Critical Condition by Nicki Edwards

Author:Nicki Edwards
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Momentum
Published: 2016-08-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

It took a few minutes for Poppy’s heart rate to slow enough for her to concentrate on where she was going.

“Cute,” Terri said. “But he needs a haircut.”

Poppy ignored her. “Do we have to go into town first to pick up the keys?”

“Nope. You can drive straight to the house.”

“Do you have directions?”

Terri tapped the side of her head with one finger. “Up here. I memorized them.”

“Of course you did,” she mumbled.

What was the bet her mother forget one important turn and they ended up lost in the middle of a paddock?

Terri shifted position in her seat. “Looks like a nice part of the world.”

From what Poppy had seen on her previous visit to the town two days earlier, she agreed. They’d lived in some ordinary places over the years and in comparison, Birrangulla was heavenly.

As she drove between the bare poplars Poppy had the same odd sensation that she’d come home but she shrugged the feeling off. Home was New York and she was going back there as soon as she had her mother settled and safe in Birrangulla.

“Before you get to town you have to look for the signs to Fish River.” Terri sat forward, eyes darting left to front to right. “There it is!” she exclaimed moments later.

Poppy shot a glance at her mother. She was the most animated she’d been in twenty-four hours. An unsettled feeling washed over her.

Poppy slowed, indicated and navigated the turnoff from asphalt to gravel easily. They were surrounded by paddocks. “Are you sure this is the right way?”

On the side of the road a white cross marked the place someone had lost their life and Poppy subconsciously released the pressure of her foot on the accelerator and sent up a silent prayer for every person affected by that tragedy.

“Is this house on a farm, Mum?” They were nowhere near the town.

Her mother ignored her question.

“Once you cross Fish River bridge you have to turn right into Eagle’s Ridge Road.”

They came to the road and Poppy slowed again. “Left or right?” Not a house was in sight. Cream-colored dust rose in a plume behind her car and stones flicked up against the under carriage.

“Right. About two kilometers along you’ll see the Anglican Church. Just past the gates for the church is Robertson’s Road. The house is about five hundred meters on the right side.”

“That looks like the church,” Poppy said a moment later.

The old red brick building sat beside an ancient cemetery, the unkempt gravestones surrounded by weeds. She turned into Robertson’s Road and it wasn’t long before she saw a set of white timber gates. The previous owner had freshly painted the property name, Cooinda, in black paint on a white background. Poppy tamped down her delight – this wasn’t her home, it was her mother’s.

Even from the end of the driveway, the property looked gorgeous – like something from a Country Living magazine. They rattled over the cattle grid and drove down a gravel driveway lined with lemon-scented gum trees and agapanthuses.

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