Walking the Line

by Mandy Magro

  Striding into the coolness of the stables with the reins and bridle tossed over his shoulder and the saddle and blanket balanced over his arms, Dallas’s eyes took a few moments to adjust as he placed the saddle and blanket over the specially made timber rails. The stable had once been one of his favourite places on Rollingstone Ridge. Now he hated being in here. No matter how often he’d stepped foot inside since that fateful day, he recalled watching his father and Vivien from the shadows, and then relived the argument with his dad every single time.

  Shaking his head to rid his mind of the shocking memories, he quickly placed the bridle and reins over the hooks on the wall and stepped back out into the sunshine. Outside, he turned his focus to the afternoon ahead. Up before dawn, as was his habit, he had completed all his jobs for the day and now had a couple of hours to kill before he had to head into town and pick up his order from the agriculture store. Maybe there’d be time for a quick motorbike ride. He’d learnt over the past eight months that distraction was what worked for him, so distractions were what he sought out—he had to do something to cope. His father’s secret was a heavy cross to carry, but carry it he would.

  Sauntering back into the paddock, he gave Bullet one last loving stroke on the neck as he thanked his equine mate for the effort he’d put into rounding the cattle up this morning. Bullet replied with a soft nicker before stealthily snatching Dallas’s hat from his head—a game the horse often played to keep Dallas with him longer.

  ‘Oi, you cheeky bugger,’ Dallas said, chuckling as he retrieved his hat from the horse’s clamped lips. ‘I can’t hang about today, I need fodder before I pass out.’

  Dallas turned and shut the gate to the paddock, making sure to latch it to the fence post. Bullet was the type of animal that always thought the grass was greener on the other side of the fence and if a gate was easy to open he would let himself out.

  Leaning on the rustic timber railing, he watched in admiration as his equine mate of the past seven years trotted across the field to his mum’s horse, June. Bullet’s head and tail were held high—as if to say ‘I am the man and you know you want me’. June acknowledged her boyfriend with a whinny and a nod of her head before trotting to his side. Dallas had to chuckle at Bullet’s display of macho-ness and how it always won June over. The pair were close to inseparable.

  ‘Ah, sweet love. It certainly does make the world go round,’ he muttered as he strolled over to the shade of a towering blue gum, motioned for Levi to jump up on the tray of the LandCruiser and then slid into the driver’s seat. He revved the old girl and the radio crackled to life, Johnny Cash’s voice making him smile. He spun the four-wheel drive around and headed towards home, his mind focused on what he was going to do with his last hours of freedom for the next week. Charlize whatever-her-name was arriving late this afternoon, along with her sidekick, Bruce—a ridiculous name for a dog—and time to himself was basically going to be non-existent.

  He groaned inwardly at the thought of having a chaperone. He loved his own company—no one to entertain or explain anything to—which was why he loved cattle farming so much. Animals were so much easier to understand than humans. Everything was black or white; there were never any grey bits. He could never work in an office where he had to deal with computers and people every waking day. That would send him insane.

  Gazing out his open window as he drove along, he breathed in the lush green countryside, feeling blessed to be able to call such a picturesque place home. Spring had most certainly sprung and it was a glorious day—blue skies, a very gentle breeze and temperature in the early thirties—perfect for an afternoon motorbike ride.

  He grabbed every opportunity he could to do his second favourite thing in life because not only was it a pleasure to hit the road, it was also excellent training for bull riding. Riding a motorbike was a clever way to strengthen his balance, movement and agility and a nice change from his usual training aid of either his father’s Robo Bull or Gramps’s old-fashioned preference for a barrel suspended by ropes to the rafters of the shed. Both did the job well, although the downside of the old-fashioned way was that he needed another set of hands to move the ropes. And with his mum dealing with a broken heart, Gramps too old and his father no longer walking this earth, a second set of hands didn’t come easy around Rollingstone Ridge.

  Besides, there were too many memories in that old shed for him anyway.

  Less than an hour later, with his belly now satisfyingly full and his Triumph Thunderbird rumbling beneath him, Dallas slowed over a second cattle grid and then turned out onto the winding dirt path that led him away from the homestead. The towering ghost gums his great-grandparents had planted seemed to reach out to one another from either side of the rutted dirt road, forming an arch over his head and scattering dappled sunlight upon his open-face helmet. He smiled at the beauty of it all as he became at one with his surroundings.

  This. Is. Living.

  With Mother Nature surrounding him, his senses were heightened as he instinctively assessed his environment for hazards, enjoying the whoosh of the wind as it whipped past him and savouring the smells of the paddocks after the morning’s sunshower. As always when he was riding he found himself lost in an internal trance as the world zipped by him; however, he was still highly alert. Although riding was a pleasure, he’d learnt to continually scan the terrain and also predict the behaviour of nearby motorists—skills all extremely beneficial when on the back of a bull.

  It demanded he pit his skill and luck against a myriad of possible accidents. That sense of danger was always there, and he found it exhilarating. The same as jumping on a bull, riding a motorbike meant putting himself at the mercy of things completely out of his control, and he was acutely aware his life could be snuffed out as quickly as flicking off a light, which was why he always rode alone. It made him keenly aware of his own mortality—a sensation he had always been fascinated by. As his mother often said, he was an adrenaline junkie, just like his father had been as a young man.

  Hitting a small straight, he increased his speed and tore along the narrow tarred road that led from Rollingstone Ridge and out towards the highway—his spirit on a high. The metal beast beneath him sounded awesome, its grunts like magnified purrs. The motorbike felt like an extension of his own body as he manoeuvred each corner with just enough throttle to carve a perfect turn. He’d ridden his fair share of city streets over the years, heading to the beaches of the New South Wales coast whenever he got the chance—which wasn’t very often. But country roads were so much more gratifying to ride on—less traffic, less to worry about and less to be on your guard for.

  Turning out onto the highway, and without another car in sight, Dallas hit the throttle, destination unknown. For the next few hours he was a free man without an agenda, and he loved the feeling of independence that gave him.

  CHAPTER

  7

  After a two-hour delay at Sydney airport due to an apparent glitch with her plane, Charlize was finally on her way. Well, sort of—her butt was now seated on a bus. Regardless of the mode of transport, it felt good to be moving towards her destination rather than pacing the departure lounge stressing about the fact that Bruce was on his lonesome in some luggage storage area waiting to be boarded.

  She’d begged the lady at the information counter to let her go and see him but Wanda (that’s what her name tag read) reluctantly told her it was against health and safety for Charlize to go back where Bruce was. She’d almost cried, but then Wanda had whispered that she could go and give him a bit of a pat if it would make her feel better. Charlize had almost jumped across the counter and hugged her—it was always comforting to come across people who were kind at heart. In this day and age, with the fast pace of city life, it didn’t happen enough. And she was a firm believer that kindness was contagious.

  In her fidgety state she’d been unable to sit still, so had instead perused the shops to keep distracted. She’d purchased a few newspapers to read on the plane, so she co
uld keep up with what the competitors where doing, and sampled so many of the perfumes at Victoria’s Secret that she now smelt a little like a perfume factory. Feeling like a bit of a freshen up, she reapplied her red lipstick with her little handheld mirror—the espresso coffee along with the pumpkin and fetta frittata she’d just basically inhaled for lunch removing most of what she’d put on beforehand. Then, satisfied she was respectable again, she popped her sunglasses back on and gazed out the bus window.

  In a dreamy daze she keenly took in all the goings on—the luggage carts zipping everywhere, men directing planes into parking spaces, fuel trucks and catering trucks buzzing about. It was a hive of activity, kind of like backstage at a concert. She was hopeful she’d see her adorable little man getting loaded onto the plane. Occupied with her surroundings, the tune of Katy Perry’s ‘Roar’ sung out from her overfilled handbag at an ungodly decibel and had her madly scrabbling for her mobile phone while a few sets of judging eyes glared in her direction, including the bus driver’s in the rear-view mirror. Damn it, she thought she’d put her phone on silent, even though the strict instructions at the gate had been to turn all mobiles off. Her bad.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said with a grimace. Yanking her phone from the depths of her handbag, she noted who it was and quickly muted it with gritted teeth.

  Alistair. Again.

  Although she’d told him she needed time to think about her options, his promise to give her some space had lasted less than twenty-four hours. She had seven missed calls from him since last night, and a string of texts reminding her that they were still married. In the last one he’d even had the audacity to tell her she owed it to him to remain faithful while she was away. Just because he could do the dirty so easily didn’t mean she could, or would. She hadn’t replied to any of them, and wasn’t going to, even though she was itching to write back ‘get stuffed you, you cheating prick’. But as her father always said, never argue with a fool. So, instead, she had bit her tongue as she’d counted to ten, praying she wasn’t biting it hard enough for it to come clean off.

  But enough was enough. As much as she’d wanted to avoid going to such lengths, it was time to block his number. Hurriedly going into her settings, she added his number to the empty list, feeling somewhat empowered by the fact he could no longer ring or text her. Tossing it back from whence it had come she huffed. At least now she would get the space she needed.

  Sitting back as far as she could, she closed her eyes. She could still feel her cheeks flaming, not only because she’d been busted with her phone on but also because of the very girly ring tone. She’d always opted for a generic tone but last night a somewhat tipsy Jane had made it her objective to change it into a more motivating one.

  The few glasses of send-off sake they’d shared at their favourite Japanese restaurant over their plates of sashimi had been the inspiration behind it. Jane had reckoned the lyrics would be encouraging and at the time Charlize had agreed. Now she quietly chuckled and had to admit they were pretty fitting words for her to live by.

  Maybe, unconsciously, it was the song that had given her the kick to block Alistair’s number.

  Jane’s little effort did kind of make her feel better. God she was going to miss her. Jane had been her guiding light over the past couple of weeks. Now, she was all on her own and heading into unknown territory. The thought made her stomach flip. What the hell was she getting herself into?

  Opening her eyes before she whipped herself into yet another panic about being bitten by a venomous snake, Charlize glanced down at the outfit she’d chosen to wear. She’d gone for a simple cream silk button-up shirt matched with a pair of tan slacks, and of course a matching pair of low heels—there was no way in hell she’d be caught in a pair of flats unless they were thongs. It was classy but understated. Not enough to draw attention, but adequate to make her look businesslike.

  The bus began to slow and then pulled to an abrupt stop. Gripping her seat to stop herself from sliding forward, she looked out her window and her mouth dropped open.

  Holy crap; there was no way this was happening. Her Rex Airlines plane stood on the tarmac in all its incy wincy glory. Her heart took off into a frenzied gallop. She’d never been on a plane as small as this—it would barely be able to carry all the people on this bus. And what was the glitch that had occurred? Was it even safe to fly now? How would Bruce cope in such a tiny luggage compartment? Did it have enough oxygen for him? Was there a toilet? Did they have sick bags? She felt her face pale.

  A couple of minutes later she stepped from the bus and towards the plane, where the pilot welcomed her at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Wow, now that was a first. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  A super friendly flight attendant greeted her at the top of the stairs and directed her towards the back of the plane. Charlize made her way down the short aisle as she looked at the numbers above the seats, noting that every person she caught eyes with either nodded their head in greeting or even went as far as saying hello—even the ones that had eyeballed her in the bus when her phone had rung.

  The friendliness was something she wasn’t familiar with, and it was comforting to think that if the plane went down a fellow passenger might even hold her hand throughout the ordeal. With a wave of dizziness washing over her, she tried to shake the thought of crashing as she searched for her seat. On one side of the plane were three seats together and on the other was a file of single seats. She was pleased to discover she would be sitting on the single seat side. She wasn’t really in the mood for small talk—especially when she was worried about revisiting her lunch due to a mixture of anxiety and airsickness.

  Once seated, she tugged her seatbelt on tightly, made sure a sick bag was tucked safely in the seat pocket in front of her and then for the first time in her life made the choice to turn her mobile off—in a plane as trifling as this one she wasn’t taking any chances of her phone playing havoc with the plane’s navigational equipment. And then she sat with her eyes closed, taking slow, deep breaths.

  Flying had never concerned her before, so this anxiety was a totally new experience. The flight attendant began her safety speech and Charlize’s eyes shot open. Normally opting to flick through newspapers to keep her finger on the pulse of what her colleagues were writing about, today she was super keen to learn the safety instructions, just in the case they were needed. She’d never realised the inflatable lifejacket was underneath the seat—so there you go.

  Five minutes later they were tearing down the runway, the plane sounding like it was in its final hours as Charlize clung to her seat with her fingernails almost embedded in the leather. Every piece of the aircraft sounded like it was shaking loose, and at one point she thought she was going to be propelled out of her seat as the plane took off into the air. The climb to flying altitude seemed to take forever, but once there she was relieved to feel the plane stop shuddering and upon quick inspection she gratefully noted it was all still intact. And before she knew it the smiling flight attendant was beside her once again, offering tea and coffee and an afternoon snack of Pringles. Charlize gratefully accepted a tea but declined the snacks—she didn’t think her stomach would take too kindly to food.

  Within half an hour they were soaring over the Blue Mountains. Charlize had her face pressed up against the window as she admired the dramatic way the foliage-encrusted peaks jutted towards her, the blue haze that gave the mountains their famous name amazingly visible from the sky. She’d always wanted to spend a weekend amongst their tranquillity, but had never managed to persuade Alistair to leave the city.

  Just as she was getting used to the rattles of the tiny aircraft, the pilot announced they would shortly begin their descent into Parkes. Still gazing out her window, Charlize was taken back by the countryside below—an exquisite patchwork of deep dark greens and vibrant gold. Her hand fluttered to her chest as she drank it all in. She’d seen pictures of canola fields before, but nothing could have prepared her for actually seeing th
em from the sky. The golden swaying sea of bright yellow flowers stole her breath away. The ‘Lavender Route’ her mum and dad had photographed in Provence had nothing on this. She never would have believed a view devoid of skyscrapers, landmarks and historic buildings could be so enthralling.

  Fields of wheat and canola gave way to fruit orchards and then to lush green pastures dotted with sheep, cattle and horses, and the occasional homestead. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She was now entering a rural heartland for the very first time. Although she was still sceptical about what lay ahead at Rollingstone Ridge, she was surprisingly excited about the prospect of driving through such stunning scenery on her trek to Grenfell.

  CHAPTER

  8

  After a packet of peanut M&Ms, four stops to take selfies, one pause to ask for directions when Google Maps decided to go AWOL, three wrong turns when the computer-generated voice told her to make a U-turn, a toilet break in an open-roof loo where she had spent the entire time worrying a snake was going to attack her while her knickers were down around her ankles—how embarrassment to be found dead in that state—and one large bottle of coconut water to rehydrate herself after travelling for half the day, Charlize finally found herself on the outskirts of Grenfell. She breathed a sigh of relief that she and Bruce had made it so far in one piece, albeit a little later than she had planned.

  Better late than never, as her mum had always said, much to her dad’s annoyance. He was a stickler for timeliness, whereas Grace was on the opposite side of the fence, always late for everything. Charlize could credit her mother for passing on the habit.

  Deciding that her phone was not going to be much use anymore, she pulled over to the side of the road and reached for the printed map. It was opened up on the seat beside Bruce, who was strapped into the passenger seat in his specially made doggy harness. Charlize couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked, his distinctive wrinkly little face and button ears so adorable as he looked up at her eagerly. He was clearly excited about this new adventure.