Barbara Hannay - Miracle in Bellaroo Creek

‘He crashed his plane.’

‘No.’ Milla flinched as she pictured the beautiful sleek and shiny jet—Harry’s pride and joy—crumpled. Burned. Harry inside.

‘It happened over the Mojave Desert,’ Ed said. ‘The funeral was last Thursday.’

It was the same day she’d lost the baby. Remembering, she was so overwhelmed she had to cover her face with her hands. Sinking forward, she compressed her lips tightly to stop herself from sobbing out loud.

By the time she was once again under control, Ed was at the side window, standing with his back to her and with his hands plunged deep in his trouser pockets as he looked out into the untidy, narrow alley between this shop and its neighbour.

‘I would have come back to the funeral,’ she said.

Ed nodded. ‘I knew you would have, but we couldn’t find you.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She was. Truly sorry. Despite the many times Harry had hurt her, she still felt something for him, although she wasn’t quite sure what that something was.

‘Was there anyone else in the plane?’

A muscle jerked in Ed’s jaw. ‘Yes.’

‘Not Julie?’

‘No,’ Ed said wearily. ‘Julie had already been passed over.’ He looked down at the floor and his throat worked as he swallowed, as if he hated what he had to tell her next. ‘It was Angela.’

A groan broke from Milla. ‘Angela Beldon?’

‘Yes,’ Ed said unhappily.

Another from her circle of so-called friends...

Harry, you poor silly man...

‘It must be genetic, don’t you think?’

‘What’s that?’

‘The Cavanaugh male’s wandering eye.’

Ed frowned. ‘You’re probably right.’ He sighed and turned back to the window, as if he hoped this difficult conversation had come to an end.

He was every inch a Cavanaugh, with the family’s typically strong features and broad-shouldered muscularity. An inch or two taller than Harry, he was as dark as his younger brother had been fair, but, like the rest of the family, he had an indefinable masculine ruggedness that inevitably drew admiring glances from women.

That was where the similarities ended, however. Ed was the serious, responsible member of the Cavanaugh clan. The Good Son, Harry had dubbed him, but, while Harry’s tone had been mocking, there’d been a hint of envy, too.

Milla, for her part, had always been a little in awe of Ed, even a bit afraid of him.

She was nervous now, realising that there had to be more to his sudden arrival in Bellaroo Creek than the delivery of bad news that could have been handled—now that they’d tracked her down—with a phone call.

‘I suppose you came all this way to talk about money,’ she said dully.

Ed turned from the window. ‘It has to be discussed. Apart from anything else, we have to settle your inheritance.’

She shook hear head.

‘As I’m sure you know,’ Ed went on, ‘my father placed certain restrictions on Harry. He made sure it was in your pre-nup.’

Yes, Milla knew that Gerry Cavanaugh had learned hard lessons after being royally screwed by three wives. She had no intention of completing that pattern. ‘I don’t want Harry’s money.’

Ed narrowed his smoky grey eyes as he studied her for long thoughtful seconds. Then he shrugged. ‘I know you gave up your right to the money when you left the marriage, but now that Harry’s...’ He swallowed unhappily. ‘Now that he’s...gone...you still have a claim as his widow.’

‘I said, I don’t want any of it, Ed.’ She was determined to manage on her own and she didn’t want money from anyone—not even her own parents, who would have happily helped her out if she’d let them. For now, she was pleased that her mother and father were safely overseas and unaware of her plans.

Ed’s eyes widened as he stared at her, clearly taken aback by her claim. ‘Maybe it’s too soon for you to think about this.’

Milla felt a stirring of impatience. She wasn’t playing games. She was deadly serious. She still had some money in her bank accounts and that was all she wanted.

Most women would think she was crazy to knock back a fortune, and if she’d still had her baby to consider her reaction might have been different. But her take-home lesson from her marriage was that even Himalayan-sized mountains of money couldn’t buy the things that really mattered.

Sure, money bought power and glamour and ease and moments of heady excitement, but in her four years of marriage and rubbing shoulders with the mega wealthy she’d never seen evidence that these things added up to genuine, lasting happiness.

She only had to remember Heidi’s bone-deep contentment with her seemingly ‘boring’ life to reinforce this belief.

‘If you come back to the States,’ Ed said, breaking into her thoughts, ‘you and the baby will be much better off.’

Shocked, she looked up swiftly. ‘You know about the—about my pregnancy?’

‘Yes,’ he said gently. ‘It’s wonderful news.’

So Harry had told them, after all...

‘That’s why you’ve come, isn’t it? Old Gerry sent you. He wants his grandchild to live in America.’

‘It’s understandable, Milla.’

‘It’s not going to happen.’

‘Look, I’m sure you need a little time to think this through.’

‘It’s not a matter of time. There’s no baby, Ed.’

‘What do you mean? What are you saying?’

Her voice quavered. ‘I lost it. I had a miscarriage.’

He looked shocked. ‘No.’

‘It’s the truth,’ she said tightly, but she saw doubt and suspicion in his storm-cloud eyes and realised, to her horror, that he wasn’t going to believe her.

Damn him.

He was pacing now, clearly baffled and probably angry.

‘Ed, this isn’t something I’d lie about. I was in a hospital, not an abortion clinic. I really wanted my baby.’ Her lips trembled and she drew a sharp breath, but she was determined that she wouldn’t dissolve into tears. The fainting spell had been bad enough. She had to be strong to stand up to this man.

‘If you don’t believe me, get that PI you hired to check out the RPA Hospital. I’m sure he’ll be able to ferret out the proof you need.’

‘Milla, don’t be like that.’

‘Don’t be like what?’ Her voice was shrill, but that was too bad. ‘I’ll give you don’t. Don’t you dare look at me like I’m lying about something that meant everything to me.’

Now she was so mad and upset she was shaking.

‘OK, I apologise.’ He stood before her, with his hands once again in his jeans pockets, his shoulders squared, his jaw tight, his eyes a battlefield where doubt and sympathy warred.

It was late afternoon and a wintry chill made Milla shiver. Shadows crept across the thick stone sill of the bakery window and spread along the brick walls and the ancient and worn stone floor. In the fading light, she could see that Ed looked deeply tired.

He’d had a long journey from New York and he’d probably driven straight from the airport. He had to be dead on his feet.

‘I’m sorry about the baby,’ he said quietly.

‘I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.’

The slightest hint of a smile flickered, giving a cynical tilt to his lips, but his eyes continued to regard her solemnly.

It was so not the right moment to remember the one time he’d kissed her. But the memory came, unbidden, bringing rivers of heat rushing under her clothes.

‘Maybe we can have a more civilised discussion about everything over dinner,’ he suggested.

‘There’s nothing to discuss.’

‘Milla, I’m not the Cavanaugh who stuffed up your life. Surely we can share a meal before I go back.’

Perhaps she was overreacting. ‘I guess. But there’s really only one place in town to eat and that’s the pub.’