by Leigh Hutton
‘Don’t play games with me, mate,’ Pearce said. ‘He’s missing—look!’ He pointed into the first stall in the row. ‘And some sick bugger just left a note at the front door, some guy in a hoodie Priscilla didn’t recognise . . .’ Tully was sure Pearce shuddered as he held up the folded note in his hand. ‘Do you know anything about this?’
‘Of course not, Dad!’ Brandon said.
‘Should I be questioning your old man about this, Athens?’
‘Oi!’ Brandon said, his voice gruff and deep, his height more than matching his father’s as he approached. ‘You don’t get to speak to Tully like that.’
‘I don’t have time for your little love tryst, Brandon.’ Pearce shook his head, then turned towards the office, the men following suit. ‘It was one thing when the tyres got slashed—’ he called back over his shoulder— ‘but that yearling cost me over a million. Now his stall’s empty, and some creep’s leaving death threats on our doorstep!’
27
Land of Extremes
Tully watched Brandon’s eyes go wide. He turned to her, his face creased with concern, apprehension. ‘I—’
‘It’s fine, Brandon,’ she said, urging him forward. ‘It sounds bad; you oughta go . . .’
‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Can you drive the Rhino? Or I can drop you up, if you’d like?’
‘No, I’d love a go,’ she said, accepting the keys. ‘Good luck.’
‘I’ll be up soon.’ He kissed her quickly on the cheek, before hurrying after his father and the men who were disappearing into a glass-fronted office in the middle of the stable.
Tully enjoyed the drive up to the house, breathing in the sweet air – clean from the shower of rain, easing through her mind like the strongest scent of eucalypt. She parked the Rhino out the front of the garage and hurried through the rain to the garden, pulling Brandon’s jacket tightly around her shoulders. She spotted a gazebo just inside the garden, sat down lightly on the stone bench, slipping her phone from her clutch to shoot Tam a text about her crazy-bizarre-wicked-awesome night.
She paused, her fingers halting over the screen of her phone when a group of women stepped down off the terrace, on the opposite side of the hedge. ‘Well,’ one woman said, in a clipped, high-pitch voice. ‘My bet is it’s the same person who’s been letting all those horses out.’
Another piped up, ‘Those people from across the road who got hit – what are their names? The daughter’s trying to make it as a jockey..?’
The first woman laughed, before answering, ‘Athens. Their place is a tip, and the mother was killed in a race. Quite sad that the daughter’s now heading down the same road, isn’t it? Then there was another stable closer to town, where the horses were let out not long after . . . Might be a crime ring from the city? Or bored kids from town?’
At least I know it wasn’t the Westons who let our horses out, Tully thought, the women’s banter scalding her heart, and suddenly she felt uncomfortable and very alone in her dress and stupid heels. Tears surged to her eyes and she crouched low into the shadows, hurrying down the hedge towards the driveway.
She’d been waiting her whole life to see inside these gates. Now, she realised, this idyllic racehorse city was more like a shark tank. Every fibre of her soul yearned for home as she stumbled towards the lanterns of the drive.
The clear air of the driveway was in her sights, when Tully tripped over the foot of a figure sitting cross-legged in the grass, a bottle of wine in each of her hands. ‘Silly women, Tully,’ the woman said, a witch-like laugh erupting from her, the moonlight glinting off her wild, grey curls. ‘Wouldn’t know the head of a horse from its ass end.’
‘Mrs. Hoxton?’ Tully pushed herself up off the wet grass, brushed her hands down the front of her dress, then knelt down beside her neighbour. ‘Are you okay?’
‘You’re a sweet girl, Tully,’ Mrs. Hoxton said, taking a swig at one of her bottles. ‘Too sweet for this industry.’
‘She’s not all sweet.’
‘Oh—Brandon,’ Tully said, reaching for his outstretched hands.
‘That’s what I love about her,’ Brandon continued, helping Tully to her feet. ‘Sorry I had to go. Should I take you home?’ His arm threaded around her waist, his lips meeting her cheek.
‘To Tam’s, please,’ Tully grinned. ‘That’d be great, thanks.’
‘And what are you, young man?’ Mrs. Hoxton asked, smiling out from the hood of her blood red robe. ‘Nice, or naughty?’
A bit of both . . . Tully thought, the smell of his cologne crashing into her like a cresting wave.
‘Do you need a lift home, Mrs. Hoxton?’ Brandon said.
‘A bit nice, are we?’ the old woman grinned. ‘That would be lovely, though, thank you. This crowd is a serious bore.’
Tully and Brandon helped Mrs. Hoxton to her feet, walked with her slowly to Brandon’s ute. They helped her into the back, buckled her in.
‘So, did Dad invite you?’ Brandon asked as he brought the rumbling diesel to life.
Mrs. Hoxton tipped back her head, whooping with laughter. ‘Please tell me you were trying to be polite with that question, son?’
Brandon conceited with a smile.
‘No, Lord Weston did not send me an invitation to his fancy soirée. Sneaked a look at this one’s invitation.’ She inclined her head at Tully and continued. ‘After I saw you slip it into my letterbox. Couldn’t go taking Miss Athens anything suspicious, now, could I?’ Tully couldn’t contain a giggle. ‘And I couldn’t miss an opportunity to have a snoop around the Westons’ infamous outfit.’
Brandon’s phone started ringing as they arrived at Mrs. Hoxton’s doorstep – he ignored it, reaching for the door handle.
‘No—’ Tully said, laying a hand over his forearm. ‘It could be about the colt. I’ll walk her in.’
Brandon nodded, answering the call. ‘I’ll just be a sec.’
Tully smiled and helped Mrs. Hoxton out of the back seat, out into the blowing wind, up her front steps.
‘Thank you, love,’ Mrs. Hoxton said, gripping Tully’s hand. She held Tully’s eyes, her face close to hers. ‘You be careful with that lot, ya hear, sweetheart?’
Tully nodded slowly, studying the old woman’s eyes. There was a gleam of wisdom there, right alongside the off-kilter glint.
‘And there’s no need to worry about your horses getting out again,’ Mrs. Hoxton said. ‘There is need to worry about that bastard Weston’s tyres getting slashed, though, and that colt going missing. Take care of yourself.’
‘I will, thank you,’ Tully said, her mind catching on one of the points her neighbour had just made. ‘Wait—do you know anything about our horses being let out, Mrs. Hoxton?’
She nodded, holding a finger to her lips. ‘Mr. Geortzen was over one night and we all got a bit carried away with the vino. I’m sorry, Tully. I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting you; thought your family was like that lot over there. We just meant to get a bit of attention, for the welfare of the horses in the sport—you understand, don’t you, love? I knew you’d round them up in a hurry. But I can assure you, it won’t be happening again.’
‘I see,’ Tully said, leaning back a fraction, and then relaxing – at least the woman had come clean. ‘Well, thanks for telling me, Mrs. Hoxton.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘Just, stay on your side of the fence from now on, okay?’ She winked, smiled warmly. ‘Unless you need something, of course.’
‘You’re a dear.’ Mrs. Hoxton said, patting Tully’s hand and turning for the house. ‘But remember—we had nothing to do with the things that have been happening up there. There’s malice at work in this valley, Tully. Watch your back . . .’ Her eyes wandered across her dark yard to Brandon’s ute. ‘And his.’
A trickle of fear ran down Tully’s spine and the hairs on her arms stood on end as she watched the old woman disappear into the darkness of her house. She was about to rush for the ute when Brandon hopped out, hurrying around to her.
‘Here,’
he handed her his jacket, wrapped it around her shoulders. His warm, strong fingers laced with hers as they ran through the rain, back to the ute. It was so dark in the yard, the rain coming down in sudden, drenching sheets, the wind howling through the valley and bending the trees, that Tully found herself following Brandon around to the driver’s side, not wanting to relinquish the heat of his hand. He helped her in first and she perched on the centre console as he hopped in. The rain got noticeably heavier in the time it took for Brandon to get the door closed, drumming hard on the roof and the hood of the ute.
Tully laughed at the way his drenched hair hung into his eyes. She flipped wet strands of her own away from her face as drops ran freezing cold down her face and neck.
Brandon pulled her down into his lap, her body cradled between his drenched torso and the steering wheel, his arms securing themselves around her body, holding her close.
‘I’ve thought about you constantly,’ Brandon whispered. He ran his thumb down her cheek. Leaned forward, kissing away a stream of water from the nape of her neck, along her jawline, to her lips.
Lightening spliced the sky, lighting up his face, and Tully felt the fireworks all over again, her whole body coursing with the passion and the sensual elation of being wrapped in his warmth. ‘I’m never gonna let you go again,’ he said.
‘You’d better not,’ Tully said, her hands running up the back of his neck, reaching into his coarse hair, pulling him closer.
‘Be my girlfriend, Tully,’ Brandon said. ‘Sorry if that sounds lame, but I just want it to be clear. I’m not gonna to stuff anything up this time.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’ll try your best.’ She pulled free, nipping him playfully on the ear. Brandon’s whole body tensed, his arms locking around her. Tully reached her face to his, slowly, painfully slowly – after all, she had promised herself she’d be doing some teasing tonight. She took his bottom lip between her teeth and held him there, ran her tongue over his and fixed him with a lingering kiss she hoped he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
★
The longed-for rain continued as a fast-moving cyclone battered the far north of the state, dumping over 250 millimetres in the first 48 hours in the valley – just under a quarter of their total average annual rainfall in just two days.
Water coursed over the rock-hard ground, dipping into cracks and seeping into the soil. The creek rose fast and before long the dam had risen over the banks. The horses stood idly in their stalls, ears back, water splashing in and dripping down through holes in the roof sheets. Tully stayed on at Avalon, helping her father and Bucko patch the roof of the office and tack room and sand bag around the barn. A strong torrent ran down the driveway, washing the last of the gravel away.
By the end of the second day, the creek was rushing over the far corner of the exercise track, lapping at the main road. The bottom two turnout paddocks and home corner of the track had become part of the dam, with mud and bits of grass and logs swirling around in the dangerous, rising water.
Brandon rang that morning offering to help. Tully headed down to meet him at the bottom of her driveway. She hopped into his ute, throwing back the hood of her Drizabone.
‘Wet again, I see,’ Brandon said, reaching across to kiss her full on the mouth.
Hel-lo, Tully thought. ‘Service with a smile, eh?’
Brandon chuckled. ‘So, what’s first on the agenda?’
‘We need to try and save the pump,’ Tully said, doing her best not to grin at him. ‘And the jetty, see—’ She pointed across Brandon, out his window at the jetty floating on the dam, tethered by a thin rope. The pump sat precariously on the corner, half submerged already. ‘Fences are gonna be a mess, too, I bet,’ Tully said, chewing her bottom lip.
‘Can’t just rain a bit, can it?’ Brandon sighed. ‘It’s all or nothin’ in this country.’
‘Should we get into it, Weston?’
Brandon grinned and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into his lap.
‘Oooh,’ Tully said, pecking him on the cheek. ‘My favourite spot.’
A howl of wind and drenching sheet of rain smashing against the ute was enough to get them moving. Brandon drove to higher ground, before they hopped out and headed down to the bank of the dam. He swam in to fetch the jetty first, Tully helped to haul it in. There was nothing they could do with the fences until the water receded and with the rain still bucketing, that wasn’t expected for days. The main road was flooded just past Mrs. Hoxton’s, so there was no getting into town. Tully and Brandon walked down to make sure she was okay and had enough provisions. On the way back to Avalon, they watched the Westons’ horse transporter get through to the town side, but even it seemed to be floating by the time it reached the other side of the torrential torrent.
The valley had lost power midway through the first day of rain and high winds, and the battery-powered radio Tully’s father had switched to the ABC in the office had been saying never to drive through flood waters. There was little else to do other than hunker down, keep the horses fed and amused, and try to ration the food in the pantry. Tully had already rung Gulherin six times to check on Dahlia. According to Mr. Barnes, her filly was tucked up safely in the stable, far enough away from the flooding rivers in and around Brisbane, with Peta taking extra special care of her.
Tully invited Brandon in after they’d secured the jetty and the pump and after she’d introduced him to Greg and Frangi. He’d already met Bear Dog the night at the dam, and was still a real fan. She found Brandon a dry towel in the linen cupboard, took him to her room. They giggled as they stripped off their shirts, Tully sneaking a look at that insane six-pack she’d seen on the road that day, Brandon clearly doing the same at her pink bra.
Tully quickly pulled on a shirt, tossed him her biggest T-shirt out of her top drawer. She dragged him away from her bed, down the hall to the kitchen, lighting the gas burner on the stove to heat a saucepan of water for tea.
Bucko and her father had been in the top paddock checking the fence for the cattle, bringing horses down into the spare stalls and making sure no erosion was happening behind the house that could cause a landslide. When Tully heard the work ute rumble down around the house, her heart jolted and she considered bundling Brandon back down to his ute. She’d been thinking about making the introduction, but wasn’t sure this was the right time . . . Is there a good time to tell your dad you’re dating his arch rival’s son? Tully didn’t think so. But she was done with sneaking around.
She quickly made herself and Brandon strong cups of tea and her father and Bucko a coffee each, before easing into a chair across from Brandon at the kitchen table.
‘You sure you don’t want me to go?’ Brandon said, standing up hesitantly.
‘Do you want to?’
‘No,’ he said, moving around to her. ‘I want to meet your dad, properly. As long as that’s okay?’
Tully gulped down a singing sip of tea, coughed, pounded her chest. Her father and Bucko walked in, dripping and looking stormy.
‘I appreciate you finally facing me like a man, Weston,’ Gerald said, slipping off his Akubra and his jacket, hanging them on pegs in the back sleep-out. He stepped through into the kitchen. Bucko was still frozen by the door, eyes pointed like daggers at Brandon.
‘Right, well . . .’ Tully glanced down, then back up to her father, wiping her palms on her drenched jeans. Sounds like he’s known all along!
‘Please call me Brandon, sir. If you don’t mind.’
Gerald’s eyebrows rose and he ran a hand through his thinning, salt and pepper hair. ‘Don’t want to be identified with your father,’ he said. ‘A start, I suppose.’
‘I . . . I need to get back to the horses,’ Bucko said, reaching for the door handle.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tully said, moving towards him. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.’ His eyes had gone dark, his forehead creased, eyebrows pulled together in what Tully read as concern, anger even. ‘I’m sorry, Bucko,’ she repe
ated. She’d been expecting more animosity from her father, but not so much from him, and wondered why.
‘It’s fine.’ Bucko forced a strange, hard smile, tipped his hat, then disappeared out the door.
‘Grace left,’ Gerald said, sitting down heavily across from Tully. Brandon hovered a second, then sat down beside her.
‘Oh, no,’ Tully said. ‘Poor Bucko! Wish I’d known.’
‘He’s pretty cut up about it. She moved back in with her oldies last weekend.’
‘I don’t mind helping out more here, Dad – I can ask to start a tad later, once we can get out . . .’
Gerald waved his hand, reached for his coffee, slumping down in the chair. ‘We’ll manage,’ he said. ‘We have to. Waited so long for this rain—but it’s gonna make a bloody mess of things now.’
Brandon shook his head in understanding. ‘When we needed it so bad, it’s kind of bitter sweet, eh, getting so much at once.’
Gerald nodded, slurped his coffee.
Tully snuck a breath, still waiting for an explosion from her father.
He eyed them both, then reached for the phone pad and racing pages from the last paper that had been delivered. ‘I’m not going to pretend that I’m happy about this,’ he said, flipping the paper open. ‘But you’re both adults, as far as I’m concerned. Act like ones, and we shouldn’t have a problem.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Brandon said, glancing across at Tully. ‘I’m serious about your daughter.’
‘No sleepovers, and no more sneaking around, ya hear? I want to know when you go out and what you’re up to – strange things’ve been happening around here, and I don’t want my daughter caught up in it. Any news of your yearling?’
Brandon shook his head.
‘Would be hard for you to look into it, with this rain setting in . . . Coppers rang me this morning, said they’d be out to talk more to everyone in the area once they could get to us.’ He locked eyes with Brandon. ‘So, do you support her racing?’