Moonlight Plains Read online

Luke acknowledged this with a nod, dropped his gaze to her hand. She’d taken off her rings so she wouldn’t have to explain about Josh, but she hoped he hadn’t seen the faint telltale mark. Her ring finger felt naked and exposed. She was so used to wearing the rings, even flashing them at times, to keep guys at bay.

  Now, though, Luke let out a little huff of breath that might have been relief. He smiled. ‘I probably should’ve asked you to dance before I grabbed these drinks. That dress looks like it’s designed for dancing.’

  Turning, Sally watched the couples on the dance floor swishing through an old-fashioned number with proper steps, not the usual nightclub shuffle. Many of them had obviously learned these old dances and they were swinging and spinning like professionals. ‘I’m not sure I’d know how,’ she confessed. ‘My dress might be from the forties, but I’m afraid my feet aren’t.’

  She wouldn’t admit it, but her high heels were already killing her. It was ages since she’d worn them. She couldn’t actually remember the last time.

  ‘Must admit I wouldn’t know which foot to put in front of the other.’ Luke grinned again and gestured to her dress. ‘But this is amazing. Did you hire it?’

  ‘No. It’s the real thing. It belongs to one of my grandmother’s friends. She actually wore it during the war.’

  ‘Wow. Must be one sexy grandmother.’

  His compliment made Sally’s cheeks heat. They were smiling at each other. Again.

  2

  Sally Piper had blown Luke away, bowled him over, knocked him for six. From his first sight of her in the old-fashioned pink dress that skimmed and hugged her body in all the right places, Luke knew he was grinning like a shot fox.

  He supposed he should be cautious. He was already dodging the attentions of Kylie, the girl from the local hardware store who’d just cornered him at the bar.

  But hell, he might have taken Kylie out once, but he hadn’t come to this ball as her escort. He was here because he owed his grandmother a favour; more than one, actually.

  Now that he’d met Sally, Luke felt as if his indebtedness had trebled. Sally was beautiful – a stunner – with red hair – no, he couldn’t call it red. Auburn was the word, wasn’t it? And she had the fair skin that went with auburn hair, so soft and smooth a guy could only wonder what it felt like to touch.

  By contrast to her pale skin, her eyes were dark, a warm nut-brown. Unsettling . . . which was weird given that he was normally relaxed and confident around women.

  They found a small table with two chairs in a reasonably quiet corner of the dance hall. Sally took a sip of her champagne. ‘That’s lovely. Fabulous, thanks.’

  ‘So . . .’ Luke schooled himself to sound calm and casual. ‘I take it you’re here on your own?’

  ‘I am, yes. And you?’

  ‘The same.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve been trying to decide if you’re here for business or pleasure.’

  ‘Bit of both. I guess you saw me taking notes?’

  ‘And photographs.’

  Sally nodded. ‘I’m hoping to do a small story for one of the country style magazines.’

  ‘You’re a journalist?’

  ‘Freelance.’ Quickly she added, ‘What about you?’

  ‘Builder.’

  ‘Really?’ Those brown eyes of hers widened with surprise.

  ‘Wrong answer?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘It’s just that I had you pegged as a man of the land; a cattleman, I guess.’

  Luke smiled. ‘I’ve done my share of cattle work. My family have cattle properties and that’s all I did until a couple of years ago. Actually, I’m still running a few head where I am now, but on a much smaller scale.’

  ‘Where’s that? Somewhere near here?’

  ‘Moonlight Plains. It’s my grandmother’s property, about forty k’s out of town. I’m here tonight because there are a few broken scraps of an old American plane from the war in one of the paddocks.’

  He waved a hand to encompass the decorative flags, the band, the photographs. ‘The ball’s organisers are treating the paddock like it’s a sacred site. They want to take some people out there tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s interesting. So you’re here as a VIP guest?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  A slight pause followed, but before Luke could come up with a question about Sally, she fired another of her own. ‘So . . . what are you building?’

  ‘I’m renovating, actually. Fixing up the old homestead.’

  ‘On your own?’

  He knew his smile was less assured. This was his first solo job as a fully qualified builder. ‘Seemed like a good idea at the time, but I may yet live to regret it. It’s a huge job.’

  ‘You’re enjoying the work though?’

  Luke dropped his gaze to his beer. He remembered the first time he’d gone back to Moonlight Plains, fighting his way through waist-high grass to the front steps, to find a sagging building filled with cobwebs and mouse droppings. And yet . . .

  He could hardly confess his love affair with a house to this girl. How could he explain the wonder of it? Discovering a broken-down thing of beauty and absorbing the abandonment, sensing the haunting memories of the people who’d lived there? Being gripped by the need to restore and rebuild?

  ‘Sorry,’ Sally said quickly. ‘That’s the journalist in me, asking too many questions. Tell me to shut up.’

  ‘Nah, it’s cool.’

  ‘I must admit I’ve always thought it would be fun to do up an old house. I’m sure renovations are much more interesting and creative than building a brand-new square brick box.’

  ‘Won’t argue with that.’

  ‘But there must be a lot of challenges.’

  Sure. Clearing the ceilings of a dozen carpet pythons, for starters. Luke gave a slight shake of his head as he wondered how interested Sally really was. ‘You sound like you’re still in journalist mode.’

  ‘I know. Sorry, but I’m genuinely intrigued. Truly.’

  She looked so earnest and . . . keen. Luke felt his throat constrict. Hell. He had to be careful. He had a long job ahead of him and the last thing he needed was to lose his head over a chick from Townsville. He’d already made one mistake, allowing himself to be sidetracked by Jana, a German backpacker he’d met at a B&S ball, but she’d moved on now and he needed a clear run on this renovation.

  Sally tipped her head to one side, her autumn curls slipping softly with the movement, and she eyed him quizzically. ‘You know, I can imagine doing a kind of Grand Designs story on you. Following your progress on the house.’

  ‘For one of your magazines?’

  ‘Yes. Why not?’

  Luke swallowed. He imagined seeing this girl again over the coming months, sharing his precarious dreams with her. ‘Are you serious?’

  For a moment, Sally seemed distracted by a group behind him. Turning to glance over his shoulder, Luke saw Kylie from the hardware store, watching the two of them with a venomous glare.

  Damn. He thought she’d got the message when he’d spoken to her at the bar.

  He returned his attention to Sally, repeating his question. ‘Are you serious about the article?’

  ‘I’m serious about doing the story. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to sell it to a national publication, but I’d have a darned good go.’

  ‘You haven’t even seen the house.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Her smile was complicated – boldly challenging, yet shy.

  ‘Would you like to see it?’

  ‘I’d love to. When?’

  ‘First thing tomorrow morning? Are you staying in town?’

  Sally nodded. ‘I’ve booked a motel room.’

  Luke glanced out the window to the moon-silvered lawns and tennis courts that belonged to this hall, and he drew a deep breath.

  His sudden difficulty breathing was crazy. About as crazy as his next suggestion. ‘It’s two days off full moon and the homestead looks amazing in the moonlight. We co
uld always escape out there now.’

  3

  Boston, 2010

  Dearest Kitty,

  Here I go again. After all these years, almost seventy of them, still revisiting lost dreams. Often my recollections are happy ones with you, but there are times when unsettling memories of the war take over, usually when I’m desperate for sleep.

  Now, with yet another generation in harm’s way, they’re working on treatments for post-traumatic stress. I have my own answer. Remembering you and everything we shared blocks the dark memories, and writing it down helps to package my feelings safely and neatly.

  There’s only one problem with this. I now have a carton filled with my ramblings, like the X-Files at the Pentagon or Pandora’s box in a hidden cave . . . never to be opened.

  Fortunately, I haven’t been troubled for many months, but last night I was in a jammed cockpit again and it wouldn’t open and I could smell fire. I woke in a sweat and, as always, I took a while to recover. I forced myself to remember happier times.

  I remembered you.

  Once again you saved me, Kitty.

  When I finally slept, I dreamed I was back at the homestead, walking up the path between the old rose gardens. I could see the house perfectly, big and rambling and built of timber with verandahs all around.

  The front door with its beautiful stained-glass panels opened to my touch and I went in, down the dark central hallway, past the row of pegs with your uncle’s WWI greatcoat, past the lounge room with the Beale piano.

  I found you in the kitchen at the back of the house. This was unusual. Most times, when I dream about you, you’re magically, impossibly here in America. Sometimes, you’re getting along famously with my family, which is also impossible. They don’t even know about you, and never will.

  But last night it was so good to be in Australia with you, my darling girl. You were sitting at the kitchen table shelling peas, your hands quick and graceful and mesmerising. The sunlight fell on your hair, warming it to a rich honey glow. You were wearing a blue floral dress with a scalloped neckline, so pretty, and you looked up at me and smiled that slightly crooked smile of yours. You were so beautiful my heart swelled with happiness.

  Then, in that mysterious way of dreams, we were in the big old metal bed on the island. It was morning and you were in my arms; early light filtered past the corrugated-iron push-out windows. We made love while the pale-green light cast wonderful patterns across the bed.

  Next, you were in front of the faded mirror, trying on my leather flight jacket. It kept slipping from your bare shoulders. You were laughing as you snapped salutes at your reflection . . . and I just stared at your beauty and soaked up your joy, your womanly promise of life . . .

  These are the best memories, Kitty. These are the memories that have kept me going all these years, the memories that sustain me now when I’m just a silly, sad old fool.

  Winter’s hanging on too long this year and thoughts of you keep me warm.

  All my love,

  Ed

  4

  Charters Towers, 2013

  Sally knew she should reject Luke Fairburn’s suggestion. She couldn’t believe she was hesitating, that she could actually contemplate saying yes, even for a moment.

  How could she possibly go off with a guy she’d just met? Into the bush in the middle of the night?

  It was crazy.

  Admittedly, Luke had assured her it wasn’t far to the homestead.

  ‘I can have you back at your motel before the ute turns into a pumpkin.’

  It was the sort of thing her friends did all the time, but Sally wasn’t a risk-taker. Never had been, and if losing Josh had taught her anything, it was that life was unpredictable. Danger and heartbreak lurked in the happiest moments. She wouldn’t shorten her odds by taking unnecessary risks.

  And yet . . . she was truly interested in old houses. It had actually been a bone of contention with Josh; one of the few things they hadn’t agreed on. He’d wanted their first home to be an ultra-modern, minimalist apartment, while Sally had had her heart set on a Queenslander cottage that they could do up together. She’d pictured the two of them painting walls, puttying window frames, rejuvenating old furniture, and she’d been disappointed that Josh was so against that idea.

  After he died, she’d almost used the insurance money to buy a house, but she’d been so conscious of Josh’s negativity that she’d held off.

  Tonight, though, she had to admit that it wasn’t only the idea of the house that intrigued her . . . There was an unreal quality to the whole evening: being away from Townsville at an old-fashioned dance in a borrowed dress from another era . . . It was almost like stepping into a dream . . .

  Strange things happened in dreams . . . and Luke Fairburn’s open and friendly smile invited her to trust him.

  Except that already he was shaking his head. ‘Okay, that was damn clumsy. Come and see my house in the moonlight. That’s not my style. Corniest pickup line ever.’

  ‘Well, it almost worked.’

  Luke frowned.

  A giddy little laugh escaped Sally. ‘I was about to say yes.’

  His eyes narrowed momentarily, but then he relaxed into another warm smile. ‘Well, there you go. That’s fantastic.’

  Now she’d done it. Just like that, she’d thrown away her lifebelt. Anyone would think she’d drunk six glasses of champagne instead of one.

  A pulse in Sally’s throat hammered frantically to life and she dropped her gaze as she hastily considered her options. It wasn’t too late. She could still drive back to Townsville, or she could retreat to the safety of the motel room she’d booked. Or she could accept the surprisingly attractive prospect of driving in the moonlight with a friendly and rather gorgeous guy to see an old homestead.

  After hiding and playing it safe for so long, the simple act of coming to this ball had felt like a bold step. But it had been liberating, too, and now Sally was seriously tempted to take another, bolder step.

  There was something about Luke Fairburn, something beyond his physical appeal. It wasn’t just the appreciation that shone in his eyes when he looked at her. His eyes were green, she’d realised, a remarkable, fascinating shade – but she’d also sensed an inner decency in him that made her feel safe.

  Safe and excited.

  It was an intoxicating combination.

  ‘Will anyone mind if you leave early?’ she asked him.

  ‘I’ve chatted with the historical committee, but I don’t have any official duties, so I doubt anyone will really notice.’

  ‘Not even that girl who’s been giving us the death stare?’

  ‘No way,’ Luke said gruffly, but he did look slightly embarrassed. ‘I hardly know her.’

  They both looked around then, at the dancers, at the band and at the groups of people absorbed in conversation and laughter. The scowling girl seemed to have disappeared.

  ‘We’re not needed here, are we?’ Sally said.

  Luke shook his head and his green eyes sparkled. ‘So, let’s go.’

  Not giving herself time for further doubts, she offered him a brave smile. ‘Let’s.’

  She could almost hear her friends cheering.

  Outside, the night air was decidedly crisp and Sally shivered. She’d forgotten that temperatures were cooler away from the coast, and she hadn’t brought anything warm.

  ‘Here.’ Luke slipped his coat over her shoulders.

  His gallantry was unexpected but reassuring and she was grateful for the warmth of the smooth silky lining as it settled sensuously against her skin. ‘Thanks.’

  She was a tad nervous, though, as she climbed into Luke’s ute and they zoomed off. She felt for the reassurance of her mobile phone in her handbag, clicked it on to check that she still had reception.

  There was a text message from Megan.

  So how’s the ball, Cinders? Any princes? Hot cowboys?

  Sally smiled and typed a quick reply.

  1 or 2.

&
nbsp; Almost immediately, an answer appeared.

  Enjoy. ☺

  Dragging a shaky breath, Sally dropped the phone into her bag.

  ‘Your phone should work out at the homestead,’ Luke commented.

  ‘Oh . . . that’s good.’ Had he guessed she was nervous?

  ‘There’s a spot near the front steps that gets good reception, but walk a few paces and you often drop out.’

  Right. Okay. She told herself to relax. Enjoy.

  They kept conversation light, mostly about their favourite bands and TV shows, and Sally’s relaxation held until Luke turned the ute off the main road onto a rutted and bumpy dirt track flanked on either side by dark spooky clumps of rubber vine and tall skinny gum trees.

  ‘This is really in the bush.’ So different from the seaside suburbs of Townsville where she’d always lived. Her voice squeaked a little.

  ‘Not far now. The track’s rough because it hasn’t been used much and I still have to get it graded.’

  Sally had forgotten that a house on a large cattle property was unlikely to be positioned right next to the main road in full view of passing traffic. Now, as the truck plunged deeper into the dark bush, she squashed thoughts of axe murderers, but she wished Luke’s face wasn’t in shadow. She needed to check out his smile again.

  Slices of countryside appeared momentarily in the bright headlights. Weathered timber fence posts, tree trunks and silvery grass flashed to brief life before the black night reclaimed them. A small furry animal scampered across the track. Every so often, the almost full moon appeared, sailing serenely through the gaps in the trees.

  Sally hadn’t been in the bush at night since the canoe trip with her dad almost a year ago, and now, despite her nervousness, she couldn’t help feeling a slight sense of adventure.

  ‘I should warn you not to expect too much,’ Luke said as he slowed to take a bend. ‘The old manager wasn’t interested in the homestead. He preferred to live in an air-conditioned donga.’

  ‘You mean like one of those prefab places they use on mining sites?’

  ‘That’s right. So the house isn’t over-the-top grand. It’s just –’