***
‘Relax, Bandit. It’s only a magpie,’ Denham said as the gelding shied at a loud flapping noise in a nearby gum tree.
When the buckskin again moved around the edge of the small arena in an easy canter, Denham glanced at the black and white bird peering down at them. It would soon be magpie nesting season and male magpies would swoop anyone who threatened their nest. It was no wonder the local cyclists rode the country roads with flexible zip ties protruding above their helmets like black spires. A blow from a magpie’s beak could draw blood.
Bandit cantered another calm circle and Denham lowered the arm he’d used to signal that he continue. The gelding approached in a walk and Denham rubbed his forehead. The buckskin nickered softly.
‘Yeah, mate. I know. It’s been too long. I missed you too.’
He led the way out of the round yard and over to the hitching rail outside the stables. The chestnut mare left the tree shade to stand beside Bandit as if she too would soon have her feet trimmed.
Denham patted her warm copper neck. Flame had been a rescue horse from a city-born hobby farmer who’d bought her for his children not knowing anything about horses. She’d arrived at Claremont emaciated, her coat dull and her nerves on edge. Sweet and eager to please she’d quickly won a place in his and Audrey’s hearts and Claremont had become her forever home.
‘Your hooves are just fine, Flame. It’s only Bandit who needs his seen to and he wouldn’t if he behaved for Frank.’
Denham headed to the tack room to collect his farrier tools. When he returned Flame remained in front of the hitching post. Even when Bandit fussed and jostled her while Denham trimmed his hooves, Flame refused to move.
Denham passed the rasp over Bandit’s back foot for a final time and straightened to rub at the left side of his ribs. His last bull ride hadn’t ended so well. He rolled his tight shoulder to ease the ache of an older injury that also reminded him of the toll bull riding had taken on his body. He might have lasted eight seconds on Widowmaker but the infamous rodeo bull had made him work hard for his victory. The previous two rides he’d ended up in hospital with a concussion and a fractured shoulder.
Denham attached the rasp to the magnet on the hoof stand. With Bandit’s feet done, he’d saddle the buckskin and head to the river flats to check the oats crop. A flash of pink in the bay window of his mother’s flat caught his eye and he stilled.
He stared while Cressy placed a pile of books in a box and then he picked up the hoof stand and strode towards the tack room.
The day they buried his mother, he’d felt Cressy’s unreadable gaze on him. She’d only spoken to him once when she offered him her condolences. She’d then handed him a coffee and plate of food before slipping into the crowd. He couldn’t allow himself to read anything into her actions or the emotions that had darkened her eyes earlier when she’d stared at him. He’d hurt her by leaving and then again by not visiting her when home. As much as he wished he could return to a time when the adult world hadn’t come between them, he couldn’t. The only thing he could do now was to keep his distance and to not cause her fresh pain.
He swapped the hoof stand for Bandit’s saddle and bridle. He’d need more than a ride to crush the grief roiling inside him. But heading into town for a few quiet beers at the Royal Arms wasn’t an option. He was supposed to be keeping a low profile and staying under the gossip radar. Between his father’s brusque manner and his brother’s love for a beer, the Rigbys had brokered enough attention. The less talk and conjecture there was about him and his family the better. He couldn’t have anyone probing beneath the surface of their supposedly perfect lives. Small towns could have long memories, especially when it came to one of their oldest families.
Leather creaked as he settled Bandit’s saddle on the hitching rail. Flame stepped forward to sniff the coffee-brown saddle flap.
‘Flame, I’m sorry, I know you want to come too.’ Denham placed his palm on her rump. ‘It’s just me and Bandit heading out today.’
The mare turned to stare at him with big brown eyes. Perceptive Flame would sense something was wrong and would need reassurance that everything was okay. The usual routine over the past three years had been for Audrey to ride her while he rode Bandit. He couldn’t leave her behind now. From the corner of his eye, Cressy’s pink shirt again flashed in the bay window.
‘Okay, Flame. You can come. I’ll rustle up a rider for you.’
Instead of following the main garden path to the homestead, Denham headed towards the back of the house. After five years, he still avoided the front entrance. He was yet to pass his father’s empty office without his chest tightening.
Denham took hold of the doorhandle to his mother’s small flat but didn’t slide the glass open. Cressy sat on the floor on the living room, legs crossed with books and boxes surrounding her. Engrossed in the open novel on her lap she didn’t look up even when he eased the door ajar.
She’d removed her Woodlea rodeo cap and the end of her long ponytail fell over her shoulder. Against the bright pink of her shirt her hair shone a rich and glossy brown. Lost in another world, her mouth tilted at the corners, her full lips a natural shade of pink. His hand tightened on the doorhandle. He’d bet a case of cold beer her lips still tasted as sweet as they looked.
He transferred his weight onto his boot heels, ready to turn. He was asking for trouble spending more than five minutes with her. He squared his shoulders and slid open the door. But he couldn’t let Flame down. The gentle and loyal mare needed to be ridden.
Cressy’s head lifted as he stepped into the flat. Just like on the day at the cemetery, it was as though he were looking at a stranger. Her face was a careful mask, devoid of the emotion he’d earlier glimpsed in her eyes.
‘You’re in for smoko early,’ she said, voice casual. ‘Is Bandit still unimpressed you interrupted his siesta?’
Denham took off his hat and forced himself to relax. Riding a paddock-fresh and cantankerous Bandit was suddenly the least of his worries. If he was going to survive being alone with Cressy for the next hour he needed to dig deep. She couldn’t know how much it affected him being near her.
‘No, I haven’t bitten the dust yet but that’s not to say it won’t happen when I do get on him.’
To his relief his tone contained just the right amount of humour but also reserve.
Meredith appeared in the kitchen doorway, a yellow-checked tea towel in her hands. Her quick smile relaxed the firm grip he held on his hat. Meredith wasn’t only his aunt, she’d been his mother’s best friend and had always been a part of his life.
‘Perfect timing. I just iced a chocolate cake.’ Meredith turned to smile at Cressy. ‘Cuppa, love?’
‘No thanks.’ Cressy closed the novel on her lap and placed it in the closest box. ‘I seem to be doing more reading than cleaning so had better get busy.’
Denham didn’t miss the quick glance she threw at him. He wasn’t the only one whose instincts warned to keep their distance.
To his surprise his aunt merely nodded. ‘Okay then. Denham, it’s just you, me and the chocolate cake.’
As she disappeared into the kitchen, he didn’t follow. Cressy stood and brushed off the seat of her jeans. Her eyes avoided his until he softly spoke her name.
‘Cressy … fancy a ride to the river to check the oats crop? Flame senses Mum’s gone and doesn’t want to be left behind.’
Compassion softened Cressy’s gaze. She spoke without hesitation. ‘Poor possum. I thought she’d know something wasn’t right. Yes, Tippy and I would love to come.’
‘You’ll need a cuppa before you go,’ Meredith called from the kitchen. ‘And some chocolate cake.’
Amusement briefly illuminated the green flecks in Cressy’s eyes. ‘Now Meredith, how did I know you’d say that?’
***
A coffee, an Anzac biscuit and two slices of cake later, Denham swung into Bandit’s saddle. The gelding was cold-backed and would need to take a few steps t
o adjust to his weight. He let him walk forward several paces before stopping him to gauge his mood. The buckskin pawed the ground but soon calmed. When he was sure Bandit was listening and wasn’t plotting to unseat him, he nudged the gelding forward. Cressy and Flame had already left the stable yard and were making their way past the back garden. Tippy trailed behind, head down as she tracked a rabbit or a kangaroo.
Bandit fell into step beside Flame and then pulled ahead.
Cressy waved at a fly hovering near her ear. ‘Some things never change. Bandit still has to be first.’
‘He does. But that also means he gets to open all the gates for Flame.’
‘So he should, shouldn’t he?’ Cressy patted the mare’s neck. ‘It’s about time Bandit behaved like a gentleman.’
She paused to look over to where remnants of early-morning fog hovered in the valley above the trees that marked the meandering course of the river. The tense line of her shoulders lowered. ‘Thanks for asking that Tippy and I tag along. It’s a beautiful day and it’s been a long time since I’ve been for a ride.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He loosened his reins and Bandit surged into a canter. ‘Let’s see if we can find a gate for Bandit to practise his manners on.’
The pound of the horses’ hooves on the dark alluvial flat startled a flock of yellow-crested cockatoos. The birds left the branches of the ancient river red gums and soared upwards. As they screeched and passed through the patches of low cloud, their wings flashed silver.
Denham released a silent breath. The wad of tension that had wedged behind his ribs dissipated. Cressy was right. It was a beautiful spring day. His mother might be gone but she’d want him to savour every second.
He slowed Bandit as they came to a gate. With Bandit’s begrudging cooperation he manoeuvred it open and waited for Flame, Tippy and Cressy to pass through.
Cressy grinned as the gelding pranced, impatient to again be ahead of the chestnut. ‘Has anyone told you, Bandit, that patience is a virtue?’
Denham assessed Cressy’s profile. A smile continued to curve her lips and he saw shades of the carefree girl he’d grown up with. The ride wasn’t only doing Flame good. He glanced over to his far left where Claremont ended and Glenmore started. The landscape transitioned from a lush green to a distant brown blur. The strain of Cressy keeping her family property running on her own had to be taking a toll.
Discipline and a committed work ethic had characterised all of the Knight men, with the exception of Cressy’s father. He hadn’t been as hands-on or as invested as his forefathers and the farm had suffered. Fliss too had never been really interested in farm life, so even as a child Cressy had known the future of Glenmore would be in her hands. A duty she’d always taken seriously.
The horses climbed a nearby foothill. Denham and Cressy stopped to stare across the river flats that rippled like a green sea as a breeze played tag in the oats crop.
‘I haven’t seen a crop like this for years,’ Cressy said, tone hushed. ‘You can barely see the cattle.’
‘Cressy …’ Denham considered her now shadowed expression. The fertile river flats had once been part of Glenmore. Whatever his father had done to talk her father into selling them had died along with the two men. ‘There’s enough oats here for both Claremont’s and Glenmore’s cattle. You’re welcome to push your cattle through the boundary gate and leave them here for as long as you need to.’
The proud stiffening of her spine answered him before her words could. Cressy’s need for independence hadn’t diminished over the years. Her feed situation grew desperate but she wouldn’t accept help. Her grandfather hadn’t raised her to be weak or needy.
‘Thanks but you’ll need all of your oats as Phil bought a truckload of cattle from the last store sale. I’m also doing okay. Phil’s delivering some more hay in a couple of days and when that runs out I’ve got a permit to take the cattle out onto the travelling stock routes. It has to rain … sometime.’
Denham nodded. He knew better than to try and talk Cressy around. She had a will as stubborn and as strong as the rogue bull she’d raised from a poddy calf and still considered a pet.
‘There’s no time limit on the offer. If you come back from the long paddock and still need feed, the gate will be unlocked.’
She nodded. ‘Thanks.’
Denham looked across to where the fog had now lifted and the sky above the river was a clear and pristine blue. ‘We’ve checked the crop so had better head back. I’ve a man coming to see me about some yards soon.’
A frown indented Cressy’s smooth brow. ‘Yards? Phil’s only just redesigned and added some extra panels to the cattle yards … Didn’t his changes work?’
Denham took a second to answer. ‘They did, they worked well … These new yards aren’t exactly cattle yards.’
Cressy searched his face and he kept his expression casual. He might have known she’d detect the caution in his voice. Her busy brain put two and two together faster than Tippy could sprint after a wallaby.
‘So what type of yards are they?’
He held her gaze. His heart drummed in his chest so loud she had to be able to hear it. From the widening of her eyes he suspected she’d already guessed what he was about to say.
‘They’re yards with chutes … for training rodeo bulls. Cressy … I’m home … for good.’
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ISBN: 9781489246837
TITLE: THE RED DIRT ROAD
First Australian Publication 2018
Copyright © 2018 Alissa Callen
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The Red Dirt Road Page 31