by Margaret Way
“I wonder you ask, Rachelle,” Skye managed a quiet answer. “My mother is buried here.”
“Highly unusual, I’d say.” There were shadows under Rachelle’s fine dark eyes. She looked faintly ill and nerve-ridden. Yet even in the tranquillity of the graveyard, with her father laid to rest not far away, Rachelle couldn’t rein in her dislike and resentment.
“You should speak to your grandmother some time,” Skye suggested. “She was very fond of my mother. My mother could only have been buried here with her approval.”
“It’s all seriously odd,” Rachelle said, a vein throbbing in her temple. “That’s all I can say. Your mother should be all but forgotten. You didn’t know her. We were only little kids when she died yet we can’t seem to get rid of her. Or you either.”
Skye gave the other woman a saddened look. “Why do you hate me so much, Rachelle?”
Rachelle looked back with huge disbelief. “You don’t know?” she hooted. “You robbed me of my brother for years and years of my life.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“Maybe he saw you weren’t going to be my friend?”
“Please! You could never be numbered among my friends.”
“Where are all your friends, Rachelle?” Skye retorted, suddenly firing up. “You didn’t have any at school. I’m fairly modest by nature but you might recall I did. I was also head girl in my final year.”
“How impressive!” Rachelle sneered. “Who knows why Gran wanted you there in the first place. I guess she had to be fond of your mother. Who was she anyway? Over twenty years have gone by and Gran won’t say a word about her.”
Wasn’t that the truth! “You surely must know if she was a relative? One of Lady McGovern’s relatives in England?” Skye challenged, so desperate for clues she would ask even Rachelle.
Rachelle’s outraged expression rejected that. “I’d have a heart attack if I thought you and I were related,” she snapped off. “Your mother was just some stray Gran befriended. I don’t know from where. Like I care!”
“But you do care.”
It had got to the stage where they all cared. “Nonsense!” Rachelle’s cry was a near shriek. “You’re the bane of my life, Skye McCory.”
“Sounds like you should get a life,” Skye advised, turning away.
“Keefe might have loved you when we were kids,” Rachelle called after her. “But he doesn’t love you now. You’ll never get him. That’s what he told me, I swear. Though I expect that cuts your heart to ribbons. You love him. Don’t think I’m a fool. You’ve always loved him. But nothing will ever happen between you and him. Keefe has his life planned differently. He’s way out of your league.”
Skye had to wait until the initial shock had worn off. “Where did you learn to be such a terrible snob, Rachelle?” she asked quietly enough, though Rachelle’s words had landed like punches.
“It’s called knowing who you are,” Rachelle explained with a lofty tilt of her chin. “I’m a McGovern. You’re Jack McCory our overseer’s kid. He’s a real rough diamond, isn’t he, your dad?”
Skye felt heat burn up her veins. Steady. Steady. She got herself under control. “He could teach you some manners,” she answered with cool disdain. “I can see there’s never going to be a way for us to start over, Rachelle. In a way, I’m sorry about that. I know you’re not good at taking advice, but if I were you I’d jettison the bitterness and save your sanity. Hatred and jealousy hold bad karma.”
“Bad karma?” Rachelle’s laugh held more than a hint of ferocity. “Tell me about it! And what’s this with Rob? He only stayed over thinking he could hang around you. Except Keefe put a sock in it and set him to work. Using Rob as a back-up, are you, dear? Can’t have Keefe. Scott isn’t interested. Maybe Robbie will do?”
Introducing Cousin Robert at this point caught Skye by surprise. She hadn’t laid eyes on Rob since the day of the funeral.
“Well?” Rachelle gave Skye a disgusted look.
“Sorry, I need time to digest that, Rachelle. Rob is nice. I like him. But I have no romantic interest in him whatever.”
“Maybe not but you do need a leg up in the world. A Sullivan would certainly do. But there again too much of a reach.” Rachelle laughed with bitter triumph. “You’re nothing but—”
She broke off hastily as a tall shadow fell. Both young women turned round to see Keefe standing barely a few feet away. How had he moved so silently? Skye marvelled. It didn’t seem possible. But, then, Keefe managed to do some pretty incredible things.
“Is this really the place to have an argument?” he asked tersely, his light eyes blazing from one young woman to the other.
“Not an argument, Keefe.” Colour flooded Rachelle’s pale face. “I was laughing.”
Keefe’s expression would have daunted anyone. “If that was a laugh, Rachelle, you’d never get me to join in. Why are you always attacking Skye? Is it ever going to end? Skye has no interest in Rob. It’s Rob who is out of his depth.”
“Please, Keefe! Don’t go on,” Skye implored, seeing all Rachelle’s bravado drain out like her life’s blood. “Rachelle is very stressed. We all are. I came to pay my respects to your father and visit my mother’s grave. I’ll go now.”
“Believe me, that’s for the best,” said Rachelle hoarsely, no more able to control herself than a two-year-old. “This is family. This is the family cemetery. I have fresh flowers in the Jeep for Dad. Are you going to join me, Keefe?” She swung her dark head to appeal to her brother.
“Yes,” he returned sombrely, speaking directly to Skye. “No matter what happens, life goes on. We need to round up the best of the brumbies in the morning. We badly need a few more working horses. I thought you’d like to come along.”
Rachelle moved closer to her brother. “Count me in. I’d like to come.”
“I thought you regarded herding brumbies as a bad idea?” Keefe countered, looking down at his sister.
“Maybe I want to rediscover the thrill.”
“Then I have to warn you, you might be sore and sorry the next day.”
“What about her?” Rachelle countered, wearing a huge frown.
“Even you will have to admit Skye’s a far better rider than you, Rachelle,” Keefe said, keeping his tone level. “Also she keeps up with her riding when she’s back in the city. I can’t think when you last went out for a gallop, even if you do like to wear riding clothes. But I will say they suit you.”
“I can keep up,” Rachelle maintained stoutly. “I’ll take one of the horses out this very afternoon. Give it a workout.”
Keefe didn’t answer, but turned back to Skye. “I’d like to make a pre-dawn start. Okay with you?”
The least contact with Rachelle left Skye feeling frayed. “Keefe, I think I’ll pass,” she told him quietly.
“You amaze me!” There was a satiric inflection in his voice. “Besides, you can’t pass. I’ve counted you in.”
They saddled up when Minghala, the dawn star, hung high in the east. It was still dark and the air was a good ten degrees cooler than it would be in only a few hours’ time.
Keefe, sitting tall in the saddle, looked across to Skye. “Stick with me,” he said.
“You got it, boss!” she mocked, touching a finger to the brim of her Akubra.
“You don’t want to?” There was a twist to his mouth.
“It used to be much the best place to be.” Their relationship was highly sexual but the strong attachment was also nonsexual. Their liking for each other, the interests they shared, their love of the land. It would always hold them together.
“Don’t talk like it’s history,” he said.
And an odd history it was too! Swiftly she changed the subject. “I see you’ve allowed Rob to come along?’ She looked towards the group of other riders. Rob Sullivan was a fine horseman and an excellent polo player. He often played on Keefe’s team.
“Actually, Rob begged to come along,” Keefe stressed. “He’ll be an asset. I don’
t know about Rachelle.” Rachelle made up the rest of the party along with three of the station’s top aboriginal stockmen. All three had great tracking eyes—tracking was essential, demanding considerable skill—and a wonderful way with horses. One of them, Jonah, was manoeuvring his gelding back and forth in a parody of herding cattle. Everyone was mounted, circling the forecourt, getting the frisky horses under control.
“So where are we heading?” Skye could feel the build-up of excitement.
Keefe rode alongside her. “The mob has been spotted drinking near Jinjin Swamp. They could have moved on but some of the mares are carrying foals. That will slow them down.”
“So who’s the kingpin these days?” she asked, watching a very impatient-looking Rachelle scolding the horse she was riding. The mare was acting up a little, but there was no doubt Rachelle’s bad mood was communicating itself to the animal.
“Still Old Man Mooki,” Keefe said, lifting an arm and gesturing to the north-west to mark their start. “He’s still capable of impregnating the mares and he’s still full of fight. Mooki is as wily as they come. He’s no use to us, of course, but there are ten or twelve decent-looking colts running with him. We’re after them.”
“How many in the mob?” She looked towards the horizon, now washed with ever-expanding bands of pearl grey, pink and lemon.
“Around thirty last time we checked. I know you’re good at this, but don’t take any chances.”
She responded to the seriousness of his tone. “I won’t.”
“You might keep an eye on Rachelle from time to time. I’ve asked Rob to do the same. He’s got one hell of a crush on you, by the way, and not hiding it very well.”
“Some men wear their hearts on their sleeves, others give a woman only the occasional glimpse,” she commented dryly.
“Maybe there’s some underlying fear? Ever think of that? Clearly I can’t wear my heart on my sleeve. I’m running this outfit.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve long since got the message.”
“Have you really?” He flicked a diamond-hard glance at her. “Maybe you’re not as good at interpreting as you think. Anyway, as a favour to me, don’t give Rob the slightest encouragement. He doesn’t need it.”
“What, not even a smile?” Her blue eyes sparkled with challenge.
“Next thing you know he’ll want to stay on longer.” Keefe’s answer was crisp.
“I don’t think so,” she disagreed. “There are lots of girls out there.”
“Not like you there aren’t,” he clipped off. “Damn this thing!” He began to pull on the bandana around his neck to loosen it. They were all wearing protective bandanas. Hers was sapphire blue; Keefe’s a bright red. The colour on him was wonderful, setting off the polished bronze of his skin.
She had never seen a man so impossibly dashing. “Anyway, it’s like I said. I’m not going to compound your worries. I’m going home.”
“Are you, Sky-Eyes?” He turned his dark head abruptly, pinning her gaze.
She took a quick fluttery breath. He hadn’t called her Sky-Eyes since she couldn’t remember when. “You know perfectly well I have to. You’re my fantasy lover, Keefe,” she said on a bitter-sweet note.
“Now you tell me. You dream of me.” He looked straight ahead.
“Nightmares mostly.” She laughed, but it came out off-key.
“But very real.”
“Very real,” she admitted, thinking of the torture of awakening to find he really wasn’t there in the bed beside her.
“Even at their worst you want them,” he said.
“One ought to be able to take medication for want.”
“Maybe want is wired as much into the brain as the flesh.” He broke off with a groan. “Look at Rachelle! Early morning isn’t her scene. Why did she want to come?”
“Hopefully to see me take a tumble,” she suggested, laconically.
“My sister is far more likely to be the one taking a tumble.” His reply was grim.
“I hope not! Even under provocation I have no heart to wish any harm on Rachelle.”
“Only on me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Keefe,” she said sharply, rising above the difficulties that had been thrown in their way. “You’re the person I’d miss most in the world. Not that you don’t know it,” she added, with a helpless flare of hostility.
He laughed beneath his breath, reaching across to lightly tap her hand. “Some things, Sky-Eyes, we can’t change. Much as we fight it.”
An hour later, the vast landscape was drenched in blazing sunlight. They cut a swathe through a section of Djinjara’s great herd, which was moving in a slow, snake-like formation of well over a mile, undulating towards water. Riders surrounded the herd, keeping them in line with little effort. They exchanged waves. One of the aboriginal stockmen was giving voice to a native song not unlike a chant. Not only the cattle were finding the lilting sound calming, even though it had grown very hot by now. As always, they hoped for an afternoon thunderstorm to bring the blessed rain. Hope was everything on the desert fringe.
Jinjin was a moving mass of waterbirds, spoonbills, shags, white-faced herons with long pointed beaks, huge flocks of ibis. The pelicans wouldn’t come into the swamps until they had good rains. Soaring red gums threw their long leafy arms over an amazing green carpet of lush grass with countless little wildflowers in all shades of purple. Their sweet fragrance was saturating the air. Obviously the whole amazing area was flourishing on the moisture drawn from beneath. It was alive with droning bees and dragonflies and multicoloured butterflies that drifted about like spent petals raining down from the trees.
“You’d swear the old guy knew we were after him,” Keefe swept off his Akubra to savour a moment of cool relief
“Not here, boss,” Jonah called. “Bin here, though. Ya can see all the tracks. Mebbe this mornin’. Can’t be far.”
“We’ll take a ten-minute break,” Keefe decided, already starting to dismount. Everyone was tired. So tired. But determined. There was a job to be done.
Skye followed suit. She was fading more quickly than she had thought. The shimmering heat over the spinifex plains was unholy. There was one plus, however. Her mare, with her thoroughbred lines and fine aristocratic head, was as smooth as silk to ride. That gave her extra confidence.
“This is awful!” Rachelle staggered up to them to complain. “I feel like I’m about to pass out.” Her smooth olive skin was mottled with heat rash. Skye felt really sorry for her. No use to say, “You shouldn’t have come, Rachelle.” That would have been tantamount to waving a red flag in front of a bull.
Keefe looked at his sister with concern. “You wanted to come, Rachelle,” he reminded her. “It is terribly hot. We’re in for another dry storm. Why don’t you relax for a while, cool down, then call it a day? We’re over the worst of it, but there’s more to come. The mob can’t be far away.”
Robert walked towards them, raising a hand. “It doesn’t get much better than this,” he enthused, his good-looking face aglow with heat and excitement. No brumby chases where he came from. No real rough and tumbles. “What a picturesque place!” he exclaimed. “It has to be seen to be believed. You couldn’t even count the butterflies. But no brumbies, alas!”
“We’ll find them,” Keefe said with conviction.
“How’s it going, Skye?” Robert transferred his gaze to Skye, thinking she looked a vision even after a tough ride. Her beautiful skin was flushed, honey-gold wisps of hair escaped from her thick plait to stray around her face: her eyes were as vivid a blue as the sky.
“Don’t worry about her,” Rachelle broke in fiercely, obviously feeling very sorry for herself. “This is a real drag. I’ll probably get stung by one of those damned bees.” She swatted the golden-green air. “I could do with a cup of tea.”
“Sorry. No tea,” Keefe rose to his feet. “Tea later. We have to catch up with the mob. Old Man Mooki is onto us.”
“Damn Old Man Mooki!” Rachelle cried ou
t, in a fit of bad temper.
“Rachelle, I’m in no mood for mutiny.” Keefe turned on his sister very quietly. “I understand you’re tired. You’ve got right out of the way of things. We’ll ride on, and you can head for home. Keep to the line of lagoons.”
“I want Skye to come with me.” Rachelle’s dark glance veered from her brother to the silent, but sympathetic Skye.
“I’ll come,” Robert offered very gallantly when he was thoroughly enjoying the experience.
“I don’t want you,” Rachelle announced rudely. “I want Skye.”
“Only Skye’s riding with me,” Keefe told his sister, this time in a no-nonsense type of voice. “So is Rob. He’s having a ball. You can easily find your way back, Rachelle. I can spare Eddie to go with you. Just take it nice and easy. Drink often from your water bottle.”
“Thanks for nothing!” Rachelle cried hotly.
“It’s yourself you have to blame.” Briefly Keefe touched her shoulder. “Mount up now. The rest of us have to keep moving.”
“Wait and see. I’ll probably get sunstroke.” Rachelle issued the dire warning. She had so hoped to see Skye drooping from exhaustion. No such luck.
“No, you wont,” Keefe assured her. “You’re carrying the McGovern banner.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THEY finally caught up with the mob at a borehole. Roughly thirty wild horses, very tricky to catch. Old Man Mooki was the big black stallion that had run for years with his motley mob and ever-increasing harem, some of them mares he had taken from the station. Many attempts had been made to yard him in the past but Mooki had great legs, hence great speed. These days he wasn’t as tough as he had been, but was still a formidable opponent.
“Let them drink their fill.” From the shelter of the trees, Keefe issued the order just above his breath. “Slow ’em down. Then we’ll try to drive them towards Yalla Creek. The bed is dry and the banks are steep. With any luck at all, the sand will wear them out.”
Muscles tense, they awaited their moment.
Sharp old Mooki sensed them before they got anywhere near them. The colts threw up their heads as though at a signal. The mares began to snort and kick up. Next minute they were off, in a thunder of black, bay, piebald and chestnut bodies. They were moving so fast it seemed like they didn’t have a hope in hell of catching them, Skye thought, hot on the chase. The mob, with Mooki in the lead, was doubling back towards the trees, unshod hooves pounding up a great billowing cloud of red dust, tangled manes and tails whipping in their own momentum.