Riding the Storm

by Heather Graves

  ‘Then let me buy you a drink to celebrate. Something strong enough to buck you up.’

  ‘I could murder a gin and tonic.’

  ‘Coming up.’

  While he was gone, Chrissie blotted her cheeks and applied a little make-up to hide the fact that she had been crying. When he returned with the drinks, she gave him a bright smile and thanked him.

  ‘To you,’ he said, quaffing his beer as she took a few quick gulps of her gin and tonic, enjoying the quick buzz of the alcohol on an empty stomach.

  ‘Thank you, Ryan,’ she said. ‘I needed that.’

  ‘Who was…?’ he started to say and then changed his mind. ‘No, it isn’t my business. You don’t have to say anything, if you don’t want to.’

  ‘It isn’t a secret. He’s the man I once expected to marry,’ she told him. ‘But he turned out not to be the person I thought. I had a lucky escape,’ she said, echoing Tony’s last words.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you?’ She smiled, wondering if he did. ‘Ryan, have you ever been in love?’

  ‘No, not really.’ He felt awkward with this line of questioning. ‘You see, we lived way out in the bush and my mother was – she didn’t like people coming to the house. Sometimes I went into town with my best friend, Mike, but he was the one the girls always went for, not me.’

  ‘Then they were idiots,’ she said, bringing a sudden blush to his cheeks. What a sweet, old-fashioned, unspoiled young man he was. He had a quiet strength and lots of potential. What a pity he was so much younger than she was.

  He’s your cousin, you fool! she lectured herself. Quite aside from the fact that he’s twenty and you’re almost twenty-seven. What was wrong with her? Half a glass of G and T and she was ready to throw herself at Ryan’s feet. It must be a reaction from seeing Tony and sending him away for the last time.

  Ryan watched the colour suffusing her face and wondered what she was thinking. He was halfway in love with her already; a heady feeling that was also strange to him. If this was love, then it was far from comfortable. But for the first time in his life, he started to understand Mike. Was it any wonder that his friend pursued love with such dedication if this was how it felt? Anticipation was everything. He looked at the imprint of Chrissie’s lips on her glass and wondered what it would be like to kiss her. He had no idea that she was feeling just as awkward and thinking the very same thing.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ROBERT KEPT QUIET about what happened shortly after the race. He was taking the lift to the ground floor, prior to going home, having steered his wheelchair to the back of the lift. After the embarrassing performance of Hunter’s Moon, he felt he was being deliberately ignored. Nobody wanted to talk to him, not even Dickie Yerbook, the tactless presenter from one of the TV stations that most people detested and tried to avoid. The small amount of publicity just wasn’t worth putting up with the man’s boorish comments and personal remarks, although he himself resembled a sausage bursting out of its skin in his shiny suits. He believed himself to be a great wit and a fine source of knowledge around the track but the truth was that most people didn’t like him well enough to share any inside knowledge. So, when it came to tipping, he had to play it safe, advising people to follow the favourite.

  Robert hoped that by leaving before the last race he might have the lift to himself but he was wrong. Tired after a long day at the track, a lot of people crowded in after him. In a wheelchair, he was at a disadvantage, having to look up at everyone, and he felt a stab of irritation as people chatted over his head, ignoring him. Then he saw a face he recognized, causing his heart to step up its beat. To be certain, he watched the man covertly as he spoke to his friends and soon recognized his distinctive, gravelly voice. Yes, it was Harry, the ex-military man he had hired to go to North Queensland and who had been so angry at first when he suggested a second commission. Harry and his friends were in a celebratory mood; obviously they had won some money and already spent quite a lot of it on booze.

  He had been surprised and a little suspicious when the man returned his call, apologizing for his hasty refusal and eager to meet to discuss the new job. Already Robert was thinking better of hiring him again – the man’s attitude had been threatening and it could be asking for trouble to trust him again. But, tempted by the thought of losing the thorn in his side that was Ryan, he quickly overcame any thought of regret. So he arranged to meet Harry in the car park of the hospital where he went for his weekly course of physiotherapy. Val dropped him off there, arranging to pick him up an hour later after his session so he expected to have more than enough time to make his arrangements with Harry before she returned.

  Efficient as ever, Harry arrived on time and Robert gave him his instructions as well as a large deposit. The remainder was to follow when the job was done.

  ‘And here are the ground rules,’ Robert said. ‘I don’t want to see you anywhere near my place in Cranbourne – no foul play on my own doorstep.’ He knew it sounded rude but he didn’t care; after all he was paying the bills. ‘We’ll all be at Flemington on Saturday for the races, so you can pick up the guy there where it’ll be nice and anonymous. You’ll know him at once – tall and fair-haired – always making sheep’s eyes and hanging around my daughter. That’s her,’ he said, thrusting a recent photo of Chrissie into Harry’s hands.

  Harry squinted at it. ‘What about the bloke? Got one of him, too?’

  Robert didn’t answer because out of the corner of his eye he could see Val driving into the car park in the distinctive yellow bubble that had been purchased to carry him in his wheelchair – in a previous life it had been a taxi for the disabled. Silently, he cursed her for coming back early – nine times out of ten he had to wait because she had been shopping and lost track of time.

  ‘You need to leave – my wife’s here early and I don’t want her to see you,’ he muttered. ‘You have your instructions, OK? Now go on – get the hell out of here.’

  ‘Hold on – this is all very vague and I need to be clear on this.’ Harry frowned, more than a little irritated by Robert’s lack of respect. He’d love to snub Robert and refuse the job but he was short of money and desperately needed it. ‘How do you want it done this time? Straight-up murder is easy but making it look like an accident will cost you more.’

  ‘I don’t care – just get it done. Push the little bastard in front of a bus if you like.’

  ‘Hmm. Don’t think so. Messy.’ Harry leaned forward and grinned. ‘You really don’t like the guy, do you? What’s he done? Disrespected your precious daughter?’

  Robert frowned, ignoring these queries. ‘You need to get going. Now. Before my wife sees you.’

  ‘Righto, General. Keep your hair on.’ After tucking the photo of Chrissie into his top pocket, Harry moved away just as Val pulled up alongside them.

  ‘Why didn’t you wait inside, Rob?’ she said as she left the driver’s seat to open the hatch and put down the ramp to let him in. ‘You’ll catch your death out here in this wind.’

  ‘Because I’m fed up with waiting about inside hospitals – the air is stifling and I don’t like the smells,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll be glad when I’m back on my legs and can stop all this rehab and physio nonsense. Doesn’t seem to do me much good, anyway.’

  Val bit her lip, knowing very well that it didn’t; if there was any benefit at all it was mental rather than physical. ‘And who was that man you were talking to?’ she asked, watching Harry drive away. ‘I haven’t seen him before.’

  ‘No one for you to worry about,’ Robert said hastily. ‘Just another patient, passing the time of day.’

  ‘Didn’t look like a patient to me – too fit to have anything wrong. And the way you were talking – heads close together like that – much too intense for a casual chat. You’re up to something, aren’t you, Rob?’

  ‘No, I’m not!’ he yelled, finally losing it. ‘Are we going to stand here all day discussing a stranger or can we go home?’

  ‘Yes
, of course. Sorry.’ Val helped Robert wheel himself into the back of the car. He said nothing more about Harry, hoping she’d forget all about him. After a while he convinced himself that she had.

  So he wasn’t expecting to see Harry again and certainly not in the same lift at the races. Further recognition was not what he wanted at all. He hunkered down in his wheelchair, hoping not to be seen. But just before Harry left the elevator, laughing and cracking jokes with his mates, he turned towards Robert and put two fingers to his eyes and then he grinned, giving a ‘thumbs up’ sign.

  What did that mean? Robert wished he knew. Did he mean the job was done or merely that he had it in his sights? He shivered, suddenly chilled, only now realizing what a chain of events he had set in motion and too late to change. He knew that Harry enjoyed what he did, relishing the violence and priding himself on not leaving any loose ends. Alone and in a wheelchair, Robert felt exposed and vulnerable. Experience had taught him that most people preferred to ignore the disabled and not get involved. Good Samaritans were few and far between. What a simple matter it would be to tip a helpless man out of his wheelchair in the midst of a drunken, jostling crowd. What was to stop Harry killing him once he’d been paid?

  The lift reached the ground level and suddenly Val was there at his side – motherly and solicitous. ‘Good heavens, Rob, you look awful,’ she said. ‘You should take one of your pills.’

  ‘Don’t fuss, woman. I’m all right,’ he growled at her, although he had never been so pleased to see anyone in the whole of his life.

  ‘Done too much today, haven’t you?’ she said, wheeling him towards the car park. ‘No wonder you’re such a grouch. Let’s get you home.’

  Later, she was surprised when he backed off, letting her take over the training of Hunter’s Moon and reinstating Mac Wesley as Tommy’s jockey for both track riding as well as on race days. She was a firm believer in allowing a trusting relationship to develop between rider and horse, rather than take pot luck on what rider may or may not be available on a day. She had been bracing herself for still more opposition from Robert wanting her to hire yet another high-profile jockey, but the experience with Fancy Patterson seemed to have left him subdued and willing to fall in with her plans. And she could feel nothing but relief when no further mention was made of selling the horse.

  While Robert rode home with Val, Chrissie was preparing to drive the jeep home with Tommy in the horsebox behind it. Ryan had already put the protective socks on his legs and was loading the horse.

  ‘Will you look at him!’ Exasperated, Chrissie was shaking her head. ‘Still full of himself. Anyone’d think that he won.’

  ‘He finished first, didn’t he? Horses aren’t silly, you know. Of course he thinks he won. And he would have done, too, if that silly woman had listened to your mother.’

  ‘Fancy Patterson never listens to anyone,’ Chrissie sighed.

  ‘So what happens now?’ Ryan climbed into the passenger seat beside her. ‘What will your father do?’

  ‘He won’t sell him, if that’s what you’re worried about. The plain fact is that he can’t afford to. Mum already spoke to Mac Wesley and he’s coming back. She wants him to work with the horse and get him ready for the Spring Carnival.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Ryan said, unable to hide his relief. ‘I’ll drive us home, if you like,’ he offered. ‘You must be tired, after that upset with your ex—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about Tony, thank you.’ She held up a hand to stop the flow of his words. ‘He’s gone from my life and this time it’s for good. I don’t even want to think about him any more.’

  ‘No, of course not. Sorry.’ Ryan felt miserable; he should know better than to open old wounds.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said, taking off her jacket and hat, laying them across the back seat where they wouldn’t get crushed. ‘It wasn’t your fault and I shouldn’t take my temper out on you.’

  Ryan looked away, realizing he was in danger of staring at her pretty bosom, tantalizingly revealed in the pale pink silk blouse she was wearing under her suit. He was even more aware of her perfume as well, now she had taken her jacket off. It was something spicy and exotic, setting his senses reeling. He steadied himself by taking a deep breath.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s find something less controversial. We have at least an hour’s driving ahead of us. Films – we can talk about films. That’s always a safe subject.’

  ‘Is it?’ She smiled and started the car, after checking the rear-vision mirror to make sure Tommy was settled. ‘So tell me, Ryan, what sort of films do you like? Action adventure, I suppose? Things with robots and futuristic machines. Most boys do.’

  ‘Is that how you see me, then? As a silly boy who can’t see past guns and fighting machines?’

  ‘No, of course not. I don’t think you’re silly at all. Oh dear,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘Whatever I say, it comes out all wrong. Why do we always get off on the wrong foot?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He smiled, shaking his head. ‘You’re right, though, I do like fantasy. Get that from my mum, I suppose. I’m a big fan of Peter Jackson’s work.’

  ‘The Lord of the Rings and now the new Hobbit movies. But I’ve heard some people are critical, saying the writers haven’t stuck to the original.’

  ‘And why should they? Those stories were written ages ago for a much more naïve generation. We have different technology now and better special effects so why shouldn’t film makers take advantage and use them?’

  Chrissie laughed. ‘How do we manage it? Arguing like politicians even when we’re just talking about films.’

  ‘Because I care about films. To me they’re a lot more than frivolous entertainment. I had the start of a great Blu-ray collection once.’

  Chrissie nodded. She didn’t question him further, knowing the cyclone had probably ruined all his possessions. She recalled meeting him from the plane when he arrived in Melbourne having lost all he held dear and bringing next to nothing but his mother’s little dog. Tinka had settled happily into the stables at Cranbourne, transferring her affections to the resident elderly greyhound who had become her hero, protecting her from the half-wild stable cats who hissed and would have attacked her if they’d been allowed.

  Leaving the city behind, they travelled in silence for some time, each searching for a topic of conversation mild enough to make no waves.

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ she said, having spotted a McDonald’s sign up ahead. ‘I should probably have one. That was a stiff drink you bought for me at the races.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry – I never thought,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t like you to lose your licence. Do you want me to drive now?’

  ‘And let you get into even more trouble on a probationary licence? No.’

  He stared at her for a moment before speaking. ‘Chrissie – seriously – will you do something for me?’

  ‘Yes, of course. What?’

  ‘Stop reminding me that I’m so much younger than you are.’

  ‘Do I really do that?’ She looked taken aback.

  ‘Yeah. All the time. Look, I don’t want coffee right now. Just pull off the road for a moment – over there on the left, under those trees.’

  ‘Why? Is something wrong? You do know we’ll get eaten alive by mosquitoes at this time of night.’

  ‘Just do it, woman.’

  ‘Ryan, I really don’t—’ She broke off, shaking her head. All the same, she did as he asked, cutting the engine after pulling in under the trees.

  He was out of his seat belt and crushing her in his arms in a moment, almost biting her lips as he ground them under his own before parting her teeth with his tongue. His experience was limited but nothing and no one had ever tasted so good. Vaguely, he was aware of a murmured objection as he unfastened her seat belt and deepened the kiss but he didn’t stop because he couldn’t. He’d never realized kissing could be like this. He clasped the fullness of her breast in the silk blouse and camisole un
derneath it and kept on kissing her until the tension left her and gradually she relaxed into his embrace with a small sigh. Pushing the blouse aside, he left a trail of kisses along her neck, so lost to the moment that he was scarcely aware of leaving a bruise in the form of a love bite on her throat.

  It was only as he started to unfasten her blouse that she came to her senses and murmured an order that he would have to obey. ‘Ryan, please! Ryan, stop!’

  He opened his eyes and stared into hers, bracing himself for a sharp slap in the face. It didn’t come.

  ‘Now then,’ he asked, breathless but still unwilling to let her go. ‘Tell me truthfully. Do I seem like a child to you or not?’

  For the moment unable to find her voice, she shook her head. Cautiously, still holding her, he sat up, looking into her face. Her hair was on end, her eyes bright and her lips bruised from his kisses. She seemed bemused, almost in a trance.

  ‘Chrissie – do you not know how beautiful you are?’

  ‘Oh, Ryan, I’m not beautiful at all. That’s the one thing Tony never lied about.’

  ‘Then Tony was a fool who took you for granted. Is he the only experience you’ve ever had?’

  ‘Well, we knew each other forever. It started from school.’ She began to answer him before deciding against it. ‘Anyway, my experience or lack of it is really none of your business.’

  ‘I could make it my business, though.’ He grinned at her, bright-eyed and flushed himself from feelings that were all so new. ‘I’d say you’re not that much more experienced than I am.’

  ‘Are we comparing notes? That’s a dangerous game. If you must know, I did sleep with Tony, yes – although he always complained I was clumsy and not much good at it.’

  ‘Maybe he should have taken a closer look at himself.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about Tony. Not now. Let’s talk about you instead. It strikes me, Ryan, that we need to find you a girlfriend.’