Father In Secret

Savannah swallowed the lump in her throat, stepped out of the car and filled her lungs with the tangy aroma of lemon-scented gum-trees and the sweetness of wisteria. Despite a slightly forlorn tinge of neglect, the farmhouse looked the same as it always had—welcoming.

She stood on her uncle’s verandah, looking out over his paddocks. No, her paddocks, she corrected herself. A copper-coloured hen ran across the boards beside her and she smiled. She was a country girl now.

Benson, her mother’s black miniature poodle, yelped and cringed as the monster squawked past. Savannah reached down and scooped him up one-handed and she could feel his little heart flutter against her fingers.

Now that he was safe, he yapped belligerently at the trespasser.

‘Benson the Braveheart comes to the rescue. I feel so much more secure.’ She watched the hen cluck down the verandah steps. She patted Benson’s head.

‘Before we do anything, I’ll ring Mother to say we’ve arrived.’ Not that her mother particularly cared, but Savannah would go through the motions anyway.

Benson tilted one ear at her and yapped again.

Savannah sighed. ‘I know. But I promised.’

She unlocked the door and stepped into the gloom of the house. Not bothering to turn on the light or pull a blind until she’d completed the task she wasn’t looking forward to, she crossed to the old black wall phone and dialed the number. Finally her mother answered the phone.

‘Laine residence.’

‘Hello, Mother, it’s Savannah.’

‘Yes?’

‘Bridget mentioned you wanted me to ring when I arrived safely.’

‘Did she?’ Savannah could clearly visualise the vague stare as her mother tried to remember if she’d said such a thing to her housekeeper. Then she would shake her head and smile, and decide it was unimportant.

‘So you’re at that place.’ She said it as if she could detect an unpleasant smell. ‘It seems a waste to have the downstairs flat empty now. It seems like you’ve only just moved back in with me. Just because one man let you down, that doesn’t mean you have to run away on your own and leave your mother.’

‘I’m not on my own. Benson’s with me.’

‘Benson who?’

Savannah sighed. ‘Benson the poodle. He was your dog, Mother. Remember?’

‘Oh, yes. Lovely little black thing. I’m glad he’s happy with you, dear. Anyway, there’s always a home here if you decide to sell the place for whatever you can get for it. I’ll mention to Bridget you’ve arrived safely. Thank you for ringing.’ The line went dead.

Savannah felt like a telephone salesman with a product not required.

She squeezed the little dog. ‘Why do I leave myself open for that?’ Then she shrugged and pushed it from her mind with the ease of long practice. ‘Bridget would have worried.’ Benson tilted his head but didn’t answer.

‘Well, I’m excited.’ Now Savannah turned to survey the inside of the house. She pulled the string on the nearest blind and the sun streamed in to illuminate the swirling dust motes in the air.

Alone again. Except for her brave warrior dog.

Maybe she was mad, but for the first time in a long time she did feel at peace. She didn’t need to please anyone but herself. Typically, even in eternal sleep, her uncle had saved her sanity.

The next two hours passed in pursuit of dirt and drifts of spiders’ webs, and for someone who hated housework, Savannah scrubbed the little house until it shone. She sang along to the same early Slim Dusty records her uncle had collected. They’d always sung when she’d been a child here and the two of them had yodelled their way through the household chores.

She’d just swept the last of the leaves off the verandah when Benson barked. She glanced up and the dust dried in her throat. A man was walking up her driveway. And she was here, alone. She looked around the verandah and finally at the broom in her hand. Not exactly a deadly weapon!

She moistened her lips and swallowed. Take a deep breath, woman. Either she was going to live here, be self-sufficient and confident, or she could high-tail it back to the rat race and lock herself in her mother’s downstairs flat. She held the broom in one hand, caught Benson up against her chest with the other and drew herself up to her full five feet nothing. Then she waved. Even aliens could come in peace.

He didn’t wave back. Great. She bit her lip.

He was a man all right. His strong thighs pumped as he strode up the hill under the well-cut jeans. She couldn’t tell his age because of the shade thrown over his face by the broad-brimmed black Akubra, but he was fit. Rampantly fit. She gulped.

Of course, that was judging by the speed he covered the distance between them—and the way the sun shone off his muscles below the shoulders of his sleeveless shirt. She tried to dredge up some saliva in her mouth and her heart felt as if it was beating as fast as Benson’s. She could almost feel the testosterone from here. How come men in the city didn’t shout about their maleness like this guy did?

At least he stopped at the bottom of the verandah steps. That gave her time to swallow again. The dark bristles of five-o’clock shadow glinted on his chin while a faint drift of soap assured her he bathed. She smiled to herself at the normality of soap and her shoulders relaxed a little. He was human.

Savannah remoistened her lips. ‘Good afternoon. Can I help you?’

He lifted his hat and raked springy chocolate-brown hair back off his forehead. His eyes were dark blue and really quite beautiful. She lost the plot for a moment as she was drawn into them. Benson squirmed in her arms, trying to bury his head further under her arm. It helped bring her back to reality.

The man turned his hat in his hands and she wasn’t sure if he was being polite or just letting his head breathe.

‘Afternoon. You’re Andy’s niece?’ His voice was deep and clear. A strong voice for a strong man. She supposed she’d expected a slow drawl. She suppressed a shiver of awareness.

‘Savannah Laine. And you are?’

‘Theo.’ She knew that name and her shoulders relaxed a fraction. The country solicitor had said he’d arranged for Theo to care for the stock until she could come. She’d imagined a crusty old farmer. Well, he looked like a farmer but there was certainly no crust—and he wasn’t old either!

‘The gentleman who’s been looking after the animals? Thank you for that.’

‘No problem. Your uncle was a great guy.’ His statement seemed genuine but his gaze held no hint of sympathy for her. It stiffened her spine.

‘Yes, I know.’ She ignored the prickle of tears in her eyes and changed the subject. ‘The animals. That was my next job. So how many animals are there?’

He raised thick brown brows at her ignorance. ‘In the pig shed there’s six sows, a boar and a dozen or so growers that need to go to market soon. I’ll come down with you and run you through the feed schedule board tonight, if you like.’

That many! Savannah swallowed.

He went on. ‘There are twenty or so fowls. If you want to sell any eggs put them in a carton in your mail box and the mailman will leave you two dollars. And there’s one rooster, but I’d be knocking him on the head. He’s a pain.’

Savannah tried to imagine herself knocking a rooster on the head—what did you use? A hammer? She shuddered. ‘He’s probably safe for the moment.’

Theo gave a short laugh and it changed his face into something less harsh.

Thank goodness for that. For a while there she’d thought he was the frozen man. His eyes warmed in genuine amusement and became even more mesmerising until they went cold again. She dragged her attention back to what he was saying.

‘Then there are the cattle—twenty Murray Grey breeders, a placid Murray Grey bull and fifteen vealers.’

She’d helped her uncle with the farm animals over many holidays—she wasn’t scared or lacking in confidence—but that was a heck of a lot of lives depending on her.

‘That’s all?’

‘Just Billy the horse and a couple of ducks and geese, but they’re pretty self-sufficient.’