Stone Castles (22 page)

‘Shh,' he said, rocking her in his arms. ‘I shouldn't have made you cry. I don't ever want to make you cry again. I promise never to make you cry again.'

She hiccupped and blubbered as she shook her head against his shoulder.

He put his hands on either side of her damp face and lifted it, pushing damp tendrils of hair from her brow. ‘Will you hold me to that?'

She frowned and shook her head, her teeth catching her bottom lip. ‘But . . . but you don't –'

‘Answer me. Will you hold me to that?'

‘But that would mean –'

‘Yeah, you're right. I'm so sorry Pip. Maybe if you'd warned me you were coming. Maybe if I'd known in advance and had time to prepare. I've spent the best part of the last week telling myself you did the right thing going back to New York City. I'd almost convinced myself that I didn't . . .'

She sniffed and swallowed and blinked beautiful blue liquid eyes up at him. ‘Didn't what?'

‘Love you. But I do love you, Pip. I always have, and I always will. You know the worst thing about my crappy marriage to Sharon? The one thing that was never going to make it work, whatever else happened?'

‘No.'

‘She wasn't you.' He shook his head as he rubbed her back, still rocking. ‘Everyone was waiting for me to move on. And so I did. I always felt like I was settling. Because I couldn't have you.'

‘I'm so sorry! I've stuffed up so many lives. I've made such a mess of everything.'

‘Hey,' he lifted her chin with the fingers of one hand. ‘Here's one mess we can fix right now. That question you had. Would you mind popping it again? Because I think I might have been too hasty.'

She took a deep breath, her eyes filling with fresh promise, like when the sun comes out on a rainy day. ‘The big question, you mean?'

‘Yeah,' he said, grinning. ‘That's the one.'

She took a moment to wipe away the dampness from her cheeks, to get her breathing under control and push wayward hair behind her ears.

‘I love you, Luke Trenorden,' she said at last. ‘Will you marry me?'

And his heart suddenly felt so big in his chest it was a wonder it didn't explode right then and there. ‘Yes, I surely will marry you.' He kissed her, and she tasted of warmth and hope and new beginnings. She tasted of the woman he loved and she felt like heaven in his arms.

He was in heaven, and he wanted to tell it to the world. Had to tell it to the world.

He lifted his lips from hers, turned his face towards the sky, and howled. Turbo joined in so there were two of them, howling under the harvest sun, with Pip laughing in his arms.

‘I love you, Luke. You and your crazy dog.' And she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him again.

Epilogue

T
hey were married in February, because they hadn't wanted to wait and because Fi had said they would have to delay things until after these babies of hers were born if they didn't do it quickly, since she didn't want to look like a whale in the photos. It suited them fine that they were joined as man and wife in the gardens at Tracey and Craig's home, the lawns surrounded by a border of rose bushes lush with deep pink blooms. Tables covered in snowy white tablecloths were scattered about the lawns, while hay bales under big umbrellas served as more informal seating for when guests wanted to sit and escape the sun.

Sally had agreed to give Pip away, walking her down the pergola-covered path, Pip in her champagne-coloured vintage beaded gown with her bouquet of roses. Behind them, Tracey and Fi and Carmen followed them in identical carnelian red gowns. As she approached the man she loved, standing with his back to her in his charcoal suit, Pip had never felt happier.

Until Craig said something to him and tapped him on the shoulder and he turned and saw her coming, and his eyes were filled with so much love that Pip felt her heart swell even more.

She'd never believed it possible that she could feel so happy.

She'd never believed she'd deserved to.

Luke had made her believe it.

Luke had made it possible.

And she smiled. Widely. This one meant for him and him alone. Because he'd saved her. From a half life spent in a shadow world. Oh, how much did she owe this man? How much did she love him?

She was a goddess.

Luke watched her glide towards him, loving the way she'd worn her hair up, but left some bits of it to curl around her long column of throat. He didn't know much about fashion, but that dress, with its low V-neck, and the way it hugged her curves before falling to the ground in some kind of floaty stuff that swirled around her legs, confirmed it right there. She was nothing short of a goddess, and she was his.

And didn't that make him proud?

They exchanged their vows and kissed and everyone cheered, because this wedding had been so long wished for and so long in coming and was all the sweeter because of it.

And afterwards they feasted on the best produce that the Yorke Peninsula had to offer, washed down with Clare Valley wines, and Turbo appeared wearing a bow tie and looking like it was all about him.

Everyone, it seemed, was there, including Sheila Ferguson and Jean Cutting, who were more than happy to gang up on him now.

‘What a glorious wedding,' announced Sheila. ‘Of course, we all knew it would happen sooner or later.'

‘You two were so close as teenagers,' added Jean. ‘We were all hoping you'd end up as more than friends. Funny how that's happened, isn't it?'

‘Yeah,' he said, because it was easy to just agree with them, and because maybe they were right. ‘It sure is funny how things turn out.' And he looked around to try to find his new wife.

Pip caught up with Sally after the service, noticing Sam Riordan leaving her side and heading for the drinks table.

‘Thank you so much for giving me away,' she said. ‘It was so special to me that you were the one to do it.'

‘It was an honour, Pip. You're the daughters I never had, you and Fi both. I so want for you to be happy.'

The women hugged.

‘I'm so glad you could see your way to forgive me, Pip, for everything.'

And Pip looked into her eyes and held her hands and said, ‘I want you to be happy too.'

Sally shook her head, a frown creasing her brow. ‘I'm not sure what you mean.'

Pip nodded in the direction of the drinks table, where Sam was chatting to the barman as he picked up a beer and a glass of champagne. ‘You've been by yourself a long time. Sam seems like a nice man.'

Sally shook her head and laughed a little nervous laugh. ‘Oh no, it's not like that.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because I'm happy by myself.'

Pip nodded. ‘I thought I was too.'

‘You?'

She smiled. ‘Me. I was so bound up in guilt over not being with my family that night.'

‘But you can hardly blame yourself for that.'

‘No. And nor can you blame yourself for something Jacob Everett did more than thirty years ago. But all the people in the world can tell you that and all the people in the world can forgive you, and still it makes no difference. Because sometimes, the hardest person to forgive is yourself.'

‘Oh.' Sally blinked a few times, and looked at Sam as he strode back across the lawns towards them, beaming. ‘He's asked me to go for a counter lunch at the pub tomorrow. I was going to say no, but . . .' She blinked up at Pip. ‘Do you think?'

‘Be happy,' Pip said. ‘You're allowed.'

And Sally went to meet Sam halfway, the makings of a tentative smile on her face, when Carmen reappeared, sipping on a glass of champagne, her hazel eyes sparkling, her sleek up do looking less sleek than it once had. ‘Where've you been?' Pip asked suspiciously, using her thumb to wipe away a telltale smudge of lipstick from Carmen's cheek, as Adam adjusted his tie behind and reached for a beer from a passing tray.

‘Nowhere special,' she said, looking innocent, even as Adam ran a hand down her back and let it linger on the curve of her butt.

Pip smiled. ‘I knew you'd love that B&B.'

Carmen just smiled and intertwined her hand with Adam's.

From the speakers came the mellow tones of Norah Jones singing the opening lyrics of ‘The Nearness of You' and Pip felt a wave of liquid heat roll down her spine. ‘Excuse me, everyone,' Luke said as he sought her out, offering her his forearm, ‘Mrs Trenorden, I do believe they're playing our song.'

She nodded as she took his arm, and smiled as his blue eyes smiled down at her, so full of love that she felt her own heart swell with it. ‘Mr Trenorden, I do believe you're right.' She let him lead her to the small dance floor set up near one of the borders of flowering rose bushes, and he took her into his arms and held her achingly close and they swayed as Norah sung for them.

She breathed him in as they moved, drank in the scent of skin and his lemon soap and the smell of Luke so deep that it filled her, drank in the feel of his big hand around hers, his arm snug around her back and his hard body against hers and knew she could never have too much of this man.

He was the rock who'd always been there for her.

He'd shown her forgiveness and he'd given her his love.

He'd brought her home.

And she would never leave this place without him by her side again.

‘They were wrong you know,' she said, against his shoulder.

‘Who were?'

‘Those people. The ones who say you can't have everything.'

He dipped his head and kissed her hair. ‘How do you figure that?'

‘Because between you and all the stars in the sky, I've got everything I'll ever need.'

He squeezed her tightly to him, and as Norah sang her last sweet line, and the piano's final few chords trailed slowly away, Pip lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up at him. ‘I love you, Luke Trenorden.'

His blue eyes whorled with warmth and love before he answered her with a kiss.

A kiss that spoke of love.

A kiss that spoke of happiness.

A kiss that promised forever.

Acknowledgements

Where do you begin to give thanks for a miracle? I know
Stone Castles
is ‘just' a book but, to me, it sure feels like a miracle.

2013 was one moody cow of a year. On the one hand, I had travel aplenty. January in the Middle East courtesy of my sister's UN posting to the Golan Heights, so a month exploring Israel, Turkey, Jordan and Dubai. August saw me in Wellington for the Romance Writers of New Zealand conference, and I spent October with hubby in the UK and Southern Ireland to celebrate our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Fabulous adventures.

Somehow, miraculously, the downside waited for me to be at home. In March, my father moved from the independent living unit we'd only just moved him and Mum into the December before, and from there he moved straight into a nursing home. Straight into high care. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Do not get better.

The speed at which it happened was a huge shock to us all, but I have to say, Dad's new home was amazing. I have to thank the Onkaparinga Valley Residential Care facility and all its amazing staff so much for the way they looked after my darling Dad those last few months. And yes, there is something of the way I saw you handle your residents in
Stone Castles
. I am in awe of the work you do (though in no hurry to get there – sorry!). The Kadina Nursing Home was a figment of my imagination, although I am sure there are gorgeous places just like it, filled with Molly Kernahans who do what they do best. Care for the ones we love.

To the late Phyllis Somerville, who penned
Not Only in Stone,
the book that is Pip's gran's favourite, thank you, as my father also adored that book. As a descendant of a Cornish miner, it filled in the blanks of the lives his ancestors must have led. It may be fiction, but it's a South Australian, and indeed, a Yorke Peninsula, icon.

To my BIL, Neill Morey, who knows more about how to stop a header in its tracks (and how to get it moving again) than you can poke a stick at, thank you for sharing your knowledge and expertise. I really enjoyed our dinners discussing the possibilities, and it wasn't just because of the wine. To nephews Ben and Callan, thanks for letting me borrow your names. It was so good to have character names I couldn't forget while the rest was purely fiction!

Thanks too to my cousin, David Johns, who filled in blanks about life at Melton where my own memory was shady. It was a beautiful home your folks had out there and I will forever treasure those memories of my visits in my heart.

To the Clare Writers' Festival – because while the memories go back, the spark of this story started right there – I owe you a huge vote of thanks. It was November 2013 and we'd just that week farewelled my brother, so it had been a tough one, but I gave my romance writing workshop and talked about how important the senses are, and recounted the story of receiving my aunt and uncle's kitchen dresser all the way over in Canberra where we then lived, and opening up that door and being transported into the past, all because it smelled exactly of the kitchen way back there on the farm in a tiny dot of a town on the Yorke Peninsula. The kitchen of a house that no longer existed. A story I'd told so many times during my workshops since I'd been published, but this time was clearly the charm.

Because on the way home from the festival, I said to hubby that I was going to write that story, of a girl who comes home and there is nothing left but a few bits of furniture and she opens that door and is hurtled right back there, into her past, only unlike me, her past was a place filled with tragedy and betrayal. And so, seized by a compulsion that maybe only writers understand, I started.

Daft really.

I had books lined up waiting to be written. Books I'd contracted long before and had to put aside in the turmoil 2013 became, but this was the book I simply had to write, because my Dad was fading and there was a story there and I felt compelled to tell it.

I read the early chapters to Dad. He wasn't terribly responsive so he wasn't awfully critical either. A bonus, I guess. I wrote at his bedside. He died before I had more than those first few chapters, months before the story had sold.

But since then he's been riding shotgun on my shoulder, making this book happen. I know, because I've felt him there, every step of the way.

To Carol Marinelli, who read the early pages and who said, finish it; to Fiona McArthur who gave me great advice about babies and twins and the icky stuff, and to Barbara Hannay who gave me a heap of great advice, thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.

For Haylee Nash, Commissioning Editor at Pan Macmillan Australia, thank you for reaching out and seeing the heart in the story at such an early stage and, more than that, for having the faith in me to deliver.

To Fiona McArthur (again!), who laid it straight while I dithered, and said, ‘Clouds are like opportunities. You can just watch them float by.' Thank you for making me throw out a grappling hook into this one!

To my fabulous Maytoners, Carol Marinelli, Barbara Hannay, Anne Gracie, Marion Lennox, Alison Roberts, Meredith Webber, Kelly Hunter, Lilian Darcy and Fiona McArthur (yet again) who are there for me 24/7 and who cheered me on from the sidelines while I was stuck in my writing cave, thank you all. I have never known a more awesomely generous and talented bunch of women and I am so blessed to be in your company.

To my editor, Libby Turner, my copy editor, Lachlan Jobbins, and all the team at Pan Macmillan Australia, thank you for your invaluable input in helping my words shine, and for the most gorgeous cover a story could get.

For anyone who is half tempted to take a trip over to the Yorke Peninsula after reading this book, I say – go! You won't be sorry. And if you are looking for a gorgeous B&B like the one Pip stayed in, you will most definitely find it. Hubby and I stayed in a character B&B that was so perfectly romantic, I wanted to base the one in my book on it, and thankfully the owners agreed. It's Redwing Bed and Breakfast and you'll find it easily enough with a search. Their beautiful home also provides the perfect backdrop for weddings, and so you might just recognise the setting for Pip and Luke's big day and you might even want to tie the knot there too. Who could blame you?

For my amazing and long suffering husband, Gavin, and our daughters, Jacqui, Steph, Ellen and Claire, who have lived through more than thirty of my deadlines and the ranting, emotional, scary-haired women this writer becomes, and who somehow still love me, thank you. I love you all right back.

And last, but by no means least, to the reader, thank you for picking up this book.
Stone Castles
is a real book of the heart for me.

I hope it touches yours.