He’d have to put Caitlin Butler-Brown down to experience, as the one that got away, and make more of a commitment to his social life. The thought of leaping back into the dating game made him shudder. But leaping anywhere with a certain veterinarian for some reason seemed outrageously appealing. Which showed that the scars from his marriage hadn’t completely killed his masculinity after all.
One look and his wary heart wanted nothing more than to plop into Caitlin’s clever, caring hands. He should be looking for a nice country girl. Much more sensible. Though perhaps not. He grimaced wryly. His ex-wife, Sophie, had been a home-grown Garrangay girl. And their marriage had been a total disaster.
‘Let’s go and talk to Mr Neilson and then we can head home.’ With one last glance along the empty road, he followed Nicky back towards the float and truck.
Jim was watching the foal’s increasingly confident forays.
‘Your mare and foal need to stay here for at least a week. Vet’s orders,’ said Matt.
‘A week! I can’t leave her here that long,’ Jim gasped.
‘You don’t have a choice,’ Matt said. ‘You were a damned fool to try and move her so close to foaling. And you know it. Caitlin hasn’t saved your mare for you to risk the animal’s life again. Organising agistment here until she’s fit to travel is a small price to pay.’
Jim coughed and spluttered before he nodded grudgingly. ‘Here, you’d better take this. Your friend left it.’ He held out Caitlin’s black padded jacket.
Matt’s fingers sank into the down-filled softness and warmed instantly. Her perfume wafted up, the floral tang bringing a sharp memory of clear, smiling, grey eyes.
Resolutely, he tightened his grip. It was an expensive garment, the sort that someone would want back.
‘Thanks. I’ll get it back to her. Come on, Nicky.’
Whistling softly, he tucked the coat under his arm and set off across the paddock. He had a cast-iron excuse for tracking her down without looking like some sort of unbalanced weirdo.
He knew her name. Knew she was a veterinarian with delightful hints of an Irish accent. How hard could it be?
Nothing she’d said gave him a clue where she was staying, except that it was somewhere in the area. He knew where he’d start. With his foster-mother and her contacts in the local accommodation industry. If he had to, he’d work his way through every motel, bed and breakfast, hotel and hostel in the district.
The Grampians loomed over her aunt’s bed and breakfast. Remnants of fog clinging around the base did nothing to soften the daunting majesty. Despite the late morning sun, Caitlin shivered. The stark, craggy range glowered down at her, challenging her right to be there.
Her stomach clenched as doubts suddenly swamped her. Perhaps she should have written first. Prepared her aunt. How would the poor woman react to having a stranger drop into her life without warning?
Not for the first time, she wondered if her father had had other siblings. Was there a whole host of aunts and uncles and cousins lurking in Garrangay? She swallowed as her heart skipped uncomfortably.
As it stood, she was the only child of parents estranged from any family they’d had. Martin Brown and Rowan Butler. Her family was a tiny unit, even smaller now that her father had passed away.
Three hundred kilometres away, in the comfortable suburbs of Melbourne, this whole venture had seemed simple. But here, on her aunt’s doorstep, it seemed fraught with complexity. Her usual calm detachment deserted her completely, leaving her mouth dry, a sinking sensation in her stomach. The urge to get back in the car and drive away was almost overwhelming.
She shut her eyes. Waiting behind her closed lids was a clear vision of brooding, green eyes beneath a dark gold thatch of hair. Her eyes snapped open. Dr Matt Gardiner.
There was an intensity about him—and her reaction to him—that was unnerving. She’d read the interest in his eyes, seen it turn to curiosity after she’d fumbled with answering his questions.
Her cheeks warmed at the memory of her gauche behaviour. Stupid. He’d even provided a ready answer for her—a holiday. All she’d had to do was say yes. Instead, she’d hesitated and that stark tension had sprung up between them.
‘We hardly ever bite our guests.’
She spun around. A pleasantly plump woman smiled at her from a few feet away.
Her aunt? Caitlin stared, searching the face, the friendly blue-grey eyes.
‘Mrs Mills? I’m Caitlin Butler-Brown,’ she said, pushing the words past the constriction in her throat.
The welcoming smile faltered, replaced by a peculiar, almost stunned look.
Oh, Lord. Was it recognition?
It couldn’t be. Da had said his sister didn’t know he’d even married, let alone that he’d had a child.
Her surname was Butler-Brown, no reason at all for Doreen to associate the hyphenated name with Martin Brown.
And, besides, everyone said she favoured her mother in looks. Except for her eye colour. The silvery grey came straight from Doreen’s brother…Caitlin’s father.
Suffocating panic made her want to retreat, snatch open the door of her car and drive away. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this after all.
‘I—I have a booking.’
‘Oh. A booking. Yes. Of course you do.’ The woman seemed to shake herself mentally. ‘I’m sorry, dear. Come in. Come in. Let’s go around the back. Did you want to bring your bag in now or…?’
‘Er, I might leave it until later.’ If her courage failed her, she could still make that dash for Melbourne.
‘I thought you might have come a bit earlier. Oh, but I expect you’ve been sightseeing.’
‘Mmm, yes. I have.’ That was one way of describing her long morning. She’d found a public bathroom so she could have a wash and change her top. Then lingered over cups of coffee while she’d debated whether she’d continue with her plans or retreat back to Melbourne.
‘You don’t mind using the tradesmen’s entrance, do you? I’ve been gardening. That’s what I was doing when I saw you.’
Now that the woman had started, it seemed as though the sentences gushed out.
‘I’m Doreen Mills.’ She gave a small, embarrassed laugh and her hands fluttered briefly. ‘But you know that. Call me Doreen, of course. We don’t stand on ceremony. I’ve not long taken some muffins out of the oven. I got so involved with the broad beans I nearly burnt them. The muffins, that is, not the beans.’
‘I…see.’ Caitlin bit back an urge to giggle lest it explode into full-blown hysterical laughter. She waited for her aunt to lever off her dirty boots at the step.
‘I’ll show you your room. Then we can have a nice cup of tea.’
The house smelled of the muffins and lavender and lemon polish. Everything was spotless and tidy without seeming intimidating. It was…homey and welcoming. Settled in a way that her family’s houses had never managed, Caitlin realised with a small sense of envy. It beckoned to her but at the same time left her feeling like an outsider, as though she could never quite belong there.
‘I’ll put the jug on, then.’ The flow of words stopped abruptly.
‘Doreen?’ Caitlin frowned. Was her aunt looking a little pinched around the mouth? ‘Are you all right?’
‘Oh, dear, yes. Nothing to worry about. I’d better just…’