One
Clayton McKinley was about to order his second beer when the door to the Roadhouse opened and she walked in. He hadn’t seen her around before, but in Cable Creek, Australia, there were no strangers, just people you hadn’t met. She made her way slowly through the crowd. She was dressed to blend in. Tennis shoes. Blue jeans. Grey sweatshirt. Hair pulled into a ponytail. But the shoes were worn and old. The jeans were faded and snug, drawing his attention to her slim hips and shapely curves. The sweatshirt skimmed high, rounded breasts, the sleeves pushed almost to her elbows. The clip holding her chestnut hair in place was plain gold. She stopped suddenly, her hands drawn into fists at her sides. Seconds later she moved with lightning speed toward the bar. He watched, every muscle in his body tense and alert, a second beer forgotten as she squared her shoulders and walked right up to the meanest man in town.
“Gerry Anderson?”
Around them everything stopped, a testament to the anger in her voice and the unabashed curiosity of the Saturday-night patrons. Someone pulled the plug on the jukebox. Conversations fell to whispers and then ceased altogether. Every eye in the place was on the slender five-foot-three woman and the burly six-foot man she faced. Gerry turned around, dismissing her with a smirk. Clayton counted that as his first mistake.
“You got the name right, sweetie. What can I do for you?”
She stepped closer to her colossal opponent not even sparing a glance for the two men flanking him. “This is about what I will do to you the next time you bully one of my children.”
Gerry laughed. “Your kids? I heard they were strays nobody else wanted.” He shook his head. “You should go back where you came from. We don’t want your kind here.”
She pinned him with a look that could have laid ice on the Simpson Desert in the middle of summer. “They are under my care, Mr. Anderson. That makes them my children. Max is just thirteen years old and thanks to you he spent the last two hours in the emergency ward.”
For the first time since she’d spoken his name, Gerry looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“You deliberately drove your car onto the shoulder of the road, kicking up the loose gravel. It frightened the boy’s horse so badly he was thrown.”
Her words sparked a simmering anger in Clayton. Gerry had a mile-wide mean streak, but picking on a child was a low act. He thought of his niece, at home safe in her bed. If it had been Molly on that horse Gerry would be the one in the emergency room.
Gerry smiled. “You got no proof it was me.”
“I don’t know of anyone else in this town with the license plate STUD or the arrogance that goes along with it.”
He turned back toward the bar. Clayton counted that as his second mistake. “Damn kid’s lyin’ through his teeth. I wasn’t even there.”
“You’re a coward.”
Her words dropped into the silence with the impact of an unexploded bomb. Gerry turned back to her, pure venom in his eyes. Clayton pushed slowly to his feet.
“Don’t start nothin’ you can’t finish, missy.”
“My name is Lucy Warner, not missy.”
Clayton did a double take. This was his new neighbour? His first thought was that she looked at least ten years younger than the twenty-five he knew her to be. His second thought was that he wanted to get to know her…a lot better.
“And calling that boy a liar makes you a coward. If I’d been there you would have been going to the hospital on life support.”
Someone chuckled. Another brave soul clapped. Most however seemed content to watch the showdown with undisguised interest. Gerry glanced at his mates and laughed, but Clayton watched his fist close in rage. Raising a hand to her would be Gerry’s last mistake of the night. Clayton would make damn sure of it.
“Some kid can’t handle himself on a horse and you blame me? Just go back to the city where you belong and take those delinquents with you.”
Lucy seemed unimpressed. “Why? Because if I don’t you’ll bully me too?”
Gerry shrugged. “All kinds of things can happen to a woman out here.”
“You might think you’re a tough guy in this town, Mr. Anderson, and maybe picking on children is what it takes to make you feel like a man,” she taunted, raising herself to her full height, squaring her shoulders, her chin high. “But the next time you see one of my children minding their own business you’d better do the same.”
When she turned, the crowd parted like the Red Sea before her. Someone whistled encouragement as she walked to the door. On the threshold she looked back and glared at him. “This is the only warning you get, Mr. Anderson. Leave us alone.”
Lucy had been this angry at least once in her life before tonight. Right now she couldn’t remember it though. Blind fury had pushed her into the pub. Pure adrenaline had fueled her words and dignity had enabled her to walk out.
She didn’t remember getting in her car or turning onto the road, leaving the brightly lit hotel car park behind. Now in the darkness, her adrenaline level dropped and Lucy began to tremble. Never in her life had she raised a hand to anyone, man or woman, but Gerry had tempted her. The smug look on his face. The arrogance in his eyes. The crack he’d made about the children being strays. Physically she would have been out of her depth with him. Words had been her only weapon.
According to Gray Harrison, most people here were good, honest folk. They believed in hard work and simple living and had community spirit, that small-town sense of rallying together to help each other in times of crisis. She deferred to Gray’s judgement on that. He’d grown up here after all.
The first time Lucy had set eyes on the farmhouse she had known this was where the dream was meant to take shape. At times it still seemed impossible to her that the journey she had started for Megan had brought her this far. It had started out as a promise, the only way Lucy could think to make up to her sister all she had denied Megan in one moment of recklessness.
Being a foster mother and having a degree in social welfare had given her credibility to get the project off the ground. Gray’s friendship and the sponsorship of his corporation had sealed it for her. Now it was a reality. A place for troubled teens to find a life away from the streets. Streets that sucked their young lives away. Her own years of experience dealing with troubled street kids had shown her a side to life no child should ever know. The idea for the farm had been her sister’s long-cherished dream and now it was within reach. Lucy wasn’t about to let Gerry Anderson or anyone like him stand in her way.
Though she was only recognized as foster mother to Katie and Max, the powers that be had allowed her guardianship of the two older kids also. To the bureaucrats this was an experiment and Lucy had to succeed so more kids could be given the chance to come here.
She was so lost in thought that when the car began to jerk, her hands tightened on the steering wheel. When it began to sputter, Lucy pulled off the road, and before she could turn off the engine the car died. She reached across into the glove box and found the small torch she’d tucked in there for emergencies. Alone on a dark, lonely stretch of highway, Lucy looked at the fuel gauge and uttered a curse into the night.
Clayton
