Chapter Thirteen

Isabella had hoped that her father would snooze on the way back to town.

But, of course, she had no such luck.

She slowed the car at the intersection where the road that led down to the farm met the Pilliga Forest Way. She wondered about going to the races.

It was great to have company and have some social functions to go to—the family and all the kids were great fun—but it brought her in Sebastian’s company often, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Her head told her what she should be doing, but her heart said, “Spend the time with him while you’re here. Life isn’t all about work.”

Live life, Isabella.

It was as though her father read her thoughts, and she jumped as he spoke.

“They certainly live a good life out on their farms, don’t they, cara?”

She gripped the steering wheel tightly, knowing she was stuck with Dad and his conversation for the next half hour. If Dad wanted to have his say, he would. She racked her mind trying to think of a way to divert him. She was having enough trouble sorting her own thoughts without him throwing in his bit.

“You know, if you went back to Italy, you’d be close to your family,” she said. Dad had a couple of brothers and a sister in Tuscany.

There! She’d thrown down the gauntlet. He didn’t answer.

“And Mum works hard over there,” she said. “I think she does it to have some company.”

“I send her plenty of money. She doesn’t need to work.” Dad folded his arms and didn’t speak for a moment. Guilt rippled through Isabella, and she softened her approach.

“I do worry about you, Dad. Can I ask you something?”

He shot her a sideways glance. “What?”

“Do you miss Mum?”

“Of course, I miss your mother. She is the love of my life.”

Isabella shook her head. “So why won’t you follow her?”

He shrugged. “Because she doesn’t love me. If she did, she would have stayed with me.”

Isabella knew she was close to being able to make a difference in two lives that were so important to her, but to do so she had to break a promise, and she thought long and hard before she said anything. Biting her lip, she stared ahead as the headlights outlined the gum trees, the bark of their trunks stark white in the bright light. A kangaroo stood unblinking on the side of the road, and she slowed down in case it jumped onto the road, but it turned away and bounded back through the scrubby bush.

Maybe she didn’t agree with what Mum had done, but she could understand how her vibrant mother didn’t want to live in the Outback of Australia. But neither of her parents was happy.

“She does, Dad.” Isabella kept her voice soft. “She made me promise not to tell you, but she misses you so much. When I left to come here, she hugged me and cried and told me how much she loves you. But like you, she is too stubborn to budge.” She softened her words with a laugh. “No wonder I’m so stubborn with parents like you pair. It’s gone on for way too long.”

There was a heavy silence from the passenger side of the car, and her father turned away from her to stare through the window into the darkness of the bush that was flashing past.

“Really, tell me what is there here for you in this town?” Isabella wasn’t going to give up now that she’d breached Mum’s trust. “A few friends playing darts at the local club? Your customers in a milk bar that seems to have fewer people coming in every day?” She was determined to make her father see reason. Her hands were tight on the steering wheel. “Dad, Mum misses you so much. She has only a few friends, and she won’t go to visit your family because she thinks they’ll judge her. She’s as unhappy as I know you are. Please, Daddy, promise me you’ll think about it?”

Isabella sniffed as her voice broke, and she wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. As she put it back on her lap, her father reached over and squeezed it.

His voice was gruff. “I’ll think about it.”

She smiled as she accelerated down the road, but the smile didn’t last long.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said.

“Your turn, what?” she said suspiciously.

“I saw the sparks between you and Sebastian tonight. What’s going on there?”

“Nothing,” she said, indignation lacing her voice. “I barely know him. I have no idea what your imagination has conjured up, Dad. Most likely it’s wishful thinking.”