Drew produced the wine and poured it into tumblers that looked like they’d once been jam jars. ‘A toast,’ he said. ‘To bringing Chiquita home.’ They clinked glasses, and locked eyes. Hers sparkled in the twilight and he wanted to pull her into his arms again, but dressed like that, with her sister’s akubra and all – the resemblance to Charlie was too disconcerting.
‘Don’t you ever take off that cowboy hat?’ he asked. She smiled, tossed it off, and they tucked into the food. He told Sam about the plans to retrieve Chiquita.
‘Can I help?’ she asked. ‘After all, I’m a professional brumby breaker now.’
Drew went to speak and stopped himself. He’d better watch it – he’d almost called her Charlie. ‘You fooled Bushy?’ He supposed it wouldn’t have been that hard. Bushy had never properly met Charlie. He’d only recently arrived as a replacement for the last horse breaker, a man whose penchant for hard liquor had got the better of him. Bushy had settled on Charlie for the job by word of mouth alone, for she had a formidable local reputation as a horsewoman.
Sam’s tone was instantly defensive. ‘You said yourself that it would kill Charlie to lose that job.’
‘Maybe so, but you can’t go around town masquerading as your sister forever.’ She didn’t respond. The truth was, Sam probably could get away with it, if she kept to herself. At least for a while. The resemblance was so striking, and for the past few years the Kellys had been a bit on the outer. Mary’s unconventional lifestyle and erratic behaviour had seen her marginalised from the mainstream Currajong community. Over time she’d been frozen out of the Parents and Friends Association, the garden group, the picnic-race committee. Unfortunately, Drew knew this prejudice had extended to Charlie.
It had started with a few girls at pony club, deriding her and her brumby mounts with vicious barbs. Trust a feral to ride a feral or Since when were donkeys allowed at rallies? or Is Charlie wearing those clothes for a bet? It didn’t matter to hot-headed Charlie that the bullies were in the minority. One cruel remark was enough to set her off. She was kicked out of the club after terrifying one of her tormentors with a stockwhip. Things had got worse as she got older – the insults became more personal and were no longer confined to the horse she happened to be riding. Why does Charlie look so confused? Oh, that’s right. It’s Father’s Day or Why does Charlie look so uncomfortable? Because she’s had more pricks than a secondhand dartboard.
Charlie always gave as good as she got. It’s a shame to ruin such beautiful blond hair by dyeing your roots black. And I may be a slut, but at least the boys don’t have to put a paper bag over my head. When the others pushed her too far, she just jumped them. Drew had no doubt they were jealous of this stunning girl who could ride the pants off the best of them. No wonder Charlie had grown up to be a bit of a loner. Horses and the bush became her closest companions. Romantically, she favoured the kind of superficial relationships she could find with the travelling-picnic race jockeys, or cowboys on the rodeo circuit. Drew had found that out the hard way.
‘What happens when Charlie comes back?’ he asked. The uncomfortable silence grew, and it soon became obvious that Sam did not intend to respond. For some foolish reason, he felt compelled to point out a few more home truths. ‘And you’ve got a few more things to worry about besides breaking brumbies. No electricity, for one thing. And that means no running water, no flushing toilets.’
‘Anything else?’ Sam’s tight lips belied the cool tone of her voice.
‘No fridge, no lights, no way to cook, or to charge your phone. Does the landline work?’
Sam shook her head. ‘It’s cut off too, just like the power. I paid the bills and tried to reconnect, but I need Mary’s password, and she gave me one that doen’t work. I don’t think she knows the right one herself … but it’s fine, Drew.’ There was something about the way Sam said his name that made it sound important. ‘I can manage.’
She was pretty tough for a city girl, he had to give her that. Drew fondled Bess’s floppy ears, and questions crowded back in. Where the hell were Mary and Charlie? And why wouldn’t Sam say? She really was the most fascinating girl, tough and naive at the same time – a beautiful contradiction.
Drew couldn’t resist any longer. Should he try to kiss her again? What if she pulled away? He took off his hat, reached across slowly, watching her, and smoothed the tangled hair back from her dirty face. He’d been thinking about doing that all day. Their faces were almost close enough to touch – but something was holding him back. Sam broke eye contact with him, and the moment passed.
‘Admit it, Sam,’ he said. ‘You need me. Tomorrow, I’ll rig you up a generator.’ She really did have the cutest nose. ‘If you run it for a few hours at night, at least you’ll be able to cook and have a shower.’ The corners of her mouth turned down. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I didn’t think I’d have to cook. I thought you were going to bring dinner around every night,’ she said with a straight face.
‘That could be arranged, m’lady,’ he said. ‘Very easily. But you’ll still need a shower.’
Sam fingered her top button. ‘I could skinny-dip in the dam.’
Drew reached for the bottle of wine, not trusting himself to look at her. ‘You’re a tease, Samantha. You know that?’ He topped up her glass, trying not to imagine her naked. ‘Perhaps you’re more like your sister than I thought … And if you think a dip in the dam will get you clean, then you’re not accounting for the mud. And then there’s the whopping great water bugs. They bite something shocking. The mozzies will eat you alive, and a big yabby could nip your toe clean off. Not to mention the snakes.’
‘What do you mean, more like my sister?’ asked Sam, suddenly serious.
‘I just meant she could be a flirt too. All girls can be. Sometimes I think they can’t help it.’ Sam moved away and started picking strawberries off the pavlova. Terrific, now he’d offended her. Perhaps if he changed the subject. ‘So you talked to Dad?’
Sam nodded and ate a strawberry. ‘I told him we’re not renewing the lease, and his cattle have to be out by the end of the week.’
‘It’s not that easy,’ said Drew. ‘He won’t listen to you. It has to come from Mary.’
Sam shrugged. ‘Without a lease his cattle are trespassing. I’ll call the police, if I have to.’
‘What,’ said Drew, ‘with your stock wandering loose all over the national park? That could backfire badly.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sam. ‘Maybe I’ll just chase them out myself. Can’t you talk to him?’
‘Won’t do any good,’ said Drew. ‘He doesn’t listen to me, either. Never has. As I said, you’ll need Mary. Could she ring Dad, maybe?’ Sam shuffled her feet and avoided his gaze. ‘Or wouldn’t Mary go along with it? Is ending the lease something you and Charlie have cooked up on your own?’
Sam turned on him. ‘That’s none of your business. Don’t you dare go saying that to your dad!’ She made a show of packing up the picnic. ‘What on earth was I was thinking? You’re the last person I should be talking to about this.’
Drew stood up. ‘Fair enough.’ He put on his hat. ‘I’ll be around tomorrow with the generator.’
‘Don’t bother,’ said Sam, glaring. ‘I don’t need your help.’ She was holding onto Bess, like she meant to confiscate her.
Drew nodded, almost said something, then changed his mind. He’d royally stuffed this one up. Drew whistled, and Bess wriggled from Sam’s arms. Then he tipped his hat and left.
Chapter Fifteen
Friday already, and Drew still hadn’t been back. Each day after work as she tidied the yard, or washed the windows, or cleared out the hayshed, Sam listened for the sound of his wheels on the drive. At night she lay in Mary’s bed and wondered if Drew was wondering about her. How did these things work? She’d regretted her harsh words just as soon as they were out, but it seemed the damage had been done. It had been a stupid idea to discuss the lease with Drew in the first place. He was Bill’s
son, after all. She’d given Charlie a solemn oath to get Brumby’s Run back. But if Bill found out Mary didn’t want it back, he’d never move his stock.
Sam stroked Tambo’s nose as she fed him a carrot. ‘Well, boy, it looks like it’ll be just you and me seeing in the new year together.’ Sam’s first week of working for Bushy had passed much too quickly. Each morning she rose at the clear light of dawn, and made coffee and instant porridge on a portable butane cooker she’d bought from the produce store in town. ‘No point trying to put that on the account,’ the man had told her. ‘Your mum’s three months late on payments as it is.’
‘No worries, George.’ She’d learned his name from Bushy, who, oddly enough, didn’t seem to turn a hair when she asked him such questions. What’s the butcher’s name, Bushy? I forgot. Where’s Duffer Lane? Who can I get lucerne hay from?
‘Can I have a copy of that overdue account please?’ she’d asked George. He’d narrowed his eyes and complied. ‘I’ll fix that up for you now, if you like?’ Sam had said, to his obvious surprise and pleasure. She’d done the same all over town, paying off accounts at the grocer, the butcher, the service station. Who’d have thought that you could buy petrol on account? But Mary had managed it.
‘You and your mum must have come into a bit of money, then?’ said Harry at the service station, as he checked her oil and water. It was a remark she had heard all too often this past week. The towns-folk’s curiosity about Charlie and her changed circumstances made her wary to talk. Sam avoided people as much as possible. It wasn’t hard. She loved her work, and she loved being home at Brumby’s Run, cleaning up the house or weeding the garden in preparation for Mary and Charlie’s return. She was far too busy to feel lonely.
Every day after breakfast, Sam washed the dishes outside at the tank, tossed Tambo a few biscuits of hay and headed for the race-course. The historic course at Currajong doubled as the show-grounds. It was picture-perfect, nestled as it was at the edge of the forest, on the outskirts of town. There were usually a few trainers and gallopers on the track when she arrived. She’d learned to slip into the jockeys’ rooms – grab a quick shower and leave her phone charging, hidden behind a bench – before joining Bushy for a cup of tea and hot, buttered raisin toast before they started the day’s work.
Close to forty brumbies stood in the stockyards: weanlings, year-lings, two-year-olds and a few mature mares. These horses, along with many others, had been trapped high in the range as part of a concerted federal push to remove them from national parks. Most went for slaughter, but a rescue organisation, the Brumby Coalition, had selected the most promising young brumbies for rehoming. A wealthy sponsor had engaged Bushy to assess the horses, and to teach them a few basic ground manners, prior to their auction at the picnic race day in a month’s time. Ryan, a serious, bespectacled young man from the organisation, visited occasionally to ensure the youngsters were progressing well. They had lessons in leading, tying up and standing quietly for grooming; lessons in picking up feet for the farrier, and loading into floats. All the essentials for any self-respecting horse. Sam had soon found her favourites amongst them: the greedy taffy gelding with the walleye, who seemed determined to eat her hair; the sweet chestnut filly who tried so hard to please. And then, of course, there was Phoenix.
Bushy had assigned the palomino colt to her as a personal project. It was a relief to know Phoenix wouldn’t go through the sales next month, along with all the other brumbies. ‘You started him,’ said Bushy, lips clinging to the inevitable roll-your-own. ‘Now you better finish him.’ Each morning he coached her. Working with the colt generated in Sam a fierce, possessive pride, akin to that first thrill of working with Pharoah. Sometimes she felt disloyal, as the pain of losing Pharoah lost some of its bite.
Phoenix raised his head and nickered at her approach. ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ she said. ‘Was that a welcome for me, or for this bucket of feed?’ Sam slipped into the yard beside him. The colt nosed the fingers of her extended hand, snuffling low. She reached out and buried her hand in his snowy mane, stroking his neck, his nose. The strength of their connection was palpable. Phoenix lowered his head, blinking evenly as she emptied chaff and oats into the old tyre feeder. Long pale lashes framed his big amber eyes. She liked how his ears swivelled independently of each other, simultaneously keeping track of her and any movement outside the yard. Tracing the muscular definition of his graceful neck, she admired the range of colours in his sleek summer coat. Silver, blond and chestnut – combining to create the illusion of spun silk. She couldn’t wait for the day she would ride him.
Sam picked up a comb and tamed his mane, no longer a tangle of knots and twigs. Instead it tapered neatly down his neck, like a fashion accessory, designed to lift and float, to add beauty and symmetry to his outline.
Grabbing a handful of hay, she wove a wisp. Fingers flew in practised precision. She could almost have been back at the stables in Melbourne, about to put Pharoah through his paces. Caught in this pleasant dream she leaned back, and thumped the wisp down on the colt’s neck.
Phoenix exploded in a flailing flurry of hoofs, climbing the air. Sam ducked under the rail as he tore to the far side of the yard and stood watching her, all rolling eyes and stamping forefeet.
‘What the hell did you do there?’
Bushy’s voice. A cold nose nuzzled the back of her hand. Bess? She turned to see Bushy shaking his head, with Drew grinning beside him. Sam showed Bushy the wisp and tried to explain. ‘It’s a massage pad made by plaiting hay. You slap it along a horse’s neck, shoulders and rump to tone his muscles.’
‘Well, that’s a damn fool idea,’ said Bushy. ‘He ain’t no tame city pony. You belt him with that, he’ll more than likely belt you back.’
‘I wasn’t belting him!’ protested Sam.
‘Sure seemed like it to me.’ Bushy indicated the outraged colt. ‘And to him too, by the looks of it.’ He picked the wisp up off the dusty ground and grunted. ‘Waste of good hay.’ Phoenix snorted in loud agreement. ‘You get that fella back and groom him up proper.’ With that, Bushy walked off in disgust.
Drew shuffled his feet and tipped his hat forward a little. He was trying unsuccessfully to hide the broad smile on his face. ‘Morning.’
Why did he have to be here, of all people? To see her dressed down like a foolish schoolgirl. Still, in spite of her embarrassment, she was glad to see him. ‘Good morning,’ said Sam, and went to retrieve the fractious colt.
Drew eyed Phoenix approvingly. ‘He’s a nice sort.’
‘Come to check up on me?’ she asked. At least he’d stopped smiling – almost.
‘Dad sent me over with a couple of two-year-olds for Bushy to break. You did know he works for Dad too, didn’t you?’
Sam spun around. Phoenix half reared at her swift movement, as if he thought she might give him another thumping. ‘Well, of course I didn’t,’ she said in a loud stage whisper, looking around to make sure Bushy was out of earshot. ‘How was I supposed to know that?’
Drew shrugged. Whose side was he really on? If Bushy worked for Bill, and she worked for Bushy, then it meant she was indirectly working for Bill herself. It was an unsettling thought. Phoenix decided Sam’s fit of madness had passed, and returned to his feed bin at a high-stepping trot. He sent her flying with a cross toss of his head, and she landed seat first in the dust. Drew helped her up, holding her hand a little longer than necessary. A sudden panic gripped her. She had to do something or say something, right now, to show him she was still interested. She couldn’t bear for the moment to be lost.
‘I’m sorry about the other night, Drew. You were right about Mary,’ said Sam. ‘She does mean to renew the lease. It’s Charlie who doesn’t want to.’ Don’t forget to send the contract to me, will you, sweetheart? It’s very important, Mary had said before Sam left. I’ll post the signed documents back for you to give to Bill. But Sam hadn’t given them to Bill. Instead, she’d burned them on the barbecue.
‘No worries.�
� Drew trailed a hand idly along the fence. He looked thoughtful, as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. It felt like he was trailing his fingers up and down her spine. ‘I’m having a shot at catching Chiquita tomorrow,’ he said at last. ‘Going to run the brumbies into the yards up at Dead Man’s Hut.’ He drew a line in the dust with his boot. ‘Sure could use some help.’
‘Really?’ asked Sam. ‘You mean me?’ He nodded. Drew leaned against the top rail and watched two horses go round the track. ‘Dad won’t be causing you any problems for a while. He came off his bike yesterday and smashed his leg up. Nasty stuff. It’ll lay him up for ages’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sam, although she wasn’t. She had no sympathy for Bill. She must have sounded as false as she felt, because Drew shook his head and held up his hand.
‘I never agreed with him leasing your land in the first place. Fact is, nobody will make a decent go of Brumby’s until our cattle are gone. Dad knows that.’
Phoenix was watching the gallopers too. Nerves twitched beneath his satin coat.
‘It’s New Year’s Eve,’ Sam said, ‘and the lease ends today. I sent your dad a text last night. Told him to move them out by tomorrow, or I will.’ It had been an empty threat. Her beginner’s mustering skills would never stretch to moving hundreds of cattle by herself.
Drew raised his brows. ‘Then I suppose you’ll be needing some help.’ This was too perfect. Without thinking, Sam threw her arms around Drew’s neck in a swift, grateful hug.
Phoenix approached the rails, allowing Drew to stroke his muzzle. The colt reached over, snatched the hat from his head and cantered off, thrashing it from side to side like a terrier shakes a rat. ‘Cheeky bugger,’ said Drew with a laugh. Sam ducked into the yard, played a short game of tug of war, then came back with the hat, complete with teeth marks. Drew looked at it ruefully. ‘It’s had a hell of a hiding.’ He shook it a few times. ‘You know, Dad’s old school. Can’t abide texts. You should hear him. If something’s worth knowing, it’s worth saying. He could go forever without checking his phone. You sure you sent it?’ Sam nodded. ‘I reckon that’s fair notice then.’ Drew slapped the hat back onto his head. ‘Tell you what, I’ll make sure he gets the message – after we’ve moved the cattle, that is.’
Brumby's Run Page 10