Lilian Darcy - The Australians' Brides - The Runaway and the Cattleman

Callan waved at Jacinda again through the dry, choking curtain. Lockie and Pete did the same, and then they disappeared from sight heading down the track that headed toward the alleged road to Adelaide.

Jacinda’s breathing went sharp in her chest and she was shocked at how vulnerable she felt. Because of one kiss? Because it hadn’t ended with the promise of more? Because Callan’s wave and turn told her he’d meant what he’d said, last night, and the fact that he hadn’t stopped to introduce her to Pete only served to emphasize his state of mind?

Or just because she wasn’t going to see him all day?

“I’m too emotional. It’s just stupid,” she muttered, moving aimlessly around the yard as she listened to the ebbing sound of the engine.

But she’d always been this way. She knew it. Could manage to pep talk herself out of it sometimes, if she was really careful about it. Today it might be tough, because there was so much going on inside her. Yesterday, she’d felt so alive. Exhilarated. Proud of herself. She’d jumped into that water hole. She’d heard the echo of her voice thrown back from the rocks like a battle cry.

All of that was still there in this potent mix of feelings, but she didn’t know what to do with it, how to match it against Callan and his apparent rejection.

There was more to his reaction than met the eye. She felt sure of it. With time, she would understand and it would be all right.

Give it time, just give it time.

Turning to go back inside the house, the sudden certainty calmed her spirit, gave her direction, but then she hit the shade of the veranda and the certainty ebbed just as suddenly as it had come, the emotional transition as sharp as the physical one between heat and shade.

Callan wasn’t Kurt.

Kurt was the king of complex, incomprehensible reactions, shifting layers that you had to peel back and pick apart. Callan was probably as simple and uncomplicated as he seemed. He’d kissed her. He’d defeated that initial impulse of curiosity and chemistry between them. He’d decided that any kind of involvement was a mistake. He’d stopped. He didn’t want it to happen again, and he’d told her so.

Get a grip, Jacinda.

In the kitchen, Kerry was kneading bread dough, while Carly and Josh bickered over LEGO in the next room. Josh still acted more protective of his territory than Lockie did. He wasn’t quite convinced that Carly’s presence at Arakeela Creek was a plus. “I need all the curved bits for my tower,” Jac heard him say.

“But I’m making a tower, too.”

“I started making my tower, first. You’re not old enough for LEGO. Your fingers aren’t good enough.”

“Yes, they are.”

“They’re not, and anyway, I started my tower, first.”

Kerry and Jac looked at each other, wondering about intervention. “Give it another minute?” Kerry suggested.

“Can you teach me what to do with the bread, while we listen and hold our breath?”

Kerry laughed. “That’s about right, isn’t it, holding our breath?”

“I wonder why Carly and Lockie do so much better together. He’s that much older, I guess, and she’s less of a threat to his space.”

“More than that.” Kerry paused for thought and thumped away at the elastic ball of dough, flinging it with some violence onto a floured wooden board. The nearest store was several hours away, so if you wanted fresh bread out here, you made it yourself. When Jac smelled it baking, every second day, she practically drooled.

“Josh is like Callan, I think,” Kerry said after a moment. “He works hard to get his life just the way he wants it, and then he doesn’t like it to change.”

“That’s Callan?”

“It’s a part of Callan.” Kerry paused in her thumping and began to knead, pushing the dough away from herself so that it stretched into an oval, then folding it toward herself again and rotating it ninety degrees. The fluid efficiency of the movement said that she’d done this thousands of times before. “Which makes him sound too rigid, doesn’t it?” she added, shooting a sharp look at Jac.

“I wouldn’t say he was rigid, from what I’ve seen of him,” she answered carefully.

“No, he’s not. I’m glad you can see that. He just … needs time with some things.”

They were both silent for a moment, and the air felt a little too heavy, too full of meaning. Kerry seemed extra alert to nuances today, watchful somehow.

Watchful of me. Watchful of Callan and me, and the way I react to his name.

Jac didn’t know if that was a good thing, or not. What had Kerry thought about the two of them taking so long to retrieve Lockie’s Game Boy last night? What had she sensed in the air between them?

“Want to have a go at this, then?” the older woman said eventually.

“Can I? Will I ruin it? I’ve never made bread before. Should I thump, or knead?”

“I’ve done enough thumping. It releases the gluten in the flour, makes the bread lighter and more elastic. And it’s good for working out your aggression.”

On cue, they heard Carly’s voice rise in an angry scream. “You did that on purpose!”

“Somebody else is working out some aggression, I think,” Kerry drawled. She strode out to the children, the firm rhythm of her feet signaling a no-nonsense approach. “Joshie, we need to work this out,” Jacinda heard.

She began tentatively kneading, thinking that Kerry was probably the best equipped to handle the situation, in this instance. Kneading bread dough was tougher than it looked, however.

Push, fold, quarter turn. Push, fold, quarter turn. Tougher than it looked, but it felt good. The dough was like a baby’s skin, satiny smooth and warm from its first rising. The dusting of flour slipped across it like talcum powder on that same baby’s tush. Push, fold, quarter turn. Physical, creative, satisfying. Human beings had been doing it for thousands of years.

Kerry and Josh discussed LEGO towers in the next room—the possibility of two towers, of coordinated efforts to make a whole village of towers, square ones as well as curved, of Carly being the assistant and Josh helping her with bits that were too fiddly for her fingers. Eventually hurt feelings were soothed and territorial impulses reined in.

“We’ll see how long it lasts,” Kerry drawled again when she returned.

“And that’s what Callan was like?” She couldn’t help talking about him, despite what Kerry might think.

“Actually, no, he was pretty good at sharing,” the older woman answered. “They’re close in age, him and his sister. Nicky’s only fifteen months younger, so he never had to adjust to her as something new. As far as he was concerned, she was always there.”

“And she lives in Adelaide, now? Is that right?”

“A couple of hours north of there, the Clare Valley. She studied agriculture and married a farmer, but he has vineyards, not cattle.”

“You must have found it hard when she moved so far away.”

“To be honest, Clare was better than I’d hoped. I was afraid she might end up in Sydney or Perth!”

“Still, is it hard to keep in close touch?”

“Not with a bit of effort. We e-mail a lot, and take turns to phone each other every week. Sundays usually. Tonight it’s my turn. I send her drawings from the boys and she sends me magazine articles and newspaper clippings and we gossip about those. Silly things like celebrity marriages. We’re big fans of Prince Frederik and Princess Mary! But I’d communicate with Nicky by carrier pigeon if I had to. I don’t think it really matters what you talk about, either, if it helps you stay close. And I’m getting my first granddaughter in two months! I’ll be going down to stay with them, then.”