She pulled the bodice up a bit more, and watched in the mirror as it obeyed gravity and snuck down again, relentless in its intent to show off more cleavage than she was comfortable with. The doorbell pealed again.
Shit. Not only was the bloke persistent, he was on time. She should have guessed. ‘Coming!’ she yelled into the wardrobe, then realised he’d have no hope in heck of hearing her; her bedroom was way up the other end of the house. She half ran – trying at the same time to pull on her errant sandals – then limped down two passages, around a few corners, through the kitchen, dining room, and across the closed-in verandah to the back door. She quickly did up the tiny buckles on her shoes, then opened the door.
‘Dean. Hi. You’re on time.’
The man was staring at her like she was some strange apparition. ‘Yes. I’m always on time.’
Of course. Silly her. Then she realised he was looking at her funny. ‘What’s wrong?’ Her hand flew up to her ears. Was it cowshit? Hadn’t she scrubbed it all off? ‘Have I missed something?’
‘No. No! Nothing at all. It’s . . . well, Tammy, you look stunning!’ His eyes moved from the tips of her blow-dried hair, over her lightly made-up face and down to the hem of her skirt. Where he stopped and frowned. ‘Do you think they . . . maybe could have . . . well, possibly should have . . . made that dress a bit longer?’
Tammy looked down. Saw that in her flight through the house, the dress had ridden up and now barely covered her thighs. Shit. ‘Do you think I should change?’ she said.
‘Oh my goodness, no. No! Together we’ll be the belles of the ball!’
She finally took a look at what Dean was wearing. A pair of black slacks, pressed pleats rigidly dissecting each leg into two, topped with a brown and green swirled paisley shirt. The shirt hid a singlet, a white ‘wife beater’. On a man in his thirties? In the bush? She could see a bit of it poking out near his neck, where in shaving he’d missed a run of hairs. The singlet and shirt would have been hip ten or twenty years ago, but right now?
It looked hideous.
She gratefully turned her face away from the paisley as she saw Trav’s ute arrive. It rumbled its way past the dairy and pulled to a stop outside the garden gate, just behind her own four-wheel drive.
Travis Hunter slowly appeared, bit by delicious bit: first, a pair of tooled leather cowboy boots (Ariats if she wasn’t mistaken. She’d forgotten he was a station-boy from way back). Then came a long pair of denim clad-legs (Wranglers). Followed by strong, muscled arms covered by a gorgeous, soft and worn celadon shirt with its distinctive RM Williams bull-horns logo, sleeves rolled to the elbow. The shirt clung to him, showing the outline of a bluey singlet underneath. He looked freshly showered, his hair all rumpled and softly curling at the tender nape of his neck. The buzz cut was growing out.
‘Deano.’ Trav’s greeting to the other man was brief. Then he was standing at her back door, drinking her in like fine wine. And Tammy forgot all about paisley vs celadon. She forgot all about white wife-basher singlets vs the tough Bonds blue. She literally forgot about everything other than this man.
Because close up he looked good enough to eat.
And Trav was taking in her whole body. Absorbing her – her hair, her face, her eyes, her mouth. His gaze moved down to the indecent amount of cleavage and her nipples standing on high beam, across her flat belly, down, down, down and appearing to take forever as he soaked in her long legs, finally stopping at her barely-there sandals and their tall, sexy heel. ‘You look great,’ he managed.
‘She looks more than great, Hunter. She looks sensational!’ Dean moved in to claim his date around the waist with a possessive arm. ‘Are you ready, sweetheart? We’ve got a party to go to!’
Tammy adroitly stepped out of Dean’s clasp and half-turned to go inside again. ‘I’ll just lock up.’ And catch my breath, slow my heart and forget how I nearly made a fool of myself by falling all over Travis Hunter out there.
Dean spun and moved back down the path towards his car. ‘Okay, I’ll warm up the old bus for you, love,’ he called over his shoulder.
She grimaced, then went to move off to find a key. A hand came out and grabbed her arm.
Travis. ‘You look stunning,’ he murmured. His blue eyes bored into her brown ones. He took a stronger hold. ‘Beautiful.’ Then he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her mouth. A question, an exclamation mark, a full stop. He drew back, let go of her arm, cast her a look of rueful apprehension and then turned towards the car that was now bumping down the drive. Jacinta’s shiny red convertible, rear spoiler jumping as the tyres hit the potholes in the gravel, mag wheels being spattered with spots of cow-shit.
High up on his hill, Old Joe was naming star constellations to an avid listener. The boy was gaining confidence with every question.
‘Which one’s Jupiter? How many moons does it have? What’s the Milky Way made up of then? And are we part of it all? You know, the whole university?’
‘Universe, boy. Not university.’ Joe swung an ancient-looking telescope this way then that, sharing with him the knowledge of nearly ninety years staring at the night sky.
After a while, Billy’s attention was distracted from the heavens by a glint of water in Backwater Creek. ‘Why is that thing there, Mr McCauley?’ He was pointing to the slabs of bark that you could vaguely see in the moonlight.
‘Ah, that’s the remains of old Cec’s hut.’ At Billy’s interested look, Joe went on. ‘He was a prospector years and years ago, before I was even born, hunting for gold in these hills. Looking for a pocketful of gold and a handful of hope.’
‘Is that why our road’s called Hope’s Road?’
Joe stared out across the flats, contemplating his answer for a few seconds. That was a loaded question even if the boy didn’t know it. ‘Yep. We’re all looking for it in one way or another I guess.’
They took more turns peering through the eye-piece up at the sky again until it was Joe’s go with the telescope. He swung it back to earth, just for a few minutes while Billy was distracted by Digger gnawing on a bone.
The scope brought Montmorency Downs into his sights. The old diesel ute of Hunter’s sat hard-up against Tammy’s vehicle. It looked good, Joe thought. Like it was supposed to be there. Not like that other solid yet slightly tizzy number – it was a townie’s car, for sure. Must be Dean Gibson’s. Nice enough bloke, but a bit wussy. And Joe didn’t just mean the car.
The telescope swung to the back door, where all the action appeared to be happening. The car went with the shirt Gibson was wearing. Joe could see sloping shoulders wearing a solid patch of garish colours. Even he wouldn’t be seen dead in that get-up.
He moved the scope over Gibson’s head – and sucked in his breath. Holy Lord. She was as beautiful as her grandmother. Shoulder-length brunette hair feathered around a sweetheart face, long aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, deep brown eyes. There had to be French versus Egyptian somewhere in the Rouget genetic lineage.
And for fuck’s sake, look at that dress! It barely covered her bottom. He went to rise out of his chair in indignation, landed back down with a thud. Holy hell, that hurt.
He returned the telescope to his eye, refocused it on the old homestead once more. Gibson was gone, down the path towards his flash car. And Travis Hunter was now standing there, his shoulders square. He was talking. Then he was leaning forwards. Moving in. Then he was kissing Joe McCauley’s great-niece right at her own door.
Joe sat back in his chair, telescope dropped to his knees. Oh, my aunt’s fanny!
Chapter 23
Lucy Granger was perched on a concrete planter box, her hair a mess of multi-coloured hot-roller-assisted curls as the foursome pulled up outside the pub.
‘Geez, I thought you were never going to get here!’ She bounced up to Tammy. ‘C’mon. All the seafood will be gone! Joanne’s so tight-fisted she never lets the chef
order enough.’
Then Lucy took in her best friend’s outfit. She slowly let out a wolf-whistle. ‘Holy crap, Tammy. You look unreal. Totally hot!’ She spun to Trav who was standing behind her. ‘Doesn’t she look hot? Man, if I felt like some time on the other team . . .’
‘Well, luckily you don’t,’ said Dean, coming around the car bonnet and taking Tammy’s hand. ‘Do you?’
‘Well . . .’ said Lucy looking thoughtful. ‘It’s an idea. I wasn’t able to rustle up a date for tonight, not one under the age of seventy anyway. In fact, Dean, I’ve had some very . . . interesting . . . relationships in my life. I don’t like to label myself either way.’
Tammy rolled her eyes. She’d heard Lucy’s tales of university experimentation, though she wasn’t entirely sure how far to believe them.
‘C’mon,’ said Cin, for a change looking demure in a black cocktail dress with a simple Jacqueline Kennedy cut. She stood, smoothing the car creases out of the knee-length frock. ‘I want a salt and pepper calamari and it’ll all be gone if we don’t hurry up.’
‘That’s what I was just saying,’ grumbled Lucy. ‘No one ever listens to me.’
Tammy disentangled herself from Dean and threw her arm around her best mate, dragging Lucy towards the pub lounge door. ‘Of course we do.’ Then she whispered, ‘You can have my date if you want.’
Lucy laughed as she slung a look back across her shoulder at a disgruntled Dean standing with Cin on the grass verge. ‘No way, Jose. That shirt is god-awful, not to mention the pleated pants. What was he thinking?’
‘Not much, obviously.’
‘Well, he’s hardly likely to attract a woman in that get-up. Hunter, on the other-hand . . .’ Lucy paused on the hotel doorstep, checking they were still alone. ‘In my next life I’m going to come back as a wild dog. To be caught by a man like Travis Hunter would be,’ Lucy’s eyes turned dreamy, ‘incredible. Totally amazing. But, I’m dreaming . . . and besides, he’s too much the strong silent type for me.’
Lucy’s grin slipped as she moved in for a better look at the flush claiming Tammy’s face. ‘Oh, my aunt’s fanny! You like Travis Hunter? You want the dog trapper, don’t you?’
‘Him? What utter nonsense!’ Tammy flapped her hands in the air in agitation. ‘C’mon, let’s go get you some poor dead marine creature.’ She moved to drag Lucy through the lounge door to distract her somehow. ‘And remember I’m relying on you to give me some protection from that bitch behind the bar.’
Lucy stopped again, her face serious. ‘You sure you want to do this? We could go somewhere else?’
‘Like where?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. The roadhouse for a sausage roll? The corner store for fish and chips?’
‘Go raid some of the yabby nets the kids throw into the lake? Cook the muddy suckers on the barbecue in the APEX park?’ finished Tammy.
‘Muddy suckers? The kids or the yabbies?’ asked Lucy, grinning.
Tammy winked. ‘It’d have to be the kids. I can’t stand crustaceans.’ They both laughed before she went on, ‘No. It’s fine. I’ve got to face Shon and Joanne together some time. May as well be now.’
‘You sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Not. Tammy tried to soothe her thumping heart and plaster on a reassuring smile. ‘Let’s get some tucker and then go find a party.’
As it turned out, neither Joanne nor Shon were to be seen in the Lake Grace Hotel.
‘Must have the night off,’ whispered Lucy later after she’d consumed a whole basket of prawns.
Tammy’s chicken Maryland still sat on its plate, barely touched. ‘Yeah, probably ensconced in a lovers’ boudoir in Lakes Entrance or Batemans Bay,’ she muttered back.
‘Come along, kiddies,’ called Dean from the other side of Tammy. ‘We’ve got a dance to attend and it’s now eight-thirty-five by my watch. We’re running late.’
‘Oooo, yes!’ Cin clapped her hands and bounced in her seat. The creamy strands of pearls that covered any sign of her bosom slapped up and down.
‘Doesn’t he know you never get to these things on time?’ Lucy murmured. ‘This is the bush. Dairy farmers are always late!’
This time Trav answered. ‘Don’t think “late” is in old Deano’s vocabulary.’
Tammy looked across at him. He had barely said a thing all night, preferring to just stare at her every now and then.
‘C’mon, Tammy,’ said Dean, catching her under the elbow and lifting her up out of the chair. ‘Let’s get this show on the road. Although . . .’ He frowned down at Tammy’s plate. ‘I don’t see how you’re going to have any energy to dance. You didn’t eat a thing!’
‘You know women these days, Deano,’ said Trav, moving to Tammy’s other side. ‘Always worried about their figure.’ Then he turned to her, his half-smile and azure eyes seeming to say, ‘But you don’t need to.’
The music was just cranking up when they arrived. Barely a dozen cars were parked outside the hall. ‘That’s weird,’ said Dean looking around. ‘Everyone I spoke to in Lake Grace this week said they were coming.’
‘They’ll get here,’ said Lucy, rolling her eyes towards Tammy. ‘Eventually . . .’
The group lined up at the old-fashioned ticket-box just inside the entrance vestibule. Beatrice Parker took their money. ‘Nice to see you all here,’ she said with a cagey smile. ‘Who is with whom?’
Dean grabbed Tammy’s arm again. ‘This gorgeous woman is my date for tonight.’
Tammy tried surreptitiously to wriggle out of his clasp but to no avail. Deano held on tight.
‘Oooo . . . and this handsome fella is mine!’ cried Cin, grabbing Trav’s hand.
But Beatrice wasn’t paying any attention to Cin. Her disapproving eyes were on Tammy’s dress. Her gaze didn’t have to travel far to look the scrap of material over. Tammy tried to pull the skirt down, which in turn pulled the already low-cut top in the same direction. Inwardly she cursed herself yet again for buying the damn frock.
‘Mrs Parker? Earth to Mrs Parker?’
Beatrice tore her eyes from Tammy to stare at Lucy, who was waving her fingers in front of the old lady’s face. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know of an available woman willing to try out being a lesbian?’
‘I beg your pardon, Ms Granger?’ said Beatrice, now completely distracted from Tammy. ‘Did you say lesbian?’
‘Oh no, Mrs Parker,’ Trav interrupted. ‘She said thespian. She’s giving away pole-dancing for the dramatic arts. C’mon, Granger.’ He grabbed Lucy with one hand and Cin with the other and towed them into the main hall. Tammy and Dean shrugged at a skeptical-looking Mrs Parker and moved quickly to follow the others.
‘I would have sworn that Granger girl said lesbian,’ the old woman muttered to herself. ‘And as for that dress on Tammy McCauley! She’s turning into a hussy, just like her grandmother.’
Tammy, who’d heard it all, walked quickly away.
Slowly more and more people started to arrive at the hall until the dance floor, which encompassed the whole centre of the old rectangle weatherboard building, was jammed with bodies. Some were dancing ballroom style, fox-trotting around the edges. Others were just shaking their limbs to the raucous music that was getting louder and louder as voices rose in competition.
Tammy hadn’t lacked for partners. Every dance, someone plonked himself in front of her and asked for a turn on the floor. Neighbouring dairy farmers, old friends of her granddad’s, tradies from town. She was aware of Dean getting more and more disgruntled as once again she was carted away by another partner. ‘Next one’s for you, Dean,’ she called as Rob Sellers took a drink from her hand and dragged her along with him to swing to the Pride of Erin. Dean’s grimace was her answer.
One of the few men in the hall who hadn’t offered to dance with her was Travis Hunter. And Tammy was surprised at how much that hurt. She ha
d been aware of him the whole night, knew exactly where he was at any given time. She was so attuned to the man – it was both startling and disconcerting. She didn’t need to be mooning over the dog trapper and found herself getting more and more annoyed by how much time her mind devoted to tracking his every move.
Finally she ended up on the dance floor in the arms of Dean Gibson. The man was courteous, kind and had great rhythm, but there was one huge problem. She didn’t feel in the least bit attracted to him. In fact the scent of his mouthwash was a real turn-off, as were the sweaty hands sitting hesitantly on her waist. Then there was the musty smell coming from that damn shirt. Every time Deano tried to pull her in close she backed away. It became almost a duel of strength, one which Dean eventually won. Tammy suddenly found herself hard up against the paramedic’s chest, his arm around her waist, hand moving up to caress her back. She tried to move away but found she couldn’t.
‘Excuse me, may I cut in?’ The voice came from close to Tammy’s left ear. Startled, she swung around, causing her partner to lose his grip. She was just in time to see Trav deftly slip in and shoulder a scowling Dean out of the way.
‘Thanks, Deano,’ he said. And then she was away, being twirled across the floor with surprising grace. The dance was a fast foxtrot and, as she was whizzed around the corner, she was shocked by how different Travis’s hands felt to Dean’s.
The grip on her waist was firm and sure. He held her body just slightly distant from him, far enough away to look down into her face, near enough to feel intimate. His vivid blue eyes were alight with humour and mischief. ‘Don’t think I’m the most popular man with old Deano at the moment.’ He gave a wicked grin. ‘You dance well, Ms McCauley.’ He swung her around another corner, pausing to flick her under his arm, before pulling her back in close in a classic ballroom dance pose.
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