Chapter Four
CHAPTER
With only three hours of sleep beneath his belt, Caleb looked wearily out the window to where the first light of dawn teased the horizon, turning the sky into a canvas streaked with hues of melancholy purple and hopeful pink.
While he took sips from his strong black coffee, the soft glow of another glorious sunrise illuminated his face, casting deep shadows under his heavy brows and highlighting the lines etched around his eyes.
Knowing what was happening at eleven that morning, a sense of deep sadness washed over him.
He felt for Nyah, for the complicated tangle of emotions her mother’s death would surely be stirring within her.
So much stormy water had passed beneath the bridge of Claire and Nyah’s relationship that it had likely been washed away years ago.
If only he could break the cold case that had torn the Love family apart, and find out what had happened to Skye, but no matter which way he looked at it, no matter how hard he’d tried to uncover the truth, he was no closer to discovering who was behind her disappearance than his father had been.
With closed eyes he conjured up an image of Nyah’s smile, and for a moment the walls he’d built around his heart seemed to crumble, making room for the possibility of happiness.
Quickly breathing the ridiculous thought away, he imagined what she’d look like now, her usually bright blue eyes stormy with pain and defiance as she processed the tragedy that would’ve shaken her world yet again.
Her broken spirit would likely be a stark contrast to the carefree air she carried with her when they were young lovers, and he wondered just how much of that free spirit remained after enduring years of unresolved grief.
If only he could bring her and her father some kind of closure, but for that he’d need to find Skye alive or, heaven forbid, her remains. He prayed it wouldn’t be the latter.
As sunlight began to flood the garden, casting long shadows over his carefully tended herb and veggie patch, he considered going to the funeral for what felt like the hundredth time.
Would Nyah want him there? Should he be there?
He wanted to be. It was the respectful thing to do.
He pictured himself amid the group of black-clad mourners, his presence both an offering of support but also a reminder of the past he and Nyah had shared.
The cold case of Skye Love, which had sat on his desk for years, was a silent testament to the unanswered questions that haunted them both.
The questions that had torn both their worlds apart.
He shook his head, willing the revolving thoughts to screech to a stop as his desire to offer condolences wrestled with the apprehension clawing at his chest. To see Nyah again, after all this time, to feel the pull of their shared history—it had the potential to break down the barriers he’d so meticulously built.
Would his attendance reopen old wounds? Could his presence at the funeral bring her solace, or would it summon shadows better left undisturbed?
His turbulent thoughts were momentarily distracted as he watched Jet zigzagging across the back lawn while chasing a dragonfly that was way out of his reach.
Thank goodness for his furball of a mate making him smile, even when he didn’t think it was possible.
Tugging his sunglasses from the top of his head, he popped them on as the sun rose higher, spilling warmth over the paddock where his two horses grazed.
But amid the simplicity of nature’s cycle, his thoughts still churned.
His heart, scarred by Nyah leaving town then Kim’s betrayal, now grappled with the possibility of facing the only woman he was sure could still make it skip a beat, despite the armour he’d forged around it.
Sweet memories of them together flooded back in vivid detail as he continued to watch the peaceful scene unfold before him.
Like a movie reel, his mind replayed horse rides, dam swims, lots of cuddles beneath the stars, and of course the night they’d both lost their virginity to one another.
And that poignant recollection almost brought him to his knees.
He gripped the banister as the sunlight grew stronger and the world began to fully rouse.
He knew he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t go.
He had to face Nyah, if she was there, and all the emotions she’d likely stir within him, at least for Claire’s sake.
The woman may have often been a thorn in his side, and that of every other Wildstone local, with her hatred towards the world and all that lived in it, but there was also a part of him that understood Claire’s pain.
The trauma of losing her baby girl all those years ago had completely soured her, and her agony had rotted her from the inside out.
Running a hand wearily over his face, he felt rough stubble pricking against his palm.
He needed to shave and get dressed in his funeral wear—black slacks, grey button-up shirt, black tie, and his black snakeskin boots.
He wanted to look presentable, respectable.
And an hour later, as he stood before his wardrobe with a towel wrapped around his waist, his eyes fell on the sombre ensemble hanging inside.
His heart and soul quivered anxiously. But it wasn’t the dark, formal threads that unsettled him.
It was the vulnerability that came with wearing them, for it meant the exposure of the emotions he kept in check, particularly when in public.
He grabbed the clothes out, the fabric of the slacks feeling cool and smooth as he laid them and his tailored shirt carefully on the bed.
Catching his reflection in the full-length mirror, he acknowledged that it showed a man trying to pull himself together.
His brown eyes, sharp and discerning, betrayed a hint of vulnerability.
And the weight of sorrow and regret rested heavily on his broad shoulders.
In the stillness of the room, he muttered a quiet curse under his breath as the thought of facing Nyah, of bridging the chasm of years with words of condolence, was both daunting and heartbreaking.
It would require peeling back layers of carefully constructed defences, which meant risking the exposure of wounds still tender to the touch.
‘Jet,’ he called out softly, and his loyal dog appeared at his side. He knelt to meet the German shepherd’s gaze, finding comfort in his deep, understanding eyes. ‘It’s going to be one tough day, buddy,’ he murmured, scratching behind the dog’s ears. ‘I wish you could come along with me.’
Jet offered him a lick to the cheek, making him chuckle. ‘Cheers for that, mate.’ He straightened, still smiling at Jet’s goofy expression. ‘You’re a clown, Jet Hart.’
As he began to get dressed, he felt another layer of weight press down upon him as a sharp pang of grief shot through his chest. But he pushed the feeling aside, knowing that today of all days, he needed to be strong for Nyah.
No matter the years and silence between them, she still mattered, immensely.
The reminiscences he’d relished earlier on the sunlit verandah came flooding back, crashing like waves against the shore of his consciousness, each one bringing with it roiling emotions.
Having buried each sweet memory of her down deep so he could move on with his life, the reminders of their beautiful love were already becoming all too much.
So, while he buttoned up his crisply ironed shirt and his hands fumbled with the tie as if it was a noose made of past regrets and what-ifs, he mentally steadied himself for what lay ahead.
He was determined to step into the day and its uncertainties with all the resolve of the resilient man he’d worked extremely hard to be.
The man his father was proud of.
His black hat was in his hand and his going-to-town boots clunked heavily on the wooden floorboards as he headed down the staircase then paced back and forth in his lounge room.
He didn’t want to arrive too early, and there were still twenty minutes to kill.
He breathed in air thick with the aromas of polished leather and lavender, the latter wafting in from the garden through the open window.
Enjoying the scent, he paused, gazing out at the breathtaking view of his property.
Above it all, the bright blue sky, flooded with warm sunshine and dotted with listless clouds, seemed at complete odds with the cold knot of apprehension in his stomach.
As if sensing his unease, Jet padded over to his side, nudging his hand for attention and bringing him back from his spiralling thoughts.
Caleb gave his mate a reassuring pat on the head, grounding himself in the simple and solid reality of their unconditional camaraderie. ‘I’m going to be all right, mate, but thanks for checking in.’
Readying himself to go, he took one last look around his sanctuary. It felt too silent, too empty. But there wasn’t much he could do about it. ‘You make sure you keep an eye on the place while I’m gone, okay, bud.’ He offered his mate a wobbly smile. ‘Catch you when I get back.’