Fenced-In Felix

by Cheyenne Blue

She moved forwards. “I like your friends. They’re good company. But I’m rather happy they’ve all gone to Worrindi for a bit.”

  “Oh?” I knew why she said it. It was there in the half smile, in the easy confidence she wore as easily as her orange T-shirt.

  “Are you busy?” She advanced a half pace and placed her palms flat on the desk.

  I turned back towards the screen. “Emailing a builder. Then I have to mix up damper, collect firewood, and find some pots and pans that Nora can’t destroy on a fire.”

  “Sounds like a relaxing arvo.” She leant in so that her chin rested on top of the computer monitor, and my eyes flicked away from the screen again, back to Josie. Finish emailing the builder, or kiss the woman in front of me? It was no contest. With a small sigh, part longing, part anticipation, I pushed the keyboard aside and stood, placing my palms flat on the desk opposite hers. Our fingertips brushed. Our faces were level.

  “That’s better.” Amusement percolated through her voice. “I thought I’d lost you to a hairy builder named Clarkey with a plumber’s crack the size of Carnarvon Gorge.”

  “His name’s Macca. But you’re right about the rest.”

  “What, that I nearly lost you?” She rocked forwards on her hands so that her lips touched briefly on mine. I forgot to breathe.

  “No. Not that.” A slow burn started deep in my belly.

  “Then why don’t you finish that email, and then I’ll come and help you with the firewood?”

  I nodded, caught in the spell she was weaving—the heat of the day, the heat between us, the slow movement of the ceiling fan. The air was thick and heavy. It was too early in the season for it to rain, but the bigger part of my brain wasn’t thinking of the weather. More importantly, more urgently, I wondered if Josie would kiss me again. Kiss me properly.

  She rocked forwards again, pressed a kiss to my left cheek, and then moved back. The second time, her lips touched my right cheek before retreating. A third time, and they grazed my forehead.

  Josie’s lips tilted up. She had mischief in her eyes. “I wonder where to kiss this time?”

  Oh God. A thousand possibilities shifted through my mind like the flick of playing cards in the hands of a gambler. Anywhere, I wanted to shout. Anywhere that is my skin, where I can feel your lips. And at the end of that wild shuffle of images, were the ones that I couldn’t talk about out loud just yet, as we were not at that level. Her lips on my breast. My nipple. My belly.

  Lower.

  As if she read my mind, her gaze passed over my lips, down to the V-neck of my shirt. She must be able to see my bra in the gap, see my breasts. It took all my willpower not to look down to check. And then her gaze moved lower, down to where my crotch pressed against the edge of the desk.

  It was as if she had touched me. Desire flared urgently in widening ripples from my crotch up to my belly, down to my thighs, which were suddenly trembling.

  “Here, I think.” The final kiss. She rocked forwards one last time, and this time, her lips lingered on mine when they touched. She exhaled slowly, and my mouth opened under hers, and we were kissing, really kissing, with tongues and with breath and with the intermingling of sighs.

  The angle of our bodies meant we needed our hands to brace ourselves across the wide desk, but in that moment, the melding of our mouths was enough. The kiss ended, not instantly but in a slow part and return, and we touched again before we finally both retreated.

  I stared at her, lost for words. I wasn’t sure any kiss had ever made me so liquid with longing that all I wanted to do was sink to the floor and take her in my arms.

  “Finish your email,” she said, in a voice that was part croak. “Can I get a glass of water?”

  I nodded, unsure I could trust my voice.

  She disappeared through the other door that led into the house, and I returned to my email. What had I been writing about? Oh yeah, whether Macca’s price still held if I got the remaining two cabins built when he was next available. I typed slowly, my mind still spinning with Josie and all that she suddenly was. I wasn’t a fast typist at the best of times, but now my fingers fumbled on the keys, and I made mistake after mistake.

  I hit send on the email just as Josie reappeared through the door with two glasses of water in her hands. She gave one to me, and even though it was warm from the tap, it was refreshing and just what I needed to soothe my suddenly dry throat.

  I shut down the computer and moved over to where she stood looking at the photo of me grooming a pony in the barn.

  “I’m looking at your history. It’s here on this wall, right back to when you were a tiny little girl.” She pointed at a photo of me and Dad. He was mounted on a rangy stockhorse, and I was sitting in front of him, hands clutching the horse’s mane, a big smile on my face.

  I moved behind her and wrapped my hands around her waist. It meant I had to stoop, but that put my chin on the top of her head. Her hair tickled my face. “Don’t you have photos like that?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Any brothers or sisters?”

  “No, I’m an only child. I’m guessing you are too.”

  Her hair tickled my chin. “You’re right. Mum had problems with my birth, and so I’m it.”

  “It must be nice to see the pictures every day. To be surrounded by your family and their love, even if they’re not around anymore.”

  There was a wistfulness to her words. I took these photos and what they represented for granted. I was lucky.

  “I don’t see my father at all,” Josie said. “There seems little point. He’s happy with his bottle and the races, and the life he has. I didn’t see where I fit, so I stopped bothering.”

  I was silent. Families are only really known from the inside, and I didn’t have the words to respond.

  “Firewood.” Josie’s abrupt change of subject was clear; she’d said too much. She took my hands from around her waist, kissed my fingers, then let them drop, and turned to face me.

  “I heard from the bloke in the pub,” I said. “He delivered a ute and trailer load of firewood. It’s underneath the house so the campers won’t help themselves.”

  It didn’t take us long to set the fire, so we left a note in Sue and Moni’s cabin for the four of them to come over for sundowner drinks when they arrived back and went to the house to mix up the damper.

  It took all of five minutes, so I collected two beers from the fridge, and we sat on the veranda. It was a rare moment for me when I had nothing to do. No horses to tend, no campers to pander to, no cabins to clean or fences to fix. Just me and Josie and a cold beer.

  With my feet on the railing, I sipped in silence. Eventually, a cloud of dust approached the property that would either be tourists hoping for a campsite or Sue and the others arriving back. As they got closer, my friends drove slowly past the house, and Moni yelled out of the window, “Back in a few. Gotta put the meat in the fridge before it walks there of its own accord!”

  I lifted my beer in acknowledgement, and the Toyota disappeared in the direction of the campground.

  The clumping of feet on the veranda announced their return. I got up to offer beers. Everyone took them except Nora, who produced another bottle of red wine.

  “What meat did you get?” I asked.

  “Lamb chops and crocodile skewers.” Moni took a long slug of her beer, her throat working as she swallowed.

  “Crocodile? In Worrindi?” Although crocodile was sold in gourmet places and city restaurants, I’d never seen it in the Worrindi supermarket.

  Sue pressed the toe of her boot into my ankle. “Yup, weren’t we lucky?”

  “You were.”

  “Nora has to cook it.”

  “I went to the library and searched for recipes,” Nora said. “It was hard to find one that will work on a campfire, but I settled on a marinade of ginger, garlic, and sweet chilli. I think that will work.”

  “I’ve heard it tastes like chicken,” said Ger.

  I suspected an ela
borate wind-up, so I said no more. Moni started talking about a band playing in the Commercial this Friday and did I ever go. The conversation flowed while we drank our beer.

  Nora put down her glass with a thud. “I’m off for a shower before I do my gourmet chef stint. See you later.”

  The others were quick to follow, leaving Josie and me alone again on the veranda.

  “I should shower too.” When Josie pulled her T-shirt away from her skin, she revealed a strip of pale flesh. I tore my eyes away from the sight.

  “No point going now,” I said. “There’s only two female showers.” My own shower was a few steps away. Really, it seemed silly to make Josie wait. “But if you want, you can use the one here.”

  She tilted her head to regard me. “You don’t mind?”

  “No.” I pushed down the thought of Josie naked in my shower. The inch of flesh I’d just seen on her belly was only a teaser.

  “Then that would be great. Thanks. I’ll go and grab my stuff.”

  She leapt down the steps and disappeared back to the campground. I used the few minutes she was gone to take a quick pass through my bedroom and bathroom, shoving dirty clothes out of sight and even giving the shower a quick wipe. I’d just returned to the kitchen to continue my tidy up when she returned. I showed her the bathroom. “Grab whatever toiletries you need.”

  She placed her bathroom bag on the counter and pulled out shampoo, conditioner, and soap. “Thanks, I’m good.” A disposable razor followed. I thought of that razor sliding over the smooth skin and firm muscles of her calves and tried not to think of what else she might be shaving.

  I returned to the kitchen and attempted to clean up, but my mind wouldn’t relinquish the image of Josie in my shower. It wasn’t made easier by the memory of the last woman who’d been there—Sue. Back then, I’d walked in and joined her, but Sue had made it obvious that she’d welcomed it, and I’d known from the outset that we would only have a night or two together.

  With Josie, I wasn’t so sure. Yes, we’d kissed, but we also had a business relationship. The money she paid me for Flame was important, and I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by mixing business with pleasure.

  My feet dragged on the floor as I moved from the sink to the bench, washing, drying, and putting away items. The shower was loud, and my imagination stuttered on the thought of Josie in there, her brown curls flattened by the water, the soap slick against her skin. I clenched my fist on the tea towel. No. Don’t go in there.

  The sound of running water stopped. She would be towelling dry, wiping my faded old towel down her body about now. Maybe she was studying my meagre collection of toiletries, maybe taking a squirt of my supermarket-brand body lotion, smoothing it on areas dried by the sun. Or maybe she was the sort who moisturised everywhere. Then she would brush her teeth and tug a wide-toothed comb through that mass of hair. Maybe she whistled under her breath as she got dressed.

  Desire hit me hard, a wallop, a clench, a thunderstruck moment. I stood at the bench, the tea towel still twisted between my fingers.

  “Those dishes won’t dry themselves.” Mum’s voice resonated in my head, but still I remained rooted to the floor.

  I don’t know what would have happened if there hadn’t been footsteps on the veranda. Sue appeared with Ripper at her heels.

  “Nora sent me,” she said. “She wants to know if you have any sesame oil she can use.”

  My blank stare must have been answer enough, as Sue said, “I thought not. Nora wants it for the marinade for the ‘crocodile.’ She’ll have to manage without. If she makes it through the evening without setting fire to herself, it will be a bloody miracle.” Sue’s gaze snapped to the doorway behind me, and she said, “Hi, Josie.”

  I turned. Josie was in the doorway, drying her hair on my old towel. She’d changed out of her mauve jeans and now wore the pair of brief shorts I’d seen the first time I met her in the pub.

  “Can Nora actually cook?” asked Josie, who had obviously caught Sue’s remark. “Or should we have a frozen pizza backup plan?”

  Going by the way her lips twitched, Sue had obviously made her own interpretation of Josie’s presence in my shower. “She can, actually. Pretty well. But that’s in a kitchen with modern appliances and a gas cooker where you can control the heat. She’s never cooked on an open fire before. It could be interesting.”

  I gestured to my pantry. “Take what you want. I’m going to have my shower, then I’ll come over.”

  I left them to it.

  CHAPTER 10

  By the time I got to the campground, the others already had a roaring fire going. Nora presided over a camp table full of chopped vegetables and mysterious spices that drew my attention, and she opened the lid of an esky at her feet to show me containers of meat.

  “Kangaroo steaks with onion, saffron, chilli, capsicum and lime juice.” There were also lamb chops and some skewers that looked like chicken, although Nora said they were crocodile kebabs. In addition, she was preparing coleslaw, and foil-wrapped spuds were already roasting on the edge of the fire.

  Moni came up and handed me a beer. “Our master chef’s waiting for the fire to burn to embers.”

  Ger and Josie were deep in conversation on the far side of the fire, and some of the other campers wandered over with chairs and drinks.

  Considering Nora was working with unusual ingredients on a camp table, she seemed well in control. She crushed garlic with the back of her knife and added it to a bowl with a good splash of soy sauce, powdered ginger, and a dollop of honey.

  “This is for the crocodile kebabs.” She took a mouthful from her glass. I was learning that Nora and wine went together like, well, kangaroo and saffron. Whatever that was.

  “You must cook a lot at home.” I took a swig of my beer. “Do you need a hand?”

  “I’m fine, but thanks for asking. I like to cook. I’ve never cooked kangaroo or crocodile before, though.” She whisked the marinade with a fork, then peered suspiciously at me. “I know it’s really kangaroo, as I was at Sue’s when this big dusty station hand appeared in a ute with a dead kangaroo on the back and asked if we wanted any. Mrs T, Sue and Moni’s housekeeper, had skinned it before you could say ‘roadkill’, and Ripper had eaten…well, something. But these crocodile skewers… The internet says that crocodile meat is firm and fine grained. This looks like chicken to me. And it wouldn’t be the first time my dear friends have tried to pull a fast one.”

  I kept my face neutral. “You’re asking the wrong person. It’s too expensive for me to eat.”

  “So you don’t have a Crocodile Dundee type with corks around her hat and a machete in her belt to hunt one for you?”

  “Not around here.” I waved a hand at the dry landscape. “You have to go north to the Gulf to find them.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “But just because it wasn’t shot here, doesn’t mean it isn’t croc.” I pointed to the salad. “Most of our foodstuff is trucked in. It’s cattle country around here, not mung bean farms.”

  “Good point. I’ll just have to trust them. Can you take my photo?” She nodded at her phone. “No phone signal, so I may as well use it as a camera.”

  I took her photo with Moni’s akubra on her head and a pile of steaks in front of her, the dry landscape behind.

  “Thanks.” She studied the result. “Survivor, here I come.”

  There was now a small group around the fire. Sue had raked out some embers for people to cook on, and a couple of the other campers were already grilling chops. The smell of barbecued meat made my mouth water.

  Nora was very efficient as she lined her steaks up on the griddle, and they were soon sizzling. Only one steak fell into the dirt.

  I did the rounds of the campers who had come to join us. I didn’t want them to feel unwelcome. I’d been outside of enough cliques as a child to know how that felt. I wanted guests to have a good experience at Jayboro, and including them in the activities was a good start.

  J
osie was ahead of me, though. It seemed as though she could talk to anyone: the couple from somewhere in America, the family with young children who had taken a year out of their lives to go around Australia, the backpackers from some Eastern European country who spoke little English. My own attempts were stilted compared to her ease.

  Luckily, Nora called that the food was ready, so I didn’t have to struggle for too long.

  There was enough for everyone, and even though I hadn’t said to the campers that there would be food, Sue took plates around to everyone at the fire.

  It was good. It was better than good. The kangaroo steaks—which could have ended up dry if not cooked correctly—were melt-in-the mouth tender. Nora hadn’t gone overboard with the chilli—it added a bite to the taste and no more.

  Moni put down her empty plate and sat back. “That was amazing, Nora. Can you stay with us forever and cook?”

  Nora flapped a hand, although she was obviously pleased by Moni’s words. “Mrs T might have something to say about that.”

  “You’ll have to give me the recipe for the marinade on the chick—er, the crocodile.” Sue covered her slip well, but Nora was onto her like Ripper onto a bacon rind.

  “So it was chicken! You had me convinced.” She stuck her hands on her hips and glared, but her lips twitched. “Good try.” She picked up the steak that had fallen in the dirt and threw it at Sue, who dodged. The steak landed at Ripper’s feet and the next minute was spent prising it out of the dog’s eager jaws. After all, as Sue said, chilli and Ripper didn’t agree, and it would be better for everyone if he didn’t eat it.

  I glanced around at the campers, wondering what they would make of the banter and fireside laughter, and found they were all smiling. Even the young backpackers from Eastern Europe looked like they were enjoying themselves as they nibbled the pieces of chicken from the skewers.

  My plate was empty. I left the fireside laughter where Sue was trying to persuade Nora that chickodile was a legitimate food, which was so tasty that Aussies kept it for themselves. I took my beer and walked into the darkness away from the fire. The glow dimmed behind me, and I kept going until the chatter was muted. I leant against a tree and rested my head on the trunk.