by Karen Wood
‘You got him pretty good,’ she assured him. ‘Enough to make him let go of me. Then the other brother king-hit you. It was two against one.’
His frown deepened and he stared hard at the floor. ‘Nope, don’t remember that part.’
‘You were a bit of a hero,’ she said quietly.
He lifted his eyes. ‘Was I ?’ He sounded unsure of himself. She nodded. ‘Thanks for saving me.’
His gaze ran over her and she could see he was still wrestling with his memory.
‘Graham had me by the arm. He was calling me names and wouldn’t let go,’ she said, trying to help him picture the scene. ‘You flew at him, gave him one in the jaw.’
Corey looked at his bandaged hand. ‘I can’t believe I did that.’
‘You didn’t hesitate.’
Corey began to look quite pleased with himself. ‘Yeah?’
‘Took two of them to fight you off.’
He gave her a heart-melting smile and the crescent-shaped bruise around his eye merged with the one on his cheek. ‘You’re just trying to make me feel good!’
‘It’s true.’ She saw the same amused twinkle in his eyes that she had seen in them that day at the Coachwood Crossing Show, when she had just gone tail-up off the fence.
‘You’re sweet,’ he said, shifting around to face her more directly, ‘and funny . . . in a klutzy kind of way.’
She felt suddenly awkward. ‘I’m a troublemaker.’
‘There’s something I do remember,’ he said, as though weighing up whether to tell her or not.
‘What?’
He hesitated.
‘What?’ she repeated.
His voice softened. ‘I can remember how much I wanted to kiss you when those security guards walked past.’
She looked away, blushing hotly. ‘You laughed at me.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
There was an uncomfortable moment as she tried not to meet his gaze, instead taking in his tanned neck and the way his T-shirt fell over the broad contours of his shoulders.
‘I still want to kiss you,’ he said.
She allowed her eyes to meet his, and she felt that mix of thrill and fear again – fear that if she let herself fall into their warm hazel depths she’d fall so far and so hard that she might never be able to climb out.
‘You want to kiss all the girls.’
‘No, I don’t.’ He gave a hopeless shrug. ‘They want to kiss me.’
She scoffed, trying to diffuse the awkwardness she felt. Suddenly the room seemed to suffocate her. She needed to get out of there. ‘My point exactly,’ she said.
He put out a hand to stop her. ‘Just hang out with me, then. I’m so bored.’
‘Only if we go outside. Your room smells like old socks.’
There was an old couch on the verandah, covered in dog hair, bridles and dirty jumpers. Scattered about were boots, more dog hair and more stinky socks.
‘Place is a bit of a bachelor pad,’ said Corey apologetically. ‘Between me, Dad and Elliot, it doesn’t get a lot of sweeping.’ He reached into a large fridge with stickers all over it and pulled out two cans of cola. ‘Want one?’
He brushed all the clutter off the couch, plonked down into it and crossed his legs again.
Shara took the can, sat next to him and put her feet up on an old milk crate. ‘Where’s your mum?’
‘Lives in Brissie.’
Shara cracked her can. ‘Well, here’s to her!’
‘Cheers,’ agreed Corey, taking a long, thirsty guzzle.
Shara looked back along the tree-lined driveway. On either side were small post-and-rail paddocks with bandaged horses and baby calves. Nearer the house, an offshoot led to the surgery. From that direction came the sound of feet crunching over gravel.
As Shara sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Corey, a girl appeared, her legs as thin as pencils in skin-tight black jeans. She wore a collared shirt tucked in under a rodeo buckle and a peaked cap with a black ponytail poking out the back; she looked vaguely familiar.
The girl’s eyes narrowed when she saw Shara and darted back to Corey.
Shara smiled, trying to look friendly. Awkward!
Her smile wasn’t returned.
Corey spoke first. ‘Hi, Mandy.’ He didn’t move from the couch.
Mandy stood there without speaking, her face pinched.
Shara stood up and offered her hand, since Corey was making no attempt to introduce her. ‘I’m Shara.’
‘Shara?’ Mandy glared at her, and then at Corey. ‘What’s going on, babe?’
Babe? Shara retracted her hand.
Mandy’s glare was firmly locked on Corey.
‘I should probably get going,’ said Shara, looking around for her bag. Corey was fine, and obviously had plenty of company. She’d apologised and set things straight, so there was no further reason to hang about. She realised she had left her bag . . . argh . . . in Corey’s room. Not good!
Corey saw her searching. ‘You left your bag in my bedroom,’ he said, without getting up.
Shara felt herself shrivel with embarrassment. Corey made it sound like they’d been doing something in there. He was using her as a weapon against this Mandy girl! She had no idea what was going on between them, but she had no intention of getting involved.
‘Maybe you could go and get it for me then,’ she said icily.
Her tone must have reached Corey, because he pulled himself off the couch, went inside and resurfaced a moment later with her bag. ‘Sorry,’ he said to her quietly.
Shara hopped off the balcony and marched back along the driveway, slinging her bag over her shoulder. When she got to the first easement, she ran down through the long grass and sprinted across the river flats to the creek.
There, she sat on a smooth rock platform and watched the water slither and gurgle over the pebbles, trying to digest what had just happened.
Schmuck!
‘How’s Corey?’ asked Louise, when Shara walked onto the verandah at home later that morning.
‘Not all that great,’ said Shara.
She threw herself into the hammock and curled its edges up around her, hiding her face. She thought of Mandy’s cold glare. ‘Shara?’ Mandy had known who she was. How?
And Corey. Did he mean all those nice things he said, or was he just a charmer to everyone?
Shara flashed back to before Mandy had shown up; his warm, easy smile. ‘I can remember how much I wanted to kiss you.’
She hadn’t been brave enough, or stupid enough, she now realised, to tell him she had felt the same. She thought of his breath on her neck again, when he’d pushed her against the side of the truck at the Brisbane showgrounds and whispered to her. She closed her eyes and relived the clean smell of him.
Then she forced her eyes open. She had to stop thinking this way about him. Corey was a player. God, how much more proof did she need? Mandy was at his place now, probably with her paws all over him. ‘What’s going on, babe?’
Shara shook her head and tried to focus on the brumby ride. She didn’t need distractions. But there was the vision of Corey again, leaning into her, whispering softly in her ear, apologising for getting too close, when all she’d wanted to do was reach up and kiss him.
Arghhhh! She had to stop this. Focus, woman!
His complete lack of hesitation when it came to protecting her . . .
‘Shara?’
‘Huh?’ Shara snapped back to earth. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘I asked if you’d like to visit the colt this afternoon,’ said Louise. ‘John rang and said he needs people to exercise him because he’s locked up.’
Shara peered over the edge of the hammock. ‘Oh, can we?’
That would be great – as long as she didn’t have to go anywhere near the Duggins’ house. Yay! Things were turning around!
Horses – so much easier to understand than boys!
20
THEY FOUND GOLDIE under lock and key when they got to the surgery. Two extra pa
dlocks had been added to his stable and there was a strip of checked blue tape across the wire mesh of the upper door.
Goldie recognised Shara instantly and began tossing his head and whinnying. She tried her best to pat his nose through the mesh and he nipped playfully at her fingers, banging at the stable door with his hoof.
Shara went to John’s office and found Elliot under the desk fiddling with the leads of a computer. She noticed a framed studio photo of the two boys: Elliot, aged about seven, and Corey about ten. They actually looked like brothers: Elliot without his glasses and with the same dark hair as Corey. How different they were now.
Elliot crawled out from under the desk and blinked up at her through his specs. ‘Hi, Shara.’
‘Hi,’ she smiled. Elliot was always so earnest and genuine. Unlike his big brother. ‘I need the keys to Goldie’s stable. Your dad said I could exercise him.’
‘Oh, sure.’ Elliot got up and went to a nailboard full of keys. He grabbed a set and handed them to her. ‘There’s a lunge rope hanging outside the stable. I would do it, but the office modem just blew up. I told Dad I’d fix it.’
‘That’s okay.’ Shara had seen Elliot trying to lunge horses before.
‘I’m more of a cat person,’ he said apologetically.
She laughed. ‘I’ll give him a good work-out.’
‘Don’t let him off the rope, whatever you do.’
‘Yep.’ Shara ran off towards the stables.
Goldie exploded out of his stall.
‘Whoa,’ gasped Shara, holding onto his halter. He was a lot stronger and heavier. She led him, prancing and snorting and tossing his tangled silver mane, out to the small exercise paddock.
‘I’m going to groom you too,’ she said, as she let him out onto the full length of the rope.
Goldie burst away from her and galloped as hard and fast as his legs would carry him for about ten laps. He bucked and farted and then broke back into a trot, tail high and waving like a flag, nose swinging from side to side. Shara let him play and get it all out of his system, and Goldie ran and ran as if he hadn’t been out for weeks. Each time Shara thought he was beginning to slow down a bit, he took off with a whole new level of energetic bucking.
Finally, he propped into an abrupt halt, puffing heavily, all four feet planted beneath him. He dropped his head and faced her with a pleased look. Shara laughed. ‘You’re an idiot.’
Goldie walked to her and tossed his nose up and down, giving Shara an idea. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a few of the pellets she had taken from the feedroom, clicked her tongue and treated him. Every time Goldie tossed his head, she clicked and treated him. Then she added a cue.
‘Are you an idiot?’ She held the pellet under his nose, then raised it up and down to make him nod before she gave it to him.
Within minutes, Goldie understood and nodded on cue. ‘Are you a clever horse?’ Shara asked, using the same tone. He nodded again. She gave him a pat on the neck and led him back towards the stable. ‘Shall I make you beautiful?’ Goldie nodded and then boofed her in the back.
‘Sorry, I’ve run out of pellets,’ she laughed.
She found a dribble of shampoo in an old bottle at the horse wash and squeezed the last of it over Goldie, rubbing it into a lather and slopping it through his filthy mane. Brown dirty water ran out of him as she rinsed him off. She pushed her fingers into the bone of his tail and got out all the scungy bits. Finally she sponged his head clean and wiped around his muzzle and eyes.
When she had finished, both of them were soaking wet, so she led him out into the sunshine and let him shake like a huge dog. His water-soaked mane flap-flap-flapped against his neck, flinging water everywhere. She scraped him off and rubbed him all over with a towel and he lifted his lip and waggled it with appreciation. Then she set to on his mane, combing out all the burrs and matted bits, and brushing it until the silvery streaks dazzled. She did the same with his tail and snipped it into a neat bang.
As the last damp patches on his pelt faded, she trotted him out on the lunge rope again and marvelled at his glossy smooth coat. He had the muscle and athleticism of a quarter horse, the sharp mind of a trick horse and the hardiness and wily charms of the Australian brumby – and the mix of his parents had given him that beautiful and rare silver taffy colour. Galloping about, freshly washed and groomed in the sunlight, Goldie was absolutely and totally the most spectacular horse Shara had ever laid eyes on.
‘We have to get you out of here, Goldie,’ Shara said, when the little colt trotted back to her and rested his head in her arms. ‘You’re too special to be in a stupid rodeo.’ She changed to her training tone. ‘Is that a good idea?’ But Goldie didn’t nod. He pushed into her, twisted his head a little and closed his eyes.
She rubbed his cheeks and kissed him in the little hollow above his eyes. ‘You won’t be stuck in here much longer,’ she promised.
Shara spent the next day at home, organising the brumby ride with her friends. Grace and Elliot came over and helped her turn the sunroom into an office. Jess’s parents, although reluctant, let her come and help too.
‘You know, all these plugs and cables are totally unnecessary these days,’ said Elliot, crawling out from under the desk. ‘Cloud computing is way better.’
‘Don’t care, as long as I can google,’ said Shara. ‘Let’s look up the Connemans.’
She and Jess sat side-by-side in front of the computer and began by searching ‘Conneman brothers’.
‘Hey, check this out,’ said Jess. ‘Mark Conneman has a two-year banning order for failing to provide veterinary care for sick and injured animals.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ said Shara. ‘What about the other one – Graham?’
She took the mouse and keyboard from Jess and googled ‘Graham Conneman’: lots of rodeo photos, bucking broncos, team roping photos.
‘Stop, stop!’ said Jess suddenly. ‘That one said something about a Mandy Conneman. Go back!’
Shara scrolled back up. Surely not.
And then she saw it. ‘Mandy Conneman takes out the junior roping at Dunega.’ That was her all right, in her skin-tight jeans on a bay horse.
‘So that Mandy girl was Graham Conneman’s daughter?’ said Jess.
‘Oh my God.’ Shara thought of Corey riding alongside her at the Coachwood Crossing Show, the two of them bumping their horses against each other. ‘That lying, sleazy, rodeo schmuck!’
‘I’ll say!’
Shara shoved her chair away from the desk and took herself to the bathroom. Corey was going out with Graham Conneman’s daughter? No wonder Mandy had given her a daggers look when she’d introduced herself!
She went out to the lounge room, where Grace and Elliot were setting up the Facebook pages. ‘Did you know Corey goes out with Mandy Conneman? Graham Conneman’s daughter.’
Elliot glanced up from his laptop. ‘Dad and I don’t like her much.’ He shrugged. ‘She’s not very nice.’
‘How come you never told me?’
Elliot looked at her through his thick-rimmed glasses. ‘She’s not his girlfriend or anything. She just kind of hangs around him. Heaps of girls do.’
‘Corey’s a sleaze,’ said Grace. ‘Oh, sorry, Elliot.’
But Elliot seemed uninterested, and turned back to the photos he had just uploaded.
Shara channelled her fury by getting back to work on the brumby ride. She and Jess found a photo of a horse being pulled to the ground and composed a flyer with the heading:
WILD HORSE RACE – A TOTAL DISGRACE!
They included the date, place and time of the brumby ride, and sent it to every newspaper, television and radio station in the district.
‘Who else can we send it to?’ Shara said, still dissatisfied. ‘We need people to come along.’
‘How about animal welfare groups?’ said Jess. ‘There are heaps of those.’
Grace peered over their shoulders. ‘Mum reckons they have info packs for people holding rall
ies.’
The girls soon discovered that there were many organisations and groups on the internet offering information and support for people holding events. They collected the contacts for as many organisations as they could find, emailed them the brumby ride flyer and invited their members to come along. They asked for emails, faxes and letters of support that they could forward to the local council, demanding that all wild horse races be banned from rodeos.
‘Hey, look, we can do an online petition!’ said Shara. ‘We could get signatures from people all over the country!’
‘So even if they can’t come to the ride, they can lend us their voice!’ said Jess.
‘We still need lots of people to come on the brumby ride,’ said Shara, ‘or it won’t make a good news story.’
‘Let’s ask people to come on foot!’ suggested Grace.
‘Reckon they’d come?’
‘We could ask,’ Grace shrugged.
‘This is going to be huge!’ said Jess, with a worried half-smile.
‘I hope so,’ grinned Shara.
Shara and Jess spent the rest of the week pinning up posters around town. Elliot made a website to Grace’s design specifications. Tom and Rosie walked the streets collecting more signatures for the petition to the mayor.
It seemed the whole town was abuzz with preparations. Annie Blake rang to say she had been baking all day with the ladies from the CWA and would be bringing ‘refreshments’ to the sausage sizzle. Chan, Jess’s boss at the bakery, offered to donate the bread.
Mrs Arnold was keen to be part of any horse-rescue operation. She offered to help by being their official taxi driver, ferrying them in and out of town to pick up sausages and cans of soft drink for the sausage sizzle.
The phone rang continually. ‘Brumby Ride Hotline!’ Shara sang, snatching it from its cradle.
‘I got two more people coming!’ said Jess on the other end.
‘Did you find out how many are coming from the trail ride club?’
‘About eight.’
By the end of the week Shara’s inbox was full of responses from animal welfare groups. As she looked down the long list of emails, she punched the air victoriously. Yes! She printed them out and put them in a large envelope addressed to the mayor.