Rose River

by Margareta Osborn

  ‘We’re never going to be a couple, Marty. Never, as in not in this lifetime, ever.’

  Marty frowned. ‘But –’

  She held up a hand. ‘Under no circumstances at all.’

  He looked momentarily defeated but bounced back quickly. ‘I can always try, right?’

  Jaime shook her head. ‘Nope. No trying. It’s not going to happen. I don’t think of you like that.’

  Marty’s shoulders slumped and Jaime felt a pang of guilt. Underneath all the bravado, he was a nice enough bloke. He just wasn’t the one for her.

  ‘We can be friends though,’ she added. ‘I mean, you are Dave’s favourite nephew and you’re around a lot.’

  That perked him up. ‘Yes, I am, aren’t I? Besides, I guess it probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway, with you being so highly strung and all.’

  Highly strung? What the …?

  ‘Like mother, like daughter, isn’t that what they say?’

  Okay, now she wanted to knee him again. She was not like her mother.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like Blanche,’ he went on. ‘She’s great for Uncle Dave.’

  Just keep talking, thought Jaime, unclenching her fist slightly.

  ‘It’s just that sometimes she’s a bit bossy.’

  That was it. It was okay for her daughter to cast aspersions on Blanche but no one else had the right, particularly Marty.

  ‘My mum’s a good woman who has everyone’s best interests at heart,’ Jaime said. ‘Including yours! She didn’t have to agree to you staying here.’

  Marty nodded thoughtfully, ‘Yeah, that’s true. Uncle Dave reckons she’s the best thing that’s happened to him in years, and I guess she can’t help trying to organise everyone. She is a mother after all, plus she can cook pretty well.’

  Jaime didn’t know whether to clout him, or hug him.

  ‘At least neither of you is as bad as that Tiffany. Now there’s a piece of work. I went out with a chick like her once, a few years back. Took me a while to work out she was just after my body.’

  She looked Marty in disbelief. Seriously? The man had no idea how conceited he sounded.

  ‘So yeah, seeing we’re probably going to have to see each other a bit because of the old folks, we can still be friends, I guess.’

  And that was going to be as good as it would get.

  They shook on it, then he leant down to get something from the backpack at his feet. ‘Now, how about it? Are you going to be my offsider for the day? Please say yes.’

  Jaime nodded. What else could she do? She was trying to mend fences, plus she needed the distraction.

  Marty handed her a camo shirt, a set of binoculars and a GPS. ‘Just in case you get lost,’ he said with a grin.

  Chapter 35

  The little boat was heaving in the choppy water and Jaime was desperately clinging to its short and very wet sides. ‘You didn’t tell me we were going right across the lake!’ she yelled over the noise of the outboard motor.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t come if I did,’ Marty shouted back.

  Another whitecap came racing for the tinnie. Followed by another, then another. Jaime’s stomach heaved with every jolt. Marty remained cheerful despite the fact his hand on the steering arm was possibly the only thing holding him in the boat.

  ‘The bay’s normally a glassy blue,’ he yelled. ‘It’s the south-westerly. You just can’t pick it.’

  Yeah, right. Maybe more like Marty couldn’t pick it.

  ‘Did you check the radar? Or at least a weather forecast?’ Jaime asked.

  ‘Nup,’ said Marty as another wave pushed the tinnie sideways. ‘Only a little way to go. There’s the island we want.’ He pointed to a land mass not too far away.

  Jaime clung to the little boat’s sides even tighter. If she’d wanted to go out on the lake, she could have gone over to the mainland with Blanche and Dave in Dave’s much bigger and substantially more stable vessel. And where was Marty planning to land? There didn’t seem to be a jetty.

  ‘I’ll just run the boat into shore,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘You jump out and tie it off on one of those stanchions.’

  She looked where he was pointing. Waves were hitting the sand so hard, salty spray was flying metres into the air, to be caught by the wind and turned into driving horizontal rain. He wasn’t serious, was he?

  She glanced back at his face. He was grinning like a homicidal maniac, not at all concerned that he was going to get them both killed.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he yelled.

  No, of course she wasn’t ready. Her fingers were glued so tightly to the tinnie’s sides she’d probably have permanent indentations in her palms for the rest of her very short life.

  ‘Nearly there!’ Marty called as he caught a wave and threw the tinnie towards the shore with all the finesse of a Bondi surfer. ‘Go!’

  Jaime had no choice. She bailed over the side and into the water, mooring rope in hand. Argh! It was so cooooold! She swore under her breath. Marty was going to pay big-time for this.

  After swallowing copious amounts of salt spray, and stumbling twice in the knee-deep water, Jaime finally splashed her way onto dry sand. She threw the rope around a nearby post and turned to watch Marty climb out of the boat, a pack on his back and his arms held high to protect his waterproof-covered gun. He didn’t get nearly as wet as she had, and he didn’t stumble either. What a toad.

  ‘Wow! That was fun,’ he said, coming up beside her.

  Jaime didn’t reply. She was drenched, cold and shivering and it was all his fault.

  ‘What do you mean we’re not supposed to be here?’ yelled Jaime.

  They’d been walking for ages through the tea-tree scrub, tracking deer sign. Her clothes had barely dried and felt like salty sandpaper against her skin. She was tired and extremely grumpy.

  ‘Shhhhhhh,’ said Marty. ‘You’ll scare away the deer.’

  ‘Marty Berensforde, you explain yourself right now! Why aren’t we supposed to be here?’

  Marty pulled a face. His answer, when it came, wasn’t laced with his normal bravado. ‘This is a protected game reserve. You can only shoot at certain times of the year.’

  ‘And now’s not one of those times, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Back to the boat,’ she said. Enough was enough.

  ‘No way. We’re really close. I’m not going until I find this deer.’

  ‘But what if someone catches us, you idiot!’

  He reached into his backpack, pulled out the binoculars and handed them to Jaime. ‘Just tell them you’re bird-watching.’

  Who was he kidding? As if bird-watchers lugged around huge guns!

  She suddenly realised she was on what appeared to be a deserted island, illegally, with a man she barely knew, who was carrying a big gun. A man whom she’d told in no uncertain terms this morning that she didn’t find him attractive. He might have brought her here to exact his revenge. He could rape and murder her without anyone hearing a thing!

  She picked up a big stick, hit it against the nearest log to make sure it was solid. It thunked beautifully. Good, now she had a weapon.

  Marty stuck out a hand, stopping her in her tracks. ‘Shhhhh.’

  ‘What?’ She was cold, tired, hungry and scared. And irritable. ‘Don’t you shhhhh me, Marty Bere–’

  ‘Shut up!’ His hand struck out at her.

  She raised her stick but then saw what he was pointing at in a clearing in front of them. A mob of about thirty deer, grazing on the thick tufted grass. They were so small and cute!

  Marty pushed Jaime gently into some thick scrub, signalling for her to stay there and be quiet. He snuck off to the right, and she saw him get his own binoculars out and size up the deer. Then it hit her. He was actually going to shoot one of those poor creatures.

  She was just about to jump up and scream at the top of her voice, when a shot rang out. There was a thudding sound and the biggest deer fell to the ground. The herd st
ood still for a fraction of a second, then they were off, racing through the scrub like startled gazelle. One minute they were there, the next they were gone, leaving their dead stag behind.

  Jaime exploded out of the bush. ‘You killed him!’ she yelled.

  Marty came from the other direction, bounding with glee. ‘Yeah, wasn’t it a great shot? Just behind the ribs, and look at that rack! He’ll make a great trophy.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t have killed him!’

  ‘Why not? They’re vermin. They were brought here from India back in the 1800s for hunting. Although,’ he added as an afterthought, ‘hog deer are rare. That’s why there’s a season to hunt them. Not like the other kinds of deer that flourish in Australia. If it wasn’t for hunters, we’d be overrun by the buggers.’

  Jaime had seen lots of deer down on the river flats at Polly’s Plains just on sunset. They probably arrived to drink at sunrise too, but she wasn’t up to see that. Still, just because they weren’t native animals didn’t excuse Marty’s behaviour. Rules were there for a reason and he’d just flouted them.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ she said, looking at the dead stag in disgust.

  ‘We cape it out and get going.’

  Cape it out? What was he talking about?

  Marty rifled through his backpack. ‘But first we need a photo. Here. You hold up its head and I’ll shoot.’

  ‘But you’ve already shot it.’

  He shook his head like she was an idiot. ‘I’ll shoot a photo of you holding it. Your first deer hunt. Dave will be so proud!’

  She wasn’t so sure about that. She didn’t think Dave would approve of illegal deer hunting.

  ‘He does this kind of thing all the time,’ said Marty.

  Okay, so maybe Dave wasn’t as squeaky clean as she’d thought. She wondered if her mother knew.

  ‘Blanche comes with him sometimes. She loves it.’

  O-kay. Perhaps she didn’t know her mother as well as she thought she did either.

  ‘Now just hold the head like this …’

  ‘I am not holding that poor thing. You’re a murderer!’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘You are too.’ How ridiculous. Now they sounded like a pair of three year olds. Jaime stood to her full height. ‘I am not holding your illegally shot stag no matter how hard you try and make me.’

  She sat on the ground, crossed her legs and arms and glared at him.

  ‘Fine. Have it your way. But I want a picture. Here’s my camera. Take my photo, please.’

  Jaime felt the small weight of the camera drop into her lap as she stared up at the sky. What she would do now for a knight in shining armour – aka Stirling McEvoy – to ride up on his white steed and take her away from this place. But seeing that wasn’t going to happen, she would have to rely on herself to get out of here in one piece without being arrested.

  Marty cleared his throat to get her attention. He’d taken up a pose with the dead deer that made Jaime think of a turn-of-the-century hunter in Africa, proudly displaying his trophy.

  ‘Say cheese,’ she said, aiming the camera and clicking. She didn’t mention the picture she’d taken was of a nearby tree.

  Chapter 36

  ‘Ummmm … we might have a slight problem,’ Marty called to Jaime from the beach.

  He’d gone striding off ahead, grumpy after checking his camera and finding she’d duped him. Jaime was tired and lagging behind, but the tone of his voice made her speed up. She pushed through the last of the tea-tree scrub and looked for the boat. It was still there, safely tied to the stanchion. What wasn’t there, though, was the water to keep it afloat. The boat was sitting high and dry on the sand, and the water was at least fifty metres away.

  ‘The tide’s gone out,’ said Marty.

  No shit, Sherlock. Jaime just wanted to get off the island and back to the shack. But even if they managed to drag the boat back to the water, they’d never launch it in this weather. It was dusk and the sky to the west was black with clouds that were scudding towards them at speed. Lightning splashed across the sinister-looking backdrop and she could hear rumbles that sounded suspiciously like thunder.

  ‘We’re about to get wet, so I suggest you come up with a GI Joe solution pretty quick,’ she shouted. The first big drop of rain landed on her nose. Then another one on her arm. ‘Really quick!’

  Marty was rustling through his backpack. He pulled out a tarp. ‘Here, fasten this to that tree over there.’

  Jaime snatched at the flapping heavy-duty plastic and quickly tied one corner to the tree, moved to the next corner and did the same. Her father had taught her the rudiments of emergency camping with a tarp like this one. They got their flimsy covering up just in time before the heavens descended. The roar of the storm was insane.

  ‘Want me to cuddle you?’ said Marty as they sat together under the tarp, shivering.

  There was no way Jaime wanted his arms anywhere near her. She told him so in no uncertain terms.

  ‘Well, how about a sleeping bag then?’ he said.

  She could tell he was sulking. Again. Puh-lease! He was the one who’d got them into this mess. But just as quickly Jaime realised he was the only one who could get them out of it. She had no idea how to drive a boat even if she could work out how to start it. She needed to be nice to him and she was cold. The rain was teeming down and the tarp was flapping as hard as a seagull flying into the wind.

  ‘A sleeping bag would be lovely, thank you,’ she said in what she hoped was a pleasant tone.

  Marty darted a suspicious glance her way, but she just smiled as sweetly as she could manage. He delved into his backpack and retrieved two sleeping bags. One looked rattier than the other – which was the one he gave her. So he was selfish as well as an idiot. She would never have guessed.

  He also pulled out a mobile phone. ‘It’s Uncle Dave’s,’ he said. ‘I had to return mine when I lost my job.’

  She knew what that felt like. But right now she couldn’t feel any sympathy for him.

  ‘It appears we have internet service. It must be picking up a tower from the mainland.’ He googled a tides chart. ‘Looks like we’re stuck here until about 4.30 am.’

  Jaime wasn’t really listening. Her eyes were fixed on the mobile phone. If she could get hold of it without Marty knowing, she could ring someone to come save her. But who?

  Not Dave, given this was his phone.

  Her mother? But Blanche would still be over on the mainland doing the shopping. Besides, she might just tell Jaime to suck it up and sit it out.

  There was also the fact that Jaime didn’t really want to go back to the shack. She was fed up with her mother’s pesky questioning. Like, why didn’t Jaime try harder to get Stirling’s attention? He was such a nice man and Tiffany didn’t deserve him. What was Jaime going to do about it? Jaime knew all that, but truly, what could she do?

  ‘Have it out with him!’ Blanche had said. ‘Talk to him. Find out what’s going on in his mind.’

  But Jaime had already tried that, the day she’d given him the list of jobs for the fair. They’d been outside, Stirling sitting on the four-wheeler farm bike, her standing beside it after waving him down as he rode past the homestead.

  As he was reading her list, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, she’d said, ‘Stirling? Can we talk?’

  ‘Yep,’ had been the guarded response. Not particularly encouraging.

  ‘It’s about our night in Lake Grace –’

  ‘What about it?’

  Jaime had swallowed. ‘Ummm …’

  ‘Did you tell your pretty boyfriend?’

  Jaime had bristled. ‘For the last time, he’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘Mmmm. Even Tiff said he was.’

  ‘And you believe her?’

  ‘She’s got no reason to lie.’

  Yeah, right. But before she could say anything else, he’d flapped the list she’d given him and said, ‘So you want all this done by Monday morning?’

  �
�Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘Nope. Consider it done.’ He’d gone to drive off, then stopped. ‘Why are you doing all this? You didn’t even know Nanny Burgess.’

  That was an easy question to answer. ‘I love it here. It feels like home. Plus Nanny sounds like she would’ve been my kind of woman.’

  He’d stared at her a moment, like he was trying to work out if she really meant what she’d said. Finally his rigid face had softened to a smile. ‘And she would’ve loved you,’ he’d said, before riding off.

  Jaime had watched him bumping down the hill, becoming a dot in the distance as he made his way across the magnificent Rose River flats. He’d long since disappeared into the blue-grey scrub on the rising country before she’d turned and walked back towards the homestead.

  It was the memory of that smile now, and of the peaceful bush the man belonged to, that did it. Something told her that taciturn, stoic, grumpy cowboy who was in love with someone else would still come to save her if she asked. He was that kind of bloke.

  ‘Better get some tucker into us and have a kip,’ said Marty, zipping the phone into a front pouch on his pack. ‘Nothing much else to do seeing as you don’t fancy a cuddle.’

  Jaime decided there were two things she could do. Punch him. Or keep calm and get fed. Hunger won out. The sandwiches they’d had for lunch were just a hazy memory.

  ‘You got some more food in there?’ she asked, trying to keep her tone polite even though she was coming to hate this man with a passion beyond anything she’d ever felt before. Well, except for her hatred of Tiffany of course.

  Marty reached into his pack and drew out a cold chicken, two cans of baked beans and a bag of bread rolls, squashed but edible. A little burner to heat the beans followed. The backpack was as bottomless as Mary Poppins’s carpet bag.

  ‘What else have you got in that thing?’ she asked. ‘Tell me there’s a five-star tent with gas heater and en suite.’

  ‘Nope. But as you can see, I came prepared.’

  Prepared? Had he meant for them to be caught out like this?

  ‘Marty Berensforde, did you plan all this?’