Page 1 of Stockman's Stormcloud

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 thatrested 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 againas 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.’

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