She closed her eyes and her chest squeezed the breath from her lungs as his hand brushed close to her cheek without quite touching. She felt the flick of his fingers against her hair and the brush of his wrist on her shoulder, but when she dared to open her eyes again he was moving past her to set the saddle inside the tack room.
She knew that when he returned the dark emotion in his eyes would be replaced by a milder light and he would be smiling easily.
But no.
When he stepped outside he paused again, standing beside her, staring with an intensity that made her tremble. She felt ill. If it didn’t happen now, it never would.
Muscles in his throat worked and he looked away. ‘We’d better go up to the homestead.’
Beside him Sarah had to reach for the door frame to steady herself. She felt so drained she couldn’t even cry.
Reid frowned. ‘You’re coming up to the house, aren’t you, Sarah?’
She tried to swallow the clump of awful emotion in her throat. ‘I don’t think I will today, thanks.’
His eyes pierced her with a sharp, searching wariness. ‘Don’t you want to sample our new cook’s fare? He’s very good.’
She shrugged in an effort to hide the storm breaking inside her. ‘I still have some marking to do and lessons to prepare for next week.’ Before she could weaken, she set off across the yard. ‘Catch you later, Reid.’
He didn’t respond.
She told herself that it was a good sign; she’d shocked him. But when she reached the gate and turned to wave goodbye she caught a glimpse of his stricken face as he stared at the ground, and his clear disappointment gave her no sense of satisfaction. None at all.
‘You’re leaving town?’ Ned Dyson, the editor of Mirrabrook’s tiny newspaper, couldn’t have looked more appalled if Sarah had announced she’d contracted smallpox.
‘I’m afraid so, Ned. I’ve applied to the Education Department for a transfer to the coast. I’m well overdue for a change, so I’m pretty confident they’ll let me go.’
Ned groaned and threw his arms into the air in a melodramatic gesture of despair. Next moment he launched himself out of his swivel chair, circuited his paper-strewn desk and came to a halt in front of Sarah. Pushing his glasses back up his ski slope nose, he stared at her as if he needed to look into her eyes before he’d believe her.
‘Do you really want to go? After all this time?’
She nodded. She was determined to go through with this. She had to.
Ned let out a noisy sigh and propped his hands on his hips. ‘The town’s going to take this hard, Sarah.’
‘I suppose they might, but that’s only because I’ve been here for too long and everyone’s so used to me.’
‘It’s more than that. We’ll never get another teacher who loves the kids the way you do.’
‘Of course you will.’
‘And what about your agony aunt column?’ Ned raked a pudgy hand over his bald patch and his eyes bulged with horror. ‘Geez, Sarah, I’ve Buckley’s chance of finding anyone who can hand out advice the way you do. You’ve got such a knack. The whole district hangs on to your every word.’
But now it’s time for me to take my own advice.
‘What I write is just common sense, Ned. You know that.’
‘But you always manage to make people feel so good about themselves—even when they’ve made stupid mistakes.’ Ned flung out his arms. ‘You’re a flaming genius. Most people around here think I hire someone from down south to answer their letters, some hotshot psychologist in the big smoke.’
‘That’s not because I’m any kind of genius; it’s because they want to believe the advice is coming from an expert. We both know they’d be devastated if they discovered the woman who taught their kids was Ask Auntie.’
‘Doesn’t matter. You’re damn good.’
Sarah dropped her gaze to avoid the pleading in Ned’s eyes. Nothing about her move away was going to be easy. For starters, she didn’t really want to go. It would be a wrench to turn her back on her little school; she would miss her seventeen pupils terribly. She loved every one of them—even the naughty ones—especially the naughty ones.
And she knew the Mirrabrook townsfolk would be sorry to lose her; she’d become so much a part of their lives, but if she was going to reclaim her life she had to make a clean break from Reid.
‘It’s time for me to go, Ned. It’s been a hard decision, but in the end I—I don’t have much choice.’
He frowned and looked as if he was waiting for an explanation. When she didn’t offer any he asked, ‘What about Reid? What’s he had to say?’
It was weird the way people who knew her well still thought of Reid as her boyfriend. In this town they were still Sarah-and-Reid—a proper courting couple who were probably going to be married some day. How could anyone miss the glaringly obvious truth?
She managed a half-hearted smile and shrugged. ‘Reid’s cool.’ Then, before Ned could comment, she rushed to ask, ‘Did you get the Ask Auntie responses I emailed through to you for this week?’
‘Yeah, thanks. I haven’t had a chance to read them yet, but I’m sure they’re okay.’ He cast an eye over the mess of papers on his desk, then grimaced and patted his paunch as if he had indigestion. ‘The paper’s circulation is going to drop when you go.’
‘Don’t panic just yet, Ned. You’ve time to think about a replacement. I won’t be going till the end of the school term.’
He brightened a little. ‘That means you’ll still be here for Annie McKinnon’s wedding?’
‘Yes.’ Flinching inwardly, Sarah forced a smile as she remembered the excited phone call she’d received a couple of months earlier from Annie in Rome. She summoned a deep, calming breath to still the awful jealousy she felt every time she thought about Annie’s wedding. Why had both Kane and Annie McKinnon taken to the idea of marriage like ducks to the Star River, while Reid…?
No, she wouldn’t waste another thought in that direction. ‘Annie’s asked me to be a bridesmaid.’
Ned grinned. ‘That’s great. You’ll be a terrific bridesmaid.’
‘I won’t be the only bridesmaid, of course. Annie has a couple of friends in Brisbane she’s asked to do the honours, too.’
Ned beamed. ‘Better and better. I’ll bet they’re good sorts.’ He rubbed his hands together as if he’d just been struck by a brilliant idea. ‘I reckon a McKinnon wedding is a big enough stir in this little valley to make the front page of the Mirrabrook Star, don’t you?’
‘I reckon it is, Ned.’ Sarah tried for another smile but couldn’t quite manage it.
Later that evening, Sarah took a pad and pencil through to her study, a converted back bedroom in her little house beside the school in Mirrabrook’s main street. It was a little old Queenslander cottage, the standard design built forty years ago by the Education Department and she’d made it her own little haven.
Over the years she’d collected a modest assortment of antiques, handicrafts and artwork, including a handmade quilt on a wall in her lounge room, North Queensland pottery vases filled with native flowers, a bed with antique brass ends covered by a white hand-crocheted bedspread, and a couple of original paintings.
Sarah loved to surround herself with beautiful things. They lifted her spirits. Most of the time.
She doubted anything would cheer her tonight. It was time to make a list of all the things