by Lucy Watt
‘I remember her,’ said Liz. ‘Real pretty horse.’
Liz knew bugger all about horses. She still brought cooked vegetables left over from the kitchen to the horse shed, thinking soggy cauliflower cheese made a good horse treat.
One of the men in front of her turned and stared. She vaguely recognised him, probably from steer riding. He was from one of the nearby stations, though she couldn’t recall which. She gave him a brief smile, but his eyes scrutinised her in a way that didn’t seem complimentary. He turned back to the others and Sophie noticed him whack his mate on the leg. He leaned in and whispered something into the guy’s ear and he too turned around and stared.
‘What?’ said Sophie. She instantly disliked both of them.
Next to her, Liz mumbled something and took her by the arm. ‘Let’s sit somewhere else,’ she said, standing and trying to lift Sophie.
‘There is nowhere else,’ she said, refusing to budge.
‘Just trust me, Soph,’ she said, still pulling at her. ’We need to move.’
‘Yeah, find somewhere else,’ said the guy in front of her, without looking back. Sophie had half a mind to put her boot through the back of his head.
‘What’s your problem, mate?’
‘Sophie,’ Liz moaned. ‘Come on.’
Further below, Jaimie stood up and waved her down as if it was urgent. She heard the men in front of her mumble in hostile tones.
‘What’s going on?’ she said loudly. ‘This place is rank tonight.’
The guy in front of her rose and turned to her. ‘My problem is you, sweetheart. Why don’t you go back to your sick fuck back at Stoneleigh and tell him he should still be behind bars.’
Sophie glared at him. ‘Do I know you?’
Suddenly the Bangaloo men were on their feet and Jaimie was on his way up the steps. ‘I don’t want any trouble,’ he said quickly, raising both hands in peace to the guy in front of her. He took Sophie by the arm and yanked her forcefully out of her seat.
‘Hey!’ she complained.
Jaimie dragged her down the steps and she let him, somehow knowing she should trust him. He didn’t let go of her until they were under a large white marquee and he had her seated at a table. He went to the bar, and Liz plonked her bag in a seat next to Sophie and let out a long sigh of relief.
‘Will someone please tell me what that was all about?’ Sophie demanded. ‘Who was that dickhead and what did I ever do to him?’
‘You’re mad getting involved with that Brett guy, Sophie,’ said Jaimie, returning with a beer and sitting down next to her. ‘I know you don’t want to be with me. That’s fine. But be careful. You’re a nice chick. I don’t want to see you hurt. No one does.’
‘Why am I going to get hurt?’ she asked.
‘That guy in front of you, with the blue shirt,’ said Jaimie. ‘He’s from Heads Up Station. He’s Jarred Young – Mark Young’s brother. Mark was the guy Brett killed.’
Sophie went cold. Okay, now she got it. This was heavy; too heavy for her. She didn’t want to get tangled up between two feuding mobs of station hands. While she sat, soaking it in, more questions hit her. ‘What happened?’ she asked Jaimie. ‘Why did he kill him? Was it a fight? What was it over?’
Jaimie looked across the bar and swore under his breath. ‘They’re coming in here.’
‘Heyyy,’ slurred a drunken reveller. ‘Heads up, boys!’ The drunk raised a glass to several large men in black hats and rodeo buckles.
Sophie had heard the greeting before. It was traditional for the workers on that station. She’d heard it in town, in pubs, at the servo, even in the supermarket. But she’d never heard about their feud with Brett. That must have started before she came here, before Brett went to prison, more than four years ago.
She thought. Come to think of it, she had heard about a lethal fight, but she’d never paid much attention. Tall tales were rife in the outback, mostly because not much ever happened. Things got exaggerated all the time.
She looked across to where the Heads Up boys had taken a table.
‘Let’s go,’ said Liz, picking up her bag and standing.
Jaimie stood up, leaving his half-finished beer on the table, and jangled the keys in his pocket. ‘I’ll drive you.’
Sophie felt them eyeballing her the whole way out. She couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder as she followed her friends through the dark carpark. Thankfully they hadn’t followed.
Jaimie drove in silence for half an hour or so. His car, some sort of throbbing V8 Holden, hummed quietly and she sank into the leather seat and closed her eyes. What had she got involved in?
‘You never told me what happened,’ she said to Jaimie.
‘Mark Young was driving drunk,’ Jaimie told her. ‘He hit Brett’s car and his little girl …’ he paused trying to think of the name.
‘Sam,’ Sophie said.
‘Sammy, he used to call her. She was a cute kid. Only four years old. She went everywhere with him on the weekends, always on his shoulders.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘She was killed instantly. Story goes, Mark got out of the car, pissed as a newt and Brett hammered him. He only hit him once, but it was enough to kill him. His nose went straight through his brain. The alcohol didn’t help.’
Sophie gulped. ‘Whoa.’
‘There’s more to it than that, but that’s the basics,’ said Jaimie. ‘Other stories say Brett was drinking too, but I don’t know what the truth is. There were no other people there. Brett sat on the side of the road all night with his kid in his arms. Someone drove past the next morning and found the whole mess. By the time the cops got there, it was too late to breathalyse him.’
They continued driving in silence. Sophie stared out the window, not knowing what to think.
When they arrived back at Stoneleigh, only the soft lamp at Brett’s place was on. A porch light was on at the main house and the staff buildings were all dark and empty. Everyone was still at the rodeo. Everyone except Brett.
‘Thanks, Jaimesey,’ she smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek.
He smiled back. ‘Take care, chick.’
‘You too, my friend.’
Liz made her way back to the flat. ‘Come on, I’ll make you a hot chocolate,’ she offered.
‘I’m going to stay up a while,’ said Sophie. She needed some time to think. By herself. She made her way to the staffroom and switched on the lights. The tables were wiped clean and all the chairs were upside down on top, ready for the floors to be swept. She walked through the small door and went into the pool room, flicked on the overhead lamp and took a pool cue.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sophie barely noticed the balls she hit as her mind tumbled. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t imagine sitting on the side of a road with her dead child in her arms. It was too awful; especially if it was compounded by guilt. Had Brett been drinking? Was that why he waited there all night without calling the cops, like the Heads Up boys all said? Or was it pure grief?
‘Hey, you,’ said a soft voice.
Sophie looked up and saw Mrs Carney in the doorway in her dressing gown. ‘I wondered who was hitting balls around at this hour of the night.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t know you were home,’ said Sophie. ‘Didn’t you go to the rodeo?’
Mrs Carney smiled and took a seat by the wall. ‘Tom went. I’ve got the flu.’
Sophie noticed her nose was red and her eyes looked tired.
‘What keeps you up?’ her boss asked.
Sophie sighed and tapped the end of the stick against her boot. ‘The new guy,’ she confessed.
‘How was the rodeo?’
‘Bad.’
‘Thought it might be. That’s why I didn’t go. I begged Tom to stay home too but he wanted to make sure there was no trouble.’ She gave Sophie a kindly smile. ‘Brett’s a decent man, Sophie. He’s been done wrong.’
‘That’s what you say,’ she answered, wishing she cou
ld believe it. ‘Others say different.’
‘Jim was with him the night it happened. Brett never drank when he had his kid with him. He was as sober as a judge. Jim had been talking to him about coming here to work. He’s a top hand with the horses. He offered him the job you ended up getting. Brett left early to put Sam to bed. Said he’d think about it. He was a devoted father.’
Mrs Carney’s version of the story tore Sophie’s heart to pieces.
‘Why would they say he was drinking?’
‘Probably to make themselves feel better about what their brother did. Grief does strange things to people, Sophie.’
‘Where is Sam’s mum?’
‘They were never together while I knew him. She had Sammy during the week. He picked her up from Brisbane every weekend, and then took her back for school. I don’t know much about her.’
Sophie looked up at Mrs Carney, her eyes begging her for advice.
Mrs Carney gave a snort into her hanky and got up to go back to bed. She shuffled over to Sophie and gave her a quick hug. ‘You’re a smart girl. You’ll work out what to do.’
Sophie hit some balls around for a while longer, processing everything she had heard. She knew Brett wasn’t a monster. He was a man who had been unlucky, and he’d been punished. But he was still being punished. Her heart ached for him.
* * * * *
It wasn’t long before she put down her cue and flicked out the lights. By the time she was halfway across the yard she was running. His light was on. She was barely through the door when she felt his hand pull at hers and wrench her into his chest. She threw her arms around his neck, kissed him madly, with her whole heart, and he kissed her back, slowly and passionately. She jumped up, wrapped her legs around his waist and forced her tongue deeper into his mouth.
He walked her backwards, slammed her against the wall and pushed her skirt up around her waist. He began tearing at her panties, biting all over her neck. She groaned and unbuttoned her shirt, encouraging him lower. He pulled the shirt back and kissed along her shoulders while he pulled at the straps of her bra. Then he set her down, looked at her with her breasts half falling out and pulled his singlet over his head. She slid her hands over his chest and felt his skin, his nipples, the seam that ran down over his abs and lower, into the top of his jeans. She reached down and fumbled at his belt buckle, kissing his chest. His button. His zipper. His waist band. She yanked at all of it.
He picked her up again and carried her to a small couch, made from cushions on a timber frame. He pushed her onto her back, his knee between her thighs, his hands under her shoulders, hovering over her, biting her neck.
He sat back and ran his hands down her long legs, pulling her knickers slowly to her ankles, his eyes never leaving hers. He slipped only one foot out of her panties. Then he wrapped the lace and silk tightly around her ankle, lifted her leg and tied it to the timber frame at the back of the couch.
‘Is that so I don’t escape?’
Something dark glinted in his eyes as he nodded. He pulled her bra over her shoulders and took it to one of her wrists. He secured that to the other end of the couch.
He slid his jeans over his hips and released his hard, bowed cock. It slapped against his tummy. His balls were hard up against the base and it looked ready for ramming. He wedged his knees inside hers and spread her legs apart. Then he took hold of her hair and pulled her head roughly to the side and back, exposing her neck. She could feel him breathing on her.
She reached up with her free hand and ran her fingers through his short dark hair and pulled his head down. She dragged him to where she could whisper in his ear.
‘Please,’ she breathed, wrapping her free leg around his waist and lifting her pelvis to him. ‘I need to be fucked.’
He paused with the tip of his cock at her opening. His lips went still on her neck. He reached for something under the cushion of the couch. She closed her eyes and swallowed, anticipating. Her chest heaved. His breath rasped. He ripped the wrapper between his teeth and rolled the sheath over his cock. Then he looked down and swore.
His dick was glowing in the dark. Yellow.
A burst of shocked laughter shot from her mouth. ‘Excitamax Pleasure Box,’ she grinned. ‘Always a lucky dip.’
‘I look like I have some sort of radiation sickness.’
‘Try a blue one; you’ll look like a smurf.’
‘It’s all I could buy around here,’ he said.
‘Brett.’
‘What?’
‘I’d like you to fuck me now, please.’
He kissed her. And hovered teasingly, touching her, moving away and then touching her again until she was wet and needy. She pushed up for him and he moved away again.
‘You’re cruel,’ she said and arched up desperately for him.
He put his forehead on hers, the side of his nose against hers. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered into her mouth. ‘And I want to hear you scream.’
And then he was inside her, ramming her so hard, with his hands curled into her hair, holding her in place, that she swore out loud. He ripped her apart, and it hurt. There was no slow withdrawal and careful entry to warm her up. Every thrust tore straight through her and made her cry out. Until he was in a rhythm, pounding harder and faster, sending waves of ecstasy through her entire soul. Everything else ceased to exist as they rocked into each other.
‘Don’t you dare come without me,’ she said, from somewhere in another universe.
‘You better hurry up,’ he rasped back, and fucked her so deep and hard she thought she would leave the building. It pushed her over the edge, unravelled her, made her arch and strain at her bindings, moan in climax.
He groaned and shuddered into her with a final push, and she felt his shaft pulse and explode into her. He shuddered again and again, emptying his load in spurts and shudders, until he stilled, went limp over her and collapsed, breathing roughly into her neck. His cock still twitched inside her.
They lay like that, fighting for breath, and she closed her eyes, running one hand over his back and shoulders, kissing his salty skin. Whoa. That was crazy. When they both calmed, he untied her, then he rolled off and onto the floor, reached his hand to hers and pulled her down with him. She lay on her side with one leg over his. The panties were still wrapped around her ankle. She ran her hand over his still heaving chest, her cheek on his shoulder.
‘Well,’ she said, her voice still uneven. ‘That was a bit random and unexpected.’
He laughed, and the sound of it shocked her. ‘The fucking condom was.’ He reached down, pulled it off and flung it across the room.
‘Drought breaking?’
‘Very.’
She wrestled with her thoughts. Tried so hard not to speak them. But she blurted them out. ‘So you didn’t …’ She hated herself for even asking. ‘You know. In Brisbane, the other night …’
He looked at her as if she was odd. ‘With who?’
She shrugged. ‘Don’t ex-cons usually head for the first brothel they can find?’
He grimaced and looked genuinely disgusted.
She exhaled and closed her eyes. She really had to get on top of this jealousy thing.
‘How was the rodeo?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘Terrible.’
‘What happened? Why’d you come home early?’
To tell or not to tell.
‘I got to hear everyone’s version of the story but yours, Brett.’
He went quiet and she saw his jaw clench. She put her hand to his face and turned his eyes to her own. ‘Tell me and I’ll believe you.’
His eyes scrutinised her, and then he brought his knees up, slipping off his jeans, which were still around his ankles. He pulled them onto his chest and began rummaging around in the pockets. Finally he took out a battered wallet and flipped it open. He pulled out a dog-eared photo and passed it to her.
A tiny kid in jeans, boots and a little cowboy hat was clinging on, riding a frolickin
g calf.
‘Sam,’ he said. ‘The last day we were together.’
‘I thought Sam was a girl.’ The kid in the photo looked like a boy.
‘She was a real tomboy.’
‘I thought she was only four.’
‘She was.’
‘And she was riding potty calves? Already? You let her do that?’
‘She was a wild thing,’ he said, sounding almost defensive. ‘I could hardly control her. Loved rodeo. I took her to one every weekend and she’d ride around on my shoulders. I couldn’t put her down or she’d crawl into the first pen of bulls she found.’
Sophie looked at the photo again. ‘I reckon I would have liked her.’
He smiled. ‘She would have liked you too.’
‘Where’s her mum?’
‘In Brisbane.’
‘Did you go and see her?’
‘Yeah, I did. We went to Sam’s grave together.’
Sophie was quiet. She felt like a sicko for feeling so envious of him doing something so intimate and meaningful with someone else, even if it was Sam’s mother.
‘I met her when she was my lawyer, when I got in trouble as a teenager,’ he offered voluntarily. ‘She was hot. I seduced her. We had a kid.’
Sophie couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound resentful or needy.
‘She was so good to me after the accident. She stood by me, even though we weren’t together. I would have got life if she hadn’t helped me. I went over there to thank her.’ He rolled over and gave her a reassuring grin. ‘She’s still a frosty bitch.’
‘Why didn’t you stay together?’
He shrugged. ‘She was a champagne and strawberries kind of girl. Loved the city.’
‘And you were more …’
He rolled over and took her by the wrists, changing the mood dramatically, ‘Into spider hobbles.’ He rose up over her and pinned her arms down, giving her a smile that was decidedly wolfish.