Kate Hardy - Wish Upon a Wedding

She found her room at the back of the house. Someone had made a half-hearted effort at cleaning it. Mac, she supposed. According to Russ, the last cleaning lady had left over a month ago. It would do for now. She’d tackle that tomorrow as well.

Her window looked out over an unkempt lawn to a garage. She lifted the window higher. She might not have a room with a view, but she could still hear the ocean. She leant against the windowsill, reaching out to touch a banksia flower on the nearby tree.

A moment later she drew her hand back, a breath shuddering out of her as she thought back to that stupid note stuck to the door. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. Turning her life upside down like this was probably foolhardy, irresponsible—even insane. After all, geology wasn’t so bad and—

It’s not so good either .

She bit her lip and then straightened. She’d gone into geology to please her father. For all the good it had done her. She wasn’t concerned with pleasing him any longer.

She’d remained in the field to keep the peace. She didn’t want just to keep the peace any more—she wanted to create a new world where peace reigned...at least in her little part of it. She’d stayed where she was because she was frightened of change. Well, Russ’s heart attack had taught her that there were worse things than fear of change.

Fear of regret and fear of wasting her life were two of those things. She couldn’t afford to lose heart now. She wanted a future she could look forward to. She wanted a future that would make her proud. She wanted a future that mattered. That was what she was doing here. That wasn’t foolhardy, irresponsible or insane. On the contrary.

But...what about Mac? What was she going to do? Follow instructions today and then try to corner him tomorrow? Or—?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the caller ID before lifting it to her ear. ‘Hey, Russ.’

‘Are you there yet?’

‘Yep.’

‘How’s Mac?’

She swallowed. Or not follow instructions?

‘I’ve only just this very minute arrived, so I haven’t clapped eyes on him yet, but let me tell you the view here is amazing. Your brother has found the perfect place to...’

What? Recuperate? He’d had enough time to recuperate. Work without distractions? Hole up?

‘The perfect place to hide away from the world.’ Russell sighed.

Russ was fifty-two and recovering from a heart attack. He was scheduled for bypass surgery in a few weeks. She wasn’t adding to his stress if she could help it.

‘The perfect place for inspiration,’ she countered. ‘The scenery is gorgeous. Wait until you see it and then you’ll know what I mean. I’ll send you photos.’

‘Does a body need inspiration to write a cookbook?’

She had no idea. ‘Cooking and making up recipes are creative endeavours, aren’t they? 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.’