Page 1 of A Chance to Believe

Chapter 1

It had to be sheep.

Cassie slowed to a crawl on the long driveway, catching glimpses of green paddocks scattered with white blobs between the poplars lining the unpaved thoroughfare. They were fenced in safely, she reassured herself multiple times, white-knuckled fingers clutching the steering wheel.Stupid sheep.

She breathed easier as the road climbed away from the paddocks, rising to the homestead, perched on a hill that had been visible from the main road. She’d stopped at the gate to look over the property, not planning to go in, taking in fresh growth after the recent rain and the house itself, laden with history. That was the time to ignore the impulse to keep going. Now, halfway up the driveway in full view of the house, was almost too late. An easy drive of twenty kilometres on a bitumen road had lured her into thinking she could come and look. Once she’d seen the place, it seemed stupid to return to town and wait for him to come to her. She wanted it over, needed it done.

The march of poplars halted abruptly, giving way to formal gardens with a mix of local and exotic trees and shrubs, garnished with splashes of colour low to the ground.Azaleas?The driveway veered off to one side of the large house, but Cassie turned into the brick paved circular drive around a colourful rose garden. In the centre of the island stood an ornamental stone fountain with a Victorian era cupid surveying his domain, dry now in deference to the heat of summer in a region only recently declared free of drought.

She slowed the hybrid hatch to a halt in front of the impressive steps leading to a lace trimmed verandah. The two-storey building was heritage listed, dating from the earliest settlements in Maiden’s Landing. The property itself was part of the original Maiden’s holdings, long since broken up.Maidens Hill. She’d had to find it on the internet, because Shayne Smith, master of all he surveyed, had been close lipped about his personal life in the few days they’d been together in Brisbane.

Adjusting her large cotton wrap into concealing folds over the loose summery dress, she grabbed the brown paper store bag from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car. The glossy red duco was coated with dust. A city car and a city girl in an unfamiliar environment. For the car, at least. She hadn’t always been a city girl.

The front door with its stained-glass side panels and bronze knocker was daunting of itself. It spoke of the secrets Shayne had kept. The discreet doorbell came as a relief. Her finger hesitated over the button as she admitted she’d been keeping secrets, too. With a sharp jab, she committed herself and heard it chime somewhere deep inside the house.

Perhaps she should have stayed in the small town. Booked into her accommodation and called Shayne to arrange a meeting, as he’d suggested. Only she’d woken up too early and a restless anxiety had driven her onto the road long before she’d planned. At least by being early she hadn’t been tied up in weekend traffic, escaping the city with her full laden car.

A skittering sound was followed by a deep bark and then footsteps on a timber floor. Cassie braced herself and was astonished to meet familiar blue-green eyes on a lanky teenager not much shorter than herself. The girl’s sandy hair was in two messy plaits, her jeans were grubby, and a button up checked shirt showed sweat stains on the underarms as if she’d been out working on the property. She probably did. Cassie knew what that was like.

What was more disturbing was suspecting Shayne Smith had a daughter. And a dog.And a wife?Unless she was a sister. He’d never spoken of family. He had been clear about not having any personal commitments, and she’d believed him. The black and white collie stared up suspiciously but stayed beside his mistress. Well trained.

‘Yes?’ The girl’s enquiry came out with a sullen aggression and Cassie realised she’d been staring.

‘Cassie Long. I’m here to meet with Shayne Smith. Is he home?’

The girl looked her up and down and her nose wrinkled. ‘He’s home, but he’s not in the house.’

She should have expected it. Saturdays were still working days when there was stock to tend. ‘May I wait for him here?’

Cassie could see she was tempted to send her away, but perhaps lacked the confidence. One dirt-stained hand tugged at a plait. ‘I suppose you better come in.’

‘I could wait in the car.’

Sandy brows rose over those distinctively coloured eyes. ‘You’d need to keep the engine running or you’d cook.’ She turned away. ‘You can wait in the front room. I’ll text Dad you’re here.’

He had a daughter. No mention of a wife so far. The nausea she’d thought gone surged into the back of her throat and she swallowed the taste. She’d trusted him. Had to trust him.

The house was everything you’d expect from a historical home, from the carved timber staircase to the pressed metal ceilings and milky glass light shades. The furnishings in the room off to the right were less grand. It was dominated by a good quality leather lounge suite and a timber coffee table on hard-wearing carpet suited for a casual room. This would be where the family relaxed and watched the large screen television mounted on the plain, off-white painted walls. The window overlooked the front garden, where her car windscreen glinted in the sun.

The girl waited until Cassie settled in an armchair, then went to the door where the dog waited. At the last minute, she turned. ‘I left my phone in the kitchen. I’m Kim and this is Barney. He’s not allowed to jump on the furniture.’

She vanished into the hall, leaving Cassie and Barney to eye each other warily. He was an old dog, she realised, discovering the extra white on his muzzle and the faded brown of his eyes. Which probably explained why a working dog was in the house. In her experience, they were usually kept outside.

The stalemate was broken when Barney crossed the room to lie on a fluffy mat in front of the fireplace. Cassie settled in for a long wait, the bag sitting on her lap. She was tempted to put it on the coffee table, but perhaps concealment was a better option with Shayne Smith’s daughter around.

The sound of someone in the hall sent her tension soaring. Heavier footsteps, masculine with a slight halt. The man appeared in the doorway, like an echo of the man she remembered. Maybe younger but with the same thick sandy hair, the extra length held back in a ponytail, and the same eyes, his face half concealed under a shaggy beard. Definitely related.

‘Hi. Ben Smith, Shayne’s brother. Kim tells me you’re here to meet with him. You’re Cassie?’

‘Yes.’ She braced herself to stand, but he waved her down, entering the room with an obvious limp and planting himself on an upright chair near the couch.

‘Stay where you are. Kim’s bringing some water.’ He swiped a hand over his forehead, drawing her attention to the crease caused by a hat he must have shed on his way into the house. ‘Shayne won’t be long. He’s finishing up the irrigation programming.’

He’d hardly finished speaking when Kim brought in a jug of iced water with a stack of glasses in her other hand. She’d freshened up since she’d answered the door, her hands clean and her hair tidied. She dumped them on the coffee table. ‘Help yourself.’

‘Kim.’ There was a warning tone in Ben’s voice.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Would you like a glass of water, Miss Long?’

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