The mare tossed up her own heels in play, then set off through the trees, trotting back along the creek, then down the hill towards the yards of Brumby’s Run. Jarrang trumpeted a greeting to his daughter. ‘Hold on,’ said Charlie, as Whirlwind picked up speed, cantering straight for the hayshed. ‘Wait now …’
They swept into the shed, and Charlie jumped laughing into the pile of loose hay at the end. Whirlwind lay down beside her and rolled in the soft stook. Then she stood up, shook herself, and snatched a big mouthful of hay from right under Charlie.
‘Cheeky thing!’ she said, trying without success to tug the hay away from the mare. ‘That’s mine.’ Whirlwind chastised Charlie with a shove of her nose, then settled down to feed, pawing occasionally to reach the grain that had slipped through the stalks. Charlie helped her for a while, searching out tasty seed heads and offering them to the mare’s whiffling lips. When the mare lost interest, Charlie lay back in the fragrant hay bed, pulled her new smart phone from her pocket and read over the messages from Karl.
The sexy ranger had been sending her emails. Charlie had seven of them now, one for each day since he’d saved her life. They contained fascinating accounts of his daily work in Balleroo. Each one finished with an obscure frog-themed joke that she didn’t always fully understand. What is the first book tadpoles read at school? Metamorphosis by Kafka. Or Two frogs were sitting on Robinson Crusoe’s back. One frog said, ‘I have to go now, but we’ll meet again on Friday.’
Charlie reread the last message, the one that finished with the silly cartoon instead of a joke – the one that had left her in no doubt about Karl’s intentions. A man without a shirt was sitting on an examination table. The doctor was frowning and pointing to a screen that displayed two images, side by side. The first was labelled Normal Sperm. It showed lots of little tadpole-like sperm swimming around. The second image was labelled Your Sperm. Here the sperm had developed into little frogs. And the punch line? I take it there hasn’t been any sex for a while? Could there ever be a more charming pick-up line? Charlie closed her eyes.
She’d never imagined somebody like Karl would come along, somebody who so completely shared her love of the natural world. It was clear from his emails that he understood the vital role each living thing played in the ecology of the national park. He valued spiders and ants. He could not contain his excitement upon discovering a colony of southern forest bats. And of course, there was his adorable passion for the Balleroo bogs. Karl had another highly desirable quality. He was an outsider. Right now, everybody in Currajong was in her sights.
Charlie hated knowing the town had mistaken Sam for her. She loathed the incestuous little community, the community that had failed her so badly. What Sam saw as some idyllic Shangri-la was really a suffocating hole full of ignorant, closed-minded people who didn’t give a shit. Who cared? She didn’t need them. Charlie drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the tantalising possibilities of Karl Richter.
She woke an hour later, with Whirlwind snorting affectionately into her face. The mare really was an excellent companion; Whirlwind knew how to just let her be. Sam, on the other hand, fussed and worried about her all the time – about her health, her diet, her mood. And she kept apologising. She apologised for putting the cattle into the park. She apologised for digging up Mum’s mint, mistaking it for weeds. She apologised for impersonating her all over Currajong. Sam couldn’t be in the same room with her at the moment without being sorry for something. It was annoying.
Charlie stroked Whirlwind’s velvet muzzle and found her one last piece of apple. To give Sam credit, she did keep trying to put things right. We’ll go around town, the two of us, she’d offered, again and again. I’ll explain to everybody who I really am. But Charlie wasn’t ready for that ordeal. She’d made Sam promise to let the status quo stand, at least for now. Stuff the town. Maybe she’d wait until her hair grew back, style it like Sam’s, and just step back into her own life.
Flicka called from her paddock, with a ‘why aren’t you paying me any attention’ sort of neigh. The mare was due to foal the next day. Her belly had dropped, her udder was full, and milk squirted from her waxed-up teats whenever she walked. Better go check on her, give her a brush and a good feed. Whirlwind followed Charlie into the yard for a bucket of oats. The girl rubbed the mare’s horns for luck and closed the gate. The first time she’d brushed Whirlwind’s flowing forelock, Charlie had made the remarkable discovery of the two tiny horns. She could think of no rational explanation for it. Perhaps the old stories about magical brumbies were true after all? The protrusions were about three centimetres long and dark grey, exactly like horn buds on a five- or six-month-old calf. Charlie was dying to tell Sam, but if she did she’d also have to admit that she’d been handling Whirlwind, and that might start an argument. Her sister could wait a bit longer for that startling piece of information.
Sam was already cooking dinner when her sister came in. Charlie’s attention was fixed firmly on the screen of her phone and her cheeks were aflame. When she looked up at Sam, she was positively glowing with pleasure.
‘You look like pretty happy about something,’ said Sam, not wanting to interrogate Charlie but curious nonetheless.
Charlie raised an eyebrow and shot her sister a cheeky grin. ‘You could say that.’
‘Well,’ said Sam. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense. What’s up?’
‘Might as well tell you,’ said Charlie. ‘I don’t like keeping secrets from my sister.’
Sam tried to look suitably contrite, and Charlie nodded approval.
‘It’s another email from Karl,’ said Charlie. ‘You know, the new park ranger. We’re going to hook up.’ She looked in the oven, then washed up at the sink. ‘He’s as good as asked me.’
Sam felt her face redden at the mention. ‘Oh.’ She paused, unsure whether to ask the question that was burning in her mind. This was her chance. Come on, girl, she told herself. Are you going to wait forever for Drew?
‘How will Drew feel about that?’
Charlie snorted with laughter. ‘Drew? What’s he got to do with it?’
‘Well …’ Sam was lost for words. Had she really had it wrong for so long?
Charlie looked suddenly shrewd. ‘Speaking of Drew, it’s pretty clear he’s keen,’ she said. ‘Can’t take his eyes off you.’
Where did that come from? Sam met her sister’s gaze, her expectant brown eyes, and she wanted to deny everything. What sort of person was she? Just come clean, for God’s sake. ‘I didn’t know about you and Drew when it started,’ she said. ‘I really didn’t.’ Shit. Don’t sound so defensive. ‘Drew never said.’ Don’t blame Drew. Just tell the truth and apologise. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie. I’m in love with Drew. You can’t help who you fall in love with, can you?’
There, she’d said it. Sam’s heart heaved in her chest and sticky tears ran down her face. It was hard to gauge Charlie’s expression through blurry eyes. She took a deep, staggered breath; more of a sob, really. She should have done this long ago.
Charlie stood up and walked over to the kitchen bench. She plucked a big wad of tissues from the box, came back over and pulled her chair around so they faced each other. With utmost tenderness, Charlie dabbed tears from Sam’s eyes and wiped her cheeks.
‘Sam,’ she said softly. ‘Why did you think I’d mind?’
‘He was yours, wasn’t he? Just like everything else here in Currajong.’ She heard the cry in her voice. Great, now she was snivelling like a baby. ‘It’s like you said, I did take over your life. You hated me for it, and fair enough. It’s thanks to me you’re stuck in this house and you can’t face anybody. I didn’t have the courage to tell you I wanted your boyfriend as well.’
Charlie wiped Sam’s face, harder this time. Ow. That was deliberate.
‘What a bitch,’ Charlie said. ‘You thought Drew was my boyfriend?’ Sam nodded, a hot rush of shame burned her cheeks. ‘And then you fell in love with him, and pretended to my face that nothing was going on
?’
‘Nothing was going on,’ insisted Sam, but her sister wasn’t listening.
‘You’re a piece of work,’ said Charlie, shaking her head. ‘Have you screwed him?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Sam, knowing how it must sound. ‘But only once.’ Had she really said that? What was he? A car she’d taken for a test drive?
Charlie burst out laughing. ‘I had you pegged as a self-righteous, sanctimonious Miss Goody Two-shoes. Drew told me how you’d gone around town paying our bills, making things right. Everybody loves you, he said. That pissed me right off. And now I find out that you’re actually a sneaky, slutty little coward, just like me.’ Sam nodded and held her breath. ‘And I fucking love you for it.’ Charlie smiled broadly.
‘You do?’ Her sister wasn’t making any sense.
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ said Charlie. ‘If it was true about me and Drew, I’d be seriously jacked off. But luckily for you, it isn’t.’
‘But Drew admitted it. He said Mary hated you two being together,’ said Sam
She did,’ said Charlie. ‘But that was ages ago. Drew hasn’t been my main squeeze since I cheated on him with Spike.’
That last item of information required further scrutiny, but not now. ‘That’s not what you said on the phone,’ protested Sam. ‘You said that you and Drew were tight, remember? You said you were … sleeping together.’
‘I’d never say that, for a start. I’d have said we were screwing,’ said Charlie dismissively. ‘Maybe I was on too many meds. Maybe you misunderstood.’
‘I didn’t misunderstand anything.’ Sam cringed at the pleading tone in her voice, but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘I’ve been sick with guilt over this.’
‘Poor hard-done-by Sam,’ said Charlie, pushing the corners of her mouth down into a clown frown. Did Sam deserve to be mocked? Probably. ‘Here’s some advice. A sure-fire way to avoid all that sickening guilt. Don’t sneak around with your sister’s fucking boyfriend in the first place.’
‘Drew wasn’t your boyfriend. You just said that,’ said Sam, before groaning at the stupid circularity of her own logic. May as well make Charlie’s next point for her. It would save time. ‘But I thought he was.’
‘Exactly,’ said Charlie with a smug smile. ‘I’m the forgiving type. One more apology should do it. That will make one million and one.’
Charlie had outfoxed her, and Sam was glad about it. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Good,’ said Charlie with a satisfied nod. ‘I’ll accept that. Drew’s not my type, anyway. I’ve gone off cowboys, and found me an intellectual instead.’ You had to hand it to her sister. She’d barely left the house, and she’d still managed to find a man. Charlie reached for Sam’s phone, where it lay on the table. She picked it up and offered it to Sam. ‘Call him,’ she said. ‘I’ll clear out and check on Flicka … give you some space.’
Drew sat at the table in the kitchen, solemn-faced while Sam told her story: how she’d fallen in love with him, how she’d pulled away because of a stupid misunderstanding, and how her feelings had never, ever changed. He listened in that intense, considered way he had, without interrupting. Finally she ran out of breath. Sam studied his face as if seeing it for the first time. His perfect nose, flared now with emotion. His penetrating green eyes, full of tenderness. His broad suntanned face and square chin, smudged with grease.
Still Drew was silent. Did she need to start all over again? Maybe she’d made no sense at all. One thing was certain: Sam was willing to explain herself a thousand times over, if it would make him understand. But as she opened her mouth to speak, Drew stood up. Without a word he rounded the table and kissed her, long and deep and slow. She rose to meet him, throwing herself into his arms. She felt Drew’s hunger for her pulsing as strong as ever, and she laughed with the sheer delight of his response.
When they parted, there was puzzlement as well as joy in Drew’s expression. ‘You sure did read me wrong,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Why didn’t you just ask me, straight out?’ She struggled to answer, struggled to find the right words to explain her monumental lack of faith in him. He shushed her and laid a forefinger across her lips. ‘It doesn’t matter. You were being loyal to your sister. There’s no shame in that.’
‘Bravo, bravo!’ cried Charlie, applauding loudly. Neither of them had noticed her come in. They’d been lost in a world of their own. ‘This is all very touching,’ said Charlie, ‘but Flicka’s gone down. That foal’s made up its mind to come.’ Everybody scrambled out the door into the dusk. Sam had not witnessed the miracle of a birth before. It was to be a night of marvels.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sam took a moment on waking to recall the momentous happenings of the previous night. She stretched and yawned, reaching for where Drew should have lain beside her in the bed. It was an unpleasant jolt to find herself alone. Then the fullness of last night’s events returned, and she knew exactly where he’d be. Up at the yards, with Flicka and her newborn colt.
Sam pulled on a T-shirt and jeans, feeling like the cat that ate the cream. She tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen, trying not to wake Charlie. They’d all had quite a night, and for a number of reasons, nobody had had enough sleep. Sam yawned, put on the kettle and cut up some carrots for Flicka. She made two cups of tea, one for her and one for Drew, and took them outside.
One for Drew. The significance of simply making Drew a morning cup of tea gave her goosebumps. After last night there’d be no more guilt, no more divided loyalties. Their love was finally out in the open, free of misunderstandings, and best of all, it was graced with Charlie’s approval. The safe arrival of Flicka’s foal felt like a final blessing on their happiness.
‘Good morning, Bess.’ The dog smiled and thumped her tail on the dusty porch. ‘Coming to see the baby?’ Bess barked assent and followed her up to the yards.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ said Sam. ‘Absolutely gorgeous.’
‘Yep,’ said Drew from his perch on the yard rail. ‘He sure is something to brag about.’ Flicka stood guard over a foal so perfectly formed, so finely chiselled, he didn’t look real. His coat was a pretty silvery grey that Drew assured her would shed out to deepest black.
Sam held up a mug. ‘Brought you some tea.’
‘I can’t believe he’s a black. A direct throw back to Abbey,’ said Drew, shaking his head. ‘I have a beautiful black colt with a double Abbey cross in his pedigree. Do you know how hard it is, getting your hands on a horse like that?’
‘Correction,’ said Sam. ‘I have a black colt with a double Abbey cross.’
Drew jumped down from the fence, and pulled her in for a kiss.
‘You’ll spill the tea,’ she said. He took both mugs from her and balanced them on a post. Then he picked her up and spun her around and around until she was dizzy with laughter.
‘Correction,’ he said, retrieving his tea. ‘We have a beautiful black colt with a double Abbey cross.’ The foal nickered on cue.
Sam steadied herself against a rail until she could no longer hear her heartbeat. ‘I don’t know who this Abbey is,’ she said. ‘What’s so special about him?’
‘Abbey?’ he said, looking like he didn’t believe her. ‘Everybody knows Abbey. He’s a legend.’
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, no.’
‘By Radiant? Going way back to Radium?’
She shook her head again. ‘Still nothing.’
‘Jesus, Sam. This is important stuff. What do they teach you in Melbourne?’ He looked so completely perturbed, Sam turned away to hide her smile.
‘Tell me, then.’
‘Abbey’s a stock-horse foundation sire. Big and black. Born in 1955 up in New South Wales, in a stall behind the Willawarrin pub. I’ve been there. There’s a photo of me standing outside.’
‘You’ve been there?’
Drew looked embarrassed. It was utterly charming. ‘Kind of a pilgrimage, I guess.’ He pointed to the foal. ‘When I first laid eyes on that little bloke, I thought to my
self, I bet that’s exactly what Abbey looked like when he was born.’ How she loved seeing him all fired up like this, brimming with enthusiasm, impatient to dive headfirst into the future – their shared future. ‘You know, they almost cut him as a yearling?’ he said. ‘Can you imagine that?’
‘Cut him?’
‘Gelded him. His dam and sire were both by Radium II, half brother and sister. They thought he was too inbred. Thank Christ they changed their minds. That horse won the Taree campdraft at just eighteen months old.’ Drew slid through the rails and stroked the foal, an expression of immense pride on his face. ‘Abbey won twenty-three campdrafts with the legendary Harry Ball in the saddle. The man worshipped that horse, apparently.’ The foal sucked at Drew’s shirt and he slipped two fingers into its mouth.
‘That’s a nice story,’ said Sam.
‘Tragic ending, though. Harry’s on the Pacific Highway, coming back from the Warwick Rodeo with Abbey, when there’s an accident. Harry’s killed. As a tribute to her husband, Harry’s wife decides nobody will ever ride Abbey again. Sends him over to Theo Hill at Comara Station. That stallion went on to found the finest stock-horse bloodline in Australia.’ Drew knelt down. The foal sniffed his face and he blew softly into its nose. ‘And to think Abbey blood runs through this little horse’s veins, eh? It’s a fucking miracle.’
There was no doubt about it. Sam did have a rival for Drew’s affection, but it wasn’t Charlie. Drew was in love with the little colt. Sam smiled as he gave the foal a great hug and Flicka whinnied her disapproval. The mare gathered the baby up with her nose and urged him away. He obediently turned tail and buried his nose beneath his mother’s flank for a feed, tail wagging merrily.
Sam finished her tea. ‘I have to go to work.’
Drew spun her around again and kissed her comprehensively. ‘I’m going to hang out here for a bit,’ he said. ‘Try that imprinting stuff you were talking about.’
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