Mountain Ash

by Margareta Osborn

  He wanted to murder them. How dare they heckle his woman? His woman? What the hell?

  For her part, Ash grinned and flipped them the bird, then duck-dived under the floating drums, coming up for air in the open middle of the raft and right between his legs. ‘Hiya, cowboy,’ she said and then she smiled. He went to heaven and back just watching those dimples sink into her cheeks. ‘I’ll just try and work the hay band free. Back in a jiffy.’ Then she was gone.

  He frantically watched the bubbles as they swung this way then that. She burst into the daylight a little to the left of the raft and mouthed some words he could only just make out over the raucous cries of the footballers. ‘Try it now.’

  He flipped the switch to ON, pulled the cord. The little motor spluttered once then stopped. He yanked again. The gutsy outboard spat and coughed, then roared like a lion.

  Ash yelled something more from the water, then turned and struck out for the shore. He wasted precious time just watching those muscled olive limbs slice through the air, before being jabbed in the ribs by Stace.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re waiting for? C’mon, cowboy! We can win this now!’

  Ash had made it to the shore and was being hauled out of the river by willing spectators. He wanted to be there pulling her up the bank, covering her with his warm body, cuddling her and making her warm. Instead she was standing there on her own, near naked and shivering. But she was smiling, yelling, ‘Go, Nate, go!’

  He waved and flattened the throttle.

  He’d bloody win this raft race if it was the last thing he did.

  ‘Ride ’em, cowboy,’ mumbled Stacey from somewhere in a crowd of bottles. She’d fallen from grace and off the side of the rodeo grandstand at about nine pm.

  ‘I’ll put you to bed,’ called Jodie, coming to her rescue. She’d exited the stand in the normal way – down the stairs and around the corner of the tiered structure. Well, passably normal anyway. A wobbling normal. Five more Vodka Cruisers since the race and she wasn’t too far behind Stacey in the drunken stakes. ‘I’ll take you to your swag and ring Milly.’

  ‘Ha!’ said Stace, peering up at Jodie. ‘As if you’d make any sense, the state you’re in. You’ll frighten the bejesus out of the girl. Besides, she’ll be in bed.’

  ‘Who’s going to bed?’ asked Nate. He’d come down the stairs behind them, and now placed a hand on her shoulder. It felt nice. Not proprietorial or heavy like Alex’s; not imperative like Milly’s. Just … well, just nice. Warm. Comforting even.

  ‘You’re going to bed?’ Nate asked again, but specifically to Jodie.

  ‘No, me,’ said Stace.

  ‘I’ll take her, though,’ said Jodie, a tad reluctantly.

  ‘Nah. I’ll be fine.’ Stace staggered to her feet. ‘Me swag’s this way …’

  ‘Try that way.’ Nate spun Stacey a hundred and eighty degrees. ‘Head towards the light and slightly left. You should run into it.’

  ‘We’ll take her,’ said another voice: Wal, looking remarkably chipper considering the amount of liquor he’d consumed. Ange and Mel had a hold of him, one on either side. Or did he have hold of them? ‘These lovely ladies are taking me home and I’m taking them.’ The man blushed. ‘Well, not home as in to my swag. Their swags … their home … their ute … vehicle. Oh fuck it. I’m going, she can come, you two can stay, that’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘Gotcha,’ said Nate, smiling.

  ‘C’mon, chickens, cluck, cluck.’ Wal swung around and made gathering motions towards the three women. ‘Follow old Daddy rooster back to the trucks.’

  Jodie watched them leave. She should be going with them. Heading back to the safety, sanctity and relative chastity of her swag. Staying here with this man was inviting trouble. What was she doing? What was she thinking?

  Beside her Nate sighed. Gently took her hand. Pulled her in.

  There was still time. She could see the quartet in the shadows of the overhead lights. The dark patches were bouncing then slouching as each shape took its turn walking away under the bright globes. There was still time …

  A roughened finger caressed her palm, flicked lightly across the nerve endings of her skin. Her heightened senses felt every millimetre of his touch as it warmed her hand.

  She looked up into sky-blue eyes, a square jaw, roughened skin. A cowboy.

  No time.

  No going back.

  She turned into the arms of the man beside her. Live a little. Just one night. Just one more time to relive the ride of passion, the need, the want to make love to a man who set her body on fire with just a matchstick touch. Then she would go back home to safety, to security, and leave the cowboy behind. But at least she would have the memory to hold on to for the rest of her life.

  Nate led her towards the river past some scrubby bushes. She wasn’t sure where he was taking her but followed blindly in his wake. Trust. She’d inherently developed it in such a short time with Nate. The devil in her head persisted: Who’s to say he isn’t an axe murderer, ready to do away with you and throw your body into the river? Her heart argued back. Yeah, right. He sewed a quilt, danced like an idiot, built a raft, warmed me when I was wet from the river. An axe murderer would hardly do that.

  They came to his swag, laid out on a secluded section of the riverbank like a comfy double bed. Blankets and mattress waited. Torchlight sparkled in a few different spots, emulating candles, she guessed. A bottle of wine sat in ice in a half-open 20-litre drum. (Stacey’s raft Esky if she wasn’t mistaken.) Anodised camping mugs sat beside the wine.

  ‘Riverton Showgrounds isn’t the best place to find Stuart crystal,’ said Nate.

  Jodie waved a hand, shocked at the trouble he’d obviously gone to over the last couple of hours. When had he left her side to do it, she wondered. Aha. He’d been gone for no more than twenty minutes after the hamburger in bread they’d had for tea. What had he said? ‘Going to see a man about a horse.’ She’d laughed. Her dad had always said, ‘Going to see a man about a dog,’ when he’d gone to the loo. Obviously a visit to the men’s had not been Nate’s intention.

  He sat on the swag. Thumped up and down on the mattress. ‘It’s not the Hilton, but it’s comfy.’

  Jodie laughed. A vague thought flitted. Walk away now, you idiot. Think of Milly.

  But she couldn’t think of her daughter. She couldn’t think of Alex. Amid her drunken fuzziness all she could think of was this cowboy in front of her, lifting his arms, gesturing an invitation with his hand. ‘Come on, Ash. Just sit with me and enjoy the wine, the river – and who knows what might happen.’ He looked so confident, so beautiful in the moonlight, she forgot to be afraid and sat.

  Of course sitting wasn’t what Nate had in mind, but it would do for a start. Ash was like a will-o’-the-wisp. An apparition that might disappear into the night if he shut his eyes. He could sense all that. He wasn’t his mother’s son for nothing. If Elizabeth McGregor had lived in another age, she would have been touted as having ‘the sight’. Probably caught and burned at the stake for saying what she thought too. But regardless of what his mother had thought and even sometimes had the temerity to say, none of it had held sway with his father. Alex McGregor had barely listened to his wife. And it was only the abhorrent thought of divorce that had kept his mother by his father’s side through thick and thin, rich and richer.

  Nate shook his head. It was the rum making him morbid. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was his father. He didn’t want to think about going home. Not while he had this beautiful woman here.

  ‘It’s a lovely river. The trees are so majestic.’ Her voice stumbled a bit, like she thought what she was saying was inane.

  But it wasn’t, because Nate knew exactly what she meant. It was a lovely river. In his travels he’d come to understand that rivers had personalities much like people. Some were broad and shallow, inconsequential. Others were tighter and deep with steep sides. Depths that stayed hidden but remained a force to be reckoned
with most of the time.

  The eucalyptus trees usually knew which was which. The solid majestic river red gums knew which river belonged to whom.

  When Ash turned to look at him he could see a blurriness around the edges of her eyes. ‘I’m not sure we should …’ she began.

  He gathered her hand. ‘Let’s just sit and watch the stars for a while.’

  So they sat. Although he poured them each a cup of wine, he drank from a rum can he pulled from his jacket pocket. They talked of inconsequential stuff. He told her about a few properties he’d worked on. A couple of funny stories. She didn’t say much, just laughed at the right times. Upon consideration, and in one of their companionable silences as they stared at a bright moon and dark ink sky, he realised he didn’t know much about her – not even where she lived. She’d been very guarded that morning at the parade … but then he couldn’t talk, he’d been selective about what he said himself.

  ‘Where are you from, Ash?’

  She waved a little to the south-east. ‘That a-ways. Just over the border.’

  Hours from his home. Close to here in the Snowy Mountains though. Maybe the time spent on the station with Wal’s mate Dan wouldn’t be all that bad. Maybe he could persuade Ash to be his girl while he was here? You were giving up women, remember? Nate could hear Wal’s voice in his head. He chuckled. Fancy even thinking he could stay away from someone as gorgeous as Ash. She was somehow different from the other girls he’d known. She was complicated, contradictory. One side of her showed fun, the ability to laugh and play like a teenager, the froth and bubble. Like when she’d saved Wal this morning. So funny. The other side was more serious: in control, in charge, directed. As if she had a purpose in life. Thinking back, perhaps that was why she’d questioned him so thoroughly on his up-till-now itinerant lifestyle. For sure as hell, purpose was what was lacking in his own life and you tended to be attracted to what you emotionally needed.

  He jumped up and held out a hand to her, eased her up towards the sky. ‘C’mon, woman. I’d like to propose a toast.’ Her eyes were sparkling, head thrown back, glorious long blonde hair hanging down. The alcohol had loosened her up. And she was hard up against his body. All warm. All soft curves. All woman. He could barely contain his desire. But for now it was a toast. ‘To you, me, and the Riverton Rovers.’ He gazed down into the eyes of the beautiful woman in his arms as she raised her bottle to chink against his. ‘May they be forever stuck in their Mini-Minor, and never get across the line.’

  And he silently prayed he could.

  Chapter 22

  Jodie was burning. His touch was igniting every part of her. His scent was sending her nerves into complete disarray. She barely knew whether she was standing up or sitting down, so drunk was she on the passion surging through her veins. It had once been like this with Rhys. It had not been like this with Alex.

  Nate was gazing down at her. She felt his hands come up to cup the nape of her neck. Sky-blue eyes crumpled slightly at the edges. He was coming for her and she knew she wouldn’t and couldn’t resist. An Akubra was tugged off and tumbled into the grass as his lips touched hers. Softly at first, then deeper, harder, wandering, searching, then plundering. Oh God, it was like she was drowning in the sweetest wine. So dark, so warm, so beautiful.

  She barely felt him draw her down to the swag so delicately spread among the flowers and weeds scattered on the banks of the silvery river. She barely knew he was covering her body with his own. So much care, so much strength and beauty in the way he did it all. The arc of his neck seemed so vulnerable as he traced the opening of her shirt and slowly pulled at the press-studs with his teeth. She wiggled and moaned as his tongue found her nipples beneath a lacy scrap of a bra. Sucking and gently pulling the rosebuds up through the satin. She felt as though she was expanding out of her body, so enormous were the sensations he was creating. Felt her hips rise of their own accord towards the man who was sending her senses wild. Crazy. Out of control. The warmth of his breath nuzzled her body as down he went. His intent was obvious. Her shorts. Teeth and lips tugged at the button and zipper. Warm hands smoothly slid the denim fabric out of the way.

  He was back almost before she missed him. Boots off, jeans off. Long, hard, muscled bare legs warmed her. But he still had his shirt on. She wrestled with the buttons. Yanking at them so hard one popped off and spun out into the night. She now had access to the broad chest smattered with dark hair that had been teasing her all night. Jodie pushed her hands deep into the dark fabric, forcing the shirt off the shoulders of the cowboy above her. He smiled. It was a nice smile too. So warm, so appreciative. It made her feel beautiful, and allowed her to forget the pregnancy lines patterned lightly on her tummy and hips. Creases that had so offended Rhys … but she wasn’t remembering Rhys. She wasn’t remembering anything other than how to enjoy this moment.

  Oh God, he was doing it again. Nate had dodged her hands on their searching mission across his chest and grabbed hold of her arms. Gently forcing them above her head with one hand, he set his mouth to her breasts. He let her arms go and Jodie was loath to move them on her own, so supplicant and pliant did she feel. Male hands gently pushed the lace aside this time and a warm tongue was now lapping her nipples to red peaks. Jodie arched back. It felt so good. She felt herself flush between her legs, wet with lust, with need, with want. She had never been so entirely ravished. She wanted this man. Above her, inside of her, soaking her whole being. Nate must have sensed her need. Chuckling softly, he plundered further south. Down and down he went. Until he was there. Right there. A tongue brushed against satin. Then the scrap of material was gone, swept away by fingers, warm lips, soft breath. Jodie moved with his lips, seeking something, anything, some sort of release from this bittersweet torment.

  Reaching down she pulled and tugged at broad shoulders, revelling in the feel, the plane of muscles flexing under her fingers. Nate moved upwards, slithering his body along hers, making sure to stay in warm contact with her skin. Heat moulded her body like pliant clay to his. Curves following curves. They were a perfect fit.

  Suddenly Nate mumbled something about protection and moved to the side. She keenly felt the loss of warmth. But then he was back and all at once the world stood still, poised in the second before he joined with her. His entry into her was slow and beautiful. Together they moved as one, him leading, her following. Then the other way around, sending them both higher and higher. It was Nate who finally drove them somewhere up high among the stars, further than she’d ever been before, until she was a gasping, begging mess. ‘Now, oh God, now, Nate …’ she mumbled. The man thrusting above her smiled, a slow languid movement of his lips as he reared his glorious body above her and then he let go. The world ignited, sending them both over the edge and flying into the most intense pleasure she’d ever felt. She glanced up and saw her cowboy gritting his square jaw, pulsing veins in his long neck standing to attention, his eyes creasing then closing with the intensity of the moment. She could feel him throbbing inside her, draining the last of the pleasure. She gripped herself around him and felt him buck, half laugh and then smile down at her. She saw the remnants of wonder on his face too as he slid to her side and gathered her to him. It was an incredible feeling, this being one with Nate the Cowboy.

  It was beautiful.

  No, Jodie decided as she snuggled into a warm, strong chest, muscled arms around her.

  It was beyond beautiful.

  It was heaven.

  Heaven wasn’t what she thought about the next time she woke. Even though dawn was on the horizon, overhead the majestic red gums on the riverbank were still silhouetted by the moon. That at least gave her a clue as to time and place. She couldn’t exactly work out what had woken her. But she knew there was a heavy arm across her middle and she was cupped against a man. And it wasn’t just any man. Having a vague recollection of the significant quantity of liquor she had consumed after the raft race, she was grateful for that. Judging by the slivers of memory she had of the nigh
t before, the strong arm and the Queenslander high-topped hat she could see buried in a nearby thistle, it was, at least, Nate, and not some random cowboy, who was currently using her body as a teddy bear.

  Oh. Dear. God. What had she done?

  Okay, so there was a condom wrapper flung into the mustard weed beside the thistle. That was something, because she sure as hell hadn’t been prepared for this eventuality. And the timing, if she was her own regular self, was not ideal. Why she and Alex …

  Oh fuck. Alex.

  How could she face Alex? Live a little. Just one night. Stacey’s voice echoed in her mind.

  Well, she had sure done that. But now? What now exactly? If she stayed and he woke up, he’d want more sex, she’d probably like him more than she should, and then …

  ‘I get an itch to get back on the road.’

  … he’d get in that bloody ute and drive away.

  Never to be seen again. No, siree. It wasn’t happening again to this little black duck. She was going to do the leaving this time. She was going to wiggle out of these arms, out of this swag as quietly as she could, get dressed and find Stace. Convince her that they needed to leave straight away. Right now, before this cowboy here even looked like waking up. They could be on the Barry Way and heading home before Nate found his jocks, which she could now see were hanging off the lowest branch of the closest old red gum. This little grove could have been planted by God expressly to shelter assignations. She wondered how he’d found it in such a short space of time. Then again, if he was one of those sorts of bloke, the love ’em and leave ’em kind, his mind would be tuned into picking places like this. He’d probably seen it during the raft race and thought, Bingo.

  Thing was, she’d been the bing who’d had a go at it. Shit, shit, shit.

  But among all the self-recrimination, Jodie couldn’t help but remember snippets of the love-making from the night before. The beauty of it was slowly coming back to her. The look in those eyes, the suffusion of passion. His desire to give pleasure before taking his own. The throbbing burn and then the final tip over the edge. The explosive fizz of nerve endings screaming their delight in climax followed by the drugging torpidity of fulfilment. It had all been exquisite. It was something she had never felt before. Even with Rhys. Certainly not with Alex.