Fenced-In Felix

by Cheyenne Blue

  I said nothing. Australia’s venomous snakes were legend. But for the most part, if you left them alone and took a few simple precautions, they didn’t bother people. The mulga snake I’d shoved out of the shower had slithered off once it was outside.

  “Was it venomous?” A quick smile. “On second thought, don’t answer that. I’ve convinced Shirl it was harmless.”

  I refrained from telling him that mulga snakes were on the list of the world’s top ten venomous snakes. I also made a mental note to ask Sue, my lawyer friend, whether I should have some sort of warning for campers.

  “I’m sorry you’re leaving,” I said. “If you stop by the office, I’ll refund your money for the unused days.”

  “Really? I didn’t expect that. That’s pretty decent of you.”

  After I’d cleaned the showers, removed a green tree frog from a toilet, and tidied up the camp kitchen, I returned to the office, where I checked out the couple who were leaving early. I’d been well over an hour. There was no sign of Josie, but I figured she was busy with her horse.

  I grabbed my hat off the desk, switched the sign to away and headed back to the barn. On the way, I saw Flame in the paddock, grazing alongside the two smaller ponies.

  Josie was at the barn, but she hadn’t been idle. All the stalls had been swept, as well as the aisle. Josie was in the area where I kept the tack. She was listening to news radio and had Patch’s saddle in front of her, and she was busy with the saddle soap—something I hadn’t had a chance to do for way too long. For a moment, I stood at the entrance, watching the rhythmic motion of her arm as she rubbed. She looked up, maybe sensing someone was there.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I’m doing this.”

  “No. Of course not. But you don’t have to.” I moved into the stall and sat on the wooden trunk that stored brushes and various unused random bits of leather.

  “I want to.”

  “I see you’ve turned Flame out.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know if the bareback idea is a good one. She hasn’t been ridden in a long time, and I don’t know how that would go. I’ll just wait for her tack to arrive.”

  I smoothed my palms over my jeans. It was hot in the stall, and I was sweating. “Seems a pity. You’ve got her here, but you’re not going to ride her.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ll manage.”

  I hesitated. “It’s a bit hot to go out now, but as you’re staying over, why don’t you ride with me tomorrow? I won’t charge you,” I added as she started to protest. “You’ve earned your ride by cleaning up the barn for me.”

  “That’s not why I did it.”

  “I know.” And I hadn’t thought that. Josie struck me as someone who needed movement in her life. A bar job was an active thing, and she had a crackling energy about her. “I’ve got two people riding, and one of them requested Patch, but you’re small and light enough to ride one of the ponies. Do them good to have someone on board who knows what they’re doing. They generally get away with murder with the kids, and I’m a bit too heavy to ride them.”

  Josie’s gaze swept over me from my messy, pulled-back plait down to my dusty boots. “You don’t look heavy to me. A bit long, maybe. You might have to pleat those long legs of yours around its belly.”

  I smiled at the image. “Exactly.”

  She finished Patch’s saddle and put it back on the rail and bent to pull the bit from the bucket of water, where she had it soaking. She dried it with a cloth and reattached it to the bridle. “That would be good. I like riding ponies—they’re so much fun.”

  “Is Flame your first horse, or did you have ponies?”

  “I rode other people’s ponies growing up. Flame is the first horse I’ve owned. It’s scary. Owning something that I’m responsible for.”

  “You’ve never had a pet?”

  “No. All I own fits in my car. I guess you could say I haven’t had a very stable life.” She fastened the final buckle. “Not like you: Born here. Live here. Work here.”

  I pondered her words. From anyone else, I’d be hypersensitive to the tone behind them. So often those words held a trace of condescension or pity. But Josie’s words were factual. She was simply stating how it was for me, as opposed to her.

  I tried for the same noncommittal tone. “And you haven’t had that.”

  “Far from it. Left at seventeen. Been moving ever since.”

  There was the same neutral tone in her voice. I wondered at the story behind her words. Sure, lots of kids left home at seventeen, but I got the feeling her reasons were different to the usual university course or a job in another city. “You must have itchy feet.”

  “Yeah. I did. I do,” she corrected. “It’s quite hard, though. I don’t have a fancy degree or any particular qualification. I can do pretty much anything—if someone gives me a chance. But those sorts of jobs don’t pay too well.” She rose and hung the bridle on a hook. “I like bar work, though. Talking to different people. Pay’s not too bad. Generally, you get a decent enough room and food. Fruit picking is a different thing. A leaky tent shared with five others in a muddy field.”

  “What else have you done?”

  She ticked the jobs off on her fingers. “Nanny—hated that. The kid was a brat, and there was never any time off. Factory work—my workmates were great, the work was dull. I’ve cooked on stations before—I love that. Done some office work, but they generally expect you to dress neatly and behave a certain way.” She pulled a face. “My office jobs have cost me a fortune in clothes. I did some tour guiding when I was overseas. In England, I worked on a tour coach, talking about Stonehenge and Hampton Court. It was fun for a while. I made most of it up as I went along. Not many people ever challenged me on it.”

  So Josie had travelled outside of Australia, lived in London, at least, and probably other places. Those were experiences and a life I never expected to have. I’d barely been outside Queensland. Hell, I’d hardly ever left the outback other than a school trip to the Great Barrier Reef and another to Sydney and Canberra. More recently, Mum and I went to Perth to see a cousin of hers. That was the first time I’d seen the sun set over the sea, the first time I’d dipped my toes in the Indian Ocean. Those were things many Australians took for granted: the ability to jump on a plane, visit another part of the country, or go overseas. Not for me.

  “What made you come here?” I was aware I was quizzing her like a prospective employer, but I was genuinely curious as to her answer.

  “Honestly?” She grinned. “I got offered the job at the Commercial. A friend of a friend. You know the drill.”

  I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. I’d never had to apply for a job. I’d always worked for myself—breaking horses, some work on the main Jayboro Station. And then, of course, there were the years when I was Mum’s carer.

  “I’ve worked there for six weeks now. I’m still here.”

  “And now Flame is too.”

  “Yeah. And let’s hope my tack is here soon.”

  She turned to pick up her hat, which was hanging on a peg. “I better find my campsite. Down by the creek, you reckon?”

  “Yeah. It’s quiet down there.”

  “I’ll check it out.” She shot me a mischievous look. “You know where to find me.”

  I knew where to find her—but I didn’t. I’d seen her set up her little blue tent next to her car and pull out a camp stool. I’d watched without appearing to as she carried a mattress pad, pillow, and sheets into her tent. While I pretended to mend the fence that kept the animals out of my pitiful excuse for a veggie garden, I watched her find a saucepan and heat a tin of something on the gas burner. She pulled a beer out of the fridge and took it back to her camp, where she ate sitting on the stool facing the creek.

  My fingers tightened on the fencing wire. I could walk over and join her, maybe take a couple of cold ones with me, sit down and shoot the breeze. It was the sort of thing I’d do with someone who was becoming a friend. But something held me back. Mayb
e it was that her knowing eyes would see through my attempt at casual friendship and put a different label on it. Maybe “lonely girl.”

  I didn’t want to appear desperate. And I didn’t want to intrude. Her job meant she had to talk to people, socialise with and listen to them, even if she didn’t want to. I didn’t want her to see me like that. So I stayed away, tightening wire, replacing a rotting post. Then, when the sun had nearly gone and a flock of corellas flew past making a hell of a racket, I put my tools away and with a last glance at the little blue tent by the creek, went inside the house and closed the door.

  CHAPTER 5

  The ride the next morning went well. Josie, mounted on Budgie, one of my smaller ponies, chattered away to the two women riding Patch and Ben. Both of them were competent riders and had requested a longer ride, so for four hours, we roamed the land around Jayboro. We jumped some fallen timber and had a couple of long gallops across the red dirt.

  Josie had an easy, friendly way about her and asked the women what had brought them to the outback for their holiday and, in particular, to Jayboro Outstation. I listened for the most part and took note when they talked about unwinding from the stress of their jobs as nurses in a city hospital and getting back to a simpler time. Also, they didn’t have to doll themselves up in the outback, which they would have felt obliged to if they’d had a resort holiday on one of the Barrier Reef islands.

  “Here I can wear torn shorts and an old T-shirt, and I don’t think anyone cares,” said one. “I dressed up to eat at the pub in Mount Isa the other night, and that meant I found a smarter T-shirt. I love the informality here.”

  “It’s totally different to anywhere I’ve been before,” said the other. “It’s a different Australia to where we live on the coast. It’s nice to get back to basics. Not that your cabin is primitive,” she hastened to add. “But it’s a novelty for me to sit and watch the stars rather than turning on the TV. To cook a steak in your camp kitchen rather than picking a restaurant.”

  “If there were things to do in the evening, would you be interested?” Josie nudged Budgie to catch up with the bigger horses. “Like, I dunno, an evening campfire where you could talk to other travellers. Or a nature walk.”

  “Maybe. If it didn’t seem like a charade put on for the tourists. We chose to stay here precisely because it seemed untouristy, off the beaten track.”

  I stored that information away in my head. Maybe I could offer an evening campfire once a week and a nature walk. Josie was good. I wouldn’t have been able to ask in such an artless way, assuming I’d even thought of that in the first place.

  Josie pulled back to let the women take the lead and reined in alongside me. “There’s an idea for you. Evening campfires. You supply the damper; they bring their own beer.”

  “Maybe. As long as I don’t have to MC a ‘spontaneous’ evening of bush poetry.”

  Her laugh rippled out. “Madge tried that in the Commercial. It’s a good idea, but all the poets she asked were so used to being underappreciated and told to shut up that once they had a mike in their hand and a captive audience, they wouldn’t shut up. It went on for hours. I was about ready to hit the fire alarm.”

  “No bush poetry, then.”

  “Oh, the idea is fine. Madge did it a second time, and she gave everyone a strict time limit of five minutes. That worked better. For all their introspection, it seems once a poet starts reciting, a bomb could drop and they wouldn’t notice.”

  Back at the barn, we dismounted. Normally, I would see to the horses myself, but Josie had other plans.

  “C’mon, ladies,” she said. “I’ll show you how we look after our horses in the outback. After all, a stockman is only as good as his horse, so we do things right. Grab your horse, and follow along.”

  I stared open-mouthed as Josie led the way into the barn towing her pony, the two women following behind. In thirty minutes, all three horses were turned out in the paddock, and before they returned to their cabin, the two nurses booked another ride for the next day. Sure, they were slower than I would have been, but if I’d had to do all three horses, it would have taken me at least forty-five minutes. This way, I saved a little time and had two very happy customers.

  Josie came up to me as I watched them leave. “See? It’s not so hard. You’re giving people what they want here, Felix.”

  “You have a knack for dealing with people.”

  “It’s the bartender in me. One part pouring drinks, one part psychologist, one part listening ear.”

  “It works.”

  “Does it work with you, though?” She said the words quietly, so softly, I wondered if I’d misheard.

  “What did you say?”

  This time she was bold. “Just wondering if my charm was working on you too.”

  Did she mean what I thought she meant? I opted for the neutral reply. “I’m impressed by your skills.”

  “Only my people skills? What about my purple pants?”

  “I thought they were mauve.” Too late, I realised my reply showed that I had been looking.

  Her quick smile told me that she’d noted that too. “Purple. Better get used to them, as they’re the only pair I have. I don’t carry many clothes with me, travelling light as I do, and most of my clothes are shorts. No good for riding—the stirrup leathers would pinch.”

  “Ride bareback and it doesn’t matter.”

  “Me or the horse?” Her retort brought up all sorts of images in my head: a chestnut horse with a rider who was bare of back—and front. One glance at her grin told me she knew exactly what she’d said.

  “If I’m bareback, you have to be too. Think about it.” She walked off, back towards the campground, and left me staring at the shape her butt made in her jeans.

  They were definitely mauve.

  The days marched on, and the weather grew steadily hotter and drier. I was now feeding hay to all of the horses due to the lack of grass. True to her word, Josie transferred over the money for Flame’s agistment, and after consultation, she added an amount for feed.

  Bookings trickled in for my cabins. I’d hoped to have them both booked for two days each week, but so far, they had been booked for four days each week. I had Josie to thank for a lot of the bookings. Customers told me that they’d heard about Jayboro from the girl behind the bar in the Commercial or from the woman in the post office. Even Bazza at the garage had thrown me a bone a couple of times. It seemed I owed thank-you beers in a lot of places.

  Josie came up at least a couple of times each week, yet she seldom managed to stay over. And although a month had passed since Flame arrived, Josie—or anyone—had yet to ride her.

  Josie’s excuse was the lack of tack, which had still mysteriously failed to arrive from South Australia. I’d offered to go out with her a couple of times—me on my steadiest horse, Smoke, and her bareback on Flame. See how she went, I said, a quiet ride.

  But Josie shook her head. “I’m just not comfortable riding bareback.” She gestured at Flame, grazing alongside one of the ponies. “See how she’s filling out? If I ride her, she’ll get excited, and she’ll drop weight in an instant. She’s not a good doer.” She grinned. “Not like me.” And she slapped her hand on her backside, clad in the ever-present mauve jeans. “Wish I could look as sleek as Flame.”

  Her words, of course, had the effect of drawing my eyes to her curvy butt outlined in the tight pants, and then my dry mouth couldn’t continue the conversation.

  I didn’t know what to do about Josie.

  Not in a business sense. Not in the landowner/horse-owner sense. But she was fast becoming a friend. Our conversations as we rode—both of us on my horses—gradually deepened and progressed. The banter was still there, but often, I would learn a snippet of her life too.

  And we flirted.

  I was not a natural flirt. The tease, the subtle glances, the light touches, they were all somewhat alien to me. I was a clumsy one, and living alone didn’t give me much chance to improve my techn
ique. There simply weren’t many people to practice on. The only other lesbians in Worrindi were an older couple—a retired schoolteacher and her “friend”. That was how they introduced themselves, but I knew the truth, as did most people in town.

  A couple of lesbians had stayed at the campground over the months, but I’d been hesitant to cross that line with them. My friends at Mungabilly Creek, Sue and Moni, had offered to set me up with one of the nurses Moni knew from the Isa, but that was a four-hour drive away and simply not easy on any sort of practical basis.

  The last person I’d seduced was Sue, and that was well over three years ago, before Moni had arrived from Texas to take up a position with the Flying Doctor Service. And back then, Sue had been even more of an ingénue in the dating department than me. We had been two clumsy novices falling together.

  Josie continued to sleep in her little blue tent on the occasions when she stayed over, and I had yet to invite her up to the house in the evening. I often thought about that—obsessed was probably the more accurate word. If it had been any other friend, I would have said, “Come up for a beer on the veranda.” Or I would have invited her to share my meal. But something held me back with Josie. It was a line that, once crossed, could never be taken back. And if she came up once, then it would be expected, the norm. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.

  Josie didn’t hint. If she ever saw me taking a stroll around in the evening, as I sometimes did, she’d wave from the doorway of her tiny tent, offer a remark, and then smile and let me walk off.

  “You need a dog at your heels,” she said once. “You look so alone doing the rounds.”

  I stared. In truth, I had thought of getting a dog for companionship, but also for the pleasure they bring. There was also no harm in having a dog around to deter snakes and possibly the occasional aggressive client. That had never happened to me, but Narelle had raised it more than once. She, too, thought I should have a dog—something big.

  Sue and Moni had a dog, a cheeky little Jack Russell terrier called Ripper, and I’d thought of getting one like him. Indeed, Sue had said she sometimes heard of pups available from the same parents, but so far I’d done nothing.