by Mandy Magro
Betty heaved a sigh as she turned to Nina, as if it was the most annoying thing in the world. Long lashes framed the prettiest of horsey faces. ‘As moody as she can be sometimes, you really do have a hot girlfriend, Frank.’ Nina smiled in Frank’s direction and with the lack of attention, Betty nudged her with her muzzle. Nina gave her a scratch on the neck, knowing from experience that Betty hated being hugged.
‘Now, where’s your little offsider hiding, you two?’ she asked, looking left and right, but there was no sign of Don. A clatter from the stalls was her answer.
Nina made her way over, lifted her sunglasses, and peered inside, giving her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the change of light. A long, drawn-out bray greeted her, followed by the squeak of the rubber chicken dangling from Don’s mouth. Nina cracked up laughing – she’d forgotten about the donkey’s love of noisy dog toys; she and Bea had learnt of it when Don had nicked Roo’s from his chops one day, and then blatantly refused to give it back. Ever since, thanks to them being a bargain at Kmart, Bea usually had a stash of the hilarious-looking playthings in the tack room for when Don eventually out-loved one. He would bray incessantly if he found himself without his beloved toys, as they were like a security blanket.
‘Howdy, stranger.’ She remained leaning against the doorway, wanting Don to come to the conclusion she was someone he wanted to hang with. As she’d suspected, he stayed put, unmoving, as he evaluated her. She gave him some time to do just that, grinning at his audacity.
A light brownish-grey colour, his muzzle looked as though it had been dipped in a bucket of milk and his wispy mane trickled down his broad neck. No taller than four feet at the shoulder, he was a midget beside Bea’s horses, but his bad-boy attitude all but defied his size – small man syndrome, at its absolute finest, Bea had always said, with a cheeky smile. Don’s ears, never pointing in the same direction for any length of time, looked out of proportion to the rest of him. Long black eyelashes made him appear a little sad but cute and loveable. And he was, most of the time.
Nina crouched to his level so she could look directly into his big brown eyes. She held her breath, waiting to see how he reacted, not wanting to draw him to her with the promise of his favourite treat just yet. He took a tentative step forward, followed by another and another, until he was upon her. Then, dropping his toy to the ground, he brayed and nuzzled her neck, his muzzle cold and wet. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around him, his wiry coat tickling her like it always had. And it was only then, after they’d said their hellos, that she pulled out his treat. Spotting the packet, Don danced on the spot like a child about to be given a lollipop. Nina chuckled to herself as she recalled her tenth birthday when Bea had dressed Don up to look like a unicorn, horn and all. Although appearing a little unimpressed, he’d been very accommodating – especially when bribed with chips. Having to stop him from burying his muzzle into the packet, she passed him chip after chip, until the pack was empty. The mouth-watering smell of them made her stomach growl in protest.
Pausing to glance at her watch, she was shocked to see it was almost three. Not having eaten since breakfast, she was starving. Scrunching the packet up, she shoved it back into her pocket and stood, pausing to give Don a scratch between his ears before bidding him farewell and making her way back outside to retrieve Tom and Maxwell so she could go home and eat. Now she was thinking about food, she was ravenous, desperately so.
Kicking her boots off near the back door, she shoved the flyscreen door open and stepped into the coolness of the Queenslander-style homestead, plonking Tom on the floor as she padded towards the kitchen. As if they were her shadows, both Maxwell and Tom followed casually behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled softly to herself – maybe they were going to be mates after all. Her heart melted with the thought. It was amazing how her four-legged friends were making her feel a little more at ease being back here, and helped take her mind off the secrets that hid within these walls. She was ever so grateful for their company.
She dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, flicked the kettle on, grabbed the butter, opened the jar of Vegemite, and waited, drumming her fingers, her gaze glued to the striking views out the window above the sink. A few clouds, all soft and flat, crept across the expanse of bright blue sky, and the horizon wavered in the far-flung distance. This place was so mesmerising, but her guilt was so raw for leaving Bea behind to cope with looking after all of it on her own, despite the fact Nina had felt it had been her only choice at the time. She jumped in fright when the kettle clicked off and the toast popped up in unison – the sudden distraction saving her from the tears threatening to build once again.
She busied herself making an extra strong cup of tea, then buttering and spreading a thick layer of the Aussie icon onto her toast. She remained standing at the sink as she shovelled mouthfuls in. She enjoyed every bite, and washed it down with sips of tea. She was almost done when the drone of a vehicle got louder, and a cloud of dust hovered – someone was on their way down the driveway. Her curiosity of who it might be was answered when a rattly old LandCruiser that looked as if it had never been washed in its lifetime pulled up in a cloud of dust. She watched who she gathered was Bert climb from the driver’s seat, all long limbs, bandy legs and bowed back – the body of an old ringer if she’d ever seen one.
Chucking her plate and cup into the sink for rinsing later, she made her way outside, tugged on her boots, and met the man as he was striding across the drive towards the homestead, only then realising that Maxwell was obediently at her side. This dog had a knack of making her feel very loved.
‘Howdy,’ she said, with a smile in Bert’s direction.
‘How-doo, yourself, pretty lady.’ Weather-beaten and sandpaper-dry from his years spent in the saddle, Bert wore his battered Akubra pulled down low on his crinkled forehead. A half-smoked, unlit rollie cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. His gait was wide as he approached her – the telltale sign of a man who’d spent the majority of his life in the saddle. ‘Miss Nina Jones, I gather.’ His tone was gentle, kind, and although frail with age, Nina knew looks could be mighty deceiving – there was no doubt in her mind Bert would be as tough as leather.
‘Yes, the one and only.’ Nina held out her hand in greeting. ‘That means you must be Bert?’
With a nod and a chuckle, Bert grasped both his hands over hers and shook as if he were a man half his age. ‘The last time I looked in the mirror, I was.’ There was a mischievous gleam in his deep-brown eyes as he acknowledged her with a tip of his hat before glancing down at an overzealous Maxwell, tap dancing at his side. ‘Holy heck, what’s that William gone and done to you? You look like some city boy, all dressed up with nowhere to go.’ He shook his head and chuckled. ‘We best get you out amongst it all again, hey; a dog like you ain’t meant to look like that.’ He shook his head. ‘No, sirree.’
A true-blue bushy, Nina instantly warmed to Bert. It was no wonder Bea wanted to keep him on, doing what he loved here. It would give him purpose, and add a certain kind of old-school charm to the place. ‘Yeah, I have to agree with you there …’ she said with a light chuckle. ‘I gave him a bit of a run today and got him a little dirty, but you should have seen him when William first dropped him back.’ She raised her brows and whistled. ‘Holy moley, talk about groomed to the hilt.’
‘Yeah, well, William’s a lot more city boy after living in the big smoke for so long, so it’s to be expected, I suppose.’ The corners of his dry lips twitched into a grin as Maxwell sniffed his dusty old boots. ‘I know what you can smell, and don’t you worry, I brought you some of it, me boy.’ Bert turned and limped back over to the tray of his rusty old four-wheel drive and pulled out a plastic shopping bag. Blood dripped from the bottom of it as he carried it back towards Nina, and Maxwell paused to keep licking the ground as he followed Bert’s every step.
Nina tried her damnedest not to screw her face up as she peered inside. ‘What is it?’
‘Oh, just some offcuts of roo mea
t.’ He pulled out a bit and Maxwell patiently waited for Bert to say it was okay to take it from his outstretched hand. ‘Found the poor bugger half-dead at the side of the road yesty, on me way back home. Looks like some bastard had hit ’im and left ’im for dead.’ He shook his head. ‘I had to knock the poor bastard over the noggin to put him out of his misery. He wasn’t in any shape to make it.’ He huffed and shrugged. ‘And then … waste not want not, I took him home and cut him up. Thought I may as well put him to good use.’
‘Right, well, a good deed rewarded, then.’ Nina took a little step back, the pungent smell of the raw meat flipping her stomach – she used to be able to help Bea chop a chicken’s head off and pluck it in readiness for dinner. Far out, she’d gone and gotten soft in the city.
‘Yeah, I suppose you could say that.’ With Maxwell basically inhaling three pieces, Bert closed the bag up and wiped the blood onto his jeans. ‘I kept the best bits of it for meself.’ He looked to Nina. ‘Sorry, I should have brought you some too. Roo meat makes the most lip-smacking roast dinner, when you cook it low and slow. I love me some, smothered in gravy.’
Nina’s stomach somersaulted – she really needed to toughen the hell up. ‘No worries, Bert, next time, hey.’
‘Sure thing, Nina.’ He gave her a nod and a smile, and Nina had to admit he would’ve been good-looking once. He hitched up a piece of cord that was acting as his belt so his jeans sat higher up on his bony hips. ‘Anyways, enough yibber-yabbering, I best be getting the critters fed and checked before the daylight gets away from me.’
‘Okey dokey, you need a hand?’
‘Nope, all good, thanks, Nina – I like working on me own.’ He lifted his hat and scratched his balding head. ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I don’t like feeling like someone’s looking over me shoulder all the time.’
‘Of course, no problem at all.’ And she meant it. ‘It was nice to meet you, Bert.’
‘Likewise.’ He shooed a pesky fly from his face. ‘I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty of each other, now you’re back home for good.’
‘Yes, I’m sure we will …’ She paused, tipped her head in question. ‘But I’m not back for good, though, just here to get things sorted and then I’m heading back home, to Brisbane.’
‘That skyscraper cesspit is your home?’ He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind and, with her silence, elaborated. ‘Sorry to be so blunt, but I’d always thought home was where your heart is.’ He shrugged. ‘But there you go, hey, different strokes for different folks.’
For a reason unknown to her right now, Nina’s defences fired to life, and she did her best to rein them in before she bit Bert’s head off. ‘Brisbane is where my heart is.’ Unlike Bert, she wasn’t about to elaborate why she’d just felt the uncontrollable need to lie.
‘Oh, girl, you need your head read, wanting to go back to all that hullaballoo.’ He sighed and looked past her, to the paddocks beyond. ‘I just don’t see the fascination with manmade monstrosities, when a person has all this nothingness to lose themselves in …’ He brought his gaze back to her, and smiled kindly. ‘But each to their own. I’m not one to judge.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s grown on me over the years, what can I say.’ She shrugged and tried to remain as casual as he was, but deep down he’d hit a very raw nerve.
‘Grown on you like a fungus, or like a pretty flower?’ He eyed her while rubbing his chin.
His analogy was so spot on, Nina found herself at a loss for words.
With a wide grin, Bert tapped his nose. ‘One for you to ponder, pretty girl.’ He turned and whistled to Maxwell, who ran to his side. ‘Catch you later.’ He graced her with a short sharp wave over his shoulder.
Nina felt her defences heighten even more, and she almost called Maxwell back to her side, just to spite Bert. But she stopped herself because that would be plain childish. This old bloke both fascinated and infuriated her – Bea sure knew how to pick her company. Nina looked forward to getting to know him a little more over the coming weeks.
CHAPTER
8
Logan grabbed his hat from the hook beside the door and tugged it on. Now showered, shaved and dressed in his favourite pair of Wrangler jeans, he stepped outside with the bakery treats he’d bought from town earlier in hand, leaving the large country kitchen that pulsed with emptiness behind him. Before he pulled the door shut, he wondered if he’d gone to too much trouble, and if Nina was going to notice if he had – he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression from the get-go, or come across too keen. So, before he pulled on his boots, he lifted his hat, ruffled his hair a little, and then gave his shirt a bit of a scrunch to make it look less ironed. Then, realising he was being ridiculous, he shook his head at how much he was overthinking it all. Typical of him, though – with his analytical mind, he just couldn’t help himself.
Scooting down the steps, he whistled to Digger, spread-eagled on the front lawn with all four paws facing skywards. On his feet in seconds, the two of them headed over to Logan’s LandCruiser. Digger leapt up to his usual spot on the back of the tray, and Logan slipped into the driver’s seat and revved the V8 twin-turbo diesel to life – he’d always loved an engine with grunt. Winding his window down and resting his forearm upon the sill, they were off, gravel and dust flying out in a spiral behind them, with Digger gleefully snapping at the air. Turning up the catchy country tune playing on the radio, Logan tapped his thumb on the steering wheel in time to the music and smiled to himself. It was weird, but he felt a sense of purpose, going over to check in on Nina. And he had to quietly admit he liked the feeling – maybe a little too much. Whether it was out of a sense of obligation to Bea – her dying wish was to have Nina stay on at Riverstone Ridge – or whether it was because of his inner desire to see Nina Jones again after all these years, he wasn’t sure – maybe it was a combination of both. Either way, he was about to find out.
As he drove, echoes of the night he and Nina had spent together, wrapped up in his swag in the back of his LandCruiser beneath a glimmering star-studded night sky, sounded in his head and brought a rush of heat to his veins. Nina’s satisfied gasps coupled with his, the whispered promises they never got to keep, the way she buried her face into his neck as she’d gripped him tight, both of them toppling over the edge while breathlessly clinging to one another – it was all so clear, as if it had only happened yesterday. The mesmerising Miss Nina Jones had certainly gone and left a mark on his heart in more ways than one, and, until now, as he finally gave himself permission to relive their memories, he hadn’t noticed just how much. It was going to be great to catch up and chat about old times – the company would do him good.
Even though it was close to four in the afternoon, the sweltering heat that had ensued after the morning’s downpour clung to him, and he wiped the beading sweat from his brow. He could switch the air-conditioner on, but he liked the wind whipping through the open window. Up ahead, a mirage clung to the edges of the skyline, hazy and shimmering. Rattling over the cattle grid and through his front gate, he turned left, and a couple of kilometres down the dirt road, veered into Riverstone Ridge’s drive. He hadn’t been here since Bea passed, and the closer he got to the grand homestead, the faster his heart beat. Again, he wondered what was making him so antsy – Bea asking him to gently nudge Nina into staying, while holding a few secrets close to his chest, or finally, after so long, laying his eyes on the very first girl who had stolen his heart? By the time he reached the stables, he had to draw in a few deep breaths to try and slow his pulse rate down.
A clump of grass hanging from his mouth, and his rubber chicken at his feet, a grey-muzzled Don watched Logan cruise past, and both Frank and Betty raised their heads to see who the visitor was. Logan couldn’t help but grin as he recalled all the times Don had tried to bite his butt over the years – the darn donkey just hadn’t taken a liking to him. Mind you, he hadn’t taken a liking to men, full stop. Even Bert had grumbled about Don’s haughtiness, and William hadn’t
had much luck bonding with the four-legged brute either. But get the donkey around a woman, and he was a whole other kettle of fish – he was a total charmer, all doe-eyed and sweet. Bea had found his antics hilarious, and Logan had to admit he did too.
He parked in his usual spot beside Bert’s old girl, beneath the shade of a towering red gum, and without giving himself a second more to overthink anything, grabbed the brown paper bags from the passenger seat, tugged his hat down a little lower – to ward off the sun, and because for some reason a wide-brimmed hat just made him feel a little more confident – and stepped out into the brilliant sunshine. And then he spotted her. Nina was crouched at the garden bed closest to the verandah, weeding with her back to him and a ginger cat the size of a small dog stretched out on the grass beside her. And for a fleeting moment, he almost hightailed it out of here.
Something hard bucked in Logan’s chest, and he took a few moments to gather himself before heading towards her. Appearing out of nowhere at a hundred kilometres an hour, Maxwell skidded to a panting stop at his side, and Digger leapt from the tray. Glad to see the dog back where he belonged, he gave his buddy a pat in greeting as he continued to take long, determined steps. Keen as mustard to be here – his chopperspinning tail giving his excitement away – Digger play-tackled his long-time doggy mate, and then the two of them were on like Donkey Kong, racing around the garden and tearing through the sheets hanging from the clothesline. Logan growled for them to get out of the washing, and in a panic, Digger bowled the clothes trolley over with a loud clatter, sending all the pegs flying. And yet Nina still didn’t turn. He paused to quickly pick them up and right the trolley, then, closer to her now, he could see the headphones stuffed in her ears. Just like she always used to, she clearly had her music turned up loud enough to block out the world so she could be in her own for a little while. As a copper, he knew just how dangerous that could be for an unsuspecting woman, even out here in the sticks – she really should learn to keep more of an eye and ear out for trouble. Not that he was going to harp on at her about it right now.
