by Jennie Jones
Frances threw a look her way then back to Mary. ‘It must have been a very long chain if you managed to drape it around Hercule’s neck. And who’d put the weights on him?’
‘Whoever tied those weights,’ Mary said, ‘were bad, bad people.’
Jax really had to get Frances away from this conversation. ‘Frances, we have to go.’
‘Can’t I stay here until you get back to town?’
‘Oh, let her,’ Mary said. ‘It’s such a pleasure to meet her.’
‘We can tell her about what we found,’ Mrs Frith said.
‘What did you find?’ Frances asked.
‘Other side of the road, past the museum. All sorts of—’
‘Take no notice, dear,’ Mrs Arnold told Frances.
‘We’re always finding things,’ Mary said, with a bright and possibly too-innocent smile. ‘With Amelia once a Girl Guide leader, we’re often trekking the bush paths, tracking animals and sorting out which poo belongs to what animal.’
‘Thank you, Mary,’ Mrs Arnold said quietly but curtly, effectively closing the conversation about whatever it was they’d found.
Jax looked at each of the women. As far as she knew, the only trekking they’d done was from pot plant to pot plant down High Street, keeping an eye on things for the annual Tidy Town competition.
‘Is it time for my nip, Amelia?’ Mrs Frith asked, rummaging in her small, purple handbag. ‘Have you taken my flask, Mary?’
‘It’s at home. You’ve had your latest nip.’
‘Have not.’ Mrs Frith looked up, mouth open, eyes glazed. For a second Jax thought she was about to cry. ‘I haven’t,’ she said softly. ‘I know I haven’t.’
‘There, there,’ Mrs Arnold said, patting Mrs Frith’s arm. ‘Let us worry about it.’
Mrs Frith closed her handbag, looking so forlorn that Jax wanted to give her a hug. ‘I haven’t had my nip,’ she said sulkily.
Jax stepped forwards. ‘Thanks for taking care of Frances while we were loading Hercule. We’ll see you later.’
She led Frances towards the front of the station where Jack had parked a borrowed vehicle that he was going to be driving when off duty. Seemingly off duty, she reminded herself.
She gave herself another mental reminder: to ask Mary about Mrs Frith’s behaviour.
When they got to High Street, Jack spotted them. ‘Frances,’ Jax said as he got closer, ‘I hope it’s okay. Jack’s going to be driving you home.’
She looked at Jack, who was smiling as he walked towards them, and took a slightly unsteady step back. Should she have used the words ‘Jack’ and ‘home’ in the same sentence?
‘That’s called Tin Pot Hill,’ Jack said to Frances, pointing to the west of Jax’s property.
‘Why?’
‘No idea. Saw it on the map. That’s Sunset Mountain in the distance. Except the sun sets on the west and the mountain has a north-south aspect.’
He’d been chatting easily throughout the drive and had made some progress. The kid was answering his questions at least.
‘Do you actually want to watch the bull being unloaded?’ he asked her.
‘I don’t think it’ll be as interesting as getting it onto the horse truck.’
‘Nor me,’ Jack said, and swung the borrowed four-wheel drive off-road. He’d picked it up from Will this morning, knowing it would be best to have his own vehicle for when he was supposed to be off duty.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Let’s take a run around your mum’s property.’
‘She’s not my mum.’
‘What is she then?’
Frances didn’t answer and Jack didn’t question her further.
Once he was a few metres down the track he pulled up and got his mobile out of his shirt pocket. ‘I’ll just let Jax know we haven’t been kidnapped,’ he said, and smiled when Frances pushed out a small laugh, almost choking as she tried to hide it.
Frances and I will be there soon. We’re doing the tourist thing and having a drive around.
He added an emoji of a bunch of flowers.
She hadn’t wanted him to be alone with Frances. He wasn’t fully sure why not, but it would be something to do with him having proposed marriage.
He did want to get to know Frances, for Jax’s sake. It had been over thirteen years since she’d been with Fellows and it had been a powerful hurt. No matter how much Jaxine Brown controlled her emotions, it would continue to tear her up for the rest of her life. He wanted to be there every time it did. Each time the pain of it reared its head. He wanted to be the one to rein it in or just hold her until the ugliness passed. He didn’t dare think of it as violence or he’d lose his cool and find his way to Queensland—
‘Jack?’ Frances asked, reminding him she was at his side.
‘Okay, out you get,’ he said as he opened his door.
‘What for?’
He cut the engine. ‘I’m beat. You’re driving.’ He got out of the vehicle.
‘What?’
Jack closed the driver’s door and walked around to the passenger side.
‘I’m not supposed to drive,’ Frances said when he opened her door. ‘It’s not legal. I’ll get caught.’
‘I’m the police. I say you can drive.’
‘But I can’t!’
‘We’re on your mother’s property. It’s legal—although if I catch you on the road after I’ve taught you how to drive, you will feel the full force of the law and it’ll scare the pants off you. That, I promise. What’s the matter?’ he asked when her face scrunched up. ‘Don’t you want to learn how to drive?’
‘I’m thirteen.’
‘Kids out here start driving when they’re eleven. Sometimes younger, if they’ve got quad bikes around the farm. Come on, shift over. I’m dead beat after sleeping on that bloody uncomfortable sofa of yours.’
‘It’s not mine.’
He didn’t answer.
Half an hour later, Frances was driving, the vehicle shunting down the track at a lightning speed of twenty kilometres an hour, in second gear.
‘Shift up now,’ he told her. ‘Right foot off the accelerator. Left foot, clutch foot.’
She took a couple of seconds, probably relaying that message in her mind, then made the move. The gear crunched and he winced as the vehicle almost stalled then lurched forwards in a rush.
‘Easy on the lead, lady.’
She gave a nervous laugh as she straightened the vehicle, her face taut with concentration, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel in the ten-to-two position he’d taught her.
‘Check your rear-view mirror.’
She darted a look then back to the windshield. ‘No kidnappers chasing us,’ she said.
‘Good job. I haven’t got my gun.’ He did—he wasn’t going to be without it from now on—but it was strapped to his ankle so nobody would know he had it. He was supposedly off duty and therefore in civvies.
‘Having fun?’ he asked her.
‘No!’ she said forcibly. ‘You’re making me do something I don’t want to do.’
‘You’re loving it.’
He snuck a glance at her profile and found her smiling.
They turned a bend on the track and Jack braced. ‘Right foot off the accelerator and onto the brake, Frances,’ he told her, as gently as he could while keeping his tone firm and commanding.
But she’d already seen what he’d seen and put her left foot onto the brake. The car lurched, Jack shot an arm out to protect Frances’s body from hitting the steering wheel, then the car stalled.
Up ahead, two men were fighting. There were two utes either side of them.
‘Jack …’
Frances’s voice was breathy and scared.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ he told her. ‘I’ve got this.’ He reached over and pulled the key out of the ignition. ‘Stay here. It’s okay. Stay in the car.’
He took his time walking to the two men. There was a lot of rough grabbing,
a few punches, most of which missed their mark, a fair amount of swearing, but not much else that had Jack bothered. It looked like your average Friday night punch-up. Although they were big men. Looked to be around twenty-four, maybe a little younger.
When he got to them, they were so breathless, grunting with anger, they didn’t even realise he was there.
He grabbed each man by the back of the shirt and hefted them apart, throwing them in opposite directions. The tallest one, with sandy hair, fell onto his backside. The other one with dark blond hair stumbled, then regained his footing but slipped and skidded. Dust flew into the air as both men kicked at the earth, trying to get balanced and upright again.
Jack spat dust out of his mouth. ‘Cop,’ he said, informing them and warning them at the same time. ‘What’s the trouble?’
‘Damon, you stupid bastard,’ the blond said.
‘Screw you!’
Damon Baxter. No doubt the sandy-haired young man was Robert, his younger brother.
‘That’s enough, gentlemen,’ Jack said and flicked them his ID.
‘Shit,’ Damon said, pulling himself to stand and slapping his thighs. More red dust rose in the air. Their boots and jeans were now covered in it, as were their T-shirts, and arms and faces.
‘That’s far enough,’ Jack told Damon as he took a step towards his brother. ‘You,’ he said to Robert Baxter. ‘Get on your feet.’
‘It’s just a blue,’ Robert said. ‘We’re brothers.’
A typical Baxter blue. Jack had a fleeting thought about thanking Solomon for taking Billy out of all this. ‘I know who you are. What are you doing out here? This is private property.’
‘Everyone takes the track,’ Damon said, shoving a thumb in the air to indicate the old mine track behind him. ‘It’s a shortcut.’
‘From where to where?’ Jack asked. He’d studied the map of the area, although many of the old mine tracks criss-crossed and it was impossible for a newcomer to know all of them or where they led. Taking his bearings, he thought the track they were referring to came from the main road heading north to the Baxter farm, bounced over this southern edge of Jax’s property and headed towards the museum.
‘We were just out driving,’ Robert said, stepping forward.
‘What made you stop here?’
‘Needed to take a piss.’
‘What caused the fight?’
‘Nothing. Brother stuff.’
‘What’s with the goats?’ They had two goats, one on each of the ute trays.
Neither answered. Jack waited, noting that there was no damage to either ute. No smashed or bent bull bars, just dirty old scratches and dents that had been there a long time.
‘Just found ’em,’ Damon said.
‘Reckon they’re old Roper’s,’ Robert added.
Said so smoothly.
‘I’m confiscating them.’
More silence as they digested this.
‘Untie them from the tray of your vehicles, tether them to that tree over there and get on your way.’
‘There’s a reward,’ Robert said. ‘Roper’s got a hundred bucks going on anyone who can give him information about the theft.’
‘Just be grateful I’m not pulling you both in under suspicion of that theft,’ Jack said. ‘Now do as you’re asked.’
No more than five or six minutes later, the Baxter boys had gone, heading back the way they’d come. Jack had called Jimmy and asked for two officers to drive out and take the goats to the station and have Roper collect them. He wanted to meet Mr Roper, and he wanted the vet on video cam to check the goats.
Jack would be studying the map again later too. Something about the museum kept popping into his head, but apart from the Agatha Girls working out there, he couldn’t join two dots.
He turned for his own vehicle, and for Frances.
He slowed his pace when he got closer. She was still in the driver’s seat. She had her hands on her face. He sensed her panic and fear.
‘Frances.’ He tapped gently on the window and she started, looking up at him.
Her eyes were wide and her lips were trembling.
He opened the driver’s door and hunched down. ‘You’re safe,’ he told her. ‘You were always safe.’
‘I just don’t like … don’t like it when men do that.’
He didn’t have to ask when she might have seen two grown men fight, but he did anyway. ‘Oh?’
She scraped her hands over her face, attempting to get herself together. ‘My dad did …’
Jack held his breath while she fought to get control of her feelings. He’d like to take her out of the vehicle and hug her, but he didn’t move.
‘My father had a fight with a man,’ she went on. ‘It was horrible.’ She glanced at him. ‘How many fights have you been in?’
‘Enough to know how to stop them. I know it’s frightening, Frances. I’m sorry you had to see that. Why was your father fighting?’ He got that question in last so she was slightly off guard.
‘A man told him he was a pervert.’ She was blinking hard now and her hands were shaking on her lap. She didn’t look at Jack; she stared straight ahead. ‘He told him to piss off out of the neighbourhood and take his disgraceful family with him.’ She choked on her words. ‘Then my dad just flew at him. They were wrestling and punching and I didn’t know what to do.’
So she’d got in amongst it, hoping to break it up. Jack couldn’t hold back any longer; he reached inside the car and put his hand over both of hers. ‘Next time you see a fight, whether it’s men, or boys, or even girls, you stay clear. Hear me?’ Her hands were overly hot, and sweaty.
‘I got punched by my dad,’ she told him, flicking her eyes his way as though wondering what he might think about that.
‘I bet the pain of that is still in your heart. I bet it hurt more than the pain of the punch, yeah?’
She waited a beat then nodded.
‘Where’s your dad now? Do you want to see him?’ He had to ask, because although he knew counsellors and the like might not want Fellows in touch with his daughter, they couldn’t stop him, and he didn’t know how much Frances had been able to take in and understand when they’d first talked to her about all this. And Jax hadn’t had a lot of time to talk about it with her, not when she was doing her utmost to make her child feel welcome and wanted.
‘He went away,’ Frances said. ‘I don’t think I want to see him. I don’t know. He doesn’t like me.’
He squeezed her still-trembling hands. ‘My mum wasn’t a very nice person, Frances. She’s dead now but when I was a little boy I cried a lot.’ Too often, too much. ‘Sometimes, our parents don’t do the right thing. It’s not our fault, and sometimes it’s not their fault either, but we have to live with it, and that’s tough.’ He gave her time to let this sink in. ‘When they took me away from my mum I was ten years old. It hurt like hell. I was relieved to be away from her because she didn’t take good care of me, but I was also scared. Scared stupid that people would laugh at me or point at me and call me names.’
A shadow of interest crossed her face. ‘Did they?’
Jack shrugged. ‘Some of them, but not all. I was lucky—although I didn’t realise it for a long time. I was sent to twelve different foster homes over the next three years.’
‘How is that lucky?’
‘Because I found my way to the thirteenth. They didn’t push me. They just loved me, or wanted to love me. I didn’t let them of course, not at first. I was a badass, like Billy.’
He returned her small smile, his heart filling. ‘These people in my life, this new family, weren’t pushing me to do what they wanted, or to behave in a certain way, but gently reinforcing that I needed to care about myself, and that by caring about myself I’d be a better person. They told me that all the emotional rage going on in my head would fade and I’d be able to handle it. They wanted me to be happy. That’s when I realised they might actually care. Really care. I’d never had anyone care in that way before.
’
‘Neither have I. Not really.’
He didn’t want to open a conversation with her about how she’d been treated by her father and her step-mother. That could come later, once she understood the bedrock of all this messiness inside her was love. The new love all around her. Jack had spoken with many counsellors in his youth. They were kind and decent, but there was nothing like having one person in your life who believed in you. Nothing like it. ‘You have now,’ he said. ‘That’s what Jax is doing for you.’
A doubtful look clouded her face. Jack unfurled to stand, squeezed her hands again. ‘It is, Frances. I promise. Do you think I’d lie to you?’
She met his eye and held it, searching. Then she shook her head.
‘Give her a chance,’ he told her. ‘You can take your time. Take all the time you need but know that Jax loves you and will never hurt you. She’ll wait for you and walk at your side, Frances, like my last foster family did for me.’
Jax ran out of the house and onto the front verandah when she heard a vehicle draw up outside.
‘What took you so long?’ she called out to Jack, forcing a smile to hide her concern. The bull was paddocked, Solomon had gone and she’d been pacing the house waiting for Jack. She’d called him and he hadn’t answered. She’d called Jimmy at the station and Jimmy told her something about Jack having arrested two goats.
Jack raised his face to her as he opened the passenger door. He shook his head, his face serious, as though warning her that she was about to get some sort of shock.
Then Frances got out.
‘What happened?’ Jax asked as she ran down the verandah steps and along the path to the edge of the garden.
‘It’s okay. She’s fine.’
‘Jack had it covered,’ Frances said.
Her gaze was bright, almost perky, but she’d been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed.
‘Had what covered?’ Jax asked, her heart rate spiking.
Jack explained what had happened with the two men who were fighting, and about the goats, but it sounded like he was retelling the tale with too much ease in his tone. She kept glancing at Frances who had her eyes trained on Jack.
‘Are you okay, Frances?’ she asked.
Frances took her rapt attention off Jack. ‘I was driving.’