Stranded with the Secret Billionaire Page 10

  Momentous? Like Matt Fraser breaks his own rule and lets his guard down with a woman?

  How insulting was that? he thought, and swore silently to himself. What was he expecting, that Penny jump him? That he’d have to fight her off?

  It was a dumb thought, but it had its merits. He found himself smiling as he walked on. He wouldn’t mind.

  He wouldn’t fight her off.

  ‘I won’t hurt her.’ There was another thought, almost a vow.

  How serious was he getting, and how fast?

  ‘Not serious at all,’ he told himself as he finally turned for home. Surely she’d finished cooking by now? The house would be in darkness and he could slip in without seeing her.

  Was that what he wanted? To avoid her for two weeks?

  ‘You know it’s not or you wouldn’t have invited her,’ he told himself and he found himself wishing his dogs were with him. His own company wasn’t cutting it. But the dogs were exhausted after a full day in the yards.

  So was he. He needed to go to sleep and stop worrying about what lay ahead.

  And stop fancying what else might happen.

  * * *

  ‘When are you coming home?’

  Penny’s mother hadn’t phoned her for two weeks. When she didn’t phone, Penny knew she was in trouble. Depression dogged her mother, and silence was a symptom. But Louise’s silence while Brett and Felicity outlined their marriage plans had made Penny decide enough was enough.

  Penny’s father was a bully and her half-sister was a self-serving shrew, but Louise didn’t have the courage to stand up to either of them.

  Tonight her mother’s voice sounded thick with tears. Penny was willing herself not to care.

  It didn’t work. How could she stop caring?

  ‘I told you, Mum, I’m working out here. It doesn’t matter when I get home.’

  ‘Where exactly are you working?’

  ‘South Australia. Murray River country. I’m working as a cook, Mum. I’m safe, I’m doing a good job and I’m keeping...’ She paused, but why not say it like it was? ‘I’m keeping myself occupied so I don’t need to think about Felicity and Brett.’

  ‘They’re both unhappy about hurting you.’

  ‘You know, I’m very sure they’re not.’

  ‘No, they are.’ And here she went again, Penny thought. Her mother spent her life pretending they were happy families. ‘I’m sure Felicity would like you to be her bridesmaid.’

  ‘I’m sure she’d hate it.’

  ‘Well, she should have you.’ The tears were unmistakable now. ‘I don’t like you unhappy. I want you to be her bridesmaid and I told her that.’

  ‘It’s not going to happen,’ Penny said gently. ‘I wish Felicity all the best but I’m not coming home for the wedding.’

  ‘Not even coming?’ Her mother sounded appalled.

  ‘Mum, how can I?’

  ‘Sweetheart, you must.’ Her mother hiccupped on a sob. ‘It’s in three weeks. St Barnabas Chapel followed by a grand reception on the Harbour. For you not to be there...’ Another sob. ‘Felicity’s mother will lord it over me. Your father won’t care. Penny, I can’t do it without you.’

  How impossible was it to harden your heart? She tried. ‘Mum, I’m happy here.’

  There was a moment’s pause. Maybe something in Penny’s voice had got through. ‘Really?’

  ‘I am,’ she told her. ‘And Samson’s turning into a sheepdog. You should see him.’

  ‘I thought you were working at a hotel.’

  ‘This is sheep country.’

  ‘So you’re meeting the locals?’

  ‘I...some of them. But Mum, I can’t come to the wedding. I’m so busy I’m even starting to forget what Felicity and Brett did to me.’ She took a deep breath and decided to say it like it was. ‘To be honest, I’m even starting to feel sorry for Felicity. And worried. You should tell Felicity there are a lot nicer men than Brett.’

  ‘You wanted to marry him.’

  ‘That was before I knew what a toerag he was. There are still some honourable men in the world.’

  She shouldn’t have said it. If there was one thing Louise was good at, it was sussing out gossip and, despite her distress, she could almost feel her mother’s antennae quiver. ‘“Honourable men”,’ she said slowly. There was a loaded pause and then, ‘Penny, have you met one?’

  Shut up, Penny, she told herself. Get off the phone fast.

  But she wouldn’t lie. Had she met an honourable man? Yes, she had, and the thought was a good one.

  ‘That’s for me to know and you to guess,’ she told her mother, forcing herself to sound breezy. ‘Goodnight, Mum.’

  ‘Penny, please come.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  But she lay in bed that night and thought of her mother’s tears. She thought of her mother, isolated at the wedding by her appalling husband and her even more appalling stepdaughter.

  How did you rid yourself of the ties of loving?

  She should ask Matt.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IN THE NEXT few days, while Matt coped with the tasks that had to be done before the wool was sent for sale, Penny attacked the house.

  If anyone had ever told her she’d find joy in a mop and bucket, she’d have told them they were crazy. But cleaning took her mind off her mother’s increasingly distressed phone calls, and this was a challenge worth tackling.

  Ever since she’d walked into the house she’d thought of it as something out of a Charles Dickens novel. ‘I feel like I might find Miss Havisham under one of these dust sheets,’ she told Matt as they sat on the veranda that night. ‘How long have they been here?’

  ‘Donald’s mother was a socialite,’ Matt told her. ‘She ran away when Donald was seven and his dad pretty much closed the house. When Donald sold me the house and contents I left it as it was. I use my bedroom, the den and the kitchen. I’ve no need for anything else.’

  ‘You’re two male versions of Miss Havisham,’ she told him. ‘Not that I mind. You can gloat over your wool clip while I clean. I’ll even enjoy it.’

  ‘I would be grateful,’ Matt admitted. ‘If Lily comes...’

  ‘Is that likely to happen?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said slowly. ‘She’s not getting on with Darrilyn’s new partner. Darrilyn’s talking about sending her to school in Australia so it’s not impossible.’ But he sounded like a man who was scarcely allowing himself to hope.

  ‘Does she know anyone in Australia?’

  ‘No, and that’s why I’m telling Darrilyn she’d need to come here first. So she knows some sort of base.’

  ‘Poor kid,’ Penny said, and meant it. She knew all about being a teenage thorn in her socialite parents’ lives and the thought of the unknown Lily was part of her driving force.

  ‘The sofa in the main sitting room’s so hard it feels like sitting on bricks,’ she told him. ‘Why not replace it with something squishy? Now the flood’s receded you can get it delivered and, with the fire lit, that room would be lovely. It needs a big telly, though, and all the things that go with it. If Lily comes she won’t feel welcome if she has to sit on a horsehair brick. And her bedroom...I’d suggest buying a four-poster bed. Not pink, unless you see her as a pink girl.’

  ‘I don’t,’ he said faintly. ‘Penny, she probably won’t come.’

  ‘You know,’ she said diffidently, ‘if I was thirteen and there was conflict at home, my dad sending pictures of the bedroom he’d prepared for me might well make me feel a whole lot better about myself, whether I was allowed to come or not.’

  ‘Even if they’re never used?’

  ‘You can afford it,’ she told him bluntly. ‘And Lily sounds like she needs it.’

  ‘How do you kno
w?’

  ‘I don’t. I’m guessing. You want to go with my guess or with yours?’

  He looked at her for a long moment and then raked his hair. ‘You probably do know more about thirteen-year-old girls than I do.’

  ‘Hey, I was one once,’ she said cheerfully. ‘If you agree, I’d suggest we go with a theme of antique white. The rooms are so old-fashioned, why don’t we...’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Me then,’ she said and grinned. ‘Why don’t I go for white on white? Broderie anglaise, heritage quilting, a deep rug on the floor, some old-fashioned sampler type pictures on the wall...’

  ‘How do you know what she’d like?’

  ‘I know what I’d like,’ she told him. ‘If my parents had done something like this for me...’

  And then her voice cracked. She heard it but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

  ‘Still hurting, huh?’ Matt said. They were sitting on the edge of the veranda and he reached out and touched her face. It was a fleeting gesture, but it said, in some deep way, that he understood the distress she still felt whenever she thought of her mother’s pleas. The knowledge was enough to make her toes curl.

  She concentrated fiercely on getting them uncurled.

  ‘I can forget about it here,’ she managed.

  ‘But you can’t stay here for ever?’

  ‘No. And Malley’s isn’t an option any more. But neither is staying away, I guess. My sister’s getting married on the seventeenth and Mum’s organising a family dinner on the twelfth. On Dad’s orders. To heal differences, he says, and he expects me to be there. He’ll blame Mum if I’m not.’

  ‘Surely you won’t go?’ He sounded appalled. That was how she felt but what choice did she have?

  ‘You see, I love Mum,’ she said simply.

  She loved, therefore she did what was expected.

  Matt was silent for a while. The night was closing in on them and somehow it felt...almost threatening? Why did this man make her feel so exposed?

  ‘I guess that’s why I don’t love,’ Matt said at last. ‘I won’t let myself need people and I won’t be needed.’

  ‘No?’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘What about Lily?’

  ‘Lily’s different. She’s my kid.’

  ‘And this is my mum.’

  ‘And your mum should be protecting you, as I’d protect Lily. Penny, your mum’s an adult. She’s had a lifetime to form her own armour and maybe that’s what you need to do.’

  ‘That’s cruel.’

  ‘It is,’ he said gently. ‘But your mother’s made her own choices and maybe it’s time for you to do the same. You only have one life. Will you spend it trying to please your family? Being a doormat?’

  ‘What’s the alternative? Carrying a bucketload of guilt for the rest of my life?’ She tried to say it lightly but failed.

  ‘So you’ll go back to your mum.’

  ‘I might.’ But she knew she would.

  ‘Maybe your mum could come to you?’

  ‘What, here?’

  ‘Maybe not. It’d be a bit of a culture shock—from Sydney to Jindalee.’ She heard Matt’s smile rather than saw it. They hadn’t turned on the veranda lights and the darkness had crept up on their silence. ‘But Penny, if you make yourself a life, set up your catering company, do what you want to do... If your mum wants, then maybe she could choose to help you? Maybe she could live near you, on her own rather than in an unhappy marriage? You could help her on your terms rather than hers.’

  ‘She’ll never leave.’

  ‘Then that’s her choice,’ he said gently. ‘But it doesn’t have to be your choice. Attending the wedding should be your line in the sand. Maybe you should do something for yourself instead. Have a weekend in a fabulous resort. I’ll arrange it for you if you like, as a thank you for getting me out of such trouble at shearing. But, no matter what, just say no.’

  ‘Oh, Matt...’

  ‘You can do it,’ he growled and he rose and leant down and ran a finger lightly through her curls. The touch made her shiver. ‘If you can keep a mob of shearers happy, you can do anything. I believe in you, Penny Hindmarsh-Firth, so maybe it’s time for you to believe in yourself.’

  And then there was another of those silences which fell between them so often. Mostly they felt natural. Mostly they felt good. But this one...

  This one seemed loaded.

  You can do it. That was what Matt had said.

  Do what? What she really wanted?

  If she really believed in herself, Penny thought, she’d get up from where she was sitting and she’d kiss this guy senseless. She might even demand he let go of his own ghosts and come to this luxury resort with her.

  But she was Penny. Asking for love? She never had. She’d loved and loved and where had that got her?

  You can do it.

  Yeah, right. Not in a million years.

  ‘Goodnight, Penny,’ Matt said heavily then, as if he too acknowledged the impossibility of moving on.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she whispered.

  She felt sad. No, she felt desolate, but still she went inside and rang her mother. She said no and she meant it—and, despite the weird feeling of desolation, it felt like a beginning.

  * * *

  Two days later, the year’s wool clip was finally loaded for market. She saw the slump of Matt’s shoulders as he watched the line of trucks roll off the property. She thought of the work he’d put in, the late nights he’d pulled, the light on in his study until almost dawn.

  And suddenly she thought...picnic?

  She walked out to meet him in the driveway.

  ‘Well done,’ she told him.

  ‘The fleece is great. It feels a whole lot better than taking money from a bauxite mine.’

  ‘I’ll bet it does,’ she said and then added diffidently, ‘Want to come on a picnic?’

  ‘What?’ It was as if he hadn’t heard the word before.

  ‘You haven’t stopped for weeks,’ she told him. ‘Ron and Harv are rested. They can take over anything that needs to be done. Is there anywhere we can go? Somewhere you can’t see a single sheep? Honest, Matt, you must be seeing them in your sleep.’

  ‘If I fell asleep every time I counted them I’d be in trouble,’ he agreed, smiling faintly. ‘But now I need to get onto drenching.’

  ‘Matt. One day. Holiday. Picnic.’

  And he turned and looked at her. ‘You must be exhausted too.’

  ‘If it’ll make you agree to a picnic, yes, I am.’

  She met his gaze, tilted her chin, almost daring him to refuse.

  Finally he seemed to relent. ‘There is somewhere...’ he said doubtfully. ‘But we’d have to take horses. The ground’s undermined by rabbit warrens and the four-wheel drive won’t get in there without damaging the ferns.’

  ‘And we don’t want that,’ she said, not having a clue what he was talking about but prepared to encourage him. And then she thought about it a bit more and said, less enthusiastically, ‘Horses?’

  ‘Do you ride?’

  ‘My mother bought me a pony when I was seven,’ she said, feeling more and more dubious. ‘It was fat and it didn’t go any more than a dozen steps before it needed a nap. So I know which side to get on and I’m not too bad at sitting. Anything else is beyond me. Is there anywhere else we can go?’

  ‘I have a horse who’ll fit the bill,’ he said cheerfully and her heart sank.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Maisie’s thirty. Sam bought her for me when I was twelve, and I loved her. She and I ruled the land but she has become rather fat. And lazy. But she’ll follow Nugget to the ends of the earth. It’ll be like sitting on a rocking chair.’

  But she’d been distracted from the horse.<
br />
  ‘Why do I keep loving your Sam more and more?’ she whispered. ‘He bought the son of his housekeeper a horse?’

  ‘Yeah, he did,’ Matt told her and his voice softened too. ‘He changed my life.’

  ‘Would he tell you to go on a picnic?’

  ‘I guess...maybe.’

  ‘Then let’s do it,’ she told him. ‘As long as I can borrow one of the living room cushions. How far is it?’

  ‘It’ll take about an hour.’

  ‘Two hours there and back?’ She took a deep breath and then looked up at Matt and thought...

  ‘I’ll take two cushions,’ she told him. ‘Let’s do it.’

  * * *

  Maisie was a fat old mare, used to spending her days snoozing in the sun and her nights nestled on the straw in Matt’s impressive stables. But she perked right up when Matt put the saddle on her, and when Penny tentatively—very tentatively—clambered aboard, she trotted out into the sunshine and sniffed the wind as if she was looking forward to the day as much as Penny.

  Matt’s two dogs raced furiously ahead, wild with excitement, as if they knew the day would be special. Samson, however, had been racing with them since dawn. He was one tired poodle and he now sat in front of Matt, like the figurehead on the bow of an ancient warship. He looked supremely content and, fifteen minutes into the ride, Penny decided she was too.

  The old horse was steady and placid. The day was perfect. Matt rode ahead, looking splendid on his beautiful Nugget. There was little for Penny to think about, or do, for Maisie seemed totally content to follow Nugget. And Matt.

  As was Penny. ‘I’m with you,’ she muttered to Maisie. ‘Talk about eye candy. Wow...’

  ‘Sorry?’ Matt turned and waited for her to catch up. ‘I didn’t hear that.’

  ‘You weren’t meant to. Maisie and I were communing. I think we’re twin souls.’

  ‘I can see that,’ he said and grinned and the eye candy meter zipped up into the stratosphere. Matt was wearing jeans and riding boots, and an ancient khaki shirt, open at the throat, sleeves rolled above the elbows. He’d raked his hair too often during shearing and the lanolin from the fleeces had made it look more controlled, coarser. Now, though, the last of the lanolin had been washed away. His hair was ruffled in the warm wind. His face looked relaxed. His deep-set eyes were permanently creased against the sun, but they were smiling. He looked a man at ease.