The Country Girl

by Cathryn Hein

  He picked up the laptop and began trawling in earnest. Half an hour later Patrick started to detect a pattern. There was little Tash didn’t put online, from what she had for breakfast, to catch-ups with friends, to media commitments and everything in between.

  Her Melbourne routine seemed to have been less transparent—perhaps for security reasons—but at Castlereagh it appeared Tash kept to the farm during the mornings and early afternoons. In her latest posts, though, she talked about Khan and how much she looked forward to riding him properly. There was even a selfie photo of her posing in a pair of tight breeches that Patrick found himself paying a bit too much attention to. Plenty of her fans had as well, especially the male ones. He read through the comments, mood turning thunderous at their crudity and familiarity. If anyone had commented on Maddy’s social media profile like that there’d have been hell to pay. Tash didn’t seem to mind. Even the worst had a ‘like’ against it.

  He’d have no trouble tracking when she planned to ride Khan. Most likely she’d even post about it on one site or another, which meant he’d have to sign up to them all, if he wanted to get the news.

  Patrick began to do just that and then stopped. Facebook was fine—they were already friends—but his sudden following of her on a stack of sites was bound to look suspicious. Even worse, if she checked and discovered the only person he’d connected with was her, the humiliation would be huge. So would her anger at his obvious online stalking.

  The thought made him squirm. This wasn’t stalking, this was watching out for someone’s wellbeing. Perfectly innocent. Except there was every chance she mightn’t see it that way, in particular after his recent piggish behaviour.

  The only answer was to create fake accounts.

  Uncertain, Patrick stared at the screen and the sign-up page he’d opened. He scratched his head, then reached across for his notebook and pencil. He tapped the lead against the page, contemplating the wisdom of this step, the consequences of discovery. Other than embarrassment, which would be unpleasant but hardly fatal, there weren’t really any. Tash had so many fans, followers and friends she was unlikely to notice one more, and if he changed his mind a few clicks on delete would solve the problem anyway. Decided, Patrick began jotting names and assigning them to platforms. When the list was done, he began the laborious task of creating the accounts and profiles. By the time he’d finished, synced everything to his phone and set up alerts, it was late. He set the computer aside and went off to brush his teeth.

  Back in the cocoon of his bed, he began to drift. Thinking about the farm, the chores he had lined up for the next day, about Maddy. Inevitably, his mind circled back to Tash and the photo of her in breeches, bright-eyed, cheeky and rounded. Seductive, inviting, full of life. His cock hardened.

  Patrick jerked the pillow from under his head and slammed it onto his face, hating himself, wanting to stop, but she wouldn’t leave his mind. He breathed hard into the pillow then threw it to the floor and reached for his laptop. Seconds later, Maddy filled the screen.

  Maddy in a bikini, her long wet hair in crinkles, her tanned skin otter-sleek and glistening from her swim. They were on the top of a houseboat, moored on a sandy stretch of bank along the Murray River. Patrick was leaning against the rail, drinking a beer and perving at her arse where her bikini bottoms had ridden up, and thinking he wouldn’t mind taking her down to their bunk for a bit of afternoon delight. Clip was still in the water, floating in an old tyre tube, his chest pink with sunburn, a beer in one hand while the other paddled against the current. Bec was filming them all on her phone.

  Maddy grinned at the camera and stretched her arms above her head in a diver’s pose. ‘Watch this.’

  ‘Don’t be a tool,’ said Patrick. ‘You don’t know what’s under the water. Could be logs or anything.’

  ‘I checked. It’s fine.’

  It wasn’t fine. The Murray was notorious for its snags. Patrick knew that look though, the ‘Don’t tell me what to do’ one. She was going to jump.

  ‘Maddy …’

  But before he could reach her, she’d poked her tongue at him and launched off the deck, arms wrapped around her knees in a classic dive bomb.

  A loud splash sounded, followed by a string of curses from Patrick. The video wobbled crazily as Bec rushed to the edge of the boat. For a horrible second there was nothing but murky brown water, and Clip swearing as he tried to stop his tube from capsizing, then Maddy’s head broke the surface and she was laughing and splashing, and Patrick was calling her an idiot while inside he was thinking she was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen.

  Patrick watched the video on repeat until his eyes were too gritty to stay open, then he set the laptop aside and rolled over.

  Only for his mind to fill with Tash.

  Chapter 13

  Nothing, not eating the highest grade chocolate nor the best sex she’d ever had, compared to the utter elation Tash experienced cantering Khan across the long eastern border of the swamp paddock.

  She leaned forward, urging him faster. Khan obliged, flattening his neck and putting on a turn of speed that had Tash releasing a whoop that was immediately whipped away into the wind behind her.

  One more lap and she’d steer him back up the lane and walk calmly back to the Poppy Flat. Tash had already made that promise twice but this time she meant it. Khan was as unfit as she was and it wasn’t fair to overexert the horse. The poor thing would no doubt be sore tomorrow, as would she, except every groan, muscle spasm and stiff-legged hobble would be worth it because of this perfect moment.

  ‘Okay, Khan-banan,’ she said, dropping her weight back into the saddle and easing him back to a trot. The horse shook his head and snatched at the bit, nostrils flaring and flushed pink as he sucked in air. She stroked a hand down the dark streak of his neck where sweat soaked through his coat. ‘I know, boy. I know.’

  It was exciting to be that free, that fast. To feel the whirl of wind and the pound of hooves and the rustle of grass as the dry stems broke and flattened underfoot. Tash let him jog-trot and smiled, thrilled that the horse seemed to enjoy their outing as much as she had.

  She had intended nothing more than a sedate walk, perhaps a trot, easing back into riding, but as with her bareback sessions, she’d found her balance immediately. The old feelings, the old lessons, roused as though they’d never been dormant. She didn’t know why she’d thought it might be otherwise. Tash had been riding since childhood.

  Patrick, she guessed. Patrick and his disparagement of her skill against Maddy’s.

  She shut the thought down. Today was not a day to think troublesome thoughts. Today was too magnificent, too special. The sun was brilliant, the air fragrant and fresh. A cooling breeze ruffled her shirt and Khan’s mane. On Castlereagh’s lower reaches, where the swamp and manna gums stretched their crooked arms to the sky, birds circled and called, while from across the paddocks came the occasional cattle low and sheep bleat. A quad bike revved in the distance, her dad out checking stock. The sounds, scents, sights and atmosphere of a beautiful day in a beautiful land, and a life loaded with joy and challenge.

  It was hard to believe summer was closing. In a few days it’d be March and before long autumn would dig its cool toes into the land. Tash hoped the breaking rains would come early, while the soil still held warmth, and they wouldn’t have to hand-feed for too long. Castlereagh, with its swamp border, heavy loams and high water table, fared better than most, but the autumn feed gap affected even them. If the rains were delayed too long, it would become too cold for new growth, and with breeders on most properties due to calve across April and May, there were consequences for the livestock as well as farm profitability. What affected the farms affected the town and local economy, and Tash cared about it all. She’d never really stopped caring.

  Khan settled into a walk and she let the reins thread long through her fingers. Already her thighs were tingling from the unfamiliar strain. Tash prayed the pain and stiffness would only la
st a few days but when she halted Khan at the side of the Poppy Flat and dismounted, only to teeter on jellified legs like a newborn foal, she reconsidered. More like a week.

  The thought made her giggle. ‘I think I might have overdone it, Khan-banan.’

  Khan nudged her, causing her another wobble as her balance failed. Snatching at his mane, she righted herself and sighed happily.

  Totally, totally worth it.

  Fifteen minutes later, with her land-legs steady and stable, Tash led an untacked, hosed and scraped-down Khan to the front of the flat to pick at its lawn and the volunteer grasses and clovers that had sprouted around the garden edges thanks to run-off.

  Confident the grazing horse wouldn’t wander far, she unclipped his lead and ducked inside for a drink and to fetch her portable speakers. Clipping the lead back on Khan in case he startled, Tash set the first song playing and, when Khan didn’t seem bothered, cranked up the volume. Soon Tash was dancing and singing, pausing between songs to laugh at herself and tell Khan what a good boy he was and how much more fun they had to look forward to.

  She was doing a bit of a twirl to one of her favourite ’90s hits when she heard a car slowing along Castlereagh Road. Probably her mum, given the lateness of the afternoon. Unfazed, she kept dancing, sliding a step to one side and wiggling her hips in a move that even caused Khan to pause from his belly stuffing. So what? Liz had been watching Tash dance in one form or another since she was a baby. One more embarrassment would hardly matter.

  Except the car didn’t drift past to the drive. It stopped, and when Tash realised she stopped too, her good mood immediately deflating when she recognised Patrick’s ute. He made no acknowledgement and simply stared at her through his lowered window as if she was a galumphing gnome instead of a girl enjoying life. Tash had a sudden childish urge to give him the finger. Instead, in the interests of neighbourliness, she waved.

  The wave caused Khan to jerk up. Ears pricked, he swung his nose to the road and, recognising the ute, let out a high-pitched whinny.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re so excited,’ she grumbled. Khan had yet to welcome her like that, even though she never visited his paddock without a treat in hand. ‘He once wanted you dead.’

  Khan didn’t care. His focus remained locked on the road and Patrick.

  ‘Ignore him, he won’t come. He hates you. And me,’ she added with a mutter as Patrick drove on without so much as a honk. Not caring how asinine it was, Tash flipped a finger towards his trail of dust and immediately felt better.

  Her phone rang, and Ceci’s name and perfect face glowed from the screen. For half a second, Tash considered not answering, unsure she could endure another session of Ceci moaning about her relationship issues. There would once have been a time when Tash would have killed for Ceci’s problem with Brandon. What sort of person complained about her boyfriend being too loving? But Ceci was a good friend, and while they’d had plenty of online communications, they hadn’t spoken directly for a couple of weeks. She lowered the stereo volume and hit answer.

  ‘Hey, Ceci, how’s magnificent Melbourne?’

  ‘The usual. Too much work, not enough play. And definitely not the same without you. We miss you!’

  Tash was a generous and kind soul at heart but experience had given her a sharp edge of cynicism, and the cynic in Tash suspected it wasn’t so much herself but the media opportunities her friend missed. It was sweet of Ceci to say though, and the truth was Tash missed her too. Ceci was fun, even if she had pinched Brandon and, worse, refused to appreciate him.

  ‘Aww, thank you. That’s nice. I miss you too, and Thom. Have you seen him?’

  ‘Not in person. Too busy with Bran. That man!’

  Tash closed her eyes in preparation for a rant but Ceci surprised her.

  ‘But he’s not why I’m calling. Thom and I are coming to visit!’ She let out a little squeal for emphasis.

  Tash squealed in return. ‘Fantastic! When?’

  ‘Well, that’s up to you, but we thought maybe next weekend.’

  ‘Next weekend would be perfect.’ Tash’s mind began to race. ‘We’ll have a party. Invite a few old friends from school, maybe some of the local producers I’ve lined up for interviews later in the year. I’ve been meaning to organise something like that anyway, but I was waiting until I was more settled. Now I have no excuse. I might even ask Minh Ly-Brooks—she’s the reporter who interviewed me for the local paper—if she wants to cover it for the social pages.’

  The mention of media had Ceci squealing again. ‘Brilliant! I’ll let Thom know. If we organise to finish up early on Friday, we’ll miss the traffic and be there for a late dinner. Now, what will you need us to bring, besides our glamorous selves?’

  Finding a suitable garden-bed edge near a lush patch of grass for Khan, Tash settled in for a long chat about arrangements.

  By the time she’d finished—and Ceci had indulged in a good whinge about Brandon’s clinginess and her need for space, hence the sudden visit—the afternoon was well and truly fading. Tash had dinner to prepare for her parents, a garden to water and social media to update. Not to mention a party menu and theme to devise.

  She clucked her tongue at Khan and smiled fondly when he snatched a last mouthful of grass before ambling towards her obediently. He was such a good horse. Coaxing greedy Bubbles from tender grass—or any other feed for that matter—had been a lesson in frustration. Tash usually had to resort to dirty tricks, luring Bubbles back to her paddock with apples or carrots. Once she’d even used chocolate cake.

  Feeling sentimental, Tash wrapped her arms around Khan’s neck and snuggled against him. The horse took her affection with equanimity. She ruffled his forelock and kissed his cheek. ‘You’re a good boy. I hope I haven’t worn you out, hmm?’

  Khan blinked huge brown eyes and bunted her, then pressed his forehead into her chest.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she said, letting him use her as a rubbing post and trying not to wince as the halter’s nose band caught on her boobs.

  Another car sounded in the distance. Tash listened, bracing herself against Khan’s increasingly enthusiastic rubs as the engine revved down.

  She regarded Khan, who had also stopped to listen. ‘Let’s hope not.’

  Luck, however, was not on her side.

  Patrick actually wore a smile when he rounded the end of the carport. A smile that snapped abruptly flat when Khan whickered and tried to step towards him.

  Affront and annoyance surged through Tash. Affront that he should make his disdain for Khan’s welcome so obvious, and annoyance that Patrick had once again barged in uninvited, when she had things to do and sweaty hair.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said, coiling Khan’s lead and dragging him protectively back to her side. Tash wasn’t a cranky person by nature, but he was the one who hadn’t waved earlier.

  Patrick shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Can’t a bloke drop by and say g’day?’

  Tash folded her arms and cocked on one hip, expression radiating ‘pull the other one’.

  He didn’t miss the message. ‘Okay, so I’ve come to apologise for being an arsehole.’

  ‘Which time? I count three instances so far.’

  ‘Three?’

  ‘Three.’ She ticked them off her fingers. ‘When you yelled at me in the paddock, yesterday’s little episode, and just before, when you didn’t wave. That was rude.’

  ‘Oh.’ He at least had the good grace to appear contrite about the last instance.

  ‘Well?’

  He tugged a hand from his jeans and rubbed his chin, eyeing her like she was something dangerous. Given her mood, she probably was. ‘Okay. I’m sorry I’ve been an arsehole. Three times.’

  ‘So you should be. Anyway, apology accepted.’

  Her rapid acceptance appeared to confound him. ‘Oh. Right. Good.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  He swept a hand behind him, to where he’d parked his ute. ‘I brought your con
tainers back.’

  ‘Thanks. You can leave them on the bench.’ She threaded her fingers through the cheek strap of Khan’s halter and clicked her tongue. The horse was still staring at Patrick as though willing him to notice him. That Patrick refused only annoyed Tash more. Khan was an innocent animal, not some criminal. ‘Come on, Khan-banan.’

  ‘Khan-banan?’

  ‘Just a name.’

  Patrick stared at his toes. ‘Maddy called him King Khan.’

  The mention of her name brought silence, the sound of guilt. Tash stroked the horse’s cheek with her curled fingers. If Khan was like this with Patrick, how badly must he miss Maddy? Even worse, what if Maddy missed him?

  ‘You’ve been riding,’ said Patrick finally. The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘And dancing.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Did you wear a helmet?’

  For a good long second Tash stared at him stonily, then shook her head and clucked again at Khan. Time was getting away. She had things to do and dinner to cook. This instance, when she tugged on Khan’s halter, he followed, and though Tash knew better than to load human emotions on animals, the crinkles above Khan’s eyes were too deep for her not to imagine them as frown lines.

  ‘It’s okay, Khan-banan,’ she said, kissing him. ‘He’s just a stupid man.’

  Tash walked Khan to his paddock, expecting at any moment to hear Patrick’s car door closing and the engine turning over. But when she turned back after unbuckling Khan’s halter and patting him goodnight, the ute remained in the same place with no Patrick behind the wheel.

  She contemplated what he might want. It had better not be another argument about Khan. As far as she was concerned that was over. To talk about Maddy? God, she hoped not. Tash was conflicted enough without that.

  With only one way to find out, she sighed and trudged back to the flat.

  ‘You’re still here,’ she said, finding Patrick on one of the outdoor seats, one foot rubbing an ecstatic Coco’s belly. At his hurt expression, Tash closed her eyes. ‘Sorry, that was bitchy. I’m in a bit of a mood.’ Which seemed to be the case all the time when it came to Patrick. ‘Lots of things on.’