Читать книгу Miracle in Bellaroo Creek - Barbara Hannay - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

AT LAST...A road sign announced: Welcome to Bellaroo Creek... Population 379...

Ed slowed the car and surveyed the cluster of tired houses and the narrow strip of faded office buildings and shops set in the middle of wide, almost featureless plains. It was like arriving on the set of a Western movie. And potentially as risky, he thought wryly.

A new tension replaced his frayed and jet-lagged weariness as he pulled over, took out his phone and punched Gary Kemp’s number. He’d given Milla no warning of his arrival—he’d more or less come here to ambush her. It wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

‘Mr Cavanaugh,’ the Australian drawled, recognising Ed’s number. ‘Welcome to Oz.’

More like Kansas than Oz, Ed almost told him. ‘Milla still here?’ he asked. ‘Still staying at the pub?’

‘Sure, her room’s booked through till Wednesday and she’s still in town, but you’re more likely to find her in the old bakery across the road.’

Ed frowned. He’d heard of pregnant women developing food cravings, but he couldn’t imagine his slender sister-in-law wolfing down endless strudels.

‘Apparently her family used to own the bakery,’ Gary Kemp clarified. ‘It’s closed now, but she seems to have the keys.’

‘OK, that’s helpful.’ Ed scratched at his jaw, finding a patch of stubble he’d missed during his hasty shave at Sydney airport. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

‘Glad to hear it, Mr C. I certainly don’t want to hang around in this hole any longer than I have to. It’s probably safer if you and I don’t meet. I’ve just fuelled up on the other side of town, so I’ll head off.’

‘So the bakery’s easy to find?’

‘Can’t miss it. In the main street, opposite the pub and about three doors along.’

‘Thanks.’ Ed edged his car forward, cruising into the almost deserted main street where a few battered pickup trucks and dusty sedans were parked. A couple of pedestrians crossed the road at a shuffling snail’s pace—a young woman, arm in arm with an elderly, white-haired man huddled inside a tweed jacket.

Further down the street, two women holding laden shopping bags were deep in conversation. A spotted dog slept in a sunny doorway.

Otherwise, the street appeared empty, but despite the lack of people the town didn’t look completely neglected. A neat and colourful strip of garden cut the wide street in half, clear evidence that someone cared. There were shade trees, too, and noisy, brightly coloured birds were feeding in the blossom-filled branches.

The taller buildings were no higher than two storeys, but they looked solid and stately and over a century old, signs to Ed that the town had seen better days. Opposite the post office a memorial had been erected to fallen soldiers and there seemed to be a hell of a lot of names on it.

Bellaroo Creek had boasted a bigger population at one time, he decided as he parked a few doors away from the pub and took off his sunglasses, conscious again of his tiredness after the long flight and the five-hour drive on the wrong side of the highway.

Tension nagged and he grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to the task ahead.

He told himself he was doing it for the kid’s sake. Now, with Harry gone, Ed’s role as the unborn baby’s uncle loomed as a greater responsibility, with higher personal stakes. He would cope best if he concentrated on the kid and erased from his memory his fleeting history with its mother.

Frowning, he climbed out of the car and stretched his long, cramped limbs. Across the road, he could see a row of rundown, empty shopfronts in stone buildings that still showed traces of their former elegance. One door was open and above it, in faded green paint, the shop’s name, Bellaroo Bakery, was faintly visible.

With an air of determination Ed crossed the road and stood on the sidewalk outside, observing. He couldn’t see anyone in the front part of the store, but he listened for voices. Although he planned to take Milla by surprise, he didn’t want to embarrass her if she had company.

There was silence, however, so he knocked on the open door.

And waited impatiently.

No one came and he was about to knock again when Milla appeared at the back of the shop, wiping her hands on her jeans. She looked pale and tired, but her delicate features and candle-flame hair were as lovely as ever. And, as always, the sight of her sent a painful dart spearing through Ed.

Her face turned white when she saw him.

‘You?’ she said softly and her sea-green eyes looked stricken. Her lips trembled, parted and then shut again as if she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Ed swallowed to ease the sharpness in his throat and Milla came forward carefully, almost fearfully.

‘Hello, Milla.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I—’ He was halted by her fragile air, suddenly afraid that his news would flatten her completely. ‘There’ve been...developments.’ Damn, how clumsy was that? ‘We need to talk.’

‘No, thanks.’ Green fire flared in Milla’s eyes. ‘I’m finished with you lot.’ She shot him a tight, haughty glare. ‘I have nothing to discuss with you or with your brother.’

Turning away, she tossed her next words over her shoulder. ‘I know why you’re here, Ed. Harry sent you, because he didn’t have the guts to come and try to con me himself. But I don’t care if he wants me back. I’m done with him. It’s over.’

‘Harry didn’t ask me to come.’

Milla stiffened, half turned towards him again. Her eyes were sharp, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. ‘How did you find me?’ Before Ed could answer, a knowing light crept into her eyes. ‘It was that weasel-faced guy in the pub, wasn’t it? He’s watching me. He’s a private investigator.’

Ed shrugged.

‘Cavanaugh money,’ she scoffed bitterly. ‘It’ll buy anything.’

‘Milla, I’ve come a long way and we need to—’

‘You shouldn’t have bothered, Ed. I know your role in the family. Mr Fix-it. The others are always getting you to clean up after them and to sort everyone’s problems.’

At least her voice wasn’t quite as harsh as she said this.

And Ed found himself fumbling to explain. ‘Well...listen...I had to find you. I knew you couldn’t know what’s happened.’

She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Milla, it’s bad news about Harry.’

‘Harry’s always bad news.’ Now she gave a theatrical eye-roll, as if she hadn’t heard the seriousness in his voice. ‘It took me four years to discover what you and your family probably knew all along.’

‘Milla, Harry’s dead.’

To Ed’s dismay Milla’s face turned whiter than ever. She clamped a hand to her mouth and she seemed to crumple and sway.

Instinctively, he stepped forward. The reaction was timely as Milla sagged against him as if her knees had given way.

Horrified, Ed remembered too late that she was pregnant. He should have delivered the news more gently, instead of oafishly blurting it out.

Scooping her into his arms, he scanned the empty shop, but there wasn’t so much as a chair. He carried her, trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore her soft curves and the flowery fragrance of her hair. Through the doorway, and at the back of the shop he found a huge cleaned space with, among other things, a scrubbed table and chairs. But already, Milla was stirring.

* * *

‘I’m sorry.’

Milla realised she was being carried in Ed’s arms with her face pressed against the solid wall of his chest. ‘I’m OK, Ed,’ she protested, although she was still feeling dizzy. ‘Put me down, please.’

He was incredibly gentle as he lowered her to a chair. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ It wasn’t completely true. She was still dazed by the news.

Harry couldn’t be dead. It was impossible. She felt sick and faint and she propped her elbows on the table and sank her head in her hands, trying to take the astonishing news in.

Her husband was dead. The man who’d caused her so much initial joy and subsequent pain. Desperately handsome, dangerously charming, hurtful and selfish Harry Cavanaugh. Gone. For ever.

When she’d left America she’d hated him. He’d lied and cheated on her one time too many, and in the worst possible way. In his final act of faithlessness, she’d come home unexpectedly early from an appointment with her obstetrician and found him in bed—their bed—with one of her so-called girlfriends.

It wasn’t the first time and Milla knew she’d been foolish to forgive him in the past. Leaving Harry had been easy after that.

But now...

Death.

No chance for forgiveness either way.

Milla was aware that Ed had moved to the sink and was filling a glass with water.

‘Thanks,’ she said as he offered her the drink. She took a few small sips.

‘Milla, I’m sorry. I should have been more thoughtful—’

‘There’s no thoughtful way to break this kind of news. I made it difficult to be found, so it was good of you to come, Ed, to tell me face to face.’ She took another sip of water and forced herself to ask, ‘What happened? How did Harry—?’ But she couldn’t bring herself to say the dreadful word. ‘How did it happen?’

‘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.’

‘I’ll need to check in to the hotel. You’re still staying there, aren’t you?’

Milla nodded. ‘Until I get this place cleaned up.’

‘This place?’ Frowning, Ed looked around the bakery as if he was seeing it for the first time. His steely gaze took in the metal tables, the big gas cooker, the trolleys and baking trays and bins, the massive oven that filled the far wall. Finally, his gaze rested on the brooms and mop and bucket in the corner. ‘Are you having the bakery cleaned?’

‘In a manner of speaking—except I’m the one doing the cleaning.’

This time, Ed didn’t even try to hide his disbelief.

‘I’m not only cleaning the bakery. I plan to get it up and running again.’ Before he could comment, Milla hurried to explain. ‘The former owners went broke, along with several other businesses here, and the local council is offering peppercorn rent for people willing to restart. I’ve put in an application for this bakery and, as far as I know, no one else is interested.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. ‘One question.’ He stared at her again. ‘Why?’

‘My family used to own this bakery. I know how to run a place like this. I grew up here.’

Still, Ed looked puzzled. ‘So?’

Milla sighed. How did she explain everything she’d seen and felt since her arrival in Bellaroo Creek? How could she explain her longing to do something meaningful after years of unfulfilling luxury and wastefulness?

This billionaire standing before her in his high-end designer-label jeans and polo shirt couldn’t possibly understand how the resurrection of this humble country bakery was an important chance to do something positive, not just for herself, but for a whole community.

‘The town needs help, Ed. Bellaroo Creek is on the brink of extinction, but a local committee has started a plan to rescue it. Everything hinges on keeping the school open, so they’re inviting families to rent farmhouses for a dollar a week.’

‘Desperate families.’

‘People who want to make a new start,’ Milla defended. ‘People looking for fresh air and something better than a dark backstreet alley for their kids to play in. A place where people know each other by name and have a sense of community.’

‘You’ve been brainwashed, haven’t you?’

‘I’m looking for a way of life that makes me feel fulfilled,’ she said hotly. ‘And this is something I’m determined to do without touching my ex’s money.’

His mouth tightened. ‘It’s a knee-jerk reaction, Milla. You’re not being rational.’

‘I’m not asking for your approval, Ed.’

‘Look, I said I’m sorry about the baby, and I am, honestly, more than you can guess. And hell, I’m sorry your marriage to my brother didn’t work out—but I know business and commerce inside out, and I know for absolute certainty that you’ll regret this.’

‘I really don’t want to fight about it,’ she said firmly but decisively.

After all, what she did with her life now was her business. The Cavanaughs no longer had any kind of hold on her.

However, Ed had no choice but to stay in Bellaroo Creek tonight and the pub was his only accommodation option. ‘As you said, we can try for a civilised conversation over dinner.’

‘I’m glad you agree.’

‘At least we won’t be able to yell at each other in the pub dining room.’

‘That’s a relief.’

‘The chef is Chinese,’ Milla told him. ‘And he’s pretty good. I think you’ll like his duck with mushrooms.’

Ed’s eyebrows lifted and, at last, there was a hint of a smile. ‘Duck with mushrooms way out here?’

‘Bellaroo Creek has one or two surprises.’

‘OK. Sounds good.’ He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and noted the time. ‘I need to check in.’

It was, at best, a temporary truce, but Milla let out a huff of relief.

‘I’ll come with you,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately, Sherry, the girl on the reception desk, isn’t as professional as the chef. There are so few people who check in here, she often wanders off to help in the kitchen or the laundry. Sometimes you have to go hunting for her.’

* * *

Five minutes later, having checked the pub’s bar, the lounge, the dining room, the laundry and the kitchen without unearthing Sherry, Milla returned to Reception to find Ed in a spindly wooden chair with his eyes shut and his long legs stretched in front of him. He seemed to be asleep, although he looked dreadfully uncomfortable.

‘Ed.’ She touched his knee and he woke with a start. ‘I can’t find the reception girl and you look like you need to sleep.’

‘I’m fine,’ he insisted, blinking and frowning as he got to his feet.

‘You’re exhausted and jet lagged. I think you should come up to my room.’ To her annoyance she felt a bright blush as she said this. ‘You can at least have a shower while I track down someone who can organise a room for you,’ she went on brusquely.

‘A shower sounds good.’ Ed yawned. ‘Thanks, I won’t say no.’

The offer of her room had seemed practical and sensible to Milla until she climbed the narrow staircase with Ed beside her. In the confined space she was super aware of his height and broad shoulders and mega-masculine aura. Her heartbeats picked up pace and her skin prickled and even her breathing seemed to falter.

By the time they reached her room she was ridiculously flustered. When she pushed the door open, she took a necessary step back. ‘After you, Ed.’

‘Thanks.’ He set his expensive leather duffle bag on the floor and stood with his hands propped on his hips, surveying her double bed and the cosmetics scattered over the old-fashioned dressing table, the wardrobe with an oval, age-spotted mirror on the door.

‘It’s old-fashioned but at least there’s an en-suite. The bathroom’s through here.’ She moved to the louvre doors, newly painted white, and pushed them open. ‘It’s tiny, but adequate. There’s a spare towel on the shelf above the—’

Oh, help.

Why hadn’t she remembered that she’d left her undies hanging above the bath? Now her silky panties and lacy bras were on full display. To make matters worse, rosy light from the setting sun streamed through the high bathroom window, gilding the lingerie’s creamy fragility.

And Ed was smiling. ‘Nice decor,’ he said with a grin. But a darker glint in his eyes lit flames inside Milla.

Leaping forward, she hastily grabbed the offending articles, bunching them into a tight ball. If she’d had a pocket she would have shoved them into it.

She kept her gaze safely lowered. ‘The bathroom’s all yours.’