The swirls of dust had blown from Ava’s windscreen as they turned into the stone entrance of Setabilly Station. There were only a few kilometres of driveway to go.
The conversation had flowed easily, except when she’d passed the SOLD sign on Dreamtime, the neighbouring station down the road from their gate. That had kept her quiet for a few minutes.
Granny Mim had said the Wilsons had gone, and Ava spared a thought for the family who had been there since the fifties. Like the Masons and the Mays, the Wilsons had been part of the struggle and the triumphs of the last poor years. Part of the serious discussions about rainfall, the good-natured teasing about comparative cattle weight, and the rollicking shed parties that raised money for the RFDS. All the community-minded stuff that station life encouraged to celebrate good times and the end of muster.
She wondered who’d bought the holding.
Almost immediately she thought, Does it matter? And then, terrifyingly, Will Setabilly be the next to change hands?
‘Is that a dam away there to the right?’ Zac’s voice interrupted her less than cheerful musings and her gaze fixed on his big arm as he pointed. Those arms. Good grief. She’d never had an arm fetish before, but then she’d sat beside Zac for nearly four hours. Every time she’d glanced sideways, his arms were right there. Big, sleekly solid, tanned and taut. And close to her. With him pointing, she couldn’t help following the sculpted musculature all the way to his long fingers.
She sighed for the loss. His fingers had been one of the things that had attracted her back on the flight from Sydney. So expressive and long, and capable of such gentle caresses. She really liked his hands. And his arms. And his chest and shoulders. And his eyes.
Seriously. Every barrier she’d erected to protect herself if this didn’t work out had fallen on the way home. His loss and guilt had made her want to hug him, and his Weipa story had slid under her guard. It had made him so human and had joined them on a flight of fancy that had made her want to sob for what they’d lost.
‘The dams?’ he repeated with a friendly poke at her shoulder.
Right. ‘Yes. My grandfather put the dams in and that makes us a little more durable when the drought hits. The last drought hurt badly though: we were handfeeding, carting water, battling to get the cattle shipped out before they died. That’s when Mum decided to try the ecotourism. She modelled the concept on a station in Queensland that includes experiences and not just bed and breakfast. Mum enjoys the cooking and Granny Mim will enjoy showing people what we do.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m a bit sceptical that people would want to see how to cut and dress a carcass, but Mim is impressive when she gets into it. Maybe it’s feasible.’
‘It must be expensive to build cottages?’
‘Mim decided she could design the small cottages for minimal cost if she did them herself and had Jock, my brother, and Poddy – that’s Hana’s brother who came out from New Zealand after her – put them together.’
‘Hasn’t it started yet?’
‘They’re still setting up. You’ll be the guinea pig. Once you’re well.’
‘I’ve never been called that before.’
She shook her head. ‘It’ll do you good. You’re too sure of yourself.’
He smiled at that but only said, ‘You mentioned your brother before.’
Ava thought of Jock. Tall, a little too serious, big-hearted, too aware that he was the only man around the place but not allowed to be the boss. ‘My brother has delusions of being the father figure for the family. Nobody listens to him except his beautiful wife. So he tries to be discreet as he does what he believes is best for the family. We’re lucky we have him.’ She slowed the car for a cattle grid and they rattled over it. ‘Jock’s twenty-four and has a level head, though he did a few dumb things when he was younger and Mum won’t give him as much slack as he needs to run the station completely.’ She glanced at him. ‘I think she’s wrong. But that’s between her and Jock.’
‘Does your mother work as a nurse?’
‘Yep. Two out of three of us do. Mim hasn’t nursed for years, but she handles emergencies fine. But Mum is the calm head. As well as nursing agency work, she does part-time clinics. She takes relief work for the communities to the west and south, and the elders will come, or send people to her for emergency first aid when the normal clinic is shut. The workers and family at Dreamtime Station used to come as well if they needed her because we’re the closest medical help.’
‘How far away is the nearest Aboriginal community?’
‘About eight kilometres. Then there’s the community at Yulara. I have a group of antenatal ladies and new babies over there, who I catch up with. I knew them growing up. The caseload midwives are their midwifery contact, and all mums transfer to Alice for birth, but I like to know where everyone is at when I come home, and admire any new additions. The ladies make me welcome, and sometimes I can help when important things don’t get passed on to the other midwives. Granny Mim is a favourite over there.’
‘So it’s a big community?’
‘It varies, depending on the season, and some of the stockmen who work for us and their families still live here on Setabilly in the cottages some of the time.’ She gestured to the land on every side of them. ‘It gets busy. Mum and I both roster ourselves off the agency nursing during May and September for the mustering seasons when it’s all hands on deck.’ She tried not to sigh. ‘And this muster had better be good or the bank won’t listen again.’
‘Money problems?’
And the rest. ‘The drought by itself we can handle. It’s a way of life and good times roll around eventually.’ But the timing of outside influences had hit them hard. Her brother was feeling the weight of the world, and Hana was worried enough to pass her concerns on to Ava.
‘Sounds like other worries?’ Zac could be perceptive.
‘Just stuff.’
‘Sure, but I’m a doctor. You can tell me.’
She laughed, tempted to confide in him.
He pushed. ‘Think of me as someone to listen and not repeat. If it helps.’
‘I know. And thank you.’ She really wished she could share her worry with someone not related to her. And quite probably, Zac would be a good option. He’d be gone soon. Or he’d forget. No, she admonished. That is unfair. ‘Don’t tell Jock I told you.’
He made a show of crossing his heart.
This is a dumb idea, but here goes. ‘This drought is longer, harder, and we’d spent extra on infrastructure. I’m worried Jock will take it too hard if we do go broke. Blame himself for innovations we needed to have but he thinks now we could have waited for. I’m worried about him coping with the unfounded guilt that goes with responsibility. I know he’s seen the livestock perilously decline in condition as well, and that knocks you down.’ She thought of the baby. ‘Then there’s the usual stress any first-time dad has when his baby is coming soon and he’s the breadwinner.’
‘You’re worried he’s heading for depression?’
She didn’t know whether to nod, which felt disloyal to Jock, or shake her head and pretend she didn’t agree. ‘He’s not smiling as much as he used to. Hana tells me he’s even stopped working on my grandfather’s old gyrocopter, which I know he’s been rebuilding in secret. Granny Mim doesn’t know about that – she’d be horrified. It’s one of Jock’s dreams to be able to fly over the property and it always excited him. In the past, if he ever had any spare cash, he’d buy parts and spend a few hours tinkering and it always made him feel better. One day he wants to get his helicopter licence. Take an aerial view. But he’s stopped now, and won’t go near it. And Hana is worried.’
Zac drummed his fingers on the dashboard as he thought. ‘His wife shared her worries with you?’
‘Yes. So now I’m worried too. But maybe having you here, another man to talk to, will help as well. He’s outnumbered by all the women, although it’s much better since Poddy came to live here.’ She blew out a lungful. ‘But I’ve got it off my chest, so thank you. Enough is enough. Let’s talk about how a city boy like you won’t die of boredom while you’re here, instead.’
‘With all this going on? And Granny Mim slaughtering a beast?’ He gestured the way she had earlier. ‘Not going to happen. Besides, that would defeat the purpose.’
She frowned. ‘Meaning?’
‘I’m here to see and experience the outback. And find my memories.’
‘I’m all for you experiencing the outback. You are also here for the drive. Seeing as I knew you were good company on a flight.’ And you thought I was good company, too.
He turned and she could feel the intensity of his gaze. ‘I wish I could remember that.’
‘I wish you could too.’ But they’d get there, one way or another. ‘But it’s not going to dominate the next few days.’ They both smiled at that and Ava realised their relationship had shifted again. And it felt good. Right.
This was the Zac she’d found hard to forget. And he’d given her the opportunity to share something that had been worrying her. Something she hadn’t been able to share with anyone else. If they had a future, sharing stuff would be a part of it.
‘Thank you for listening about Jock.’
He didn’t pretend not to understand. ‘I will cling to him like a limpet.’
Ava laughed. He was quick. ‘His wife might have something to say about that, but that’s very sweet of you. Thank you.’
‘Either way, I won’t be bored. I’ll have you and hopefully I’ll be here for the musters?’ Zac’s voice held a spark of definite interest. ‘I’m keen for that. It’s fascinating stuff for a city boy to see. I could notch up an experience and trial it from the tourist’s point of view?’ Then,’ he lowered his voice, ‘I could give you all a review on RateYourTrip.’ He nodded sagely and held up his hands to imply he’d only give his honest opinion.
‘Excellent. Ten out of ten. Mum will like that. But not for another few days. You’re here to recuperate under my watchful eye.’
He raised his dark brows with a hint of challenge. ‘Am I to sit on the verandah and rock while everyone else works?’
‘Just a little. A day or two will do it. If you get too bored you could run some community clinics,’ she teased. ‘It’s hard for all the mums and kids to be there when the clinics run.’
He showed his palms. ‘My boss has told me I can’t be a doctor for a fortnight.’ They exchanged smiles. ‘Tell me about the station.’
‘The station? Wow. Where to start?’ They’d be at the homestead soon. She tapped the steering wheel. ‘Setabilly has been in our family for a hundred and ten years. Compared to Aboriginal history, which sits something past forty to sixty thousand years, of course that’s nothing, but for us we have loved it for a long time. The holding sits at over a million acres and technically could carry up to eight thousand head, but we don’t have the people power for that at the moment. It’s around two thousand now, plus calves, which is about a thousand too many breeders for the drought in Granny Mim’s opinion, but my brother disagrees.’
She turned to look at him. He watched her thoughtfully. His brows had climbed at the numbers she’d been listing. ‘What’s that acreage in hectares?’ he asked.
‘Four hundred and sixty-two thousand, eight hundred.’
He smiled. ‘Is that roughly?’ The teasing Zac was back. ‘It’s hard to comprehend one holding of that size. It sounds so enormous.’
She shrugged. ‘Anna Creek Station in South Australia is Australia’s largest station, and it’s six times our size. So much of the land is dry and the foliage is sparse, so you need the size to carry the cattle.’
‘So what do you do for water in the centre of the Australian desert?’
‘It’s not all desert. We have eighty kilometres of frontage to the Finke River, though most of that runs water thirty feet below the surface, so dams are the mainstay. It helps that we have a few permanent surface waterholes, but that still leaves a lot of distance between water for the cattle. That’s where the dams and bores come in.’
‘I can’t quite get my head around that amount of land. So how do you muster the cattle?’
She laughed. ‘Watch a lot of cattle shows, do you?’
‘Not a lot, but I did see the Paul Hogan crocodile movies when I was a kid. Do you use horses and dogs like on the TV?’
‘Not us. That’s a different part of Australia. Though we have a yard dog. In the centre of Australia, the lack of surface water pretty well takes working dogs out, though there are a few. Too much distance between water for them – they get too hot, exhausted and die if they get too single-minded chasing cattle. There are plenty of wild dogs, but I’m not sure how they survive. We mostly use quads or bikes, and aerial mustering, which we rent. And now with Jock’s bores we do bore management and the stock automatically move closer.’
‘And other water sources?’
‘We use a solar pump to feed tanks on the hills and run pipes down to troughs for the different paddocks. Part of the workload is to check the fences and gates, and especially troughs to make sure they’re full and the solar pumps are working. We check every three days or so, or maybe less often when it rains and there’s surface water.’
‘So that will be all part of your registered tourist business.’
‘Yes. Jock’s drawn up a list of all the duties and it’s an ongoing discussion. That’s my mother’s baby. She’s an excellent cook and manager, and she’s devised a program of “experiences” that we’re trialling from this muster.’
‘Like me?’
‘Mum suggested including you, yes,’ she told him, ‘as long as you’re healthy enough. We’ll have safety briefings. Granny Mim’s pretty good at keeping people under control.’
‘I’m terrified of her already.’ His voice dropped to a dramatic whisper.
‘Be very afraid.’ Her voice dropped too.
‘So tell me about a muster. What does a muster mean for you?’
‘For me?’ She thought about that. ‘Holidays from work. And hard work. Muster involves more than rounding up cattle that have spread far and wide. It can take days or weeks, but usually around six days for us. That’s working from dawn till dark. You don’t want the cattle upset, so it’s slow and steady, walk them in and sort them into those to go onto the trucks and those that will return to the paddocks.’
‘Do you hire the trucks, too?’
‘Yep. The vet comes in to check them and give any treatments, we do branding and then loading, and cattle-drive the rest out again.’
He was watching her and she smiled at him as she slowed for another cattle grid. He looked genuinely interested and that was a plus. She drove slowly over the noisy grid.
‘It’s easy when you know how,’ she told him, before she sped up again. ‘Do you ride a quad bike?’
She caught his smile before she turned back to the road. ‘I did have a motorbike in my misspent youth,’ he said. ‘Though not for long once I started medicine and the attraction of skidding along asphalt using my skin as a brake was lost for me. There were too many skin-graft examples in the emergency department.’
Ava nodded. She’d seen that. ‘I know what you mean. Though that’s riding in the city for you. Here we get speed accidents and just pick up the pieces and bury them.’ A small silence followed that heavy statement. ‘Sorry. That was morbid.’
‘A bit.’ She could see he got that, because he had also seen too much. ‘The nature of our professions,’ he said. ‘There are many temporary Australians out there living on the edge of good sense.’
They both stared thoughtfully into the distance. Then she went on. ‘You asked about horses. We don’t keep horses, though some stations do. There aren’t so many of the Indigenous stockmen who ride horses now. The ones I know like the motorbikes and quads. Granny Mim would like to ride, but she had a nasty fall from her ancient horse, Red, and it took us a little time to find her. She takes the truck now because my mother insists on it.’
‘It’s all fascinating. A whole different world to my life in the city. You said you don’t have your own helicopter?’
‘Not since my pop’s gyro. We hire the helicopters for the aerial part of the muster. Since my grandfather’s death, Mim has been strongly against Jock getting his helicopter licence. I’m not game to stick up for him.’
‘Not game? I wouldn’t have thought you were afraid of anything.’
‘I’m afraid of doing the wrong thing by omission. It’s a cop-out, I know, but I’m not sure what else I can do. He’s his own man. And his wife’s,’ she added. ‘Hana is amazing. You’ll like her.’
‘You’re a good sister.’ He smiled at her and her insides turned to mush.
So she made fun of it. ‘And a good daughter. And a good granddaughter.’
He looked at her as if trying to read in her face what had been between them. ‘And a good nurse and midwife. But what about when you were with me?’ he asked. ‘Were we good together?’
She slowed the car again and she turned to face him, so their eyes met. ‘Yes, Zac, we were very good together. You made me feel like someone I didn’t know I was.’