Dark Horse by Honey Brown

together.’
    ‘He’s older than you?’
    ‘Four years.’
    ‘He might feel guilty for not being the big brother he wanted to be.’
    ‘In his good periods, he tries his hardest to be a son and a husband and a dad, but he never, he never is a brother. He . . .’ Heath held up his hands and pushed an invisible wall, ‘. . . keeps his distance.’
    ‘He might not want to burden you with how sad he feels?’
    ‘Maybe.’ Heath sipped his whiskey. She could see he was thinking back over what he’d said, regretting his candour maybe.
    Sarah dished up dessert. There was even more on their plates now than there had been for mains. She poured a dash of cold water in with her whiskey, to stretch it out, sipped it to taste. ‘When there’s someone sick like that in a family, it must be hard to be the healthy one.’
    ‘Harder to be the sick one, I reckon.’
    ‘Does he look like you?’
    ‘You can tell we’re related. People say we sound exactly the same. He’s really good-looking though.’
    Sarah scoffed. ‘And you’re not? Shit, he must be bloody gorgeous.’ The words were out before she could stop them. She pursed her lips – too late. How could she say that, think that, having only a short while ago frozen with fear beside him in the shower? What was wrong with her? Here was the opportunity to outline the platonic nature of things, and Sarah had to go and muddy it with comments like that. It was as though she wanted an element of maybe, maybe not between them. If he’d levelled one of his glinting green gazes at her then God knows the shade of deep red she would have gone.
    He picked up his bowl and surveyed the contents. He seemed to be letting her off the hook by ignoring the compliment. ‘I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. This looks amazing. And I don’t even like plum pudding.’
    Now her pulse was racing – it was ridiculous. Heat prickled beneath the merino wool of her thermals. Her palms were sweaty. For the first time in many years Sarah felt single. Not married, not partnered, not chewed-up, spat out, deceived, used and hurt. Just single. And what a time to feel it. This was the problem with noticeably attractive people: you noticed them. Until you got to know them, their external beauty was all you saw. Familiarity would moderate Heath’s looks, but the type of information he was drip-feeding her wasn’t doing it, if anything it was enhancing his appeal. Sarah pulled herself together. She told herself it wasn’t that she found Heath attractive; it was that he was attractive, two very different things.
    He eased his chair around and propped his feet on a block of wood, rested his bowl high on his chest. ‘Wonder how the Boxing Day Test is going? Kill for a score.’
    His five o’clock shadow had filled in. His cheeks were ruddy from the heat. She watched him repositioning himself. If not for his limp she would have noticed much earlier that Heath moved his body like a cat. He stretched single muscle groups with a slow roll of his shoulder, a gentle twist of his head. He was unabashed about his shape and length and often lifted his arms and arched his body to extend it. Over in the stable was the sound of Tansy shaking her body. She was settling further in to her home too, easing off high alert and getting comfortable.
    ‘Mmm,’ Heath sunk low in his seat and took a mouthful of dessert, ‘. . . my tastes are changing as I chew.’
    Sarah put aside her dessert. She drank her whiskey. ‘Plum pudding is one of my favourite things. I’m saving mine for later.’
    ‘You must be a grownup. Mum tells me only grownups like plum pudding. At Christmas lunch she makes me sit at the kids’ table to eat my chocolate ice cream. Looks like after this I’ll have a seat at the adult table.’
    ‘It’ll be funny if I do know your parents. Is the farm a fair way out? Did you go to a small rural school?’
    ‘I boarded.’
    ‘Ah, a city-educated snob. Lucky we didn’t know one another, you