‘Sit here now and we’ll see how you’re feeling.’ Caitlin slipped into the chair beside her hostess. To her critical eye, Doreen’s colour seemed good. Better now, in fact, than it had been outside. ‘Do you want me to call your doctor?’
‘No, no. Heavens no. Silly me. I’ve overdone it in the garden, that’s all. I’ll be good as gold after we’ve had that cuppa.’ Doreen grimaced ruefully, her eyes glinting with affectionate humour. ‘And Matt will just growl at me.’
‘Matt? Your doctor? That wouldn’t be Dr Matt Gardiner, would it?’ An odd sense of inevitability settled over Caitlin.
‘My son. Well, technically my foster-son, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Caitlin faintly. That would teach her to ignore her earlier shiver of premonition. She wondered what else might be in store.
Doreen made a small grimace, looking resigned. ‘I’ll tell him tonight when he comes home.’
‘Comes home?’ Shock numbed Caitlin’s tongue, making her stumble over the simple words.
‘Yes. He’s—’ Doreen broke off, her head cocked to one side. ‘Oh, dear. I’m not expecting anyone. I wonder if that’s him.’
Caitlin had been vaguely aware of the sound of the crunch of car wheels on gravel. Now a door on the other side of the house banged shut.
‘Him? You mean Matt?’ Her voice wasn’t much more than a squeak. She was still grappling with the idea that he lived here. It was too much to think that he might actually be here. No. She couldn’t meet him again. Not right now. Not without some time to prepare.
‘Yes. He has an uncanny knack of…. Oh, dear. Please don’t say anything about my little episode, will you, Caitlin?’ Doreen shot a guilty look towards the door. ‘He’s had such a dreadful morning, I don’t want to add to his load today.’
‘But—’
‘Mum?’ The rich, deep voice jolted Caitlin to the core.
She swallowed hard, clasping her hands together tightly in her lap to prevent her fingers betraying her internal shudders.
‘We’re in the kitchen.’ Doreen gave Caitlin a conspiratorial smile.
‘Something smells delicious.’ Matt came through into the large kitchen-dining area. The easy smile on his face froze as his whole body seemed to do a double-take. Caitlin’s brain played the scene in slow motion so that it seemed to progress inexorably from frame to frame.
‘You.’ He was obviously having trouble believing his eyes. ‘You’re here.’
‘Yes,’ she managed. She felt barely able to string thoughts together, let alone put them into words to form coherent sentences.
‘Oh, you two have met.’ Doreen sounded intrigued.
‘Yes. At Jim’s accident this morning. This is the Caitlin that Nicky was talking about. She delivered the foal.’ Matt’s disbelieving eyes stayed focussed on her face. Almost as though he expected her to disappear if he looked away.
‘Oh, my. Nicky’s going to be so excited to see you,’ said Doreen.
Caitlin smiled weakly.
‘So staying here was one of those plans you were talking about earlier,’ said Matt.
‘Yes,’ she croaked.
‘Then you’ll be here when I get home later?’
She stared at him. Escape to Melbourne beckoned.
‘Of course she will be, dear,’ said Doreen. ‘She’s booked in for a week.’
‘Bookings can be changed,’ he murmured, his eyes all too knowing. ‘Caitlin?’
She swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’
His mouth moved into a small smile and a spark of humour lit the green eyes. ‘Yes, you’ll be here? Or, yes, bookings can be changed?’
‘Um. Yes. I’ll be here.’ Why did she feel as though she’d committed herself to more than simple accommodation?
‘Good.’ He nodded with satisfaction. ‘Right. I’ll be off, then.’
‘Do you have time for lunch, dear?’ said Doreen.
‘Had some, thanks. I just called in to pick up these files.’ He shifted and for the first time Caitlin noticed he was carrying a wad of papers. ‘I’ll take some of whatever smells so good back to work with me, though.’
‘Muffins. I’ll get you something to put them in.’ Doreen slipped away from the table.
Compelled to break the small ensuing silence, Caitlin asked, ‘How—how did Mr Neilson take the news about not moving the mare and foal?’
‘He accepted it. You must have charmed him.’
‘As long as he doesn’t rush it.’
‘Here you are.’ Doreen was back, holding out a bulging bag.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ He kissed her cheek then looked back at Caitlin. ‘I’ll see you later.’
She hoped the smile she gave him didn’t look as feeble as it felt.
After he’d gone, Doreen sat down again. ‘Thank you so much for being discreet, dear. I feel a bit mean, involving you like that. But fancy it being you who was there to help this morning. I should have put two and two together earlier—Caitlin is an unusual name. But when you introduced yourself…I was so…’ She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Well, I’m just a bit muddle-headed today.’
Caitlin bit down on her lip, wondering what her aunt had been going to say. ‘Sure, and don’t we all have those days.’
‘Some of us more than others.’ Doreen smiled, but her eyes were thoughtful. ‘Have you always worked with horses?’
‘Never. I’m a small-animal vet.’ Caitlin raised her voice to speak over the whistling of the kettle. ‘You stay here. I’ll fix the tea.’
‘Oh, but you’re my guest,’ Doreen protested as Caitlin crossed to the kitchen to where all the tea things were laid out.
‘You’ve got it ready, all I’m doing is the kettle,’ said Caitlin, as she reached for the switch. ‘Matt’s practice is in Garrangay, then, is it?’
‘Yes, he took over from Bert Smythe when he retired. Matt’s built the practice up, modernised it,’ said Doreen proudly. ‘Poor old Bert had let things go a bit in his last few years.’
Having poured the boiling water onto the tea-leaves in the pot, Caitlin placed everything onto a tray and carried it across to the table. ‘It must be nice for you, having Matt and Nicky living here with you.’
‘Yes, it is, though, strictly speaking, I live with them, of course,’ said Doreen. ‘Matt bought the place when my husband’s health deteriorated and organised renovations to make things easier for us. After Peter passed away, I was rattling around, wondering what to do with myself. Matt suggested turning it into a bed and breakfast. Milk for you?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Caitlin accepted the proffered cup. ‘It’s a grand old building.’
‘My great-great-grandfather, William Elijah Brown, built it. He and my great-great-grandmother, Lily, were early pioneers in the district.’ She gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Don’t get me started or I’ll have you looking at all my old photos.’
A sharp quiver ran though Caitlin’s stomach. The man who had built this magnificent place, who had worked and, with his wife, raised a family here, was her ancestor, too. Longing and sadness tempered a feeling of pride.
‘I’d