Bill tossed the last hay bale down. Drew fielded it and stacked it on the tray of the truck. Monday afternoon, and he still hadn’t told his father they were losing the lease for Brumby’s Run. The opportunity was staring at him over breakfast. Bill had been on the phone to Tom about stocking rates for the next year, but Drew hadn’t mustered up the courage. What was worse, his father was talking about buying in more cattle.
‘I want you to inspect those Benambra weaners for me next week,’ Bill said as he dusted down his hands. ‘Make sure they bring in the bloody lot, so they can’t hide the tail.’ The tail was the inevitable percentage of poorer calves in any yarding. Bill had been caught out last year, buying a motley, weedy mob based on an unrepresentative sample of yarded stock. It was Drew who’d warned Bill against them, so there was a certain irony in Bill’s words of caution. ‘And don’t act too keen. Buying paddock mobs is like playing poker, and you’ve never been much good at poker.’ Bill walked away whistling, looking pleased as punch.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ muttered Drew to himself. Gloom gathered over him like his own personal cloud. Why shouldn’t Dad look pleased? He’d had a win, no doubt about it. Thanks to the recently elected state government, cattle were going back into Balleroo National Park – as a trial to start with. A phone call that morning confirmed the cattle would be mostly from Kilmarnock. It didn’t hurt that Bill and the new environment minister were old school mates. So now, Bill had plans to move the cows and calves from Brumby’s up into the park, and put a few hundred new weaners onto Mary’s land. Drew needed to tell his father to back off before things got out of hand. And he needed to do it soon.
Drew was ready to jump in the cab when Bess began to bark. Sam’s bright-blue beetle was scooting up the drive. From his vantage point at the hayshed, Drew watched his father stride down to meet her. After a minute or two Bill raised his voice and Sam retreated to her car. With a dismissive wave of his hand, Bill marched back to the house. Drew headed down the hill at a run. Charging around the corner of the verandah, he cannoned headlong into his father coming the other way. Too late: the beetle was heading off. Drew mumbled an apology to his father and tried to appear offhand.
‘The Kellys are back,’ said Bill. ‘Hate to think how they got their hands on that car.’ He shook his head. ‘The girl, Charlie. She was just here.’ Bill gave Drew a shrewd look. ‘Don’t you go getting keen on her again, son. She’s not for you.’ Drew took a long, steadying breath. Just ignore him, don’t give him the satisfaction. ‘She says Mary won’t renew the lease. Damned if I know why.’
Drew put on a look of suitable surprise. ‘Well that scotches the cattle-buying trip, then.’
‘It bloody well doesn’t!’ barked Bill. ‘Mary will come round. You’re still going, right after you round up those damned horses and get Chiquita back for me. I’m not losing my top mare to some mongrel stallion, not the way Don Campbell did at Jindabyne.’ Yes. The little issue of Dad’s mare. ‘I’m sending Ted to repair the yards up at Dead Man’s Hut. Then I want those brumbies run in.’
‘What do I do with them?’
‘Shoot them, dog them, I don’t care – just get Chiquita back.’
Bill walked off, still looking pleased with himself. Drew remembered the horror of running the brumbies the year before on Maroong Mountain. One thing was certain. This time things would be done differently.
The sun still blazed low in the western sky when Drew set off for Brumby’s Run. He’d packed a box with Christmas leftovers – cold meat and salad, mince pies, fresh fruit. A bottle of wine sat on ice in the esky.
This was Drew’s second try today. The first time, he’d gone by just on spec and Sam hadn’t been home yet. He’d hightailed it away, scared she’d catch him on his way out and think him desperate. This time he’d had enough sense to try her mobile, and score himself a proper invite. Sam was waiting for him outside the house, wearing Charlie’s clothes – jeans, a plaid shirt and an akubra. She looked tired and happy, her skin flushed, her face sunburned. She was even prettier than he remembered. Bess scrambled off the tray to meet her before Drew had a chance to lift the dog down.
Sam had put a card table under the peppercorn tree out the back, and set it with plates and cutlery. Charlie’s pet crow cawed from a low branch, causing Sam to jump in fright. ‘That’s Condor,’ said Drew, throwing the friendly bird a piece of ham. ‘Charlie hand-raised him after Dad shot his parents. Poor little fella must be missing her something shocking.’
‘I had no idea,’ said Sam. ‘And to think I’ve been chasing him off.’ Sam held out a piece of bread to Condor, by way of apology. The big black bird received it with great dignity. ‘That’s an unusual name for a crow.’
‘You know what a nature nut Charlie is,’ said Drew. ‘Condor’s named after those big American vultures, cause he’s a bit of a scavenger. And by the way, don’t let Charlie hear you calling Condor a crow. He’s an Australian raven, apparently, although I’ll be buggered if I can tell the difference.’
Drew produced the wine and poured it into tumblers that looked like they’d once been jam jars. ‘A toast,’ he said. ‘To bringing Chiquita home.’ They clinked glasses, and locked eyes. Hers sparkled in the twilight and he wanted to pull her into his arms again, but dressed like that, with her sister’s akubra and all – the resemblance to Charlie was too disconcerting.
‘Don’t you ever take off that cowboy hat?’ he asked. She smiled, tossed it off, and they tucked into the food. He told Sam about the plans to retrieve Chiquita.
‘Can I help?’ she asked. ‘After all, I’m a professional brumby breaker now.’
Drew went to speak and stopped himself. He’d better watch it – he’d almost called her Charlie. ‘You fooled Bushy?’ He supposed it wouldn’t have been that hard. Bushy had never properly met Charlie. He’d only recently arrived as a replacement for the last horse breaker, a man whose penchant for hard liquor had got the better of him. Bushy had settled on Charlie for the job by word of mouth alone, for she had a formidable local reputation as a horsewoman.
Sam’s tone was instantly defensive. ‘You said yourself that it would kill Charlie to lose that job.’
‘Maybe so, but you can’t go around town masquerading as your sister forever.’ She didn’t respond. The truth was, Sam probably could get away with it, if she kept to herself. At least for a while. The resemblance was so striking, and for the past few years the Kellys had been a bit on the outer. Mary’s unconventional lifestyle and erratic behaviour had seen her marginalised from the mainstream Currajong community. Over time she’d been frozen out of the Parents and Friends Association, the garden group, the picnic-race committee. Unfortunately, Drew knew this prejudice had extended to Charlie.
It had started with a few girls at pony club, deriding her and her brumby mounts with vicious barbs. Trust a feral to ride a feral or Since when were donkeys allowed at rallies? or Is Charlie wearing those clothes for a bet? It didn’t matter to hot-headed Charlie that the bullies were in the minority. One cruel remark was enough to set her off. She was kicked out of the club after terrifying one of her tormentors with a stockwhip. Things had got worse as she got older – the insults became more personal and were no longer confined to the horse she happened to be riding. Why does Charlie look so confused? Oh, that’s right. It’s Father’s Day or Why does Charlie look so uncomfortable? Because she’s had more pricks than a secondhand dartboard.
Charlie always gave as good as she got. It’s a shame to ruin such beautiful blond hair by dyeing your roots black. And I may be a slut, but at least the boys don’t have to put a paper bag over my head. When the others pushed her too far, she just jumped them. Drew had no doubt they were jealous of this stunning girl who could ride the pants off the best of them. No wonder Charlie had grown up to be a bit of a loner. Horses and the bush became her closest companions. Romantically, she favoured the kind of superficial relationships she could find with the travelling-picnic race jockeys, or cowboys on the rodeo circuit. Drew had found that out the hard way.
‘What happens when Charlie comes back?’ he asked. The uncomfortable silence grew, and it soon became obvious that Sam did not intend to respond. For some foolish reason, he felt compelled to point out a few more home truths. ‘And you’ve got a few more things to worry about besides breaking brumbies. No electricity, for one thing. And that means no running water, no flushing toilets.’
‘Anything else?’ Sam’s tight lips belied the cool tone of her voice.
‘No fridge, no lights, no way to cook, or to charge your phone. Does the landline work?’
Sam shook her head. ‘It’s cut off too, just like the power. I paid the bills and tried to reconnect, but I need Mary’s password, and she gave me one that doen’t work. I don’t think she knows the right one herself … but it’s fine, Drew.’ There was something about the way Sam said his name that made it sound important. ‘I can manage.’
She was pretty tough for a city girl, he had to give her that. Drew fondled Bess’s floppy ears, and questions crowded back in. Where the hell were Mary and Charlie? And why wouldn’t Sam say? She really was the most fascinating girl, tough and naive at the same time – a beautiful contradiction.
Drew couldn’t resist any longer. Should he try to kiss her again? What if she pulled away? He took off his hat, reached across slowly, watching her, and smoothed the tangled hair back from her dirty face. He’d been thinking about doing that all day. Their faces were almost close enough to touch – but something was holding him back. Sam broke eye contact with him, and the moment passed.
‘Admit it, Sam,’ he said. ‘You need me. Tomorrow, I’ll rig you up a generator.’ She really did have the cutest nose. ‘If you run it for a few hours at night, at least you’ll be able to cook and have a shower.’ The corners of her mouth turned down. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I didn’t think I’d have to cook. I thought you were going to bring dinner around every night,’ she said with a straight face.
‘That could be arranged, m’lady,’ he said. ‘Very easily. But you’ll still need a shower.’
Sam fingered her top button. ‘I could skinny-dip in the dam.’
Drew reached for the bottle of wine, not trusting himself to look at her. ‘You’re a tease, Samantha. You know that?’ He topped up her glass, trying not to imagine her naked. ‘Perhaps you’re more like your sister than I thought … And if you think a dip in the dam will get you clean, then you’re not accounting for the mud. And then there’s the whopping great water bugs. They bite something shocking. The mozzies will eat you alive, and a big yabby could nip your toe clean off. Not to mention the snakes.’
‘What do you mean, more like my sister?’ asked Sam, suddenly serious.
‘I just meant she could be a flirt too. All girls can be. Sometimes I think they can’t help it.’ Sam moved away and started picking strawberries off the pavlova. Terrific, now he’d offended her. Perhaps if he changed the subject. ‘So you talked to Dad?’
Sam nodded and ate a strawberry. ‘I told him we’re not renewing the lease, and his cattle have to be out by the end of the week.’
‘It’s not that easy,’ said Drew. ‘He won’t listen to you. It has to come from Mary.’
Sam shrugged. ‘Without a lease his cattle are trespassing. I’ll call the police, if I have to.’
‘What,’ said Drew, ‘with your stock wandering loose all over the national park? That could backfire badly.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sam. ‘Maybe I’ll just chase them out myself. Can’t you talk to him?’
‘Won’t do any good,’ said Drew. ‘He doesn’t listen to me, either. Never has. As I said, you’ll need Mary. Could she ring Dad, maybe?’ Sam shuffled her feet and avoided his gaze. ‘Or wouldn’t Mary go along with it? Is ending the lease something you and Charlie have cooked up on your own?’
Sam turned on him. ‘That’s none of your business. Don’t you dare go saying that to your dad!’ She made a show of packing up the picnic. ‘What on earth was I was thinking? You’re the last person I should be talking to about this.’
Drew stood up. ‘Fair enough.’ He put on his hat. ‘I’ll be around tomorrow with the generator.’
‘Don’t bother,’ said Sam, glaring. ‘I don’t need your help.’ She was holding onto Bess, like she meant to confiscate her.
Drew nodded, almost said something, then changed his mind. He’d royally stuffed this one up. Drew whistled, and Bess wriggled from Sam’s arms. Then he tipped his hat and left.