Brooke Makes a Decision

"Deano?" Brooke called out hesitantly, her hand was shaking as she pulled at the door handle. Inside, she could hear raised voices, that had suddenly switched from obvious amorous giggling, to an angry exchange of words.

Perhaps she shouldn't enter after all, especially if Deano was having some trouble.
But there again, he may need her help. Especially if this now extremely shrill woman (she was quick enough to establish), was going to cause some trouble.



Deano, in the meantime, was in a real dilemma. He heard Brooke's soft voice outside, above the angry and potentially ear piercing voice of Charity.



Outside was Brooke, wanting to come in. Inside was Charity, refusing to leave and causing such a scene, enough to break the sound barrier.

He didn't want this to happen....
.... but it had.....




..... and he was powerless to stop the forthcoming chain of events.



"For crying out loud Chaz," he thundered, "can you please, put a sock in it and calm down? Enough with the dramatics already. You're giving me a headache."



"Headache?!" snorted Charity, even louder than before, "that's a new one on me. Never gave you any excuses before."

Deano rolled his eyes. From his point of view, there was no way out. It was a firing line, and he just had to stand and take what was thrown at him.

Massaging his temples, he sighed heavily and groaned.



"Chaz, please, don't make this any more difficult than it is. Brooke is coming through that door and your screaming and shouting isn't helping at all. I really can't think straight here with you yelling in my ear."

Planting her hands firmly on her hips, Charity sneered, her pretty face contorted in an evil grin.

"You're in a real fix here," she said, contempt dripping like acid from her tongue, "aren't you?"



They both fell into an uncomfortable silence. The tension between them was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.



In the meantime, Brooke was stalling for time. Convincing herself that what was going on inside, was just an argument, and nothing more. But deep in her heart, in her soul, she knew what Deano was like. He couldn't help himself, falling in love with any pretty girl that batted her eyelashes at him. They'd been down this road too many times recently. Far too many to count on one single hand.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she let her hand slide from the door handle, a single unhurried tear trailed down her cheek and she swallowed hard.




This was going to be the most difficult decision of her life. If she couldn't do it, nobody could.
Swiping her hand across her face, she turned and walked down the trailer steps.

Away from Deano.

And into the big 'unknown'.


She was in deep, pensive thought as she passed the stranger dressed in black, a look of concern written clearly on his face. Her dad was right. Deano was trouble, and she'd been blinded against his faults.




"Hi," said the man in black, "penny for them?"

His voice was soft and gentle, like caressing waves across a sandy beach. She gave him a passing glance and a quick smile.

"Hi," she replied, forcing a brave smile, "nah, it's okay, I'm fine."



Father Thomas realised that this wasn't exactly the right time for introductions, but he really felt for this sad, lonely woman. He offered his hand and automatically she took it, feeling the soft fleshy palm, in places there were callouses. This was a hand that seen some really hard work.
There was something else too, but she couldn't quite place it.

Besides, she was just in the process of letting Deano go, and another relationship so soon, just wouldn't feel right.

Then she saw the dog collar and blushed. A priest. How typical. And at that precise moment too. Perhaps her prayers had been answered. Or was this one of Nature's cruellest jokes?

But looking into this man's impassive face, she couldn't help noticing the finely chiselled bone structure and those gentle grey/green eyes behind those frameless glasses.



His mouth curved up into a gentle smile. But what she noticed most of all, was the fact that he blushed uncontrollably, casting his glance downwards whenever their eyes made contact.

It was plainly obvious that he was extremely shy around people. And judging by his lightly tanned skin, he spent a lot of time working outdoors.

"I'm..... Father Thomas Macguire," he stuttered, his mouth felt dry and he had to force the words.
It had been a while since he'd spoken to a female. Especially a very attractive one too....

"I'm Brooke," she replied, as pleasantly as possible.

Now wasn't exactly the right time for pleasantries, but, she'd been brought up to be polite, and she didn't want to appear rude.

"I live just up the road, Rose Cottage," she blurted out, "you've probably passed it en route here..."

Suddenly her mouth clamped shut. What the hell was she thinking? Giving a complete stranger her home address? Her relationship with Deano had hardly had time to go cold and here she was, practically inviting someone else home for coffee!!!

There was an uncomfortable pause, broken only by Father Thomas coughing softly. He shuffled his feet and glanced at his watch.

"I'd better go," he said hastily, "I'm due at the boarding school, they're expecting me."

"That's okay," Brooke replied, a soft smile played on her lips, "I'd better be heading off home too. It's been quite an eventful day today."

He nodded in agreement and they went their separate ways.




Father Thomas a little more buoyancy in his step, at having met a very pleasant, yet deeply troubled young lady like Brooke.

Brooke, in the meantime, dragged her leaden feet as she made her way home. He mind was in a turmoil, and tears once again started to spill from her eyes. She dreaded the thoughts of being alone. But more to the point, she dreaded telling her father too, knowing that he'd been right all along.

Chapter Twenty One - Frank loses his temper and becomes a hero

Frank felt a little guilty for sabotaging the shower. But he was fed up of seeing Brooke sitting there, waiting for the phone to ring. Her face showing obvious signs of disappointment every time it was a wrong number.

Frank was right, Deano, her current boyfriend, was definitely bad news, but he'd tried several (unsuccessful) times to let her know.

Trouble was, their personalities clashed, as they were too alike.
They disagreed on everything.

So, he devised a plan to get Brooke and Alec together. They'd met only briefly, and he was impressed at how polite and modest Alec was, despite his obvious wealth. But Brooke wasn't having it. She declared that Alec was 'dull' and boring. They had nothing in common.

And besides, he was her boss, and there were certain 'rules' in the workplace about dating fellow workers.

But Frank was totally unfazed by all this. By hook or by crook, he was going to separate Brooke from that greasebag Deano and hopefully set Brooke and Alec on the route towards wedded bliss.

But things didn't exactly go as planned. Brooke stormed out of the house in a real nasty mood. Frank realised that this didn't bode well for his matchmaking plans, but kept unusually quiet about it all, preferring to read the newspaper instead.

After a particularly enthralling piece of news concerning the local Garden Club, Frank realised that Brooke hadn't returned home yet. He glanced at the clock and frowned.

He understood that she was capable of looking after herself, but he was getting a little concerned at how long she'd been out of the house. Surely it wasn't to avoid him? He wasn't that insufferable....

Was he????

Sighing heavily, he neatly folded the paper and placed it symmetrically on the coffee table and eased himself out of his favourite recliner. His hip protested, giving him some jarring pains, but he grimaced, grit his teeth and managed to stand upright.

Wobbling unsteadily, he shuffled his way to the window and looked out. The weather looked promising, with just a few looming black clouds ahead.

Perhaps he could manage to take himself off for a walk? It's not as if his doctor had banned him completely from exercise.

"Once you feel up to it," she said, peering over her glasses at him, "you can do some gentle exercise. Slow, gentle walks, as long as they're not too far uphill. Or too great a distance. You're hip needs time to heal properly, and falling again just won't help in that procedure."

He recalled the day he met Dr Lisa Wells. He was prepared to hate her on sight as she'd taken over from Dr Ronnie Sugar, his old family doctor, who'd reached retirement age.

But she had such a no nonsense approach, and quite a winning smile, that he'd soon forgotten his prejudices about female general practitioners.

Besides, she was literally 'onto the case' when he broke his hip, getting him into the operating theatre almost immediately.

Stretching awkwardly, and feeling his other joints popping, he stuck his hands in his pockets and slowly made his way outside.

At first glance, the terrain seemed a little hilly and daunting, but those inclines were gentle ones, and not too strenuous on his muscles. He glanced critically at the garden, but smiled to himself. She'd made such a beautiful job of tending to everything.

Looming in the distance, was an apartment block. It was a blot on the landscape, that's for sure, and stuck out like a sore thumb.

---------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, in the eager rush to get to his destination, Father Thomas had forgotten a few pieces of vital paperwork. These were the case studies of a couple of new boys, due to be integrated into the boarding school.

It wasn't until lunch time, that the Bishop found them. Sighing heavily, he decided to make a stop over at the forwarding address Father Thomas had left him.

Pulling up in the car, he groaned at this bright, modern, monster apartment block.
Hopefully, he'd catch Father Thomas in time.
He'd already called the boarding school, but the caretaker told him that Father Thomas hadn't arrived yet.



Climbing the steps, he was greeted by a soft purring, and looked down, to see a sleek Siamese cat, weaving it's body around his black trousers.

Growling with irritation, he took a hefty kick at the cat, who, after emptying his bladder, instantly turned on him, scratching him deeply on the arm, before fleeing yowling into the apartment.


Frank just happened to arrive at that precise moment, to witness the event.



Sickened to his stomach, he hobbled up the stairs, his face pale with anger, strode up to the Bishop.....



.... and promptly slapped him in the face.




"I don't care if you're a man of the cloth and you hide behind God's work!" he cried, shaking with rage, "that was a cruel act you just did there and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You wicked man."




Unfazed, the Bishop leaned forward in a threatening manner. By now, he was tired from travelling, hungry because he'd missed lunch. And irritated because a feeble old man was threatening him for taking his foot to a rather annoying cat. And to top it all, Father Thomas wasn't at the apartment after all. So basically, it had been a wasted journey.

"Oh yeah?" he growled, "what are you going to do about it?"




"Are you threatening me?" Frank retorted, but his bravado was failing fast. His health was poor and he knew he couldn't stand a chance against this, possibly, much healthier, stronger man.




In the meantime, inside the apartment, Pistachio, his pride and his ribs, bruised, sped around the floor, swatting anything with his paws and tearing around like a looney.
How dare that man kick him so brutally. After that lovely greeting he gave to him. The self same one he gave to everyone new.



And the indignity of having his bladder emptied so unceremoniously....
.... in public too, not a single litter box in sight.

He had a reputation to maintain. And having publicly wet himself, he was sure that that reputation was totally shot. What would everybody else think? He shook himself, his soft fur rippling, shuddering at the thought of losing face.

Ohhh, he'd soon show them who was boss. Especially that man in the funny black outfit. He'd claw his hands to shreds if he came any closer.......

Besides, that man in the funny coloured pants, who smelled like soil and soap....
... now he was Pistachio's hero.



He waited patiently as this gentle old man, made his way slowly up the steps towards him, before winding himself around those tartan pants, purring contentedly.

Frank reached down and petted Pistachio, scratching behind his ear.

"There you go, you silly old cat," he murmured, "that'll teach you to be over friendly to strangers."

Pistachio just looked up at him gratefully.
His hero.

Chapter Sixteen - Confrontation

Charity and Deano were just getting started, their arms and legs entwined in a crazy, passionate lip lock, when all of a sudden, Deano leapt up from the settee.

"Hey," gasped Charity, "who set your ass on fire?"

"I heard something," he replied, his head swivelling towards the trailer door.

Charity reached forward to pull him back onto her, but he stepped back. She scowled, angry and frustrated at his sudden diminished ardour.

Just minutes ago, they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Things were getting hot and steamy. And now, here he was, looking like a little boy, caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"It's probably the breeze rustling in the trees," she cooed, "come to mama, she'll chase away those scary things for you."

Deano backed away, suddenly mortified by her insensitivity.

"It.... it could be Brooke," he stammered, fighting off her advances.

That was it.



Charity was livid, a scowl twisting her face into an ugly mask.

"So that's how you're going to play it, huh?" Charity was livid. "I'm just a piece of ass to you? Is that it?"

"Heck no!"

"Yeah, well, you can't keep doing this to me. Blowing hot and cold when it suits you. I don't like to be treated like that. And I'm sure that Brooke won't either."

"How do you know Brooke?"

"Heck, she's my friend, we share a lot of stuff together."

Deano was shocked at this revelation. That was all he needed.

"Yep, and it looks as though we're sharing a boyfriend too!"

She chortled at the thought, but it didn't settle too well with Deano at all. This was the last thing on his mind.


"Look!" Deano was now getting defensive and tired of Charity's sudden outburst. "I can't handle this!"

"Well, if that's the case," came the tart reply, "I'm leaving.... I know when I'm not wanted."

She turned to leave and Deano grabbed her arm. She twisted it away.

"Come on Chaz," he pleaded, "I think you're fun to be with.... honestly."

She faked a yawn.



"Oh PLEASE, you're starting to sound like a broken record Deano. I might be fun, but you're not. Not any more."

At that precise moment, the trailer door swung open and Brooke walked in......

Chapter Fifteen - Decisions, decisions

Brooke stood, her hand hovering near the door handle.
It was the hardest decision of her life as she stood there debating whether or not to enter the trailer.


What if those rumours WERE true? What if Deano was fooling around with someone else?
It would be so easy to barge in there and cause a scene.

It would devastate her if she found him in the arms of another woman.

But there again....

She could barge in and discover that she'd been mistaken all along. The thoughts of humiliating herself, made her skin feel clammy and her mouth dry.

She didn't want to lose Deano. He was the best thing in her life.


Admittedly, he was sloppy and disgusting. She cringed at his cleaning habits. But what the heck, he was a guy after all....
...they did all that sort of stuff

But apart from that, he always made her feel special, as if she was the only woman in the world to him. He also made her laugh at his endless assortment of dirty jokes.

He might have had rough, oily hands from working at the garage, but they could make all her stresses and knotted muscles disappear with a wonderful back massage.


.....and the way he kissed her......

... she felt all tingly inside at the very thought of his lips caressing the back of her hand and trailing feather-light all the way up her arm.

He was a master when it came down to flirting, and she fell for it, hook, line and sinker.
The sweet talk, the body language.

She was a career driven woman, but even then, she'd been drawn in to his roguish charms.





Her heart fluttered at the memories.....

The longer she stood there, the harder it made her decision.

Sighing heavily, her hand reached for the door handle.



It was now or never.....

Chapter Fourteen - Two Troubled Souls

Cloverdale, although it consists of a few homes scattered sporadically around the entire valley, isn't impervious to the latest dramas that have suddenly sprung up from it's peaceful surroundings.

As we are just about to find out......

Brooke needed time to think.


Yes, she'd acted impulsively and tore shreds out of Alex, who, like a true gentleman, stood there and took the full force of her anger. But she was getting stressed with everything that was going on. The sudden appearance of her elderly father, with his constant nit-picking of her life.....
.... the suspicion that her boyfriend Deano was 'playing the field'.

The broken shower was just the icing on the cake for her.

And now, she needed to take a long, long walk to clear her thoughts.
Yes, she felt guilty for exploding in front of her boss. She realised it was very unprofessional of her.


But what's done is done. She couldn't turn back the clock.
Dipping her shoulders in defeat, she sighed heavily.

"When is this all going to end?" she thought to herself.

The twittering of birds distracted her momentarily as she stared into space, lost in her own thoughts.

Suddenly, Brooke's feet took her walking.....

.... in the direction of Deano's trailer.

She didn't want to go there, but she needed someone to talk to and Charity, her best friend was never around when she needed her. Her cell phone was proof of that.
Several times Brooke had tried to contact Charity, but failed miserably as the voicemail kicked in.


But as she approached, her nerves got the better of her and she paused, wondering if this was a good idea or not......

In the meantime, Father Thomas was still reeling from the shock of his new assignment.
On the long journey by public service bus, he'd been in deep deep thought.
Wondering how he'd walked into this sudden chain of events.

He'd read all the reports and his heart sank even deeper. It was much worse than he'd imagined. Of all the boarding schools around, statistics proved that this one St Mitchells, had the worst reputation....

.... and the poorest, most uneducated in-house boys around.


All thoughts of a beautiful, sand swept beach and adoring faces, retreated hastily from his memory. His face grew ashen underneath the fading tan and he felt physically sick as the Bishop droned on about all the new changes he expected Father Thomas to undertake.

And the most shocking news of all, was that he was expected to start immediately. There was no respite, no preparation. He'd been thrown into his new task feet first.

And now, after a hasty apology from the bus driver, he was about to be dropped off, right in the middle of nowhere.

"Sorry Father," he'd muttered gruffly, "this is as far as I can go. But it's just a short walk along that road."

He pointed a nicotine stained finger in the direction of a long, narrow road that vanished over a hill.

"You can't miss it."

"Thanks," replied Father Thomas, picking up his small valise.

He shot the driver a nervous grin, before turning and making his way along this road.
Behind him, the doors of the bus clanged shut and the spluttering cough of the diesel engine told him that the bus was already leaving.


This was it......

..... no turning back.

Luckily, he was well prepared for a long walk. He astounded himself at the thoughts of wearing walking shoes.
Only a couple of hours previously, he'd fussed himself into a stupor, wondering if it was a good idea to wear these or his brand new, never been worn, shiny shoes that might pinch and cause blisters.

Thinking back, the very idea of fussing over shoes, was ludicrous compared to what lay ahead for Father Thomas.

Just as he was peaking the ridge, his eyes fell on a small trailer.....
.... and the sight of a lost looking woman, stood outside, her shoulders stooped.


Brooke didn't see Father Thomas approaching. Her mind was elsewhere.

Listening to the sounds of giggling emanating from the trailer.......

Chapter Ten - Deano's Two Distractions

Squinting at the computer screen, Deano grimaced.
The cam shaft he'd ordered, was STILL out of stock.

Business at the garage had ground to a halt, all thanks to his 'reliable' supplier. And now this had to happen too.

He groaned, wiping a grubby hand across his face.

"Damn!" he swore, hoisting himself out of his seat and reaching down to the refrigerator for a can of beer.

Peering out of the window, he grimaced, as he chugged down the last dregs.
"Damned lousy weather," he swore, peering out of the trailer window.

It didn't appear to be stormy, the skies were still fairly clear, but there was a definite dampness in the air and he didn't want anything to happen to 'Old Moo.

Old Moo was his pick up truck. All black with shiny new customised chrome.
She was his 'babe magnet' and his pride and joy.

In his spare time, he spent hours working on her, tweaking here, waxing there.
Luckily he constructed a car port to park her under. But he still had to cover her over, just to make sure she didn't get any rust spots.

Man, she was a beauty.


He grinned, as he trotted down the steps of his trailer and walked towards the make shift carport. He had to make sure the tarp was fixed down properly, as the weather man reported blustery showers for the rest of the day.

"Oh yeah," he murmured, as he slid a hand across the shiny waxed surface, "you're quite the babe magnet aren't you?"

His smile faded, when he detected the unmistakable scent of leaking oil.

Dropping onto his knees, he peered at the undercarriage of his pick up and saw the pool of oil on the concrete.

"Dammit," he cursed, rolling up his sleeves.

Luckily for Deano, he always carried a small tool box in the back of the pick-up.

Grabbing an adjustable wrench and a powerful torch, he slid underneath 'Moo' and poked around to see where the leak was.

With his trailer seated at the very edge of the park, there was usually a lot of traffic. People coming and going all the time.
So it was no surprise when a nice pair of pins stopped right in front of him.

"Hiya stud," came a soft sultry voice.

Deano grinned, his eyes never left those perfectly formed ankles.

"Hey sweetheart," he replied gruffly, "what're you doing down this neck of the woods?"

He couldn't see her face, but he correctly assumed she was smiling.
Satisfied he'd fixed that annoying leak, he pulled himself out from beneath 'Old Moo', grinning broadly.

This 'Sweetheart' in question, was none other than a wannabe model called Charity Benson.
Tall and leggy, with a neat figure, a cascade of corkscrew curls and the most delicious, kissable lips Deano had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Charity watched as he wiped his hands on a dirty rag.
Gosh, he was sooo handsome.

She shot him her killer smile.


"Oh, just passing through really," she said, pretending to inspect her fingernails, "and you? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Nah," came the reply, "it's pretty quiet at the garage, so I thought I'd bring work home with me."

He patted the tarpaulin lovingly, caressing it gently with his fingertips.

He looked back at her and drew out his famous lop-sided grin.

"Hey," he crooned huskily, "wanna come in for a coffee?"

"Sure," came the reply.

Charity sashayed past Deano, earning herself a slap on her bottom, and a wolf whistle at the same time.


Man, she was a gorgeous piece of ass, and quite the opposite of his on/off girlfriend, Brooke.

Brooke was sweet in her own way, but she had too many hang-ups. Charity in the meantime, was a lot more fun to be with.

With no ties, she could come and go as she pleased, had a dirty sense of humour and just didn't care what the world thought of her.


They both knew that coffee wasn't on the agenda, as Deano moved in for the 'kill'.
Leaning forward, he caressed her arm, looking deep into her grey/blue eyes.


It was a game they we both familiar with, and they played their parts to perfection.

Chapter Five - Father Comes to Stay

The sun shone brightly, bringing out the vibrant colours in the garden.
Brooke stood up, stretching her strained back and looked proudly upon all her hard work.


She felt the sun, prickling on the back of her neck and was thankful that she'd remembered to thicken on the sun cream.


"There," she thought, wiping the soil from her hands, "that looks a lot better."

The garden was her pride and joy, and everybody who passed by, made comments of approval at Brooke's green thumb.

The only one she really needed to please....

.... was her elderly father.

She looked at her watch and her heart sank.
He'd be here, any time soon.

Brooke kicked off the gardening shoes at the kitchen doorway and sprinted indoors to freshen herself up.

She changed from her usual 'slobs' as she called them, into a pretty outfit, brushing her hair out.

She never put make up on.
It was lost on her father, who disapproved of everything Brooke did.

From as far back as she could remember, he would ritually direct comments of disapproval at her.

"What are you wearing THAT for? It makes you look too fat!"

"You're putting far too much lipstick on. That colour looks as though you've got a gash instead of a mouth."

More recently, it turned into ....

"I can't see how you're ever going to get married if you work all those hours."


"You're working yourself too hard. look how skinny you've become, you'll waste away to nothing if you're not careful."

And his particular favourite....



"I don't know what you see in that Deano Gray, he's trouble I tell you. And what sort of name is Deano, for goodness sake? Why don't you go out with someone nice.... like that Alec Thompson. He's rich, has his own house and is single."

It always ended up with Frank pointing out the obvious.

But Brooke regarded Alec as 'boring' and 'dull as dishwater.'

Brooke fussed around the house, checking to see if everything was just right.

She grimaced at the old, worn chair that had arrived last week, but she knew that it was going to be a permanent fixture from now on.

After his wife's death, three years ago, Frank had struggled to cope on his own.
Sadly, one cold Winter's day, he fell down the stairs and broke his hip.

The house that Brooke lived in, was more than substantial. So, reluctantly, she agreed to let her father move in.

What used to be her 'crafts room', was now converted into a bedroom. Some of her father's treasures and furniture, had been brought in. The rest was either donated to charities, thrown out or the most valuable items sold.

The profits made from the sale of the family home, boosted up his bank account substantially, but still, he insisted on wearing the same, shabby clothing day in day out.

Brooke peered out of the window, just in time to see the taxi pull up.
Even before he opened the door, she heard his loud protestations and complaints.

Brooke groaned inwardly.

Her father was in a bad mood and she knew he'd be like that all day.

What was she letting herself in for?

Meanwhile, Frank sat complaining about the costly taxi fare.


He was dreading this.

He knew that Brooke didn't want him there at all.
She made that quite clear, the moment she picked up her bags and moved out of the family home, all those years ago.

But circumstances, and a fractured hip, soon put paid to his own freedom.

Still, he couldn't help marvelling at the beautiful countryside, as the taxi zipped past.

He remembered how this was all farmland, as far as the eye could see.
It was a shame that this land had now given itself up for developers.

His own daughter had been one of the first people to snap up the first houses built, and he was prepared to hate it with a passion.

But he was taken by surprise, when he saw the pretty little garden at the front of the property.
It wasn't quite as wild as Frannie's, his late wife's garden, but it was stunning all the same.

At least Brooke had inherited something from them anyway.

If only she'd get her head out of the clouds and see for herself, what her future could be like.

She didn't go to University just to become a waitress.

That business degree was gathering dust, as she plodded on.

And that no good Deano guy.

He had Brooke wrapped around his little finger, and Brooke was so blinded that she couldn't see it at all.

Brooke stepped out of the front door to greet him, her jet black hair long and loose.
For a moment there, he was taken back a few years.

She looked just like her mother, standing there in the bright sunlight.


But he STILL couldn't resist a typical moan and groan.

"Why haven't you fenced this all in?" he complained, crossing his arms, "you know how strays are. They'll come in here, dig it all up, urinate all over and generally ruin everything."

Brooke shook her head.


Nothing had ever changed.