The Cattleman's Promise: Hearts of the Outback, #6

By Susanne Bellamy

Running from her past Samantha Greenwood joins the staff at Mt Isa Hospital. But even the remote western town might not be far enough away for her to find forgiveness.
There has always been an Alistair on Esmeralda Downs, but Jeff Alistair's injury is putting his future in jeopardy. He will lose his family's vast grazing stud and his birthright unless he can get back in the saddle.
Can two broken people find love and healing amid the lonely hills of Esmeralda Downs?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susanne Bellamy
• Release date: May 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201590628

Susanne Bellamy

Born and raised in Toowoomba, Susanne is an Australian author of contemporary and rural romances set in Australia and exotic locations. She adores travel with her husband, both at home and overseas, and weaves stories around the settings and people she encounters. Her Outback series, Hearts of the Outback, and Second Chance Love, one of the Bindarra Creek series with other authors, were inspired by her time teaching in far north-west Queensland. Her heroes have to be pretty special to live up to her real life hero. He saved her life then married her. They live on the edge of the Range with their German Shepherd, Freya. In another life, Susanne was a senior English and Drama teacher with a passion for Shakespeare and creative writing, but now her two children have flown the coop, she writes full time. Susanne is a member of the RWA (Romance Writers of Australia) and won third place in their 2011 Emerald Award. She placed third in the Pan Macmillan short story competition with Chez Romeo. A hybrid author, she is published with Mira, and Harlequin Escape, as well as being self published. A popular guest speaker, she presented the keynote address at the Steele Rudd Pilgrimage, and was a guest speaker for the Dynamic Life Speakers Series for U3A, and has been invited to speak in libraries, at book clubs, and to community groups. To find out more, visit Susanne on her website.   You can also follow Susanne on Facebook, Twitter, Youtube and Pinterest.   

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Acknowledgements

This book owes much to several wonderful friends who gave freely of their time to answer my questions about cattle properties and drone technology and occupational therapy.

With huge thanks to Kelvin Schmidt, Colin Noy and Courtney Gibson-Green.

And, as always, thanks to Annie Seaton, editor extraordinaire, CP, and wonderful friend. You make my writing days fun as well as productive by your presence ‘at the other end of the line’.

Chapter One

Jeff Alistair gritted his teeth and took another step between the parallel bars, the full-leg cast heavy as he willed his injured leg to hold him up. Sweat ran into his eyes, but he didn’t dare release his grip to wipe it away. Pain shot along the sciatic nerve of his good leg, and the limb that hadn’t suffered multiple breaks when his horse had thrown him gave way. He lost his grip, his arm slipped over the bar and he took the force of the fall in his armpit.

Shit! He gasped for breath against the pain in his leg and shoulder. Pain that momentarily overwhelmed even his aversion to the clinical, antiseptic smell of the blue-grey hospital lino. Pain that fuelled his desire to escape the confines of these four white walls. But how the hell was he going to get out of hospital jail if he couldn’t walk two metres without falling on his arse? He scrunched his eyes and breathed through the wave of pain, grateful that Sharlene, his case physio, hadn’t arrived while he lay sprawled on her floor.

Firm hands settled on his back and gripped his arm and his stomach clenched. Damn it, bad timing dogged him at every turn. He gritted his teeth and prepared for one of Shar’s regular scoldings.

I’ve got you, it’s okay. The female voice was light, with a lilting quality that, under the right circumstances, could have been appealing. It exuded quiet confidence and reassurance, unlike the demanding stentorian tone of his physiotherapist. A subtle fragrance like the scent of flowers after rain drifted into his consciousness, replacing the smell of antiseptic. It was a breath of fresh air in the clinical confines of hospital.

He opened his eyes to a pair of electric-blue, heeled shoes. Not high, but different to those worn by Sharlene. The bossy physiotherapist had been the bane of what seemed like endless days in Mt Isa Hospital. But who else would be in the physio unit unless . . .  

Annoyance swirled in his gut like a willy-willy in Gammy Warudjari’s stories. As a child whenever he’d done something he shouldn’t and Gammy, the station cook, had caught him, she’d warn that a spirit would rise in a willy willy and chastise him. He wasn’t supposed to be in the unit, much less out of his chair without supervision. Sharlene had explained that to him—at length.

In case you have a fall, Mr Alistair.

A drop of sweat plopped onto the floor near the blue shoes and he felt twelve years old again as willy willys filled his thoughts. I don’t need another bloody physio telling me what I can and can’t do.

Then it’s lucky I’m not a physio. I’ll help you up. Just lean on me. The woman took Jeff’s arm and placed it across her shoulders. Slim shoulders that he was certain would never raise his six-feet-two body. She gave a muffled grunt and, wrapped together in a tangle of arms, they slowly rose. He gripped the bar with his free hand and helped drag himself into a more or less standing position. Sweat stung his eyes and his chest heaved as though he’d chased a runaway steer on foot. Leaning heavily on the bar, he swiped one arm across his eyes and forehead.

I’ll bring the wheelchair over to you.

Don’t bother. I can walk to it. He reined in the snarl in his voice—just. The woman was only trying to help, but God in heaven, he was sick of being dependent on the staff here. Sick of being useless and stuck indoors when there was work to be done on the property.

I’m sure you can, but you’ve just taken a fall. It might be a good idea to catch your breath before you do any more walking. Soothing tones, sensible words. He hated them. Hated being sensible, hated following orders.

Rubber tyres squeaked on the heavy-duty lino of the physio unit before the soft click of brakes being engaged. Your chariot, Mr Alistair.

Chariot be damned. He had to get back in the saddle, back to managing the family property.

In less than two months, his father’s sixtieth birthday would mark the transition of control and ownership over Esmeralda Downs to one of his sons. Like their ancestors, Gareth Alistair had never held with the idea of the oldest son automatically inheriting everything.

The best man for the job is the one who can do what’s needed to take Esmeralda Downs into the future. He’ll prove his ability by winning the challenge I set. How many times had he heard those words and known he was the natural choice? But now? With a disability . . .

Exercising more care than before, Jeff manoeuvred himself around, dropped into the seat and leaned back, eyes closed. Caged and claustrophobic within four walls, he pushed himself to get better, get stronger . . . to get out of the sterile white, air-controlled climate of his jail, but a simple walk between the bars had drained his energy and raised his frustration level sky-high.

I’m going to raise your leg now. Ready?

He gritted his teeth again, preparing for the pain associated with the movement of his cast-clad leg. Maybe he shouldn’t have so blithely rejected the pain medication this morning. And maybe he was an arrogant fool as his sister, Amy, had told him to his face this morning. The look on her face when he refused to take his medication said it all. Amy never minced words with him, but she’d looked more worried than frustrated before she left his hospital room with Dan Middleton. The Flying Doctor had simply told him, Pain meds are a good idea for the first few days, but it’s your choice, Jeff. Sorry, we have to go. Amy and I are on call, but we’ll be back to see you tonight.

The delicate floral scent teased his nose again, and a hint of warm skin brushed his arm. He opened his eyes, looking at his not-a-physio rescuer for the first time. A light smattering of freckles were sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. A pair of blue eyes connected with his before her gaze skittered away as she stood. Pretty and not-a-physio. Maybe his day was improving after all.

I hope that’s more comfortable, Mr Alistair. Now—

Yes, I know I’m supposed to wait for Ms Bossy-Boots before I get out of the chair, but I won’t say anything if you don’t. He’d had enough of the physio telling him to ‘take it easy, take it slow,’ and if the woman standing in front of him with a smile twitching on her lips wasn’t a physio, so much the better.

He looked at her again. How the hell had she managed to lift him off the floor? She was slight—way too slim for someone who worked with patients with limited mobility. He flicked a quick glance at her shirt. It was devoid of a name badge and a flicker of relief washed through him. It’s good to meet someone who doesn’t work in this place.

Hospitals can be a bit uncomfortable. Can I get anything for you?

How about a leave pass? I feel like I’m in jail here.

Hospital jail? Hmm, how about cake to hide the file in?

A bark of laughter escaped him and he regarded the woman with more interest. Her expression was deadpan, but a glint of mischief sparked in her blue eyes. As well as being attractive, she obviously had a sense of the ridiculous that brightened the dull sameness of every day in the ward. The sooner he got out, the better. Yeah, can you make it with mango and strawberries on top?

Sure, though I would have figured you for a triple chocolate lover. So—what are you in for?

Being stupid in charge of a horse.

Is that worse than being drunk-in-charge?

Definitely. A drunk would have rolled with the punches and staggered away. So, just passing, were you? Happened to hear a thud and came rushing in?

She pressed her lips together, but not before the corners of her mouth turned up in a quick smile that made him want to see it again. She shook her head. Almost right.

Thank God she hadn’t come to poke and prod him, or worse, attempt to jolly him out of his current state of frustration. Just visiting someone, hey?

I’m supposed to be visiting—yes. Just down the hall.

Lucky bastard. Jeff tipped his head back and looked at her closely. As a distraction, his rescuer was pretty effective. He hadn’t thought about his damned leg at all the whole time they’d been talking. Well, you know who I am so I reckon it’s fair I know who you are too. So I can say thanks—for the lift.

She held out her hand and he took it, aware that his own engulfed hers. It was warm and smooth, the hand of a woman who worked in an office, although her freckles hinted at time spent outdoors. In the confines of the physio room, she was a breath of fresh air. She was —

I’m Sam Greenway . . . your occupational therapist.

Chapter Two

My what? Jeff’s stomach knotted, flipped, and turned inside out. Another therapist? She was kidding, right?

I’ve been assigned to your case, Mr Alistair. Do you know what an occupational therapist does for her patients? Sam—he frowned at the masculine name so at odds with her delicate appearance—wheeled an office chair across and sat in front of him. She crossed her ankles and folded her hands calmly in her lap. Her hands were pale against the navy blue of her fitted skirt, at odds with the in-your-face-purple polish on her fingernails. He glared at them, feeling cheated that this attractive woman was yet one more medico sent to torment him.

Torture specialist?

She gave him that polite I’ll-play-along-with-you smile he’d come to loathe on the faces of the staff he’d seen since he’d been brought into the Base hospital. The smile that said she’d heard it all before, but would pretend it was humorous. Because he was her patient.

Her impatient patient who wanted nothing more to do with her.

I hope not. Although you might think that about your physiotherapist at the moment, we are all here to help you recover as quickly and fully as possible.

And that was Jeff’s whole problem in a nutshell. Was full recovery even possible after the crushing fall he’d taken from his horse? Embarrassment that he’d not noticed the snake that had spooked his gelding, Romy, had morphed into anger with himself, and regret for the momentary inattention. A distraction that might see him forever limping and unable to ride.

The doctor’s been spouting platitudes about ‘considerable progress’ and ‘not expecting miracles.’ So are you a miracle-maker, Ms Greenway? Because if you aren’t, we’re done here. He released the brakes and pushed the chair backwards, intending to go around her and escape further useless discussion about recovery plans.

You don’t want a miracle. You’re too caught up wallowing in your pity party.

Pity party?

Her words hung in the air between them, not accusing, but stopping him in his tracks.  It galled that she had judged him and found him wanting. His temper built as she sat, waiting for him to respond.

Who the hell do you think you are? He pushed forwards in the wheelchair, his raised leg brushing her skirt as he leaned towards her. How dare you say that? I’ve been in this bloody unit every day pushing myself to walk again. You saw. You picked me up off the floor. 

I saw. Sam stood, stepped out of his path and wheeled her chair back under the desk. I was told you were a fighter, Mr Alistair, not afraid of a challenge. I can help you, but only if you want to get better. Of course if you’re happy to simply continue with the same treatment—

Jeff halted his run for the door and, grunting with the effort, turned the wheelchair to face her. He looked her up and down, from the tip of her brown ponytail to her blue heels before glaring at her. Are you calling me a coward?

Guileless blue eyes met his gaze. Are you?

He rolled towards where she stood—watching him. Waiting. No one has ever called me that.

I’d hate to be the first. So, what’s it to be, Mr Alistair?

His jaw tightened and he inhaled long and slow. Never in his life had he backed down from a challenge. Releasing his grip on the wheel guides, he rested his hands on his thighs and wiped his palms on his cotton boxer shorts. Mr Alistair is my father. My name is Jeff.

Okay. What’s it to be—Jeff?

***

Sam considered the man in front of her. Watching through the narrow glass panel of the door, his dogged determination to walk had touched something in her. Jeff Alistair didn’t lack courage, but it was apparent he expected immediate results. She would have to devise a recovery plan that gave him small, but tangible results; incremental improvements that would address his need to be independent. Shout me a coffee and we can talk?

Jeff’s eyes narrowed.

Good. His sister had indicated that a less conventional approach might work better with her bossy, overbearing big brother.

‘Honestly, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, but Jeff is used to being in control and making all the decisions. Don’t do the expected with him and don’t pussyfoot around the issue. You’ll get further, quicker,’ she’d said.

Sam was willing to give unconventional a go. If I’m going to help you, I need to know more about what you want, what’s important to you, and balance that against your physical recovery. Don’t know about you but conversation goes better with coffee. I promise it’s not a date.

One index finger tapped on the metal handhold on the wheel. He turned and stared at the parallel bars for several seconds. Sam crossed her fingers behind her back and kept her expression neutral. What she was doing wasn’t strictly by the book. But then, Jeff Alistair wasn’t like most other patients. At last, he drew an audible breath and released it quickly, decisively, as though he’d reached a decision

Not a date, huh? Good to know. If that was the case, I’d prefer to be the one doing the asking. He looked directly at her and his finger stopped tapping. Is the coffee in the cafeteria any good?

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Let’s go and find out, shall we?

She pulled the door wide open and Jeff rolled his chair through. They reached the end of the corridor as Sharlene turned the corner.

She stopped in the middle of the passageway and folded her arms. Where do you think you’re going, Mr Alistair? It’s time for your session.

Been there, done it. Now we’re going for coffee. His lips stretched in a mockery of a smile and Sam jumped in before the two squared off in a battle royal.

"Sorry to whisk your patient away, Shar, but Dr Fraser said he needed you to work with young Callum Rogers. If I make a start on Mr Alistair’s OT