9
Heath
The thick golden beams crossing the ceiling above Heath’s bedroom were all he could focus on, because sleep sure as hell wasn’t happening. He’d been lying there for hours, thinking, overthinking, and contemplating pretty much all areas of his life.
It had been three days since he blurted out a business proposition to Rhett, and he still hadn’t mentioned it to his family, not that he had to. It was his money, after all.
Willow was still on her travels, oblivious to anything crumbling back home, and that was exactly the way he wanted it to be. There was no need for his daughter to have worries. It was hard enough when he found out what a state Rhett was in.
He could still see her face, desperately trying to hide any pain. Dennis kept popping up as well, haunting him. He didn’t want to judge Rhett, but it was hard. Her head was always so wrapped up in the horses, she barely noticed anything else.
It wasn’t just his dad’s business accounts needing work. At least Benton was good with money. Rhett was using two different banks and only keeping an eye on one. Dennis must have been grinning from ear to ear when he discovered she only checked on her savings each winter.
She’s not going to let me dive into her books, that’s for sure. I’m lucky she let me help.
Heath huffed and rolled onto his side. It would be light soon, and he really needed some shuteye if he was to function properly.
Work whirled in his mind. A door was due back to its owner in two days, and he still hadn’t carved the owl they’d requested for the bottom panel. That was another thing. The glazier was due then as well to put in the stained-glass pane. He needed to be ready. One side of the door needed shaving, and now he didn’t have time to use his beloved hand plane.
Heath wasn’t against using power tools, he just preferred the manual route, having been taught the art of woodwork using muscle and skill back when he was nine by a local craftsman who had a shop over in Sandly. Mr Wardly used to pop along to the Scouts club and help out from time to time, and Heath was one of the lads who took to woodwork like a duck to water.
He made a mental list of his tasks for the day. Rhett’s house would have to wait till the door had been completed.
I wonder if anyone else has secret money worries around here.
He’d never known Silver Wish Farm to hit on hard times, but now he felt wary since finding out about Rhett. It was starting to give him a headache. His tired eyes glanced at his phone, wishing he could call Rhett.
She’d be fast asleep anyway, he figured. Like everyone else. He closed his eyes, willing the exhaustion to take hold, but as weary as his eyes were, he was wide awake.
Huffing, he sat up and pulled the quilt over his chest, blocking out the chill in the air.
The café is sorted. I don’t need to help the builders. I’ll get in there once the roof is on and sort the kitchen. I have a plan for the stables, slow and steady there. Should work. Just need better time management. As long as nothing’s wrong with the farm, I should be good. If there are problems, the marquee can come back out. I’ll set up a fete or something. Bring in the punters. With the café down and the stables slowing down, traffic will be slow. I need to up my game. Think.
‘Argh!’ Heath growled into his fists, annoyed by lack of sleep more than anything. His chatterbox brain was driving him insane.
‘That’s it, I’ve had enough of this.’ He jumped out of bed and marched into the room next door, where a weightlifting bench sat amongst dumbbells and a rowing machine.
He sat on the rowing machine, wishing he was actually on Pepper River, and started to pull the makeshift oars towards him as if they had offended him in some way.
For ten minutes straight, Heath rowed the noise out of his head, then he plodded to the kitchen for a glass of water, stubbed his toe on the kitchen table, swore out loud, then looked out the window to see the sun coming up.
‘Great!’ he whispered.
A shadow caught his eye, causing a rush of adrenaline to sweep over his solar plexus. He ran to his front door, throwing it open to see Finn jogging by, which was a relief, as just for a moment, he worried the thugs might have returned to do more damage to the farm. There still hadn’t been any news on them.
‘Oi!’ he called.
Finn stopped, swaying side to side on the spot. ‘You’re up early.’
Heath didn’t bother saying the same thing, as he knew his brother always had trouble sleeping. ‘Come here a minute.’ He waved him inside as a chill slipped through his thin dark tee-shirt.
Finn stood in the entrance. ‘I’ve just warmed up.’
‘It won’t take a minute. I just want to know if you’ve noticed anything with the garden centre?’
Finn scrunched his nose. ‘What, like intruders again?’
‘No, with the finances. Do you think the takings are down or anything?’
Finn shrugged. ‘How would I know? Dad took care of all that. You’ll have to go over the books.’ He leaned back to one heel and bit his bottom lip. ‘You worried, Heath?’
‘No, no. Just thinking out loud. I want to make sure we’ve got no surprises lurking.’
‘Dad was smart. He knew what he was doing. Stop worrying. Look at the accounts, then you’ll feel better.’ Finn turned back to the door, obviously wanting to get on with his sunrise run.
Heath watched his brother jog away, then decided to head to his workshop to make a start on the owl.
The big room was cold and the smell of freshly cut wood brought Heath out of his slump, almost. He still had his pyjamas on but swapped his slippers for his yellow work boots.
The large door was already trapped in a vice, waiting for a smooth edge and a good sand down. He switched on the heating and lights, then made use of his power tools just to move things along.
The sun was rising, and it wasn’t too long before Heath pulled out his handmade toolbox to find his smallest chisel. It wasn’t the first time he’d carved an animal into wood. His Christmas decorations went down a storm at the shop each festive season. Everyone loved hanging the wooden ornaments on their trees.
I wish it was Christmas now. The café would be up and running, Rhett’s house would be transformed, and Willow would be home, taking over Dad’s role at the garden centre.
He swiped away some shavings with two fingers and blew on the wood, trying to remember what colour varnish the customer wanted. It was written down in his order book, but it wasn’t something he’d normally forget.
The cuckoo clock that held no cuckoo told him his mum would be up shortly. He’d have to jump in the shower and head over to the office to clear his head of paranoia soon.
He frowned over at the closed door, thinking he heard a horse snuffle. The sound of horses was something he was used to, living by stables, but outside his workshop at the early hours of the morning wasn’t a regular occurrence.
He swung the door open to peer outside just in time to see Rhett dismount Tourmaline, looking like a cowgirl.
What on earth is she wearing?
She smiled, softening his hard brow lines immediately, then put on a show of doing a slow twirl followed by a curtsy.
‘You joined the circus?’ he asked playfully, watching her secure the horse to a nearby post.
She passed him by in the doorway, leaving a trail of musty Tourmaline wafting up his nostrils. ‘Fancy dress shop. What do you think about me putting on shows?’ She sounded serious, but he couldn’t be sure.
He cleared his throat as he rubbed his eyes, careful not to get sawdust attached to his lids. ‘What shows?’
She waggled a paper bag his way as she headed towards his small kettle set up on a ledge by the window. ‘I just got croissants from Edith’s Tearoom. Fresh out the oven. I caught Joey early.’
He took one more look at the brown beast outside before closing the door. ‘Did you park your horse outside her shop?’
‘Well, you’re not allowed to drive down the bottom of Pepper Lane.’
He blinked hard, then flopped to the small dark sofa at the back of the room. A chill filled him, even with the heating on, so he grabbed the blue blanket on the arm and draped it over his legs, feeling the need to close his eyes as exhaustion hit.
She won’t be dressed as a cowgirl when I wake.
He peeped over as a clang of plates jolted him. The next thing he knew, Jessie from Toy Story was sitting by his side, offering pastries and a smile.
‘You look tired, Heath.’
‘I haven’t slept.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, just one of those nights.’ There was no way he was telling her he was overloaded with worry, especially as she was part of the mix. It would only make her pull away from his helping hand.
‘Are you cold?’
Heavy eyelids fluttered to a close, and Heath was sure a weight pressed on his shoulder as the blanket moved to cover his chest. He was too tired to look. ‘Can you stand on a horse?’ he mumbled, not even listening to himself.
‘Yep,’ she replied, sounding ever so proud.
‘You’ll fall.’
‘Are you worried?’
‘Yes,’ he whispered, then heard no more.