“Are you going to read?” she asked. Reading was rare for her other than professional development journals and papers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d read a book for pleasure, probably last summer, but it was Milt’s nightly habit, his way of switching off. They were always fat tomes: biographies, Australian history or war memoirs. Usually he came to bed first and by the time she’d finished her jobs he’d be ready to put out the light.

“I was.”

She swallowed the urge to slap him. She’d been doing that a lot lately, swallowing her urges. There had to be another outlet for her anger.

“I wanted to talk.”

“About?”

Natalie took a breath, her heart thumping. There was no easy way to ask the question she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer to.

“Jack.”

Milt plumped the pillow behind his head and settled back against it. “What about Jack?”

“You seem to have taken quite an interest in him.”

Milt let out a tired sigh. “We’ve talked about this, Nat. He’s a neighbour and, in spite of the past, a neighbour that needs some help through a difficult time at the moment.”

“I don’t mean now. Before Veronica’s diagnosis, he’d obviously been here on occasion and you there.”

Milt folded his arms, tugging the sheets tight as he did. “I told you he’s interested in our breeding program. He wants to learn and we’re right next door. He came to our last sale.”

“Did he?” Natalie thought she would have remembered that.

“Yes. He asked a few questions and we got talking. He’s been keeping in touch ever since.”

Natalie swallowed. She was about to raise a topic they’d agreed never to raise again.

“We agreed…after…well, we decided never to socialise with the Halbots.”

“And we haven’t. Jack’s visits have been business.”

Natalie had started now. She couldn’t stop until she had her answer. “And the dinners, the cups of coffee?”

“Hell, Nat, you’re splitting hairs. He came last week because I didn’t think it was good for him to be alone. You know that.”

“And tonight?”

“He was here today while we were yarding sheep. It was Laura who invited him to stay.”

Natalie’s stomach twisted tighter until it felt like a solid lump had formed inside her and then it lunged upwards, forcing the words from her mouth, opening an old wound that had never properly healed. “Is Jack your son?”

Milt’s face went slack except for the small frown that furrowed his brow. He gave the slightest shake of his head. “After what we went through, Nat, why would you even ask that?”

“Because I have to know.”

“He’s not my son.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because…” He looked down, his legs shifted under the sheet. “I told you why…we didn’t—”