Hope's Road

by Margareta Osborn

  ‘So, I reckon I’ve got a vested interest. C’mon, cowboy, let’s go find a good piece of leather for you.’

  Billy smiled and started walking towards the ute.

  As Trav pulled Tammy up from her seat he leaned down and whispered in her ear, his breath tickling and making her shiver. ‘I’ll give you a good piece of leather any time.’

  Tammy stood stock-still in shock. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard me.’ And Trav winked. Winked! And a wink had no right to look so good on a man. It made her tummy dive to her own Ariat boots. ‘If what I heard was what you actually said, I think I’ll pass,’ she stated.

  ‘Since when did you become so prudish?’ He went to give her a side-shove with his hip as they walked across the parkland towards the car, but she dodged away. This wasn’t the normal in-public Hunter she knew. This man was being playful, just like he was in bed. Those hands, that hot sensual mouth, the things he did with it . . . Oh. My. Lord. Tammy could feel herself starting to blush. Time to get the conversation back on track. ‘How about we have lunch? I’m hungry.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Trav, and he grabbed her by the hand, pulled her behind a bushy tea-tree and kissed her.

  Tammy’s mind went numb. As his fingers ran ragged through her tumbling hair, she felt her whole body slump against the hard muscles that were holding her upright. She kissed him back, urgently. Goddamn it, the man was good at this. His lips trailed across her face, down her neck. She arched her body in response, his stubble tickling and making her shiver with delight.

  ‘Hey, Dad! Tammy? Where’ve you gone?’ A little boy’s voice called across the park. ‘Dad? Tammy?’

  ‘Shit,’ said Trav as he reluctantly let her go. ‘Here, kid. Coming!’ And he stepped away from behind the tree then glanced back at her. ‘Hold that thought for tonight, woman.’

  In a daze she nodded. She’d forgotten how to speak. She tried to subdue the red flush she knew would be leaking all over her cheeks. Damn, the man could kiss. She straightened her shirt, fluffed her hair back around her shoulders and went to follow him.

  ‘Ah-ha, Mrs Murphy.’

  Tammy spun around. There, peering at her with black­currant eyes, was Beatrice Parker. How much did she see?

  ‘And was that Mr Hunter I saw heading across the grass?’ There was a knowing quirk to her eyebrow.

  Everything, thought Tammy. ‘Yes, that was Travis Hunter. He’s been at the hospital with his son, Billy. I’m just helping them . . .’ She was gushing but powerless to stop herself.

  ‘Helping them?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Lending moral support, so to speak.’

  ‘Mmm . . . moral support. Is that what you call it?’ said Beatrice, her eyebrow lifting once again.

  The woman had definitely seen it all.

  ‘And just where is your husband today, Tammy?’ said Beatrice with a look at the car park. ‘I can’t see him around.’

  Surely this old gossip knew all the dirty details already. Beatrice had seen firsthand the way he’d treated her at the dance and in fact had commented on Shon being with Joanne when she talked about collecting a donation from her. ‘I really wouldn’t know, Mrs Parker. Probably with Joanne at the pub. He’s left me and moved in there, you know. And what’s more, I don’t miss him one iota. He’s been abusing me for years.’ She really wasn’t sure why she felt she had to explain all this to the woman, but for some reason she couldn’t stop herself. ‘Our marriage is over.’

  Beatrice Parker’s disapproving stare vanished in an instant, replaced by something softer. ‘And so it should be, my dear,’ the woman said mildly. ‘My Donald was exactly the same. I tend to think mental abuse is sometimes even worse than the physical kind. The world can’t see the scars. Thank the Lord in Heaven Donald left. Took off up north with some theatre woman. Life was better – much easier – all round without him.’

  ‘What?’ How on earth did this woman know Shon’s abuse had been more mental than physical?

  Beatrice flapped her hand in a dismissive motion. ‘That’s the problem with you young ones these days. You just don’t seem to think we oldies know what life’s all about. Well, I can assure you, my dear, we see things. In fact I’ve seen more hard times than you’ve had Rice Bubbles. And I know what it’s like to live with a bad man.’ Beatrice paused and looked towards Trav’s ute where he and Billy were waiting patiently. ‘And I don’t mean the delicious kind of bad either.’

  Tammy stood there, speechless.

  ‘My guess is Shon Murphy will be a nasty man to deal with. If you want my advice, be rid of him as quick as you can.’

  ‘I intend to.’

  ‘Good.’ Beatrice nodded in approval, her little head bobbing like a willy wag-tail. ‘Say hello to Mr Hunter for me, won’t you? Tell him I’ll drop in a sponge shortly.’ The woman then gave an enigmatic smile. ‘One that’s actually meant for him this time.’

  Tammy wondered about that but decided it was safer not to ask. ‘I will. No worries. And Mrs Parker?’

  ‘Yes, my dear?’ said Beatrice, the blackcurrants blinking a few times.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘My pleasure. But, maybe next time, avoid snogging the likes of Mr Hunter in the park. It really doesn’t sit well with my blood pressure.’

  Toot Toot! A horn went off behind them. She glanced towards the ute. Trav and Billy were beckoning her.

  ‘Goodbye, Mizz McCauley,’ said Beatrice, shooing her away. ‘Don’t forget my message to the Hunters.’

  ‘C’mon, Tammy!’ shouted Billy out the window. ‘Let’s go!’

  Let’s go indeed. Onwards and upwards, as her grand­father would have said. He had been such a strong and capable man. She guessed the estrangement with Joe had been Tom’s life-long regret, but not one strong enough to temper his adoration of Mae, nor his love for his farming heritage. He’d just soldiered on. The sale of Montmorency would have devastated Grandpa Tom.

  But at least she had people around her who really cared. Lucy, Trav and Billy, and even old Joe, which was a bit of a turn-up for the books. A couple of months ago even to know the old man seemed as unlikely a possibility as Lucy becoming a nun. Then again, Lucy would probably consider anything.

  And now even Beatrice Parker was being nice. They’d all help her through, she was sure. She just had to get the courage to tell them what she was going to do.

  Chapter 37

  They were all sitting around Joe’s verandah before heading off to the art show. Lucy and Cin had called by to drop off his groceries. Tammy and Hunter were checking up on him (the sooner they put a stop to this babysitting or ‘old man-sitting’ nonsense, the better), and by the looks of the car coming up the drive, Dean Gibson was tracking his niece. Why the hell they’d all had to congregate here rather than Montmorency, he didn’t know. They were disturbing his early-evening rabbit shoot.

  ‘I didn’t pick up anyone on the night of the dance,’ said Lucy Granger, swinging her legs as she sat on the new verandah rail. Joe hoped Hunter’d bolted the plank on real good. That amount of weight would test out any screw. ‘Not one likely candidate! So that’s it.’

  ‘That’s what?’ said Tammy.

  ‘I’m officially looking for love with a lady,’ stated Lucy. ‘I’m going to embrace womanhood in all its glory.’

  ‘Oh, my sister’s a lesbian,’ said Cin Greenaway. ‘All my male friends cry their eyes out when I tell them.’

  Joe flicked his gaze towards the schoolteacher. She had on a long flowing top with a deep neckline and no sleeves and a pair of tight trousers which made her legs look like they went up to her armpits. Very nice armpits they were too, thought Joe, before he realised what he was thinking. Armpits? For fuck’s sake!

  ‘Well, if your sister looks anything like you, Cin, I’d be crying too,’ said Dean Gibson who was walking up the steps wearing what Joe could only describe as th
e most God-awful shirt. And Dean Gibson was a Tucker. His pants were pulled up so high they looked ridiculous.

  ‘Why thank you, Deano,’ simpered Cin.

  Joe looked around for someone to roll his eyes at, but Tammy was too busy shoving a ball around the verandah boards with her feet. To Trav, back from Trav, to Trav, back, to, back –

  Boots was the only other body showing a modicum of interest in the footsies going on. Which, thought Joe, was probably just as well. He glanced across the house yard at Billy, who was trying to crack a rather long whip. Every second night while Hunter had been staking out Tammy’s paddocks, trying to catch the bloody feral dog, the kid had been staying at Joe’s rather than be left on his own. A turn up for the books, thought Joe. Previously Travis’d had no hesitation leaving the child by himself. Although Joe himself wasn’t sure who was keeping an eye on who. Billy on Joe, Joe on Billy, or both of them on Trav?

  ‘Lesbianism is my true calling after all. I thought for a second it might have been the nunnery. But then I remembered when I was –’ said Lucy, pausing as Tammy nearly choked on her drink. The soon-to-be-a-lesbian glared at her friend. ‘What?’

  ‘Remembered what?’ croaked Tammy.

  ‘When I was at uni –’

  Tammy flapped her hands. ‘Lucy! Do we have to hear –?’

  A snapping crack from Billy’s whip came from the yard. ‘Yay, buddy-boy!’ yelled Lucy. ‘That worked a treat!’

  Billy smiled across at the grown-ups.

  ‘Anyway, where was I?’ Lucy was now holding up one finger. ‘Oh yes. Never mind. But I thought about our conversation on the night of the dance and reckoned I should take this side of myself more seriously. Maybe I’ll have a bit more luck with the sheilas.’ Lucy leered at Cin’s breasts.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ said Cin crossly.

  ‘Don’t do what?’

  ‘Look at my breasts like that!’

  Now everyone was staring at Cin’s chest with interest, even Billy, who’d come back onto the verandah. He pulled up a chair next to his father, which killed the ball game between Travis and Tammy.

  ‘Because that’s what men do. They look at them, they talk to them . . .’ Cin blushed, shot a look in Dean’s direction.

  ‘And the problem with that would be?’ asked Lucy, still intent on Cin.

  Cin heaved a big sigh. ‘I want a man to love me for my head.’

  They all looked around at each other, puzzled.

  Billy spoke up, hesitant in the contemplative silence. ‘Do you mean intelligence, Ms Greenaway?’

  Trav kicked Billy’s chair. The boy mumbled something about grown-ups and glared at the ground. ‘Probably time for us to travel,’ said Trav to change the subject.

  ‘Yes, it’s six o’clock. We really should be going,’ said Dean, looking at his watch. ‘If it starts at six-thirty that’ll give us five minutes to get into our cars, twenty minutes to drive there and then five minutes to organise ourselves again.’

  ‘Oooo, lovely,’ said Cin, knocking back the rest of her drink and trying to stand up.

  It was then Joe saw the bottle of vodka left on the verandah. It was stuffed with old-style Redskin lollies. No wonder the girl was high. Straight Vodka and all that sugar. Old Deano was in for a wild night. Well, wild for Dean anyway, Joe guessed.

  ‘We’re heading off now, Joe.’ It was Tammy, standing beside his chair. ‘I’ve got these two prints to get into the gallery for hanging.’

  ‘Oh right. Well shoo, the bloody lot of ya then. Leave me and Billy in peace.’

  He only just caught the edge of Billy’s agonised look. ‘What?’

  ‘Billy’s coming with us, Joe,’ said Trav. ‘He really wanted to and, well, I thought what harm is there in that? It’ll be a bit of culture and we Hunters are a bit light on that sort of stuff.’

  The boy was smiling now.

  Joe looked from one Hunter to the other. Then at his niece, all raring to go.

  ‘Well,’ said Joe, sweeping them away with his hands, ‘get the buggery out of here and leave me alone.’

  Trav laughed and moved towards the ute. ‘No worries. We’ll be seeing you then. C’mon, Billy.’

  With a last glance at Joe, Billy scampered after his father.

  Harrumph. So much for loyalty then, thought Joe, uncharit­able though he knew his response to be.

  ‘So you’ll be right, Joe? I’ve left your tea on the bench. You just have to heat it up,’ said Tammy.

  He hadn’t realised she was still beside him. ‘Yes, of course I’ll be right. What, do you think I’m fucking useless?’

  ‘Far from it,’ said Tammy, her tone wry. ‘We’ll catch you later.’

  ‘Yeah. Righto. Now go on, piss off, all of ya.’

  Joe felt a soft pair of lips on his cheek. Then they were gone.

  He put up a hand to his face to touch the spot as he watched his niece clamber into the passenger side of the ute, Billy perched up in the middle of the two adults. Watched them all drive off down Hope’s Road; Lucy and Cin, then Deano, their lights in the distance, the others now hard on their tail.

  He stretched back in his chair and relished the peace. The only noise to be heard was Trav’s ute heading through the low-level crossing and towards the main road to Narree. Then it too was gone. Finally there was absolute silence. Well, except for the early evening gaggle of birds and creatures of the bush as they went about settling down for the night.

  It was peaceful. Silent. Beautiful. The mountains out to the north were inky blue, huge dark shadows looming in the night sky. And there wasn’t a bunny to be seen.

  Old Joe inhaled the sweet tangs of the bush and the vibrant mountain air and revelled in the completeness of it all. He was happy.

  Until a weird little feeling crept up his backbone. He looked around furtively. What the fuck was wrong with him? He loved being out here on the verandah. He loved sitting here on his own, looking out across his kingdom. Didn’t he?

  The shiver came again and it wasn’t from cold. It was like an icy hand was tracing a feeling of dread up his vertebrae, one by one, finally coming to rest with a strong clasp around his throat.

  Old Joe didn’t like this feeling. He didn’t like this feeling at all. If he could just work out what it was maybe he could fix it.

  It was Boots who gave him the answer. The dog had woken up from his place near the fire and walked to sit at Joe’s feet, right where his ears could be fondled.

  Boots didn’t want to be alone. And neither did his master.

  He, Joe McCauley, was lonely.

  Chapter 38

  The gallery thrummed with people, all ooing and aahing over the paintings displayed around the walls. Tammy and Trav carried the two prints, which they’d carefully stashed in the tray of the ute amid bundles of old blankets and eiderdowns.

  ‘Tammy! How lovely to see you,’ said Alice Stringer, spotting them immediately. She must have been waiting anxiously for them to arrive. There were two places on the main feature wall ready for the pictures.

  ‘Hi, Alice,’ said Tammy. ‘So sorry I couldn’t get here any earlier. It’s the cows, you see.’

  Alice Stringer gave a gracious smile. ‘Yes, I’m just starting to understand how cows are the real bosses in this district. I didn’t realise milking could have such an impact on one’s social life.’

  ‘I had to start milking at two o’clock this morning to get here tonight,’ Tammy explained as she bent down to help Trav unwrap the first print.

  ‘And this would be?’ asked Alice.

  ‘Travis Hunter.’ He shot her his half-smile, but to Tammy’s amazement Alice barely registered it.

  ‘How do you do, Mr Hunter? And you’re a dairy farmer too?’

  ‘I run a few head of beef cattle on the side, but no, I’m a dog trapper.’

  ‘Right,’ said Alice,
who obviously had no idea at all what that meant. She directed her attention back to Tammy. ‘Well, be sure to make yourself known to Reyne, Tammy. She’ll be here soon. The mayor and a few councillors have just taken her for an early dinner at the hotel.’

  Trav eased the first print out of its makeshift cover and lifted it up onto the wall.

  ‘Gorgeous!’ the woman gasped.

  Tammy had to agree. Trav was like Adonis with modern clothes on, which just seemed to make him all the more sexy. And his bum. The way it clenched in his Wranglers while he lifted the print onto its hook. Yum-my.

  ‘That would have to be one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen,’ said Alice.

  Tammy agreed again. You should see him with his clothes off, woman, she thought. It only gets better and better . . .

  ‘Travis?’ A shocked voice punctured Tammy’s daydreams.

  Trav swung round and his face turned from a healthy brown to a pale grey. ‘Katrina?’

  Oh my Lord. It’s not, is it? thought Tammy.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ said the exotic-looking woman dressed in a peacock-green cheesecloth skirt, long and brightly beaded Aztec-style top, dangly earrings and crystal necklace to match. She stood out like a bright jewel among the more sedately dressed country crowd.

  ‘I live here.’ Trav’s tone was edgy, his face still a sickly grey. ‘And you?’

  The woman’s hands fluttered in the air in agitation. To Tammy, she looked like a cornered cow. Not knowing which way to run, but escape was paramount.

  ‘I’m the feature artist,’ she said finally.

  No. She couldn’t be Reyne Jennings. Not the one who created her angel-sphinx prints?

  ‘I’m touring regional Victoria, New South Wales and South Australia with my artwork,’ the woman explained.

  Tammy took in the beautiful creature standing in front of her. Masses of shiny, dark auburn ringlets floated across the woman’s shoulders, cascading down her back, almost to her waist. Her figure was slim but voluptuous in all the right places. The eyes of most of the men in the room (not to mention Narree’s newest lesbian), Tammy noticed, were drawn to her.