Home to Hope Mountain. Joan Kilby
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Over the slight rise came a burgundy Mercedes-Benz convertible with the black top up. Fifty yards from the corral, the car slowed to a halt.
“Are you expecting someone?” Molly asked.
“Nope. It’s probably sightseers gawking at the burned-out town. They get lost and come down my track once in a while.”
“Don’t dismiss the tourists,” Molly said. “We need the business for the town to get back on its feet. I need them.”
“I know.” Her mother-in-law’s gift-and-coffee shop had been gutted by fire and had required major renovations. She’d reopened two months ago and was struggling to stay afloat.
The Mercedes had a sleek, almost retro look to it. Hayley didn’t know much about cars, especially luxury ones, but she would guess it was vintage. As the male driver got out, she saw he was a luxury model, too. Tall with dark hair, he wore a suit, pants and a dress shirt, with polished black leather shoes. City clothes straight from the big end of town. He looked vaguely familiar....
Hayley was suddenly acutely aware of her dirty jeans with the rip across the knee and the soft green flannel shirt she’d owned since forever, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows to hide the fraying cuffs. She tucked honey-colored strands of her fraying braid behind her ear, resisting the urge to pull out the hair elastic and retie it. A teenage girl with long red hair, wearing the local high school uniform dress of blue-and-white gingham, got out of the passenger side. She hung back, her gaze drifting to the corral where Asha trotted restlessly.
Molly sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s the girl I caught stealing a pair of earrings yesterday.”
“Really? Are you sure?” Hayley’s gaze narrowed.
“Can’t mistake that red hair. I recognize her father, too. Not many men around here look like they’ve stepped out of GQ.”
Now she recognized him. He was the jerk who’d yelled at her the day before when she was riding Asha. “Are they locals? What did you do when you caught her?”
“I called the police, told them I was pressing charges. I didn’t seriously intend to—she’s only a child—but I was upset and angry at the time. I wanted to give her a scare so she wouldn’t steal again. Her father brought her into the gift shop and made her apologize. I was happy with that. But he didn’t stop there. He emptied his wallet into the collection jar for bushfire victims I keep on the counter.” Molly turned to Hayley, her eyes round, and added in a hushed voice, “He donated nearly four hundred dollars.”
“He was trying to buy you off, Molly.” Who kept that much spare cash in their wallet and was rich enough to give it away without a thought? She was struggling to pay her electricity bill, small as it was now that the house was gone.
Shane stalked toward the newcomers, the fur along his spine ruffled. The stranger crouched and held out a hand, drawing the dog in closer. Shane sniffed it thoroughly then licked the hand. Having made friends with the dog, the man straightened and walked over to Hayley and Molly. He did a double take as he recognized Molly. “Hello again.... I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name the other day.”
“Molly Sorensen.”
“Molly. I’m sorry we had to meet under those circumstances.” His gaze moved to Hayley. “Would you be Hayley Sorensen?”
Hayley wasn’t as quick as Shane to give her approval. She tucked her thumbs into the loops of her jeans. “And you are?”
“Adam Banks.” He held out his hand to shake.
Banks. He must be her neighbor Diane’s ex-husband. She didn’t have much to do with Diane, as they moved in different circles. And then there was the fact that Leif had died defending Timbertop.... Leif’s death wasn’t Adam Banks’s fault, but she couldn’t help blaming him anyway. If Adam had been at home defending his property, instead of in Melbourne, Leif wouldn’t have had to do it for him. Leif might still be alive.
She tried to remember if she had met Adam before he’d almost run her over this morning. Probably not. Molly was right. She’d have remembered a man like him. Not that she was impressed by expensive clothes and a hundred-dollar haircut.
Reluctantly, she accepted Adam’s handshake. It was firm and businesslike, but his warm palm and enveloping fingers reminded her how long it had been since she’d experienced a man’s touch. It felt so good that she pulled her hand away a fraction of a second too soon. “Yes, I’m Hayley.”
His dark eyes moved over her, openly assessing. “I understand you do some kind of therapy using horses.”
“Horses for Hope. It’s a government-funded program.” Hayley glanced at the girl hanging over the corral railing with her hand stretched out to Asha. The dapple gray snorted and tossed her head. “Careful. She’s not very friendly since the fires.”
“Summer, come and say hello, please. This is Hayley Sorensen and Molly Sorensen.”
The girl reluctantly left the corral and walked over, kicking up dirt with the toes of her black Mary Jane shoes. Her gaze flicked to Molly and she stopped short. She looked to her father. “I already apologized—”
“It’s just a coincidence,” Adam said.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Molly assured her. “As far as I’m concerned, that episode is in the past.” She turned to Hayley. “I see Rolf’s waiting for me in the truck. Think about what I said regarding the job, okay?” She gave Hayley a hug, nodded to Adam and Summer, then hurried off to the dusty red utility truck idling next to the garage.
Adam touched his daughter’s arm. “Hayley is the horse whisperer your principal was telling us about.”
“Hey.” Summer’s glance flicked briefly at Hayley, then returned to Asha. “She’s beautiful.”
“Summer’s horse, Bailey, died in the fires,” Adam said.
The sadness in Summer’s hazel eyes as she gazed hungrily at the mare told a story Hayley knew all too well. Over a hundred local horses had perished in the fires. “I’m so sorry. Did he get scared and jump the fence?” As far as she knew, Timbertop hadn’t been touched by the fires.
Summer shrugged and hunched deeper into her shoulders.
“We were referred to you by Tom Dorian from the high school,” Adam said. “I understand you work with troubled teens.”
Summer threw him a dirty look. “I’m not troubled.”
Hayley ignored that and spoke to Adam. “I work with anyone who’s been traumatized, not just teens.”
“I’d like to enroll Summer in your program. When’s the soonest she could start?”
“I’m afraid my client list is full. I suggest you ask your local doctor for a referral to a counselor. There are several practicing psychologists in the area.”
“You were recommended very highly. Could we put Summer on a waiting list? Someone might drop out.”
“It’s unlikely. Horse therapy can be a long process, sometimes lasting months.”
“Dad, forget it. She can’t take me. Sorry to bother you,” Summer said to Hayley and tugged on her father’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”
“If you find you have an opening...” Adam wrote his home and cell phone numbers on the back of a business card and gave it to her. “I believe we’re neighbors.”
“Don’t you live in the city? That’s what Diane told me.” Not that Hayley spoke to her a lot. Leif had usually taken her and her city friends trail riding.
“Diane’s temporarily in Sydney caring for her mother, so I’m staying at Timbertop for the foreseeable future.”
“So you’re commuting? That’s a long drive.”
“I might be taking a leave of absence.”