Chapter Eleven
CHAPTER
As the first rays of sunlight peeked over the mountains and stretched their warm fingers across the rolling landscape of Wildstone on a fine Sunday morning, Caleb began his morning ritual.
With a sense of purpose, he ensured that his belt held firm against the weight of handcuffs and radio, while his firearm rested dutifully in its holster.
He put on his heavy boots, looking into the garden as he bid a snoozing Jet goodbye, then strode down the steps.
Dew clung to the leaves and tendrils of his edible plants—each one tended to with as much care as he gave to his town.
His hair was neatly combed, framing sharp brown eyes that reflected a weariness brought on by a late night spent tossing and turning after getting home close to midnight from his shift at the rodeo.
He’d knocked off at ten, but had spent another hour sitting back, watching his sister and Hope dance the rest of the night away.
Then he’d chaperoned them home, before retiring to a shower and bed.
And he’d clutched hold of memories and dreams of Nyah Love all night long.
How he was meant to ignore the burning in his heart, the raging fire built only for her, he hadn’t a damn clue.
But he had to find a way. She didn’t need him churning up unwanted emotions.
She had enough on her beautiful shoulders.
He wasn’t going to burden her with feelings he should carry upon himself.
Heck no. He needed to focus on his work, and his obligation to the township he’d taken an oath to keep safe.
That was the perfect distraction. The best plan. The only way around it.
A few more days, and she’d be gone.
And he could get on with living a solitary life, with Jet for company.
Jumping behind the wheel of his Troopy and heading towards the station, he watched the township slowly waking up as the sun cast long shadows over the streets lined with stories and secrets.
One such story could be written on Rhonda and Donna’s house; the lovebirds and their inherited home were an integral part of the community’s history.
The cottage had been the only structure left standing after a storm flattened the township back in the goldrush days.
It had been refurbished several times to bring it into its modern-day glory, making it more than just a house—it was a vessel for collective memories.
Every local in Wildstone knew of the place, and told stories, true and fictitious, about its past. But today, as he took the corner, much to his horror he saw a new chapter in the story of the house, which appeared to have been flooded.
A running deluge had transformed the once proud front lawn into a soggy mess, swamping Rhonda and Donna’s beloved garden.
And there wasn’t a soul in sight trying to curb it.
As he pulled to a quick stop out front, he felt the weight of his role and the expectation that he should make things right.
After killing the engine, he jumped out and strode through shallow waters towards the besieged house.
Quickly climbing the front steps, he marched across the verandah and was about to knock when the front door was flung open.
‘Oh, my gosh, Caleb, thank god.’ Donna tugged her robe around her. ‘I was just about to call you. Well, not you exactly, but the station, for help.’ She waved a frazzled hand. ‘You get the drift.’
‘Hey, Donna.’ Movement caught his gaze, and he lifted his attention to a stomping, stone-faced Rhonda. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Looks like we have ourselves a busted water main.’ Retying the belt of her matching terry-towelling robe, Rhonda bustled past Donna.
‘I’ve just turned the main taps off, and I’ve left a message for the plumber, who apparently has gone fishing for a week up in Darwin.
’ She huffed and rolled her eyes. ‘Lord knows when his offsider will get the message. Knowing Gazza, he’ll be nursing a hangover after pulling an all-nighter at the rodeo campgrounds. ’
‘Okay, well, maybe I can have a look at it for you?’ He didn’t know the first thing about burst water mains, but he’d give it a good crack.
‘That’d be wonderful, Caleb, thank you, but first we need you to save our little moggy from up there.
’ Her hand going to his arm, she squeezed tightly as she pointed upward.
‘We only got him from the animal refuge three days ago, bless his little kitten socks.’ Her worried expression turned woeful.
‘Gingernut has landed safe and dry on the roof, thankfully, but for the life of us we can’t seem to coax him down. ’
‘Right, first things first then.’ Caleb followed the two women through the well-loved house and out to the back deck.
And there, atop the roof, sat a small ginger cat—a tiny figure against the vast expanse of emerging blue sky.
Its pitiful meows echoed off the adjacent houses, calling out for rescue.
He took in all the details in a matter of seconds, his eyes trained on the precarious position of the kitten near the edge of the sloping roof.
Its fur bristled in the wind, making it appear larger than it was.
But its fear was evident in its wide eyes, and although he was a dog lover to his very core, the sight tugged tightly at his heartstrings.
This tiny creature was counting on him, and he wouldn’t let it down.
‘Stay right there, buddy.’ Caleb rolled his shoulders back and began to strategise. ‘I’m coming to get you.’ He looked to the two panic-stricken women, who were more worried about their cat than their yard. ‘Do you have a ladder I can use?’
Rhonda shook her head. ‘Afraid not.’
He took a breath and looked to the tree beside the house. ‘Right, well, option two will have to do.’ He half grimaced, half smiled. ‘Lucky I learnt to climb trees as a young lad, hey.’
‘That was a while ago, Caleb,’ Donna chuckled nervously. ‘You sure you still can?’
‘I’m sure it’s like riding a bike.’ Caleb offered her a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry, I got this.’
This task would require finesse, not force.
And he knew he had to be gentle. He was also aware this tiny meowing package had claws, and he was possibly about to feel the wrath of the kitten as he sought to save it.
No pain, no gain. Using all his strength, each of his movements was deliberate and calculated as he scaled one branch at a time.
Reaching the top, he paused to catch his breath and acclimate himself to the height and slope.
His gaze flicked across to Nyah’s childhood home—the place that still held a secret—and then to William Keller’s backyard that bordered both houses at the rear fence line.
A shed sagged perilously to one side of it, reminding him somehow of the unresolved pain that seemed to linger within the reclusive schoolteacher.
His mother’s death the year before had taken a huge toll on him, and Caleb couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man who’d taught him in primary school.
Turning his gaze back to where duty called, he gripped the edges of the roof with careful movements as he made his way onto the corrugated Colorbond, his boots thankfully finding secure footing on the rough surface.
The kitten, sensing his approach, let out a low growl and tensed up even more with fear.
‘Hey there, little buddy,’ Caleb said softly, extending a gentle hand. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ He inched closer, every muscle coiled and ready to react. ‘Come on,’ he encouraged. ‘Let’s get you back home, huh.’
The kitten blinked, seemingly considering his offer, and Caleb used the moment to shuffle even nearer.
With a patience honed from years of handling human emergencies, he stopped and waited for the feline to make its decision, ready to lend a tender hand or chase after it if it bolted.
He prayed it wasn’t the latter. Seconds ticked by as a precarious dance unfolded between man and miniature beast. He cautiously inched forward, and the kitten inched back, and that continued on painful repeat.
Finally backed into a corner of the roofing, the tiny moggy, a creature of instinct and agility, seemed to pause and weigh up its options.
Caleb smiled to himself. He understood the importance of trust in situations like this, knowing that gentle patience was needed to bridge the gap between fear and safety.
So he waited, and waited some more, until the kitten took a tiny step forward.
‘Easy there,’ he murmured, his voice soothing. ‘Come to me, little one.’ He extended a steady hand and in a sudden shift, the kitten surrendered its defiance with a small mewl as it stepped tentatively towards him.
Time stood still for a moment, filled with potential for either triumph or heartbreak.
And then contact—the soft brush of fur against skin, the warmth of human fingers cradling a tiny body.
To Donna and Rhonda’s cheers of delight, Caleb held the kitten securely against his chest, a surge of relief coursing through his veins.
Then, slowly, carefully, measuredly, he descended bit by bit, mirroring his earlier ascent, each step well thought out until solid ground welcomed him and his fluffy newfound friend back to earth.
Next up, he needed to look at the busted pipe and see what he could do.
Then, and only then, would he head into the station.
Hopefully leaving Donna and Rhonda with running water, a happy kitten tucked safely inside the house, and a draining yard that would recover from the deluge.
***