‘I’ve got gumboots in the boot,’ said Oliver. ‘You can borrow those.’
The cool ice eyes held his gaze for a long, stunning moment. Something choked the breath in his throat, blood roared in his veins, a force crackled between them. Desperate lungs dragged in air.
Rupe and Shannon had drifted away to study the crash site and move along the trickle of cars dawdling by and stopping to chat or ask questions. Everyone would know the news by now and everyone’s opinion of the goings-on at The Grange would be reconfirmed.
She repositioned the sunglasses on her nose.
‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll manage.’
‘Up to you,’ said Oliver. ‘Take my phone number and give me yours in case you have trouble.’
She handed him her phone and he sent himself a text. ‘Turn this off so it doesn’t frighten her. She’ll be a bit jumpy. A sudden noise might upset her.’
She stalked over to her car, leaned inside and pulled out a red leather bag, which she slung over a shoulder. She touched something and the roof came up, then she locked the doors with a touch on the door handle.
Fun car but impractical for a vet even if he could spare a year’s pay to buy one. Stuey wouldn’t have the electronic equipment to service something European and upmarket like that anyway. The simpler the better when you were out in the country.
Oliver returned his attention to his patient, ignoring Ms Laatonen when she walked back to join him, although every nerve ending tingled and the hand holding the lead rope turned clammy. Stuey arrived in his tow truck. Calypso had calmed down enough now that she wasn’t startled by the engine or the screech of the brakes.
‘Is she usually good in traffic?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then you should be okay. It’s about six-hundred metres to the turn-off and my road’s quiet. Watch she doesn’t tread on your foot. Don’t want a broken toe.’
She didn’t seem to know much about the horse she was so adamant was hers but she should be fine and he’d jog back to meet her once he’d driven home, just in case. Might chuck in a pair of thongs for her because her feet would be crippling her after a few minutes on that terrain. Not telling her that, though. She deserved to suffer a little. Might make her think.
‘All the roads around here are quiet. Damn these flies!’ She flapped ineffectually at one crawling over her cheek. ‘I’d better talk to that tow truck man.’
‘His name’s Stuey and he owns the local garage.’
‘Right.’ She strode away.
Oliver stroked Calypso’s neck and the horse stopped grazing and rubbed her head against his chest. ‘Good girl. You walk along quietly and I’ll see you later, okay? I’ll get you all fixed up and feeling better.’
‘She likes you.’ Her voice surprised him. Must have been a quick chat. Most likely one-sided. Her side. Orders didn’t take long to give.
‘I like her. How old is she?’
‘Six.’ She took the rope Oliver handed her and patted the silky nose. Calypso resumed eating. ‘Come on.’ She pulled at the rope and started walking, the horse following obediently behind and her high heels tangling in the dry grass and weeds.
Oliver grinned as Shannon joined him.
‘She’s in for a nice walk,’ she said with an answering smile.
‘I’ll take the car home then go back and meet her. Don’t want another disaster.’
‘Softie. See ya, Ollie.’
‘It’s the horse I care about,’ he called at her retreating back.
‘Ha, ha, ha, sure,’ floated over her shoulder. ‘And I’m Cleopatra.’
***
Krista took her sandals off when that vet had passed her on his way home. She wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of seeing her struggle in the rough grass on the roadside. Luckily, the thickness made the ground soft underfoot so walking barefoot was marginally better as long as she avoided the prickly looking weeds, and the stones and other hidden sharp objects like sticks.
So much for the pedicure she’d had yesterday.
Something squished under her toes but she didn’t dare look.
Damn Angus. If he hadn’t been carted off in that ambulance she’d have punched him. She’d almost told that cop to arrest him for horse stealing. He knew Calypso was her horse, a twenty-fifth birthday gift from her stepfather, given to her in typical lavish fashion just after he bought The Grange. Angus could ride any of the other horses he wanted so why did he insist on taking hers? And where was he going? Why was he racing along at breakneck speed? Was it because he knew she was arriving this afternoon and thought he’d get away with something? Unlucky for him she’d left Melbourne earlier than she’d planned. Lucky for her she’d taken this route on the way to The Grange and caught him in the act, instead of taking the other turn-off. The underhanded sneaky bastard.
Pity she hadn’t packed better walking shoes but she hadn’t intended to go hiking along the roadside. She’d packed for the weekend celebration which, apart from lazing by the pool, involved talking, drinking and eating. Plenty of drinking given the company she’d be forced to keep and the state her mother would be in, in the lead up.
Lucky the vet hadn’t suggested she ride Calypso, that would have added another layer of humiliation. The cheek of that man offering her his gumboots. Laughing at her. They all were. Country yokels. Good looking, though. Especially that cop, Senior Constable someone. Shame he wore a wedding ring.
The vet … well … good body, strong … sandy hair wasn’t really her thing but he had a look about him … clear blue eyes, like hers, but his were … calm, kind. Her apology for snapping had been genuine even though he didn’t think so by his expression. She’d offended him and for some reason that upset her. Not a lot. Upset was too strong. Unsettled her was more like it. She wanted him to like her but he didn’t, he liked Calypso more. Why did she care?
Too bad. She’d pay whatever was owing for looking after Calypso tonight and bandaging her cuts, and she’d bill Angus herself. Hugh would be livid. Crashing a Grange car, damaging a float, involving the cops, injuring the horse, all in time for the fifteenth wedding anniversary extravaganza.
She smiled. That was something to look forward to, Angus being told off by his father. The anniversary, well … that was something to be endured. The best that could be said for Hugh was he was a generous host and provided top-notch booze and food. She’d be ready for a stiff drink after this experience.
It was hotter than she thought, should’ve taken her hat out of the car and brought her water bottle. She hadn’t been thinking straight. Not with that man watching her with dislike in his eyes. She was parched already. Two kilometres was nothing, a short stroll, but in these conditions? Sweat trickled down between her breasts and her armpits were uncomfortably sticky. Her deodorant would be getting a work-out. The pool at The Grange beckoned. A swim, and after that a cool drink involving gin and ice.
Nearly ten minutes later she reached the turn into Victoria Road. Slow going with sore feet, hordes of annoying flies and a horse who wanted to dawdle and yank at mouthfuls of grass. Twice she’d stopped to remove prickles from her soles and she’d stubbed her toe hard against a hidden chunk of broken concrete skirting around a culvert. One car had passed coming from the town, the old boy behind the wheel slowing to ask if she was okay, love. Which she was. No doubt he’d stop around the corner and get the full story from those two cops.
Ahead on the right a couple of weatherboard houses in various stages of disrepair faced open paddocks across the side road. This was the edge of town. The house on the corner had a bizarre collection of garden gnomes, a yellow mini windmill and car-tyre swans painted peculiar, non-birdlike colours like turquoise and fuchsia. Two nature strips were mown and smooth to walk on but had nasty little bindi-eyes hiding in the lawn, which felt like walking on pins so she had to switch to the road, but the tarred surface ran out after twenty metres and turned to rough, potholed gravel.
The blocks of land were bigger after the f
irst five homes, with houses set well back and a few cows and horses grazing in the paddocks. Calypso plodded along quietly now there was no available grass to tackle and every so often gave her a rough nudge with her head, which made Krista stumble.
‘Cut that out,’ she said sternly when she did it a third time. Was the horse laughing at her too? But she patted the silky neck. ‘Poor girl, are you feeling better?’
How much farther was this damned place? The road was gently but definitely rising and curved to the left up ahead with tall gumtrees providing shade. A figure came into view, striding comfortably along with a carry bag in his hand, a wide-brimmed Akubra hat low on his head. The vet. Coming to check on her, no doubt. She slipped her sandals on, straightened her back and lifted her head. Calypso pricked her ears.
The man slowed. What was his name? They’d told her but she’d forgotten already.
‘How’s it going? You’ve taken a while to get this far. I thought you might’ve had some trouble.’
‘No. How much further is it?’ She swiped at another fly.
‘Not far. I brought these.’ He pulled a pair of black rubber thongs out of the bag. ‘Thought your feet might be sore.’ He glanced down. ‘They’re a bit big but … your toe’s bleeding.’
‘I stubbed it on something.’
Krista looked at the offering. Thongs. Soft rubber, flat. Much better than either of the alternatives. But …
‘I brought this too.’ He produced a water bottle, the refillable type sportspeople use. He didn’t wear sunglasses, causing the tanned skin around his eyes to wrinkle. Gave him a rugged, weather-beaten look. Very attractive. She looked away quickly.
‘Thanks. I left mine in the car. And my hat.’ She took some deep swallows. Cool and refreshing with a slight taste unlike city water.
He patted Calypso while she drank, and took the lead rope from her. ‘I’ll take her now.’
He began walking, leaving her to stumble after him. Her shoes were hopeless on the rough surface, twisting and turning at each step and the thin soles were hardly any better than bare feet. She’d do her ankle in at this rate.
‘Could I try the thongs, please?’
‘Sure.’ He stopped and handed them over, refraining from comment. ‘Want my hat too?’
‘No thanks.’ That hat was well worn and old, no doubt imbedded with sweat and dust. She dropped the sandals into the carry bag and set off again.
‘Better?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ Who was he? She scoured her memory but came up blank. ‘I’ve forgotten your name.’
‘Oliver Johnson.’
‘Right. Of course.’
‘I’m the local vet.’
She nodded. ‘I know.’ Something about his tone made her whip her head around to look at him. He returned her gaze with a blank expression.
‘Just checking,’ he said.
‘Checking what?’
‘That you’re not suffering from short-term memory loss. Heatstroke. From the heat.’
***
Oliver walked on, quietly pleased with the furious expression on Krista Laatonen’s face. He’d been right about her feet. They were scratched and dirty, with the pink-polished nail on the big toe broken and bloody where she’d whacked it on something. Sweat ran down into the vee of her sleeveless blouse and along her hairline, although he’d been careful not to do more than glance in the general direction of her chest. In the mood she was in, he’d be in all sorts of trouble if he was caught ogling her breasts. Her cheeks and nose had a touch of sun too. Didn’t take long to burn in this weather, especially for someone with such fair skin.
Calypso was in good shape. The easy walk would have calmed her down.
When they reached the house, Oliver walked straight across the wide parking area and put the horse in the stables in one of the three stalls he used when large animals needed to stay. Billy, his bay gelding, whickered, and trotted across the paddock to meet the newcomer but he closed the yard gate to keep him at a distance. He hung his head over the fence to watch.
‘Is that your horse?’ Krista broke the silence she’d maintained since his remark. Suited him.
‘Yes.’
He filled a bucket with water and stood it inside the stable door. Calypso stuck her nose in and snuffled experimentally before drinking.
‘Would you like a bandaid for that toe?’
She looked down at her foot. ‘Thanks.’ She took off the sunglasses and put them in the bag.
With the five o’clock surgery cancelled, Margie had hung the notice on the gate and given herself an early mark. Fair enough, she had three sons to wrangle at home, more or less on her own, because her husband was a long-haul truckie. She was also a very reliable, efficient person to have in charge of the office and one he didn’t want to lose, but it was just as well she wasn’t here to see his decorative but unwelcome visitor. He’d never live it down. Shannon was bad enough.
With the coast clear he took Krista along the path through his vegetable garden behind the surgery, and into the house. He showed her to the bathroom, found bandaids and antiseptic cream, handed her a clean towel and said, ‘I’ll be out with the horse.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Can you call someone to pick you up?’
‘Yes.’
Krista waited until the back door banged shut, then tugged off her jeans and sat on the edge of the big old tub to wash her feet. He’d only taken her through a covered back verandah, the kitchen and a cool, dim corridor on the way to the bathroom, but his house was surprisingly neat and clean for a man who lived alone. A quick appraisal had established that fact—one toothbrush, one towel on the rack, no female necessities like make-up or moisturisers. Definitely a single male. The tub gleamed with no scum lines, the kitchen was orderly with no dirty dishes lying on the bench or in the sink. He must have a cleaner. She had one for her two-bedroom apartment and he had a rambling old house in the country—which in her experience, was full of flies, manure, dust and or mud. He’d need someone to do the housework.
When she reappeared in the stable doorway, cleaner if not refreshed, Oliver was swabbing antiseptic onto the scrape on a rear leg where the skin was broken. Calypso fidgeted at the sting.
‘She’s very well-behaved all things considered, used to being mucked around with,’ Oliver said without looking up. He moved to the other leg and ran his hand down the horse’s flank. ‘She’s a nice-looking horse.’
‘She came with The Grange. Her dam was a champion racer. Jamaican Lady. You might have heard of her.’
‘Sorry. Not into horse racing. Do you race her?’
‘She’s had a couple of starts but not since Hugh bought The Grange. He doesn’t want to race the horses. He gave her to me.’
‘Nice gift. Will you breed from her?’
‘Maybe. She’s had one foal already, which is doing well, I think.’ She hadn’t thought about it. Owning a horse wasn’t an imposition on her daily life. Calypso lived at The Grange and was cared for by Rod along with the other horses. Hugh and her mother wanted her to learn to ride but it never appealed as an activity and she avoided coming out here as much as she could. It had seemed a very odd gift at the time. She liked animals but she’d never expressed any desire to own a horse, even at the age many girls went through a pony phase.
Oliver picked up a front foot to check the underside of the hoof.
‘No problem there.’ He straightened then frowned. His palm had reddish brown marks on it. He rubbed at it with the thumb of his other hand. He squatted and studied the hair on Calypso’s fetlock and above the hoof. A few whitish patches were visible.
‘Hand me that towel,’ he said. ‘Dip the corner in the water bucket first.’
Krista did as he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘There’s something odd …’
He scrubbed at the hair. The towel changed colour and so did the hair for about ten centimetres up the horse’s ankle.
‘So what’s going on here?’ he asked, look
ing up at her. Accusing her!
Chapter 2
‘What do you mean?’ Krista moved forward. ‘I have no idea what’s going on. Ask my stepbrother.’
‘I’m asking you. Is this your horse, Calypso Secret, or not?’ Oliver stood and waited, hands on hips. What sort of scam were she and her brother playing? Whatever it was smacked of illegality.
She faltered then. Looked down at the white sock, back to Oliver, confusion mixed with anger. ‘I don’t think so. Calypso doesn’t have any white on her.’
‘So you’re not sure now. You seemed pretty certain when you got out of the car.’
‘It looked like my horse.’ All the angry defiance had drained away.
‘How often do you see her?’
‘Who?’
‘The horse.’
‘Once or twice a year.’ She sounded doubtful about that, too.
Oliver sighed. That added up to a grand total of four times max. ‘So you really couldn’t say when we saw you at the accident whether it was your horse or not.’
‘No, but I know it isn’t now.’
She pulled her phone from her bag and walked outside.
Oliver wiped down the other ankles but no more white socks appeared. He patted the sleek neck.
‘Who are you, girl?’ The horse turned her head to look at him with innocent big brown eyes. ‘What are they up to?’
Should he call Rupe? This was odd but it could be nothing. See what Krista said after her phone call. She’d been genuinely surprised, he’d swear to it, and the icy facade had cracked momentarily. Maybe she wasn’t involved and the stepbrother was doing something dodgy. She had an attitude problem, that was for sure, but it didn’t mean she was up to anything. What sort of work did she do? If she did have a job at all. With stepdaddy’s billions she might not need to.
The activity at The Grange was often the topic of discussion at the pub but no-one had ever suggested anything illegal going on there and she’d never been mentioned. It was more about the disdain the local farmers had for the millionaire who’d bought the place and installed his son, Angus, as general manager. Tax dodge for the bloke, they reckoned and some people suggested money laundering, but as a joke. Hardly ever there, used it to entertain and impress other rich businessmen. A place to show off and pretend he was a man of the land. The son, being in general a no-hoper, was given the job to keep him out of trouble. They had a stable of mares and a stallion. Five mares if this one was counted, and other mares came temporarily for servicing by the stallion. According to local knowledge, four of the horses including the real Calypso Secret and the stallion had come with the sale. Blow-ins from the city was the general consensus and most people hoped they’d blow out again.
Where There Is Smoke Page 2