Chapter 6
CHAPTER
Ferne couldn’t leave this place fast enough, but she had one more thing to do before she escaped.
Say goodbye to the man who’d made her life a misery.
She’d never understood Mac’s obsession with palm trees.
He’d insisted they plant a row of them beyond the pool at the end of the garden, even though they looked incongruous against the backdrop of the farm.
At the end of a long day, he’d often lie on his back under those palms, hands behind his head, eyes closed.
Ferne meditated, and she assumed Mac did the same under the palms. She never would’ve guessed what he’d been thinking about—or who.
She’d buried his ashes under the tallest palm, one of the many requests in his will.
As she reached his grave now, marked with a simple plaque because he didn’t deserve anything grander, she glanced back at the homestead, grateful her selfish, secretive husband had had a conscience.
When she’d discovered the truth, she’d wondered if he’d left ‘that person’ anything in his will, but to Mac’s credit, he’d bequeathed the farm to her and their son.
Four months ago, she would’ve loved nothing better than to sell the place and split the money between her and Cruz.
But being forced to run the farm over the last few months on her own had given her perspective, and time to calm down.
Knowing she had to hand over a functioning farm to Cruz had sustained her during the lonely nights when she second-guessed every aspect of her life to date, wishing she’d done things differently.
Ironic that now she finally had some semblance of freedom, she felt guilty about lumping her son with the very thing that had been a weight on her shoulders for far too long.
Not that she regretted giving Cruz the freedom to pursue his passion a decade ago.
He’d been a quiet kid who’d grown more introverted in his teens, with-drawing into himself as he witnessed his parents’ fraught marriage, and she’d been worried.
But Cruz put on a brave face after he’d finished high school and stuck around to help run the farm at Mac’s insistence.
He got his hands dirty with the everyday duties, doing everything from irrigation to machinery maintenance.
She’d thought Mac would be proud of their son, but nothing was ever good enough.
The more Cruz strived for his father’s approval, the more Mac took for granted, until Ferne couldn’t stand it any longer.
She’d threatened to leave Mac and their empty marriage if he didn’t allow Cruz to pursue cooking in Melbourne, knowing her husband valued appearances above all else and wouldn’t tolerate her breaking their vows.
He’d ranted and raved, verbally abusing her like never before, but she hadn’t cared. It had been worth it when Cruz enveloped her in the longest hug he’d ever given her and whispered in her ear, ‘Thanks for everything, Mum. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. I love you.’
Nobody knew how she longed to follow her son, to escape Mac’s rigidity, his never-ending quest for control.
She’d contemplated getting in her car, driving away and never looking back many times over the years, but knew that if she did, Mac would punish Cruz instead, and she’d been through too much to ruin her son’s chances of inheriting.
A week after Cruz left, Mac headed to the city on one of his so-called business jaunts, giving Ferne an unexpected opportunity to reconnect with a fragment of her past. For a glorious weekend, she got an insight into what her life could’ve been like if she left the farm and followed her heart.
But Cruz didn’t deserve to be shackled to the place all over again, so she’d shelved her chance at happiness and thrown herself into farming alongside Mac.
As if sensing what she’d given up, he’d been civil most days, but they rarely talked beyond the state of their accounts and discussions about hiring extra staff during the picking season.
The farm hadn’t shown a profit for a long time and they were barely breaking even.
Ferne hoped Elora’s magic could change that and, in twelve months, she’d be celebrating a profitable sale with her son.
She reached Mac’s grave and glared at the plaque, an affront in her otherwise pristine garden. The passive-aggressive engraving never failed to make her smile.
MACKENZIE F. WARDLOW
MISSED BY SOME.
REMEMBERED FOR HIS FARM.
PEACE.
She hadn’t bothered with his date of birth or death because she’d had to pay by the letter. And the peace was for her and Cruz, not ‘rest in peace’ for him. Mac deserved to dance on hot coals for all eternity for what he’d put her through.
‘My time here is up, Mac,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘I stuck around this place for too many years, standing by your side when I shouldn’t have, and now Cruz is taking over for twelve months like you wanted.
But you’re an idiot if you think bringing him back here to run the farm is going to make him want to keep it.
We can’t wait to get rid of this millstone around our necks and spend the proceeds however we damn well please. ’
She sighed. ‘So you did it all for nothing. We don’t want to be anywhere near you and the memories of this place.
Memories that were bad enough without you desecrating everything with your sordid secrets.
’ Bitterness tightened her throat, and she cleared it.
‘You were a bad father, a worse husband and a terrible liar. I hope you rot in hell.’
Letting Mac have it, saying what she should’ve said when he’d been alive, felt cathartic. With a little luck, Cruz would let the weeds grow over his father’s plaque, obliterating the final memory of a man they’d rather forget.
Walking away, Ferne took several deep, soothing breaths, so when she reached the homestead she wouldn’t feel like punching something. It would be hard enough saying goodbye to Cruz without anger coursing through her veins.
As she entered the back door, she saw Cruz sitting at the kitchen table, looking shellshocked, and Elora nowhere in sight.
‘Where’s Elora?’
‘I took her for a quick tour of the farm, now she’s unpacking.’ He frowned. ‘Thanks for foisting her on me, by the way. Entertaining a stranger is just what I need in my first week here, when I’m going to be bitter and twisted.’
It never failed to surprise Ferne that her introverted son worked in an industry where people surrounded him every day. Then again, barking orders at subordinates in a kitchen didn’t need finesse or people skills.
‘By the way you reacted earlier, I’d say you’re not strangers.’
To her surprise, a faint blush stained Cruz’s cheeks. ‘She came into the restaurant once, that’s it.’
‘If you say so.’
Ferne sat on a chair next to him, wishing she could deliver words of wisdom or encouragement for what he faced over the coming year. But nothing she could say would erase the acrimony towards his father, so all she could do was support him as best she could.
‘Why did Dad do it? Make that crazy stipulation in his will?’
She wanted to say the truth—because he was a miserable bastard and a control freak—but she settled for, ‘You know what he was like. I guess he wanted to make us feel like we earned this place.’
‘We already did. I worked my arse off for those two years after school finished and he never appreciated a single day of work I did. As for you …’ He trailed off, shaking his head. ‘I don’t know how you stuck it out here, Mum. I really don’t.’
I did it for you. Though that wasn’t the only reason. For the last ten years, she’d stayed out of misplaced guilt for that weekend a decade ago, a weekend of warmth and forbidden desire that had sustained her every day since.
Ironic, that Mac had indulged in far more than an illicit weekend and had been doing so for their entire marriage.
‘Would you believe me if I said the next twelve months will fly by?’ She stood and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
‘No.’ Cruz stood too and enveloped her in his arms. ‘I love you, Mum. Thanks for sticking around all this time. I know you did it for me.’
Tears stung Ferne’s eyes and emotion clogged her throat as she buried her face against her son’s chest, grateful beyond belief that one good thing had resulted from her crappy marriage.
As she clung to Cruz, reluctant to let him go, she knew one thing.
She would never, ever, give up her freedom for a man ever again.