look at you,’ she said, before turning around.
The sight that met her shocked her to the core. She had no hope of hiding it. She reached out a hand to steady herself against the glass doors.
‘Happy?’
His lips twisted in a snarl that made her want to flee. She swallowed and shook her head. ‘No.’ How could she be happy? He was going to break his brother’s heart.
‘Shocked?’ he mocked with an ugly twist of his lips.
The left side of his face and neck were red, tight and raw with the post-burn scarring from his accident. His too-long blond hair had clumped in greasy unbrushed strands. Dark circles rimmed red eyes. The grey pallor of his skin made her stomach churn.
‘To the marrow,’ she choked out.
And in her mind the first lines of that Banjo Paterson poem went round and round in her head.
There was movement at the station,
for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away
Regret. Got away. She suddenly wished with everything inside her that she could get away. Leave.
And
