30 HEATH

30 Heath

He was an idiot. He’d told Amelia that he could never fall in love again, but he’d only said it because he thought he should feel that way. He’d been seduced by society’s need for him to conform to their expectations of grief—and immobilised by his own fear: despite his assurances to Charlee, the fact was that Amelia’s love of flying added an unacceptable risk. He didn’t have the emotional reserves to deal with potentially losing her.

So, because of his cowardice, he’d pushed Amelia away. And again, it had been Charlee who had brought them back together.

His broken, troubled, teenage daughter was braver than him. By the river, Charlee had said her final farewells to her mother and signalled her intent to move on, to embrace the risk that was life.

By unspoken agreement, the three of them chose not to return to the Overland Hotel. Instead, Heath escorted Charlee and Amelia back to the cottage the women now unofficially shared. Sean would figure out where they’d gone and pick him up at some stage. The lampposts were farther apart here, only a couple of blocks off the main street, and they walked in the centre of the road to avoid the cobwebs the golden orbs spun from the gums lining the footpath. Although the threads were strong enough to endure, the webs would be stolen by birds the moment the morning sun turned the strands to gold. Undaunted, the spiders would rebuild their world each night.

‘I hope Dusty’s come home,’ Charlee said, and Heath suspected his daughter was searching for normality, trying to move on from the emotions that had stripped them both bare only minutes earlier.

Amelia sighed. ‘Me too. I know it’s the whole call of the wild thing, but she’s never stayed away more than two nights before. And last night was so filthy when that storm blew through. I lay awake, wondering whether she’d found somewhere safe and dry.’ She tilted her head to the sky and squeaked between her teeth. She waited a beat, listening and watching the dark street. Then she shook her head despondently. ‘I’ve walked around for hours, calling her name like some kind of idiot. Every time I see a mischief of magpies, I’ve rushed over, hoping one will come to me.’

‘A mischief? Is that what a group of maggies is called?’ Charlee asked. ‘Seems about right.’

‘That, along with a heap of other collective nouns: charm, tribe, congregation.’

‘Well, I’ll go out and search for her again tomorrow. She’s just hanging out, being a tart with all the boys.’

Although the street was wide—generous, like everything about the Settlers Bridge district—Heath walked close enough to Amelia that his arm occasionally brushed against hers. He wished he had the courage to take her hand again, as though that would help ease her obvious anxiety. But how did he backtrack on his declaration about not being ready? As usual, he’d arrogantly thought only about protecting himself in the moment, hadn’t reflected on how his words might hurt Amelia. It was fittingly ironic that he’d clearly destroyed his chance at moving forward by doing so.

‘How long has Dusty been gone?’ he asked.

‘Three days,’ Amelia said as they approached her front door.

Her mood visibly lifted as Chance uttered excited yips and barrelled up the hallway, falling over his own paws in his excitement.

Charlee got hold of the pup first, cradling the dog and tickling his stomach.

Perhaps he should get his daughter a pup, too, Heath thought. But he’d wanted to gift Amelia something just for herself, something that let her know that he wanted her to stay, without him having to put it into words. And there was that whole damn cowardice thing again. He wanted life to pan out his way, but he didn’t want to make a commitment. Or was it more that he didn’t want to risk asking any favours of the universe, knowing that, at some stage, they’d have to be paid for?

‘I stuck a list on the board above the desk, Charlee,’ Amelia said as she deposited her keys on the wooden side table in the hall. ‘There’s a miniature goat stud at Monarto and miniature ponies in the Hills advertised for sale on the Facebook hobby farming group. But I think perhaps we should investigate the long-term health of the breeds before we commit. I’d made a note of some websites to look through.’

Charlee and the puppy ducked into an adjoining room. ‘No list here.’

‘Nope,’ Amelia said with a small smile. ‘Like I said, I had put it on there. I think Dusty isn’t keen on expanding our family: she shredded the list to confetti. So we’ll have to start from scratch. While you’re in there, could you have a scrounge under the desk—Dusty’s stolen a couple of my favourite pens and stashed them somewhere.’

Although she kept her tone light, Amelia’s eyes were sombre. She tilted her head toward the back of the house, indicating that Heath should follow.

He didn’t want to. He had a sudden premonition that Amelia was going to tell him that he was right; that he was in no position to consider a new relationship. And that wasn’t what he wanted to hear from her. What he needed was a night to get his head straight, to make sure that the next time he spoke, his brain, heart and mouth were all linked. He couldn’t ignore the vast disconnect between what he wanted and what he felt he should want.

As Amelia opened the back door, the sheep rushed over, bleating loudly.

‘You’d think they were still on the bottle with all that carry-on,’ he said, hoping to distract Amelia from whatever she planned to say. ‘Don’t they like the sheep nuts and lupins?’

‘They like them far too much. I found Kismet had nibbled her way into the sack of lupins and was hoovering them up. She’d have given herself tummy ache if it wasn’t for the fact that she likes to crack each of the beans separately, so it slows her down.’

‘I guess with only one row of teeth, it’d be a task,’ he said, bending down to pick up one of the small, dried legumes that had escaped the foraging animals.

‘I had to get a steel bin from the stock fodder shop to hide the food in.’ Amelia fondled Karmaa’s ears absently, her forehead creased. ‘Heath, you know that I don’t beat about the bush.’

He did, and any other time he’d admire that quality.

‘I guess that’s because I’ve spent too long out in that bush, instead of learning how to make polite small talk.’ She gave an apologetic grin but it was forced, and her tension seemed to vibrate in the air around them. ‘So I’m going to tell you straight up: I understand how you feel about Sophie. Honestly, I do. And I’ve made promises to Charlee, so I’m not about to cut and run, regardless of what happens here. But I don’t play games. You have a journey to take, I understand that, but I’m telling you up front: I like you. And I need to know whether, eventually, there’s a possibility of something between us.’

He was stunned to silence. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t to have Amelia openly address his inability to commit. ‘I don’t mean … I think …’ He struggled to find the words. Hell, there was nothing for it but brutal honesty. ‘The thing is, I’m scared.’

‘Of … this?’ She waved a hand between them.

‘Of life. I know we talked about being done with guilt and embracing the grief, but …’ He huffed out a frustrated breath. ‘If I’m greedy enough to look for … joy—’ it wasn’t the word he’d reached for, but he wasn’t courageous enough to throw ‘love’ in there this time ‘—I’m inviting tragedy. Again.’

Amelia nodded as though his words, his emotions and inadequacies, made perfect sense. But she opened a hand, palm up, inviting his consideration. ‘Yet if we wait until we’re not scared, is there a risk we’ll run out of time? Haven’t we both already been robbed?’

She was right, but how could even the most intelligent of words dispel his fears? ‘I don’t—’ A raucous, urgent shriek interrupted him.

Amelia whipped around. ‘Dusty!’

The bird came in low and fast, barely clearing the back fence, a blurred missile in the darkness. It hurtled straight into Amelia’s chest, landing with a soft thud, a cloud of down and feathers erupting on impact.

‘Oh my God, Dusty!’ Amelia dropped to her knees cradling the bird, who seemed stunned. Or worse. ‘What’s happened to you?’

Blood stained Amelia’s hands. Dusty opened her beak twice, though she didn’t make a noise now. Her inner eyelids closed white over the dark eyes.

‘No!’ Amelia wailed.

Heath seized her elbow, hauling her to her feet. ‘Roni’s husband, the vet. He’ll know what to do.’ He practically dragged Amelia into the house.

‘Charlee!’ he bellowed. ‘Look after the animals. We’ve got to get to the vet.’

He snatched Amelia’s keys from the side table and hustled her out of the house. Bundled her and the stricken bird into the passenger seat of her car, snapping the seatbelt across the shocked woman.

Halfway down the street, he remembered to buckle his own belt, steering with one hand. ‘Do you have the Kruegers’ number?’

Amelia nodded and fumbled the phone from her pocket. She pressed the numbers.

‘Hello, Roni speaking.’

It was obvious Amelia was too shocked to respond. Praying the phone signal wouldn’t cut out, Heath yelled across the car: ‘Roni. It’s Heath Brennan. We have an injured bird we need to get looked at immediately. Is Matt home?’

Roni’s tone was instantly businesslike. ‘Are you in town, Heath, or at the farm?’

‘Settlers Bridge. With Amelia.’

‘Take the bird straight to the clinic, then. Matt had a late surgery, and he’s either still there or just left. I’ll call him to meet you.’ She hung up and Heath squealed the car around the corner. Thank Christ he only needed to double back a few streets to reach the clinic.

Amelia was whiter than the blaze on the magpie’s chest, her shoulders hunched as she cradled the animal close to her face, whispering imploringly. Again the bird’s beak opened and closed as it gasped what had to be its last breaths.

It took only seconds to reach the surgery. Matt had the car door open before Heath turned the ignition off. The vet dropped to his haunches, leaving the magpie in Amelia’s embrace as he assessed it. As he stretched out one of her wings, Dusty’s eyes flickered open, and she let out a sad cry of pain or protest.

‘Okay, little one,’ Matt murmured. ‘Let me have a look at the other side. What have you done to yourself?’

Gradually, as Amelia petted her and Matt manipulated joints, Dusty seemed to become more alert.

‘She’s a mess, all right,’ Matt said, and a harsh sob erupted from Amelia. ‘Hey, she’s a mess, Amelia, but I don’t think anything’s broken. Did you find her on the road?’

Amelia shook her head, her lips pressed together, so obviously trying to control her emotions that Heath’s heart ached.

‘She just flew in over the back fence,’ he said. ‘She’s been missing for several days.’

‘ Flew in?’ Matt said disbelievingly. ‘If she managed to fly with all this damage, she was sure determined to get home.’

‘D-damage?’ Horror widened Amelia’s eyes.

‘She’s lost all her flight feathers on the right side and most of her tail feathers. She shouldn’t be able to fly at all, so I don’t know how she’s managed to get back to you. Sheer determination, I guess. Just relax your hold on her a bit, Amelia, see if she wants to move around.’

Amelia followed the vet’s instruction and Dusty gathered her feet beneath her and fluffed herself up, again causing a miniature explosion of downy feathers.

Amelia’s breathing was audible, jagged breaths choked by tears. ‘What would rip out her feathers?’

Matt lifted a shoulder. ‘Potentially a cat, but my money would be on another magpie. Even though she’s a young female, magpies are territorial. Particularly in spring. Dusty just needs to cross the wrong boundary and she’s fair game because she wasn’t bred around here. I don’t think you need to bring her into the clinic.’

Amelia gasped.

Matt placed a reassuring hand over hers, closing her fingers around Dusty. ‘Usually, the biggest problem with a bird is that they go into shock. But, seeing as Dusty flew home at night, the attack most likely hasn’t just happened. There’s a little blood on her feet, but I’d say that’s from doing an unusual amount of walking—they just need bathing. She’s probably been nursing this injury for a few days, trying to make her way home.’

Amelia’s face crumpled. Heath put an arm around her shoulders, the gesture made awkward by their position in the car.

‘But because Dusty is unusual, in that she’s so tame, I’m confident she won’t go into shock,’ Matt continued. ‘She just needs a quiet, familiar place and some TLC for a couple of days.’

‘Then she’ll be okay?’ Amelia begged.

Matt screwed up his face. ‘Flight feathers are tricky. If the shaft isn’t damaged, there’s a chance they might grow back, but it can take six months. If the shaft is damaged—’ he lifted the wing again, peering closely ‘—there’s nothing that can be done. She won’t fly.’

Amelia sagged back against the seat, her eyes closed, the bird nestled between her thighs.

With his free hand, Heath reached for his wallet. ‘Okay, we’ll get her home and comfortable. What’s the damage, Matt?’

The vet waved him off. ‘Don’t worry about it, mate.’

He drove back to Amelia’s more slowly, parking smoothly and turning off the motor. ‘Dusty’s going to be okay, Amelia. Look, she’s already got her eyes open, having a nosey.’

‘She won’t fly again,’ Amelia whispered. ‘How can she be robbed of that? How will she live if she can’t fly?’

‘She’ll live, Amelia. Dusty will live just fine, because you love her.’

Amelia shook her head, the tears falling unchecked now. ‘My love doesn’t do a damn thing! I want to … I want to fix and nurture and protect everything, but instead, this is what happens.’

Like the most fragile exotic bird, Amelia was broken, and Heath wanted to cradle her against him, take away her pain. ‘Amelia, these animals you rescue … I know you’re sad that they may have a short life. But they don’t know it was abrupt. As far as they’re concerned, they’ve lived a full life, always surrounded by your love.’

Amelia shook her head angrily, but Heath caught her hand. He had to make her understand. ‘Dusty wouldn’t have survived without you. Nor would Karmaa, Kismet and Biggles.’ The deep breath he took threatened to choke him, but he knew he had to get the words out, no matter how much they tore him up. ‘And there’s a bloody good chance that Charlee wouldn’t be alive, either. I’m awed by your strength, Amelia.’

‘You don’t know me. I’m not strong. I’m resilient ,’ she said. Then she covered her face with her free hand. ‘And I’m so damn tired of fighting.’

He knew that she meant fighting life: fighting for it and fighting against it. His fingers tightened around hers. She had a right to fly, both emotionally and physically. ‘Then find someone to fight with you, Amelia.’

They had to embrace life, live it to the fullest, to honour those who couldn’t.