Stockman’s Stormcloud (Stockmen #3)

Zero

Elsie Creek Station—September 1962

‘Harry Splint, what were you thinking? I can’t accept this.’ The screen door to the farmhouse slammed shut as Penelope Price tried to return the package to the rough and rugged stockman who just wouldn’t take no for an answer. ‘You take this back, right now, you hear?’

‘I can’t.’ Harry grinned, stepping back with his hands raised as if he’d burn his fingers if he touched her. ‘I had that posted all the way from Sydney for you. It came from a fashion house and everything, Pen.’

Fashion house and Harry were two worlds that did not blend. ‘How? When you’re on a stockman’s wage?’

‘I cashed in some of them gold nuggets.’

‘You were meant to spend that on you. It’s your nest egg, Harry.’

‘I wanted to spoil you, because I knew you’d love it. And it’s your birthday. You deserve something special for your birthday.’

The gasp escaped her as she looked down at the simple box wrapped in tissue paper tied with string. Her husband never bought her gifts, not even at Christmas, let alone acknowledge it was her birthday today. Except leave a bruise against her back when he’d shoved her against the cupboard while helping her drunk husband to bed last night.

Penelope sighed, scrubbing at the fine layer of dust that rested across her face, holding the light package, dying to know what it was. She hadn’t had a birthday present for years.

‘I’ve never bought a present for a lady before, so you have to keep it.’ Harry rubbed the back of his neck, giving a meek shrug. That was a first for the cheeky stockman who had dazzled her from the moment they’d met. ‘I’m married to your boss, the head stockman. Jack would skin you alive if he ever found out about this.’ She shuddered to think what he’d do to her.

‘Pen, honey…’ He said her name a little deeper, with a little more gravel in his tone, while wrapping his big hands gently around one of her wrists, making her keep hold of her present. ‘You don’t love your husband. I know it, and you know it. Because—’

‘Don’t you dare say it, Harry Splint!’ She tried to back away into the deep shadows of the verandah, but he followed, refusing to let go of her wrist.

‘Harry, we can’t,’ her voice was a whisper as her eyes darted around the homestead. It was too risky. After all these months of sneaking around, it felt riskier every day.

He tipped back the brim of his Akubra, revealing blue eyes that she’d never forget in a million years. ‘Penelope Price, I love you.’

She shut her eyes tight as if to hide, even if her heart wanted her to jump for joy at the power of those words, because they came with a whole truckload of trouble. ‘We—’

‘We’re meant to be together forever.’ He lightly kissed her closed eyelids, her nose, then her lips, and waited. ‘Why fight this, Pen?’

Her eyes fluttered open as she sighed at the beautiful man before her, while holding the parcel to her chest. ‘This is hard for me.’ It was darned near impossible, with her morals screaming at her to end this.

Harry was a good man. It wasn’t Harry’s fault she’d married a bad man.

Yet when he stepped back, it made her chest flutter again as if he was stealing the air from her lungs.

It was true, this man took her breath away. Every time, from the minute they’d met, where they’d been respectful of keeping their distance, where Harry had even moved away for a time. But then their emotions got in the way and common sense took the highway.

‘Go on, open it. I’m not leaving until you do.’

Left with no choice, Penelope gently tugged on the simple string, then rolled back the tissue paper. Her eyes flared at the gift, as her heart took a leap. She couldn’t believe it. ‘ Harry… ’ It was like a dream come true, holding up the dainty black leather purse. It was so small, but stylish, with black leather handles and a bright metal clasp. Inside, her name was sewn into the lining: Property of Penelope Price .

‘So, um, do you like it?’

She nodded. And kept on nodding. Oh, she more than liked it, opening the clasp again and feeling the fine silk lining. ‘It’s just like Audrey Hepburn’s bag.’

‘I know. Like the one in your favourite movie.’

‘ Breakfast at Tiffany’s .’ Happy tears formed, as she held her gift to the sunlight. It was far too fancy for this land of red dust. ‘Harry, I can’t accept this.’ But she so very much wanted to.

‘Happy birthday, beautiful.’ Harry tapped the brim of his stockman’s hat and walked away.

‘I love you, Harry.’ The words spilled out before her brain could catch up, as she stood there hugging the bag as if hugging the man.

He stopped still, with his head down, keeping his back to her. ‘Say it again.’

The dry grass crunched under her sandals as her shadow spread across the sunburnt land that begged for rain.

Her touch was so light against his arm. ‘I said I love you, Harry Splint. Today and forever.’

His large hand covered hers as he turned to face her. ‘You mean that?’

‘But we have to stop this. My husband will kill us.’ She swallowed tightly, fighting her fears, as she tried to step away, but he wouldn’t let her go. And she didn’t want him to. ‘As much as I love this bag, I can’t keep it.’ Again, she tried to hand it back. ‘What would I tell Jack?’

‘Say it’s from a friend? Or that you entered a contest and won it. You’re always entering competitions, aren’t you?’

‘I can do that.’ As she had no family to write to, her competition responses were the only mail she got.

‘Jack is always telling me off for spending money on stamps.’ Jack was always yelling at her these days, too. He wasn’t the man she’d married.

‘How about you meet me at our special place later? I’ve got your favourite wine, and some chocolate, and we’ll do some dancing, eh?’

She loved those moments, just the two of them under the cloak of darkness to dance under the stars.

‘Thank you for my present, Harry. I do love it, like I love you.’ She gave him a shy smile, but she felt her soul singing those words.

Lord help her, she loved Harry Splint.

‘You know, you saying you love me is the greatest gift a man could ever want. What’ll make it even sweeter is if you agree to marry me.’

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked her.

Yet, this time, as she looked at the precious handbag he’d given her, it had her thinking about it.

It wasn’t just the bag, it was the extraordinary effort he’d made to spoil her. Only Harry did that for her.

She nibbled on her lower lip. The chance for that happy ending seemed romantic. It was like the movie ending of Breakfast at Tiffany’s where Holly hugged her stray cat, and her man embraced her in the rain.

Except the current drought had left them with sun-soaked fields on an outback cattle station, and she didn’t own a cat, but she had a good man who loved her, who was offering her a chance to reinvent herself away from the bad man she had married .

‘Harry, I want to show you something.’

She took the passport she had found last night out of her pocket and handed it to him.

‘What do you think this means?’ She troubled her lip with worry. She may have told Harry she loved him, but trusting him with this information was a big step.

Harry studied the passport’s pages, his frown deepening before he handed it back to Penelope with something like wonder in his eyes. ‘I think this means you need to find your marriage certificate.’