Country Roads

by Nicole Hurley-Moore

  ‘He won’t last, you know – they never do.’

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’ Maggie leant against the fridge and glared at Jack.

  ‘It means there’s no point waving that boy under Bec’s nose. He’ll only be here a while and then he’ll hightail it back to the city. That type always does.’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘That type? Darling, you have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  Jack made a humphing sound under his breath. ‘Of course I do. Look, he seemed decent enough, but he’s not what our girl needs. Matt Harvey doesn’t know a damn thing about the land and how to live off it. In Bec’s case, he’d be neither use nor ornament.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake. Just because Bec runs this place doesn’t mean that she has to fall for a farmer. She’s perfectly capable of managing things all by herself. You sound like you’ve just stepped out of an old 1950s movie.’

  ‘Look, I didn’t say it the right way. I know that Bec can handle herself. What I meant to say is that it would be good if she had someone she could depend on – someone who knew about the land and could support her. That’s all. What’s he going to do if there’s an emergency – write an article about it? Harvey doesn’t know a single thing about farming or sheep or the land or—’

  ‘Yeah, I get the picture, Jack. But let’s face it, this town isn’t exactly brimming with eligible blokes, is it.’

  ‘There’re a few around.’

  ‘None of whom Bec finds vaguely interesting. She’s rejected them all – twice over. She grew up with most of them and there aren’t any fireworks.’

  ‘There don’t have to be fireworks.’

  Maggie arched an eyebrow and didn’t even bother to respond.

  ‘She should get back together with the Turner boy. At least he knows his way around a farm.’

  ‘There’s a whole lot more to love than knowing your way around a farm.’

  ‘Well, you fell in love with me.’

  ‘Yes, but not because you could raise sheep. Honestly, Jack, I really wonder what’s going on in your head sometimes. The heart wants what the heart wants – I’m putting another option in front of Bec, that’s all. Nothing may come of it but I thought I’d give it a go.’

  ‘Matt Harvey is a bloody show pony.’

  ‘Why, because he’s not wearing worn-out jeans and work boots?’

  ‘He’s a blow-in.’

  ‘So are a lot of people. That just means our town isn’t going to shrivel up and die.’

  ‘Yeah, but there’s a difference. Most of the others are young families or retirees – they’re looking for something else. You know what I mean, like a good place to raise a family or live out their retirement. Harvey is different – those artistic types always are.’

  Maggie shook her head and laughed. ‘God, you make poor Matt sound like another species. You’re unbelievable sometimes, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Look, he might be a good bloke . . . underneath . . . but he doesn’t belong here. He’ll get sick of the quietness of the place and go back to the city.’

  ‘Did he tell you this?’

  ‘Well, no – hadn’t spoken to him until you brought him here on Thursday.’

  ‘So you gleaned all of that from a one-minute conversation that you basically grunted through.’

  ‘I didn’t grunt.’

  ‘Maybe not, but you gave one-word answers every time he tried to start up a conversation with you. You were rude – admit it.’

  Jack shrugged. ‘Maybe, but I just didn’t want to encourage him. He doesn’t have a chance in hell with Bec.’

  ‘That, my love, is not up to you.’

  ‘She wouldn’t be interested in someone like him.’

  Maggie finally lost her temper. ‘Oh shut up, Jack – you don’t know anything about him. It’s not fair to make assumptions like that. And besides, he’s a man, not a boy. I reckon he’s older than you were when you asked me to marry you.’

  ‘Yeah, well that was different.’

  ‘How exactly was it different?’

  ‘It just was.’

  Maggie just shook her head and turned back to the counter. Silence hovered over the kitchen for a moment and then began to stretch out. Jack angled his wheelchair and looked at the handful of groceries still on the bench.

  ‘You making something?’

  ‘Yes. I’m whipping up a couple of pavlovas and I’ll be getting Bec to drop one of them over to Matt’s place.’

  ‘You just don’t give up, do you?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Maggie said as she looked over her shoulder and gave him a small smile. ‘That’s one of the reasons you fell in love with me.’

  Jack turned his wheelchair and rolled towards the lounge room. ‘It won’t do any good. Mark my words, he’ll eventually leave – there’s nothing here in White Gum Creek that would make him stay.’

  ***

  Bec frowned as she slowly drove her motorbike behind a mob of sheep. Her mind should have been on rounding them up and moving them through two paddocks and down to the shearing shed. Jamie and couple of other farmhands she’d paid were coming in for the next few days to help her.

  Sheep, particularly Bec’s thick-fleeced Merinos, needed to be crutched to prevent them getting flyblown. The dirty wool and dags would be cut away from each sheep’s nether regions, which made life more pleasant for the sheep and meant it was less likely to fall victim to flystrike. She’d hired a shearing team to come in next week for that purpose. But before that, she needed to get the sheep into the bottom paddock.

  The problem was that her mind was far away from the paddocks, the sheep and their dung. Today, all her thoughts kept gravitating back to Matt. There was something there, a feeling, a tug that made Bec linger on the thought of him.

  She knew that if she had any sense at all she’d put him out of her mind, because they had nothing in common. Plus they had enough baggage between them to sink a ship. Whether Matt was running away or just making a fresh start in White Gum Creek, it was obvious that he’d been through hell. Could she take him on; did she dare? And was she feeling attraction or was it sympathy? Bec knew what it was like to live with the after-effects of a devastating accident – so was her growing soft spot for Matt just a reflection of her understanding of the pain it caused?

  ***

  Matt was feeling pretty pleased with himself. He had made it through his first season at the cottage. Autumn was over and winter was beginning to make its presence felt; the underlying warmth that had been present ever since Matt had arrived at White Gum Creek seemed to have disappeared overnight. It had been replaced with a crisp chill that seemed to permeate the cottage and Matt’s clothing. It had rained a few times since his water tank had been installed, but not the deep soaking sort of rain that settled in all day, the sort the farmers were waiting for.

  Over the past couple of nights Matt had sat on the couch and watched the dancing flames in the grate. He realised that with each fire he managed to light there came a small sense of achievement. With the fire in the lounge room and the small pot-belly stove in his office, the cottage became warm and cosy.

  Everything seemed to be coming together, just like his new set of skills. Since moving in, Matt had painted the interior of the cottage a soft white. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most inspiring of colours, but it lightened up the once-neglected space. He’d built a fence and a goat house, replanted the garden and started an orchard. Matt was beginning to feel that he had a handle on rural living.

  That was until this morning, when he went to the newly delivered woodpile near the back gate. Old Mr Wentworth and his grandson had come yesterday afternoon and tipped the load of timber just inside the gate. Matt had spent about twenty minutes stacking it into a neat pile, but the evening had started to close in and he’d decided to finish off the chore in the morning.

  Matt started stacking the wood. He let his mind wander as he breathed in the cold air which was scented from the wood smoke from his
chimney. The pale sun shone down on the dew-wet grass, and in the nearby gum a magpie sang. It was a perfect country morning. He picked up a large log with both hands and it took him a second to register that there was something moving under his right palm. Whatever it was, it was warm and squirmy. Matt pulled his hand away just in time to see a large huntsman spider fan out from its hiding place.

  Matt let out a yell, dropped the log and jumped back. He slipped on the wet grass and landed heavily on his backside. He lay there for a moment, stunned, but the sensation of eight little feet running over the back of his hand brought him quickly back to reality. He snatched his hand back and sat up just in time to see the spider scampering off towards the fence.

  ‘Yeah, just keep going, buddy.’

  Matt stood up. His bum hurt, not to mention his leg and his dignity. The only upside was that at least no one had seen him tussle with the spider and come off second best. He turned around and went back to the cottage. The woodpile could wait; he needed at least one coffee to compose himself.

  ***

  On Saturday night, Matt stepped out of his car and glanced up and down the near-empty street. The only cars about were the half-dozen that were parked outside the Black Sheep. Other than that, the place was a ghost town. The quietness and the isolation of White Gum Creek took a bit of getting used to. All things considered, he was starting to like the quietness and the isolation of White Gum Creek. Even if he couldn’t get a decent cup of coffee 24/7, with each passing day it felt more and more like home.

  As it turned out, every third Saturday was poker night. Tonight Matt was meeting Davey at the pub to pick up the drinks. Matt had begun to look forward to the regular catch-up with the guys, which surprised him a bit, as it had been a long time since he’d felt any inclination to be social. In the year after the accident, his parents had tried to get him back out into the world by hosting a string of lunches, dinners and ‘accidental’ meetings, but he’d only ended up feeling stressed and pressured and withdrawing further into himself. They loved him and they’d meant it kindly, he knew that, but they had expected him to get up and carry on with his life, and had not been able to comprehend that he was a very different man from the one he had been before. They were horrified when he quit his job and appalled when he suggested that he might move out of the city altogether.

  Matt was just crossing the deserted street and heading to the pub when he heard a whistle behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the figure of Zane Turner hurrying to catch up.

  ‘Hey, Harvey – how ya going?’

  Matt had made it across the road and leant against the cool facade of the old pub.

  ‘I’m good – you?’

  ‘Never better. Listen, I thought I might have a word, if that’s okay?’

  Matt shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘Um, I guess it might be a bit personal. By now you’ve probably heard that Bec and I were together.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard.’ Matt frowned. He wasn’t sure where this was going and it seemed a really odd way to start a conversation.

  ‘I just wanted to tell you that there’s something between us. Look, we’re not together . . . yet. But I thought I should be honest with you. You’re new in town and I’d hate for you to get your hopes up when it comes to Bec.’

  Matt met Zane’s eyes. How weird, he thought. He’d never been warned off before. Part of him was highly amused that Zane thought he could actually speak for Bec. Bec Duprey was the most straight-talking woman he’d ever met. As if she wouldn’t have the balls to tell him exactly what she did or didn’t want? This joker was talking about her as though she were a small child instead of an adult who knew her own mind. Matt bit back a grin as he pictured how Bec would react to the situation. Just then, a car pulled up in front of the pub and a middle-aged couple got out. Matt stepped away from the door to let them pass. The man gave Matt and Zane a brief nod as he walked by. The woman stopped halfway through the front door and started fumbling in her bag.

  Matt turned back to Zane.

  ‘I see, and does Bec feel the same way?’

  ‘I’m sure she does. As I said, we’ve got some history between us – seems a shame to throw it away.’

  ‘Well, good luck with that,’ Matt said with a shake of his head as he turned to go into the pub.

  Zane grabbed his arm and stopped him. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘Just that I would never presume to tell Bec who to see and what to feel. She’s quite capable of looking after herself, and who she goes out with is entirely up to her.’ Matt pulled his arm out of Zane’s grip.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Exactly what I said – it’s Bec’s decision, and you shouldn’t go around pretending to speak for her.’

  ‘Listen, mate, I was just being neighbourly. That’s over now – stay away from Bec. That’s the last time I mention it.’

  ‘Thank God for that, because you were in danger of becoming a cliché. Seriously, Turner, grow up and stop acting like some pathetic schoolyard bully.’ Matt walked into the pub and this time Zane didn’t stop him.

  Matt walked past the couple who had been lingering in the doorway, and they looked a little embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping. The man gave Matt a tentative smile as he passed. Matt found Davey at the bar waiting for him.

  ‘Hey, Matt, how’s the day been?’ Davey asked cheerfully, gently slapping Matt on the back as he sat down on a bar stool.

  ‘Pretty good until I had an altercation with Zane Turner.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Just now. He warned me to stay away from Bec because they have a history and he doesn’t want me to be disappointed.’

  Davey gave him a wide-eyed stare. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’

  ‘Nup, that was pretty much it – the whole conversation in a nutshell.’ Matt turned to the barman and ordered a beer.

  Davey let out a low whistle. ‘That’s really interesting because as far as I know Bec wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.’

  ‘That’s what I thought too, but obviously Turner doesn’t agree.’

  ***

  Bec was working up in the top paddock, poisoning the cape weed that was threatening to take over. This was her least favourite place at Bluestone Ridge. There was nothing wrong with the land; it just had the misfortune of being in close proximity to Cara Downs, and being there tended to stir up unpleasant memories in Bec.

  She glanced past the row of gums along the fence line as a movement caught her eye.

  ‘Oh shit,’ she whispered under her breath as Zane Turner rode into view. At first she thought he was just taking his roan stallion, Captain, for a spin. But a frown creased her forehead when she realised that he was opening the tiny gate and heading her way. Damn it, why had her father been so insistent that they keep the gate? For the past several years she’d been trying to have it taken out and replaced by a very strong fence that would keep the bloody Turners off Bluestone Ridge. But each time she brought up the subject of the gate, her father would dismiss it.

  ‘That gate’s been there ever since the Dupreys settled the land. It’s part of the history of the place and we’re not touching it. It’s not as if the Turners are going to use it anyway. I don’t see why you’ve got a bee in your bonnet.’

  Bec’s frown deepened as she watched Zane ride through the gate and head towards her. Yeah, this was just another example of the Turners not using the gate. Zane reined in Captain a couple of feet from Bec.

  ‘Lovely morning, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re trespassing,’ Bec said as she walked past him and shut the back of the ute.

  ‘Aw, come on, Bec. Don’t be like that.’ Zane gave her one of his most devastating smiles. It was wasted on her, it really was.

  ‘What do you want, Zane? I’m busy and have to get on.’

  ‘Always in such a rush.’

  ‘You of all people should know that a farm doesn’t run itself. Spit it out – wha
t do you want?’

  He swung out of the saddle and moved closer. Bec stood her ground and glared back.

  ‘Nothing . . . well, that is, I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner or something? Look, I know that you’ve got every right to be mad at me. I understand that I was a jerk. My only defence is that I was young and stupid – really, really stupid.’

  Bec arched an eyebrow. ‘And that’s your defence?’

  ‘It’s true. I didn’t see what I had.’

  He moved even closer. Bec reached out and patted Captain’s neck. It wasn’t the horse’s fault that his owner was a complete and utter shit.

  ‘Hmmm, you mean dangling two women at the same time?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Of course it was. The real truth was that you only wanted me because of Bluestone Ridge. That hurt, Zane – it really did – but believe me, I’m over it now.’

  ‘So you forgive me?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘Please, Bec, I need you to forgive me. I feel awful about everything that went down and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t wish I had acted better than I did. I hurt you and I’m ashamed of it.’

  Bec looked up into the face she used to love. He looked sincere, but then again, Zane had always been a good actor. A voice inside her screamed at her not to be taken in again. She knew what he was and that he’d never change. Sure, he was sorry; he always was when he’d been caught out at something.

  ‘Fine, I’ll go as far as saying that I will try to be civil to you. We’re both adults and should act it.’

  ‘Thanks, Bec,’ he said as he laid his hand over hers. ‘That means the world to me.’

  She snatched her hand back. ‘Just because we can be civil to each other doesn’t mean I want to take up where we left off.’

  ‘Look, I know I’ve got so much to make up to you – a whole four years’ worth. I will, I promise.’

  ‘You don’t have to do a damn thing for me – except get off my land.’

  ‘Please, Bec, can’t we be friends again? Can’t we try and get back what we once had?’