She smiled weakly and happiness enveloped him like warm honey. He dropped a soft kiss onto the crown of her dark head. Quickly they made their way back inside. She sat at the ancient table while he began to shuffle frantically around in the big pantry cupboard, sending boxes and packets skittering around. Just as defeat raised its ugly head his hand closed around a cellophane- wrapped box of teabags. Not a pot of tea perhaps, but close enough.
He was distracted by the strident ring of the phone. “Hello?” His mouth went dry as he held the receiver out to Seraphim. “It's for you.”
She looked surprised as she took it from him.
“Hello, Seraphim speaking.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, hello Julian.”
Chad busied himself with the tea making. For a long moment of silence his blood seemed to pool in his veins.
Seraphim looked at him and bit her lip. “Julian, it's very kind of you to ask, but I'm afraid I can't see you. I'm here to work.” Another long silence. “Yes, I thought Mother would tell you I was here, but I'm far too busy. Thank you anyway. Goodbye Julian.”
Their eyes met across the room. Chad smiled and Seraphim smiled back. And it was enough to tell him exactly how she felt about him.
Then, armed with two mugs and a packet of shortbread Chad sat down and observed Seraphim. “I'm sorry,” he said, “I should have tried to warn you about the er… landscape.”
She shook her head in vigorous disagreement. “Don't apologise. It was my own doing. I foisted myself on you in the first place. And to be honest, even if you'd told me, I wouldn't have understood. It's just so… different.”
Ridiculously happy to be forgiven, and further delighted by the phone call that had just taken place, Chad leant across the table and took one small white hand. “It's not always like this. For sure we get a lot of drought but this has been the worst ever. We haven't had rain for six years.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Six years? But… how do you survive?”
He shrugged. “Well, most of my cattle have been sold. I've got a small herd running on the mulga country, plus I'm handfeeding. All my brood mares are agisted out on the coast.”
“What's agisted?”
“It's when you pay someone to run your livestock on their land.”
“What's mulga?"
“Mulga are trees. In the dry we cut them down to feed to the livestock. It's pretty good tucker. I'll take you out and show you, if you like.”
She took a big sip of hot tea. “I want to see everything. All of it.”
He grinned, fully aware that she had no comprehension of just what 'all of it' entailed. “How about we start with the horses?”
“I thought you said that all of your horses had gone away.”
“Only the mares. I've still got a number in work, both my own and a few paying guests.”
She picked up a biscuit and dunked it into her tea. “Brilliant.”
Chad's mind went to The Huntsman. Brilliant was not the word that actually stuck in the forefront of his mind. He'd been out early to watch one of the lads put the huge thoroughbred through his paces. Either the horse was utterly idle or utterly useless. Worse, his one and only paying client, Jimmy Farthing had turned up to cast a practiced eye over his prized possession. A distinctly embarrassing moment.
Of course Jimmy had been his usual expansive self, putting on a brave face, but Chad knew the man was very disappointed. Chad felt that the owner's faith was slowly ebbing. Dismally he recalled how absolutely sure he'd been when he'd advised Jimmy to hand over half a million for the animal at the thoroughbred sales. The horse's bloodlines were immaculate, winners on every side. But things were not looking good.
Still, as he gathered together the mugs and shoved the biscuits back into the cupboard, he told himself the horse probably hadn't come into his own yet. A few months would make a huge difference.
“Come on,” he said, “I'll take you out to the yard. This afternoon I'll drive you around for a bit of a squiz at the rest of the place.”
Apparently recovered from her outburst, Seraphim jumped up eagerly. But before they set off Chad handed her a large yellow bottle. “Better put on a ton of that,” he said.
She inspected the bottle. “Good idea,” she agreed and pumped out a liberal amount of sunscreen.
Chad became thoroughly distracted as he softly massaged the thick white liquid into the soft nape of her neck. He put down the bottle and pulled her into him. As she melted against him, his senses flared. The firm swells of her buttocks fitted snugly into his pelvis. Reluctantly he pushed her away. “Better not delay or it'll get too hot outside.”
She picked up a hat from the stand near the front door and slapped it on her head. The ancient felt Akubra, several sizes too big, dropped down to her eyebrows folding the tips of her ears over and gave her a comical appeal. “It's easy to forget how hot it is outside,” she said. “The house is so lovely and cool.” The hat emphasised the lovely slanting eyes, and the long sweep of jaw.
Outside, the temperature had reached nearly thirty degrees. An expected high of thirty-five meant a relatively comfortable day. Chad usually began to wilt at about forty. Hand-in-hand he led her over to the big barn. Inside were a dozen stables, crudely but comfortably constructed in ancient knotted timber. Slowly they travelled down the central aisle, stopping at each occupied lot, to admire and discuss its occupant.
Fondly he observed how she forgot her discomfort, so enthralled was she with the half a dozen horses. His estimation of her rose as perspiration dripped into the back of her shirt and softly stuck to her soaked bra.
Halfway down the row she paused. “This isn't a thoroughbred, is it?”
“No, that's a stock horse. Very tough, very smart on their feet. We use them for mustering.” Her blank expression led him to expand. “For bringing in the stock.”
Her curiosity was endless, and gradually he realised that she was considerably more knowledgeable than he'd expected. After she'd inspected a young mare's swollen fetlock and reinforced his own opinion that the mare had a simple sprain, he decided that her equine knowledge might even equal his own. It was a shame he reflected, that she wasted her time with all that dressage stuff.
The Huntsman snoozed at the back of his box, but opened a lazy eye and wiggled his ears like antennas on their approach.
“Oh, he's just gorgeous,” she enthused.
Chad had to admit he looked a picture all right. Sixteen and a half hands of hardened muscle, his dark brown coat glistened, complimented by a luxuriously thick, black mane and tail. “He sure looks the part.”
“What do you mean?"
“Bugger won't run.”
They both turned in unison, alerted by a loud clacking and shuffling noise. Chin, still on crutches, made his way up the shed toward them; a small radio clasped awkwardly under one arm, its long antenna waving wildly. Chad couldn't resist checking out Seraphim's response to his cook. Beneath the wide brim of the hat, the whites of her eyes showed, as she goggled at the spectacle approaching. Catching her eye, he couldn't resist a grin.
“Chin, how you doing?”
Chin scowled, but as this was his usual mode of communication, Chad took no notice. Bare to the waist of his buff-coloured torso, Chin's tattoos wiggled and danced with every awkward pace. A dolphin rode a solitary wave along his flat stomach, a naked woman wiggled on his bicep, and an eagle's head stared sullenly from the almost hairless chest. A large spider's web delicately laced his bald head; a huge red-back spider crouched above one thin eyebrow.
“Up to shit,” said Chin, pushing down his radio antenna. Then he smiled, causing the hard, entrenched lines of his face to rearrange, transforming the fierce face into that of a truculent baby. He balanced precariously on one crutch and held out a hand.
Chad watched as Seraphim, still wide-eyed, shook hands. “Seraphim,” she said. “Pleased to meet you Chin.”
“Likewise,” said Chin, “I'll take you out to get some stores later, when the radio waves are safes
t.”
“Thank you,” said Seraphim.
Chad grinned at her confused expression.
Chin then turned to regard The Huntsman. “Useless bastard. Shame he hasn't got eight legs, he might be able to run a bit bloody faster.” With that, he pulled out his radio, zipped up the antenna and shuffled away.
There was a silence. Seraphim cleared her throat. “What does he mean about 'eight legs'?”
It was not the question he'd been anticipating. He felt a flood of affection for the sheltered young woman. Most people were affronted by Chin, scared or aggressive, or both. Although obviously surprised by his cook's unlikely appearance, Seraphim seemed content to accept him without judgment. This surprised him, although really it shouldn't have because when he thought about it, he'd never heard her bitch or criticise any one. He answered her question.
“A Huntsman is a kind of spider. They're big and they have a nasty bite.”
She visibly paled and looked around anxiously. “What, a dangerous, venomous spider you mean, here?”
“Not really, too dry. But they're pretty common in some parts.”
Slowly the colour returned to her cheeks. “I feel really silly,” she said.
“Why's that?”
“Well, I thought Chin was Chinese. You know, because of his name and because he's your cook. Stupid really.”
To cover his discomfort he picked up a broom and began to sweep the already clean floor. “As a matter of fact I think his great-great-grandmother was Chinese. Came over in the gold rush, or some such thing.” He paused to pick up a stray piece of hay twine. “Why, does it bother you?'
“Bother me?” She sounded genuinely surprised. “Why on earth should it bother me?”
Unable to look her in the eye he let himself into the stable of a big grey mare. He pretended to inspect her legs for swellings. Luckily she was a sweet natured, obliging body, and suffered his intrusion with equanimity. “You'd be surprised how many people it would bother.”
“Well, I'm not one of them.”
He dropped the last leg and stood up. Relief swept through him. There was no doubting her sincerity. Also, she was more honest than some. Chad understood better than most that although many people strenuously denied prejudice, it was often there nonetheless, unrecognised perhaps, but still subtly influencing and colouring a man's behavior.
Unable to find a satisfactory response, and unwilling to reveal the river of emotions that the subject unleashed within him, Chad went for a diversionary tactic. “You want to see the hot spring?”
It worked like a charm. “A hot spring? How amazing. I'd love to see it. ”
A small trickle of perspiration escaped from the low brim of her hat. It meandered erratically down her face. She pulled out the now crumpled hanky and dabbed delicately at her steadily flushing cheeks. Not a word of complaint had she made. Chad had to admit that he was impressed.
Seventeen
As she followed Chad out of the stables, Seraphim's mind buzzed with activity. A kaleidoscope of impressions, questions and ideas fought for first place. But she had no time to analyse anything to her satisfaction so she had to settle for shelving everything for a quiet time.
Outside, without the benefit of shade, the heat had built. If it became any hotter she'd probably turn into a jellified mass and slide silently into the large cracks that patterned the earth beneath her feet. She followed Chad past a huge set of metal yards, past several ancient buildings, housing anything from four-wheel bikes to saddles.
Behind a heavy woven screen was a black, plastic tub filled with water. Steam rose and drifted from the still surface and drifted gently away. A hint of sulphur filled the air, and without thinking she dabbled her fingers into the clear contents.
“Ouch,” she yelped and jerked her hand up. She glared at Chad who grinned widely. “You could have warned me!”
“What, and deprive myself of a little cheap entertainment.”
She looked around. “Is it heated by a solar system?”
He shook his head. “Come on, I'll show you.”
Intrigued, she followed him to a huge system of metal pipes. The largest came straight up out of the ground, the others curved in parallel lines, dotted with levers and knobs. Chad reached out to the highest and biggest handle and turned it. Water gushed out, clear and sparkling in the sunshine, and Seraphim put a hand into the stream. It was hot.
“How come it's like this?” she asked.
“It comes from the Artesian Basin. Australia's very dry on the surface, but we've got the biggest underground water source in the world. It comes up like this, rich with salts and minerals. We're lucky here, the sulphur and salt is minimal. It's good for us and the livestock.”
Seraphim was fascinated. “How deep in the ground is it?”
“This bore is eighteen-hundred feet deep. These days, with the dry, most are much deeper. It's only been capped like this,” he continued, pointing at the metal casing, “for a few years. Before that, it ran freely down a series of bore drains. The loss through evaporation was massive.”
She smiled. “That I can believe. I think I'm about evaporated myself.”
His eyebrows rushed together in a frown of concern. “I'm sorry. We'd better go in and get a drink. Don't want you to get heat stroke.”
Touched by his obvious concern for her wellbeing, she hastened to reassure him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she reached up and kissed him. The enthusiasm of his response told him that his anxieties had been allayed. Reluctantly she pulled away and looked up into the deep amber of his eyes. “You don't have to worry about me. I'll tell you when I've had enough.”
He hugged her briefly to him and his eyes locked into hers. “I don't think I'll ever have enough.” His voice had deepened, as if it had become dipped with treacle, laced with emotion.
Inside, her heart fluttered and jittered. It wasn't a declaration of love exactly, but her female intuition sensed the depth of feeling that emanated from the statement. Slowly she traced a damp finger down his brow, his nose, softly over the kissable lips, finally feathering the dimple in his chin. “Is that a challenge?” she whispered.
He smiled softly. “Wait and see.”
Content, she leaned into the strong comfort of his body, and arm in arm they traipsed back to the house.
Inside the air slid over her like a cool, satin sheet. She sank down on a kitchen chair, suddenly tired. Not surprising really when it was one in the morning back home.
There were so many questions buzzing in her head that she found it hard to catch any single one by the tail. Chad placed a tall glass of lemonade before her and she gulped it down gratefully. Without being asked he refilled it with water.
“Is this the bore water?” she said, sipping tentatively. It had a mildly alkaline flavor, but not unpleasantly so.
He sat down opposite her. “Yep.”
“Why do you think The Huntsman won't perform?”
The small lines around his eyes tightened a little. Tiredly he ran a hand through his hair. He shook his head. “Truth is, I don't know. By rights he should be brilliant. His bloodlines are amazing, winners in every direction. He's sound as a bell, fit as a mallee bull, and built for speed. But he just won't run.”
One of the many observations that she had subconsciously made finally surfaced. For a moment it thrashed around in her head, blurred and smudgy, but finally, it coalesced into a recognisable entity. Trouble was, she wasn't sure how to put it. Despite the growing strength of their relationship, Seraphim knew that Chad's underlying prejudice against her sport would not have been diluted.
Should she say anything? She opened her mouth, but closed it again. Better to wait, see the horse in action before she made her suggestion.
Chad, in that way that he had, must have caught something of her inner cogitations. “What?” he said.
“Chin offered to take me out to do a grocery shop later.”
“Good.” He twirled his glass between his strong fingers. �
��So, what do you think?”
“What do I think?” she echoed. For a minute she was silent as she gathered her thoughts. “I think it's so different I scarcely know what to think. I guess I want to like it. Because it's yours and part of what makes you, you.” She stopped and looked at him anxiously, worried she wasn't telling it right. But he nodded reassuringly and she carried on with more confidence. “I feel a bit overwhelmed, I guess, but at the same time excited. I feel different too. Braver, somehow. Although,” and she grinned, “if I catch sight of one of those monster spiders, that may change.” Then she recalled the other question she had in mind. “Tell me, where did you meet Chin?”
He reached across the table and took her hand, turning it palm upwards, stroking it gently. There was something infinitively tender in the act. For the first time she sensed vulnerability, and realised that perhaps he wasn't quite the self-assured person she had assumed him to be. And then she understood that he'd deliberately shut her out. Perhaps he shut out everyone. Why, she couldn't even begin to guess. But what was obvious was that he was about to let her in.
Breathless with anticipation, and not a little scared, she waited.
The only sounds were the drone of the air conditioners. Then he picked up a glass and placed a finger hard onto the rim and ran it fluidly around until a ghostly hum began. Then the finger stopped abruptly and the musical hum ceased. The glass tipped abruptly onto its base. Seraphim jumped a little, the loud clink of glass on timber taking her off guard.
He met her stare full on, a small muscle twitched in his jaw. “I met Chin sixteen years ago, when I was ten. He was in the same ward as my mum.”
And then it hit her. In the short space of time they'd been together Chad had never once discussed his family. Worse, she had never asked why. She felt incredibly foolish and self-absorbed. There were no family photos anywhere in the house. How could she have missed it? But, he had a mother. Well, he did sixteen years ago. A question formed. “Was she very sick?”
A Man For All Seasons Page 11
