"Pippa! You came!"
Pippa stepped backwards, her back pressed against me like a toddler who wished to hide behind her mother's skirt. Her voice came out an inaudible whisper.
"Hi."
I put my hand on Pippa's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Hello, Emily," I said. "I see you're doing better on your half-pass."
"Marina said she thinks you are right. Polkadot can do what the English ponies do. He was just trained to do it using different signals."
Emily pointed towards the pony club leader who rode up to greet me on a purebred Thoroughbred mare. She was a slender woman, average height, with light brown hair pulled back into a chignon at the back of her riding helmet. Her bay mare bore a series of numbers freeze-branded into its shoulder, the mark of a Thoroughbred that once ran the Australian racing circuit, but she handled the skittish horse with a firm rein.
Polkadot whickered and stuck his soft, furry muzzle into Pippa's face, waiting for her to pat him. Pippa rubbed his forehead and touched his ears. Within moments she stepped away from my orbit, more comfortable with the horses than with her new friend. She wandered off while Emily introduced her to the other pony club members.
"Hi. I'm Marina. Marina Delray." The pony club leader reached down to shake my hand. "Emily said you have some experience riding?"
"A bit," I said. "When I was younger, I was inducted into the Elite Squad."
Marina's eyebrows shot up with surprise.
"What horse did you show on?"
"Harvey," I said. "My name is Rosie Xalbadora."
"Alfonso Xalbadora's kid?"
I smiled. This was the first time in six years somebody recognized my father.
"Yes," I said. "He taught me everything I know."
Marina gestured to the kids who were her charges.
"Perhaps you should teach this class?"
"Oh, not me!" I said. "I haven't ridden in years!"
Marina's smile faded.
"So it's true?"
She didn't say what 'it' was, nor did I care to elaborate in front of the other parents, but from her expression of pity, by 'it' she meant, 'is it true, what everybody says, that your mother put down your champion horse in a fit of anger?'
"Yes."
"I'm sorry."
I gave her a weak grimace.
"Me too."
Wasn't it funny how two avid equestrians could know all they needed to know about one another by virtue of their horses? Marina pointed at Pippa, now buried in the center of a wall of horseflesh.
"So what can we do for Trevor Bristow's granddaughter?"
"Pippa has done a bit of riding in the past," I said. "Since most of the kids belong to the pony club, I thought I'd bring her here to check it out."
"If she wants to ride in pony club," Marina said, "she'll have to secure access to a horse."
"I was hoping you might be able to recommend someplace her father could lease one short-term?"
Marina frowned.
"Little Jimmy over there grabbed the last official lease horse," Marina said. "I've already got three other kids on a waiting list, but if her father puts the word out, maybe one of the local farmers will step forward? A lot of people in this town owed Trevor Bristow favors."
This didn't bode well. I couldn't drag Pippa here each week to sit enviously on the sidelines, nor could I ask Emily to give up her riding time with Polkadot.
"I'll ask him to do that," I said.
Marina whistled and called the other kids back onto the grassy field. Pippa reappeared at my side and took my hand. Her expression grew mournful as Emily and her pony club friends rode once around the field, and then disappeared onto one of the trails. Emily, I knew, had to return straight home after her riding lesson and do her homework.
"Well it was nice meeting you." I reached out to shake Ed Colbert's hand goodbye.
"It was nice meeting you, too." Ed held my hand longer than was necessary. His left hand did not possess a wedding band.
Pippa didn't speak a word as I drove to the post office to mail my car payment. While I was there, I rented a post office box and slipped the round, brass key onto my key ring. It was time I started sending out some résumés. She finally spoke as we turned into the narrow dirt driveway which wound its way through her father's station.
"My father isn't ever going to get me a horse. Is he, Rosie?"
I stared at the empty pastures, the grass grown high from months of laying fallow, and the empty white monitor barn which dominated the house. I thought of the pity in Marina Delray's eyes as she delivered the cryptic message that the entire world had heard about my mother's act of cruelty.
"Your daddy loves you very much," I said. "But with things up in the air between him and your mother, he wants to wait until things settle down."
"Mommy could care less about me!" Pippa cried out. "Even when she does call, she only ever wants to speak to Daddy."
The phone rang as we walked inside the door. I picked up the telephone, but nobody answered. I erased the six hang-up messages on the answering machine.
"Who was that?" Pippa asked.
"Telemarketers."
Pippa's glum mood barely lifted when her father arrived home from work in time for supper.
"You're awfully quiet tonight, Miss Muffet?" Adam asked Pippa. "Did anything happen today?"
Pippa smushed her green beans into her mashed potatoes.
"No."
Adam gave me an inquiring look. I shot him back a look that said, 'we'll talk about it later.'
Weekday nights when Adam came home had a drastically different feel to them than when he had the next day off from work. The poor bastard got up at four-thirty, so as soon as he got Pippa settled in, it was a single beer, and then off to bed. He trudged out with his usual offering of White Rabbit.
"You look exhausted," I said. "You really should go straight to bed."
Adam sank into his hideous orange king chair and put his forehead into his hand in a way which screamed I had a rough day.
"I never sleep well," Adam mumbled. "All the stuff I'm too busy to worry about during the day, it all comes back to haunt me at night the moment I try to shut my eyes."
I took a sip of the White Rabbit, luscious, earthy, with just enough alcohol to invoke a pleasant fuzzy feeling. After Gregory dumped me, my mind had whirred like that, until it felt like I walked around in a perpetual fugue state. Since coming here, however, I'd slept like a baby.
Almost like a baby…
Okay, I slept like a baby when Adam wasn't home. When he was home, I found myself tossing and turning, daydreaming about the drop-dead gorgeous chunk of horseflesh which slept in the stable across the hall. I wondered what would happen if I ever wandered in one night and tried to put a saddle on him.
Argh! Stop it! Adam is your boss!
"Don't feel obligated to stay awake to be polite," I said. "I'm a big girl. I know how to amuse myself."
Adam gave me a weary grin that was far more endearing than his sexiest smile.
"Then tell me why Pippa is so glum, because otherwise it'll keep me from falling asleep."
"Emily introduced Pippa to her other friends," I said. "They all have horses, so Pippa feels left out."
"I can't…"
"I understand," I said. "But something else is bothering her. She wants to know why her mother hasn't called."
Adam ran his fingers through his hair, and then pulled at it as though he wished he could rip it out.
"Eva's furious because I refused to jump last time she snapped her fingers," Adam mumbled. "So she takes it out on Pippa because that's the surest way to hurt me."
Anger flared in my gut at this faceless bitch who sounded so much like my mother I wanted to drop-kick her in the twat. God, I hated the woman, and I knew hardly anything about her.
"Have you ever considered dropping her down a mine shaft?"
Adam looked up, his expression startled. His hair stuck up in every direction, gi
ving him a bit of a comical, clueless look.
"No, I … no."
I gave him an insincere grimace.
"Just kidding."
No, I'm not…
Chapter 12
The girl beckoned from her small, white mare, enticing me to join her in an exhilarating run across silent pastures. Long-dead cattle chewed contentedly on their cud. I coaxed Harvey to jump over a fence and raced after her through bush and fields, relishing the solidity of my horse between my thighs. The girl led me to spot near the river where a cluster of rocks jutted out of the soil like ancient sentries standing guard.
I dismounted and stared at the faint, grey marks which adorned the boulders. The petroglyphs had eroded to the point I could just barely make them out, but they depicted a man chasing animals. To one side a tall, slender Mimi figure danced beside a fire, inviting the man to come and roast his meat. The girl on the white pony pointed at the Mimi, and then she pointed at me.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
The girl pointed to the man who chased after the prey animals. As I watched, the petroglyphs moved. The Mimi danced until the man turned and noticed; and then he moved closer to the fire to lay down his weapons and warm himself by the golden flames. The petroglyph burned so bright I was forced to cover my eyes with my hand.
I peeked out from between my fingers. Brilliant white sunlight shone through curtains that did little to screen me from the rising sun. With a groan, I rolled out of bed and reheated the cup of coffee Adam left for me in the microwave each morning when he disappeared before the dawn. As I sipped it, I thumbed through an old 4th-grade mathematics textbook that had ADAM scratched into the edge in faded pencil, trying to figure out how to teach Pippa to divide fractions. I chewed on my pen until I could come up with a plan.
I glanced over at Australian Cookery.
Aha! I emptied the sugar tin and then measured back into it exactly the correct shortage so Pippa would have to adjust the recipe downwards. I hid the excess sugar and placed the cookbook, open, next to a fresh bowl full of raspberries, along with note paper and freshly sharpened pencils. There. It was time to begin this morning's math lesson.
Thunderlane's muzzle shot up as I entered Pippa's bedroom. His furry black tail went thump, thump, thump, as I ran my fingers through his silky, dark fur.
"Hey, Thunderlane," I pretended to speak to the dog. "I'm really hungry. Do you think we might get Pippa to make us some breakfast?"
Thunderlane whined, perfectly happy to be 'in' on the conspiracy as Pippa always gave the dog a share of her loot.
I tickled Pippa through her blanket.
"Mmmpf," Pippa grimaced and pretended to still be asleep. She scrunched her eyes up, but her smile gave her away.
"Just think of all those poor, lonely little raspberries we picked yesterday," I teased, "waiting for somebody to come and eat them."
Pippa opened her eyes.
"Is Daddy already gone?"
"You know he is," I said. "But he'll be back tonight. And tomorrow is Sunday, so he has the day off."
Pippa rolled out of bed and bounced into the kitchen, far too perky for a kid that had just woken up. The best time to tackle her most difficult school subjects was first thing in the morning.
After coaching her to do the 3/4 division to bake exactly nine math-muffins, we visited Linda Hastings, and then drove into town to pick up some groceries. As we strolled through the aisles, I plotted nefarious ways to sneak menu-planning and budget into some of Pippa's upcoming math lessons. Once home we put away the groceries, finished today's science lesson, and I even managed to entice Pippa to finish a page of math drills before it was time to prepare for her father's return.
The scent of pork roast filled the kitchen as Pippa measured out the ingredients for a raspberry cobbler. Both of us sported pink-tinged fingertips and even pinker lips, casualties of gorging on too many sweet-tart fruits. As I opened the oven and shoved the thermometer into the roast to check for doneness, Thunderlane ran to the front door and yipped.
"Daddy's home!"
Pippa disappeared out the front door. I heaved the pork roast out of the oven and set it onto the counter. After a moment of Thunderlane's cheerful barking, Adam strolled in, wearing that handsome, weary smile that always incited a peculiar flutter in my chest.
"G'day, Miss Rosamond. Pippa claims she has baked me a surprise?"
The entire house reeked of raspberry cobbler, so fulsome and decadent there was no mistaking the fruit.
"You'll never guess what it is," I said.
Adam raised a mischievous golden eyebrow. "Boiled Brussel sprouts?"
Pippa giggled.
Adam peeked over my shoulder at the golden brown pork roast, sprinkled with olive oil, salt, pepper and rosemary, with a side order of roasted potatoes, and gave my shoulder a welcoming squeeze. I resisted the urge to press my cheek into his hand. That perpetual warmth which buzzed in my feminine core whenever Adam was around whispered thoughts about what it would be like to ride the wild brumby stallion. My cheeks grew hot. Thank God Adam couldn't read my mind!
Pippa scolded her father to wash his hands, and then we all sat down to eat our supper. Adam asked Pippa about her day, and then turned his eagle's gaze on me.
"And how was your week?"
He's only asking to be polite…
"Fine," I mumbled into my plate.
His sharp, blue-green eyes narrowed with concern. What was I supposed to say? Your daughter needs friends, but in this town that means having a horse? And oh, by the way, while I'm at it, I'd like to give you a ride? I shoved another forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth to hide my smirk.
While Adam and Pippa cleaned up the dishes, I took my shower, and then stayed out of the way while Pippa took hers. We moved into the living room to play a quick game of Scrabble, and then Adam went off to tuck his daughter into bed. I dove into my Native Aboriginal People's & Cultures textbook, hoping to find a picture of a petroglyph like the one I'd seen in my dream. As soon as Adam finished reading Pippa her bedtime story, he hopped into the shower, and then trudged out wearing a worn T-shirt and pair of athletic shorts that showed off his long, muscular legs. He pulled two White Rabbit's out of the fridge and placed one of them on the coffee table in front of me before he sank into his favorite orange 'king' chair.
I pretended not to notice his inscrutable gaze, but I could feel his eyes upon me. It was part of the game we played each time we were alone, me pretending I wasn't intensely attracted to him, and as for him? Was Adam even a little attracted to me? Probably not. He was drop-dead gorgeous, while I was barely five feet tall. I dared not ask him about the progress of his divorce, so instead I made some small talk.
"How was work?"
"Same as always," Adam said. "My boss is happy I'm making him a lot of money."
I took a sip of the malty brew, which was Adam's signal of 'I'd like to talk, but I'm uncomfortable around women, so let's have a beer so I can pretend you're just one of the guys.'
"Is your foreman feeling better?"
"Yes." Adam's face lit up. "The doctor said he'll be out of the cast in no time."
Thank God -you- weren't hurt…
"Did you figure out what made the well cap blow?"
"We dropped the pressure too quickly. There was a lot more gas down there than our initial tests revealed."
"That's good, isn't it?"
"Not if bubbles up someplace other than where you want it to go." His expression hardened. "We're not Jackson Oil Company."
What Adam did was largely Greek to me, but Adam enjoyed his work, and I enjoyed talking to Adam. It was pretty lame, really, to bone up on all things fracking just because you wanted to have a conversation with your boss, but through his eyes I'd begun to get a grasp on why the greenies were vehemently opposed to what he did.
I raised my bottle of White Rabbit.
"Don't be evil."
"Don't be evil," Adam grinned.
We simultaneously to
ok a swig of beer. The rich taste of hops gave our conversation an earthy feel. I stuck my nose back into my book and waited for Adam to ask the next question. It was his turn to pretend not to notice the electricity which crackled through the room. His eyes kept drifting down to the place my old, pink bathrobe had not-so-accidentally fallen open to reveal a hint of cleavage.
"Pippa said you got a post office box in town?"
The question hung between us. Are you setting down roots here? Why didn't you just forward your mail to here?
I shrugged.
"Yeah."
I kept my nose buried in my book.
A long silence stretched out between us. Did that count as a question? If so, did that make it my turn to make fake small talk?
I glanced up. Adam did not look away. It was still his turn and he expected an answer.
"Where I live is nobody's business."
I pulled my bathrobe closed like a turtle retreating into its shell. Don't pry … you have your secrets and I have mine.
Adam looked away. It was my turn to ask a question. Only it couldn't be about his ex-wife. Or why his father had hated Eva. Or how things were progressing with his overly long and protracted divorce. I wasn't much better, as I refused to discuss my former fiancé, my mother, or any of the other factors which had dumped me onto his doorstep. It felt as though we both kept waiting for the other person to transform into a bunyip or sprout horns and fangs.
"I was wondering if there were any petroglyphs on the property?" I finally asked. "I read they found some upriver?"
"Not that I'm aware of," Adam said.
Okay. So the dream had been symbolic? I traced my finger on the pictures in my textbook, some similar to the ones I'd seen, but none of them were exact.
Adam's forehead wrinkled in concentration.
"Actually," he said, "I vaguely recall my father mentioned something about a sacred aboriginal well, but I have no recollection of where it might have been. It probably wasn't even on our land."
The Auction a Romance by Anna Erishkigal Page 12
