Honor's Promise: Liam's Journey

By Noelle Clark

Loyalty is high on Liam Cullen’s agenda, but lately he’s been feeling restless. He wants to run away from the endless routines of life on the family farm. He contemplates busting free of the sometimes suffocating confines of the close-knit family. He’d like to see the world. Maybe meet a few girls. Riddled with guilt that

• Language: English
• Publisher: Noelle Clark Books
• Release date: Oct 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9780994458629

Noelle Clark

Noelle Clark is an Australian author of contemporary romance novels, rural romance, and historical fiction. Her books weave romance, intrigue, and adventure into colourful and interesting settings. They feature characters who deal with love and loss; and who experience the often difficult facets of life, such as forgiveness and redemption. Noelle lives in a secluded cottage in sunny Queensland, Australia. She has two grown up children and four young grandchildren. When Noelle's not writing and travelling, she enjoys growing her own organic vegetables and herbs, photography, playing guitar, and sketching.

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HONOR’S PROMISE:

LIAM’S JOURNEY

Robinhill Farm Series Book 2

Noelle Clark

Stop Press Publishing

http://www.stoppresspublishing.com

Honor’s Promise: Liam’s Journey

Copyright © 2015  Noelle Clark

E-book ISBN: 978-0-9944586-1-2

Print book ISBN: 0-9944586-1-4

First E-book Publication:  June 2015

Second E-book Publication: October 2015

First Print Publication: October 2015

Cover design by Dawné Dominique  http://dusktildawndesigns.com/

Edited by Judah Raine  http://www.judahraine.com/

Proofread by Renee Waring

All cover art copyright © 2015 by Stop Press Publishing/Noelle Clark Books

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher Stop Press Publishing, or the author, Noelle Clark. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental

Other Books by Noelle Clark

Honor’s Debt (Robinhill Farm Series Book 1)

Honor’s Legacy – Winds of Change (Robinhill Farm Series Book 3)

Rosamanti

Let Angels Fly

Sands of Time (in the Anthology – A Season to Remember

http://www.noelleclark.net/

Dedication

My heartfelt thanks go to Anderson, Abigail, Charlotte and Jackson, for being my constant companions while writing this book.

They show me unconditional love, and epitomize the true bonds of family—which in turn inspires me to write about the O’Doherty and Cullen families.

Thanks to Lorainne Casley and Robyn Dale for beta reading.

Thanks to Matt for providing encouragement when times got tough.

HONOR’S PROMISE:

LIAM’S JOURNEY

Volume Two in the Robinhill Farm Series

by

Noelle Clark

Chapter One

Liam slammed his balled fist hard on the wooden table, abruptly stood up, and shoved the chair backward, making it screech across the old linoleum floor. He reached down, snatched up the typed letter from the table, and waved it aloft.

This, he roared, is the biggest load of cow manure I’ve ever heard!

The flimsy sheet of paper was no match for Liam’s massive paw, and with barely a crackle, was reduced to a small, tight pellet the size of a ping pong ball. He glared at his mother’s back as she busied herself making a fresh pot of tea at the kitchen bench opposite him, then shifted his gaze to Tom, who was busy stuffing his mouth with crispy fried bacon, eggs, and toast.

For God’s sake, Tom, can’t you stop eating for just one minute and talk to me?

Tom, ruminating on his breakfast like a goat chewing its cud, slowly turned his gaze on his brother. He swallowed the mouthful of food, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and belched.

What would you like to talk about? Tom’s slow manner of speaking infuriated Liam even more.

He held the scrunched-up letter only inches from Tom’s face. This! He hurled the hard wad of paper with such force it hit the kitchen wall with a loud pop, narrowly missing the railway clock.

Liam knew it would be his mother’s turn to show anger and, as he had learned as a child, he braced himself for her wrath.

She turned slowly, menacingly, to face him. He saw her face turn red and her eyes narrow. Mrs. Cullen lifted one hand slowly, extended her index finger, and waved it at him.

Liam Cullen, she growled, "don’t you ever vent your spleen in my kitchen! Now, pick up whatever it was that you threw and tell us what’s got your knickers in a knot."

It always amazed him how, at almost thirty-five years of age, his mam could sometimes make him feel as though he was seven. As always happened when he’d let his quick temper loose on his nearest and dearest, remorse for his outburst was swift in coming. He bent down, picked up the offending ball of paper, and placed it on the table. Then he pulled out his chair and slumped into it, rested his elbows on the table, and cradled his head with his hands.

I’m sorry. A whoosh of air came from his lips, as though a pressure valve had now been released. It’s those feckin’ government boffins. He lowered his hands and looked from his mam to his brother. They say I’ve got to do a course in order to keep our dairy production license current. A course! And how long have I been a dairy farmer?

A cup of tea appeared on the table in front of him. His mother pulled out the chair next to him, sat down, and—in that matter of fact way she always had—faced him squarely.

Right. Time for the tea and the chats. Tell me what’s brought this on.

Liam began to unpick the tight ball of paper. He spread the crinkled sheet out on the table and smoothed it as flat as he could with the palm of his hand.

It’s from the Food Safety Authority. They say that they’ll be doing an audit of our dairy and the herd. They say that if I haven’t already got the proper certification, then I need to get it before the audit.

Mrs. Cullen took the page from his hand and squinted at it.

Tom, love. Pass me my glasses please.

Tom rose and fetched his mother’s glasses from on top of the refrigerator where she always put them when she was cooking.

Okay. She adjusted them on her nose and inspected the letter. Signed by someone called Conley Briar. Regional Manager. She whipped her spectacles off and looked up at Liam. I don’t see how you can get out of this. He says it’s the law.

Why not Tom, then? He’s younger than me.

Tom held both hands up, palms facing outward.

No way. The dairy’s registered in your name. Besides that… He looked away, his face coloring slightly.

Mrs. Cullen turned from Tom back to Liam. You know Tom can’t do it.

Liam sighed. It was true. Tom had struggled at school. He’d never even finished past the seventh grade. Their Da had said he didn’t need to know how to read, write, and do math to be a bloody good farmer. But Liam was no towering genius either. They both just wanted to be farmers.

Well, I’ll struggle too. I haven’t had to write anything for years. Not since Cherry got old enough to do our ordering, and now that Honor looks after everything on that new-fangled computer of hers, I don’t think I even own a pen.

Mrs. Cullen inspected the letter again. They won’t be testing your spelling. They just want to know if you are fit to run a dairy whose milk is trucked all over Ireland. They’ll need to know you run all the checks for bacteria and temperature, and that you maintain cleanliness and hygiene.

When Tom spoke, he sounded relieved now that he was off the hook. When is the audit to be done?

In six weeks. Liam drained the teacup in one gulp and looked at Tom. You’ll have to spruce the place up, get it ready for audit, if I’m to do this blasted course.

Tom nodded. ’Course I will.

Right. Come on. We need to go and tell Dermot and Cherry we’re about to be invaded by government nits who don’t know the arse end of a cow from its head.

They both stood and pushed their chairs back. Mrs. Cullen stood slowly, her head only reaching halfway up the chests of her two big sons. She looked up at Tom, then shifted her gaze to Liam.

Boys, I know you can do it. We’ve been through far worse. I’ve got every faith in you.

They both left the kitchen and climbed into the cabin of their farm truck. Liam kicked the motor, shoved the gear lever into first, and took off with a roar toward the small farm cottage where Cherry, their sister, lived with her husband, Dermot.

Dermot was already outside, tying some hay bales on the tray of his truck. He looked up as they approached and waved a greeting. Liam pulled the truck up near Dermot, cut the engine, and climbed down from the vehicle.

Mornin’. Dermot looked curiously from Liam to Tom. What’s up? You don’t normally pay us a visit before milking.

Cherry around? Got a minute for a natter?

Just as Liam spoke, the door to the cottage opened and his sister strode over, dressed in her milking gear of jeans, long rubber boots, and a thick, flannelette, check shirt. Little Rory, looking cute in his red wellies, jeans and check shirt, followed Cherry and ran over to him.

Unca Liam.

Liam lifted him high above his head, then clasped him to his chest in an enormous hug.

Cherry smiled at her brothers. What’s up with you two? Come to escort us down to the dairy?

Liam passed Rory over to Tom, who lifted the boy effortlessly onto his shoulders. Liam, serious once more, pulled a folded, very crumpled, piece of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Dermot.

I’ve got to go to Cork for a week. To get a feckin’ piece of paper that says I’m a feckin’ dairy farmer.

He felt his face warm up just thinking about it. Now that his mam wasn’t in earshot, he could let his quick temper bubble up again.

Dermot quickly scanned the letter and then handed it to Cherry. Her brows drew together as she looked up at Liam.

Shit. Bloody bureaucratic bullshit. Cherry’s temper was nowhere near as bad as Liam’s, but it was just as quick. When are they coming? She handed the letter back to her brother.

Six weeks. I have to do this course before the audit. Cherry, could you go in my place? I mean, all four of us own the farm—along with Bryan and Honor, of course—so why me?

Cherry turned to Dermot. Derm? What do you think?

Dermot shook his head. No way. Remember when we combined Robinhill and An Mullach farms? We had to nominate one person for the dairy, one for the sheep, and so on, as the manager. He shrugged his shoulders. It’s you, I’m afraid, Liam.

He knew that was the case. It had to be him, as official manager, who gained the certification. Yeah. He took the letter back from Cherry, folded it, and stuffed it back into his pocket. Well, I guess we better go and milk our girls. They’ll be wondering where we are.

Tom lifted Rory off his shoulders and placed him on the seat of Cherry’s quad bike.

Cherry slapped Liam gently on the shoulder. Don’t worry. We’ll sort something out. I’m just going to drop Rory over with Mam. See you in a minute. She climbed on behind Rory, started the bike, and took off toward An Mullach farm.

Three hours later, Liam finished flushing out the milking machinery, sanitized it, and ensured all the equipment was spotless and ready for the afternoon milking session. Always meticulous, Liam followed a routine that ensured perfect hygiene in the dairy operations. A hard lump formed in the pit of his stomach. How dare they question his standards! He’d been a dairy farmer for as long as he could walk, helping his father when he was just a little guy.

Lost in his thoughts, he started when a firm hand clamped his shoulder.

It has to be done, Liam. Every dairy farm in the country has to meet the standards set by the Food Safety Authority. Dermot’s words were no doubt intended to placate him, but again he felt rising anger.

I’m more than happy to ensure our dairy, our cows—everything—meets, no exceeds, the ruddy standards. What I’m pissed about is that for the sake of a piece of paper, we’ll be one man short here for a week, all to satisfy some grey-suited office worker. He picked up a hose and wound it neatly on a wheel near the maze of shiny, stainless steel vats, and secured the nozzle in place. He inspected every inch of the still-wet concrete floor, scrutinized the sparkling clean milking pumps, and glanced in every one of the cow boxes. Not one speck of cow dung or a single splinter of hay. All the milking hoses had been flushed and disinfected. He rounded on Dermot.

What if… He cleared the emotion from his throat. What if I don’t pass the feckin’ test, Derm?

A shadow flickered over Dermot’s face, but when he spoke, his words were positive and encouraging, just what he expected from Dermot. Not only were they brothers-in-law, but they’d been neighbors and good friends all their lives. Derm was always the calm, reliable one. Smart too. If only I hadn’t argued to have my name down as the dairy manager. He remembered the discussion when the two farms had merged their dairy operations to help improve productivity. He’d pulled the ‘oldest brother’ card on them all, saying it was only right that his name should be on the stupid piece of paper.

Liam, you don’t have to be a Rhodes Scholar to get this certification. All you need is to know what you’re talking about, and to prove that you meet all the regulations in how we run this place. You’re getting worked up over nothing.

Nothing, eh? He headed for the door, Dermot following him. When he reached the truck he turned and glared at Dermot. Nothing, you say? Well I’m going to see the lawyer right now and get my name changed on that registration document, and I’ll put yours there instead. He reefed open the door of his truck, climbed in, and slammed the door behind him. He gunned the motor, then stuck his head out the window and glowered at Dermot who stood there with his hands on his hips, a look of dismay on his face. We’ll see if you still think it’s nothing when it’s you sitting for the test. He engaged the gear, and the truck roared off.

Instead of heading back to the tractor shed where he had arranged to meet Tom, he turned down the winding, rough track that led to the river flats. He knew he was driving too fast for this track, but he didn’t care. The truck jarred as it bounced over potholes filled with dark brown muddy water, sending cascades of coffee-colored spray into the air, and smearing the windscreen. He pushed harder on the accelerator when the track flattened and smoothed out. The tray back suddenly swerved sideways, its wheels gaining no traction on the slick and sticky mud of the flats, spinning around until it pointed to where he’d just come from. Liam stopped and turned off the motor.

A pulse raced in his neck, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. I just need a minute. Just a minute. He took several deep breaths and felt his heart rate slow. He released his grip on the steering wheel and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, the beads of sweat that had formed now smeared on his forearm.

Ah, yer a feckin’ eejit, Liam Cullen. His voice filled the cab of the truck. Self-loathing washed over him, and guilt and shame stung him. Poor Derm. Liam wished he could recall those words he’d spat at Dermot.

He waited until he was in control of his emotions then started the motor and carefully maneuvered his way through the mud, driving steadily up the rough and winding track that he had flown down only minutes before.

First on the list was to find Dermot and apologize for his bad-tempered outburst. Second was to prepare for his trip to Cork where he would represent his family and the dual farms of Robinhill and An Mullach, and secure the necessary license to keep running their dairy.

* * * *

Liam felt like a giant behind the wheel of Honor’s little blue hatch as he sped down the main highway to Cork. Not for the first time, he chided himself for being angry at the world, and in particular at those he loved most, when he felt threatened. He had but one redeeming quality in his whole make-up. Thankfully, his fast temper abated even faster, leaving everyone speechless at how this affable, generous, and happy man could—in a split second—turn into a ranting, roaring, beast, and then, in the blink of an eye, be back to his usual, likeable self.

As he’d grown older, he’d mellowed somewhat. He hardly ever had a blow up these days, compared to his teenage years. Well, that’s how he saw it. He chuckled, wondering if everyone else thought he was now as saintly as he did. But this damned certificate really threw him into a spin. His reading and writing skills weren’t much better than Tom’s, and the prospect of a written examination really daunted him.

Once he’d cooled down and looked at it logically, he saw that doing the certificate would benefit the whole family. So what if writing wasn’t his greatest skill? He knew the dairy industry inside out. All he had to do was to try his best. But it was hard to be enthusiastic with so many doubts spinning around in his head.

When he reached the outer suburbs of Cork, he looked for the exit that would take him to the Agricultural College. The roads of the city of Cork were quite familiar to him, but the traffic in the city center could be murder sometimes. These days, he was more used to quiet country lanes or dragging a plow through a field with a tractor.

He sighed. Yes, that’s what I am. A country bumpkin farmer. Unworldly. Old fashioned. His arms suddenly felt heavy. He’d had these feelings a lot lately. It was as though the world traveled at lightning speed all around him, and he’d missed the bus. On one hand, he felt frustrated that he couldn’t do any damn thing about it. On the other, he hated himself for not taking control and making changes in his life. His shoulders slumped. And so, here he was, inadequate, lonely, and enduring sharp spasms of resentment that hurt more than just physically—it broke his heart to acknowledge that he wanted to leave An Mullach. Heck, the farm had been in his family for generations. And, together with their close friends and neighbors on Robinhill Farm, it was his home, his whole life.

He found the exit that took him to where the course would be held. His little sister, Cherry, always so kind, had booked him a room at a swanky hotel around the corner. He’d offered to doss down at the local worker’s pub, but she’d insisted he stay somewhere nice. He parked Honor’s car in the small yard around the back, grabbed his bag, and strolled inside to reception.

The girl who greeted him was charming, her bright smile lifting his spirits.

Mr. Cullen, welcome to Leeview Hotel. It seems you’ve brought great weather with you. I hope you enjoy your stay.

Liam shrugged. Aye, it’s a lovely day. But I doubt I’ll get to spend too much time in the sunshine.

Oh, business trip?

Liam mulled over her question. I suppose it is, really.

The girl handed him the key and he bid her goodbye.

The room was bright and modern. He threw his bag on the bed and moved to the window, pulling back the curtains to peer outside. Immediately below his third level room was a gloriously rampant garden, seeming planted with no particular plan in mind other than to fill it with exotic shrubs and cascading creepers. Splashes of colorful begonias nestled underneath azaleas so well-endowed in blooms that not a trace of green leaf could be seen. Pathways meandered through the garden, and he spied an old bench seat under one of the larger trees. The vista calmed him, soothed his nerves, and he immediately felt the benefit of being so close to nature here in the city.

He let his gaze drift above the garden and smiled when he saw a silver streak of water in the distance. The River Lee. It appeared to be only a block away, and he made a mental note to walk down there at some stage.

He pushed open the window and inhaled deeply, silently thanking Cherry for insisting he stay here. She’d said she’d stayed at this hotel before and she was sure he would like it. Again he smiled. How right she was.

* * * *

The following morning, he rose