Morgan's Law (24 page)

The rain was still falling outside long after the tempest inside the room had died down. Beneath her ear, Sarah could hear the strong, steady thump of Adam's heartbeat; she smiled as she recalled just how unsteady it had been a little while ago. His fingers idly traced a pattern on her back as they listened to the storm outside from the cocoon of Sarah's bed.

Sarah had always been fascinated by the different textures of a man's body. Hard muscle beneath a soft down of hair—rough and smooth together. So very different to a woman's body and yet the two fit perfectly, just as they'd been designed to do.

‘What are you thinking about?' The deep, low voice pulled her from her musings and made her smile against his broad chest.

‘Isn't that supposed to be my line?'

‘I've come to the conclusion that with you nothing is the way it's supposed to be.'

‘Predictability is so overrated, Buchanan. Haven't you learned that yet?'

‘I'm beginning to.' He smoothed his hand down lower over her back, tickling her a little. ‘So are you going to tell me?'

What was she thinking? How could she possibly explain to Adam all the emotions swirling inside her head when she couldn't even explain them to herself? ‘I'm thinking that bloody frog just managed to complicate my life even more.'

‘I don't think we can blame the frog for this.'

‘You caught me in a weak moment.'

‘Bullcrap. You know as well as I do this thing has been building since the first day we met.' She heard the sliver of a frown in his voice.

For a moment she didn't reply, but then she gave a small resigned sigh. ‘Yeah, I guess it has.'

‘You really feel like I took advantage of you tonight?' he asked after a few minutes. His hand had stopped its lazy circles and she felt his body tense.

‘No,' she said. ‘That was a stupid thing to say. I knew what I was getting into, and you're right, we've been dancing around this for a while now. It's just that . . .' Her voice faltered and he gently eased her back a little so he could look down into her face.

‘Just what?'

‘I have no idea where to go from here. I don't know what this all means or what I'm supposed to do about it.'

In the dim room, his gaze was impossible to read. ‘You worry too much,' he said finally. ‘It's not like you're going anywhere for a while yet, right? Let's just see what happens.'

Had he just given her the brush-off? Was that the equivalent of the old ‘I'll call you' line? For a moment she felt almost disappointed that he hadn't declared his undying love and demanded she stay here with him forever. Then cold, hard reality stepped in and told her to snap out of it. What was she thinking? She had a career, one that she was neglecting. She couldn't give up ten years of hard work just because she'd fallen in lust.

‘You're thinking too much again, Sarah.'

‘Believe me, if I could turn it off I would,' she muttered miserably.

‘Here, let me help you take your mind off your worries.'

He moved from below her and had her rolled beneath him before she could even utter a squeak of alarm. Looking up into his handsome face—a little too rugged to be called perfect, but one she found sexy as hell—she gave up the protest that hovered on her lips. He had a point. There were indeed better things to think about right now.

‘You look tired,' said Sarah as she watched Adam take the cup she handed him from the picnic basket. The last few days they'd spent every spare moment together. Sarah would work on Cott & Co business early in the morning then drive out to meet Adam for either morning tea or lunch at Gwandalan.

‘I wonder why.'

Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘Hey, don't blame me, buddy. I told you not to stay.' Ever since the night of the storm, Adam had been spending the night at the Royal with her and rising while it was still dark to get back to Gwandalan in time to start work on the farm. ‘It can't be good for you, working while you're tired.'

‘Then stay out here and I could sleep in. Of course, I still wouldn't get much sleep,' he added, ‘but that can't be helped.'

Sarah was unwilling to stay over at his place—it didn't feel right when his pop lived there too.

This morning Adam had been working on his tractor in one of the open-sided sheds down from the main house. She'd never seen a shed so big. Small birds busily built their nests high up in the exposed steel beams and flew in and out of the shed tirelessly. Mixed with the smell of diesel and oil was the scent of the hard-packed soil beneath her feet. It was as alien an environment as Sarah had ever experienced—her sterile office and the hectic world of traffic and people in London was a vast contrast to this place—and yet it was beginning to feel like . . . home.

A familiar surge of panic washed through her now at the thought. How could this feel like home? Her home was on the other side of the world. This place was the polar opposite of what she'd been working towards for the last decade. Her strange attachment to this little town, her as yet unnamed relationship to Adam—all this was beginning to crowd her head and confuse her.

‘You're thinking too much again, woman,' he whispered against her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

She sighed as he distracted her with his clever hands and lips. There'd be more than enough time to ponder her dilemma later. It wasn't as though she could just keep having sex to avoid thinking about it . . . Then again, right now that seemed like a very good idea indeed.

Twenty-Two

How much sex can a person want before it starts being classed as some kind of disorder? Sarah wondered the next morning as she walked downstairs to the bar two days later.

‘Sarah.'

Jumping guiltily, Sarah looked up and saw Tash. ‘You're back! Wow. How'd it go?' She cast a nervous glance around the bar to make sure Adam had already left. Exactly why she felt guilty she had no idea; maybe it had something to do with the fact that nothing had been resolved between the two of them. If they couldn't figure out what this thing was, how on earth was she going to explain it to Tash?

‘Yeah, it went okay . . . I s'pose.'

Sarah took in her friend's downcast expression and felt her stomach sink with disappointment. ‘Oh Tash,' she started to commiserate, when the other woman lifted her gaze and broke into a wide grin, her dark eyes sparkling mischievously.

‘If you call selling three hundred and fifteen shares okay,' she laughed.

Sarah stared at her, astonished. Three hundred and fifteen? ‘Are you serious?' They had conservatively estimated selling maybe two hundred shares on this first road trip, considering times were tough and there might be more reluctance from outer communities to embrace the concept.

Tash beamed as Sarah tried to calculate the amount the board had raised in barely a week. ‘That's over nine hundred thousand dollars,' she breathed.

‘Can you believe it?'

‘Oh my God! You guys are going to do it!' Sarah gasped, hugging her friend excitedly. ‘It's really going to happen.'

‘I know!' said Tash, her face alight.

Sarah let out a whoop of delight and the two of them jumped around in a juvenile and highly unprofessional happy dance. Thankfully there was no one to see them this early in the morning. Breathless and grinning, they headed to the office to organise an update on the new email system they'd set up to keep the community informed of progress.

The morning rushed by in a flurry of calls and hastily convened meetings, and Sarah threw herself into the work, glad to have no time to think about her relationship identity crisis.

Disappointment and relief clashed at the text she received from Adam at lunchtime saying he'd be tied up most of the day and wouldn't be able to meet until later. She'd put off mentioning the new turn of events to Tash, figuring there would be plenty of other people to fill her in—knowing how quickly news travelled in this town, she was slightly surprised it hadn't happened already.

Finding herself at a loose end while Tash was holed up in meetings, she decided to walk down to send some postcards to her friends in London. She'd been meaning to do it for a while now but hadn't got around to it. She'd left it so late that she'd probably beat the postcards back to London, she thought as she slid the cards into the bright red postbox on the footpath.

Walking back towards the pub her gaze fell on the small museum in the park at the end of the street. She'd tried on a number of occasions to catch it open, curious to see what was inside, but it was staffed by volunteers and only opened for a few hours two days a week. Today, though, she saw an old car parked out the front and her hopes lifted. Even though she had no idea what she was looking for, maybe the museum would hold some answers.

As she got closer she saw that the car was an old EK Holden in almost mint condition. Gran had had one just like it. She'd stubbornly refused to give it up and had only sold it when she decided the city was getting too busy for her to drive around safely. Many times Jocelyn had tried to talk her into buying something with power steering and airconditioning, but Gran had simply ignored her, happy with her reliable old Holden.

George, the museum caretaker, turned out to be most helpful, showing Sarah to the pride and joy of the museum's collection—the now defunct paper, the
Negallan Gazette
, all copied and stored on microfiche. What they lacked in reliable opening hours, the historical society more than made up for in their meticulous record keeping.

Seated at a small table in front of the ancient microfiche reader, Sarah scrolled through the newspaper articles, narrowing down her search parameters with help from George, who recalled the mysterious disappearance of Rose Morgan and the stir it had created when he was a boy.

LOCAL FAMILY FEARS FOR MISSING DAUGHTER
the first heading announced, showing a family portrait of the Morgans standing in front of the homestead at Burrapine, with Rose looking only slightly younger than in the photo Sarah had.

Mr Patrick Morgan of Burrapine Station reported his
17-year-old daughter Rose missing after she failed to
return home from an outing on Sunday afternoon.
Volunteers have been summoned from the surround
ing districts to search for the missing girl.

There were several more reports scattered over the next few weeks but there appeared to be no leads and no sign of Rose Morgan. Eventually life in Negallan seemed to move on.

Despite having discovered little about Rose from the newspaper clippings, Sarah was intrigued by the thriving little town Negallan had once been. There were old photos of the annual show—a mixture of horse and carts and old cars parked in neat rows in what looked like the showground, and crowds of people enjoying the chance to socialise after what must have been long hours of hard manual labour on the land. There were grand openings of businesses and shops, showing the main street thriving. Shops that were now boarded-up buildings were freshly painted and flourishing. Photographs of the Royal showed crowds of men, obviously hurrying to finish their drinks before the 6 pm closing time cut in.

As she continued to scroll through the microfiche, a headline caught her eye:
BODY FOUND IN CREEK BED
. Curiosity got the better of her and she skimmed the short article.

After she'd finished reading, something told her this was more ominous than was evident from the brief report. She soon found a follow-up article.

BODY IDENTIFIED
The body of Charles Bluey Jenkins was formally
identified after being discovered in a remote creek
bed on the outskirts of Negallan a fortnight ago.
The coroner has established that Mr Jenkins' death
was not of natural causes and he had most likely
been deceased for at least three weeks before his
remains were discovered. Bluey Jenkins, a shearer,
formally contracted with a local shearing team, had
been dismissed after repeatedly failing to turn up to
work and being charged for drunken brawling. His
employer, Mr Harold Sinclair, has been questioned
about an altercation witnessed by workers shortly
after his dismissal. Investigations are ongoing.