Years of practice should have allowed Callie to keep her expression neutral. She was expert at donning her mask. The one that gave nothing away, cloaking the turmoil inside her like a dropped theatre curtain. But Matt Hawkins had a way of making the heavy drapes draw apart, tugging on the ropes with his smile and those knowing green eyes.
Callie studied him as he crouched in the long grass at the back of the machinery shed inspecting the fire trailer’s hoses. In the unforgiving outdoor light his scar seemed harsher, furiously slashing across his cheek and jawline in an arrowhead gouge to his chin. On another man it might have turned his features ugly, but for Callie the scar gave Matt a sexy, almost mysterious appeal. It posed questions, ones she wanted to dig into. She wanted to ask how it happened, how badly it hurt, how he felt about it. That he’d been injured in Afghanistan she knew from Wal, but there had to be a bigger story. A story that fitted the man she was beginning to think he might be.
The man she wanted to know everything about.
Angry with herself and the futile direction in which her thoughts were heading, Callie crossed her arms and looked away, toward the east and the river. She watched a bird float on the fevered wind before it ducked back into the swaying treetops. The forest edges held a deceptive, thirsty grey hue, as if the scrub wouldn’t last another day without rain. It would, though. This country was tough, its spiky plants evolved to survive summer’s aridity until the autumn break, still a good few months away, brought relief. Callie would be long gone by then, lodged in the distant safety of Airlie Beach and her uncomplicated life with Anna and Rowan.
‘Everything looks fine,’ Matt said, straightening and patting the rusted tank. ‘Although Wal’s probably right that it’s due for replacement. She’s a pretty old rig.’
‘A problem for the next owners,’ said Callie, the words coming out harsher than she intended, but after the incident in the kitchen, Matt needed to understand. She had nothing to give and he deserved better.
If he registered her tone he didn’t let on. Instead he tugged off his cap and used the back of his forearm to scrub sweat from his brow before looping the hat back over his head. ‘You’ve listed Glenmore for sale then?’
‘Not yet.’
Matt squinted across the paddocks. ‘I wish I had the money to buy a place like this.’ He looked back at Callie and shrugged, irresistible smile dancing. ‘Can’t have everything though. Right, let’s check this shed.’
She followed him as walked the perimeter of the machinery shed, thinking on what he’d said. ‘Is that what you want to be? A farmer?’
‘Yep.’
‘Funny, I thought you were a soldier.’ Callie frowned. ‘That you were just recovering here or something.’
‘Nope. Here for good.’ He scratched at the light stubble growth around his scar. ‘I miss it a bit though.’
‘I thought you said war was shit.’
‘It is.’
She tossed him a curious look.
Matt shrugged. ‘It’s hard to explain.’
Callie paused by a pile of ancient fenceposts, stacked only a few metres away from the shed. Perhaps Matt was like those other soldiers she’d read about and didn’t want to elaborate. ‘Too painful?’
‘No.’ He grimaced. ‘Some I’d rather forget, but I’m not fucked-up about it if that’s what you’re thinking. If anything, Afghanistan taught me the best lesson of my life.’
‘And that was?’
‘Life’s short. You need to get on with it.’
‘So you’ve come to Dargate for that?’
‘No better place.’
Callie wasn’t so sure about that. She slid her eyes sideways, letting them travel over his scar. The scar that made that girl in the pub judge him so severely.
‘Your blind date?’
‘You mean Jasmine? What about her?’
‘Jasmine.’ Callie pursed her lips. ‘Pretty name.’
‘Pretty girl. Just not my type. If she was blonde I might have been interested.’
‘Really?’
‘No.’ He regarded her seriously. ‘Women who think they can judge a man simply from his looks definitely aren’t my type. No matter how attractive.’
Callie reached down to test the weight of one of the posts. Heavy. She’d need help to move the pile a safe distance away. Although a convenient place to store firewood, even she could see its position was dangerous. ‘Did it bother you?’
Matt reached for the same post, muscles flexing as he hauled it up. ‘Did what bother me?’ He let it drop again. ‘We need to shift this pile. It’s too close to the shed.’
‘I think Nanna must have been raiding it for firewood.’ Callie indicated an axe-chewed block, weathered slivers of timber forming grey litter at its base, before inspecting the pile once more. The posts hadn’t even been stacked, simply dumped as though tipped from the back of a trailer. Perhaps Nanna had meant to shift them away but couldn’t manage the task single-handedly. The thought spiked Callie with guilt.
‘Probably full of snakes,’ she said, prodding her toe at a bottom post, trying to cast away the thought of Nanna out here in the bitter winter, old bones aching in the southerly wind chill, trying to cope on her own. No one caring.
‘Probably. We’ll need long trousers, good boots and gloves for this lot.’
‘We?’
‘You won’t shift it on your own.’
Callie had to concede Matt was right. The old hardwood posts were too heavy for her and this wasn’t something she wanted to do alone. Not in snake season and not with Nanna’s ghost hovering. ‘You have enough to look after with Amberton.’
‘I can do both.’ He moved away from the woodpile to continue his inspection. Pausing at the shed’s rainwater tank, he crouched to test the tap but it appeared rusted in place. ‘I’ll bring a shifter back for that. You haven’t answered my question, by the way.’
Callie blinked. What question? She was still caught on his shifter comment, how he seemed to take for granted that she would accept his help. That she would want him hanging around fixing her problems. Callie didn’t want her problems fixed. She just wanted to get this over with and escape. Trouble was, the world seemed determined to keep her netted, every struggle only worsening the tangle in which she found herself. Wal, Morton, Honk, Lyndall, Nanna’s ghost, and now Matt. All conspiring.
‘You mentioned Jasmine,’ he prompted. ‘Then wanted to know if it bothered me, and I asked if what bothered me.’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’
He wandered on, clicking his tongue at the overgrown grass. Callie crossed her arms again, sulky with the feeling she was being judged. This wasn’t her mess. She’d been here exactly one week. A girl couldn’t do everything.
Besides, she was damn well meant to be gone.
‘If you meant how she immediately judged me by my scar,’ he said, answering her question anyway, ‘then the answer is no.’
‘Not even a little bit?’
‘No.’ He caught her expression and made a face. ‘All right. So it stung a bit. But I’m not going to get myself down just because someone thinks I’m ugly.’
‘You’re not though.’ Silently cursing her errant mouth, Callie turned her face deliberately to the roof, crushing her arms tighter across her chest as she pretended to inspect the shed’s guttering.
‘No?’ He grinned, and shifted closer, expression jubilant.
Ignoring him, Callie stalked on, halting at the old fuel tank on stilts and gesturing toward it. ‘Any ideas on what I’m meant to do with this?’
‘Pray we don’t get a fire.’ He cupped his hands around the points of her bare shoulders and regarded her square on. ‘Look, you’re never going to get everything perfect.’
‘I know. I just don’t like this weather.’ Moving backward so he was forced to release his grip, she threw a hand westward and swept it to the south. ‘And there’s so much dry growth.’
‘So stop fretting. It might never happen.’ He smiled. ‘Anyway, I’m here.’
‘Superman, huh?’
‘A Superman for a Supercallie.’
Callie stilled, her sweat-sheened skin suddenly frosting. Supercallie. Hope’s pet name for her. The name they used to giggle over, that had once meant sorority, an ‘us’ versus ‘them’ coalition of siblings. How could such a silly name trigger so much pain?
Easily – because when it really counted, Callie had proved far from super.
‘You must have work back at Amberton,’ she said, deliberately keeping her voice neutral. ‘And Lyndall and Kate will be here shortly to see Morton.’
‘Callie.’
‘I think I have an idea of what I need to do here.’ She gave a brittle smile, the sort of short, insincere twitch she loathed receiving from other people but the only expression she could manage at that moment. ‘I probably need to do bucketloads more but as you said, I can’t do everything.’
Matt studied her, his mouth thin, gaze penetrating. She held it, determined to pretend nothing was amiss when it was patently obvious she’d calcified the amiable atmosphere with her regrets.
‘Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?’ he asked finally.
‘Depends on the tide.’
‘Fishing. Of course. How could I forget?’
She cocked a finger at him. ‘Not just any fishing. Day-off fishing. The best kind.’
‘You’ll let me know?’
Callie nodded, although she wasn’t entirely sure she would. She needed to mull, rearrange her thoughts back where they belonged. Focus on the task she’d arrived so determined to complete seven days ago. Think of Hope.
Hauling in a breath, she headed pointedly for Matt’s car, leaving him to follow.
He’d parked near the house, on the weed-savaged crushed limestone apron separating the backyard from the shed. Though dusty, the car’s newness emphasised Glenmore’s disrepair. Callie stood a short distance from it, reflected heat from the duco and limestone radiating around her body as she waited for Matt to catch up. He hadn’t immediately followed, no doubt vexed by her sudden change of attitude. Good. If he thought her fickle and difficult, it might give him cause to back off.
But no annoyance registered in his tone when he arrived, hands in pockets and wearing a thoughtful countenance, merely inquiry.
‘Lyndall’s Morton’s old owner, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. Although I’m hoping she’ll take him back once she regains her confidence.’
‘Wal mentioned she was pretty scared of the horse.’
‘She’ll come good,’ said Callie with more conviction than she felt. ‘Kate’s determined to help her overcome her fear.’
‘Do you mind if I stay for a bit?’ He shrugged when Callie eyed him. ‘Maybe having a man around might help.’
Callie’s jaw tightened. She wanted to refuse but she also suspected Matt might be onto something. Lyndall might feel safer knowing he was close. And Matt possessed an easygoing kindness that might help the frightened teenager to relax. The way things were progressing, Callie and Kate needed all the help they could get. No matter what they tried, Lyndall’s fear remained.
Any answer was saved by the drone of a car. Seconds later, the Sorianos’ Range Rover eased into the drive and pulled up alongside Matt’s ute.
With Honk safely locked in his run, Callie and Kate sat in the shade near the house water tank watching Lyndall as she chatted easily with Matt. On first introduction, when Lyndall’s gaze had widened at the sight of Matt’s scar, he’d simply apologised for looking a bit freakish before explaining that he’d been injured by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. The teenager’s mouth had dropped in astonishment, curiosity burning across her face, but Lyndall was too well mannered to give into her urges and probe – a fact Callie couldn’t help feeling mildly annoyed about.
From then on the pair settled into a surprising rapport, Lyndall helping to corral Honk while Callie fetched Morton, the teenager breaking into giggles when the extremely put-out goose managed to land a good peck on Matt’s backside. When he’d asked to take Morton from her, Callie had passed the horse over without argument. Now Matt stood in the liquidambar’s shade, Morton tethered to his hand at the end of a long rope and happily cropping the lawn, while Lyndall hovered deeper in the shadows, still nervous but looking far less anxious than she had during any of her previous visits.
‘Matt seems nice,’ said Kate, reaching down to pour some more iced water from the jug Callie had made up.
‘He is.’
‘Pity about that scar.’
Callie frowned, pondering the statement. Half the time she didn’t notice Matt’s scar. It was simply a part of him, another facial feature like his straight nose and pleasantly formed mouth.
Girlish conspiracy pinking her cheeks, Kate leaned closer. ‘Nice body, though.’
‘And there I was thinking you were a happily married woman.’
‘I am, but that doesn’t mean I can’t look.’
Using Kate’s observation as an excuse, Callie indulged in a long perv at Matt. Kate was right, he did have a nice body. Fit, masculine without being brawny, and definitely a candidate for Anna’s crocodile-wrestling fantasy. She’d noticed before, of course. Callie was as appreciative of a well-developed male as the next woman, but with him her admiration seemed deeper, more complex. And that, more than anything, made it dangerous.
His words filtered toward them. ‘Hurt like crazy but there were others worse off than me.’
Realising the subject, Callie tuned in.
‘What did you do?’ asked Lyndall, voice breathy with wonder.
‘Went to help. Which wasn’t easy because we were being shot at.’
‘Weren’t you scared?’
‘Terrified, but you can’t let that control you.’ He shrugged. ‘My mates needed help. So I kept going.’
Lyndall didn’t say anything for a moment. Callie held her breath, caught by Matt’s words, a strange feeling in her belly.
‘You never went back after though, did you? I mean, after you were better. That’s why you’re here.’
‘As a matter of fact, I did.’
Lyndall’s eyes bugged out.
‘Once I was patched up and better I went back for another tour.’
‘But why?’
He reached up and wrapped his palm around a branch. ‘I didn’t want my time there to be defined by that one incident. It wasn’t all shooting and bombs. There was mateship, loyalty, the feeling we were doing something right. It’s beautiful there, too. Not like here but in a weird way. Sort of ancient.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Hard to explain.’ He let go of the branch. ‘The main thing was that I sorted it all out in my head properly so that when I discharged I knew I had my life right. That I had something to aim for and didn’t have to worry about the shit stuff dragging me down because I’d settled it for good.’
Lyndall focused back on Morton. ‘I wish I was brave like you.’
‘I wasn’t brave, Lyndall. Just determined. You are too. I can see it in the way you look at Phantom.’ He tilted his head. ‘You love him, don’t you?’
She nodded, front teeth dug into her bottom lip, on the verge of tears.
‘Then you can be determined too. For him.’
‘How?’ The crack in her voice was heartbreaking.
‘By taking a step.’ He smiled and held out his hand. ‘Come on. You can do it. You’ve a soldier protecting you.’
Mouth thin and tight, Lyndall glanced from Matt to Morton and back again. Kate leaned forward, silently urging her daughter on. Finally, with a last glance at her mother, who nodded in encouragement, Lyndall reached out for Matt’s hand. Grasping it tightly, she took the step she needed.
‘Good girl,’ said Matt. ‘I knew you could do it.’
A wobbly smile eased Lyndall’s lips.
A proud choke rose in Callie’s throat. She glanced at Kate. The other woman had her fingertips pressed to her mouth, eyes glistening.
Turning back to Matt, Callie caught his triumphant wink and grinned, but victory proved short lived. Sensing his mistress, Morton jerked his head up, a happy whicker rumbling in his chest as he headed purposefully toward the shade and Lyndall. With a whine of distress, Lyndall wrenched free from Matt, scampering back into the shadows with her hands clutched against her chest and eyes bright with frightened, hopeless tears.
Kate’s head dropped in disappointment. Callie leaned across to touch her shoulder but she too could feel the weight of their failure.
To Matt’s credit, he kept at it, far longer than Callie would have had the patience for, but other than a few tentative steps toward Morton, Lyndall never returned to Matt’s side. After an hour he led Morton back to the paddock, Lyndall trailing at a distance, before once more taking up her vigil behind the safety of the gate.
‘It’s no good,’ said Kate, slumping back in her seat as Matt freed Honk from his run.
Callie secretly agreed but didn’t want to say so. Her own hopes needed to be kept up. ‘She made it closer than she has before.’
‘And then shot off like a mouse the moment Phan lifted his head.’
Casting wary looks over his shoulder at Honk, Matt returned to the water tank.
‘Sorry, the ice has all melted,’ said Callie, passing him a drink.
‘Doesn’t matter. It’s wet.’ He finished the glass and refilled it from the last in the jug, taking a smaller sip before addressing Kate. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.’
‘That’s okay. You tried.’ She sighed and stared toward her daughter. ‘I wish I knew what to do.’
‘It’s only been a few days,’ said Callie. ‘It’ll take time to build her confidence again.’
Kate rubbed a hand over her hair, the blonde even darker today because of the heat and her sweat. ‘I know. But school holidays will be over soon and then what will we do? And you can’t stick around forever.’
Callie shifted her gaze to the old swing rope before looking away. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘I think it’s his size.’ Matt looked from Callie to Kate. ‘As much as she loves him, he’s too intimidating. If we had something smaller, like a pony, she might find it less frightening. It’d get her used to being around horses again but without the same association with danger that Morton seems to have. One of those really quiet ponies you can stick a baby on might do the trick.’
Callie smiled wryly. ‘The original Phantom would have been perfect. He wasn’t much bigger than a pony and completely bombproof. Never mind.’ She reached for the empty water jug and stood.
‘Don’t worry,’ Matt said to Kate as the pair took the hint and followed Callie’s lead. ‘We’ll sort her out. I’ll track us down a pony. Wal’s bound to know of one.’
‘That’s really kind, but you don’t have to.’
‘I don’t mind.’ Matt smiled at her before settling his green gaze on Callie. ‘Besides, I never was one to walk away from a challenge.’