Fleur McDonald has lived and worked on farms for much of her life. After growing up in the small town of Orroroo in South Australia, she went jillarooing, eventually co-owning an 8000-acre property in regional Western Australia.
Fleur likes to write about strong women overcoming adversity, drawing inspiration from her own experiences in rural Australia. She is the best-selling author of Red Dust, Blue Skies, Purple Roads, Silver Clouds and Crimson Dawn. She has two children and a Jack Russell terrier.
www.fleurmcdonald.com
Also by Fleur McDonald
Red Dust
Blue Skies
Purple Roads
Silver Clouds
Crimson Dawn
For the people in my life who have always held me up. I’m thankful your hands are so strong.
First published in 2015
Copyright © Fleur McDonald 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.
Arena Books, an imprint of
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Email: [email protected]
Web: www.allenandunwin.com
Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australia
www.trove.nla.gov.au
ISBN 978 1 74331 532 3
eISBN 978 1 74343 646 7
Typeset by Post Pre-press Group, Australia
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Amelia took a deep breath, squeezed the keys in her hand and scanned the rodeo grounds. The squares of light from the atco hut windows didn’t stretch far, and she was very aware that the shadows could hide anything or anyone; her hands shook a little at the thought. A moment more to calm her nerves, then she slid a key into the lock and pulled open the door to the treasurer’s office.
She stood on the threshold, listening intently, checking that no one had snuck inside. Pale yellow light flooded the simple room: a couple of desks and chairs, filing cabinets, the trestle table where she’d stacked left-over promotional flyers, and the rickety stand where the old electric kettle sat beside teabags, coffee sachets and a mismatched set of chipped cups. Around the walls were posters of Torrica rodeos past: some faded, some still vibrant. And there, on the floor beside her desk, sat the bags, plain sand-coloured calico, Torrica Rodeo Committee printed on them in blue.
A round of drunken shouts and laughter rang out, then died away. It sounded close, but the camping grounds were about a kilometre from the ring. Noise travelled a long way on still nights.
Amelia wished the powerful towered spotlights that had shone down an hour earlier hadn’t been switched off. She hefted two of the bags, her breathing shallow, a tremor running through her. Was it fear, exhilaration or anxiety? Maybe all three.
Outside, she briefly put the sacks down to lock the door. Walking quickly, she crossed the gravel to where her ancient car was parked. Fond though she was of Pushme the Mazda hatchback, she was regretting not accepting Paul’s offer of his ute for the weekend. Pushme was getting less able to meet the demands placed on her.
Pausing as another lot of raucous yelling reached her, Amelia glanced around once more, acutely conscious of the huge amount of money in the bags. ‘Come on, Gus, where are you?’ she muttered, unlocking the back passenger-side door, lowering the bags onto the floor, then relocking.
When she’d been given the job of treasurer, she’d never thought about having to transport the whole of the organisation’s takings to the bank’s night safe in town. In the middle of the night. With only one escort, who should have showed up by now.
Amelia collected two more bags from the office and dumped them in Pushme. As she headed back for more, she heard the shouts of men and clatter of hooves on steel as a truck was loaded up with cattle. It was a comforting sound.
Then the crunch of tyres on gravel made her jump a couple of feet. A brand-new ute pulled up beside Pushme. Amelia held her breath.
‘How you going tonight, Milly?’ the president of the rodeo committee called as he got out and walked towards her.
‘Gus!’ she said, with a mixture of relief and annoyance.
He was about the same age as her dad, in his mid-fifties, his face weathered by the sun and wind. Never seen without his tattered hat and large belt buckle, he radiated dependability—and he had been one of her biggest allies on the committee.
‘Who else would it be?’ he said. ‘Sorry I was late—got held up at the last minute. Scare you, did I?’
‘Let’s just say it was almost a job for the brown trousers.’ She grinned, relaxing. ‘Sorry, just a bit nervous with all the loot. Can’t say I’ve ever seen four hundred k in one place before, let alone in my own car.’
Gus whistled. ‘Four hundred k? That’s a record for this little rodeo.’
‘Up thirty per cent on last year,’ said Amelia proudly. That would show ’em, everyone who’d given her sly looks, waiting for her to stuff up. Jim Green and Kevin Hubble in particular.
‘Committee should be happy with that.’ He paused before adding, ‘You’ve done a great job in such a short time.’
‘I hope so,’ she answered, unlocking and pulling open the office door. ‘I certainly had something to prove, didn’t I?’
Without waiting for a reply, she stepped inside. Gus came in behind her and they grabbed the last four bags. Amelia gave the room a once-over, then nodded with satisfaction before turning off the lights and locking the door.
While she was happy to see Gus, the weight of responsibility hadn’t completely lifted. She wished she’d been able to organise one other escort—even just her bossy older brother, Graham—so that her car could be flanked by two other vehicles. Too late now, Milly, she thought, and squared her shoulders, picking up the heavy bags. She turned around to see Gus kicking at the dirt, clearly anxious to get going, and said, ‘Sorry, am I holding you up?’
‘I just don’t want to be gone from the grounds for too long. If something goes wrong, it’s on my shoulders.’
She nodded and strode towards the cars, calling, ‘Right-o, let’s
go.’ It wasn’t that far into town. Nothing could go wrong. Well, unless Pushme broke down . . .
‘Do you want me to drive in front or behind?’ Gus asked.
‘Um, oh, I’m not sure. What do you usually do?’ Amelia glanced around again.
Gus must have picked up on her nervousness, because he gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I’ve just had a thought,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we stick the bags in my ute, and you drive that? Just in case. I’ll follow in Pushme. If I break down, you can pick me up and we won’t have to transfer the money by the side of the road.’
It was as though he’d read her mind. ‘All right, that sounds like a bloody good idea.’ Amelia smiled up at him, her heart-rate slowing.
They worked quickly, putting the four bags in his ute and swapping the others over. Then Amelia grabbed her jacket from Pushme’s passenger seat while surreptitiously tucking something into its pocket: a can of Bundy and Cola, to be enjoyed back in town. It was completely innocent—her version of a bottle of champagne—but she still hoped Gus hadn’t noticed it.
She waved and smiled at Gus, then slid into the driver’s seat of his ute. Feeling silly, she glanced over her shoulder at the bags on the back passenger-side floor—as though they could have disappeared while her back was turned! She took a look around inside the ute. ‘Wow, pretty flash,’ she whispered, before carefully turning the key in the ignition.
Testing the clutch and accelerator, Amelia drove out of the showground gates and onto the dark road, trying to get a feel for the ute. Gus followed close behind. She gave a huge sigh. ‘Let’s go.’ Her voice came out high-pitched and nervous as she pushed her foot down on the accelerator. The vehicle shot away and she let her foot up. Fortunately she could still see Pushme’s headlights, and she waited until they brightened. Then she cursed herself: why hadn’t she thought to hire two-way radios? They wouldn’t have mobile phone reception going through the hills. One day she’d learn to think ahead. One day.
‘Bloody hell, bloody hell.’ She’d entered the winding range road and there was no moon to cast its eerie light across the landscape. It was just dark, dark and more darkness. She checked for headlights behind her. Still there.
She was bone-weary, and as she leaned forward, peering into the obscurity, the tension in her neck pulled tight. The headache that had been threatening for the last few hours rolled in full force. All you’ve got to do, she told herself, is get this money safely to Torrica. Only a few more k’s.
Rounding a bend, she glanced in the rear-view mirror and couldn’t see Gus’s lights. Looking down at the dimly lit dashboard, she realised she was travelling way above the speed limit. ‘Whoops!’ Once again she lifted her foot from the accelerator. It took a couple of minutes before the lights reappeared.
‘Oh thank God.’ Amelia’s breath whooshed out and she rolled her shoulders and neck, trying to ease the tightness. Her gaze strayed to the passenger’s seat where the Bundy and Cola was nestled in her jacket pocket. ‘I can’t wait to crack you,’ she told the can, then returned her attention to the road and gripped the steering wheel tightly. Her eyes swept back and forth, alert for kangaroos and any other wildlife.
Soon she began to relax. ‘Ten more minutes and it will all be over,’ she whispered. ‘Over.’ She sighed and flicked a glance back to the money bags. Then, making a swift decision, she reached over and tugged the condensation-damp can from her jacket. ‘We’re just about there, and you, my friend, are all mine.’
The snap of the ring-pull was loud in the ute, and the first sip went down smooth as silk. Amelia felt a warm buzz creep through her as she took a gulp. A beeping sounded and she froze, before looking down to check all the alerts on the dash. Holy cow, well and truly over the speed limit! There was no way Pushme could keep up with a hundred and thirty. Better just chug along at eighty, until Gus catches up. Amelia crept along, casting frequent glances in the rear-view, until she noticed pinpricks of light. ‘Ah, there he is.’ She kept her speed down.
The lights grew closer and closer. That was strange—she wasn’t going that slowly. A shiver went down her spine. Then she realised it was probably one of the trucks loaded up with cattle from the rodeo. Stop being silly. She put the can in a drink holder, thinking how different it was to the one in her car that was cluttered with bunches of coins, loose rubber bands and scraps of paper. How much nicer.
Then her breath caught in her throat.
The vehicle behind her was moving so quickly, it seemed to eat the night. It certainly wasn’t a truck.
‘What the hell?’
It closed in until there were only metres between the vehicles, then the driver flipped its lights onto high beam. With shaking hands, Amelia tipped up her mirror to take the glare away. Her throat felt as if it was closing over. Every bit of foreboding she’d experienced earlier returned. What could she do? She gripped the wheel, her knuckles white and posture rigid, staring at the road ahead.
She hoped that the vehicle would pass her and race off into the darkness. Just some idiot anxious to get home. She saw a flash of orange and realised it was an indicator. The vehicle—it was a ute, she thought, a big one, highset, a dark colour, with tinted windows—was pulling out to overtake. She started to breathe a little easier, her shoulders relaxing . . .
. . . until the other ute veered straight in front of her, cutting her off and hitting the brakes.
Chapter 1
Two months earlier
Gus thumped the table with his fist, trying to get everyone’s attention. The rodeo committee members were standing around having a chat, making cups of tea and coffee, and grabbing at the biscuits that his wife, Pip, had made.
It’s like pulling teeth, he thought wearily, then yelled, ‘Come on, you lot, let’s get this meeting underway so we can all get home.’
The gathering that settled in front of him, with much rattling of cups and spoons, was a sea of greying hair, dirty hats, denim jeans and coloured shirts, calloused hands and sun-reddened, deeply lined faces. Amelia Bennett, in her mid-twenties, was the only committee member under forty, and she was the first in years.
Well, that wasn’t surprising. Agricultural areas were dying out. There were easier lives to be had and many parents sent their kids away from home: apart from anything else, there were no secondary schools out Torrica way. Few of the kids returned, and most were more interested in attending the rodeo nights than in helping to organise them. That wasn’t surprising either—the local show was just about non-existent because no one was prepared to take it on. And when a rare youngster did show up at the committee, they weren’t given anything to do because they wouldn’t do it the way the oldies wanted.
But, Gus thought with an inkling of pride, this crew hadn’t frightened Amelia away. Then he looked for her wavy dark brown hair and frowned. Every head was sprouting strands of grey—Amelia wasn’t there. He suppressed a sigh; she’d probably forgotten again. Hopefully she was just running late.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’m calling this meeting of the Torrica Rodeo Committee to order.’ He shuffled the agenda papers and looked across at the secretary. ‘Cappa, you want to read the minutes from the last meeting?’
Cappa, with his vein-webbed nose and bushy brows, cleared his throat and stood, pushing his hat back. In his methodical drawl, he went through the minutes, then asked for a seconder. Fiona, her silver hair tightly curled from the day’s visit to the hairdresser, put up her hand. Gus hid a smirk. You could count on her to second everything. Pip reckoned Fiona just liked to see her name in print.
‘Right, new business,’ Gus said before there was another outbreak of voices. ‘I guess you all know that Ruby has had to resign because of her cancer treatments?’
There were nods and murmurings. Pip moved to send Ruby a card and some flowers, and everyone agreed right away—even Jim Green, who wasn’t always the easiest bloke to deal with. Their sense of community and friendship was so strong, Gus thought. If only there were some younger people here, it would be
perfect.
‘Right-o then,’ he said, when the banter had settled down, ‘we need a new treasurer. Anyone want the job?’
The room went silent. No one made eye contact.
‘Come on, someone has to take it on.’
Everyone was staring at their hands or the floor.
All right, Gus thought, it’s now or never. ‘What about Amelia Bennett?’
‘Good one!’ said Jim Green with a smirk, then saw Gus’s expression. ‘Oh no, you can’t be serious. She’s much too flighty.’ He reddened, head swivelling from side to side. He’d clearly just realised that Amelia might be in the room. ‘Where is she? Not here? Well, that’s a good reason to get her to do the job,’ he finished sarcastically.
Right from the moment Amelia walked into the farmhouse, she knew that Paul had something important to say. The kitchen table, usually bare, had an embroidered tablecloth thrown across it. Two places were set with pristine blue-and-white Willow pattern china and engraved cutlery she’d never seen before. Velvet red roses—just like the ones her grandma used to grow at her family’s farm, Granite Ridge—were on the bench in a big old coffee jar from the seventies. There’d be an orange lid lying around somewhere.
‘Hey,’ Amelia said, smiling at Paul and leaning in for a kiss. His gorgeous eyes, blue flecked with gold, seemed darker than usual. ‘This looks impressive!’
As his fingers rested on her cheek and he looked down at her face, Paul didn’t quite meet her gaze. She couldn’t work out if the news was going to be good or bad, but he was clearly steeling himself.
‘You want to eat or talk first?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got some steak to cook up on the barbie and a salad to toss. Won’t take long—’
‘Talk first.’
‘All right.’ He stepped away from her and took a breath. ‘The trouble is—and I know this sounds corny—I can’t get you out of my mind. I really can’t.’
She gave a playful laugh and raised her eyebrows suggestively. ‘That’s not a bad thing.’
‘Listen, I’m serious,’ he pleaded. ‘I don’t want to let you get away.’
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