Ringer

by C. J. Duggan

  Chapter Fifteen

  RINGER

  Three times was the limit, even I could admit that.

  I was about to fling the towel over the door for the last time, leaving it for her to snatch away from me, with a long line of insults no doubt, so when, instead, the shower door flung open and I was met with Miranda Henry in all her angry, naked glory, I almost slipped over in my shocked effort to spin around so fast.

  “MIRANDA!” I all but yelped as I clung to the sink, turning my back to her, closing my eyes. “What the fuck?”

  “I thought that might make you drop the towel,” she said.

  My eyes were squeezed shut, my hands holding the sink with a white-knuckle intensity. I could feel my heart pounding against my chest, and I felt like a fourteen-year-old boy spying a Playboy magazine for the first time. I went to say something, but I couldn’t think of any smart comeback; my mind was mush, absolute mush. I had not expected that. I was clearly in shock.

  I dare not peek an eye open at the risk of catching more flesh in the reflection of the sink mirror. As it were, I had the vision of Miranda Henry’s breasts fused behind my eyelids. As far as flashbacks were concerned it was a bloody awesome one, but I could feel myself going red.

  Fuck! Blushing like a fucking girl.

  Having only a towel wrapped around my own nakedness, I seriously had to stop thinking about those visions if I didn’t want to disgrace myself any further by pitching a tent. Christ, I had to maintain some form of dignity.

  “Are you a virgin, Ringer?”

  “WHAT?!” I said a bit too high, my eyes snapping open to see Miranda in the reflection, wrapped firmly in a towel, running her fingers through her wet tendrils. Her brows raised in question, a little smirk lining her mouth.

  I turned to face her.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?” I scoffed.

  She shrugged, moving to stand beside me at the sink, running a finger along her bottom lip as if applying some kind of balm before fussing over her hair some more.

  “It just seemed like you have never seen a girl naked before,” she said.

  “Oh, I have seen plenty …” I paused; okay, that didn’t sound real good saying it like that. My brows narrowed.

  “That’s none of your business.” I glowered, moving away from her, making a line towards my shorts hanging on the back of the shower cubicle.

  God, I was pathetic, storming around like a diva.

  In one fell swoop Miranda Henry had managed to unravel me, gaining the upper hand in the war by turning me into a stuttering, blabbering fool. And what had I done? Played snatchy-snatchy with her towel.

  Brilliant!

  “So you are, then,” she baited me. “Hmm, how about that?”

  Against my better judgment I laughed, shaking my head. I wouldn’t take the bait; instead, I peeled off my towel and flung it at her. It landed near her feet but she didn’t move, didn’t budge her eye line from firmly forward as I pulled my footy shorts on, zipping them up. Watching her with guarded amusement, I could see the stiffness of her shoulders even when she was trying her best to seem casual.

  I walked slowly over to her, bending to pick up my towel from the floor, deliberately standing closely behind her as I locked eyes with her in the mirror. I pinned her there with my gaze. She had stopped fussing over herself and instead stood frozen; the only sign of movement was the shallow rise and fall of her chest. I stood so close I could feel the heat of her skin; I knew it was unnerving her, I could see it in the way she latched onto the sink like a lifeline. My lips curved into a knowing smile as I slowly but surely turned the tables around by simply eye-fucking her in the mirror.

  I half expected her to throw an elbow into my rib cage, but she took it, she took every part of my gaze that licked every part of her like a hot brand. It was like I was seeing her all over again, her luminous silken skin. It wasn’t more than a glimpse at best, but it was enough, enough to be burned into my memory for the rest of my days.

  I leant into her, close enough for my lips to graze her lobe when I whispered,

  “Lock the door.”

  “WHAT?” she croaked, her eyes all wide and panicked as she spun around, looking up at me, swallowing deeply as her breaths quickened.

  A brilliant smile formed across my face, revelling in her bewilderment. She had turned around but I made no movement to allow her space, I let her mind race a million miles an hour before I spoke.

  “Next time,” I said, flicking my towel over my shoulder, “lock the shower block door, it will save you from deviants like me.”

  Miranda’s eyes darkened as she took in the full weight of my words.

  I mirrored her frown. “Why? What did you think I meant?” I teased.

  Miranda straightened her spine, scoffing. “Who can ever know, you talk so much shit.”

  She turned around back to the sink, attempting with the cold shoulder, but I could see enough pink in her cheeks to know exactly what she thought I meant.

  My chuckle was the only thing that gained her attention with a murderous snap of her greeny-blue eyes.

  I made sure I held her gaze as a crooked line tilted my mouth.

  “Don’t worry, Miranda, if I was going to fuck you, it wouldn’t be up against a bathroom sink.”

  Her mouth gaped, my words causing her to visibly flinch.

  Miranda Henry speechless and furious was a definite win for me, and I would wholeheartedly take it. Without giving her the chance to gain any kind of composure, I gave her a parting wink and made my way out of the shower block whistling, of all things, fucking Air Supply.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Miranda

  Drunk!

  I was going to get so, so drunk. And I didn’t mean drinking alone in my room like a sad sack; no, I wanted to get as far away from Moira Station as I could manage, far away from him.

  I had worked it all out.

  “You have to cover for me.” I made sure I caught Moira’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror as I hooked in the last of my earrings. “Do you hear me?”

  Moira looked confused. “Miranda, you’re twenty-four years old, why are you sneaking around like a teenager? Just tell Mum and Dad you’re going to the Commercial.”

  I knew it was ridiculous keeping secrets from my parents at my age, but the last time I was at the Commercial, well, it hadn’t ended so well. Even though I was sure after all these years I had proven I had turned over a new leaf, as far as my first impressions were concerned, being back, well, I hadn’t exactly done myself any favours. The last thing I needed was to hear any lectures from them, especially now that I was in the foulest mood possible.

  “Please, Moira, just do what I ask. Remember, I have gone to Mel’s for the night. If they ask how I got there say you don’t know, okay?” I turned from the mirror, smoothing over the fabric of my black skirt. “How do I look?”

  Moira sneered in her usual fashion. “Overdressed.”

  “Shut up. I am not; this is smart casual.” I nodded defiantly, turning to the mirror again.

  “Exactly, and you’re headed to the Commercial Hotel in Ballan,” she added.

  I bit my lip, studying my reflection. I hated to have to take fashion advice off my thirteen-year-old sister. Still, I met her gaze in the mirror. “Jeans, then?”

  She smiled, jumping up from the bed and grabbing them for me. “You’re not in Paris anymore, Toto.”

  She could say that again.

  ***

  Okay, so I had to admit the jeans were a better idea, even more so now that I found myself straddled over one of Max’s dirt bikes, my getaway rig for the evening. I gunned it across the paddock like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, dust and the ear-piercing, high-pitched whines as I fishtailed it across the dirt, my adrenalin pumping as I put distance between me and Moira Station, but more importantly, from Ringer. The sound of the floorboards squeaking underneath his feet in the room next door was enough to make my blood boil, and then the memory would always
inevitably flash back to what I had done.

  Oh God! He had seen me naked.

  I revved the accelerator some more and sped along the paddock hoping that the speed would wipe away my shame. Although the absolute look of shock on his face and embarrassment had been worth it, and I did get my towel back, it was almost like I had given him a small part of myself. Now every time he looked at me, I could feel the weight of his stare. I had empowered him, and I hated myself for that. It had taken every fibre of my being not to sneak a peek when he flung his towel towards me; at least I might have felt better about it. Seeing him equally exposed would have made us even. But then the real horror occurred to me; it wasn’t the fact he had seen me naked that really bothered me. It was the fact that for the smallest of moments, as he looked at me, as he stood so close to me, I could feel the dampness of his freshly washed skin next to mine. It was the absolute horror that the way he looked at me excited me and the worst part of it was he fucking well knew it.

  Having left just on dusk I had everything worked out, so I wasn’t entirely lying. I was actually going to see Mel … kind of, in-as-much as we would rendezvous at the T-intersection where she would be waiting with my getaway vehicle. She would take the bike back to her place and I would take her work ute. It wasn’t a grand entrance, but it sure beat heading down the main street of Ballan on a dirt bike. As it were, I could always park the ute up the street a bit. The one downfall that was clear was the high possibility of helmet hair. Still, these were my ridiculously limited options.

  Sure enough, like a well-formed mission that had been planned down to every meticulous detail, Mel was waiting for me. I came to a skidding halt, kicking the stand out so I could climb off, making sure to remove my helmet before it did too much damage. Mel leant up against her Land Cruiser, smiling and jingling the keys.

  “Just like old times, huh?” She laughed.

  “Well, not entirely, I hope,” I said, passing the helmet to her and grabbing the keys, swiping at the dust on my clothes and trying to tame my hair.

  “You sure you can’t come?” I asked.

  “No chance, we’re headed for Wahroo in the morning, got to be up by four.” Mel winced.

  “So you sure Bluey won’t miss this?” I opened the car door to the Land Cruiser.

  “Nah, it’s mine anyway, and I usually keep it out back, so he won’t even notice.”

  I climbed in and slammed the door shut. Mel rested her elbows on the open window.

  “You’re not going to get smashed and drive home, are you?” Her big blue eyes shrouded in concern.

  My eyes rested on hers, but more vividly on the half-moon scar just below her left eye. It served as a permanent reminder of the last time I had been to the Commercial, of the trip back where we didn’t make it home.

  I swallowed the memory down and started up the car; I shouldn’t have asked her to do this, to be an accessory to my dodgy ways, years later … and it was still the same shit, different story.

  “I’ll get a lift back, I won’t drive,” I said in all seriousness.

  “Well, maybe just have a few, I’m sure that would be okay?” she said quickly, as if she had regretted saying anything.

  “No, it’s okay, I am sure someone can drop me home.” I smiled.

  “Well, if you walk up to the post office before eleven you can grab the last courtesy bus. They run one now from town on weekends,” she said with a newfound hope in her eyes.

  Eleven? Pfft.

  “I’ll work it out. Thanks, Mel, I owe you one,” I said, starting up the Land Cruiser and flicking the lights on. “Have fun in Wahroo.”

  “At a cattle auction? I seriously doubt it.”

  “Well, you’ll have Mum, Dad and Moira to keep you company next weekend.”

  Mel blinked in confusion. “Next weekend?” she repeated. “I thought they were heading Monday night?”

  My head spun around so fast, I almost committed a neck injury. “Monday night? As in tomorrow night?”

  Mel winced as if she regretted saying anything. “That’s what I heard.”

  “But they weren’t meant to go until the weekend; Dad was going to show Ringer the ropes and by then Bluey would be back in case he needed anything,” I blurted out in a panic.

  “I guess Ringer is going to get a one-day handover; your dad must think …”

  “Well, clearly he isn’t thinking. The idea is ludicrous,” I all but shouted, my hands clenched on the steering wheel with rage.

  My mind raced; there would be no time to fix my car, and they would be away for two weeks. Did they honestly think I would just hang until they got back? Alone. Alone with RINGER?

  I eyed the dirt bike, wondering if I could make my way back to the city on it?

  “Oh God! What are you thinking?” Mel groaned.

  I was thinking I was in deep shit is what I was thinking, and regardless of how I got home tonight, my objective was clear. I was going to get absolutely shitfaced.

  Chapter Seventeen

  RINGER

  “Well, that’s strange.”

  Steve glanced in the rear-view mirror of his four-wheel drive. I followed his line of vision.

  “What’s that?” I asked, turning to look back down the street.

  “I could have sworn I saw Bluey’s old Land Cruiser parked back there. What’s he doing in town on a Sunday night?”

  “Well, I’m guessing there’s no late night shopping.” I cast my eye around the desolate main street of Ballan, if you could call it a street, more like a strip.

  “Yeah, not exactly. The only thing you will find open on a Sunday night is right here.” Steve did a U-turn, swinging around to park directly in front of a double-storey brick building. The brick work was painted a deep burgundy that made the neatly penned white lettering ‘The Commercial’ stand out all the more. “He’s probably inside having a quiet one before he heads tomorrow.” Steve spoke mainly to himself.

  I paused from opening the door. “Why don’t you come in and say g’day?”

  “Nah-nah, better not, the Mrs already has the shits from me having a few beers yesterday.” Steve looked longingly at the floodlights that lit the front of the hotel.

  “Fair enough,” I said, hopping out of the car and shutting the door, thanking the heavens above I was my own man. “Thanks for the lift.”

  “Hey, Ringer.” Steve leant over the passenger seat. “Don’t have a big one, hey? I know this will be your last bout for a while, but we have a full-on day tomorrow.”

  “No worries, watch is synced. Courtesy bus departs at eleven.” I winked.

  Steve nodded, pleased. “Good on ya, mate, have one for me, and tell that no-good drunk, Bluey, to get home.”

  “Will do!” I said, tapping the bonnet of the car before Steve backed out and sounded a cheerful blast of the horn as he veered off back down the street.

  The muffled sound of Cold Chisel’s ‘Cheap Wine’ filtered from the hotel. I leant casually on the verandah post, as I took the singular cigarette from behind my ear and flicked it into my mouth, before lighting it up and puffing it to life.

  So this was Ballan’s ground control, I thought, looking up at the pub: the place where Farmer John would meet up, and the local young blokes would converge on a Friday night to chase a bit of skirt. Seeing as it was Ballan, the male population no doubt outweighed the female, as any female within their right mind would surely flee this place at the first given opportunity. Just like Miranda had done.

  My brows pinched together at the thought of her name; it had a way of weaving its way into my skull at any given moment, and I wasn’t entirely happy about it. I had played with fire today. The line I had drawn in the sand had become blurry, even more so when I found myself thinking about Miranda Henry and her perfectly … perky body.

  Ah Christ!

  I took a deep drag of my cigarette and flicked it to the bitumen, twisting it into oblivion. Getting out for a bit was just what I had needed. A chance to clear my head by clouding
it into a murky shambles of alcohol-fuelled good times. Steve was right; I did have a big day tomorrow, but that was only the beginning of my hell. He thought that there would be no problem trusting me with his precious darling Miranda; well, I wish I had as much faith in myself as he did. If nothing else, she would move back into the house once it was empty, and if she didn’t, I bloody well would.

  I had planned to have a quiet word to Steve tomorrow about getting her car up and running again. I knew it was out of line, but he couldn’t really hold her prisoner for two weeks till he got back from Wahroo. I would have strangled her by then. No, I just had to reason with him, regardless of her being his little girl; he couldn’t force her to stay, and that was obvious. As we all knew, as soon as the Mazda was up and running again, she would be nothing but a trail of dust. I smiled at the thought as I made my way to the Commercial door and entered through the barroom.

  For a Sunday it was packed; clearly there really wasn’t anything better to do on a Sunday night but drink to forget that they lived in Ballan. Not that I could blame them. The dusty nothing that surrounded the town made me almost wistful for Onslow … almost.

  Still, you would never have to fight your way to the bar on a Sunday in Onslow. Yet here I was in Ballan, sliding past people, a few young blokes spruced up with their polished RM Williams belt buckles, downing a few Bundys. A pretty little brunette tucked her elbows in and smiled coyly as I slid past her. I had a height advantage over most, and yet I couldn’t see Bluey as I pushed through and anchored myself to the bar. I caught the eye of the burly, balding barman, motioned to the VB tap and held up one finger, reaching for my wallet in my back pocket. He nodded with understanding and grabbed a pot glass with his chubby fingers. I was somewhat disappointed there wasn’t some buxom beauty swanning around behind the bar—I could deal with a bit of a distraction—and when the barman bent over revealing his hairy butt crack, well, that was definitely not the kind I had in mind.