Morgan's Law (13 page)

That same whispering breeze that had lulled her before Adam arrived came again. They could be the only two people on earth at that moment—nothing else seemed to exist. She felt his warm breath against her mouth and her eyes drifted shut as he grazed his lips against hers in a touch that was both soft and hard and possessive at the same time.

Squirming against the seat belt, she knocked her foot against the side of her bag and the contact with the little urn inside brought her back to her senses. She pulled away. What was she doing? Where on earth had that come from? Kelly was right—obviously he
did
jump anything with a pulse. She sat up and straightened her shirt, which had somehow gotten all twisted in the brief but heated moment.

‘That, on the other hand, was a little
too
real,' she said, regaining her scattered senses.

‘I don't believe in playing games.'

‘Me neither, so let's just put that down to curiosity or heatstroke, shall we, and move on.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘Look, I get that out here it's a long time between drinks. You're a healthy, red-blooded man and it's probably quite normal to assume any woman's fair game, but I'm not interested in breaking your drought—I've dealt with enough crap from men lately and I don't need any more.'

‘What are you talking about?'

He was looking at her as though she'd lost her mind. Maybe she had . . . or maybe she really did have heatstroke. ‘Can you please just take me back into town so I can get this car fixed?'

For a minute she thought he might actually refuse, but with a frown and a look that clearly said he had no idea what she was talking about, he started the car and pulled back onto the road in silence.

Eleven

‘Two
weeks
?' Sarah stared at Bruce, the white-bearded mechanic, and wondered if this was some kind of sick joke the universe was playing on her.

‘That's what the dealer reckons. They have to order the part from overseas.'

‘And how are they planning on getting it here? Swimming the damn thing over?'

‘It takes a while to go through the system.'

No kidding.

The day hadn't got any better since her car had decided to break down. Adam had dropped her at the garage and promptly left her to it. Three hours later, with her car sitting dejectedly on the workshop hoist, Sarah was told the part Bruce needed to fix her car was going to take up to a fortnight to get to town. What was she supposed to do for a fortnight? The thought crossed her mind to fly home, but then she realised the nearest regional airport was still a good three-hour car ride away, and then she'd still have to arrange to get the car shipped back to Sydney once it was fixed. It was all far too complex for her tired mind to try to figure out, so for now she gave the go-ahead for Bruce to order the part and decided to work out what to do about it later.

Adam Buchanan played on her mind more than she cared to admit. The attraction she felt for the man had well and truly caught her off guard. She was here to lay her grandmother to rest, for goodness sake! What kind of self-centred, shallow person lost her head and snogged a guy who was practically a stranger, and worse, enjoyed it? Not to mention the small matter of only recently breaking off a long-term relationship. The absolute last thing on her mind should be . . .
that.

Sarah dropped her head into her hands. This was supposed to be simple! All she'd wanted was a small break from the drama of her life, time to get her head straight and her life back on track, and now look at her—not only was she discovering her gran had had a secret identity, but she'd practically jumped the first cute cowboy who'd looked at her twice. And she still didn't have a clue where to start looking for the goddamn wishing tree!

Sitting at the table, catching up on emails, Sarah jumped when she realised Edith was standing beside her.

‘June Perry.'

‘Excuse me?'

‘June Perry,' the waitress repeated briskly as though Sarah was dim. ‘That's who you should go and talk to.'

‘Who is she?'

‘Rose Morgan's best friend. Seems to me if you're looking for some answers she'd be a good person to start with.'

The older woman bustled away, leaving Sarah wondering whether maybe she was dreaming this entire trip. What was it with this place? Why was no one willing to simply tell her what she wanted to know without making her go on some elaborate treasure hunt? Was this what small-town life consisted of? Did they create all this mystery just to break the monotony of their lives?

Still, Sarah decided she might as well go and see if there was anything in Edith's suggestion—it was not like she had anywhere else to go at the moment. She'd just emailed a request for more time off and knew
that
was going to go over like a lead balloon once Celeste heard about it. It might be wise not to sit and wait here for that particular reply to come through.

She had to go on foot, but thankfully nowhere in Negallan was too far. A few streets away she located the old hospital, a quaint little building that had been converted into a small nursing home.

She introduced herself to the nurse manager and was given directions to the lounge room, where the majority of the twelve residents were gathered.

Sarah had never been in a nursing home before and the strange smells that greeted her were a mixture of hospitals, mothballs and something she didn't want to identify. She was so glad her gran had been able to take care of herself in her own home before she died. Putting her in a place like this would have been horrible.

Would you have bothered to come and visit her any
more in a nursing home?
a little voice nagged.

In the big lounge room, a few elderly residents dozed in recliners, while others sat blankly in their wheelchairs or played cards at a small table.

A woman in a white blouse and navy trousers, who had been busy feeding an elderly man, looked up and smiled a welcome as Sarah walked into the room.

‘Can I help you?'

‘I was told I could find June Perry here.'

‘Over by the window, in the pink top.'

Sarah thanked the woman and turned to cross the room.

‘She's not having a very good day today, though, so don't be surprised if you don't get much conversation out of her,' the woman added.

Sarah cautiously approached the small, birdlike woman hunched in her wheelchair, staring out the window. ‘Mrs Perry?'

There was no flicker of response on the woman's face.

She just continued to stare out over the trees in the small but well-maintained garden outside.

‘My name's Sarah and my grandmother was Rose Morgan. I was told you two were close when she lived out here.'

For a moment she thought June wasn't going to respond, and was about to write off coming here as a really bad idea, but slowly the old woman turned her head towards her.

‘Rose?'

‘Yes, Rose Morgan.'

‘You came back.' A soft smile lingered at the corner of the woman's mouth.

‘No, I'm Sarah, Rose's granddaughter.'

The woman looked confused.

‘I was hoping you'd be able to tell me a little bit about Rose.'

‘Rose?'

‘Rose . . . Morgan.'

‘We had so much fun, Rose and I.'

Sarah glanced up hopefully. It was hard to tell if June was with it or not. ‘Do you know why she would have wanted to leave town all those years ago?'

‘Oh, she didn't leave town, dear . . . she was
murdered
.' June's voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

‘Do you know who would have murdered her then?

And why?' Never mind explaining how Sarah was even born if that were true!

‘No one knows, but I'm sure it had something to do with that shearer she was seeing. I told her—I said, “Rose, you're playing with fire,” but she wouldn't listen to me.'

A shearer?
‘Who was the shearer, can you remember his name, June?'

‘Whose name, dear?'

‘The shearer Rose was seeing,' Sarah prodded with as much patience as she could muster.

‘Yes, Rose was seeing a shearer, but that was a long time ago now, dear. Silly girl, she wouldn't listen to me.'

‘Do you remember his name?' Sarah asked again, slowly and clearly.

‘Bluey someone . . . I don't remember now, it was a long time ago, but I warned her, I said Rose, “You don't want to play around with that man, he's got a mean streak running through him, he has.”'

‘The shearer?'

June seemed to have forgotten Sarah was there and she continued to ramble. ‘I warned her that trying to make him jealous wasn't a good idea, not with a man like Bluey. He was dangerous. Had a fiery temper to go with that red hair of his.'

‘Who was she making jealous?'

June stared at her blankly and Sarah tried to bite back her frustration—old age could be so cruel sometimes; she was so thankful Rose had been spared
this
.

The fond smile came back and the years seemed to melt away from June's face. ‘Rose? Is that you?' she asked, searching Sarah's face intently.

Sarah smiled reassuringly at the old woman. ‘Yes, June. It's Rose,' she said softly. A flare of joy lit the older woman's eyes for a moment, causing a sharp pain in Sarah's chest as she caught a glimpse of the young girl who had once been her gran's best friend.

She wished she could ask what the two of them used to get up to as young girls, ask whether she remembered what Rose's dreams were for her future . . . There were so many questions she wanted to ask, and yet she knew there was no way she'd be able to reach June long enough to find the answers.

She left a few minutes later, when June had turned back to stare out the window, as though once more lost in another world.

Questions circled Sarah's mind in an endless loop as she walked away from the nursing home. Who was this shearer June had mentioned? And who had Rose been trying to make jealous? Given June's mental state, could her information even be relied upon? This whole thing was confusing enough without adding the ramblings of a woman lost in her past.

As she strolled along the footpath, a weird tingle began to run along her spine. She'd been ignoring it the last few days, putting it down to curious locals observing her wherever she went, but this feeling that she was being watched was becoming stronger and stronger.

There was nothing remotely scary about the place she was walking; the streets were wide and there was plenty of activity, plenty of people who would hear her if she screamed, she thought, and glanced behind her.

A woman pushed a toddler on a swing over in the park and an old man pushed his walking frame along in front of him, the white shopping bags hanging from the handles indicating he'd just been to the grocery store. A few cars were parked along the street, and as she walked past, Sarah tried unobtrusively to gauge whether or not anyone was seated inside.

She shook off the strange sensation, putting it down to an overactive imagination. What she needed was a distraction to take her mind off conspiracies, troublesome country boys, runaway grandmothers and cheating ex-boyfriends!

Twelve

Sarah took a cold drink up to the verandah and looked down on the steady pace of Negallan life. She tried to picture herself in a place like this, without the hustle and bustle of London, but it felt too strange. Maybe she could move back to Sydney. The thought made her heart do a little unsteady wobble. She'd been skirting around the idea for months, unable to actually voice it until now.

Could
she move back to Sydney? Could she make such a huge change? She was tired of covering for Celeste and constantly putting out the thousand and one spot fires so things could run smoothly, and for what? Celeste still got the majority of the credit for it all. Sarah used to see it as gaining experience. Lately, though, it was just becoming demoralising. Did she really need a job title to feel as though she'd made it? She was doing the Account job, and had been for the last few years. She knew it, her other colleagues knew it—did she really have anything left to prove?

A familiar figure on the street below caught her attention and she found herself casting her troubled thoughts aside to watch a clearly agitated Trent Morgan as he made his way across the street. His determined expression and purposeful stride set him apart from the laidback gait that seemed the usual pace for the majority of the Negallan population.

For a minute she felt a certain empathy for this new-found cousin of hers. There was something lost about him—not that he didn't seem to belong here; he certainly looked the same as every other farmer in the area—but he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder, or to be carrying some burden, which seemed odd for a young man who, on the surface, appeared to have it all. Was it just the pressure of running a property? Or was Burrapine in far more trouble than the Morgans cared to admit?