The Wild One Read online

  Rachel checked her mail while she waited for the kettle to boil. Then she carried her tea into the living room and sank into her favorite chair. Kicking off her shoes, she stretched her bare feet out on the coffee table. She grimaced. Not the most elegant of poses, but who was there to see her?

  The house sighed quietly, and Rachel tossed the mail aside. Nothing interesting.

  She sipped her tea in the silence. Maybe she should do something about letting the flat again.

  She glanced at the door off the living room. It led to the self-contained flat consisting of a large bedroom with an en suite, a kitchenette, and a living room.

  The last tenants, two young students from the Agricultural College, had rented it during the school year, but they'd finished their courses weeks ago and had left for home or jobs elsewhere. In a few weeks there would be another influx of students, so Rachel knew she'd have no trouble finding a tenant or tenants.

  Her mother had said she was taking a chance letting strangers rent the flat, but so far Rachel had had no trouble. And having the flat occupied had made the house feel more, well, filled. Since Rob died the house had taken on a slight emptiness. Physically, Rob had been a tall, broad-shouldered man, and he seemed to fill the house with his presence.

  It was a strange feeling. But during the years they were married, Rachel had often felt Rob overwhelmed her, smothered her somehow. Wherever he was, Rob was usually surrounded by noise. Now Rachel realized guiltily that she enjoyed the silence.

  But just knowing someone was in the flat made the house feel lived in. Maybe she appreciated the silence but missed the actual presence. Sort of the best of both worlds, she supposed.

  She stood up and returned to the kitchen and made herself prepare a light snack. After her big lunch with her bridge club she didn't feel like another heavy meal. She settled on a light salad and carried her plate through to the dining room.

  She was halfway through her meal when she suddenly found herself thinking about Quinn Farrelly. She set her fork down and rested her chin on her hand.

  If she were totally honest with herself she'd have to admit that Quinn Farrelly had been flitting about on the periphery of her thoughts ever since Sandy had mentioned Quinn's return.

  Rachel could picture Quinn as clearly as though she had seen her yesterday rather than almost a dozen years ago. And why wouldn't she remember her'? she asked herself. She'd known Quinn all her life. Well, just about all her life. From the time Rachel and her mother had moved back to her mother's hometown when Rachel's parents had divorced. Rachel had been eleven years old then, so that constituted most of her life.

  They'd attended the same local primary school, although Quinn was three years behind Rachel. Then they'd gone on to different high schools, Quinn to the state high school and Rachel to a private girls' school in Ipswich. They'd crossed paths occasionally in the township or at interschool sports meets.

  Quinn was one of her school's sports stars, while Rachel was lousy at sports. Yet Rachel had always watched any games Quinn had played. Netball. Softball. Hockey. Swimming. Quinn was a member of all the teams over the years. Rachel often wondered when Quinn found time to attend all the practice sessions on top of keeping up with her schoolwork, because Quinn did reasonably well in the classroom too. What did they call it? An all-rounder. Quinn Farrelly was a good all-rounder.

  They lost touch while Rachel was away at university, but when Rachel was sent to the local state high school as a student teacher, the first face to swim out of the sea of students in her first class was that of Quinn Farrelly. Quinn, with her hennaed hair standing up in a spiky cut, full lips smiling crookedly, gray eyes levelly meeting Rachel's.

  Rachel had been excruciatingly nervous and, of course, the class of sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds had immediately tuned into her fear. Rachel knew they were going to give her a hard time and she very nearly panicked and ran for her life. But she managed to hold on to her composure long enough to introduce herself, and it had been Quinn who, Rachel suspected, had saved her.

  She'd stood up and welcomed Rachel, reminded her peers that Rachel had gone to school with their siblings, made it sound as though Rachel was "one of them." Things seemed to have gone on relatively smoothly after that. Thanks to Quinn Farrelly.

  Later in the staff room one of Rachel's fellow teachers had sympathetically asked Rachel how she'd managed the class. When Rachel had gratefully sung Quinn's praises, there had been a moment of telling silence before various exclamations of disbelief.

  "Quinn Farrelly?" exclaimed one teacher. "Don't trust that little minx. She's just lulling you into a false sense of security."

  "She's a troublemaker, that one," agreed another.

  Only May Stokes, the oldest woman on the staff, had made anything like a positive comment on Quinn. "Quinn's not so bad, considering," she'd said, looking over her half-glasses. Everyone else had laughed skeptically. Only later, after what happened, had May Stokes elaborated on her statement as she'd sat beside Rachel at the trial.

  Who could blame the child? May Stokes had expressed her compassion for Quinn to Rachel. A nonexistent home life. A drunken, abusive father who had been in and out of jail. A family who didn't seem to care what sort of friends Quinn made, where or how she spent her time. Was it any wonder Quinn Farrelly had earned her dreadful nickname? The Wild One.

  Chapter Three

  Rachel locked the station wagon and hurried into the office. As usual, Phil had the coffee brewing. Rachel sighed appreciatively.

  "That smells divine," she said as Phil handed her a steaming mug.

  "Saw you pull into the car park and knew you would have skipped breakfast again."

  "What makes you think that?" Rachel asked after her first sip of coffee. "And what do you mean, 'skipped breakfast again'?"

  "I could hear your tummy rumbling from here."

  Rachel put her hand on her stomach. "You could not. My tummy never rumbles."

  "Whatever you say, boss." Phil shrugged and offered her a plate of warm muffins. "Apart from that, the kids are at their grandparents', so I knew you wouldn't take the time for breakfast."

  Rachel looked at the muffins. They were blueberry, her favorite, and she only hesitated a second before she took one, murmuring her appreciation as she bit into its softness.

  "I know I've said it before, but you make the best muffins in the world, Phil. Although heaven only knows when you find the time."

  "It's all in the organization and planning," he said and munched on his own muffin. "And talking about organization and planning, you'd be better served taking time for breakfast and calling in to see Ken during work hours. Or better still, just phone him. You know I can handle opening the shop here, so there's no point in rushing about. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

  "This is the first time I've missed breakfast all week," Rachel got in before he could continue. "And it was only because I'd overslept."

  And she'd overslept because she'd tossed and turned for hours before she'd finally dozed off. She'd found it so difficult to relax. Her thoughts had kept returning to Quinn Farrelly.

  Every time Rachel had closed her eyes she'd seen Quinn's face. Her long, lithe body. Her clear gray eyes. And her mouth, with its quirky smile that was so naively young and yet so cynically adult at one and the same time.

  Just remembering her nighttime recollections started an unsettling warmth growing in the pit of Rachel's stomach. She pulled her thoughts back to the present.

  "And how did you know I'd called in to see Ken anyway?" she asked Phil.

  He touched his finger to the side of his nose and then grinned. "Because Ken rang to say he forgot to tell you he'd be needing the Bobcat at the Graingers' tomorrow."

  "I've got that all organized." Rachel licked the last muffin crumbs from her fingers. "I rang Bill Parsons yesterday, and he said he'd be at the job site at eight-thirty A.M. He's got a small job first thing, and then he'll go straight over to our job." Rachel took another
sip of her coffee and then set the mug down on her desk. "I'll ring Ken and tell him."

  "I'll do that. You finish your coffee before the first customers start storming the battlements."

  A rusty utility drove into the car park, and Phil pulled a face. "Oops! Too Late! You gulp down your coffee and I'll phone Ken. Another day, another dollar."

  Rachel laughed and went out to greet one of their regulars.

  An hour later Rachel was still attending to what had turned out to be an influx of customers. The last one, old Mrs. Jorgenson, had bought some new ground cover for her prize-winning garden.

  "Let me carry these out to your car for you," Rachel said, picking up the cardboard box of rose mulch and plants and following the old lady out to the car park.

  "This is kind of you, Rachel." Mrs. Jorgenson beamed as she opened the boot of her ancient Ford.

  Rachel set the box carefully on the original carpet. Then she closed the lid. "They'll be flowering before we know it, once your green thumb gets to work."

  "Green thumb or not, there's only one reason I shop here, Rachel. I know I'm your mother's friend, but I come because you have good quality plants, love. Makes all the difference. And your special rose mulch is one of my garden's best-kept secrets. Of course, I get friendly service, too," she added with a smile.

  Rachel mimed a salute. "We aim to please, ma'am."

  "Should be more like you, Rachel," Mrs. Jorgenson said as she settled behind the wheel. "Most people these days don't understand the meaning of service any more." She waved and drove away.

  The car park was empty for the first time since they opened. Rachel sighed with relief as she headed back inside the gate. Maybe now she could finish her cold coffee.

  At that moment a loud, throaty roar made her pause and look around. A battered yellow Gemini that had seen better days turned into the gateway.

  "Famous last words," Rachel muttered to herself. The car had obviously blown a muffler and surely wouldn't pass a police mechanical inspection.

  Rachel walked into the office and glanced out the window but only caught sight of a jean-clad leg as the Gemini's driver headed in through the gates. Rachel looked at her watch. Nine-twenty-five. It seemed like only a moment ago she'd arrived at work. Where had the hour and a half gone?

  Nine-twenty-five? Oh no. She'd forgotten the job interview Phil had set up. And so had Phil, otherwise he would have reminded her. The applicant would be here any minute, and she hadn't so much as glanced at the resume he'd left her.

  She sat down, opened her drawer, and only had time to set the CV on her desktop before there was a knock on the doorframe. Phil stuck his head into the office.

  "Lucky things have slowed down." He grimaced apologetically. "Your job applicant is here."

  "Already?" Rachel gave a soft groan. "I haven't..." She sighed resignedly. "Okay. Better send him in."

  "It's a her, actually," said a husky voice. A tall woman stepped around Phil and into the office.

  Chapter Four

  The woman wore dark boots, dress jeans with knife-edged creases, a white shirt with the collar unbuttoned at the throat, and a light, blue-toned checked jacket. And she seemed to have the longest legs Rachel had ever seen.

  Her dark hair was short, layered back over the sides of her head, the top spiking, a few strands falling onto her forehead. And Rachel would have known her anywhere. Her face seemed thinner, had lost the roundness of adolescence, but the clear gray eyes were the same.

  Yet now that Rachel was over the initial shock of seeing her again, she realized the intervening twelve years had added more than mere maturity. Her eyes might be the same arresting shade of gray, but some of the burning brightness Rachel remembered had gone from them, her tentative smile only touching her full lips.

  Quinn Farrelly. Quinn Farrelly was here. Wanting a job.

  And all at once Rachel wanted to tidy her hair. Her hand moved upward, and she disguised the movement by nervously adjusting the collar of her shirt.

  "Quinn. Hello. I, you're ..." Rachel cringed inwardly and valiantly drew herself together. "You're home," she finished banally.

  "You two know each other?" Phil asked, looking questioningly from one to the other.

  "Sort of." Quinn gave a soft laugh that played over Rachel's skin, making the fine hair on her arms prickle.

  Rachel swallowed as her throat threatened to close. What was wrong with her? She'd known Quinn was home. Why was it such a surprise she'd be looking for a job?

  "We went to school together," Quinn was telling Phil.

  "You did?" Phil looked surprised.

  "Only just." Rachel's vocal cords were tight, too, and she swallowed again. "I was a few years ahead of Quinn."

  "What a coincidence." Phil held out his hand. "I'm Phil Stevens. I work here, and I'm sort of Rachel's cousin-in-law."

  Quinn raised her eyebrows.

  "My brother's married to Rachel's cousin," Phil added, and Quinn nodded.

  "Ah. The teacher or Sandy?"

  "Sandy."

  "Stevens?" She frowned slightly. "You must be the older brother who was in the Navy, and this brother of yours would have to be Steve then. Right?"

  Phil laughed. "Yes, I was in the Navy and, yes, Steve's my brother. My younger brother. Can you believe our parents named him Steven Stevens? I've always been relieved they didn't think of it when I was born."

  Quinn laughed again. "I remember him. He's a nice guy."

  "All the Stevenses are like that," Phil said jauntily.

  "All?" Quinn teased. "How many are there?"

  "Just Steve and me."

  They laughed easily together, and Rachel moved slightly, her chair creaking on its wheels. Both Quinn and Phil turned to look at her, the smile fading just slightly on Quinn's face.

  "So. You're here to apply for a job?" Rachel asked in what she hoped was a businesslike tone.

  Quinn inclined her head. "I left my resume here yesterday. With Old Dave Smith."

  Phil rubbed his hands together. "How about some coffee? Rachel? Quinn?"

  They both declined.

  "Okay. I'll leave you two to it then." Phil raised his eyebrows hopefully at Rachel before he left.

  Now that Phil was gone, Rachel perversely wanted to call him back. She felt decidedly hot. And unprepared. How she wished she'd looked at Quinn's CV earlier. At least then she'd have been forewarned.

  "Please. Won't you sit down." She indicated the other chair, and Quinn stepped forward, and sat in the chair on the other side of Rachel's desk.

  She casually crossed one booted foot over the other and relaxed back into the chair.

  Rachel wished she had the other woman's composure. She was a mass of nerves, and her stomach churned as much as it would if she'd been the interviewee rather than the interviewer. She'd always been inclined to be that way. Even more so since she'd had to handle the business on her own.

  Yet it was more than that.

  And if Rachel's thoughts the evening before had disturbed her sleep, then she suspected seeing Quinn again would be responsible for ongoing insomnia. Seeing Quinn brought back even more memories, memories Rachel thought she'd safely buried, never to be allowed to resurface.

  Quinn Farrelly was still as attractive, as striking, as she'd always been. Impossibly more so. But Rachel quickly pushed that thought to the very back of her mind. She'd think about that later.

  To cover her uneasiness she opened the resume that lay on the desk in front of her. She scanned the printed document, but she had trouble concentrating on the words. All she could see was Quinn's name. Quinn Maryann Farrelly.

  "I haven't, I mean ..." Rachel swallowed and closed the resume. "Why don't you tell me..." Rachel's throat closed again.

  "Why I want the job?" Quinn finished easily.

  Rachel made herself smile, forcing herself to act as normally as Quinn was. "Well, for a start."

  "Okay. Last week my sister, Becky, was talking to someone who had been talking to your cousin, Sandy
, and she told Becky that Sandy said you needed staff pretty desperately. I also need work desperately." Quinn pulled a rueful face. "It sounded like some sort of good omen. You needing staff, me needing a job. And I prefer to work outdoors, so this job sounded ideal." She stopped and gave a quick laugh. "What I should be saying is that I've had experience in this line of work."

  Rachel glanced at the resume and back at Quinn.

  Quinn sighed softly. "As you know, I've been in prison. For five years, three months, one week, and two days, to be exact." She grimaced again and gave a self-derogatory smile. "I was counting, believe me."

  She sat up a little straighter. "For the last part of my sentence I was at the prison farm. I guess you could say that saved my sanity, and I learned a lot. Then for several years after my release I had a job in a plant nursery in northern New South Wales, and when I came back to Queensland I also worked in a well-established hydroponic vegetable market garden. That was last year." She indicated the resume. "I have references."

  Rachel tried to get herself into business mode. "And why did you leave that position?"

  Quinn's expression barely changed. "There was a change of ownership and a reshuffling of staff. A few of us, those who were hired last, were let go. The previous owners gave me a good reference though. It's in my resume. Apart from that, I'd been wanting to come home for some time, so it seemed like a good opportunity."

  Rachel opened the CV again and scanned Quinn's employment history. Apart from one-five month period, Quinn had been working the entire time since she had left prison. Rachel wondered why Quinn hadn't come home when she got out of jail. According to her resume, that would have been about seven years ago. Surely...

  "You didn't come home after your release?" she heard herself asking.

  Quinn looked down, brushed at an imaginary speck of dust on the leg of her jeans. "No," she said, and her gaze met Rachel's again. "No. At the time I didn't think that was an option."

  The telephone rang, and Rachel jumped. "Excuse me," she said as she fumbled with the receiver.