A Damaged Trust Read Free Page B

down.
    “Do that again and I’ll break your face!” she howled at the door as she bounded out of bed, threw on her robe, strode over to yank the door open and glared threateningly at the rude intruder. Her scowl soon disappeared, though, and she slowly started to grin with delight as she took in the bulky length of Steven, her oldest brother by seven years. Of all of the Metcalfe family, Steven was her favourite, for he came the closest to understanding her. He hadn’t been home last night but had been away at the north cattle station, checking out the health of the herd there. He had been expected back some time later during the day.
    “How’s tricks?” he asked laconically, his large smile and the twinkle in his eyes belying his casual tone.
    “Steven! Back already—oh, here, let me get dressed and I’ll be out in a minute,” she exclaimed, running her hands through her hair distractedly as she made an effort to wake up.
    “Coffee’s on downstairs. Emma just made a fresh pot,” he informed her, his rumbling deep voice coming up from his chest like a small earthquake. He chucked her under the chin with a rough and affectionate hand. “See you on earth, sport.”
    “Sure—er—be right there.” She dashed back into her room and fumbled for a pair of jeans and a thin summer top. It was already warm in the room and she knew that she probably would want to change to shorts later, but that could wait. Moving quickly and efficiently, she made short work of cleaning her face and putting on some light make-up before twisting her glossy, honey brown hair up into a comfortable knot high on her head. She stood back and reviewed herself critically.
    A small-boned, slight girl looked back, her dark blue eyes long and slightly slanted and her cheekbones strong (traces of an American Indian ancestry). A mouth now held crooked but usually well positioned, and a firm, stubborn chin completed the inspection.
    “Your face is too thin,” she informed the mirror helpfully. “And you’ve got bags under your eyes.” The girl in the reflection shrugged philosophically as if to say, “ C ’ est la vie,” and Carrie hastened to tell her, “You do have nice hair, though.” When her hair was down, it swirled around in a layered effect, a mass of curls making a halo about her face.
    Sticking her tongue out at the mirror and not waiting to see its reply, she hurried down the stairs, towards the back of the house where the huge kitchen was. She loved the design of the house with its big, open verandah that ran the length of the back side. There was a feeling of airiness in the house from the uncarpeted, glossy oak floors to the simple taste reflected in the décor. It was roomy enough for all the traffic that travelled through every day, and things were in a perpetual state of energetic chaos with the ranch hands coming in and out and her two brothers and father, not to mention her mother and Emma, the housekeeper and cook, and the girls who helped out with the housework twice a week. It was impossible to get lonely on the Metcalfe ranch, Carrie thought. You never got the chance.
    Raising a thankful prayer towards heaven for her cozy apartment waiting for her eventual return, Carrie stepped breezily into the kitchen, her face readily smiling as she found her brother sprawling in a chair beside the kitchen table, his legs easily taking up most of the large space in front of him. He was calmly demolishing a huge breakfast roll that he held in one hand while his other hand engulfed the circumference of a steaming mug of coffee. The plate beside him was empty, save for a few crumbs.
    “You didn’t save me a breakfast roll!” she scolded him lightly as she found a fresh cup of coffee poured and waiting for her.
     
    Steven looked surprised. “Did I eat all of them already? There were only four, anyway.” She groaned at this. He glanced at her, his face suspicious. “You never eat anything for breakfast, so what are you