The Breaker (Erotic Country #1.)

by Lucy Watt

  Too quickly the show was over, but she knew it was moments like this that earned her that respect with the men. She rode the puffing gelding out of the yard. Young Pete held the gate open for her and she found Brett waiting with her second horse. He handed her the reins. She took them without a word and led the second horse alongside Iceman. Brett still didn’t know who he was dealing with.

  * * * * *

  The country was endlessly flat – so flat the Bangaloo boys reckoned that on a clear day they could see the backs of their own heads. The black gelding danced beneath Sophie and she ignored it, knowing he would soon tire and get bored. She was right. By the time they left the home paddocks and got to the legume pastures, the horse had settled and the bay she led plodded through the rows of saddle-high saplings, his hooves occasionally clacking on upturned rocks.

  Brett rode in silence. She was glad that he wasn’t much of a talker. She loved the serene openness of this country, the carolling birds and raucous cicadas. The music of it was too beautiful to be spoiled by words.

  They rode to every gate, criss-crossing fields and checking on cattle as they went. They dodged an angry Micky bull in some of the scrubbier country and stopped to fix a broken ball-cock on one of the troughs. Then they got into sparser country, with the grass clumps fewer and further apart. They rode on as the sun beat down hotter and hotter, casting a shimmer across the land. Sophie rolled down her sleeves and lifted her collar around the back of her neck to keep the burning sun off her skin.

  Towards noon, the horses began to lag. Sophie searched for the next bore, so they could stop and water them. She saw the windmill in the distance. ‘There’s our smoko break,’ she said, pointing to the horizon. Brett nodded and pushed his tired horse on.

  The trough was a deep cast iron bathtub on four clawed feet. It had three dead rats in it and the ball-cock was bent up at a useless angle. There was another more functional concrete one about 200 metres away.

  Sophie stared at the beautiful old tub. ‘I’m going to clean it out,’ she said. ‘Can you ride over and check that one?’ She pointed to a lone tree in the distance. Brett rode away without a word and Sophie opened the pump box to get a bucket and a scrubbing brush. She scooped out the dead rats and walked a good distance away before flinging them under a saltbush. She took the brush and, using the hose, scrubbed down the sides until they were immaculate – the pale blue enamel was still in mint condition. She replaced the plug and turned on the tap to let it fill. By the time the water level flowed over one of the sides, it looked so inviting that she dunked her head in and blew bubbles out of her nose, shaking her head and revelling in the cool, crystal clear water.

  She flung her wet hair over her back and gasped as the water ran down her back. At the other trough, she saw Brett dismount and seemingly adjust something. She unbuttoned her shirt as she watched him work and began to strip, kicking off her boots and stepping out of her jeans. When she was totally naked, she backed up to the old bathtub and let herself collapse into the water, its silky coolness washing over her bare skin. She inhaled, closed her eyes and put her head back.

  What an insane couple of days it had been. She lay there, thinking about Brett, enjoying the peaceful sounds of the bush. Then she heard his horse’s feet walk back and halt nearby. His boots hit the ground and then there was silence.

  ‘Coming in?’ she asked without opening her eyes.

  ‘No.’ His voice was quiet.

  ‘Why not?’

  There was a pause. ‘Because you look so perfect.’

  She rolled her head to one side, half opened her eyes and smiled lazily.

  He stood with both arms resting over the horse’s shoulders. Its saddle had been taken off and its back was slick with sweat. His eyes rested on her and she noticed all traces of meanness were gone. They were soft, appreciative, almost reverent.

  She closed her eyes again and tried to imagine his fist around his cock under crisp white sheets. Then she gave herself what she’d needed all day, sliding her hand down her inner thigh and finding her spot. It was a hard, angry nut, still bitching from the morning. Still pounding from yesterday. Bound with tension that ached to be released. She worked it slowly, kneading and massaging, until something beautiful flowed through every vein in her body. It ran up the insides of her thighs and exploded between her legs. Her hips pushed up and she cried out with pleasure. She gazed at him shamelessly as the aftershocks spasmed through her body.

  This time he shut up. She closed her eyes again and felt her body go heavy in the cool water.

  ‘You’re quite a girl, Sophie,’ Brett said softly and she liked the way her name sounded on his lips.

  She smiled. ‘I am, aren’t I?’

  She heard the rustle of fabric and a zipper and knew he was undressing. His hand took hers, pulled her gently out of the water and he slipped into the bath tub behind her. Then he pulled her back down to lie on top of him. There was no raging hard on or raspy breath. His arms curled around the top of the bath and she leaned her head back on his chest, loving the feel of him beneath her. His legs hung ridiculously over the sides and hers, long and brown, rested over his.

  They lay still, with only the quiet sound of lapping water, distant crooning cattle and a soft breeze rustling the leaves overhead. Even the birds seemed to be having a siesta. The sky was blue all over and the sun burned ferociously through the leaves, sprinkling dancing dappled shadows over her skin.

  She ran her hand along his powerful forearms, inspecting his small scattered tattoos. They were mostly insignificant: small crosses, some initials and various symbols that held no meaning for her. ‘Anything I should know about these?’ she asked, tracing her fingers around them.

  ‘Like what?’

  She shrugged. ‘They mean anything? Why’d you get them done?’

  He shrugged back. ‘Just pissed and stupid.’

  ‘In prison?’

  He snorted. ‘They’re not prison tatts.’ He paused, and then mumbled. ‘Not those ones anyway.’

  She rolled over to face him and realised she hadn’t seen him without clothes on yet; she had only fantasised about what he would look like. His body was beautiful, strong and toned and developed way beyond lanky teenage sinew. He was big, built, with broad shoulders and serious guns. She brought her knees up, sat up on his tummy and looked down at his chest. His skin was tanned beneath a small tuft of black chest hair.

  ‘Do you do weights or something?’ she asked, putting her hands on his wrists and running her hands up his forearms, around his elbows and over his guns.

  ‘Just to stay sane,’ he answered, with his hands flopping over the sides of the tub. ‘Won’t need to, now that I’m working again.’

  Over his heart was what she guessed was his prison tatt. Small green letters, in upper case, spelled the name SAM.

  She ran a thumb over it and he wrapped his large hand around hers, stopping her. ‘Don’t spoil this,’ he said. ‘Not now.’

  She looked at his face and saw searing pain.

  ‘She wasn’t a girlfriend, if that’s what you need to know. She was my daughter.’

  ‘Was?’

  He didn’t answer, but the softness in his dark eyes nearly broke her heart. She leaned down and kissed him on the mouth, her tongue lingering where she had split his lip only the day before. He kissed her back and then wrapped his arms around her neck and pulled her close, breathing into her hair. She felt his chest rise and then he exhaled fully, letting all the tension release from inside him.

  ‘How’d I end up with you on my lap?’ he muttered quietly.

  She curled into his chest, with her cheek on his shoulder. ‘Just lucky, I guess.’

  And together they lay like that, still, while her mind whirled with questions. What happened to his daughter? Why was this man so angry at the world one minute and then so tender the next? Why did he spend four years in prison? And why was she lying naked on top of him in the middle of nowhere without knowing the answers to those questi
ons?

  Too soon, Brett looked at his watch again. She rose without him having to say anything and pulled her clothes over her wet body. She would dry soon enough.

  The rest of the day passed in blissful tranquillity. They rode to every water point and gate and got back to the homestead before dark on tired horses. The cattle trucks were loaded with pregnant cows to be taken back to the main station. Last to leave were the horses. Brett and Sophie loaded them one by one and raised the ramp.

  ‘Better let me drive,’ said Brett. ‘You might get us lost.’

  ‘Don’t be a smart arse or I’ll make you ride in the back with the horses,’ she replied, swinging herself up into the driver’s seat and taking hold of the keys. He rolled his eyes and walked to the passenger side.

  The sun set low over the horizon as they drove back to Stoneleigh.

  ‘You’re a brat,’ said Brett, his boot on the dashboard again.

  ‘You’re an arsehole,’ she replied, without taking her eyes off the road.

  ‘Spend the night with me.’

  ‘Okay.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It was dark when they arrived at the main station. Sophie was weary as she unloaded the last horse. Jim called Brett to the office to sign paperwork and she was left to feed the horses alone.

  When she got back to her small flat she showered until Liz knocked on the door and reminded her that they were on tank water. She plucked and preened and waxed and clipped.

  ‘What are you doing in there?’ Liz yelled.

  Sophie opened the door and grinned through the narrow opening. ‘Waxing.’

  ‘What for?’

  She closed the door without answering and got back to the job. Should she do a heart shape? Or just a little Mohawk? She winced with every pull of cloth and began to get off on the pain. Man, she was becoming as sick as him. She took off the lot, and was almost disappointed when she ran out of hair. She gave it a thorough loofa job and rubbed some cool cream over the silky smooth, now glowing pink skin. It felt nice, very nice, so she took her time.

  When she pulled on her knickers and took two steps to the bathroom cupboard the whole area tingled against the small strip of lace. She found the Excitamax Pleasure Box, an industrial sized box of mixed novelty condoms. The only supply of condoms in the entire region was from the local hotel, and this was the only product the publican stocked. He either had a warped sense of humour or a pathetic sense of kink.

  She took one, shoved it down her knickers and wrapped her robe around her. Then she went back, grabbed another couple and pushed them down her bra before joining Liz in the kitchen for a beer.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ her flatmate asked, planting herself on the couch and aiming the remote at the telly. An ad for John Deer tractors blared into the room.

  Sophie took a swig on her beer. Somehow she knew Liz would disapprove. She was 35 years old and so dowdy already, it was frightening. Sophie was still a good decade off that.

  ‘You’re going to see the new guy, aren’t you?’

  Sophie took another swig of her beer, swallowed and then answered. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Oh come on, Soph. The tension between the pair of you is putting the whole station on edge.’

  Sophie was quiet. What was wrong with it? They were both consenting adults. It was no one else’s business.

  ‘You be really careful messing around with that guy.’ Liz’s voice was soft and concerned. ‘He’s dangerous.’

  Sophie snorted. ‘What do you mean, dangerous?’ But she knew what Liz meant. She had no doubt Brett could hurt someone.

  ‘You do know why he was in jail, don’t you?’

  Sophie shrugged. ‘Nup.’

  Liz groaned. ‘Oh, Sophie!’

  ‘What? What was he in for?’ Something told her it would be something violent.

  Liz sat on the couch and stared up at her. ‘He killed a guy, Sophie. With his bare hands.’

  Sophie went cold. Okay, she wasn’t expecting that. Assault maybe. Robbing the local servo. That sort of thing she could handle. But murder? Whoa!

  She sat next to Liz, her head spinning with all sorts of gruesome images.

  Her friend ran a hand over her wet hair. ‘I don’t want you to go over there, babe.’

  ‘Thanks for telling me.’ It took a while for Sophie to collect her thoughts. Bloody hell. Why hadn’t anyone else said something? Jim, or Nancy? They must have known. And yet they both treated him like royalty. Maybe they didn’t know. They had to know. Sophie’s head spun.

  ‘Who did he kill?’ The words were hard to get out. Man, she hoped he wasn’t a wife basher.

  ‘A man on one of the properties around here,’ Liz answered. ‘A lot of locals aren’t happy to see him back, I know that much.’

  Sophie reeled. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘How did it happen?’

  Liz shook her head. ‘I don’t know what the truth is. You know how many wild stories get told around here. But he is known for being violent.’

  Sophie nodded.

  ‘Please don’t go over there,’ said Liz. ‘He’s a unit.’

  Sophie pulled herself off the couch and went to her room. She sat in the dark, tucked her knees under her chin and stared out the window. The small lamp in Brett’s lounge room was on, and she could see him on the couch, waiting. She sat watching him turn pages over one by one, magazine after magazine. She didn’t know why, but she felt completely and utterly bereft. Maybe she was just so tired from being in the sun all day.

  But she couldn’t sleep. She pulled the condoms out of her undies and tossed them on the bed in front of her, watching them glow ridiculously in the dark.

  It was two in the morning when she watched him stand and turn the light out. She collapsed on her bed in a ball and cried until the sun rose.

  * * * * *

  Brett was foul the next day. A shimmering hatred radiated from him and no one in the kitchen seemed game to speak to him at breakfast.

  Sophie walked into the harness shed and startled when she found Brett in there. His eyes met hers and instantly she knew that he knew that she knew. She backed out slowly and he watched her until she dropped her eyes and left.

  He didn’t speak all day; not a nod or a shrug. It was as though she wasn’t there.

  He spider-hobbled his breakers, chaining all four feet to one central ring, and worked them over without speaking. He ran a hand over their ears and faces, around their bellies and under their tails until they stood and accepted everything he did without question. He worked them relentlessly, without a break, until they stood like zombies, completely desensitised. He saddled them, then mounted and dismounted until they stood submissively in their chains.

  Then he let them go. No pat. No rub. He was cold and mechanical.

  She spent the morning with a black colt, Iceman’s brother, who had the same itchy skin and heavy-set shoulders. He bucked as much as his brother, and she worked slowly and persistently with him, putting pressure on and taking it off until he responded to her touch. She drove him forward when he bucked under the saddle and took the pressure off when he levelled out.

  When he was trotting kindly, she rested him and hosed him off, and then spent hours brushing and stroking and scratching his shoulders until his top lip waggled with appreciation. Finally, she found a reason in this crappy, shitty day to smile. He was cute. She wrapped her arms around his thick-set neck and rested her face against him.

  Brett sat alone at lunch. It was awful. And hurtful.

  That night he didn’t come to the main house for dinner. When she went to bed and stared miserably out of her window, she saw that all the shutters in his house were closed. No lights were on.

  The next morning, the engine of his ute started before daybreak and she felt panic course through her. Was he leaving?

  She ran out to the driveway, wrapping a belt around her bathrobe, but by the time she got to the front of his house, he was talking out the window to Jim, who handed him a wallet of
papers. He rolled out the driveway before she could reach him.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ she asked Jim, stricken. She didn’t even have his number. That’s if he had a phone. Nor did she know his last name.

  ‘Parole office,’ Jim replied. ‘In Brisbane.’

  ‘Is he coming back?’

  ‘Yeah, then he just has to check in locally once a week.’ Jim looked her over as if she was strange, shook his head and walked away.

  She stood with bare feet on the stony driveway, tightening the belt around her gown while Brett’s ute glided along the front of the property and then disappeared from sight.

  ‘You’ve got it bad,’ said Liz when she walked back into the flat. Liz was sipping coffee – her hair was sticking up and she was wearing something Sophie’s Nan would wear to bed.

  Sophie sat down and ran her hands through her hair. ‘Real bad,’ she agreed.

  ‘He’s hot.’

  ‘You don’t know how hot,’ she groaned.

  Liz lifted an eyebrow at her.

  She put her face in her hands.

  ‘Is he coming back?’ Liz asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Sophie looked up. ‘Then what do I do?’

  ‘Forget him. Get tarted up and come to the rodeo next weekend.’ Her friend lifted one arse cheek and farted and Sophie wondered why the hell she was taking relationship advice from such a bush pig. Because she was a nice bush pig, she remembered.

  ‘Do you do that in front of the children?’ she asked.

  ‘Never,’ Liz replied with a solemn face. ‘Coming to the rodeo?’

  ‘Only if you promise not to do that in the car.’

  ‘Deal.’ Liz stood and left the room.

  * * * * *

  The station seemed twice as big and empty without Brett. She worked with the horses by herself, just as she’d done for the past three years, but now she wondered how she’d handled it without a co-worker for so long. She had enjoyed it mostly, but she preferred working alongside a competent horseman.

  As she handled her charges one by one she thought of him, caught in the traffic in Brisbane. Then she started calculating. It was a five-hour drive. He left at around five, so if he had to wait around a while, he would be back before sunset tonight. That’s if he didn’t have any other business to take care of down there. Did he have people to visit? What else would a guy who had been locked up for four years need to do? She felt a strange new kind of anger when one obvious answer hit her.