‘No! Please!’ Maurie looked up from where he was still writhing on the ground as the blood returned to his constricted limbs.
‘What?’ Jeremy laughed incredulously. ‘You think I’d waste a dose on you when there are useful animals around that need it?’
Before Maurie’s pain had completely subsided, Jeremy marched him over to the shipping container next to the shed, used for the storage of dry feed and other matter that needed to be protected from moisture and marauding mice. Untying his wrists, Jeremy deposited the unhappy man roughly onto some empty bags and paused for a moment before closing him in. ‘Stock squad’ll be here after a bit, old mate. Best get some rest. Build up ya strength. Although there’ll be plenty of time for that once you’re inside.’
Just before Jeremy banged the heavy door shut, excluding the dawn light, he caught a final glimpse of the poddy dodger. Maurie looked so completely down and out: Jeremy horrified himself by feeling a fleeting pang of something like pity.
They let Maurie go at midday. He was babbling and falling over himself with gratitude that they hadn’t called the cops.
‘Get going, you snivelling idiot,’ Jeremy said disgustedly. Out of respect for Sam, he’d become more creative with his insulting names and curses since coming to Redstone. ‘We’ll take care of our own vermin from now on. Including you, if you ever show your whiskers round here again.’
They stood and watched him drive away.
‘What goes around comes around,’ said Olive decidedly. ‘He’ll have to pay for his wrongdoing one day.’
‘Yeah – today,’ said Jeremy. ‘The little nest egg he had in his glove-box will do nicely.’
They all stared in amazement as he produced a thick roll of cash from his chest pocket.
‘Well, I suppose that will cover the cost of some of the calves he stole,’ said Olive doubtfully, clearly trying to work out whether Jeremy had been right or wrong in taking it.
‘You’re joking, aren’t ya?’ Jeremy exclaimed. ‘This is my commission. I’ll be using some of it to wine and dine Alice on Valentine’s Day.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said Olive as they walked inside for lunch.
Alice buttered the bread while her grandmother carved the corned beef. Then the older woman looked up at her and spoke ominously. ‘I’ll need you in the office after lunch. Remember, the bank manager’s coming Wednesday week and I want us to be ready for him.’
Jeremy piped up, ‘While we’re making bookings, Alice, can I borrow you for a bit this evening?’
‘What for?’ Alice and her grandmother asked in unison.
‘Ladies, ladies, keep your cottontails on! I just need a lift to my ute. And a drum of fuel. The needle had been below empty for quite a while when I ran into old Fluff Balls. He saved my, er, skin. Would’ve been a long walk home. Poor fella will never know.’
‘The Lord works in mysterious ways,’ Sam chuckled.
Chapter 9
Alice and Jeremy bumped along the road in the late afternoon sun and looked out at a world washed with warm golds, pinks and browns. The harshness of the dried-out land was softened by the slanting rays of the setting sun, and hidden hues emerged in the landscape that was largely bleached of colour in the full daylight. The two spoke little as they drove, the long blue shadows of the trees and termite mounds lying across their way.
‘Could do with some bloody rain,’ was all Jeremy said for the first five kilometres.
The only radio station that the ute could pick up crackled in and out of reception, at times startlingly clear. But Alice wasn’t listening. The facts and figures she’d spent the afternoon perusing with her grandmother were swimming before her eyes as she stared ahead at the road. Profit and loss, overheads, direct and indirect costs were running through her mind and she frowned slightly. With her grandmother’s blessing, over the weeks since Alice had returned she had added onto the computer ingoing and outgoing cattle numbers for each paddock. It had involved a great deal of ruffling through her grandfather’s haphazard pocket record-keeping books. Alice now intended to begin recording calving percentages for each paddock and to develop a table for predicted weaning and branding times. She’d also been working on some files of her own, listing new ideas and ventures for the property.
She came out of her reverie and looked across to see Jeremy watching her as she drove. He smiled at her and she felt surprisingly comforted and reassured.
‘How did your secret women’s business go today?’ he asked, as though he’d read her mind.
Suddenly Alice found herself spilling out her thoughts to him. All her dreams and plans for Redstone. Jeremy listened with his head slightly cocked, unusually quiet.
She told him about her plan to introduce seasonal mating. This would mean that instead of keeping bulls in with the cows all year round, they would be given a season to do their work with the cows, then removed to rest and recharge their batteries. Initially it would mean fewer calves, as the cows that had calved at the wrong time the previous year would fail to cycle when the bulls were on hand. However, after a few years the cows would be synchronised, and those that weren’t would stand out as the less fertile and be culled.
She confided in Jeremy her concern that her grandfather was only focused on the short term. It was understandable: while she was thinking twenty years down the track, Pa, at his age, was concentrating only on surviving a day at a time. He had the bank manager breathing down his neck and regular interest payments to meet. Anything that meant a reduction in calf numbers, even in the short term, appeared madness to him. But Alice had done her homework. She’d calculated the exact figures using the worst-case scenario. There were losses in the short term, yes, but when all the calves were born at the same time the cattle workload would be cut by more than half, with only one annual round of branding and weaning for each paddock. Until now there had been haphazard branding and weaning all year round; there was always a drizzle of multi-sized weaners needing to be taken off at any time, and a drizzle of musters to match. These small mobs of weaners didn’t get proper handling before being sent bush. As a result, they were flighty, slower to gain weight, harder on fences and difficult to muster.
Realising how long she’d been talking, Alice stopped and looked at Jeremy, but he just nodded for her to go on.
Alice explained that with perdictable numbers of a uniform size she believed they would be able to meet forward contracts for beef orders. Transporting bulk loads, less often, was a huge saving for a station as out of the way as Redstone. Of course, any plans were always subject to the weather, and extended dry spells were part of life at Redstone. But from her time at ag college Alice knew all about feed supplementation; loose dry-powder licks and molasses-urea wet licks were genuine options. Yes, another cost, but one that would pay for itself tenfold as the breeding cows would no longer need so many months to return to fertility after every dry.
They reached Jeremy’s ute, and Alice pulled up behind it. But they continued to sit in the cab while Alice, her face shining, described her strategy of splitting the larger paddocks and starting rotational grazing. ‘I’m sure we could nearly double our carrying capacity,’ she said eagerly.
‘It will mean loads of fencing, and new watering points,’ Jeremy observed. ‘But don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a top idea. The way to go. My brother John has been trying to convince Dad to do the same thing for a few years now.’
There was a short pause and they sat, listening to the hum of the crickets. Alice was pleased that Jeremy approved of her ideas, but she was still troubled by the thought of hurting her grandparents. Redstone was their home. What right did she have to tell them how to run it?
Looking across at Jeremy again, she explained her dilemma. ‘They’ve done so much for me. More than grandparents should ever have to.’
‘Excuse me for saying so, but I think it’s paid off for them in spades if you know what I mean.’ Jeremy looked at her, his eyes smiling.
Alice felt herse
lf relax a little. Some of the weight had lifted from her shoulders with the relief of having confided in someone.
They climbed out of the ute and Alice examined the damaged ironbark while Jeremy refuelled his vehicle from the drum. Bits of Maurie’s paint were embedded in the splintered bark of the tree. The farm ute radio was still playing. It sounded tinny and out of place in the isolation. The presenter was talking about fungal infections. He finished his spiel and then both Alice and Jeremy recognised the opening notes of the soppily romantic seventies hit, ‘Could I Have this Dance’. Jeremy hurled the empty fuel drum into the back of his ute and bounded over to Alice.
Before she knew it, she was firmly in his arms and he was waltzing her in an exaggerated slow dance, their feet making patterns in the bulldust. He mouthed the words while Anne Murray crooned, ‘ . . . Could I have this dance for the rest of my life? Would you be my partner every night? When we’re together it feels soooo right . . .’
After a slight struggle, Alice laughed and allowed Jeremy to manoeuvre her. She couldn’t help being aware of the strength of his arms holding her. She could feel the life and energy humming inside this man. Her forehead rested for a moment on his chin and a tingling warmth travelled from his body into hers.
The spell lasted as long as the song, then the presenter’s conversational voice irreverently cut off the last few notes, still talking about tinea. Jeremy released Alice and they stood looking at each other in the fading light, breathing quickly. The stress of her afternoon in the office was forgotten. She even wondered if, in another time and place, they could have loved one another.
But Alice was well aware of the kind of man that Jeremy had become, and all too familiar with his kind of girl. Jeremy had no place in her own special country. Hers was a solitary world of the outdoors, peace, and simple, rugged beauty. She had no use for Jeremy’s life of rodeos, egos, drunken revelry, and promiscuity. And this world had claimed him. She’d been invited into it repeatedly at ag college and had consciously withdrawn from it. Alice knew that she didn’t fit Jeremy’s life any more than he fitted hers. As much as she liked him and enjoyed working with him, she had no intention of becoming another notch on his belt.
Jeremy, standing opposite Alice in the dusk, was experiencing a disconcerting absence of the self-assurance he usually felt around women.
‘Are you blushing under that tan?’ he asked hopefully.
‘No,’ Alice answered, and he knew that it was true.
There it was again. Jeremy marvelled at the strange absence of self-consciousness in this girl. She was so certain of herself. None of the usual rules applied here. His typical moves were obsolete; Alice was so different to other girls.
‘You’re lucky that wasn’t “Eagle Rock”,’ he joked, trying to ease the intensity. ‘You know the tradition for that song.’
She smiled up at him, then looked down, her eyelashes concealing her thoughts from him. There was another silence while Jeremy panicked inwardly. He wanted to kiss her, but some dormant instinct inside him rose up in warning against that course of action. He was surprised when, looking up at him again, it was she who broke the silence.
‘Thank you for the dance, kind sir.’ She spoke with dignity.
He realised that she was gently concluding the incident and relieving him of the option of any further action. On an impulse, he took her small brown hand in his big rough one and kissed the back of it.
And then it was all over. They climbed into their vehicles. Alice waited to make sure Jeremy’s engine started and then followed him, keeping a distance behind to avoid his dust. Jeremy squirmed in his seat and swore quietly, cursing the uncomfortable turmoil he was experiencing. He’d really stuffed up big time. This girl had got under his skin; and yet she hadn’t seemed like the dangerous type. Becoming involved in a serious relationship was something he’d resolved against doing long ago. He decided he’d soon get over her. If not, he’d have to shoot through. But the truth was, Alice’s description of her plans for Redstone had excited and stimulated him. At last, it was something he could really sink his teeth into.
It was dark when they crossed the grid before the homestead. Jeremy honked loudly at the sight of Olive’s fretting face in the kitchen window. He swept past much too quickly, skidding to a halt in the shed. Alice pulled up alongside. After a brief goodnight, she disappeared into the house.
Chapter 10
After that evening, Jeremy became Alice’s ally in convincing Sam to consider some changes to Redstone. He wasn’t constrained by the same fear of offending the old man, so he was tougher on Sam than Alice was prepared to be.
Another unexpected ally came in the form of the bank manager, Phillip Kift, who arrived at Redstone the following Wednesday in his maroon and silver four-wheel drive. In her careful preparations, Olive had outdone herself and her scones were so light that they looked as though they could float off the platter. She’d timed them perfectly and they were still slightly warm, but not enough to make the cream go runny.
However, Mr Kift initially refused a scone on the grounds that he was dieting, and Olive feared they were off to a bad start. She looked despairingly at the ample pile of cream and jam heaped on each. A dieter’s worst nightmare. She couldn’t have got it more wrong if she’d tried. Next, the important man asked if there was any fresh fruit, but the mangos had finished and Olive’s last trip to Emerald had been three weeks earlier. It was the very thing she was completely out of.
‘Tinned peaches?’ she suggested hopefully.
But Mr Kift shook his head. ‘No, thank you, a cup of coffee will be fine.’
Olive looked in horror at the huge pot of tea she’d just made and scurried over to reboil the kettle. ‘Milk? Sugar?’ She smiled sweetly.
This time he nodded. ‘Skim if you’ve got any. I’ve brought my own artificial sweetener. Learned from other property visits. Not a staple in the bush.’ He chuckled.
Olive laughed more than the bank manager’s joke warranted, meanwhile panicking inwardly about the skim milk. Sam had just stirred the milk in the jug with a fork and the thick layer of cream floating on top had dispersed. The house cow made particularly creamy milk.
While she was still deciding what to do, the bank manager, eyeing the cream-laden scones, relented. ‘Oh, what the heck, maybe just one.’
The tide had turned. As he chatted genially, Mr Kift ate scone after scone, opening the floodgates for Olive to confidently serve his coffees with the rich creamy milk. The more scones he ate, the better his mood became, and Olive noticed triumphantly that he stirred a heaped teaspoonful of sugar into his third cup of coffee. But it was clear that Sam wasn’t enjoying himself. He’d never developed the art of idle chit-chat. And where were Alice and that larrikin of a Jeremy? They’d promised to be back in time for the bank manager’s visit.
At last she heard the rattle of the paddock ute driving into the yard. Soon after, the two came up the stairs in a hurry. ‘I’ll teach that mangy cocky to swear if it’s the last thing I do,’ she heard Jeremy saying as he pulled off his boots outside the door. Then the young pair burst into the kitchen in their sweaty socks.
Olive looked at Alice in dismay. She was wearing one of Sam’s shirts and her baggiest pair of jeans. Curls had escaped from her single plait and stuck out madly below the hat line, above which her hair was flat and plastered to her head with perspiration. Olive Day’s granddaughter had come to meet with the bank manager wearing soiled men’s work clothes and with hat hair.
Alice ran to the sink to have a wash before shaking hands with Mr Kift, who stood up in greeting.
‘She could grow potatoes under her fingernails,’ Olive noted.
Alice began by apologising profusely and explaining the delay. They had been trying to chase a fence-crawling bull back into the right paddock when the ute had become well and truly bogged.
‘Did you get him back where he belonged?’ Mr Kift wanted to know.
‘The bugger got away on us,’ Jeremy answered.
He sat down without washing his grimy hands and picked up a scone. After putting the whole thing into his mouth he went on thickly, ‘The horny old rogue liked the look of those young heifers through the fence too much. Not too stoked about being shoved in with those clapped-out old breeders where Sam put him. Can’t say I blame him.’
Olive clasped her hands in horror. How had Jeremy O’Donnell ended up at their meeting with the bank manager? But Mr Kift gave a hearty bellow and sat back down too, picking up another scone.
Olive spoke quickly to prevent Jeremy from elaborating further on the bull and his desires. ‘Well, you’re here now, Alice, so let’s get down to business. I’m sure Mr Kift doesn’t want to be stuck out here all day.’
‘Bet he does.’ Jeremy used the back of his hand to wipe some cream from the side of his mouth. ‘Reckon it’d beat being stuck in some carpeted office shuffling blooming papers.’
‘You’re quite right there,’ Mr Kift agreed.
Olive looked from one to the other in surprise. Incredibly, Mr Kift was responding positively to Jeremy.
‘However,’ the important man went on, ‘I do have to drop in on two other stations today, so Mrs Day is correct, we’d better get on with it.’
Mr Kift moved his plate and cup aside and opened his laptop on the table. The others waited with an anticipation that was slightly tense. Even Jeremy kept quiet. Mr Kift studied the screen with a frown and cleared his throat.
‘Ah, yes. Redstone.’ He looked up at Sam, his face serious. ‘Mr Day, the bank has tabulated the performance of this station over the last five years, as well as we could with the limited statistics you’ve given us over time. It seems that this station is, er, struggling to remain profitable in today’s climate. We need to look at some possible strategies to improve its performance.’
‘You mean you’re going to drop us?’ Sam’s voice trembled a little.
‘Now, Mr Day, don’t go jumping the gun. This is just a review. We’ll give it another six months, and then I’ll need you to come and touch base with me in Emerald. Six months after that, I’ll come back out here again.’
Redstone Station Page 7