Well damn. Did that count for or against her?
“You ran away from home. He doesn’t know where you are.”
So that was the bullshit he was spouting. Anger sizzled over her skin. “He doesn’t care where I am,” she corrected.
Brandon frowned. “Yes, he does.”
The idea Arthur gave a shit about her was laughable. “Just because you know my family, doesn’t mean you’re aware of all the facts,” she spat. “So don’t you dare judge me.”
“Do you want to tell us about it?” Darcy asked quietly.
No. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she also had to set the record straight. Let Brandon go back to the army and understand what type of person her brother really was. She rubbed her arms. “My mother was in a car accident when I was fourteen and was hospitalised for months. Arthur had just signed up to the army and was training somewhere, and wherever the major was, it was more important than coming home to support his wife and daughter.” She’d spent hours alone on the bus each day travelling between home, school and the hospital. She’d lived on takeaway food, had barricaded the doors at night in case someone tried to break in and had cried herself to sleep. “When Mum came home, she became addicted to pain killers. I contacted the major and my brother, but either my messages didn’t get through or they didn’t care.” She’d lost count of the number of emails she’d sent them both, begging for help.
Darcy stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ames.”
She stepped away from him. His sympathy would choke her up too much to go on. “On the last day of school in Year Ten, I came home to find my mother in bed. I tried to wake her but she didn’t respond. I called an ambulance and they pronounced her dead when they arrived.” She swallowed hard. “My father didn’t attend the funeral. My brother stayed less than a week before he had to get back to training.”
Darcy’s expression was horrified, and even Brandon’s gaze had softened. He shifted in his chair as if he was going to stand but didn’t.
“I packed my things, took the last of the housekeeping money and left. I’ve been travelling ever since.”
The silence stretched and Brandon eventually broke it. “I’m sorry.” He sounded genuine.
She nodded, too choked up to speak.
Brandon cleared his throat. “I, ah, have to ask one more question,” he said. He waited until she nodded before he asked, “Has anyone approached you about your job here?”
She took a moment to control her anger and reminded herself he was trying to find the person who killed his parents. Unlike her family, he cared they had died. “No,” she said. “The only people I’ve spoken to are our guests, your family and the people who work here.”
“That’s all we need for now,” Darcy said and shot his brother a look that said shut up.
Amy exhaled. “Thank you.” She didn’t look at Brandon as she walked out of the room. After she closed the door, she paused to control the nausea. Revisiting her past made her want to run and hide. So many days spent trying to find work so she could afford somewhere to stay the night. When she was lucky, the accommodation had been basic, with a hard or lumpy mattress, thin walls so she could hear everything in the next room, wondering whether someone would try and bash down her door. She’d felt so helpless, but the thought of going back to her father’s controlling ways hadn’t been an option she’d considered for long. She’d hitched a ride out of the city and headed east, finding a job in Kalgoorlie which had included accommodation. She had lied about her age for two years until she turned eighteen.
Life had quickly taught her how to read people’s intent and she made friends with people who could help her. Survival was her only option, because she wasn’t ever facing her father again.
Hearing sounds in the office behind her, she hurried down the hallway. Ed was the only one in the kitchen when she walked in. He looked a little concerned. “Everything OK?”
“It’s fine. I’m heading to bed.” She continued through the room and out into the cool night. The darkness swallowed her only metres from the door and she hugged herself as she walked back to the shearers’ quarters.
The idea Brandon knew her brother and father didn’t sit well with her. One of them must have mentioned her at some stage for him to know she was missing. Not that missing was the right word. She was certain her father would have the connections to find her if he was so inclined. She still had the same email address so they could contact her if they wanted to. And they never had.
Retribution Ridge was the first place she’d truly been welcomed, her only proper home since her mother’s accident. And now her life here was at risk.
Somehow she had to make sure the culprit was found and ensure Brandon would keep the campgrounds going. She didn’t want to lose her home. And the best way to do that was the way she’d dealt with all the haters in her life. Charm them until they forgot they disliked her.
It was time to befriend the enemy.
Chapter 7
Brandon groaned when his alarm sounded. He’d tossed and turned last night as he thought about how he’d treated Amy. Darcy had been right. He’d been a complete douche. But in his defence it had been such a shock to realise she was the missing sister Sherlock had told him about. He’d never mentioned his mother dying and his version of events lacked the detail of Amy’s story. Who was he meant to believe? Sherlock would never abandon his team, so why would he abandon his family? Though Sherlock was one of those military for life types who lived and breathed its rules. He’d been on almost as many missions as Brandon, never home for Christmas, always the first to volunteer. Brandon should have guessed he had family issues. On the mission that had gone pear-shaped, Sherlock had confessed his sister had run away and begged Brandon to look for her if he died. Had said he’d failed her, but hadn’t gone into detail.
Brandon opened his laptop. Should he email Sherlock and tell him he’d met his sister? Or was it a complete betrayal of Amy?
He sighed and shut his laptop lid. It was none of his business. He’d apologise to Amy for his behaviour last night and before he left, he’d ask her if she wanted him to tell Sherlock where she was. Darcy had reamed him for his lack of sensitivity after she had left.
But her story had clashed so violently with the man he thought Sherlock was and her emotions were so raw. He’d fought the urge to haul her into his arms and comfort her. The force of the emotion scared him, so he’d stuck to the mission. Getting answers.
He’d got far more than he’d bargained for. Unless Amy was a hell of an actress, he believed she truly cared about his parents.
