by Sasha Wasley
‘But honestly —’ Willow glanced around and spotted Hegney engrossed in conversation with a stockman. She looked back at Tom. ‘Tell me honestly, is it sustainable for you? What are the financials like?’
His face lit up with another of those wonderful grins. ‘We talked about this on muster, Banjo. You take a hit to start with. Quintilla’s margins were down for about four years before it turned upwards again. By the time we’re a hundred per cent certified, we’ll be making better profits than we ever have before. I can show you the books if you don’t believe me.’
She had to repress an excited squeal. ‘It’s ridiculous, I know, but somewhere deep inside I was always a bit scared it wouldn’t work, you know? I knew in theory it should work, but I’ve still been nervous. It’s my family’s livelihood. You don’t know how good it is to see Quintilla nailing it!’
‘Hopefully you can get Hegney on board,’ Tom said, lowering his voice. ‘He’s hard to read.’
‘I think he’ll be okay after what we’ve seen here today,’ she said. Willow had the sudden urge to hug him but she restrained herself. ‘Thanks, Tom, for being brave enough to prove it works.’
He reddened. ‘I didn’t have to prove anything. Quintilla is proof all by itself.’
‘And you made Quintilla what it is.’
There was an odd, quiet moment in which he met and held her gaze. Willow’s cheeks heated up this time and she made herself turn and look out over the yards.
‘Hey, is that King?’
‘Yes!’
Tom took her for a reunion with the massively strong seventeen-hander standing in a nearby yard.
‘I always felt like I was on a Shetland pony when I rode Tuffie alongside you and King,’ she said, stroking the animal’s smooth, glistening neck.
‘They were good mates, though, remember?’ Tom leaned against the yard’s timber fence and his great horse nibbled the back of his shirt collar. ‘Tuffie thought he was boss, always had to lead the way, and King just played along.’
‘Tuffie was boss,’ Willow returned.
‘Yeah, that’s what King let him believe. Just like Rusty sometimes won in fenceline races.’
She sucked in a breath. ‘Are you saying you let me win?’
‘Of course not.’ But Tom still had that glint in his eye.
‘It was never a particularly fair race,’ she said with a casual shrug.
‘Which one? Tuffie and King, or Tonka and Rusty?’
‘Either. Tonka was way newer than Rusty. King was way bigger than Tuffie. I was working with handicaps.’
Tom tipped his head. ‘Or you were outclassed. Who knows?’
She took a swipe and got in a half-punch on Tom’s upper arm as he ducked away, laughing. Damn, his biceps were solid. It was unnerving. The lanky teenage Tom Forrest had been replaced by a strong, twenty-eight year old man. And he smelled kind of good, too. A loud gong sounded and broke the moment. Lunch was ready at the station kitchen.
‘Can I have a chat to your cook after lunch?’ Willow asked Tom.
‘Yes,’ said Hegney, joining them again as they walked toward the dining hall. ‘We need to find some way to control spending in the kitchen if we’re going to be using politically correct food.’
Willow flicked a look at Tom and he responded with a lifted eyebrow. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘We’ll catch Sam for a chat after we eat.’
Cathy and Bob met them at a bench in the dining hall and Willow made a point of hugging Cathy. She still seemed stiff and cool, although she submitted to the embrace with reasonably good grace. Once the station staff had helped themselves at the servery, Willow’s party lined up with their plates. Samantha was serving, streaky blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, assisted by a young girl.
‘Extra vego food today, as requested,’ Samantha told Tom. ‘We’ve got pumpkin and fetta frittata, a cracked burghul salad, bread rolls, and chilli bean potato wedges. Plus cold meats for the carnivores.’
‘Thank Christ for that,’ muttered Hegney and Samantha gave her big laugh.
‘Cheese, muffins and fruit salad for dessert,’ she added. ‘Is it a special occasion?’
‘Just showing off what our kitchen can do,’ Tom said and Willow noticed a little colour in his cheeks again.
‘What do you normally serve here?’ Willow asked when they were seated. ‘I’ve found some cost-effective recipes but any ideas you’ve got would help.’
Cathy answered. ‘Wraps with cold meats; quiches and pies; different sorts of salads; kebabs and sausages.’
‘What’s popular?’ asked Hegney.
‘Anything hot,’ said Bob.
‘No matter what the weather, the blokes want something hot to eat,’ said Tom. ‘Hotdog day on Mondays is popular. We have Jinglin pork sausages on house-baked bread rolls with onion and sauerkraut. There’s a stampede for lunch on Mondays.’
‘Does your kitchen make up its own sausages, burger patties, stuff like that?’ Willow wanted to know.
‘We have a butcher, Mack, who comes in once a fortnight to work with Sam. He spends the day making sausages, cutting steaks and fillets, doing up kebabs and roast portions. Saves us a load of money if we buy whole beasts and use our own butcher.’
‘Can I have his details?’ Willow asked eagerly.
‘Of course.’ Tom dug in his pocket for his phone so he could send her Mack’s details. To do so, he and Willow also had to exchange mobile numbers. ‘Mack’s ours every second Friday, though, Banjo – and don’t you forget it.’
Cathy was looking intently back and forth between Willow and Tom. Was she observing the newly relaxed manner between her son and the girl who hurt him? Cathy caught Willow’s eye and went back to her meal.
After lunch, Tom took Willow into the kitchen. In spite of his earlier interest in kitchen costs, Hegney stayed at the dining bench with Bob and Cathy to drink another coffee, leaving Willow to talk to Samantha. The cook obligingly showed her the Quintilla menus and shopping lists, and Tom pulled up the invoices. Quintilla definitely had its costs under control. Willow vowed privately to do better with the next food orders for Patersons. Samantha had a flirty manner but Willow didn’t identify anything beyond friendliness from Tom. She still couldn’t quite work out the vibe there.
‘Thanks, Sam. That was so useful,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to say it, but you’ll probably be getting some calls from me with more questions.’
‘Not a worry, mate,’ Samantha said. ‘Any time.’ She waved them off.
‘I’d say Hegney wants to get home,’ she told Tom. ‘It’s payroll day and we’ve got work to do.’
‘Fair enough. I’ve got my own payroll jobs to do.’ They checked the dining hall but Hegney and the Forrests were gone. ‘They might be in the house.’
‘It’s all such a fine line,’ she mused as they went in search. ‘Jean is good. She’s popular, a skilled cook, reliable and loyal. But she’s got no idea how to cook food like this, let alone order in the right ingredients. I need to work really closely with her to change her mindset and it’s tough because I’m busy doing other things as well.’
‘Yeah, we were lucky. Our old cook retired the year before last and, because I knew it was coming, I held off on making any changes to the kitchen until then. After he left, we tried another bloke but he didn’t work out. That was the sneaky mass-produced canola oil user I told you about. Then we employed a cook who knew her way around an organic kitchen. Sam used to work down in Margaret River at a vegetarian café. I don’t envy you trying to change an experienced station cook’s ways.’
‘I almost need to retrain her, but I don’t want to insult her. And to be honest, I’m no chef. I can cook for me, Dad and Free, but I don’t have experience in bulk food production.’
‘Tough one,’ he said, and then a moment later, ‘how’s Free?’
‘Free is Free,’ she said. ‘We never know quite how long we’ve got her in our lives before she disappears on her next great adventure. Dad’s contemplating a
nother party, I should warn you. A welcome home for Free.’
‘I bet he is.’ Tom paused. ‘Remember when she was, what, four or five years old, she built a fairy hollow by the waterhole and decided to sleep there for the night but failed to tell anyone.’
‘Oh, good lord. That’s right. Mum had the cops out here and everything. She spent the evening trying to arrange an air search.’
‘And then your dad and his team finally found her about midnight, fast asleep in her fairy hollow, bitten all over by mosquitoes, remember?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that in years.’ She looked at Tom, impressed. ‘You’ve got such a good memory for stuff that happened years ago.’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said, and his face was serious for a second before he relaxed into a smile. ‘Tell Free to come around soon and show me her latest paintings.’
‘You’ll have to come to ours to see them. They’re all drying on her studio windowsill. The house smells terrible.’
‘Is that an invitation?’
She looked him full in the face. ‘It’s an open invitation, like it always has been.’
His blue eyes lit up and Willow could hardly believe her good fortune, to have been forgiven by this person, this important person who had been such a huge part of her life. She’d missed him so much, this man – this friend.
A little flustered again, Willow headed for the house to find Hegney.
‘Well, that was interesting,’ Hegney said on the drive home.
‘They’ve done so much,’ she agreed.
‘It’s impressive.’
She wanted to ask him how he felt about her plan but suspected it was too soon. A guy like Hegney would need more time to nurse his pride. She would schedule a catch-up with him in the next few days and they could revise the plan together so he had a bit more ownership of it. Maybe he would prove a solid manager yet. ‘Oh, dammit, I was hoping to catch young Si today,’ she said, remembering suddenly. ‘I’m trying to fill out the forms for his compensation.’
‘Good luck,’ Hegney snorted. ‘Those blokes don’t give a shit about forms or paperwork. We’ll be lucky to see him back at Patersons now he’s gone home to his mum, anyway. Don’t worry, she’ll look after him. I’ve already found another stockman to bring us back up to full complement.’
Willow frowned. ‘But we have to claim his leave payment and any medical costs from the insurance company. Plus, we need to fill out the report.’
‘Who you reporting to?’ he asked. ‘The boss? Yourself?’
She felt stupid but tried to justify herself. ‘We need to keep full incident records. I’d rather minimise risk to our workers.’
He didn’t say anything but she got a distinct sense he was thinking something disparaging about idealist academics turned graziers. She could always ask Tom to bring Si over to Patersons when he visited, she thought.
‘Tom was in a good mood today,’ said Hegney. ‘I haven’t seen him that jolly in a while.’ He paused and then added with a chuckle, ‘he must’ve got a bit of special treatment from Sam last night.’
Willow didn’t know if she was more outraged or disgusted by Hegney. She clamped her mouth shut and stared out of the window until they got home.
The next day Hegney was preparing the stockmen for a longer muster so Willow sought costings on fencing materials to start the pasture division. When she opened her email to send off quote requests, there was a message from Tom:
Hey Banjo,
I was thinking – your team is off on a muster this weekend,aren’t they? We’ve got the full crew returning Saturday,then a contract team coming to help us with herd treatment,and Sam could use some help in the kitchen. If you can spare her, how about sending Jean over to us for a few days? A bit of on-the-job training disguised as helping out at Quintilla,you know? It would give her an introduction to organic cooking practices without hurting her pride. What do you think?
Tom
Willow loved the idea and replied to say so. She went out to the station kitchen to ask Jean what she thought.
‘When? Saturday till Monday?’ The woman’s eyes were bright with interest.
‘Yes, or even a little longer if you like. Our crew won’t be back until Thursday and Sam needs all the help she can get.’
Jean seemed delighted. ‘Not a problem! I’d enjoy the change in routine.’
Before Willow went back to the office to confirm Jean’s visit with Tom, she dropped in to check the three large sheds where they stored their equipment and machinery. She wanted to see what sort of fencing materials they had in stock. Right at the back of one of the sheds, she stumbled, quite literally, over her old, red quad bike, Rusty.
‘Oh, my God,’ she breathed, rubbing her bruised shin. ‘You beauty.’
She wheeled it into the light for an inspection. The dust was so thick on the body she couldn’t even see the paintwork. She grabbed a rag and wiped most of it off. There, much faded, was the word RUSTY in black permanent marker, written in her shaky nine-year-old handwriting on the left mudguard. Willow reconnected the battery, pumped up the tyres, checked and topped up the oil and fuel. Then, expecting nothing, she pressed the starter button.
To her astonishment, Rusty fired into life with a roar and then sat putting and trembling on the shed floor. With a laugh, Willow jumped on and nudged Rusty out past the tractor and trail bikes. Then she took it for a little spin around the outbuildings. As she came back towards the house she saw she had an audience. Barry and Free were outside on the patio. She pulled up alongside them.
‘Where in hell did you find that?’ her father said.
‘Skulking in the shadows at the back of the tractor shed.’
Free jumped up and down on the spot. ‘Crusty!’ she cried.
‘Rusty,’ Willow said. ‘Want a go, Free?’
‘Hell, yeah!’
Their father chuckled and sat down to watch. Willow ran Free through the controls, giving her a quick refresher course, although Free was highly insulted that Willow thought she’d forgotten how to ride.
‘Well, you never rode the quad bikes as much as me,’ Willow defended herself.
Free proved Willow right. She set off at a leisurely pace, then, letting out a piercing shriek, suddenly accelerated into the side of a shed. Willow ran to her sister while Barry laughed helplessly.
‘Jesus, Free,’ said Willow after checking she was still in one piece. ‘Rusty survived total abandonment for a decade, only to be demolished by you within seconds.’
‘I haven’t demolished it,’ Free argued, but she was examining the quad’s dented body anxiously. ‘I’m sure it was already all scratched up.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Willow said. ‘Go and check on Dad before he busts a rib laughing at you.’
Free obeyed, giggling sheepishly, and Willow hauled Rusty back from the shed wall. She restarted it and rode it back to its home, pulling a drip tray underneath its old engine once she parked. She couldn’t wait to email Tom and let him know about her find. Tuffie and King, Rusty and Tonka – all still on the stations. Time had practically stood still out here. It was amazing, almost like she’d never even been away.
Jean went to Quintilla after the stockmen departed on Saturday, and the station grew quiet. Hegney and a couple of station hands were still around, but other than that it was just the family. Willow preferred it when the station was bustling with people; active and busy. That was what she knew from her childhood and it simply felt right. When the stockmen were away, there was always an air of anticipation – a sense that the station was incomplete.
Beth joined them for Saturday night dinner. ‘How was Italy?’ she asked Free, when the three sisters were gathered in the kitchen.
‘Oh, my God,’ said Free, ‘you have to go! You have never seen anything like it. The food. The countryside. The architecture. The art! And the food.’
Beth chuckled. ‘You said the food already.’
‘No, seriously. The food, Beth.’ Free snatched up her phone and scrolle
d through to find photographs. ‘And the people! I’ve never felt so loved in my whole life. Everyone was so friendly and helpful. Affectionate, you know? The girls were beautiful – instant best friends. And the blokes just shower you in compliments. I think I was born in the wrong country.’
Beth wanted to check out Free’s latest Italy-inspired works, so they left Willow alone to stir the Napoletana sauce. Willow thought about Tom. She should ask him over – remind him to come and see Free’s paintings. She should have asked him to come for dinner. It would have been good for Beth to see Tom smiling again, good to have his company in their little family party tonight. She’d been in touch with him a few times that week via email discussing the logistics of the covert Jean-training operation, telling him about the discovery of Rusty, and asking after Si. Tom thought Si had come back to Quintilla for good, which surprised Willow. Maybe the accident had put him off mustering work.
When Beth had seen Free’s paintings, she came back to help Willow make the ricotta and vegetable lasagne. They sipped red wine as they cooked. Free joined Barry in the lounge room and was talking him through a reality talent show on the television.
‘Hey, I was going to tell you,’ said Beth. ‘My clinic is a finalist in the Mount Clair Chamber of Commerce awards this year for Best Professional Practice.’
‘That’s fantastic!’ Willow exclaimed. ‘How did you score that?’
‘We had to put in a submission, you know, to prove we’re doing okay financially and that we’re helping the community – that sort of thing.’
‘What are your chances?’
‘Who knows? The Chamber of Commerce is an old boys’ club, but we’re in with a chance. We’re doing this government program, with regular visits to treat people in an Indigenous community about 200 kilometres away. We’re the only medical practice in Mount Clair who’ve engaged with the program, as far as I know.’
‘Wow, really?’
