Harry introduces us while Flea leads Outlaw over. The vet’s eyes narrow and his head tilts to his side, a strange exhalation of air whistles from between his lips. He says nothing as he moves straight to Outlaw’s side and runs a hand over his branded area that is finally displaying some regrowth of hair. He steps back, consternation written all over his expression. “Dead Meat?” He directs the words toward Outlaw.
Outlaw’s ears flicker forward in recognition of the name or the voice; I can’t tell. “What did you call him?” I ask striving to keep my tone even at the name or inference.
The vet turns to me, “Dead Meat,” he states, again confusion lacing his tone. Nat contains his ire, only for the fact he knows I will flay him to near death.
“You know this horse?” Flea asks as he runs a hand down the skinny, grey neck. Outlaw’s half-lidded eyes follow the vet’s movement, his top lip twitching erratically. I can’t decide what he’s thinking. Biting looks to be one definite choice though.
“Yes,” that’s all the vet provides moving to the other side of Outlaw to also run a hand along the jutting ridges of Outlaw’s body. “I can’t believe he is in this condition, well, I can…but I can’t.”
We all wait as he continues his examination for him to elaborate on that comment. He says nothing. While he is very thorough, with a knowledgeable, self-assured touch, he is also mega frustrating. I kind of wish Outlaw would give him a nip.
“Care to explain?” Pop gives in, we know that Harry already filled the guy in on Outlaw’s purchase from the sales, but we are all desperate to know what he is keeping to himself. It’s a real effort not to reach down and pull it forcibly from his throat. Nathan’s eyes find mine and he waggles his eyebrows, pretty much saying I’ll help.
Angus would deal with it, I sign.
Nat rolls his eyes.
The vet stands back from Outlaw, running those practised eyes over him again, “This horse would have been one of the greats of the track…if he decided to run.”
“If he decided to run?” Nathan echoes, his elbow touches my shoulder.
“Most certainly,” the vet moves forward again and slides his hands down Outlaw’s bony legs. He likes to keep us waiting. “He… well used to, possess extraordinary speed. You should have seen him down the home straight. It was a sight.” He disappears into his memories for another long, hellish moment. I start to move restlessly until Flea puts a hand on my shoulder. “But it was worth nothing in the scheme of things. No one could ever tell if he would leave the barriers; one day he would, the next a cattle prod couldn’t produce even a bat of an eyelid. His major success was causing everyone becoming absolutely ropable, on the track, off the track, everywhere he went, hence the name Dead Meat. A name derived from the common threat launched his way. Excluding, of course, the typical accompanying curses.”
“No wonder he reacted to Ned at the Sales,” I frown.
“And why he was at the Sales in this condition.” He shakes his head slightly. “Here stands the most exasperating horse in history, able to bring the most patient equine lover to their knees. Amazing breeding,” the continues inserting a needle into Outlaw’s vein with ease. “Gelded him myself due to his aggression. Bad an orphan foal as I’ve seen in my numerous years.”
Everyone exchanges glances; suspicions confirmed.
“A lonely, heartbroken, old man bred him, won the service in a charity auction for cancer research, I believe. Used his deceased wife’s dressage mare. Titan’s Wingman is his sire,” he nods at Outlaw, capping the blood-filled vial. Titan’s Wingman! Holy smoke! Titan Stables is a behemoth Australian icon of racing. “Mare died; bought him up as an orphan, multiple social mistakes made from the get-go. By the way, never show him beer; he transforms into a maniac,” the vet cautions.
“Too late,” sighs Harry, chancing a look at Noah on the deck, now sitting a little bit away from Sam and the others, but looking content and entirely non-threatening.
“How exciting!” I exclaim fluffing Outlaw’s fuzz between his ears. “You discovered a diamond in the rough, Flea! Just proves you’ve got the eye.” Flea grimaces before smiling.
“You and me,” I kiss Outlaw on the nose, “Are going to smash it!”
The vet pauses and measures me up for another of those long moments he likes to drag out to almost absurd lengths. I don’t care what he thinks he finds. “Check out all his races if you can,” the vet says to me after perusing the blood test results from the other vet. “Sparkly Cupcake was his race name.”
“Sparkly Cupcake!?” Nathan can’t contain himself this time and cracks up.
The vet waits in his patient manner for Nat to get himself together, it takes Pop kicking him hard in the shins for it to be achieved.
“How did that name pass through?” Flea asks.
“The daughter called him that. Apparently, he was deemed Sparkly Cupcake because he had a real shining beauty with an ultra-sweet nature, she died from an accident two weeks after he was born. That story may have been presented to the committee. See just what you’ve got on your hands and whether you want to proceed with his treatment. You’re up for a bit of money to get those kidney’s and liver back in good nick, and it may be for nothing in the end but a healthy, hard-headed horse that doesn’t display any attributes of his race name.”
My eyes don’t blink or waver from his level gaze, my blood heats up rapidly. Pop pinches me on the arm, and Nat snorts under his breath. I choose one of Nan’s sayings to calm me down, I hedge it might make more of an impact if I say it aloud, “I don’t care if his name was Mrs. Glitzy Fluffelpants. The past only gives clues, the future gives choices. He will be as well-known as bloody pavlova. You may want to get a pic to prove you treated him at the start of our story.”
The vet blinks, sets to scanning me from head to toe yet again, raises an eyebrow almost to his white hairline and then after a few seconds says, “It will be a partnership I will not want to miss a second of. Please inform me if you ever do get to compete on him, in absolutely any discipline.” There is a tinge of knowing mixed with amusement in his voice.
“Two stubborn tyrants; head to head. We will have to get him healthy so it’s an even enough fight.” Harry smiles at me indulgently, full of belief. “You’ll be surprised what’s hidden in this small cookie.”
The way the vet studies the leather case in his hand, he must think that I’d have to be packing a rocket launcher up my butt to tip the scales even slightly from Outlaw’s favour. Very, very interesting.
Nat elbows me, still high on Outlaw’s names. Dead Meat and Sparkly Cupcake… hell. It’s terrible to admit that Dead Meat suits him more.
We listen intently to the vet after he has finished his examination and completed further tests. Outlaw’s ulcer problems, his kidney and liver functions and nutrition are discussed and provided for. The vet concludes by doing Outlaw’s teeth much to his transparent aversion. It’s hard to do a 17hh horse’s teeth when he doesn’t want them done. He is lightly sedated, and Nathan sets up the tractor with a suspended tyre to put the boof’s head through to rest on. The vet also scopes him again.
Before he leaves, he turns to me and says, “See Tristan as Titan Stables. I’ll tell him to expect some form of contact from you. Good luck! I will see you in two weeks.”
“Well, well, well,” Nathan drawls. I know everything those three words mean, and only he is safe uttering any semblance of that.
“Titan’s Wingman!” I exclaim patting Outlaw, deciding not to bring up the names, and ignoring Nat’s inferences. “Holy crap! We have to go there, for sure. I want to clap my peeps on Demon Fury.”
“That would be a sight to see,” Flea agrees. “Would love to see that wonder in the flesh.” Demon Fury is the current Australian people’s horse, a black as night stallion with a white blaze and four white stockings, that just keeps bringing home the wins.
“Looks like a night at the races!” Pop rubs his hands together before clapping Harry and Flea on the back. “Po
pcorn!” The three of them yell.
“We might need to restock our own feed supplies,” Nat studies Harry’s cupboards current lack of contents. My shoulder touches his side as I move under his outstretched arm and peer up trying to calculate how many meals we could make from the stuff in there.
“Oh yeah,” I beam after deciding that we only have a few days at the most. “A supermarket experience is totally approaching. I forgot how much I can eat.” I can’t wait to take Nat food shopping.
“When you eat. Probably not to the shop I let Frank into though,” he grimaces. “They’ll try to hit us up for damages.”
I shrug, “Maybe we should take him along again, protect us from all thoughts of conversation as we study things old Daz has hidden from us all our lives.”
“People talk to you in the shops?” he asks, his nose scrunching up. “I thought that was only in clothes shops.”
“Generally, they leave you alone,” I hedge, thinking of the shop assistant and that Angel girl. “They do seem to attract annoying people at certain times though.”
He turns to me, blue eyes glowing. “Well, one look at me and we will be inundated.” He flexes his biceps around my face making my lips pucker like a fish. I let drool plop found my mouth to his tanned skin before I bat him away. “We’re gonna do the Naked Chef thing though this week, right?”
“We need an idea, though, so think of a good one,” I pull out the bag of corn from the top shelf, wincing slightly at the pull on my ribs. I hadn’t thought of an idea Naked Chef with all the other stuff planned, including the new addition of grave robbing. Dell still hasn’t replied. Hopefully she’s researching. I wonder if graverobbing has any food connections?
Warm hands press against my side, “You okay? Or do you need more meds?” he asks, concern colouring his tone.
“I’m okay, just tight, weeing is so good,” I pass him the corn. “Best thing ever.”
“So, I’ve heard. If only you could do it standing up,” he empties the bag in the saucepan. “You’d think you have died and gone to heaven.”
“Remember that time I tried,” I giggle.
“Oh God, how did I forget that?” Nathan shakes his head. “The duct tape, funnel and an old drenching pipe time? I half wished we had another sister for a second to deal with that mess.”
“I still have nightmares about how much that hurt to rip off, not to mention much damage I probably did riding in that contraption. It was an awesome idea though, having it so long it poked out the bottom of my jeans. I would have never had to get off to wee!”
“Not too nice for the rest of your gender in other matters though,” he replies rolling his eyes.
“Ew… and yeah, I guess, it would be like battling a fire hose. Subject change. We should go shopping soon. We might stay at Seth’s tomorrow night, so maybe on our way back.” I grind my teeth, remembering Mum’s text that rescinded the part of the deal that I don’t have to stay at Seth’s one night a week since I stuffed up the restaurant. It doesn’t cause me too much worry, Seth’s can be fun, so I’m not going to fight it. I’ll have to ring him and check it’s all good.
“I can take you,” a low husky voice makes me turn and smile even though it was laced with a few undercurrents.
“Doubt it.” I scoff, flexing my biceps, Noah shakes his head in confusion for a second. “Thank you, I might take you up on that,” I sneak into his hard side. He always smells so nice. I quickly take a whiff of myself; horsey – so nice to smell normal again.
“Why do you have to go to his place?” Of all the male species on the planet is left unsaid but it hangs heavily in the air. He’s trying. Probably so he doesn’t have to do the stairway fruit thing with Seth.
“Mum.” That should sum it up, and I see the word causes his jaw clench. Nat notices too and lets out a satisfied grunt. For some reason, he has backed off Noah. It’s good so I won’t hunt down answers. “She revoked the part where I got out of staying at Seth’s once a week. Who would have thought hurling dishes and stuff would have caused so much damage and angst? He’ll probably be at Kelsey’s, but we can annoy his parents for something to do.” I reach over and elbow Nat in the ribs as he holds the lid on the saucepan.
Before Noah can say anything Nat suddenly swings around and pins him with an expression I know holds excitement but might come across intense to others. “Av told me about your cage fight. Is there any this week?”
Noah swallows and his green eyes flicker over me. He’s hesitating, and I can see the concern and worry that swirls all over him.
Nat considers him for a moment, something new causes his hand to pause midair then drop to his side. “It will only be me, in the cage, no tag teaming this week,” he says, I can hear the understanding in his tone, but I doubt Noah will know what it is. This kitchen feels very tight right now, very testosteroney. “You can hold the wild squaw in her seat, unless of course, I’m getting my arse handed to me, which is highly unlikely, then by all means set her free.”
Noah shakes his head, “If I do this, no matter what happens, she doesn’t go in the cage.” His tone is firm, commanding; iron.
I am here, people. And I will if I have too. Although, Nat is right. I seriously doubt I will. Thinking back to the other fighters, Nat will have no problem. We could dress him up too!
“You guys ever heard of a bloody microwave?” Sam pushes into the kitchen. “I’m bloody starving here.”
He literally ate half of the barbie food just before.
Nathan focuses on Noah, ignoring Sam. “I want to make that guarantee but I know my sister and I can’t. Hopefully, she’ll do what’s best for her health and sit for once.” Nathan’s words seem to hold an underlying meaning I don’t grasp. Noah’s body tenses next to me. He obviously does. What’s the low down here?
“Why does she have to sit for her health?” Sam asks absently, grabbing butter from the fridge.
“Cage fight,” I sigh. “Noah doesn’t want me to become the world champion.”
Sam whips around. “What? Who’s fighting?” I feel kind of surprised that he’s surveying me like it might just be me, not one of the bigger bodies hovering in the kitchen.
“Me,” Nat smooshes his hair affectionately.
“I’m so coming,” Sam beams. “Go without me and Sparkly Cupcake will meet a nast—” he doesn’t get to finish the sentence.
Sparkly Cupcake
Avalon
Sparkly Cupcake is not the name I would have bestowed on Outlaw even at the shining pinnacle of his health and racing days. Bipolar Drama Queen might be more in line with his mood swings and performance.
“Holy Shit!” Nat yells, spraying popcorn over the lounge room floor, “Look at him go!”
He was gob-stopping, when, as the vet alleged, he decided to gallop. Each powerful stride opened the lengths up between him and the rest of the field like they were three-legged turtles. The gap at the end is around twelve lengths and the jockey did not use his whip once. The crowd were wild with exhilaration; huge grins spread across all our faces. What had we stumbled on to? I watch as Outlaw pulls himself into a collected canter and banners his tail out past the band. That horse is literally out there in our shed. It’s surreal.
It’s also surreal that I have tucked myself between Noah’s legs as he leans back on the lounge near Wade and his thumb is unconsciously rubbing my skin just above the band of my jeans. My mind wants to focus on Outlaw and pick up hints about his performances, but the persistent and very alive creature that will remain unnamed is allowing its tentacles to meander around like a willow in the wind blurring my thinking and causing sparks of heat to tingle incessantly through my body.
Wade casts more races to the TV, that grey streak; Sparkly Cupcake, the mere mention of the name cracking us up when the commentator says it, is distorted into the Bipolar Drama Queen once again as he refuses to be budged from the gates, in fact, on two occasions the barriers themselves have to be moved to get him out. He stands as if he’s having the b
est sleep of his life; that the barriers and jockey are actually massaging him! The crowd go wild again, but in a totally different way. Things are thrown and people actually push each other and storm off booing. The TV zooms into to focus on a very irate and red-faced man; steam practically pours from his ears.
On the next occasion, Good Ole Sparkly Cupcake decides that going into the barriers is not on his task list, when the track guys bum rope him he merely plonks down on his butt. They forcibly drag him in, and the bugger has his eyes closed when the gates open, not squeezed shut, just a soft sleep type of shut. He does not even swish his tail. The time after that, he lays right down in the parade area, on his side and lolls out his tongue. The jockey literally kicks him and stalks away, arms flying around in line with what is shooting out of his mouth.
Flea leans back against the couch cushions and shakes his head. “I can see what the vet meant now,” he sighs. I snuggle between Noah’s legs; his thumb beckons to a few fingers to join it, and they trace the edge of my jeans making me shiver and my throat to emit a weird moan cross purr sound.
“I think it’s awesome, Flea,” I start, trying not to do a Mangles and push myself closer to the warmth behind me. Nat will kill him if it goes anything out of the PG mode. Would I?
“She really does,” Nat interjects, “the sitting, the lying, the tongue, everything because this is the stuff of stories.”
He takes the words right out of my mouth, “It’s true!” Plus, I imagine all the strength that he will have. We will fly.
“Hey,” Jaime rubs his hands together, “we could make a real doco for this and sell it later when you become champions.”
“I like this guy,” I wink at Jaime.
“Only if Sam gets his gear off in it,” Lucy laughs, but even a deaf man could hear the hopefulness in it.
Avalon Expandable Heart: The Wild Heart Series Page 37