by Mandy Magro
Her heart sinking as she thought about her dad, Taylor switched off the Jeep’s ignition, the haunting melody of ‘Wish You Were Here’ by Pink Floyd vanishing, leaving her sitting in ear-ringing silence. Sometimes she wished she could pull on a pair of massively flared jeans and go back in time to live in the peace-loving seventies. Bands like Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin were among her favourites, along with her country idols like Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton — but the hunky and extremely talented Adam Brand was at the top of her country music list. Adam’s voice melted her insides, and word had it he was a very approachable and down-to-earth guy, the stardom he’d reached not having gone to his head at all. She would give almost anything to meet him in person, maybe even sing for him, if she had the guts, to find out what he thought of her vocal abilities. Her friends were forever telling her how talented she was, but they were biased; getting approval from an accomplished musical artist was a whole different ball game.
Glancing over at her Hungarian Vizsla, Floyd, Taylor smiled adoringly. His need for a toilet break was apparent as he whined and gently scratched at the passenger door, so she reached across him, tugged at the door handle and shoved it open. Floyd bounded from the Jeep, running around in circles, his reddish hunting nose to the ground in search of the perfect spot to cock his leg, the golden rust-colour of his coat almost merging with the colour of the road.
Taylor giggled, thankful for his company. Floyd was a typical Vizsla: robust, lean, lively, loyal, gentle-mannered, fearless and — most importantly of all — very protective of her. He’d been Taylor’s mate for six years, her sixteenth birthday present, and she couldn’t imagine a day without him by her side.
Sliding from the driver’s seat, Taylor stretched her long limbs, her butt numb from spending almost nineteen hours behind the wheel, nine hours of it yesterday. A quick stop at a roadside hotel last night had allowed her a restless sleep on what felt like a bed older than her before she had hit the road again early this morning after a greasy breakfast of bacon and eggs. Placing her hands deep in her jeans pockets, she wandered up to the signs, weighing up which way she should go, a weird yet wonderful feeling of excitement washing over her. It was as if the land was reflecting her inner confusion, offering her — literally — a crossroads. Exhilarating, liberating and scary all rolled into one.
A weathered sign pointing to the left read ‘Waratah Station’ and an equally worn one pointing to the right read ‘Driftwood — 38 kilometres, population 712’. Hmm. Waratah Station sounded very alluring but Driftwood sounded out of the ordinary, picturesque. The name suggested it was nearer the ocean, which was odd, seeing this was primarily northern cattle country. Taylor’s curiosity was piqued.
Pulling her wild tresses of waist-length strawberry blonde ringlets into a ponytail, Taylor motioned to the left with a wide sweep of her arm. ‘Well, Floyd, what do you reckon? Do we go this way like a pair of crazies, deeper into the magnificent countryside and towards a station we have no idea about, or do we go right, towards the town of Driftwood, where there will most certainly be a fuel station, and a bed?’ Taylor felt her tummy rumble. ‘Oh, and possibly a pub with steak, chips and salad?’
Floyd barked his reply, his tail wagging zealously.
‘Yep, that’s what I thought. Driftwood it is then. Let’s just hope we have enough fuel to make it there, bugger having to walk in the dark — I’d be shitting myself.’
Jay Donnellson smiled wearily at Frank Forester, Driftwood’s one and only copper, as the officer passed him an extra-strong black coffee across the desk then sat down opposite him, a frown creasing his middle-aged features. An uncomfortable silence settled, each waiting for the other to speak. Jay knew there was a lecture coming his way, and he probably deserved it.
Jay picked up the cup, his swollen knuckles throbbing, and took a lengthy sip as Frank tapped the desk with his fingers. ‘Cheers, Frank,’ Jay said, trying his best to break the silence but to also avoid the inevitable conversation.
‘No probs, Jay,’ said Frank, his office chair creaking as he leant back and folded his arms. ‘I’m starting to think you like being arrested, considering you’ve been in here twice these past few weeks. What’s going on with you? Is the stress of everything that’s happened catching up? ’Cause if it is, I’m all ears. Sometimes it helps to talk about it.’
Jay shrugged casually, not knowing how to reply. Jay didn’t want to talk about his father’s sudden death; about his older sister running off to a high-paying job in the city and leaving all the farm work to him; about Becky, his childhood sweetheart, leaving him for another man; about his mothers’ heavy drinking; about almost losing Waratah Station — which had been in his family for five generations — to the clutches of the bloody bank. Hell, he didn’t want to accept that this was his life at all, his shitty, demanding, depressing, and problematic life. He took a few more sips from his bitter coffee, wishing Frank had offered milk and sugar.
No wonder he didn’t have a woman to share his life with. Five months after moving in, Becky had run for the hills, unable to cope with the stress of being a cattleman’s girlfriend, and straight into the arms of a rich city boy. She didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye, had just left a note, like he wasn’t even worth her breath. She’d broken his heart. He was still trying to mend it, and trying to get over his bitterness towards the human race, because lately, all anyone seemed to do was break his heart. Even his own mother — whom he loved dearly — had her moments, her binge drinking creating a massive rift in what used to be a loving mother-son relationship. Wasn’t it enough for him to lose his dad without having to worry about losing his mum as well?
Thank God he had Tom Connors back on the station to help him out — he’d be up shit creek without him. Tom could be a cantankerous bugger when he wanted to be but Jay thought of him like a father. He’d been the head stockman at Waratah for going on twenty years and Jay had the comfort of knowing that Tom wasn’t going anywhere; Tom swore he would be taking his very last breath on the station.
Frank raised his eyebrows and Jay groaned. He didn’t want to talk about it with Frank — or anyone else, for that matter. What good would it do anyway? Couldn’t he just keep on pretending that this life he was living was someone else’s? Pretending he was all right and handling everything like a bona fide countryman should, with a stiff upper lip and balls of steel. That was what his father would have expected of him, so that was what he was trying to do. Jay wanted his dad to be proud of him.
‘I’m okay, Frank, but cheers for asking. Nothing going on in my life I can’t handle.’ Jay pinched the top of his nose, a killer headache suddenly arriving. Considering he had been up before the crack of dawn to muster his cattle, it had been one long day. ‘Anyway, both times I’ve been in here it hasn’t been my fault. Last time was because I was trying to stop a fight at the footy and this time was because I knocked some bloke out who was beating on his missus out the back of the pub. The bloody coward, picking on a woman. Scum of the frigging earth blokes are who do that. I’m glad you’ve locked him up. I hope you throw away the key.’
Frank released a long, drawn-out breath. ‘Believe me, I agree, and I wish I could throw away the key. But still, you can’t go around clouting people, Jay. It’s against the law. You’re lucky the bloke didn’t press charges tonight considering the mess you left him in, or you would have found yourself in court. And Lord knows we don’t need you being shipped off to jail. Who’d look after Waratah then, and your dear mum? I may have been your father’s best mate but I can’t change the law to suit you. I have to uphold it. Honestly, Jay, it breaks my heart having to arrest you in front of everyone.’ Frank leant over and squeezed Jay’s shoulder. ‘Come on, mate — you’re not that guy. You’re far from it. I believe in you. You just gotta start believing in yourself.’
Jay hung his head, angry and ashamed for letting Frank down. Again. This man was like an uncle to him. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try harder to curb my temper from now
on. Promise.’
Frank pushed himself up, the legs of the chair scraping against the worn lino floor. ‘Please don’t give some of the old residents in Driftwood any more reasons to gossip. Remember, you have no control over what’s happened in years gone by, but you do have control over your future. Yes, your life has had more downs then ups these past few years, but you can get through all of it and come out on top in the end. You’re a good man, Jay. Why not show the townspeople that instead of giving them the wrong impression.’
Jay nodded solemnly, staring at the floor. ‘I’ll try, I really will.’ He glanced up at Frank, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. ‘But, in actual fact, I don’t care what people think. I am who I am. Besides, I have nothing to prove — to any bastard.’ Jay reclined, hands fastened behind his head, determination creasing his brow.
Frank whistled through his teeth as he placed his hands on the table, smiling for the very first time that night. ‘With that glint in your eye, you remind me so much of your father right now. You are definitely your father’s son, so alike in everything you do. ‘ Frank picked up his cup and swigged the last of the coffee. ‘Anyhow, I’d better get back to it, loads of paperwork to do. Do you need a lift home? I can get one of the ambulance blokes to drive you back.’
‘Nah, I only had a couple of beers at the pub and that was, um.’ Jay looked at his watch, eyebrows raised. ‘Shit! Three hours ago. I can’t believe it’s nearly ten-thirty. I’ve got to be up in less than six hours to start it all over again. I have cattle to load onto the truck before first light, so they get to the saleyards in time.’
‘Well drive safe, you hear. And watch out for the roos this time of the night. Bloody crazy buggers are all over the roads.’
‘Righto. Will do.’ Jay stood and shook Frank’s hand.
‘Stay out of trouble, Jay, and say g’day to your mum for me.’
‘Sure thing. You should come and visit one of these days and say g’day to her yourself, though. She’d like that. So would I. We don’t live that far from here, you know.’ Jay noticed Frank looked a little uncomfortable with the invitation. He paused for a moment, waiting for a reply, but silence hung heavily once again and Frank avoided his gaze. Jay picked his Akubra up from the desk and sauntered over to the front door of the police station, halting briefly as he and Frank exchanged a farewell nod.
Jay stepped into the soothing darkness of the balmy summer evening, confused by Frank’s sudden awkwardness. He seemed to be avoiding Waratah Station these past few months and that worried Jay. He used to call out all the time for a cuppa. Jay pulled his keys free of his jeans pocket. He didn’t have the energy to think about anything other than getting home to his bed. Why did everything have to be so goddamn hard and when was life going to give him the break he’d been silently praying for?
CHAPTER
3
1861 — Goldbury, New South Wales
The scattered light from the numerous hanging kerosene lanterns illuminated the randomly placed tables beneath. The devoted poker players sat clutching their cards close to their chests while other patrons chose to mill about at the bar, drinking away their concerns or flirting with the skimpily-clad brothel women. Sliding three glass tumblers across the worn timber bar, Anne filled them with whisky, thinking how grateful she was to her blue-blooded grandfather, whose generosity allowed her such independence. Thanks to the money he’d left her, she owned the town butchery, as well as the hotel. But, even though she was proud of her achievements, she would give it all up in a heartbeat to run away up north with William. She had stash of money — small though it was — that would help aid their flight.
Anne passed a whisky to each of the police officers sitting opposite her. She could feel Hocking’s beady eyes undressing her and she had to fight the urge to gag. The man was repulsive, with his unbathed stench and greasy hair, and reminded her of a filthy leech. The thought of squashing him underfoot as he squirmed across the floor made Anne smirk, which Hocking mistook for a smile. The senseless man.
He reached across the bar and forcefully grabbed her hand, running his grubby thumb suggestively over her tense fingers, confidently ignoring her unease. Anne tried to pull free but he tightened his grip painfully around her wrist, a malevolent leer curling his dry, cracked lips. Anne’s free hand clenched into a fist. She bit the inside of her lip, tasting blood, urging herself not to say anything to provoke Hocking’s terrible temper. His sudden outbursts scared the wits out of her and Hocking was certainly not shy of hitting women. Images of the night she had helped William escape from prison came flooding back to her. Hocking had tried to get rid of William so he could have her for himself, and she had used this knowledge to her advantage by wooing the drunken sergeant while William had broken out of his cell with the aid of a few of his mates and fled. That night, Anne had allowed Hocking to get as far as almost kissing her before shying away, though it had revolted her to let him touch her at all. Hocking had never been able to prove her involvement in William’s escape, although he was suspicious that she was still consorting with the wanted bushranger.
‘Ahh, I like the fierceness in you, Miss Willows. It makes me want you all the more. You can fight me all you want but one day you’ll give in. One day you’ll be mine . . .’ He kissed the back of her hand then licked it suggestively. Anne’s skin crawled as if there were a million ants upon her. ‘And if you don’t warm to the idea of becoming my wife, then I will just make it so. You’ll find love in your heart for me eventually, you’ll see. And if you don’t, well, so be it. You don’t need to love me for me to have my way with you, or for you to bear my children. I’m a patient man, Anne, but let me warn you, my patience is running thin. I’m not going to wait much longer to bed you.’
Anne yanked her hand free and urgently wiped it on her skirt, recoiling from the smell of stale alcohol on Hocking’s sour breath. ‘I’d rather take my last lungful of air than be yours. You will never get the chance to have your way with me. Never!’
Hocking threw his head back, a guttural laugh erupting from his weathered lips, his fellow officers joining in with gusto as they vigorously fondled the breasts of the women in their laps. Hocking halted his sarcastic mirth abruptly, his dark eyes burning menacingly into Anne’s as his gaze returned to her. Slamming his fist down onto the bar, he sent one of the empty whisky glasses flying to the floor, where the glass shattered on impact. A scrawny man behind him stood to come to her rescue, but Anne gave the well-meaning patron a look that said it wasn’t worth it, and that she could handle it, and the man obligingly sat back down as though relieved. No honest man wanted to come up against the law, especially when it was Hocking.
Hocking frowned, his face reddening. ‘Now, you listen closely, woman. I get everything I want in life. Everything! And I’m warning you, don’t make this hard for me or I will take from you the one thing you love the most. William Campbell will die his sentenced death if I get hold of him and I will gratifyingly hang him with my very own hands if you don’t freely give yourself to me.’
Anne felt her breath catch in her throat, a mixture of fear and fury making her whole body tremble and her heart pound erratically. How she would love to pull the shotgun from beneath the bar and shoot Hocking right between the eyes. Nothing would please her more. Hocking was pushing her beyond her limits, taunting a woman who was deeply and devotedly in love. She would go to any lengths to protect William, as she knew William would for her: that was what true love was all about. Not that Hocking would understand that. He only thought with what was between his legs.
Katherine, the barmaid, stopped wiping the glass in her hands, her eyes conveying a mixture of concern and fear. Anne discreetly shook her head, not wanting Katherine to get involved. The poor woman had already been on the receiving end of Hocking’s anger and her face had been swollen and bruised for a week. As usual, Hocking had gotten away with it because he was the law.
Before she said or did something she’d regret, Anne straightened her
back and padded away, keen to be in the company of more desirable patrons down the other end of the bar. To pull herself from the raw emotion of the moment, she allowed her mind’s eye to fill with images of William. Her heart ached for him. How long would it be before she could wrap her arms around him again and feel his lips upon hers?
It had been almost two months since she had seen him last and her body craved his touch, his love. She just prayed he was safe and sound — not knowing was torture. The only assurance she had from the uncertainty of his well-being was that Hocking and his men, originally from Sydney, had a complete lack of bush sense, making it hard for them to find William and his gang out in the vast Goldbury bushlands. Another advantageous aspect was that most of the diggers held great disrespect for the law, as Hocking’s ignorance of their way of life and his harsh treatment of them caused much disdain among the prospectors. Thank God for small mercies, Anne thought as she rubbed her increasingly ill tummy. She would have to be more careful of what she ate; food poisoning was common and she couldn’t afford to take a bad turn when she had a hotel to run. Perhaps it was just the stress from everything getting to her and making her feel unwell.
The early morning mist sat heavily amid the tall shady red gums and thick scrub, curling itself around the foot of the valley like a snake and adding a ghostlike presence to the crisp autumn day. William and his youthful gang — Joey, Ben and David — hid among the shadows of the bush on their mounts, their trap set, waiting for the perfect time to pounce, all four men weary from lack of wholesome food and decent rest. They slept with one eye open, fearing discovery by the troopers and being dragged off to the gallows. The four had worked together to place a large fallen tree across the trail, stopping anyone travelling towards Kilmaroy. And William had caught wind of a wealthy businessman travelling this way with his hoard of gold, money and fine jewels.