by Karen Wood
‘That’s not the point, Shara. What you’ve done is wrong. You’re damn lucky those contractors have left town or you would’ve been up on charges. If you pull any more stunts like that, you’ll be in serious trouble, do you hear me?’
Shara sighed. ‘Yes, Dad.’
Barry glared at her. ‘I need to know whether your attitude is going to change, because if it’s not, that horse can go to the first home that comes his way. I’m not going to feed a herd of horses for a daughter who shows no gratitude and thinks she can just go around breaking the law.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You ought to be.’
‘So, are you going to punish me?’ Because a grounding could make Jess’s Brisbane plan a wee bit difficult . . .
‘No. I’ve spoken to you and I’ve given you a warning. Any more illegality and the horses are gone.’ He looked her dead in the eye. ‘Both of them!’
9
SHARA RUMMAGED THROUGH her wardrobe. What to wear to the big smoke – hmmm, something not covered in horse hair. Jeans – no clean ones. Shirt – no clean ones. Skirt – surely she had one somewhere . . .
She pulled a swirly yellow skirt from the very bottom of the cupboard. Aunty Vic had given it to her for Christmas; no doubt as a subtle hint that she should be more girlish. Ugh, hurts my eyes. She tossed it on the floor.
After trying on several tops, she threw the lot on the bed and decided to wait for Rosie to arrive. Trying to find city-friendly clothes was too stressful to contemplate solo. How on earth did she let Jess talk her into this?
She felt a pang of guilt for lying to her parents. But, she argued to herself, what else was she to do? The issue of the colt’s ownership needed to be sorted so he could be gelded and cared for properly. All they needed to do was find the taffy mare and take a teensy bit of hair from her for a sample. No illegalities required.
Rosie arrived and looked at the pile on Shara’s bed with disdain. Shara’s wardrobe was geared towards one thing: horses.
‘Lucky I brought some civilised clothes for you to try,’ Rosie said, reaching into a small duffle bag and pulling out a handful of flimsy red fabric.
‘What the heck is that?’ said Shara.
‘A skirt, you know, those cute little things that show off your legs.’ Rosie held up the garment and stretched it between two hands.
‘I thought it was a hanky,’ said Shara, aghast at the teeny-weeny size of it. Not on her nelly would she be squeezing into that thing.
‘Just try it,’ said Rosie. ‘It has to be seen on.’ Shara took a step backwards and grimaced.
‘Cummaahn!’
Shara squirmed into the little red thing and stood in front of the mirror, trying to yank it down to a decent level. ‘I feel half naked.’
‘Leave it up!’ said Rosie. ‘You look hot.’
‘I look like a total rodeo floozy.’
‘Exactly. You’ll fit right in. Got any good tops to go with it?’
After several fittings, Rosie grudgingly approved
Shara’s white T-shirt with brumbies on it, and cowboy boots.
‘What jewellery are you going to wear?’
‘Huh?’ said Shara. ‘Jewellery? You didn’t tell me I had to wear jewellery!’
Her self-confidence was rapidly diminishing. In Coach–wood Crossing and at school, she was Shara Wilson – champion camp–drafter, up-and-coming vet, equine geneticist extraordinaire. In Brisbane she’d be some lame wannabe cowgirl who didn’t even own any jewellery.
Rosie rolled her eyes and pulled a small silk purse from her handbag. It was full of earrings. She brought out a jangly pair with blue crystals and held them against Shara’s ears. ‘Perfect,’ she said, brushing Shara’s hair back. ‘They match your eyes.’
Shara reluctantly took out her plain old sleepers and hooked the earrings into her earlobes.
‘What about your charm bracelet?’ said Rosie.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Shara opened the drawer in her bedside table.
The delicate silver chain bore fifteen tiny charms. Every charm marked a new year in her life; a bootie for her first birthday and a teddy bear for her second. By her fifth, it was a horseshoe and for her sixth, after falling off her first pony, a tiny helmet; the little silver horse had been for her twelfth birthday, just after she’d bought Rocko from the saleyards, and for her fourteenth a tiny book had celebrated her scholarship to Canningdale College.
Shara draped the bracelet over her wrist and held it out for Rosie to clasp. ‘Make sure it’s clipped on properly. I would die if I lost it.’ It was one of her most treasured possessions, so treasured, in fact, that she only ever wore it for Christmas and her birthday. ‘Do I look okay?’ She turned around.
‘What about your hair?’
‘What’s wrong with my hair?’
Rosie looked at the ponytail clamped to the back of Shara’s head. ‘You look like someone who’s about to either muck out stables or play tennis.’
‘We’re only supposed to be going to the movies,’ Shara argued.
‘But it’s in the city,’ said Rosie. ‘And it’s that big 3D screen. One of the biggest in the southern hemisphere. I almost wish I was going myself.’
‘Rosie, we’re not really going to the movies, remember?’
‘It doesn’t matter, we still have to convince your parents that you are. Besides, you might snag yourself a cowboy at the show.’
Shara snorted. She didn’t know what was worse, being coerced into this web of deceit, being forced into a skirt, or having Rosie trying to get her a love-life. ‘I don’t like cowboys.’
She scruffed her hair. ‘What will I do with my hair, then? It’s so boring.’
‘It’s not, it’s gorgeous,’ said Rosie, running her fingers through it and looking at Shara in the mirror. ‘It’s so thick and blonde. Wish I had hair like that.’ Then she pulled a petulant face. ‘Tom might even notice that I exist!’
‘Oh, Rosie, you two are total besties.’
Rosie flicked her wispy hair over her shoulder and pouted. ‘I want to be more than just besties.’
‘Maybe he’s just shy.’
‘Maybe.’ Rosie took Shara by the shoulders and planted her firmly into a chair in front of the mirror. Shara sat obediently while Rosie plucked and preened and forced her hair into an amazing side-part do, talking the whole time about Tom. She applied make-up and a squirt of something floral-smelling. By the time she was finished, Shara had to admit the results were good. She twirled in front of the mirror, admiring the new girly version of herself. ‘I should do this more often.’
She picked up her denim jacket, and stuffed both her wallet and keys into the pocket. ‘Come on. Luke’ll be waiting.’
Outside, Barry had Luke pinned to the side of his HQ ute, giving him a stiff lecture on speed limits and passenger safety.
‘Not a problem, Baz,’ Luke said cheerfully.
Shara saw her father’s jaw tighten. He hated being called ‘Baz’. He ran his eyes over Luke’s old yellow ute, with its dark-blue door from a wrecker’s yard. ‘You’re to give me a call straight away if you have any engine troubles.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Luke. ‘It shouldn’t be a problem, though. This old girl will get us down and back in one piece.’
Shara gave the doorhandle a yank and slid in next to Jess. As they drove out the gate, she waved to her father, who stood on the verandah with hands on hips and a rigid face. Safely down the road, Shara turned to Jess. ‘Did you bring some scissors?’
‘Yep!’ Jess drew a small box of clip-lock bags and a pair of hairdressing scissors from her bag. ‘You bring the camera?’
Shara pulled it out of her pocket and aimed the lens back towards them. ‘Lean in!’
The flash went off, leaving blotches of colour in her vision. The girls huddled over the LCD screen, admiring their exaggerated smiles.
‘The scissors won’t be much use,’ said Luke. ‘You need a hair follicle for a DNA sample. You’ll have to pluck it, not cut
it.’
‘Cool, let’s go pluck!’ said Shara.
10
IT WAS DARK when they arrived in Brisbane. They found a park down the road from the showgrounds. A bustle of cars, trucks and taxis tore past in streams of red and white light.
‘Come on, Shara,’ said Jess, grabbing her hand and leaping into the traffic.
‘Holy crap,’ said Shara, stumbling off the kerb.
They crossed three lanes and waited, toes on the white lines, until another gap appeared in the rush of vehicles. A taxi zoomed behind them and honked. Shara jumped in fright and Jess pulled her forward across another three lanes and onto the footpath. Behind them, the cars slowed and the lights turned red. Luke calmly crossed at the intersection.
Jess took Shara by one arm and Luke by the other, and linked together, they headed for the showgrounds. Before they reached the main gates they could hear the country music, crooning cattle and over-excited commentators, all sounding totally out of whack with the roar of city traffic.
At the back of the main arena was a cluster of trucks and horse floats, four-wheel drives and dust-covered vehicles. Beyond that, Shara could see caravans and temporary accommodation. They bought tickets and strolled through the turnstiles into the smell of popcorn, horse hair and sickly-sweet fairy floss.
In the arena the Clydesdale tug-o-war was on, with at least sixty kids braced against a long rope, chattering excitedly. The rope was attached to the harness of two huge feather-legged horses with muscled hindquarters. The announcer bellowed to the handler to take up the slack. ‘Averaging twenty-five kilos per kid, that there is a tonne and a half of kids!’
‘My money’s on the Clydies,’ said Luke.
‘No way, they’ll let the kids win,’ said Jess.
Shara thought it looked evenly matched and couldn’t decide either way.
They stayed and watched three rounds of squealing children being dragged through the dirt, pulling and laughing and eventually conceding before the wild goat race was announced as the next event.
‘Shoulda brought your coloured hairspray,’ said Luke, and Jess punched him on the shoulder.
They left the main arena and mingled with the crowds. There were trade booths filled with sumptuous leather horse gear and country clothing. Agricultural advisors had information tables, and produce companies spruiked their products. The friends strolled between rides and show–bag stalls until they came to a line of bunting flags fencing them off from the trucks and the animals. Men in black T-shirts stood, arms folded, at intervals along the barrier.
Shara scanned the surrounds. ‘How are we going to get out the back?’
‘Let’s come in from that park behind,’ said Luke. ‘Maybe we can find a section that they’ve left unguarded.’
They slipped out of the arena perimeters and through some empty pavilions. The showgrounds were immense and the roping finals only filled a small corner of them. As they left the brightly lit commotion behind, trucks and vans formed strange shapes in the darkness, with the occasional human silhouette moving between them. It became quiet and creepy.
‘You guys stay here while I try to find somewhere to get in,’ said Luke, staring up at the two-metre cyclone wire fence that stood between them and the competitors’ area.
‘How about we check up this way?’ Shara pointed in the opposite direction.
‘Okay, meet you back here in ten minutes.’ Luke slipped through some shrubs and darted off towards the back of the arena.
Jess and Shara continued along the fence in the direction of a block of stables.
‘Look through there!’ said Jess, stopping outside the huge open doorway. ‘There’s nothing to stop us walking straight through and out into the competitors’ area.’
Shara stared in at the horses tied in the aisle and the riders sitting on buckets cleaning bridles. Jess was right; there was no barrier at all. She looked down at her red skirt and wished she’d worn her old riding jeans. ‘I’m not exactly dressed like a competitor. I’ll stand out like stallions’ balls.’
‘Won’t matter if we’re quick.’
‘Should we go and get Luke?’
Jess looked at her watch. ‘He won’t be back yet. Let’s just have a quick squiz before we meet up with him.’
They walked directly through the stable block, heads high, as if they owned the place. No one seemed to take much notice of them – they just carried on with brushing and watering and feeding horses.
‘Now where?’ said Shara as they exited the rear of the building.
‘This way,’ said Jess.
Shara followed her across a small exercise arena and continued through dimly lit rows of vehicles, listening to the muffled voices and clinking of cutlery and plates from inside the caravans.
‘Let’s keep it low-key,’ Jess breathed. ‘If we get busted out here without a pass, we’ll get kicked out and then we’ll never get the hair sample.’
‘Is that the Connemans’ truck?’ Shara pointed to the outer rim of the car park, where the top of a semitrailer with livestock crates on the back loomed above the smaller trucks.
‘Sure looks like it,’ said Jess. ‘Let’s go!’
‘Oh, God,’ groaned Shara, uncertainty hitting her like a wave of cement. ‘I really don’t know if we should be doing this.’
‘Bit late now,’ said Jess, and before Shara could voice any more doubts, she was being led through a dark labyrinth of trailers.
‘Shara?’
Shara froze. That was Corey’s voice! He walked towards them in his big black hat and a burgundy red shirt with a roping saddle and a tangle of leather straps in his arms.
‘Hi!’ Shara plastered on a huge, nervous smile. ‘What are you doing here?’
He gave her a shrewd look. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Just came to watch some roping,’ Jess interjected.
Corey addressed Shara. ‘Thought you didn’t like rodeo.’
‘Roping’s okay,’ she shrugged.
‘This is the competitors’ area. You riding here?’
‘We’re visiting a friend,’ said Jess quickly.
Corey stayed focused on Shara. His eyes seemed to go right through her and make the truth impossible to hide. ‘Are you visiting the Connemans?’
‘No! No . . . of course not. We didn’t even know they were here.’ Shara’s voice was a squeaky stammer. She was so lying and it was so obvious. She could almost hear Jess’s groan at her complete inability to keep it together.
‘They’re not the sort of people you want to mess with.’
‘Why would we want to mess with them?’ said Jess, taking Shara by the arm again. ‘We have to go, or we’ll miss the finals.’
‘They’re not on for another hour,’ said Shara.
‘We have to go anyway.’ Jess hauled her away until they were behind a big, stinking rubbish hopper, then spun around to face her. ‘Oh my God, you’ve totally got the hots for that rodeo schmuck. You were about to tell him everything!’
‘What, are you nuts?’ Shara pulled a face. ‘I was just surprised to see him, that’s all. It caught me off-guard.’
‘Crap!’ said her friend with an appalled laugh. ‘You never smile at me like that.’
‘Well, you’re not six foot tall with a purebred quarter horse underneath you,’ said Shara.
Jess snorted in disgust. ‘He is a total player. Pull yourself together before I slap you!’
Shara rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s just go.’
Jess was like a ferret in a rabbit warren, weaving in and out between vans and trucks. Shara could hardly keep up with her. It wasn’t long before they realised that there were very few dark places to hide. They zigzagged from shadow to shadow, finding very little cover. If someone was to walk out of their van, they’d be caught, frozen under a porch light with nowhere to run. A dog barked and threw itself at the inside wall of a truck, snarling. Shara jumped backwards.
Two arms caught her and a hand clamped over her mouth. She felt he
r stomach knot as she was dragged slowly backwards, one step at a time, silently, into a dark space. She could only watch as, up ahead, Jess slipped silently behind a horse truck and disappeared.
‘Sshh,’ her assailant whispered into her ear.
From inside the truck, a man’s voice growled. ‘Lie down!’ There was a yelp and then quiet.
Shara didn’t dare breathe. The dog let out a low, I-know-you’re-still-out-there growl and then yelped as its owner kicked it again.
‘What are you doing back here?’ It was Corey. Shara winced as she was spun around. ‘What are you and your mate up to? You’re not going to ruin the nationals for everyone with some stupid protest, are you?’ His voice was like a sharp pinch.
‘No, we just . . .’ How on earth could she explain? She couldn’t, she realised – she might as well come clean. ‘We just want to find Goldie’s mother,’ she said. ‘So we can prove who owns him. We’re not—’
‘You don’t know who you’re messing with,’ he hissed, and it left her wondering whether he included himself in that category or whether he was just talking about the Connemans.
‘I’m sorry . . . ’
He pointed his thumb back towards the stable. ‘Get out of here before you get busted. Just go home. The animal shelter will sort out who owns that horse.’
‘They can’t, not without proof. We just need a DNA sample. A bit of hair, that’s all. Then we’ll go, I promise. Oh, and a photo.’
She heard Corey exhale.
‘Jess is . . . I have to catch up with her. She’s . . . ’ Shara pointed to where she had last seen Jess. Damn, now she had lost her, and by now Luke would be waiting for them.
Corey followed her eyes. There was a charged silence.
‘Please?’ she whispered.
He looked down at her with a searching face, then somehow his hand found hers. ‘I’ll help you find her. Follow me. You’ll be okay if you’re with a competitor.’
He led her calmly through the maze of trucks with her hand squeezed tightly in his. Shara followed obediently until she saw a large red semitrailer parked by some cattle yards in the distance. ‘That’s their truck,’ she whispered.