Her Cattleman Boss. Barbara Hannay
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Kate had announced that she would attend Angus’s funeral, her mother had been predictably surprised, almost offended. ‘Darling, no one down there will expect you.’
But Kate was used to her family’s antipathy to their Australian relatives and had learned to ignore it.
Her boyfriend, by contrast, had been disconcertingly eager. ‘Of course you must go. Stay as long as you like and have a holiday.’ Not a word about missing her. Until she’d asked. And then, of course, Derek had told her she’d be missed enormously.
So, despite mild misgivings, Kate had been determined to come. It was very important to make a showing of family solidarity. She’d wanted, more than anything, to demonstrate to this tight-knit Outback community that at least someone among Angus Harrington’s distant family cared, really cared, about his passing.
And she’d wanted the comfort of ritual, of a church service and a kindly minister saying prayers. Without that, she felt as if she couldn’t really say goodbye.
But now… She’d flown all this way, had travelled more than ten thousand tedious miles—in a jet, then a tiny inland plane no bigger than a bird, and then finally in a bouncing bus over narrow and bumpy Outback roads—for nothing.
Nothing.
Fighting her gathering exhaustion and despair, she turned to Noah, her voice rising on a querulous note. ‘I spoke to a woman. I thought she was your housekeeper. I can’t believe she didn’t tell you I was coming.’
A muscle worked in Noah’s jaw. Frowning, he shook his head. ‘You can’t have spoken to Ellen. She’s been in such a state since Angus died, I sent her into town to stay with her sister.’
Kate huffed angrily. ‘Well, I don’t know who it was then. I was on my mobile and the line kept cutting out, but I told her that I was held up at Heathrow. We had terrible snow and high winds all over England, and there were twenty-four-hour delays at every airport.’
Sighing heavily, Noah stood with his hands sunk on his hips, not meeting Kate’s gaze but looking somewhere out beyond, to the faded sky that hung listlessly above the parched brown paddocks.
‘Truly, I’m very sorry, Kate. I didn’t get your message. I—I think you must have spoken to Liane.’
‘Your wife?’
‘My ex-wife. She came back for the funeral.’
‘Ex?’
‘We were divorced just before Christmas.’
Kate struggled to breathe. Not an easy task when a string of explosions was detonating inside her. She felt as if she was tumbling through the air in slow motion. Noah was no longer married and her world had turned upside down.
In the awkward silence Noah said again, ‘I’m really sorry about the funeral, Kate.’
The defeated tone in his voice surprised her. He offered no further explanation. It was almost as if he expected that his former wife would have neglected to pass on an important message. Kate had no choice but to accept that she’d missed the funeral. It was a fait accompli.
But she’d come such a long way.
Noah picked up her suitcase and said in the quiet, laconic drawl of the Australian Outback, ‘You’d better come inside and I’ll brew up a cuppa.’
Kate forced a small smile. ‘I think I could really do with some tea.’
With a gentlemanly sweep of his arm, he motioned for her to enter the house ahead of him. They went down a long passage which, she remembered, cut straight through the middle of the house to the big kitchen at the back.
‘I’ll put your things in this spare room,’ he said, ducking into a bedroom that opened off to the right.
‘Are you the only person here?’
‘At the moment, yes. Ellen will be back soon.’
‘Is it all right for me to stay here tonight?’
‘Sure.’ He shot her a puzzled glance. ‘Don’t look so worried, Kate. No one expects you to jump on the next plane back to England.’
‘I couldn’t face that.’
‘This room’s yours, for as long as you need it.’
‘Thanks.’ She looked about her, amazed by how familiar the little bedroom felt. She was sure she recognised the single bed with old-fashioned brass ends and white candlewick spread.
Faded pink curtains hung over French doors that opened onto a side veranda. A very old, silky oak wardrobe with an oval mirror stood against the far wall. Looking about her, Kate was sure it was the room she’d slept in when she’d been here all those years ago.
Yes… She recognised the photo of her grandfather hanging on the wall. With his shock of white hair, thick white moustache and erect posture, and seated in a cane peacock-chair on the homestead veranda with his faithful dog at his feet, he looked like a throwback to the British Raj.
She remembered the emotional storms she’d weathered during the summer she’d spent here, how she’d hovered on the veranda, hoping to catch sight of Noah. The blissful heights and savage depths of youthful passion and unrequited love. The embarrassment. A shiver rustled through her. She hoped Noah didn’t notice.
With her suitcase stowed, they continued on down the passage to the kitchen.
This room hadn’t changed either, Kate decided as she looked about her at the huge black stove set in a galvanized-iron recess, and the big scrubbed-pine table dominating the room’s centre. A crumpled green-and-white-striped tea towel had been flung carelessly over the back of one of the mismatched chairs, and a clutter of kitchen utensils dangled from hooks above the stove.
On the far wall a row of shutters had been pushed wide open to catch the slightest hint of breeze. Everything was unpretentious and homely, just as she remembered, and she found this strangely unsettling. It was like stepping back in time.
Noah put the kettle on the stove and lit the gas beneath it. ‘I have to go into town this afternoon for the reading of the will,’ he said.
‘That’s OK. I’ll be fine here.’
‘You should come too.’
She’d given absolutely no thought to legal matters, but she was sure her uncle’s will would be very straightforward. Angus Harrington had been a bachelor, and she’d always understood that he’d planned to leave this property to Noah.
Noah had been born here on Radnor station. His father, Joe Carmody, had been head stockman, but there’d been a tragic accident—a light-plane crash in which both Noah’s parents had been killed. Uncle Angus had taken the boy into his home and, although he had never adopted Noah formally, he’d raised him as his own son.
Kate watched Noah now as he moved with familiar ease about the kitchen, fetching mugs and a brown china teapot and yellow sugarbowl.
He looked as at home in this kitchen as he had when she’d seen him working outdoors, or riding a stockhorse. He belonged here, and she couldn’t imagine him living anywhere else.
As he set the mugs and sugar bowl on the table, she said, ‘I can’t see why I need to go to the solicitor’s.’
‘You’re Angus’s blood relative. You should be there.’
‘My mother might be Uncle Angus’s sister, but she’s spent her entire life ignoring him.’
Noah simply shrugged. The kettle came to the boil and he turned to the stove to attend to it. Kate watched him pour boiling water into the teapot, and she couldn’t help admiring the way he managed to make a simple domesticated task look manly.
‘If you like,’ he said as he set the teapot on a cane table-mat, ‘I’ll give Alan Davidson, the solicitor,