The Husband She'd Never Met Page 7

  Sobered by this last possibility, Carrie got up. She found clean clothes in the wall of built-in cupboards and got dressed. She chose jeans and a lavender polo shirt. She’d always associated lavender with old ladies, but when she checked herself in the dressing table mirror she was surprised to see how well the colour suited her. She sorted through the earrings in the green glass bowl and was contemplating trying on a pair of gold hoops when she saw the little glass ring-stand behind the bowl.

  It held a plain gold wedding band and a pretty, old-fashioned style engagement ring with two diamonds and a very thin, worn band.

  This must be Max’s grandmother’s ring. She liked it immediately.

  Carrie tried the rings on. They fitted her perfectly and she held her hand out, admiring them. Again she wondered why she’d left them behind when she went riding.

  Max had said she’d made him happy, but he’d looked so sad when he’d said that. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something else—some kind of mystery connected to her marriage.

  She was distracted from this worry by Clover coming through the bedroom doorway, greeting her with a madly waving tail.

  ‘Oh, good morning, gorgeous golden girl.’ Carrie gave the dog a pat and her heart melted when she saw the joy in Clover’s eyes. ‘Have you missed me?’ she asked, rubbing her silky back and then her ears.

  A moment later she was kneeling, looking into the dog’s face as she patted her.

  ‘You must know the truth, Clover. Are Max and I really happy? I wish you could tell me.’

  Clover simply rolled onto her back, wanting her tummy scratched.

  Carrie laughed. ‘I’ll take you for a walk later. Would you like that?’

  It was quite clear from her sudden excitement that the dog understood this. And that the answer was yes.

  With a final scruff for Clover’s ears, Carrie went to the kitchen, where she found a handwritten note propped against the tea caddy beside the stove.

  Hi Carrie,

  I had to leave early to do a few jobs. Back soon, but help yourself to breakfast. Everything’s in the pantry or fridge.

  I’ve taken my sat phone and will ring at eight-thirty. If you need me before then, the number is beside the phone.

  Oh, and your father rang. He’s invited us to lunch on Sunday.

  M x

  It was silly, the way her spirits suddenly plummeted. But Carrie realised she’d been quite buoyed up, expecting to find Max ready to greet her.

  Her disappointment was a good sign, she told herself. And those odd moments when she’d worried that something wasn’t quite right about their marriage might be totally unnecessary. All in her head.

  Given her amnesia, this last thought was ironic. She was smiling as she selected a teabag, and while the kettle was coming to the boil she opened the doors to the pantry to consider her breakfast options.

  It was a dream of a pantry—almost a small room, lined with shelves and well ventilated, thanks to a small louvred window at the back. Large bags of flour and sugar stood on the floor, and the shelves were loaded with all kinds of tins and cartons, which Carrie supposed was necessary, given their vast distance from supermarkets.

  There was also a surprising number of shelves with neatly labelled jars filled with what looked like homemade preserves—chutney, pickles, fruit and jam.

  Carrie picked up a jar. The label seemed to have been printed on a computer. ‘Carrie K’s Spicy Tomato Chutney’. It was rather professional, with a small black and white drawing of a gum tree at the bottom of the label and then the Riverslea Downs address and phone number in tiny print.

  ‘Goodness.’

  So now she was Carrie K? And what a surprise that she’d learned how to make chutneys and jams. In the past, if she’d thought about bottling and preserving at all, she would have considered it an ancient black art.

  Don’t tell me I’ve turned into a domestic goddess.

  Intrigued, she chose a jar of mango jam and decided to try some on her breakfast toast. It was delicious, accompanied by a hot cup of tea, and she was spreading more jam on a second slice when the phone rang.

  She jumped as the shrill sound broke into the silent house, then quickly hurried to answer it.

  ‘Hello?’ she said tentatively, wondering how she would cope if the caller expected her to know them.

  ‘Carrie.’ Max’s deep voice reverberated down the line.

  ‘Oh, hi.’ She sounded suddenly breathless, no doubt due to the buzz that his deep baritone stirred in her.

  ‘How are you this morning?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ But she knew there was almost certainly a subtext to his query. ‘No new memories I’m afraid.’

  ‘OK. Right... I’ve a few jobs to do out here. If it’s OK with you, I might be another hour or so.’

  ‘That’s perfectly OK, Max. I’m quite happy to potter around here. Oh, one thing. Have you already fed Clover?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She thought he sounded pleased by her question.

  ‘She shouldn’t need anything else till tonight.’

  ‘Right. Thanks.’

  As soon as Carrie had hung up she dialled her mother’s number. After initial pleasantries, she got straight to the point. ‘Max told me about Doug Peterson, Mum.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘We’re going to his place for lunch on Sunday.’

  Her mother didn’t respond to this.

  ‘I can’t believe you told me he was dead.’

  ‘Carrie, now’s not a good time.’

  ‘Not a good time?’ Surely she was justified?

  ‘It’s complicated and too painful for me. You’ll know the whole story when you get your memory back.’

  ‘Is that all you can say? Wait till I get my memory back?’

  ‘I’m sorry, love. I don’t think it’s worth rehashing. You and Doug are getting along fine these days, and that’s all that matters for the moment.’

  Deflated, Carrie rang off. She wondered if Doug Peterson was the reason her mother had been so flustered and vague in her earlier phone calls.

  She looked about her, wondering what she should do now. What would she have normally done? It was a very strange situation to find herself in her own home but feeling like a stranger, a guest.

  She washed the mug and plate she’d used and put them away, then made her bed and decided to take Clover for the promised walk.

  Grabbing a hat from the hooks by the front door, she set off with the dog at her heels along a track that circled a couple of paddocks and a stockyard. Magpies called from the trees that lined the creek and a flock of budgerigars swept overhead in a pretty flash of green and yellow.

  She drew a deep breath of crisp, eucalypt-scented air and felt an unexpected rush of good-to-be-alive happiness.

  ‘Hello, there!’

  Carrie whirled around as an unexpected voice came from across the paddock. She saw an elderly man, balding, with a fringe of white hair, dressed in typical Outback clothes—jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt—and waving his Akubra hat to catch her attention.

  This had to be Barney, the old stockman. As he set his hat back on his head and came hurrying towards her on slightly bandy legs, Carrie retraced her steps and met him halfway.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, politely holding out her hand.

  ‘Morning, Carrie. I’m Barney Ledger.’

  ‘I thought you must be.’

  He had the wiry toughness of a man who’d spent his life in the bush, but his eyes were twinkling and his smile was gentle.

  ‘It’s good to have you back home, safe and sound,’ he said as they shook hands.

  ‘Thanks. I’m pleased to be back, I think. It’s a bit weird to not remember anything.’
>
  ‘Yeah, I bet it is.’ Barney’s face was a mass of creases as his smile deepened. ‘Still, you know what they say about clouds and silver linings.’

  ‘I guess...’ Carrie supposed she sounded less enthusiastic than Barney would have liked, but she wasn’t sure what particular silver linings Barney meant. ‘At least the headache’s gone now.’

  ‘That’s good news.’ The old stockman fixed her with a steady gaze that she couldn’t really avoid. ‘I know you’re at sixes and sevens right now, Carrie, but I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn when I tell you that your husband, Max, is a really good bloke. He’s as fine a man as you could hope to find anywhere.’

  The sincerity of his praise for Max moved Carrie deeply. She wasn’t sure how to respond. She nodded.

  ‘He’ll look after you,’ Barney added, and there was a heartfelt earnestness in his hazel eyes, almost as if he was willing her to pick up on a deeper, more significant message. Something more than the fact that Barney really loved and admired Max.

  She sensed that he might also be worried about Max, and she wondered why. Was he concerned that she might say or do something to hurt her husband?

  It was an unsettling possibility, hinting again at something not quite right about their relationship.

  ‘Max has been looking after me beautifully,’ she told Barney now, in a bid to reassure both herself and the old man. ‘I’m very grateful.’

  ‘That’s the ticket.’ He was smiling again, making deep creases from his eyes to the corners of his mouth. ‘And if you ever need anything while Max is out on a job just give me a hoy. Pick up the phone and dial six. It’s the extension to my place.’

  ‘Yes, I will—thanks. Max left a note beside the phone explaining that.’

  ‘Good.’ Barney pointed to a small silver-roofed cottage behind them. ‘I’m over there. Feel free to call in for a cuppa any time.’

  ‘Thanks, Barney.’ Carrie wondered if she should respond with a similar invitation for him to come up to the homestead, but she wasn’t sure how the protocols worked in the bush. She looked down at Clover, sitting patiently at her side. ‘I promised Clover a walk.’

  Barney looked pleased about this. ‘Great idea,’ he said, and lifted a hand as if to wave them off. ‘I’ll see you around, then, and you know where to find me if you need me.’

  ‘That’s great. Thanks again for making me welcome.’

  ‘Of course you’re welcome, love. This is your home.’

  ‘Yes, but it’ll take a bit of getting used to.’

  Carrie watched for a bit as he ambled off. She knew she should be grateful for the way things were turning out. Her situation could have been a lot worse. She might have been seriously injured when she fell from the horse. She might have woken up and become lost, wandering in the Outback completely disorientated.

  Instead, she was here, in a comfortable house, with a husband who was keen to take care of her and now this old fellow, full of the open-hearted friendliness that people in the bush were famous for.

  On top of that she was having lunch with her father on Sunday. It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself.

  ‘Let’s go down to the creek,’ she said to Clover. ‘I’m in a mood to explore.’

  The dog happily followed her.

  * * *

  Carrie wasn’t in the homestead when Max returned. He checked every room, just to make sure, his concern mounting with the sight of each empty space. He couldn’t help fearing the worst—that she’d remembered. Everything.

  His gut tightened at the thought. As he went through the entire house he steeled himself for her withdrawal, the sudden coolness in his wife’s eyes as she reverted to the way she’d been before the accident.

  But Carrie wasn’t in any of the rooms.

  He told himself there was no need to panic. She would be fine. But despite his resolve to stay cool, he felt unwanted fear snake coldly down his spine. The doctors might have been wrong about Carrie’s head injury. She might have collapsed somewhere.

  He rushed to the front veranda.

  The dog was gone, but at least that meant Carrie wasn’t alone. And there were no missing vehicles, so that was another good thing. She couldn’t have gone too far. Even if she’d rung her father and asked him to come and collect her Doug Peterson wouldn’t have had time to drive over here from Whitehorse Creek, so Carrie had to be on the property.

  Standing at the top of the front steps, Max cupped his hands to either side of his mouth and called, ‘Cooee!’

  Almost immediately he heard an answering bark from Clover. The sound came from the creek, and Max’s gut tightened another notch. What was Carrie doing down there? Was she lost? Had she slipped and fallen?

  He cleared the steps in one jump and began to run.

  But he was only halfway to the creek when he came to a skidding halt. Two figures were emerging from the scrub.

  Carrie and Clover.

  Max stood watching them as his heartbeats slowed. As his throat constricted. They looked so happy together, the woman in jeans and a shady Akubra and her dog deliriously joyous at her heels. It was a picture from the past, from the way things had once been. A picture to hold close.

  But he had to remember it was only a mirage. It would melt when the truth came out.

  Carrie drew nearer and waved to him. ‘Hello!’ she called.

  He lifted his hand in response.

  She was grinning. Glowing. Her dark eyes shining. His Carrie of old. He felt his heart crack.

  ‘I hope you weren’t worried about us,’ she said as she reached him.

  He managed a nonchalant shrug and wondered if she’d seen him racing like a mad man in a panic. ‘I knew you couldn’t be too far away.’

  ‘We’ve had such a lovely walk—haven’t we, Clover?’ She bent down to rub the dog behind the ears, no longer tentative, as she’d been yesterday. He couldn’t help watching the neat shape of her behind in close-fitting blue jeans.

  Then she straightened again, still smiling. ‘Isn’t it beautiful down by the creek? And it’s going to be even lovelier in a month or so, when all the wattle is flowering.’

  Max wanted to kiss her. Wanted to taste those lovely smiling lips, to run his hands over the delicious curve of her butt, to haul her hard against him.

  ‘It’s looking good.’ His voice was almost a growl. ‘We’ve had a good wet season.’

  Carrie laughed. ‘And now I think I know why I’m so slim. It’s all the healthy outdoor exercise.’ She looked at him expectantly, as if she was waiting for him to confirm this.

  ‘Sure,’ he said quickly. He didn’t want to tell her the truth—that her enchantment with the outdoors and everything about this lifestyle had diminished over the past six months.

  ‘I met Barney,’ she said next.

  Barney. Hell. That showed what a state he was in. He should have spoken to the old guy before he panicked.

  ‘He’s a big fan of yours,’ Carrie added.

  Max frowned. He should have warned Barney to stay quiet. Last thing he needed was the old ringer turning into a high-pressure salesman, hoping to save his boss’s marriage.

  Together they turned back to the homestead, and Carrie asked companionably, ‘So what have you been up to, Max?’

  For a moment he thought she was going to tuck her arm through his, walk close, their bodies brushing, connecting, shooting sparks, the way they had as a matter of course before everything had gone wrong.

  But there was no touching, and he forced his attention to Carrie’s question. It was hard to remember that she knew nothing about his daily routine. ‘I took molasses out to the cattle on the more marginal pasture. Then I mended a fence, and checked the dams and water troughs.’

  He waited for her smile to fade, for her to sigh with her customar
y boredom.

  Instead, she turned to him with another warm smile. ‘I’d love to come out with you some time and see you at work with the cattle.’

  Oh, Carrie.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MAX CAME IN from the stockyards just on dusk, looking far sexier than any man had a right to look in dusty jeans and a torn and faded shirt. Carrie was smiling broadly as she produced a packed picnic basket.

  ‘I was hit by an urge to have a camp fire,’ she said. ‘I thought we could cook our dinner down by the creek. Just sausages,’ she added, when she saw his surprised frown.

  She’d been fantasising about how crisp and crunchy the sausages would be—like on a barbecue, only better.

  ‘I thought Clover could come, too.’

  She could see that the suggestion had caught Max out. He looked quite shocked.

  ‘Bad idea?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ He gave a quick shrug. ‘Why not? Sounds great.’ And then his lips tilted in a slow smile.

  Carrie had been about to suggest that they invite Barney as well, but the utter sexiness of Max’s smile prompted a quick change of heart. After all, her task here was to get to know her husband better.

  She had found the perfect picnic spot on her morning walk, and she was pleased when Max approved of her choice—a low sandy bank in a deep bend of the river. Together, with Clover eagerly darting at their heels, they gathered wood and kindling. While Carrie threw sticks for Clover to fetch Max soon had a fire assembled and crackling brightly.

  It was a gorgeous evening to be outdoors, with the last of the lavender and rose tints lingering in the sky and the scents of smoke and burning gum leaves hanging on the still, dusky air.

  Carrie handed Max a beer. ‘I’m sure you’ve earned one.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He grinned as he snapped off the lid. ‘Are you having one?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to at the moment.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry. For a moment there I forgot.’ Then he grimaced. ‘Ouch. Bad pun.’

  They both smiled at this, and strangely, for a fleeting second, Carrie fancied she could remember enjoying a laugh and a camp fire meal in almost this exact spot. But the feeling was a mere flash—gone so quickly she couldn’t hang on to it.