Right As Rain Read online

Adam shook his head. “Her phone doesn’t work and . . . well, I didn’t get her number. We were always together. We didn’t need . . .” He sucked in a breath and stared at the menu but his eyes weren’t reading it.

  “Mate, I’m sorry.” Jeff reached across the table and gripped his shoulder. “I know you really liked her but maybe you read it wrong.”

  Adam shook his head. “I couldn’t have.”

  “Sometimes women . . . well, maybe she didn’t feel the same way. Aussie girl on holiday meets good-looking New Zealand bloke.” Jeff dropped his hand. His voice trailed away leaving the rest unsaid.

  Adam frowned. Was Mackenna that kind of girl? He hadn’t thought so. They were meant for each other, he’d known that within the first few hours they’d spent together. She’d felt it too. He’d seen it in her vibrant green eyes.

  “Well, on the bright side,” Jeff said, “if you’re here without a woman you can spend more time with me.”

  Adam looked into Jeff’s big round grinning face. They’d been best friends since they started as apprentices in Auckland. Both chefs, Jeff now had his own restaurant here in Queenstown while Adam had always worked for other people, learning and moving on. He had no desire to own his own place.

  “Slave labour you mean?” It came out sharper than Adam had intended but if he hadn’t responded to Jeff’s desperate call yesterday morning, he might still be with Mackenna.

  “I didn’t plan a flat battery and my sous chef to be sick.” Jeff sat back in his chair. He spoke softly. “Giving me a ride and covering a shift was good of you. I do appreciate your help you know, Ads.”

  Adam instantly regretted his words. “I know, mate. It’s not your fault. I should have woken her up, told her what I was doing . . .” They lapsed into silence.

  The lunchtime crowd ebbed and flowed around them. A waitress appeared, pen and paper in hand. Adam ordered a bowl of wedges. It was at the top of the menu. Jeff ordered them both a beer.

  “So will you hang around a bit longer?” he asked. “You’re between jobs and I really could do with the help.”

  Adam glanced at his mate.

  “I’d pay you,” Jeff added.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do. There was a job I was going to apply for in Wellington but now ... I don’t know. Call me an idiot but I hadn’t thought past being with Mackenna.”

  “Idiot,” Jeff said and gave him a pretend slap to the side of his head. “Was she flying back to Australia from here?”

  “No, Christchurch.”

  A sudden thought hit Adam. He jumped up then steadied the table as beer slopped from his glass.

  “What are you doing?”Jeff grabbed his own glass.

  “Her flight home is still a week away.” Adam reached under the table for his bike helmet. He didn’t know her number but he knew the airline and the time of her flight.

  “What are you going to do?” Jeff was standing now; a good head taller than Adam, he frowned down at him.

  “I’m going to Christchurch.”

  “What about lunch?”

  “Sorry, mate.”

  Adam hurried up the street weaving in and out of the crowd. Suddenly he could see the leafy green trees, hear the birds and smell the food wafting from the eateries.

  “Please wait for me, Mackenna,” he murmured.

  CHAPTER

  3

  The sun reflected back from the sign announcing Woolly Swamp Farm. Even wearing sunglasses Mackenna had to squint her eyes against the brightness. The sky was cloudless, which was unusual for April.

  She braked the car to a stop at the entrance to the driveway and gave herself a moment. Ahead of her the track wound up the slight rise of a hill to the house nestled amongst the gums and assorted sheds scattered across the yard. She let out a sigh. Six weeks ago she’d been anxious to escape but now she was glad to be home again. Surely all travellers felt that way but they didn’t necessarily cut their trips short by several days. It didn’t bother Mackenna, she was more than happy to be here – in fact she was relieved. Her last few days in New Zealand had been full of turmoil. She thought briefly of her hurried departure. Did that mean Woolly Swamp was home or another escape? She buried that thought and cast her eyes left.

  Rising up amongst the recently planted tea-trees, the original stone homestead faced back towards the main road. Signs of restoration were all around the old house and fresh timber beams crisscrossed its gaping top. The iron roof should have been on by now. A small ripple of excitement coursed through her; this building factored large in her plans for Woolly Swamp. Now that she was home she wanted to forge ahead.

  She looked right. A mob of sheep grazed in the distance with a couple of lambs amongst them. That was weird. It was too early for lambs. Closer, she watched a crow cruise to the ground and then hop to a lump in the paddock. It was too far away for her to see what had attracted its attention.

  She edged her car through the gate and immediately noticed the newspapers lying in the dry grass of the verge, where the bus driver would have tossed them. She frowned. That was odd as well. She pushed open the car door and reached out to retrieve them. Her mother walked to the gate every day to pick up the paper; called it her morning constitutional.

  Mackenna glanced back across the paddock. Two crows were busy picking now. She lifted her hand against the midday sun and peered at them. The lump looked like the body of a lamb. She tossed the papers onto the seat beside her and sped down the track. Instead of continuing to the house she turned right and followed the fence to the gate, marking the entrance to the paddock with the sheep.

  Judging by the low level of pasture the mob of Corriedale Dorset ewes must have been in here a while. Mackenna cast her eyes about and frowned. There was no sign of top-up feeds either. She drove across the paddock. Several sheep lifted their heads to watch as she advanced and the crows took to the air. The lamb was small, only a few days old. The scavenging birds had already started on its eyes but otherwise it looked perfect. She rolled it over. There was blood on its nose and a hole in its side.

  “A bloody fox.”

  Mackenna gritted her teeth at the waste and scooped up the pathetic animal. She slipped it into an old shopping bag and dumped it in the boot of her car, beside her case. Then she scanned the paddock for Alfie the alpaca, but he was nowhere to be seen. Alfie was always with lambing ewes, an ever-vigilant protector against foxes. Something was definitely not right. These sheep were low on food and normally her father would have been out at first light to check a paddock of lambing ewes. He wouldn’t have missed the dead lamb.

  She scrutinised the house yard as she pulled up beside the back gate. The garage door was open and there was no car inside it. Nor was there any sign of the two farm dogs that usually greeted any approaching vehicle. As soon as she stepped out of the car she heard them. The kennels were under the stand of gums behind the garage. Mackenna ignored their barking and made her way inside.

  Her grandparents had built the house and she stepped into it like she would a pair of comfy boots. Once more she sighed. There really was no place like home – unless home was turned on its head. She stood in the doorway to her mother’s kitchen and surveyed the mess. There were dirty dishes on the benches, newspapers and unopened mail scattered across the table amongst empty beer cans and a pizza box, and clothes draped on the backs of chairs. She was beginning to worry. There had been many busy times over the years and sometimes emergencies but her mother somehow managed to maintain a tidy house, even when she was sick.

  Mackenna spun at the sound of boots on the verandah. The bloke opening the screen door paused and pulled back his shoulders, drawing him to a height that forced her to look up to meet his deep brown eyes. Wavy black hair escaped from under his cap. By anyone’s standards he was a good-looking guy.

  “Who are you?” she stammered.

  “More to the point, who are you?” He stepped into the house.

  “Mackenna Birch.”

  “The prodigal daughter.
” His broad face swept into a seductive smile. “You’ve returned.”

  Mackenna didn’t like the way he looked her up and down. She flicked her eyes down at his huge boots. “My mother doesn’t allow boots in the house.”

  “She’s not here and I was just dropping a docket.” He waved a piece of paper back and forth in front of her. “In and out.”

  His casual manner raised Mackenna’s ire further. Who was this guy in their family home acting like he owned it?

  He moved past her into the kitchen, paused at the mess on the table then went to the fridge and stuck the paper to it with a magnet. It was between the postcard she’d sent first from New York and the one she’d sent next from Hawaii.

  “It’s the fuel docket,” he said. “Should be safe there till Louise gets back.”

  “So you’ve delivered the diesel?” Mackenna scratched her forehead. Things had really changed if the new fuel driver was already on first name terms with her mother and was allowed access to their home. Normally the docket would be taped to the tank.

  “Kind of.” He made his way back to where she still hovered in the kitchen doorway. “You haven’t spoken to your parents?”

  “I would if I knew where they were.”

  “Did you try ringing?”

  “I was going to surprise them. I’m home earlier than expected.”

  “Guess it’s you with the surprise then.” He pushed open the screen door. “Ask Patrick. He’s meant to be keeping an eye on things.”

  “My brother’s here?”

  “Probably still in bed, but that’s not my business.” He tapped his hand to the brim of his cap and gave her a smile. “Be seeing ya.”

  The door swung shut and she remained where she was, listening to the sound of his boots retreating along the verandah.

  “Not if I can help it,” she muttered. He hadn’t even told her his name. “Arrogant . . .”

  “Sis!”

  Mackenna turned. Her brother, Patrick, stood before her, blinking bleary eyes into the light. He was eight years younger than her but in his unshaven, dishevelled state he looked older.

  “I’m glad it’s only you. I thought Mum must be home.” He swept his fingers through his hair making the short dark tufts stand on end. “There’s a bit to do before she gets back.”

  “What’s going on, Patrick? Why are you here?” Her brother rarely spent time at the farm these days. In fact, while she’d been away, he was supposedly working in Sydney.

  “It’s my home too.” He shoved some cups out of the way and flicked on the kettle.

  Mackenna ignored the jibe. “Where are Mum and Dad?”

  “Haven’t you spoken with Mum?” Patrick rummaged in the freezer and pulled out a container of their mother’s slice. He sat it in a patch of sunlight on the bench.

  “Obviously not. I got an earlier flight. Thought I’d jump in the car and come straight home.”

  “They’re in Adelaide.”

  “Both of them? Together?” Her mother went to the city from time to time but her father rarely went further than the local community and the odd trip to Mount Gambier.

  “Cup of tea?” Patrick waved a mug at her.

  Mackenna glanced longingly at the coffee machine gleaming on the bench. It had probably been idle since she’d left six weeks ago.

  “Yes, thanks, but tell me what’s going on?”

  “Dad had a heart attack.”

  “What!” Mackenna had been half seated but she jumped up, bumping the table and making the scattered papers slide and a can rattle to the floor.

  “Settle down,” Patrick said. “No need for you to have one too. He’s okay now.”

  “When . . . why didn’t . . .” Questions whirled through Mackenna’s head. She didn’t know which to ask first.

  “Dad had the first attack not long after you left.” He plonked a mug in front of her.

  “First!”

  “Well I don’t understand these things. They put a couple of stents in and sent him home to take it easy.”

  “Why didn’t they ring me to come home?”

  “I reckon Dad was planning to but Mum wouldn’t let him. Said it was the first proper holiday you’d had. She asked me to come.”

  “What about your work?” Patrick had left the farm as soon as he finished school, went to university and was working in marketing for a national company.

  “They’ve been very understanding.”

  Mackenna gaped at her brother. He wasn’t one for farm life and rarely came back to visit.

  “My boss said family comes first,” he said.

  “So why are Mum and Dad in Adelaide now? You said first attack. Has he had another?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What do you mean?” Mackenna banged her hands on the table. That’s what irked her about Patrick, he was always so vague.

  “Take it easy. Dad had been complaining of pain so he had to go back for another angiogram. Mum rang last night and I think they’ve put in another stent.”

  “You think!” Mackenna slammed her hands on the table again. “Why on earth didn’t anyone tell me?” She’d made a couple of phone calls home while she’d been away and sent a few emails but that damned mobile had been so unreliable. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t spoken to her father. Each time she’d been able to get through, her mother had said he was off doing things.

  “Like I said, Mum wouldn’t let us.”

  “How’ve you managed?”

  Mackenna saw the anger flare in Patrick’s eyes. He pushed away from the table and started dropping cans into the recycle bin. “Dad’s been able to direct traffic, and I can follow instructions.”

  “I know Patch, but there’s so much to do even with you here.” Mackenna slumped in the chair. She’d sounded harsh and hoped the use of his pet name would calm the situation. “Are the neighbours helping?”

  “Of course. And Dad’s hired Cam Martin to do the truck work. I never got my heavy vehicle licence.” Patrick looked around. “I thought I heard his voice when I got up.”

  “Really tall, dark wavy hair?”

  “Sounds like him.”

  “Damn,” Mackenna muttered. That would explain the confidence of the guy to walk into the kitchen, but she still felt he was taking a liberty.

  “When did Dad put this Cam guy on?”

  “About two weeks ago.”

  “So, let me get this straight.” Mackenna stood up and paced the kitchen. “While I’ve been away, Dad’s had a heart attack and ongoing treatment, you’ve given up your job to look after the place – ”

  “Well, not given up, exactly. I . . .” Patrick stopped talking as Mackenna locked eyes with him.

  “And Dad’s employed a working man.” She stood in front of Patrick. “I’ve only been gone six weeks. And for the last three I’ve been in New Zealand for goodness sake. It’s not as if I was in outer space.” She swept her hair back and held it in a ponytail while she dug in her pocket for a band. “Why didn’t someone tell me?”

  “Stop bellowing at your brother.”

  Patrick leapt to his feet and Mackenna swivelled her head to see her mother standing in the doorway.

  “Mum, I didn’t hear the car. Where’s Dad?”

  “Letting the dogs out.”

  “Should he . . .?” Mackenna faltered as the weariness on her mother’s face changed to anger.

  “He shouldn’t be doing anything but try telling him that, especially when his two grown children seem incapable of such a simple job.”

  “I’ll go.” Patrick shot out the door.

  “How is he?” Mackenna asked. “I wish I’d known, Mum.”

  “He’s tired but okay. It was my decision not to tell you.” Her mother gave her a quick hug, then sighed and cast her eyes around the room. “Not quite the welcome home I would have planned.”

  Mackenna wasn’t sure if she meant for herself or her daughter.

  “I said I’d put the kettle on.”

 
“It’s not long boiled,” Mackenna said.

  “Good. Do you think you can start on this mess? Then we can all sit down for a chat when your dad comes in.” Her mother stepped around the can that had rolled to the floor and reached for the kettle. She peered inside and began to refill it. “You’re home early.”

  “I did most of the things I’d intended. The weather turned bad and there was a seat on an earlier flight.” Mackenna had told herself that so often on the journey home, she believed it. She tried again to tug her hair into the band. It was a pity she hadn’t taken the time to get it cut before she’d come home, but she didn’t trust anyone except the local hairdresser to keep her unruly curls in line. “I didn’t stay in Adelaide – came straight from the airport. If only I’d known . . .”

  “Your hair looks pretty.” Her mother started wiping down the table as Mackenna cleared off the assorted debris. “I like it when you don’t colour it. Some people would kill for your auburn curls.”

  Once again the subject of her father had been redirected. And once again, even though she was thirty-two, Mackenna could still be made to feel guilty about colouring her hair. Dying hair was disapproved of. Some of her friends went to the hairdresser with their mothers and had pamper days together. Her mother would never see the necessity for that. Mackenna pursed her lips to hold in the questions she wanted to ask and instead, flew around the room setting it back in order and trying to keep her annoyance at Patrick in check. This was his mess that she was cleaning up – nothing had changed.

  She looked up at the sound of the screen door and bit her lip as her father stepped into the kitchen. His face had lost its ruddy glow and the polo shirt she’d given him for Christmas hung loosely from his shoulders. Patrick appeared in the doorway close behind. For a moment there was silence as they all froze like pieces on a chessboard, then Mackenna flew across the room.

  “Dad.” She kissed his cheek and wrapped his frail frame in a careful embrace. They were matched in height and when she stepped back she could see tears welling in his eyes. It shocked her. She’d left him strong and healthy, physically tackling all the jobs the farm threw at him, now he looked barely fit enough to wrestle a kitten. She twisted her lips quickly into a grin and slipped an arm through his, leading him to a chair. “You’ve taken to visiting the city while I’ve been away.”