Amy's Touch (20 page)

Danny did not consider himself an overly intuitive person. He tended to take people at face value and to think the best of them until something they did made him think otherwise. And there, right in front of him, he was seeing two people desperately in love and trying valiantly to disguise the fact. This new, disturbing knowledge hammered over and over inside his head. Amy and Randall were in love—with each other. So why, in God’s name, hadn’t he twigged to it before today?

He had to get away, to think, to try to clear his head of the image of the two of them, and to deal with the hurt and disappointment, and the smouldering anger mounting inside him…

T
he next time Amy looked to where Danny had been sitting on top of the fence, he wasn’t there. A frown puckered her forehead as she wondered where he’d gone. Was he saddling a horse to ride with her, or did he have chores to attend to? Mounting the Duchess and taking the reins from Randall, she directed her horse to the front yard, expecting Danny to be waiting there. Instead she saw Jim Allen leading a poddy calf to join the milking cow they kept close to the main shed.

‘Seen Danny, Jim?’

‘He rode off a minute ago,’ Jim said, pointing up the hill that led away from Drovers to a cloud of dust settling on the dirt road. ‘Yelled something about having to go to town.’ He shrugged. ‘Didn’t say what for.’

‘On a Sunday afternoon?’ Amy queried, her frown deepening. It wasn’t like Danny to go off without a word. Abrupt and arrogant behaviour was typical of Randall, but not of her fiancé; he was easygoing and amazingly tolerant. Was he going to one of the hotels? Normally the bars were closed on Sundays, but Clem at the Royal, an obliging publican, often let locals into the saloon bar for a quiet drink. A sense of unease began to build in her stomach, and the more she debated Danny’s sudden departure the more certain she became that something had upset him. What could it be?

‘Would you like company, Amy?’ Jim offered.

Amy managed a smile at Jim’s thoughtfulness. ‘No, I’m fine. I’ll just ride along the creek to the boulders, then come back.’

And that was what she did, taking two hours to return to Drovers Way. Danny still hadn’t returned, so Amy drove back to town, all the way fighting to control the sense of foreboding growing within her…

Danny leaned against the counter in the Royal’s saloon bar, his left hand clutching a pint of beer, his right hand coiled into a fist inside his trouser pocket. Several beers should have taken the edge off the misery he felt inside, but the alcohol wasn’t working the way he needed it to. He could still
feel
, still
remember
, his hopes and plans for the future—a future with Amy by his side. What was he going to do now that he knew about Amy and Randall? Confront and accuse them? The anger building inside him wanted to do just that, but the other part, his compassionate nature, shied away from the idea—because then he would know, without a doubt, how they felt about each other, and be more miserable, if that were possible, than he was at this very moment.

He gulped two mouthfuls then wiped the froth off his upper lip with the back of his hand. His world had fallen apart in a few revealing seconds. Christ! That was all it had taken, seeing them struggling to disguise their feelings for each other. Talk about a bloody revelation. How long had they—he stumbled over the words in his head—been
in love
with each other? Weeks, months, years? He tried to pull his mind off his worries by watching young Jonathon Cohen pull beer. It was at best a temporary distraction.

Danny knew he had to decide what he was going to do. Something or…nothing? Yes, he could pretend he didn’t know how they felt about each other and go ahead and marry Amy. After all, Randall was less than a month away from marrying Beth. But wouldn’t that raise more problems? Having a wife in love with another man and that other man being his brother? It couldn’t work. They’d all end up miserable.

Danny signalled Jonathon to pour him another beer. He stared deep into the frothy amber fluid and came to a decision. When it came to the crunch, really there was only one thing he could do: walk away. A muscle flicked erratically in his jaw as he reached that conclusion. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and his breathing became light and fluttery. God, he was made of flesh and blood, not stone. How could he walk away, give up the only woman he had ever loved? Gripping the beer glass, he tilted it to his lips and swallowed half the contents in one go. As the answer came to him he opened his
eyes. It was because he loved her so much. Her happiness was more important than his own.
And
because his love for his brother was stronger than his anger towards him.

Then how come knowing all that failed to make him feel any happier?

The man standing next to him at the bar knocked his elbow, making him spill his beer onto the bar’s counter. ‘Watch it, mate,’ Danny complained. He’d drunk enough to be uncharacteristically belligerent, especially so when he recognised the man elbowing him as Frank Smith, Gindaroo’s mechanic-blacksmith, who’d been keen on Amy.

Frank wasn’t the type to back down. ‘
You
watch it, Danny McLean,’ he said, and deliberately nudged Danny again.

At any other time Danny would have laughed Frank’s aggression off and walked away. Not today, after seeing what he had at Drovers Way and drinking half a dozen pints of beer, when normally he was a two-pints man. He turned to face Frank, who was a couple of inches taller and, because of the heavy work he did, more huskily built. ‘Move down the bar,
mate
. There’s plenty of room at the other end.’

‘I like it here, even if the company isn’t so great.’

In an instant Danny’s hand came up and pushed Frank’s chest. ‘Shove off, Frank. I’m in no mood for your humour.’

‘And I’m in no mood to be pushed around by a McLean,’ Frank responded, and pushed Danny back. This time three-quarters of the beer in Danny’s glass slopped over the counter.

‘You owe me a beer.’

‘Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to buy you one,’ Frank growled back.

That was when Danny threw a punch. It landed on the side of Frank’s neck, throwing him off balance. After that the fight was on in earnest. Danny gave a pretty good account of himself, except that the beer he’d consumed slowed his responses enough for Frank to eventually get the upper hand. The fight spilled out of the saloon bar onto the hotel’s verandah and steps. Frank shoulder-charged and knocked Danny to the ground, where he lay, winded. Frank kicked Danny in the guts and tried to stomp on his hand. Danny rolled away and got to his knees before Frank could pound him to the ground again.

‘Had enough, McLean?’

Joe Walpole, leaning against the front fender of his automobile, pushed himself upright and came towards Danny and Frank. ‘He’s
had enough, Frank. You’ve made your point,’ Joe said calmly, and, surprisingly, placed himself between the two men. ‘Compensation for not winning Amy’s fair hand, hey!’ he taunted Frank sarcastically, after which he gave Danny a searching once-over. One eye was bruised and swollen, blood streamed from his nose, his shirt was torn and speckled with blood and the knuckles on both hands were grazed.

Joe shook his head. ‘You’re a bloody mess, mate. Come on, I’ll take you home.’

‘Don’t want to go home. Take me to your place, Joe,’ Danny said, his voice slurred.

If Joe considered Danny’s request odd he didn’t say so. ‘All right, if that’s what you want. You can sleep it off in the stockmen’s quarters.’

‘Thanks.’ Danny took a ragged handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and held it to his bleeding nose. He couldn’t let Randall or Jim see him like this—bloodied and beaten. Staying overnight at Ingleside would give him time to think and plan what to do next…

Bad news travelled fast in the country, and titbits of gossip travelled faster. By Monday morning Randall knew that Danny had been in a fight in Gindaroo and was staying at Ingleside. Fighting and staying away from Drovers Way was definitely odd behaviour for his brother, but Randall refused to be overly concerned. Danny would come home when he was good and ready, get whatever was bothering him off his chest, and then he’d be the same old Danny.

Early-morning shadows lay on the ground as Randall and Jim finished a hearty breakfast of mutton chops, eggs and fried bread, washed down with two mugs of tea. In between mouthfuls, Randall outlined the schedule for the day.

‘We can’t count on Danny being available today, so we’ll have to herd the sheep ourselves, east of the valley to the west, closer to the creek. And if there’s time I’d like to check that irrigation pipe I put in—it’s been clogging up. We got very little winter rain and we’re going to need extra water from the creek or the wheat crop might fail.’

‘I’ve heard that Ingleside, having seen your success with the irrigation pipe, is going to drill and set up a series of windmills for underground water so they can plant more wheat,’ Jim informed Randall as he cleaned up and put the dishes in the sink.

‘That’s fine with me. Bill can do whatever he likes so long as he doesn’t take more than his share of water from the creek.’

‘I’ll check the pipe. I could do it now, then meet you and help you move the flock.’

‘Sounds good.’ Randall nodded in agreement. When he took the time to think about it, which he did occasionally, he marvelled at how well Jim had fitted in with Drovers. Having only one good hand didn’t stop him from cooking excellent meals, and he was a conscientious worker who never complained about the tasks he was asked to do. A real gem. It was going to be interesting seeing how he and Beth shared kitchen duties when she came to live here. Thinking that, a bubble of bile rose in Randall’s throat as he contemplated his forthcoming marriage. He’d racked his brain but couldn’t find an honourable way out without hurting Beth and earning Bill Walpole’s everlasting enmity. Admitting it didn’t help, but he knew now that it had been stupid to ask her to marry him. He had backed himself into a corner from which there was no satisfactory retreat.

Randall scraped the chair on the linoleum as he stood. ‘See you on the range.’

‘What do you mean he isn’t here?’ Randall queried Jim as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink after they’d come in from moving the flock of sheep.

‘I checked his room a minute ago,’ Jim explained. ‘He wasn’t there. I peeped in his wardrobe and it looks like he’s packed a suitcase full of clothes—his personal things are missing—and taken off.’

‘Taken off!’ Randall’s tone rose several notches, though he didn’t doubt that Jim spoke the truth. ‘Are you crazy? Why would Danny take off? Makes no bloody sense.’

Jim hesitated a moment, then said quietly, ‘There’s an envelope on the kitchen table. It’s addressed to you.’ Randall’s confusion was palpable. Jim took the clean metal bucket from under the sink. ‘I’ll go and milk Crystal before it gets dark.’

Randall knew Jim was giving him space to read what Danny had written. Instinctively, he sat down before doing so. Danny’s behaviour over the last twenty-four hours made no sense, but hopefully the letter would explain everything. He tore the envelope open and took out Danny’s handwritten two-page letter. It didn’t take long to read.

Randall held his breath as he read the letter, and when he finished he expelled a loud sigh. His gaze became fixed on Danny’s last few sentences:
I want you and Amy to be happy together. If you are, I’ll be happy. Your loving brother, Danny.

Damn it all to hell and back! Randall thumped his fist on the kitchen table. Danny knew about his feelings for Amy, and that she reciprocated. How…? Somehow his brother had worked it out. He’d come home, written the letter, packed a bag and left.
Don’t try to find me, ’cause I’m not coming back. I’ll be fine,
he’d written. His going was for the best. He didn’t blame Randall or Amy for feeling the way they did. He understood! Racked with guilt, Randall ran a hand through his hair. The expression in his eyes was bleak.

When and how had Danny found out? Hadn’t Randall been careful to hide how he felt about Danny’s fiancée? Obviously not careful enough. And…God almighty, Danny said he understood. How bloody amazing. Randall didn’t understand why or how he’d fallen in love with Amy himself, so how could his brother?

A wave of sadness rose within him, stifling all other thoughts for several minutes. He hadn’t meant it to happen, but he had betrayed his brother, his closest living relative, and driven him away from their home.

A little later, when he became more rational, Randall’s thoughts turned to Amy. Had Danny left her a similar letter? Or had he called at Primrose Cottage to officially break their engagement? That was something he had to know. He got up from the table, grabbed his hat and headed for the back door and the shed, where the Ford was parked.

Amy wouldn’t see Randall, but Dr Carmichael agreed to. The older man’s features were grimly disapproving as he led Randall through the house and into the small study off the kitchen passageway.

After Randall closed the door, the doctor got straight down to the matter. ‘This is a…distressing business, Randall. I must say that I’m shocked.’

‘Has Danny been here?’

‘He called, left a letter for Amy, but wouldn’t see her. He appeared to be very upset.’

‘He left a letter for me too. I take it you know the contents of Amy’s letter, sir?’

David Carmichael nodded. ‘Amy let me read it.’ He shook his head in silent contemplation for a moment or two. ‘A very bad business.’

‘Might I see her letter?’

‘I don’t think Amy would agree to that.’ The doctor subjected the younger man to a hard look. ‘It’s between Danny and herself. Suffice
it to say, the general gist was that he knew you and Amy were in love with each other so he freed her from her engagement to him.’

A muscle flexed in Randall’s jaw. ‘Uummm, how did she take it?’

David peered at Randall over his gold-rimmed glasses. It was clear that he didn’t know Randall McLean as well as he’d come to know Danny. ‘How do you think she took it? Badly.’ He made a tut-tutting sound with his tongue. ‘You and Amy and Danny, it’s all very unfortunate. In my opinion your brother has shown great courage and compassion doing what he’s done.’

‘I agree. He—we never talked about it. He just wrote those letters and left.’ Randall’s tone was confused, but it also held a note of determination. ‘Respectfully, sir, Amy and I, we need to talk.’

Still staring stolidly, David considered Randall’s request. ‘That’s up to her. What
I
think you both need is distance and time to put matters into perspective. Your marriage to Beth Walpole is imminent and you have decisions to make in that regard. Amy needs time to sort out her feelings too. I’ve suggested she visit relatives for a month or two, she has an aunt and family in Melbourne…’