She appeared around the corner of the veranda a few minutes later. Her face shone with sweat and her curls clung damply to her forehead.
“Tell me again why I’m working in an outback pub at the hottest time of the year and spending my time off outside in the heat?” She slumped in the chair opposite me and lifted her hair from the back of her neck.
“Because you’re proving how well you fit into my life.” I grinned to take the seriousness out of the words. “And this is my life. Heat and dust and floods and snakes and lack of air con.”
“Oh yeah. There is that.” Her gaze switched to the sandwiches. “These look great, and I’m starved.”
I went back to get iced water and glasses. When I returned, she was midway through a second sandwich, and she paused long enough to gulp water.
“Thanks.” She lifted the sandwich. “This is nice of you. I have only some odds and ends in the fridge in the camp kitchen. Nothing as good as this.”
“Anytime. You help me all the time.”
“I like to, Felix, really. I’m not one to sit around doing nothing, and that’s exactly what I’d be doing if I stayed in Worrindi on my days off. I’d prop my elbows on the bar and drink beer until I drowned in it.” She picked up a piece of tomato that fell out of her sandwich and ate it anyway. The five-second rule. “Thank you for inviting me up to meet your friends. They’re such lovely people. Lots of fun.” She touched my arm. “Nice to be around queer people. The people in Worrindi are great, mind you. Great and straight.”
I chuckled, and she continued. “I like the sense of belonging I get around other lesbians. Shared experience maybe, I don’t know. But I can see you know what I’m talking about.”
I nodded. I did know only too well. Apart from Sue and Moni, there were very few lesbians around. Maybe they all left, went to the city. Maybe there were a few still closeted. But whatever the reason, in this isolated area, there was little chance for interaction.
Sometimes, I thought about looking further afield, at a bigger place. Even the Isa would offer rich pickings compared to here. There was a wider world out there. Maybe I should seek it out.
But the thought of bar hopping, looking for a partner or a one-night stand, filled me with dread. No worries if it worked for others; I certainly wasn’t judging. I’d had the occasional one night stand when I’d got lucky. But it wasn’t really me.
No, any relationship I had, if I were lucky enough to get that far, would probably have to be with someone who enjoyed rural life as much as I did.
I’d been silent with my thoughts while Josie polished off her sandwich, and mine was nearly untouched.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yes. Just thinking.” I took a bite of my sandwich. Josie’s expression was one of interest. “Thinking that maybe I can get a start on the third cabin soon. I was thinking of putting it a bit further away, on the rise. Better view, and the guests might like that.”
Josie nodded. “Less chance of getting flooded too.”
So she was attuned to the land enough to realise that. Most city people didn’t think of that. They saw the wide brown outback and thought it was always like this. They focused on the “drought” and forgot the “flooding rains” part mentioned in one of Australia’s popular songs.
“That too,” I said.
“If you faced the cabins to the northwest,” Josie said, “away from the campground, the view would be better. It would compound that whole remote feel. The two existing cabins overlook the campground, which is lovely most of the time. But if there were a huge motorhome parked in the middle, it would really spoil the view.”
“I thought it might be too hot with a westerly aspect.”
Josie gestured to the veranda we were sitting on. “This return veranda includes a westerly side. You just walk around to the part that’s coolest. If you could stretch to putting an L shape veranda on the cabins, north-west and north-east, it would give people a choice, and the shade from the roof would help keep the cabin cool.”
She had a good point. I was so used to how things were that I hadn’t thought what a small change like that could mean. Once again, Josie’s fresh eyes had come up with something obvious that I’d failed to see.
“That’s a great idea.”
“Glad you like it.”
I took another bite of sandwich. “You have the best ideas.”
She shook her head, but I continued. “I mean it. Obviously I am completely lacking in imagination.”
She moved in front of me, placed her hands on my thighs and leant forwards to kiss me. The kiss was long and soft and slow and started a lazy burn of arousal in my belly. Josie pulled away. “I have absolutely no doubts about the strength of your imagination, Felix. I just hope one day I get to find out just how creative you can be.”
The heat in her eyes could have started a bushfire, and I dragged a deep, shuddering breath.
“One day.”
CHAPTER 12
When I went online the next morning to check for bookings, I found an email from Sue.
Hi Felix,
Thank you so much for putting up with the four of us. As always, Moni and I really enjoyed seeing you, and I hope we can catch up again soon. We’ll bring the campervan next time, when it’s just the two of us.
Nora and Ger send their love and say that they had the best time. Your cabin was perfect for them: homey enough that they were comfortable, different enough that they felt they had a real outback experience. They loved the campfire too—I do hope you continue with them. They’re a great idea.
Nora’s seen the funny side of the whole crocodile thing, of course. She’s not one to sulk! But she says to tell you if you’re ever in London, she’s going to take you to a restaurant where they serve the world’s weirdest foods. I can’t remember everything she mentioned, but there was clam juice and squid ink and blue mushrooms.
We really enjoyed meeting Josie too. She’s lovely, Felix, and if it’s going the way it looks to be going, I hope it works out for you. She seems very comfortable in your world.
Finally, before I sign off, there’s one other thing I said I’d pass on. Ger’s brother, Young Seánie, emailed again about Flame. The email was waiting for Ger when we got back to Mungabilly Creek. Young Seánie is a bit of a strange one, and he’s big into his internet conspiracy theories. (If you want to waste an hour of your life, ask him what he thinks about the lunar landing. Let’s just say he thinks it’s Hollywood’s greatest production ever.) But he does know his racehorses. He sent a couple more photos of that horse that went missing, Fiery Lights, and even I have to say that Flame is the spit of her. Young Seánie is convinced Flame is Fiery Lights, despite Ger telling him it was all a joke. Fiery Lights is still missing, BTW.
I’m not saying Josie’s mixed up in anything shady, not knowingly—she doesn’t seem the type to me—but do you know that all racehorses are microchipped? A unique identifier. I’m not saying you should be suspicious, but if you could get hold of a microchip reader, you could eliminate any possible doubt.
Anyway, now that I’ve wrecked your day by saying that, I have to go. Moni left early this morning for the Isa—she’s attending a rural medicine workshop at her old stomping ground, the Flying Doctor base. I have no idea what they can do in a day, but it keeps her up-to-date. And she’s promised to stop by the Asian grocers there and stock up for me. I’m making a slow-cooked beef massaman for Nora and Ger’s last night here. It’s their favourite, but I’m using kangaroo instead of beef. I’ve still got kilos of it in the freezer.
Moni and I hope to see you soon. And thank you again for your hospitality.
Love, Sue xo
She’d attached a couple of photos of Fiery Lights. I studied them carefully, mentally comparing Flame’s markings to those of the missing horse. Same bright chestnut coat, same thin white stripe down her face, same white socks at the rear, but looking at the new photos, I thought that Flame’s socks went a little higher. Flame had filled out sin
ce she’d been with me, and she now was plumper than the racehorse. I searched the internet, coming up with a database that gave more stats about her. Fiery Lights was a five-year-old. Josie had said Flame was seven, but when I’d looked at her teeth, she’d seemed younger than that.
But really, the whole thing seemed like a bizarre coincidence. Why would a valuable racehorse be hidden in outback Queensland? Unless Fiery Lights was in foal, I suddenly wondered. A foal from such a mare would potentially be worth a lot of money and if the mare was in foal, then keeping her in a backwater where she was unlikely to be recognised would make sense. Flame was looking quite plump, but I didn’t think it was the plumpness of pregnancy. I resolved to take a closer look at her later.
Then the phone rang, and my musing was cut short by an enquiry about the cabins from the tourist information centre in Winton, a good six hours away. The lady asked if she could book a cabin for some tourists who were standing in front of her right then with a creased brochure in their hands that they’d picked up in a pub somewhere. Sure, I said, and was able to book them in for a couple of days’ time. I also said I’d mail some brochures to the helpful lady in Winton to add to their display racks.
My unease over Flame evaporated in the workload of the day.
The spring heat was growing, and as I’d predicted, I was getting fewer tourists coming to stay. Even fewer motorhomes turned off the highway to follow my sign, and hardly any tent campers. Even at this time of year, it could be stifling, especially in a tent.
With no visitors, I finished my daily chores earlier and retreated to the relative coolness of the office to catch up on accounts. Things were looking positive, more than I dared to hope. I again thought of the builder in the Isa I’d yet to hear back from with a starting date. Hopefully he would respond soon.
It was late afternoon when I finished. On a whim, I decided to go for a ride. Just me and Patch, my favourite horse. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone out by myself.
I went to catch her. Flame ambled up and nudged me in the side, hoping for a scratch. I obliged, and she closed her eyes in pleasure, lower lip hanging loose. When I stopped, she put her head up and lipped at my hair, tickling my cheek. I patted her neck. She was a beautiful horse, and so good-natured. For a moment, I thought about taking her instead of Patch. But no. Josie had said it wasn’t a good idea, and despite my horse sense saying otherwise, I had to respect the owner’s wishes.
If Josie was Flame’s owner.
If Flame was indeed a too-slow ex-racehorse from South Australia and not the missing multi-million dollar horse Fiery Lights.
That reminded me of my earlier thought that Flame might be in foal. I took a careful look at her. I was no expert, although I did have some idea of what to look for, but to me, she looked like a contented lazy animal with a hay belly on her.
I left her with a final scratch of her poll. Patch was delighted to be caught, and I led her by the forelock to the barn, where I gave her a quick brush and bridled her. I rode her bareback for a change, and soon we were jogging along the fence line towards the creek.
With the fierce heat of the day gone, the landscape had a burnished orange glow from the slanting rays of the dying sun. It was still hot but not unbearably so. A flock of galahs wheeled overhead, their cries loud and urgent. A goanna raced up a tree away from the perceived threat of Patch’s hooves, and a mob of ’roos stirred for the evening from their daytime position under a tree in the shade. I came around a patch of mulga to find myself face-to-face with the patriarch, a big red ’roo. He stood directly in my way as he assessed me and Patch. He must have been nearly two metres tall, and while he was unlikely to be a threat, I drew Patch to a halt. She’d seen enough ’roos in her life not to worry, and we stood still and watched the big red as he regarded us, nostrils flaring to catch our scent. After a few minutes, he obviously figured we were no danger, and hopped off back to his mob.
I pushed Patch into a fast canter, and we swept along the track, red sand puffing under Patch’s hooves.
It was a lovely time to ride. We slowed to a walk, and dawdled along. I usually rode in the mornings. Out of habit, I acknowledged. No other reason. Now I wondered if dusk rides would be popular with the campers. Not everyone rose early, and there was often more wildlife to be seen in the evenings. I’d give it a go.
It was close to dark when I got back and, after turning Patch out, I went back to the house.
Flame was still on my mind. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat on the veranda, looking west to where the desert stretched for ever. Sue’s suggestion of borrowing a microchip reader and checking if Flame’s microchip identified her as Fiery Lights made sense, but doing that made me uneasy. If I did, it was an admission that I didn’t trust Josie. She’d told me Flame was hers. If I tested that, the implication was that I didn’t believe her.
But that was exactly what I was thinking. There were tiny things that didn’t add up about Josie and Flame. Separately, they were nothing. Together, they cast doubt on her story, especially in light of the photos Young Seánie had sent of Fiery Lights.
I ticked them off in my head: Flame wasn’t the seven-year-old that Josie had said—she was closer to five, the age of Fiery Lights. Her tack was yet to arrive, and Josie didn’t seem bothered about chasing it up. Maybe there was no tack. Josie didn’t want to ride her horse. That was a big one. Maybe she’d been told not to ride the valuable horse. She was paying good money to keep her here in an out-of-the-way place when there were places closer to Worrindi. Places where Josie could visit her more often. I snorted softly. I couldn’t fool myself that Josie kept Flame here because of me. I wasn’t much of a drawcard, for all that we were forging a rapport and an attraction.
Then the biggest reason of all: Flame’s uncanny resemblance to the stolen racehorse.
I wanted to trust Josie. I liked her, and I counted her as a friend. And maybe, one day, we would be more. The potential was there, burning bright between us. But trust was important to me; indeed, a lot of outback Queensland still operated on the old-fashioned principle of a handshake to seal a deal.
I should walk back inside, pick up the phone and call Narelle in the post office. Her husband, Alain, was a vet. He was the person I called when I needed a vet for my horses. He might well have a microchip reader. Maybe he would let me borrow it.
And not ask too many questions, a little voice in my head whispered. Because if I borrowed the microchip reader, if Flame’s microchip matched that of Fiery Lights, then I had a big decision to make: would I put friendship and trust over a block of evidence?
I laid my head back on the back of the chair. It shouldn’t be difficult. Did I trust Josie? Or at least trust her enough to give her the benefit of the doubt for a little longer? The things I should do rattled around in my head, and top of the heap was the simple fact that if I suspected a crime, I should call the police.
And what about my part in this? If Flame was that racehorse, then I was harbouring stolen goods. Unknowingly until this point, but now I didn’t have that excuse. But still I hesitated. Maybe it was the way I’d been brought up, always to see the best in people. All I had was a string of coincidences and supposition. That wasn’t enough to make me pick up the phone.
I would leave it another few days, until I next saw Josie. Then I would ask her about my suspicions and see what she said. It may not be the most sensible way; indeed, I was possibly about to be the idiot who tipped off a criminal. But it was the way that I was most comfortable with. I didn’t want to go behind her back. Not yet, anyway.
CHAPTER 13
Despite my resolution to let things sit for a while, I spent the next two days stomping around in a bad mood. The only booking was for one of the cabins—a couple who stayed only a single night, but left the place in a huge mess. Dirty dishes, a frying pan burnt so badly I would need to replace it, and even a tear in one of the sheets.
Obviously, I was a bad judge of people; when they’d arrived, I’d thought
they were a sweet young couple.
It was four days before Josie got a day off, and by then I was as jumpy as a bag of tree frogs. Long and complicated scenarios had played out in my head over those four days. Most of them involved the police. But I’d stuck to my decision to give Josie a chance to explain first.
My mood had swung between total belief in what she had told me about Flame and the conviction that she’d played me for a fool and that she was involved in some thieving ring, right up to her pretty neck.
She tracked me down at the barn. Knowing she was coming, I’d brought Patch, Ben and Flame in and I’d brushed all three off before she arrived, so I used the extra time to scrub out the mangers.
“Hi.”
Even though I was expecting her, she still took me by surprise, and I startled, banging my head on the ring that was used to tie haynets.
She entered the stall and moved as if to kiss me. I ducked down with the scrubbing brush again. One part of me craved her kisses, but a bigger part didn’t want to touch her. Not while there was so much hanging between us.
She rested an elbow on the bar. “I’ll tack up. Which one do you want me to ride today? Patch?”
I straightened and put down the scrubbing brush. “No, I’ll ride Patch. You can ride Flame.” I pinned her with a steady gaze, watching for her reaction.
She smiled. “Felix, no. I’m still not comfortable with that idea. I’ve told you why.”
“Then I’ll ride her. It’s time one of us did.”
Fenced-In Felix Page 12