The Australian Affairs Collection. Margaret Way
shrug. ‘I probably spent way too long in front of a screen.’
‘But Lisa saw something in you?’
‘Lisa grew up with brothers, knew how to handle boys. She took me out of myself. I was an only child of parents too busy to take much notice of me.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she murmured.
‘They’d decided not to have children. I came as a shock to them.’ He tried to make a joke of it but his bitterness filtered through. ‘I don’t know how many times I heard the words “Declan was our little accident” when I was growing up.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Surely they said it with fondness,’ she said.
‘Perhaps. I didn’t see much of my parents anyway. My mother was too busy defending criminals or doing pro bono work for underprivileged people to realise there might be someone at home who needed her time too. Thankfully she shunted me off to her mother for the school vacations.’
‘The one with the mulberry tree?’
He nodded. ‘The very one. She was an artist and took great delight in passing on her skills to me—to defy my parents, I sometimes think.’
‘And your father?’
‘Let’s just say “typical absentee parent” and be done with it.’
‘I... I feel sad for the little boy you were,’ she said.
‘Don’t be. I put that behind me long ago. Who knows, if I’d grown up in a happy household with a boatload of siblings I mightn’t have got where I did so fast.’
‘That’s a thought,’ she said, but didn’t sound convinced.
‘At least they had the sense to hire a wonderful nanny for me. She more than made up for it.’
Until he’d turned twelve and they’d terminated Jeannie’s employment, citing that a big boy like him didn’t need to be looked after any more. Jeannie had never given up on him, though. She’d stayed an important part of his life.
‘Jeannie was going to live in the apartment to...to help you with...?’
He had to change the subject. ‘Yes,’ he said abruptly. ‘What about you? Sounds like your childhood might have been less than ideal.’
‘It was very ideal until my father decided he preferred another family to us,’ she said. It gutted him to see her face tighten with remembered distress.
‘You and your sister?’
She nodded. ‘And my mum—none of us saw it coming. He met a younger woman with a little boy. She got her clutches into him and that was the end of it. For us anyway.’
‘So why did you have to leave your home?’
‘He’s a real-estate agent. He said our little farm needed to be sold. Then he pulled some tricky deal and moved right back in with her.’
Declan could think of a few words he’d like to use to describe her father but held his tongue. ‘That’s terrible.’
‘He tried to make it up to Lynne and me. Wanted to keep seeing us. I was allowed to keep my pony, Toby, there. He said it was a good way to make me visit.’
By the tight set of her face Declan doubted the tale would have a happy ending. ‘Makes sense,’ he said.
‘Until the day I got there to find she’d sold my beautiful Toby. And my father had done nothing to stop her.’
This time Declan did let loose with a string of curse words. ‘That’s cruelty. How old were you?’
‘I’d just turned fourteen. It’s a long time ago but I still remember how I felt.’
‘Did you get your horse back?’
‘We tracked down the new owner. But...but...’ Tears welled in her beautiful eyes. ‘He’d panicked when they were off-loading him from the horse trailer at the other end. My darling boy must have known what was happening to him wasn’t right. Apparently he reared and thrashed around and...and broke his leg.’ Her voice became almost unintelligible as she fought off tears. ‘It wasn’t the new owner’s fault. They didn’t know Toby was...was stolen. But he...he had to be put down.’
‘And what about your father?’
‘He made me hate him,’ she said simply. ‘And it never really went away.’
Something deep and long unused inside Declan had turned upside down in the face of her grief. To comfort her became more important than the inhibitions he had imposed upon himself.
He reached out and clasped her hand in his. Her hand was slender and warm but he felt calluses on her palm and fingers. Warrior calluses.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Not just about your horse but about your father too.’ He suspected the pain of losing her horse was inextricably tied up with her father’s betrayal.
She returned the pressure on his hand, not knowing what a monumental gesture it was for him to reach out to her. For a very long moment his eyes met with hers in a silent connection that shook him. What he felt for her in this moment went way beyond physical attraction.
In the quiet of his kitchen, with the ticking of the clock and the occasional whirring of the fridge the only noise, this one room of many in the vast emptiness of his house suddenly seemed welcoming. Because she was there.
‘I’m sorry to lose the plot like that,’ she said. ‘I know that my loss is nothing—absolutely nothing—compared with your loss. I know he was only an animal but—’ She sniffed back the tears that obviously still threatened.
‘But you loved him.’
There’d been no pets in his childhood household, despite his constant clamouring for a dog. Then Lisa had been allergic to pet hair. One day he might get a dog. It was a new thought and one immediately rejected. He did not want to take the risk of loving anything, anyone again.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I adored Toby. There’s an incredible bond between horse and rider, you know. It’s not quite the same as loving a cat or a dog. Two become one, horse and human, when you ride. There’s a kind of mutual responsibility. It’s very special.’
‘Do you still ride?’ He couldn’t admit how he had observed her heading out of the house dressed in her breeches and boots.
‘Fortunately Centennial Park is so close by I can ride each weekend. Riding a hired horse is nothing like riding your own but I’m fortunate enough to ride the same lovely big boy every week. His owner is so grateful to have someone competent to exercise him and groom him, she only charges me a pittance.’
‘Sounds like a deal,’ he said.
‘It’s another reason I really wanted to stay in this area rather than moving out further where rents are cheaper. Again, thank you for the apartment. I love it.’
‘Thanking me with a pie was a great idea,’ he said.
‘I make a mean chocolate-fudge cake too,’ she said. ‘Unless you’d prefer something more savoury.’
‘Cake is good,’ he said. The strict exercise regime he followed let him eat whatever he wanted.
He realised he was still holding her hand—and he didn’t want to let it go. She seemed in no rush to relinquish his grip either.
‘Tell me the type of treats you like so I can keep you in mind when I’m baking,’ she said with her generous smile, leaning closer, so close he breathed in her sweet, flowery scent. ‘If it isn’t in my repertoire, I’ll find a recipe.’
It was a thoughtful offer. But right now there was only one treat that was tempting him. Before he could rustle up a reason why he shouldn’t, he leaned across and kissed her. Her lush, lovely mouth was soft and full