Burnt (30 page)

‘Girls, take your bags inside and unpack your lunch boxes. And feed Buggalugs.' Her throat closed up as she said the dog's name. Buggalugs was so much a part of Seb that it almost made her cry.

Stop it. There's more than one unit of SAS fighting over there. There's no reason it has to be
him
. Besides, she would have been notified if it had been him … wouldn't she? But then she thought about it: why would they notify
her
? She wasn't next of kin. She was nobody to the defence force. Her heart began an unsteady beat once more. If it
was
Seb, there would be no one left to tell.

Sinking onto a kitchen chair, Rebecca stared out the back door listlessly. The sound of the girls running and laughing and the happy bark of a loved pet only made her fears grow stronger. How did people do this every day? The news was so full of soldiers dying nowadays. Before Seb had come back, she'd always held her breath whenever she heard the news of casualties, an unconscious prompting in the back of her mind making her think of him. But since he'd gone back this time, any news of the Middle East had her glued to the TV like a news junkie.

Her heart went out to the many military families all around Australia – and the world, for that matter – who waited, day in and day out, for news. Somehow it seemed harder for the ones left behind, waiting for the next call or letter. And then she froze once more – over and over in her mind, a voice said:
There haven't been any letters lately
.

‘Kids, please, hurry up. You're going to be late.' Rebecca hadn't been able to sleep for the past two nights and this morning the girls had picked up on her mood. From the moment they got out of bed – late – they'd been arguing and fighting over the smallest things and Rebecca was at the end of a very fragile tether.

‘But, Muuuum,' Sarah whined, ready to launch into a new argument over the unjust punishment she'd been dealt for slamming her bedroom door earlier.

‘Sarah, I'm not kidding,' Rebecca warned as she glared at her daughter, jerking open the front door to allow them to walk out ahead of her.

She frowned as Sarah froze on the spot, causing her older sister to crash into her back and start a whole new argument. Looking up to find the source of her daughter's interest, Rebecca felt the frown melt into a look of astonishment. Twin yells of delight came from the girls in front of her, moments before they rushed forwards and launched themselves at a strangely uncertain-looking Sebastian Taylor, standing with one foot on the bottom step, watching them.

Hand still on the door, she stared as though the man before her were some kind of apparition, and felt as though her feet were welded to the spot.

‘Mum, look, it's Seb! He's back.' Natalie's wide smile lit up her face like a burst of warm sunshine and Rebecca managed a weak smile in return. Finding her voice, she quickly reminded them they were already running late, thankful once again that they lived only a few houses away from the school's front gate.

‘Will you be here when we get out of school, Seb?' Sarah asked, with a concerned frown. ‘We wanna show you all the new tricks we taught Buggalugs to do while you were away.'

‘Ah, well, I don't know, that depends on what your mum says.'

‘Please, Mum, can he stay, we
have
to show him the tricks,' Natalie begged.

‘Yes, fine, just get a move on before the bell goes.'

Satisfied that their hero would be waiting for them when they got home, the girls ran down the footpath and to the pedestrian crossing further along the road. Rebecca stood, watching them cross the road and walk through the front gates, trying not to let her emotions spill free before she got herself under control.

It was Seb who broke the silence first. ‘I was going to call first, but I wasn't sure if you …'

‘What? Thought you were dead or something?'

‘
What?
'

‘It's been on the news all week – the soldiers killed overseas. I didn't know if one of them was you or not.'

She saw his face lose some of its confusion and he took a step closer to her. ‘I didn't think about that. I'm sorry.'

‘What are you doing here?'

A wary look crossed his face again and she wished, not for the first time, that she could read his mind.

‘You didn't get my last letter?'

‘It's been a while since we got a letter. I thought –' Her voice wobbled suddenly.
No, you are not going to cry, damn it!

‘You thought something had happened to me,' he finished quietly. ‘Bec, I'm sorry.'

‘No, it's all right.' She took a small step away from him. ‘It's not like it was any of my business.'

‘Bec –'

‘You never answered me. What are you doing here?'

‘It was in the letter … that you obviously didn't get …' He sighed, irritably running a hand through his short hair. ‘Ah, look, I've probably caught you at a bad time. I haven't been home yet, so I might head to the farm and get some things sorted out and come back later this afternoon so the girls can show me Buggalugs' new tricks – if it's okay with you.'

Rebecca eyed him; he seemed to be oddly on edge about something. ‘Sure.'

‘Okay then, well, I'll see you a little later.' He waved and turned away quickly, jogging back to his car and driving off, leaving Rebecca staring after him with a bemused frown.

She needed coffee – a very
strong
coffee. Possibly followed by wine.

For some reason the sound of the postie on his bike seemed louder than usual. Rebecca turned from pulling up the weeds in her front garden and shaded her eyes against the midday sun. The postman pushed her mail into the letterbox, and she waved to him then stood up and dusted off her hands to head across the yard to retrieve it. As she shuffled through the junk mail, her gaze fell on the off-white envelope, with the familiar name in the top corner. What was inside this missing letter that had the unflappable Sebastian Taylor so unsettled?

Packing away her gardening tools, she took her time heading back inside. Whatever it was, she had a feeling she would need to be sitting down to read it.

Seb stood on the top of the ridge, looking down over his father's farm. He wiped his brow and felt the isolation and beauty of the land surrounding him. God, he'd missed this place.

His thoughts drifted to the countryside he'd just returned from. Afghanistan had mountains – lots of mountains, higher than anything they had around here. The brutality of the landscape, with its harsh extremes of searing heat and freezing cold, made it seem like the terrain was doing everything in its power to make itself uninhabitable, and yet people still managed to adapt and live there.

Winter had all but vanished here and the sweet, heady scent of spring was in the air, filling him with a renewed hope and optimism that he hadn't experienced in what seemed like a lifetime.

He'd spent a long time working out his future while he'd been away. Something had changed since he'd faced Charles Green; he'd finally been able to confront the torment of his past, releasing the lock on his darkest memories and facing them. They were like most fears, he thought: once you stood up and faced them, they didn't seem as terrifying as you imagined them to be. His fears had been the fears of a teenager – emotions he'd refused to address. Guilt and self-reproach had been like an infection, he saw that now. And an infection left untreated often festered and turned toxic, just like the guilt he'd been nurturing all this time. It had all but deadened his other emotions.

Did he still feel like he was responsible for Marty's and Reggie's deaths? Yes – to a certain degree. Did he still feel as though he should deny himself happiness because of it?

No. He'd done that for eighteen years, and it was time to let it go. Rebecca had been right when she'd thrown how Marty would feel about his attitude in his face. He knew his mate would have hated seeing him hurt the people who loved him – he'd be the first to tell him to stop playing the damn martyr and get on with living.

His gaze dropped to the small plastic box he held in his hand. First, he had to say goodbye to his father, one last time.

It was quiet up here on the ridge. The air was still and warm. He remembered coming here when he was small, before his teenage years, before the clashes with his dad had widened the gulf between them. He was grateful that he'd had the chance to put things right before it had been too late. If anything had given him the kick up his backside that he'd needed, it was the realisation that while he'd been busy shutting everyone out of his life, thinking he was doing them a favour, he'd been hurting those who loved him the most.

Removing the lid of the plastic box that contained his dad's ashes, he shook them out, watching as a breeze came from nowhere, carrying with it the sweet-smelling wattle and eucalyptus scents of the bushland below them. It mixed with the ashes, taking them on one last flight out across the land Angus Taylor had worked and loved his entire life, returning him to the place where he belonged.

Rebecca took a deep breath when she heard Seb's car pull up outside. Nerves ricocheted inside her stomach and she pressed her hand against her abdomen in an attempt to still them. She'd spent the few hours since reading Seb's letter bouncing from one emotion to the next.

After the lump of raw emotion in her throat passed, she'd become angry – angry that he had to risk being killed before finally admitting how he felt about her, angry that he'd wasted so much time figuring it out. Then came relief that at least he
had
finally figured it out. Only after all these other emotions passed did a small bud of hope begin to unfurl inside as she dared to believe what he'd said in his letter: that he was shipping back to Australia and wanted to see her, to work out their future.

The knock at her door, even though she was expecting it, still made her jump. ‘Get a grip, Rebecca,' she muttered under her breath. She would be cool, calm and collected. He was not going to shake up her world all over again and expect her to fall into his arms like some pathetic wimp. Feeling a little more in control, she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she opened the door.

He looked up, and she caught the heavy weight of uncertainty in his brown eyes. In that micro-second, her fate was sealed, sending every good intention she'd been practising all day out the window.

‘Bec, I'm sorry –' he began, but the pain in his voice was too much for her to bear. She took a step forwards, closing the distance between them, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

‘Seb, don't.'

She felt his surprise in the stiff set of his body, but she held on. Resting her head against his chest, the fabric of his T-shirt soft beneath her cheek, she felt his arms cautiously slip around her. Pulling her against him, he tightened his arms to hold her securely, as though he were afraid she might change her mind and pull away at any moment.

Rebecca closed her eyes to savour the warmth of his arms, breathing in the scent of the man she'd never been able to forget. Pulling back slightly, she looked up and tried to read his expression without much success.

‘Your letter arrived this morning, after you left.'

A twitch of his lips was the only movement on his unreadable face. ‘Typical army. Impeccable timing.'

A loud thumping of speakers distracted them as a P-plater drove past, and Rebecca moved back to allow Seb inside. Luckily, she wasn't in a gossipy neighbourhood, or the neighbours would be having a field day with her private life.

In the kitchen, Rebecca automatically pulled down two coffee cups, gasping as she turned to find Seb standing closely behind her.

‘I didn't come here for coffee, Bec,' he told her softly, his face the same heavy-eyed, unreadable mask it was before.

‘Then what
did
you come here for?' she asked, determined, this time, to make him say it.

‘I came here to apologise for being the biggest idiot known to mankind, not once, but twice,' he said, ‘and to beg you, if I have to, for another chance at making this thing between us work.'

‘You? Beg?' Rebecca hitch a brow. ‘Somehow I can't picture you ever begging for anything, Seb.'

‘If that's what it takes, I'll get down on the floor right now and grovel at your feet,' he offered quietly, and Rebecca realised he was serious.

‘When you started writing, I almost sent it back to you unopened.' She thought she saw a glimmer of something in his eyes, but it was gone too fast for her to be sure. ‘But as much as I'd love to believe I'm completely immune to you, it appears I'm not. I walked past that damn letter on the table for all of two hours before it got to me and I had to open it.' It hurt her pride to admit it, but it was the truth. ‘I didn't want to forgive you – I wanted to stay angry at you. It was easier to stay mad than it was to miss you.'

‘I was expecting you to tell me to go to hell.'

‘I wish I was that strong.' She frowned. ‘Your letters became something the kids and I looked forward to. They really loved getting their own little notes; that was very thoughtful of you.' She allowed the faintest of smiles to pass between them.

‘I loved getting their letters – and yours. You don't realise how much they came to mean to me, Bec.'

‘I think I do.'

His eyes darkened, and she felt the last of her reserve melt away.

‘I've had a long time to think about things. I didn't handle the way I left after the funeral well. Coming back here – you, the kids, Dad – it did something to me, made me realise what things were important. I know what I want, Bec.' He held her gaze.

‘And what's that?' His words were like a gentle caress to her bruised and battered heart.