Lonely Pride
Beneath Southern Skies, Book 1
By Tricia McGill
Digital ISBNs
EPUB 978-1-77362-389-4
Kindle 978-1-77145-307-3
WEB 978-1-77362-390-0
Amazon Print ISBN 978-1-77362-391-7
Copyright 2014 by Tricia McGill
Cover art by Michelle Lee
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
Dedication
To my Tasmanian friends. If not for them and the many happy and eventful holidays spent in their beautiful state I would never have gained the inspiration for this story.
Prologue
The girl watched as the huge black horse approached. The rider was almost as handsome as his mount.
The boy slid down the animal's sweat-slicked sides, then led the creature to the trough for a drink. The trough, donated long ago by a group of town elders, stood in pride of place on the center nature strip of the main street, near the war memorial.
"Hello there." He nodded to the girl as he stroked a hand down the sleek neck arched over the trough.
"Nice horse." Bravely she neared the creature as it pulled its dripping muzzle from the water to look at her from clear, kind eyes. Hiding her fear she reached out to pat it.
"Yeah. He won't bite; you can touch him all you like. As long as you're gentle." Like his horse, the near-man had a kind look to him.
"Oh, I wouldn't hurt him. I love horses too much." She turned wistful eyes on him as she stroked the horse's neck.
"Have you got one?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, not yet, but one day I hope to own my own pony," she said with enthusiasm. "I'll bet I could ride yours."
"Want to ride him?"
The girl almost choked on her excitement. "Would I ever?" She rubbed her sweaty palms down the sides of her jeans.
"Up you get then, and I'll lead you down the street." For a fraction of a moment she recalled all the cautions her mother had thrown her way about talking to strangers. But this boy wasn't exactly a stranger. In the small town where they both lived his family was well-known. She nodded and he hoisted her aboard the huge beast. She shivered, half with fear, half with exhilaration, as she surveyed the world from her lofty perch. "Where do you live?"
She gave him her address. As he led her away from the war memorial towards her home a group of town larrikins began to laugh and call out rudely. The boy told them where to get off and they slunk away, chastised.
When they reached her home—all too soon—he said, "I've got a pony I've outgrown. Want me to speak to your mother and arrange for you to come over to ride it?"
Exhilaration almost cut off her breath. "Would you, really?"
In that moment Sam lost her heart, irrevocably and forever, to Mac.
Mac taught her to ride a horse faster and more daringly than any boy for miles around, perhaps in Tasmania. He taught her the meaning of caring unselfishly, and loving relentlessly.
Chapter One
The steady drone of the aircraft’s engines was comforting. Sam caught a glimpse of the bay as the city was left behind. She stared out the window, so wrapped in her thoughts it was a while before she realized the woman beside her had spoken.
“I beg your pardon?” She felt a touch of sympathy at the woman’s obvious distress; her knuckles white as she clung to the armrests.
“I said is this your first flight?”
Sam shook her head. “No, I was born in Tasmania. I’m going back to visit my mother.”
“This is my first trip away from the mainland.”
“You’ll love Tassie.” Sam hadn’t the slightest desire to extol the virtues of her home state, but remembering her own fears when she’d first left the Apple Isle to settle in Melbourne she went on, “Launceston is a beautiful city, there’s so much to see, you’ll love it. I’ve flown back and forth many times and haven’t had a bad flight yet.”
“Is this a holiday for you?” the woman asked as she accepted tea and biscuits from the stewardess.
Sam nibbled at her lower lip. “No, unfortunately I’m going to attend the funeral of my step-father. It’s tomorrow.”
“Oh, what a shame. How did he die?” Her morbid interest obviously redirected her concern away from the flight.
“He was run off the road last week by a lunatic driver and died instantly.” The woman obviously noticed Sam’s lack of real emotion. Sam couldn’t conceal it; what was the point of expressing sorrow she didn’t feel?
“How dreadful. Everyone assured me I’d be safer up here than down on the roads. I guess they’re right in a way. So, you’ve lost two fathers?” With a podgy hand she patted Sam’s arm.
Sam dragged in a breath. “Yes, my real father died eight years ago. I was fourteen.” Her gaze misted as she looked out at the puffy clouds. “My mother remarried a year later.” Sure the shock of that receded long ago, Sam was stunned to realize it could still cause an ache in the region of her heart. “I’ve been working in Melbourne for five years so didn’t know my step-father all that well.” She shrugged. “We weren’t terribly close. But my mother loved him, so...” Unable to go on, she left the sentence hanging. The woman, now drinking her tea, didn’t seem to notice.
Truth was, Sam disliked Robert Hemminswood from the moment he’d entered her mother’s life. She’d resented him; and never understood how her mother could replace her father so soon after his untimely death.
She could now, with adulthood, appreciate her mother was too young at thirty-six to stay single forever. But it still hurt knowing how Robert moved into her life with such speed even her mother’s friends were surprised. That on its own was bad enough, but Robert then proceeded to steadily ruin the business Sam’s father built from scratch. Robert’s bumbling ineptitude forced them to sell out soon after to the highest bidder.
Robert was a rogue and a fool, and Sam doubted she would ever be reconciled to the way her mother married him so hastily. Especially as she’d always assured Sam her father was the love of her life.
Thomas Frank literally knocked her mother off her feet while on a bus tour. Within a month he’d kept his promise to return from the mainland. He rented a flat in the inland town where her mother had lived all her life. He bought a run-down business and courted Barbara, her mother. They were married two months later. Thomas soon built the general store/news agency into a thriving concern. Sam was their only child and the three of them spent fourteen wonderful years together before Thomas succumbed to cancer and died.
By the time Sam reached her fifteenth birthday Robert, a local man, had wooed and won Barbara’s hand and her business. Well, now he too, was dead. All Sam felt was a flicker of sadness. Nobody deserved to die that way. Sorrow for her mother filled her. Sam knew well enough what it was like to be alone.
“You were right, it didn’t take long.” Sam dragged herself back from the past when she realized her travelling companion was tapping her on the arm. Peering out of the oval window she saw land coming up at them fast.
Sam fastened her seat belt, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. She’d made this trip often in the past four years, and never admitted her fear to anyone, but she hated landing and was never relaxed until the wheels hit the tarmac. Heaving a sigh when the plane taxied to a halt she turned to the woman with a smile as she looped the strap of her small travelling bag over a shoulder. “I hope you have a happy time.”
“Thanks, I’m sure I
will,” the woman said, as they made their way out of the plane.
The sun caused a shimmer of haze to dance over the scorched concrete. It had been very hot for the first two weeks in February. Sam scanned the faces in the arrivals lounge, seeking out her mother’s dear face. Fanning herself with a magazine she strolled across the hall. The air-conditioning didn’t entirely cool it down and she flicked her hair back impatiently, wishing she’d had the forethought to coil her thick mane up on her crown.
Where was her mother? It wasn’t like Barbara to keep her waiting. Fumbling in her bag for her sunglasses she found them and then glanced towards the main door again.
A gasp caught in her throat as shock waves rippled through her. Her eyes became riveted on the man just entering the hall. Inside the door he halted, his long legs apart as he moved his gaze over the few people remaining there.
When his eyes met hers they stared at each other for what seemed like eons of time, but must have been mere seconds. Then he was striding towards her, that lithe grace of his stirring all the old feelings she’d thought buried long ago.
Her whole body quivered and time seemed suspended as the noise about her disappeared. Spontaneously her arms lifted as if in readiness of running into the cradle of his embrace. Pulling herself up sharply she clenched her fists, nearly cracking the glasses she still held.
He looked as cool as a mountain spring in a lightweight short-sleeved shirt and denim shorts, while she began to perspire freely. Her throat dried up like a cinder as he drawled in that once loved and always remembered voice, “Hello Sam, how are you?”
An expression flashed across his velvety brown eyes so swiftly it was gone before she had time to grasp its meaning. His ruthless assessment of her stripped away the veneer of sophistication garnered in the past four years, making her feel vulnerable and almost naked. Hadn’t he always been able to see past her defenses to see the real woman beneath?
“What are you doing here?” she asked with a harshness she knew was downright rude, as he bent to pick up the small case that sat by her legs. His eyes turned cold and impersonal. She knew she sounded bitter and reproachful. It was a struggle to stop her hands shaking as she made to take the bag from him. His smile held no warmth as he stepped aside with a small shake of the head.
“What happened to hello and how are you, among the other inanities that usually accompany a greeting?” he asked in such a brittle tone she flinched. Cupping her elbow in a palm he propelled her across the hall. “I take it you do have other luggage?” His brows rose as he led her to the baggage carousel.
“Of course. I was about to collect it,” she snapped.
“In answer to your question, I’m here because your mother wasn’t feeling the best. I was coming into the city anyway, so offered to pick you up.” He stared at the few remaining pieces of luggage going round on the platform. Sam tried to gain some of her lost equilibrium, wishing devoutly she could run from this man whose presence dragged up so many memories. Memories that wrenched at her heart until it became an agony.
“What do you mean, Mum’s not the best?” Sam ran her tongue over parched lips. By no means short, even with high heels, she had to lift her head to meet his eyes.
“She has just lost a husband in a horrific car smash.” The scorn in his remark made her cringe. His sensuous mouth, set in a grim line, revealed his disgust and disdain for her. Sam’s heart bled. “We all know you hated the sight of Robert, but even you can’t be so unfeeling you can’t understand why Barbara is quite ill with grief.”
“That’s not fair!” Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall in front of him. “I didn’t hate him and it’s cruel to say I did.”
Bending to retrieve her suitcase, she was pushed gently out of the way. He picked it up with ease. She nearly trotted to keep up with him as he strode out of the hall, one suitcase in each hand.
Once she’d been prepared to lay down her life for Mac; who now treated her as if she was something that crawled out of a sewer. For one moment of madness she wanted to laugh and beg him to slow down as she would have done years ago. But it only needed a glance at his set profile to assure her the time for jokes between them was long past. He hated her.
An egg could have been fried on the hot ground. Sam flinched at the heat as they went outside. Although used to the stifling midsummer heat in Melbourne, it was unusual for her home state to be this humid. How she wished she’d had the sense to remove her pantyhose in the ladies’ room. They clung stickily to her legs and even her cerise cotton dress with narrow shoulder straps was sticking to her body.
“You didn’t have to put yourself out on my behalf,” she thought to tell him as they walked across the car park.
In a way she knew was deliberately lustful he eyed the curves of her body before he said, “No trouble.” His gaze turned cold as he raked his eyes over her, from her wind-tossed hair to her ankles. They reached an off-road vehicle and he opened the back door, tossed her cases in, and then held the passenger door open for her. “I’d do the same for any old friend,” he added, as with slight difficulty, she got in. He didn’t offer her a helping hand and she wouldn’t have accepted it if he had. Once in the driver’s seat, he flicked on the air conditioning, and Sam sat back with a sigh as the cabin filled with cool air.
Tears pricked at the backs of her lids. It took all her willpower to hold them at bay. He turned to stare at her profile. The last person in the world who would see her cry would be him. She wished she knew what was going on in his head. Once she would have known—or thought she had.
Once, she would have come right out and asked him.
Instead, she asked tautly, “Just how is it the successful town vet can take time out to pick up old friends anyway?” Turning to glance at his weather-creased face she swallowed a sigh when his lips curled tauntingly. Quickly, she returned her gaze to the hands twisting in her lap.
“It is Sunday. And even successful vets can take a few hours off some weekends. Especially when they have a partner who can take care of emergencies if they arise.” They’d stopped at traffic lights and he gave her the full intensity of his dark brown stare, causing her to shift in discomfort.
“Oh yes, I almost forgot. The reliable Clare.” The air in the cabin, if possible, became even more strained with tension. “Your partner. How is she these days?” With a fingernail Sam scratched at an imaginary fleck of dust on her skirt. “Mum told me she’d joined your practice. There must be a great deal of work around to need the services of two vets in such a small town.”
“Come off it, Sam! You know as well as I that my practice encompasses a vast area and there’s always more than enough work to keep two vets occupied.” With an uncustomary jerk he changed gears, then shot off so fast she was sent jolting forward into her seatbelt. “And if you’re really interested in Clare, she’s as she’s always been; ambitious and able.”
“Too ambitious by far I should think for such a small town in the back-blocks of Tassie.” Lifting her hair she flicked it back with a careless motion. “Who would have thought she would return to her hometown. The enticements must have been enormous to encourage her to come back to stay.” Why didn’t she shut up? She was treading on dangerous ground. But they both knew; where Clare was concerned, she’d never known how to conceal her dislike and disgust.
“Clare keeps her own counsel, as always.” His voice was terse. “Despite what you may think I didn’t ask for her reasons and she hasn’t volunteered the information. I needed a partner and she was in need of a position.” The glance he tossed at her was full of censure and they travelled for a few miles in tension-packed silence.
Sam stifled a small sob of despair as they went through the undulating and picturesque countryside. The paddocks were still green despite the heat, unlike most of drought-stricken Victoria. She loved this land with a passion that rose to engulf her each time she returned. If only things had been different. If only she hadn’t been forced to leave the district she
’d grown up in. The town where she’d envisaged spending all her days; marrying the man she loved and bearing his children.
So many ifs...
“Barbara tells me you’re thinking of getting engaged.” His sharp statement broke into the seething silence.
Sam jumped as if a firecracker had been let off at her feet. His foot pumped the pedal and the vehicle raced up a hill. “Tell me about this extraordinarily lucky man who has won your heart,” he challenged.
She felt as if a boulder blocked her throat as she turned to stare at him. His handsome features looked to be carved from granite. Had he forgotten how to smile? As she had. Once his face was open and expressive, now he looked so stern. If she lived to be a hundred she doubted she would ever get used to the perfection of his rugged face and powerful body. Everything about him seemed to improve with maturity.
If only he didn’t still appeal to all her senses. Then perhaps, she might be able to hate him. If he were less respected among his clients, who relied on him explicitly where their animals were concerned, perhaps she could despise him. If only she didn’t still have to curb the desire to run her fingers through his thatch of mahogany hair. If only he possessed a vicious streak.
So many ifs again. She sighed raggedly.
“Peter. Peter Rand. Actually he’s my boss. I guess mum told you that too.” Her mother should learn to keep more to herself. “He owns the boutique where I work. In fact he owns a string of shops all over the country. I’ve worked for him since—” She bit her lower lip. “—since I left home.”
Peter had been badgering her for months to get engaged. So far marriage hadn’t been mentioned. Sam was sure it wasn’t on his agenda. Not that it worried her in the least. She had no intentions of getting married. If she did it certainly wouldn’t be to Peter. And she wasn’t getting engaged to him either. Barbara must have got it wrong when Sam happened to mention at Christmas, while here for a short visit, that he’d brought up the subject.
Lifting her eyes to the man beside her she felt like screaming. Mackenzie Boswell; Mac to his friends, was the only man she’d sworn—long ago—to marry. Once he’d been the nucleus of her being. Her entire world.
Peter’s wife walked out on him, and then divorced him, when his infidelities became insufferable. Sam doubted he could be faithful to one woman. The only reason he’d brought up the subject of getting engaged was he thought it a sure-fire way to get her in his bed. Fat chance!
It said a lot for his opinion of women when he considered an engagement ring could entice one to sleep with him. Sam admired his business flair. He’d inherited a string of shops from his mother and managed them adequately. But he was vain, and full of his own importance. The exact opposite to the man seated by her side. Peter enjoyed fine wine and good food and it showed; his figure was running to flab. Although forty, his blonde mop of curls and flamboyant mode of dressing made him appear almost boyish. Until you looked closely. Then you saw the lines of excessive living etched on his face.
Initially Sam succumbed to his pleas for a date to stave off her desolation and loneliness when life in Melbourne became intolerably melancholy. A decision she regretted deeply. Once back in Melbourne, she fully intended to make it clear she had no intention of becoming his fiancé, or his mistress.
As a gauche seventeen-year-old, after she’d fled to the city, she started working in one of his suburban boutiques. Her mother was distraught when Sam pleaded with her to ask her lifelong friend Joanna to let Sam stay with her until she found her feet. Barbara never understood Sam’s compelling desire to leave the town she’d professed to love. After a year with Joanna, Sam moved into a flat with another girl, and meanwhile worked her way up the professional ladder to become a senior saleslady. Last year Peter made her manageress of his most prestigious city store.
She worked long hours so she didn’t have to spend too many lonely hours in the furnished flat she now rented in a luxury apartment block. Memories of the past too easily crept up to haunt her—to remind her of how things could have been. Furtively she stole a glance at the man beside her, wondering if he ever spared a thought for her, other than remembering a pest of a child who turned into an aggravating adolescent.
As if he’d read her thoughts he asked harshly, “Like living in the big smoke, do you?”
She shrugged, feigning indifference. “It grows on you.” What a lie. She didn’t belong there. But neither did she belong here anymore.
The sickening automobile fumes of the city combined with the nerve-jangling noise and activity would never suit her if she stayed there forever. Often she fought the urge to walk out of her job, never to return. What she would give to be able to return to this sometimes gentle, often hostile, but always adored, countryside. But this was another thing she would never admit to Mackenzie Boswell.
Obviously annoyed by her answer he prodded the radio button and found a station playing country and western music. While Alan Jackson sang, Livin’ on Love, he asked tautly, “Is that why you don’t stay for long when you make these obligatory visits?” Glaring sideways at her, he added, as if he needed to clarify that he wasn’t really interested, “Barbara said you spent just four days here over Christmas before hot-tailing it back to the high-life and your city boyfriend.”
Sam shot him a matching glare. “You can talk! I’m told you didn’t even spend Christmas with your parents.”
Fleetingly she wondered how they had come to be tossing insulting words at each other like this. Why couldn’t they just erase the hurt and pain they’d inflicted on each other? Why couldn’t they return to the easy companionship they’d once known?
She knew the answer to that. She would never forgive him for all the heartache he’d caused her.
“As it happens I was in the States with a guy I met at University. I did a bit of traveling while over there. You see—” His brows rose a fraction. “—you aren’t the only one who likes to travel. They have lots of new and exciting treatments and techniques they’re experimenting with. And even a small town vet who chooses to bury himself in the back-blocks needs to keep ahead of the trends to be progressive.” There was more than a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
“You’re deliberately twisting my words. I never suggested you should have practiced in the city, I just commented Clare was not really my idea of a small town vet.”
He ignored the outburst, and after a bit said, “I’m surprised you even noticed my absence at Christmas.”
“Don’t flatter yourself that I went out of my way to find out where you were. It’s just that Mum seems to harbor some misguided notion I crave news about every inhabitant of the town.” Sam turned to face the window in an effort to hide her flushed cheeks. Her mother thought she especially craved news of Mac, regaling her with every snippet concerning him.
“Now why should I suppose you’d be interested in what I’m up to? In five years you’ve made it blatantly clear you find me abhorrent and not fit to breathe the same air as you.”
Sam winced at the bitterness in his tone. Her fists balled as she stared out of the window. Vaguely, she was aware the newsreader on the radio was telling in a grave voice of a farmer who’d been shot by two men yesterday, and it occurred to her the farm wasn’t far from where they were now. The killers were dangerous and armed with stolen firearms and ammunition. Stealing a glance at Mac she noticed his knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.
She listened more intently. The two men were highly dangerous and to be treated with extreme caution if they confronted anyone. They were believed to have driven onto a fire track and were driving a green station wagon. People were warned to contact the police if they spotted the vehicle.
“I wondered why so many police cars were out and about,” Mac said, as music replaced the voice on the radio. “Three have passed us, and it’s unusual to see one on this road at this time of the day.”
The road grew steep and winding and he concentrated on his driving. The silence grew stifling. Sam couldn’t keep
her eyes from straying to him, no matter how hard she tried. The skin pulled tight across his knuckles as he gripped the wheel.
So intense was her study of him she jumped out of her skin when he suddenly broke the silence by saying, “Quite the little career woman, aren’t you? You’ve changed so much you’re hardly recognizable. And you’re much too thin. What does the high-powered business woman do with herself over in the metropolis? Do you work yourself to a frazzle for this Peter Whatsisname?”
“Rand. His name is Peter Rand. And for your information I enjoy my work and don’t consider I’m overworked or underpaid.”
She lied through her teeth.
Barely did the words leave her mouth than a green station wagon shot out from a sandy track and ran across the path of Mac’s vehicle. With a screech of tires on bitumen it then took off back along the route they’d just travelled. Mac momentarily lost concentration and with a curse he battled for control of the vehicle as it skidded sideways, and then came to a slithering halt at an angle on the side of the road. Sam screamed, instinctively clutching at his arm and his thigh.
“Stupid bastard!” Mac pulled on the brake and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Are you all right?”
“I...I think so,” she mumbled as he reached across and undid her belt.
“I swear that was the station wagon the police were after.” He ran a hand through his hair.
Sam was sure it was too. Because the vehicle was tilted he was leaning towards her, and before she realized his intention he pulled her head onto his shoulder, the other hand stroking her hair back, much as he would comfort a flighty, scared horse. Mac always possessed a knack for quieting the most violent of beasts. At this moment she felt like a highly strung thoroughbred as every cell in her began to quiver.