The Wildwood Sisters (13 page)

Silence fell as Stanley looked from Dylan to Renee, and then back at Dylan. ‘You two know each other?'

‘Oh, yeah, we were friends before I left… We used to go to high school together,' Renee added a little too quickly.

‘Is that so,' Stanley said, his brows furrowing once again. ‘I thought your face looked a little familiar, Dylan.'

‘I'll be hitting the road then,' Dylan said as he turned on his heel, wanting to escape before there was a barrage of unanswerable questions. He sauntered off, waving casually over his shoulder. ‘Speak to you tomorrow, Mr Wildwood.'

It took every bit of his reserve not to turn around and have one last look at Renee, the lingering scent of her perfume making his imagination run wild. Scolding himself for being so weak, he climbed back into his Land Cruiser and headed off, feeling Renee's eyes on him the entire time.

Why now, after all these years, had fate brought them back together? Was it so he could finally get over her, or was there another reason? He didn't know. But one thing he was damn sure of was that she better not think she could woo him into her world again, because after how badly she had broken his heart the last time, that was never going to happen.

***

With her heart in her mouth, Renee secretly watched Dylan turn and walk back to his Land Cruiser as she headed towards the stables. Her eyes travelled over where his shirt pulled taut against his back muscles and diverted once she reached his well-curved tight arse. She had no right to be perving at him the way she was, and what if her pa caught her out? It would most certainly ruin Dylan's chances of getting the job—and also be highly embarrassing. But she was fighting to keep her eyes off him.

With his rugged, tall dark and handsome looks, strong physique, and confident gait, he reminded her a little of her all-time favourite actor, Patrick Swayze. She'd thought Dylan was all the man she'd ever need as a teenager, but he'd certainly matured into one hell of a manly man these past nine years. Wow! And that eagle tattoo at the side of his neck, the tips of the soaring wings showing above his neckline then the rest of it snaking its way down beneath his collar and onto his chest and stomach. She knew from experience just how far down it went, and oh how she wished she could trace her tongue all the way down it, right down to where it stopped, and beyond…

Stop it, Renee! Control yourself!
She trembled with the very thought. Dylan Anderson was just so much…
man
.

Sighing at her misfortune of losing such a gorgeous hunky bloke, Renee stepped into the shade of the stables. For years she had daydreamed about running into him again, and now that it had happened, she felt utterly miserable. Her prediction had been right. He was a happily married family man and therefore unavailable. If only she hadn't said what she had, and then run for the hills the next day, maybe she'd be the lucky Mrs Anderson. In a matter of minutes, her nine-year-long fairytale had been shattered, leaving her feeling crushed. Damn it all!

Maybe you don't, but I truly think he's capable of murder, Dylan.

How about maybe you've lost your fucking mind, Renee…

Maybe I have, and maybe I should just bugger off so everyone can pretend Scarlet never went missing and get on with their fake little lives.

Maybe you should!

After carefully packing the basket of goodies into the saddlebag, Renee placed her boot in the stirrup and pulled herself into the saddle. Her pa had headed off before her, with strict orders to get her butt down the paddock—ASAP.

Directing Jackson out of the stables and into the magnificent sunshine, she enticed him into a canter, relishing the feeling of the wind whooshing past her, her mind's eye filled with images of the gorgeous man who had stolen her heart. Dylan Anderson, working here, with her pa? How did she really feel about that? She wasn't sure, but the shock of running into him so unexpectedly had left her mind in a spin.

She could tell from his tone of voice and tense body language that he deeply resented her, and she really couldn't blame him. At least she'd be tending to her nan most of the time, so she didn't need to be spending loads of time with him, if any. If he did get the job, it would be tough knowing he was here a few days a week, but she would find a way to let go.

The wail of a siren slicing through the Opals Ridge main street traffic hum grabbed Dylan's attention, the piercing noise getting exceptionally loud before drifting off into the distance. He tried to figure out whether it was a police, ambulance or fire siren—finally coming to the conclusion it was a fire truck when he saw a flash of red outside the office window. He hoped it was just a practice run for the local fire fighters, and that no-one he knew was in trouble. He'd pop down and see if by chance Ralph was at the station on his way home, just to make sure. Ralph was only a volunteer fire fighter, so he wasn't always there, but if he had a day off from his usual business of dozer contracting he would quite often be found making himself useful around the station. Dylan admired his mate's commitment. He was not one to sit still, always remaining active within the community.

Pulling his attention from the window and back to the shrink, he fought to focus on what she was saying. He had been doing his very best to listen and to answer all her questions, but it was as if his unconscious mind was fighting any chance of healing—it kept wandering off in different directions like an ill-disciplined child. Damned if he was going to let it win, though. He needed this, more than anything right now, to help him cope. And he was determined to beat the feeling of powerlessness that had haunted him for the past three years.

Discreetly looking over the woman's shoulder, Dylan eyed the clock on the wall—the second hand seemed like it was moving in slow motion. His hour was almost up, and he was glad of the fact. The aqua-themed room was very tranquil, with its cosy couch and daydream-enticing paintings, but it was hard to talk about his deepest darkest feelings, even harder than he'd expected. Although the therapist wasn't as scary as he'd envisioned; she reminded him more of someone's nanna than a psychologist, and had instantly put him at ease. She had a sincere air about her that he liked, and a very gentle way of getting him to open up.

‘I feel, from what you've told me, Dylan, that you are suffering with immense guilt over what happened to Shelley. Which is very normal given your situation. What we need to work on, in your next sessions, are some ways to help you let go of the blame. You have to come to understand that it wasn't your fault, and there was nothing you could have done differently.' Her voice was soft, soothing. ‘And you also need to believe that it is okay for you to move on with your life.'

Dylan looked down at his tightly folded hands, his knuckles white, and the lump in his throat making it almost impossible to speak. ‘I know what you're saying is right. I just can't find a way to make myself believe it enough to move on. And the nightmares—they're torture. I just wish they'd stop.'

Theresa Wise smiled compassionately. ‘I promise you—the nightmares will stop once you stop judging yourself for her death. The unconscious mind can be a very tricky thing. It's going to take a little time and some determined work, but together we'll get you there.'

Dylan bit the inside of his lip, nodding. He. Was. Not. Going. To. Cry. ‘I really hope so. I want to be the man I was before she died, especially for my little girl's sake…' He looked up, blinking fast, begging himself to hold it together. ‘I just want to find my happy place again.'

‘Anything in life is achievable, if you want it badly enough. So just believe in yourself, and before you know it, you'll be that optimistic happy man you spoke of once again.' Looking at her watch, Theresa put her pen down on her notepad, her brightly coloured kaftan top suiting her friendly demeanour. ‘Well, that's our time up today. I think you need to come regularly for a month or two at least, to get the results we're after, so would you like to make weekly or fortnightly appointments, Dylan?'

‘Um, I'd like to say I'll come weekly, but it's hard with work and all. I might be starting a new job soon and I'm not really sure of the hours.'

‘Well, I do have the odd after-hours appointment for clients like yourself who work during the day, so that's not a problem at all.'

Dylan smiled for the first time throughout his session. It was a slight smile, but a smile all the same. ‘Great, well, I'd like to come weekly then. I'm willing to give this everything I have.'

Theresa's kindly face broke into a broad grin. ‘Wonderful. That's what I want to hear—a man who's determined. Because you know what? That's the very first
huge
step into healing.' She wandered over and opened the office door for him. ‘I'll see you next week then. Just make an after-hours appointment with Jaycee on the way out.'

Dylan stood to leave. ‘Okay, will do.' He turned to face her before he stepped away. ‘Thank you, you know, for listening.'

Theresa chuckled lightly. ‘My pleasure, Dylan. That's what I'm here for.'

With the next appointment made, Dylan walked outside into the glorious sunshine, feeling like the heavy burden he'd been carrying had lifted a little bit, putting a bit more of a spring in his step and a taste of happiness in his heart. Before seeing Theresa Wise, he'd tried to avoid certain people in town, just so he didn't have to observe their pity for him, but today he felt like smiling and waving to absolutely everyone, skipping down the street while singing ‘Happy' by Pharrell Williams.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he tried to curb his sudden enthusiasm to dance down the sidewalk, for fear of looking like a lunatic. It was a strange yet welcome sensation to feel bubbles of life within him. Instead of forcing himself to smile, he was smiling from within, and it felt great. If he could feel like this after his very first appointment, imagine what he'd accomplish working with Theresa for a couple of months. It was heart-wrenching talking about everything, but he had a feeling it was going to be well worth it. Now that he knew what could be gained by going to a shrink, he couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to put it off for so long. Why did men—and some women for that matter—make life so hard for themselves sometimes, just to keep up the ‘I'm tough, I can handle anything' facade? His mother had been right all along; as it had been for her after what his father had done to her, this would be his saving grace.

The ringing of his mobile phone stopped him in his tracks. Pulling it from his pocket he noticed it was a private number. He hated private numbers. Why did people feel the need to hide their identity when they called? It was probably some damn salesperson trying to sell him something he didn't need. ‘Hello.' His tone was laced with annoyance as he waited for the sales pitch.

‘G'day, Dylan. Stanley Wildwood here. Have I caught you at a bad time?'

‘Oh, hi, Mr Wildwood, not at all. How are you?' His pulse rate picked up. This was it, his chance at making their lives more comfortable, dangling in front of him like a carrot in front of a horse.

‘I'm not too bad, thanks, no use complaining. I'm not going to beat around the bush, Dylan. Before I tell you whether you got the job or not, you have to answer one question for me.'

Nerves danced in Dylan's stomach. ‘Okay, sure. What would you like to know?'

‘Were you the boy that came looking for Renee? You know, the one I chased off my property with my shotgun all those years ago?'

Time stood still as Dylan held his breath, the details all coming back. It had been a week since Renee had skipped town and in desperation after way too many drinks at the pub he'd made the long trek out to Wildwood Acres to beg Stanley and Pearl to tell him where she had gone. Stanley hadn't been one bit welcoming—and how could he blame him, seeing as he hadn't even known he'd been dating his granddaughter.

Shit!
What was he meant to say? If he said yes, it would probably blow any chance he had of getting the job. Veering off the footpath, Dylan stood in the shade of a bottlebrush tree for some privacy. ‘Um…'

‘Well, come on, boy, it's a yes or no answer.' Stanley's firm tone of voice set off warning bells. He was not playing around. This was deadly serious.

His shoulders slumping, Dylan replied the only way he knew how. ‘Yes, Mr Wildwood, that was me. I'm sorry—'

Stanley cut him off. ‘Okay then, good, that's settled. I'd already jogged my memory and remembered it was you—I was just trying to find out if you were going to be honest about it. From what Renee told me last night, you two were good friends back when she was a teenager.'

‘Yeah, we were. That's why I came out looking for her that time, because I didn't know where she'd gone.' Dylan bit his lip in a bid to stop himself being any more honest than he needed to be. He didn't want to push his luck too far. He held his breath, waiting for Stanley's response. Did he have the job, or not?

‘Good, she needs a decent friend she can trust around here. I can't watch her all the time, but from what Rex tells me, I reckon I can trust you to help keep an eye on her. You can start tomorrow morning—I'll need you a couple of days a week to help me around the place with odd jobs, and collecting supplies in town from time to time. You can use one of my horses or bring your own, up to you. There's room in the paddock for another if you prefer to bring your own ride.'

Dylan punched the air. If getting the job meant he had to babysit Renee sometimes too, then he'd do it without question. Not that he was entirely comfortable with it; surely she was old enough and determined enough to take care of herself. ‘Oh, thank you Mr Wildwood. You have no idea how much this means to me.'

‘You're welcome. Just don't make me regret my decision, okay?'