Last Bridge Before Home Read online

  ABOUT LILY MALONE

  LILY MALONE might have been a painter, except her year-old son put a golf club through her canvas. So she wrote her first book, His Brand of Beautiful, instead. Lily has now written six full length rural romance stories and a novella all published by Harlequin Escape. Her debut trade paperback, The Vineyard in the Hills, was published by Harlequin MIRA in September 2016. Last Bridge Before Home is the third of three books set in the fictional Western Australian town of Chalk Hill, a town which, in Lily’s imagination, is about halfway between Manjimup and Mount Barker on the Muirs Highway. Book One was Water Under the Bridge, published in February 2018, which is Jake and Ella’s story; and Book Two, The Café by the Bridge, followed Taylor and Abe.

  When she isn’t writing, Lily likes gardening, walking, wine, and walking in gardens (sometimes with wine). She also doesn’t mind the odd game of cards and loves her regular Thursday Night hands with the Card Girls. She lives in the Margaret River region of Western Australia with her husband, and two handsome sons who take after their father. Lily is a member of Australian Rural Fiction and Australian Fiction Authors. She loves to hear from readers and you can find her on Facebook, and on Twitter: @lily_lilymalone. To contact Lily, email [email protected] or visit www.lilymalone.blog

  Also by Lily Malone

  The Vineyard in the Hills

  The Chalk Hill Series

  Water Under the Bridge

  The Café by the Bridge

  Available in ebook from Escape Publishing

  His Brand of Beautiful

  Fairway to Heaven

  The Goodbye Ride

  Last Bridge before Home

  Lily Malone

  www.harlequinbooks.com.au

  This story is for Norm and Norma.

  So much of Nanna Irma’s house comes from a memory of

  years ago, knocking on the front door and waiting to hear

  Nan’s footsteps on the lino, and Nan’s voice at the dinner table:

  ‘Norm, do you want any bread?’

  Sandy, Jan and Pam, it’s for you too.

  CONTENTS

  About the Author

  Also by Lily Malone

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER

  1

  Jaydah Tully stepped off the kerb outside the Chalk Hill butcher shop with a kilo of sausages tucked under her arm and the sudden thought that she should check both ways before she crossed the road no matter who stood smiling at her from the other side.

  The odds of being hit by a truck on the Muirs Highway weren’t high, but she’d never been the type to get complacent. Unlike the indomitable Irene Loveday who was waltzing past the Post Office with her white terrier, gabbing away to anyone who’d listen, and now crossing King Jarrah Close completely oblivious to the approaching school bus.

  Of course, the bus would wait. Everyone in this town waited for Irene.

  But not every truck in town would wait for Jaydah, so she stopped, assessed the traffic and called at the man on the other side of the highway, ‘Will you look at what the cat dragged in?’

  Then she stepped.

  ‘Hey, JT,’ Brix greeted her easily.

  Braxton ‘Brix’ Honeychurch did everything easy, always had: made friends, played sports, made wine. Kissed.

  It wasn’t a wide highway and Brix had come a way down the length of his Toyota, briefly rubbing the ears of the black and white kelpie in the tray in the back. So it wasn’t a long walk, it didn’t take much time and it didn’t matter anyway. She only needed seconds to zero in on Brix.

  ‘You’ve got a new car,’ she said. You’ve been in the sun more, you’re browner. Did you go on holiday somewhere to get that tan? I like that shade of blue on you. You’re gorgeous as ever.

  He slapped the rail of the ute’s tray. ‘The old one was falling apart.’

  Jaydah adjusted the weight of the sausages under her arm. The pack in its paper felt heavy and soft at the same time. Like the thick padding Jaz put on the kali sticks every morning when Jaydah and her father sparred.

  Just once when she saw Brix it would be nice if her next thought wasn’t of her father. That monster.

  Brix opened his arms to take her in, all of him as lean and long and handsome as ever. All of him true and brave and good and wonderful, and a lump caught in her throat as she kissed him.

  She supposed there were people who met lifelong friends who were also lovers with an awkward peck on the cheek, and a clumsy wrap of the arms and a pat on the back.

  She and Brix had never been like that.

  His arms were solid, his hug like sunshine, his lips warm and sure. Easy.

  God, she loved him. She hadn’t seen him in at least two years, and she loved him.

  ‘That’ll give this town something to talk about,’ Brix said when he finished his kiss hello, and his kiss how are you, and his kiss got much planned for the next day or so that isn’t making love with me?

  He hadn’t let go of any part of her except her lips, and the way he was staring she reckoned he’d have those back any second too, but already the fear niggled and she took a step back. She might love seeing him, but the monster wouldn’t like it if he heard Brix was back in town.

  ‘Braxton Honeychurch! It is you!’ a woman’s voice called from the white-topped rail at the base of the ramp near the Post Office.

  Brix smiled, making a flush of creases radiate from the corner of his mouth. He muttered, ‘I thought I missed her.’

  She whispered, ‘Like you should be so lucky.’

  ‘You’ve got a new car! I didn’t recognise it,’ Irene said, approaching with the ferocity of a category five cyclone, arms whirling. ‘It’s always good to see you. How long has it been?’

  ‘It’s been a while.’

  ‘Too long! I would have forgotten what you look like if you didn’t look so much like Jake. You’d never miss you two for brothers! And your dad, oh, you look like him when he was your age.’

  Brix leaned low to embrace Irene, and Jaydah prepared for a long story about the old-time bush dances and how good Brix’s dad, Stan, was when it came to the waltz, and how Val had stolen Stan away from them all because she was a city girl who knew how to Foxtrot.

  Irene’s frantic arrival gave Jaydah a chance to cool off all the parts that had been heating since she’d spotted Brix from across the road. She glanced back towards the butcher shop and saw her new friend, Taylor—hair a shade more copper than the brash red of Irene’s—tying her dog to a post outside the Secondhand Shop.

  Taylor was staying at Ella Davenport’s place, she’d said. Ella was Jake Honeychurch’s current squeeze.

  She could push Brix to the back of her mind all she liked, bu
t living in Chalk Hill made it impossible to forget him. She drove past Honeychurch Hardware & Timber most days, and she served Jake and his dad beer at the Chalk Hill & Districts Bowling Club on most Saturday nights. At least she did until Stan and Val Honeychurch went travelling around Australia, and Jake met Ella. Jake didn’t come to the club so much anymore.

  In this town, everyone knew everyone (or thought they did). As long as she lived in Chalk Hill there were reminders of Brix everywhere.

  And it wasn’t like she could leave Chalk Hill.

  * * *

  Bloody hell, Irene. You could talk through a yard of wet concrete.

  Brix nodded, asked after Doug and the kids, said yep and you’re kidding and really? with what he hoped were the appropriate levels of enthusiasm. He liked Irene. He didn’t want to be rude, but Jesus, JT looked good, and when he’d kissed her she’d fit him perfectly, like she always did.

  His body didn’t sing when he was with JT. It soared.

  ‘So what brings you back to town then?’ Irene asked him.

  ‘Jake had to go up to Perth on short notice and he’ll be shearing any tick of the clock. He asked if I’d come over for a few days and give him a hand on the farm. You should see the size of the bloody list he left me!’ He laughed and Irene laughed with him. ‘I’m grizzling about it, Irene, but I’m happy to do it. I haven’t been over for a while and this time of year it’s pretty quiet in the vineyard. I haven’t seen Abe in years. We had a good catch-up last night. A bit too good, actually. The old head’s a bit rough this morning.’

  ‘Well, you tell Abe I said he’s doing great things with the new café! We have our pool committee meetings there. He always gives us a free coffee.’

  ‘So he should, Irene. Having a cuppa with you is like having a cuppa with Mum.’

  Irene’s cheeks blushed the same shade as her hair and she batted her hand at him. ‘Oh you boys, you’re all the same. How is your mum anyway, love? They still travelling?’

  ‘Last I heard. They’ve spent some time on the Sunshine Coast. I think they’re on their way to Port Douglas. I think Mum was getting a bit tired of being on the road, though. Dad said she hadn’t been feeling the best.’

  ‘I must admit I do like my own bed,’ Irene said, then she glanced across to where she’d tied her white dog. ‘Anyway, listen to me waffle on! I better get Bertie home. He’s not as young as he used to be. It’s always great to see you, love. Don’t be a stranger.’

  His eyes caught JT’s. ‘I’ll try not to be.’

  Irene waltzed back towards the Post Office and untied the dog, and from there she waved and chatted her route across King Jarrah Close. Luckily there was no bus coming this time. Nothing had to brake.

  ‘Nothing much changes about this place, hey?’ Jaydah said.

  ‘Nothing much does.’ He stepped closer, erasing the space she’d left when Irene stormed in. ‘You haven’t changed, JT. You’re beautiful as ever.’

  Jaydah brushed her hair from her face. It was long and black, silky as always. He itched to wrap his fingers through it, tug it, the way she always liked.

  ‘You could teach that at university, you could,’ she said.

  ‘Teach what?’

  ‘Charming the pants off people. It doesn’t come natural for all of us, you know.’

  ‘It’s just the truth.’

  She didn’t have a comeback for that and it left the two of them standing beside his car: her with whatever was in that pack from the butcher’s; him with that Jaydah-ache in his heart.

  ‘Are you working later?’ he said. ‘Still up at the club?’

  She swallowed once, clearing her throat. ‘I am. I’m the bar manager these days.’

  ‘Can I see you? Or will it get you in trouble with your dad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘You’re still living at home then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You gonna have more than a one-word answer for me any time soon, JT?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  He scrubbed his hand through his fringe. ‘So it hasn’t got any better on the home front then?’

  ‘No. He’s still an arsehole but my mum won’t leave him. So I won’t leave them. Leave her, I mean. Not till I can convince her to come with me.’

  ‘Any time you want me to marry you and take you away from all this, you just let me know—’ she shook her finger at him but he ploughed on: ‘And if marriage is out of the question, come for a holiday. Margaret River isn’t that far from Chalk Hill. It’s only three hours.’

  Now she shook her head at him along with her finger. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘’Course you can. You’re twenty-seven years old. We’re not kids anymore. You don’t need his permission.’

  Her river-brown eyes hardened. ‘You said it yourself, Brix. Some things never change.’

  * * *

  Friday nights were always busy at the Bowling Club, but they’d been busier since work started to upgrade and seal the Chalk Hill Bridge Road. Earlier in the year the council and Main Roads had announced a development plan to connect the Muirs Highway to the South Coast Highway by upgrading and extending Chalk Hill Bridge Road. The plan would create a sealed north-south corridor that would meet the Muirs Highway at Chalk Hill.

  About the same time, one of the old-time locals—old Dylan Fields who everyone called ‘Pickles’—got his application approved to develop a world-class water-ski park out on his farm on Chalk Hill Bridge Road.

  What with Pickles’s ski park and the road upgrade, the workers coming into the town had just about doubled the Chalk Hill population and local real estate prices had boomed.

  Construction workers had been hard at the new road for a few months now, since the heaviest of the winter rains cleared.

  Most of the workers lived in dongas and a lot of them would go home at weekends. Some stayed, and the only place to go if they wanted a beer and a feed, and to shoot some games of pool, was the Bowling Club.

  They were a bit rowdy, but mostly good fun. Any of the scruffy bunch that got too big for their boots, Jaydah was always happy to knock them down a peg or two with a pool cue.

  Tonight the club had a good vibe. Not too busy. No aggro. The usual locals who always came in Friday for lawn bowls and dinner were in, but they rarely stayed late. Soon as they’d eaten they’d scarper before the ‘young ones’ turned up the music.

  When Brix got there it was 8.07 pm.

  Yes, Jaydah knew to the minute.

  It took him a while to get across to the bar because everyone wanted a piece of him. It was the same whenever Jake or Stan or Val came into the club. Abe not so much. He hadn’t stayed in town long after school and all the townsfolk reckoned he was the wild one of the Honeychurch boys.

  Jaydah smiled as she worked the taps and poured pale ale into a glass for Mitch Laughton. No matter how many soy lattes Abe made at his café, in this town he’d always be a black sheep.

  That was okay. Jaydah was a Tully and Tullys were black sheep too.

  There was a time when Brix copped flak from the locals because he’d chosen to study winemaking in Adelaide and work in wine rather than follow in his father’s footsteps with sheep and grain. These days with the Frankland River wine region just down the road and wineries earning accolades near Mount Barker, vineyards weren’t the pariah and Brix wasn’t considered such a naughty boy.

  When the first vines were planted near Chalk Hill, farmers couldn’t see why you’d ruin good farming land by planting bloody grapevines all over it. Then they got the dollar signs in their eyes at the price those vignerons would pay for that good farming land, and attitudes softened.

  She poured another beer, got Tynan Kennedy and his wife a bottle of sparkling for their sixth anniversary, and watched out of the corner of her eye as Brix worked his way towards the bar.

  He’d showered and changed. Black jeans hugged his thighs and he wore a shirt with short sleeves and a thin
stripe through it, and flat leather shoes with a pointed toe that were way over-the-top-dressy for Chalk Hill, but on him, they were perfect.

  As he shook hands with old friends, the muscle in his right arm would leap and tighten, and Jaydah’s tummy would leap and tighten along with it. She wondered if he still wore the same cologne and had to stop herself from taking a sniff.

  All those who’d lived in Chalk Hill long enough to know the history of Jaydah and Brix laughed with him, shook hands with him—the women kissed him—and they all settled in to ride the tension that shadowed Brix towards the bar like a superhero’s cape.

  The Huxtables were enjoying Friday dinner with the McCormacks; Tynan Kennedy and his wife were about to make a toast; Nino and Vince Scarponi traded darts at the dartboard. Nino had been an arsehole since they were in school, but Vince had always made it very clear that if Jaydah were keen, he’d be her mustard.

  There was a reason Jaydah was never keen on Vince, and it just walked into the bar.

  ‘Is it always this busy in here?’ Brix asked her, pulling up a bar stool at the corner on the far side. He made a good show of being oblivious to the sideways glances and the knowing smiles, but now that he’d made it this far, he kept his gaze straight and didn’t look back.

  Jaydah moved down to meet him. ‘Usually they’d be heading home to watch the Friday night movie by now. Now they know you’re here, I reckon they figure the entertainment is better value.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Yep. It’s still like that. What can I get you?’

  ‘One of those Mad Bull stouts.’

  She raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Not trying to write yourself off, I hope?’

  ‘Just settling the nerves.’

  She laughed. ‘Since when did you get nervous? This is like walking into one big happy family for you. Everyone loves you.’

  ‘They love you too.’

  She put his beer glass under the tap and watched the dark liquid surge. When she finished and moved to hand the glass over, his eyes were on hers.

  ‘That’s six-ninety, please,’ she said, and then: ‘What?’

  ‘You don’t think they love you?’ He shuffled in his back pocket for his wallet and put it up on the bar, taking out a twenty.