by Karen Wood
They sat in awkward silence, with only the quiet sound of lapping water, distant crooning cattle and a soft breeze rustling the leaves overhead. Even the birds seemed to be having a siesta. The sky was blue all over and the sun burned ferociously through the leaves, sprinkling dancing dappled shadows over Daniel’s skin.
When he put his head back and closed his eyes, she took the opportunity to check him out. She ran her eyes over his forearms, inspecting his tattoos. There were several, mostly insignificant: small crosses, some initials and various symbols that held no meaning for her. One even looked like a cattle brand. It was vaguely familiar. ‘Anything I should know about those tatts?’ she asked, without taking her eyes off them.
‘Like what?’
‘They mean anything? Why’d you get them done?’
He shrugged. ‘They’re stupid.’
She kept her eyes on him. His body was strong and toned and developed beyond lanky teenage sinew. His shoulders were bulky and he had serious guns. ‘Do you do weights or something?’ she asked, trying not to sound impressed, which she realised was futile once the words were out.
‘It’s all there was to do in juvy.’
Over one side of his chest in small green letters was SAM.
‘Who’s Sam?’
His eyes opened. He put a hand over the small tattoo. ‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘Just being . . .’ what did Paul call it? ‘. . . sociable.’
‘Interrogating me, more like it.’ Daniel ran both hands through his hair and she tried not to notice the way it made his biceps flex. His mood shifted back down a notch again. ‘She’s my little sister, if you must know.’ His voice was almost a whisper, as though he was having trouble getting the words out.
‘Why did you tattoo her on your chest?’ As soon as the words were out, she sensed it was the wrong question to ask. Something intense glimmered off him. His lips tightened and he looked like he wanted to get out of the trough. Her dad’s words rang in her ears – he’s had a tough time – and it occurred to her that he might genuinely be in some sort of trouble. And that maybe she should give the guy a break. He’d been making an effort since they left the yards, perhaps she should do the same.
The air had become cold and uncomfortable again and Kirra wondered how she could break the tension. She pulled her hand out of the water and on the dry concrete side of the trough, she wrote SORRY in water.
He nodded and closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the water. His head rocked back and rested against the edge and she saw his chest rise before he exhaled fully, and relaxed into the water. His hand reached out to where her apology had already dried in the hot sun. ME 2.
She closed her eyes and together they lay like that, while questions whispered in her mind.
What happened to his sister? Why was this guy so angry at the world one minute and so vulnerable the next? Why did he spend three months in juvenile prison? And why was she lying in a trough with him in the middle of nowhere without knowing the answers to those questions?
‘How’d I end up in a dirty old water trough with some girl I don’t even know?’ he said, echoing her thoughts.
‘It’s pristine,’ she said, mildly miffed. ‘I scrubbed it.’
‘That’s because you’re a girl,’ he said with a teasing glint in his eye. ‘You’re good at cleaning.’
A shocked laugh shot from her chest. He ducked under the water as she sent a huge wave of water splashing at his face.
When he resurfaced, he looked at his watch again. He rose without saying anything and clambered out of the water.
‘Where’d you say you were from?’ she asked.
He took his saddle and threw it over his horse’s back. She’d almost given up on an answer when he suddenly threw one over his shoulder. ‘I didn’t.’
She watched him tighten his horse’s girth, hoping he’d turn and look at her, or give her that lopsided half smile again, but he left her lying in the trough, admiring the way droplets of water sluiced over his tanned skin and disappeared into the top of his jeans.
Then he pulled his shirt over his head, legged onto his horse and rode away.
6
The afternoon passed without further incident. Daniel relaxed and followed her lead without arguing. They rode to every water point and gate and got back to the cattle yards before dark on tired horses. As they approached the yards, he shot her one of those half smiles again. ‘Thanks for showing me around.’
He seemed genuine, so she smiled back. ‘No worries.’
In that moment, something passed between them, some sort of recovery from their disastrous start, an unspoken understanding; she wasn’t sure, but her smile lasted all the way back to the yards. Maybe working with Daniel wouldn’t be so bad after all.
She unsaddled Iceman and tossed a few buckets of water over the white sweat salt that caked his neck and shoulders. Then she let him roll in the dusty yard with the other young horses while she helped load the cattle trucks. They were loaded with pregnant cows to be taken back to the main station. Last to leave were the horses. Daniel and Kirra loaded them one by one and raised the ramp.
‘Better let me drive,’ said Daniel, deadpan. ‘You might get us lost.’
‘Don’t be smart or I’ll make you ride in the back with the horses.’ She swung herself up into the driver’s seat and took hold of the keys. He gave her an obedient look and walked to the passenger side.
The sun set low over the horizon as they drove back to Moorinja.
‘You’re a brat,’ said Daniel, his boot on the dashboard again.
‘You can talk,’ she replied, without taking her eyes off the track.
‘Can I have the truck back when we get to the road, please?’
‘Seeing you asked so politely, yes.’
‘Wanna come over later? Play some cards or something?’
‘Sure.’
It was dark when they arrived back at the main station. Kirra was weary as they unloaded the last horse. Jim called Daniel to the office to sign paperwork and she was left to feed the horses alone.
When she got back to her house she showered and preened for longer than usual. Then she procrastinated over which clothes to wear. She’d never had this problem before. It was only a game of cards, what was she getting so wound up about? Best not to look dressed up, she decided, grabbing her favourite shirt and a clean pair of jeans. She was about to walk out the door when her phone rang.
‘Hey,’ said Natalie. ‘Got your entries in for the Dirt and Dust Festival yet?’
‘You didn’t really enter me in the Best Butt competition, did you?’
‘Of course I did,’ Nat said.
‘My boobs aren’t big enough.’
‘They won’t be looking at that end.’
‘Why don’t you enter? Your butt’s way better than mine.’
‘I have. We’re in it together.’
Kirra wondered how she could get herself out of this. Then she had an idea. ‘I’ll go in the Best Butt comp with you, if you go in the steer ride with me at the Sandsby Roundup.’
‘No way!’ said Nat. ‘That takes skill, it’s too dangerous!’
‘Shaking my butt in front of an audience could be dangerous too,’ Kirra laughed.
‘Can I borrow some cowgirl boots and a hat?’
‘Sure.’
‘So . . . how was your first day?’
‘It was . . . interesting.’ Kirra grinned, ready to launch into the truck key incident and the water trough moment. She planted her bum on the couch and aimed the remote at the telly. An ad for John Deere tractors blared into the room and she hurriedly turned it down.
‘So was mine,’ said Natalie. ‘I heard something really interesting about Moorinja.’
‘Do tell,’ said Kirra, intrigued.
‘Is there a new guy there called Daniel?’
‘Yes. I just spent the whole day riding with him.’
Natalie gasped theatrically. ‘So you
know about him then?’
‘That he was in juvy? Yeah.’
‘Whoa,’ said Natalie. ‘What’s he like?’
‘Kinda hot, actually.’ It was the first time she’d admitted it, and Kirra found her heart rate quicken as the image of a bare-chested Daniel lying in the water trough flashed in her mind. ‘In a bad-boy, tattooed sort of way. We took a dip in the cattle trough together.’
There was a censorious silence on the other end. ‘You be careful messing around with that guy,’ said Natalie eventually. ‘I’ve heard he’s bad news.’
Kirra scoffed. ‘What do you mean, bad news?’ Clearly Daniel was no angel, but today she had seen a softer side. He seemed decent enough.
‘You do know why he was in juvenile prison, don’t you?’
Kirra shrugged. ‘Nope.’
‘He crashed a car and then he punched a guy!’
‘So? Lots of guys get in fights.’
‘He put someone in hospital. I heard it was a coward punch, no warning, just bang, out of the blue. He’s a psycho. Someone said he hurt a little girl too. Put her in hospital.’
Kirra went cold. Okay, she wasn’t expecting that. A bit of harmless skylarking in the farm ute she could handle. Getting disorderly at a rodeo was forgivable too. But violence? Suddenly Daniel’s torso didn’t look so hot. His muscles came from a prison gym, not from honest hard work.
‘Don’t get involved with him, Kirra.’
It took Kirra a while to collect her thoughts. Why hadn’t Dad said something? Or Nancy? They must know. And yet they seemed to treat him like royalty – Nance with all the extra food, Dad giving him the cottage, letting him use the boss’s saddle.
They’d sent her out into the middle of nowhere, alone with him? Maybe they didn’t know. They had to know. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked Nat.
‘Dead sure.’
‘Who did he hit?’
‘Some guy on the rodeo circuit. A lot of locals aren’t happy that he’s come to live around here, I know that much.’
Kirra instantly thought of Liz’s attitude when Daniel first arrived. Now it made perfect sense. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘How did it happen?’ There had to be more to this story.
‘I don’t know what the truth is. You know how stories get colourful around here. But he is known for being a bit wild, rebellious.’
Kirra was quiet.
‘Please don’t fall for him,’ said Natalie. ‘He’s trouble.’
‘Fall for him?’ Kirra blew a raspberry into the phone. ‘All I want to do is work hard so I can go to college next year. I don’t plan on falling for anyone.’ A weird emptiness crept inside her and her voice came out sounding all hollow. ‘But thanks for telling me.’
She hung up, pulled herself off the couch and went to her room. She sat on her bed, in the dark, with her knees tucked under her chin, and stared out the window. The small lamp in Daniel’s lounge room was on, and the blind was up. She could see him on the couch. She sat watching him turn magazine pages over one by one, waiting for her.
Falling for this guy was so not a part of her plan. The last thing she needed was someone else’s problems. She curled into her sheets, tired from being in the sun all day. But she couldn’t sleep. It was two in the morning before she watched Daniel stand and turn the light out.
7
Kirra walked into the harness shed before breakfast and started when she found Daniel in there. His eyes met hers and instantly she knew that he knew that she knew.
A shimmering anger radiated from him and no one at the main house seemed game to speak to him at breakfast. He didn’t speak all morning: not a nod or a shrug. It was as though she wasn’t there. The nice guy in the water trough was nowhere to be seen.
Because she didn’t know how else to respond, Kirra acted as though she didn’t care. She spent the morning with a black colt, Iceman’s brother, who had the same itchy skin and heavy-set shoulders. He bucked as badly as his brother, and she worked slowly and persistently with him, putting pressure on and taking it off until he responded to her touch. She drove him forward when he bucked under the saddle and took the pressure off when he levelled out.
When he was trotting smoothly, she rested him, hosed him off, and then spent a long while brushing and stroking and scratching his shoulders until his top lip waggled with appreciation. She wrapped her arms around his thick-set neck, rested her face against him, and sneaked a look at Daniel.
He worked in the round yard with a grey colt, running his hands over its ears and face, around its belly and under its tail, until it stood and accepted everything he did without question.
He rubbed the colt all over using a circular, rhythmic motion, until it stood like a zombie, completely desensitised. He leaned over its back and Kirra noticed the way he kept his ankles crossed while he tested his weight over the young horse’s back. It was an old breaker’s trick her dad had taught her. Crossing your ankles stopped you getting strung up on a horse. If they moved, your feet were always able to get to the ground.
Daniel had been taught by an expert. Who? Where was he from?
Kirra sat next to Liz at lunch.
Daniel sat alone.
That night he didn’t come to the main house for dinner. When Kirra went to bed and stared out of her window, all the shutters in his house were closed. No lights were on.
The next morning, the engine of his ute started before daybreak and she felt panic course through her. Was he leaving?
She ran out to the driveway, wrapping a belt around her bathrobe, but by the time she got to the front of his cottage, he was talking out the window to her dad, who handed him a file of papers. He rolled out the driveway before she could reach him.
‘Where’s he going?’ she asked Jim.
‘To sort out some legal stuff,’ he replied. ‘In Townsville.’
‘Is he coming back?’
‘Yeah, then he only has to check in with a case officer locally once a week.’
An unexpected rush of relief washed over her.
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ her dad asked.
‘Nothing, just . . .’ Kirra kicked an ugg boot in the dust. ‘Natalie told me what he did.’
‘Great.’ Her dad frowned. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear. Like I said, be polite and respectful and get on with your job. It’s not for us to judge. The court’s already done that.’ He turned and stalked off to the office, looking unimpressed.
Kirra stood in the stony driveway, tightening the belt around her gown as Daniel’s ute glided along the front of the property and then disappeared from sight.
That day, her workload doubled without Daniel. She worked the horses by herself, as she’d always done, but found herself obsessing about his return.
Her head ticked with calculations. It was a five-hour drive. He’d left at around six, so he’d possibly be back before sunset. That’s if he didn’t have any other business to take care of. Did he have people to visit? Did he have family?
Kirra scolded herself. It was none of her business. But the questions wouldn’t go away. If he’d had a sister, where was the rest of his family? Would he really come back? He’d seemed so angry.
Time picked her up and pulled her along in its slow current, along with everyone else on the station. The day dragged out into a long stretch of hot, boring, hard labour, made slower by Kirra constantly looking at her watch and counting down to six o’clock, which she’d calculated as the earliest possible time she could reasonably expect his ute to roll back down the driveway. As the small hand ticked past that, she became anxious. Had he done a runner?
When her jobs were done, she made excuses to stay out in the shed, cleaning the saddles, organising the gear and grouping ropes and straps and who knew what else into what was useable and what should have been thrown out years ago. She sorted through miscellaneous nose bands and broken cheek straps, all stiff and green with mould. She gave the leather surcingles a good clean and oil, and then started on an old harness. Over the next two hours
she organised the entire lot, cleaned it and hung it up neatly on hooks. She missed dinner.
And then it was eight o’clock and he still wasn’t back.
Her first week at work and she had driven her workmate to quit already. Kirra resolved that if he ever came back, she would be more tolerant. Less judgemental. She went to her room and tried to read a book. But she couldn’t focus. All she could think about were his arms flopped over the sides of the cattle trough and the way the dappled light played over his skin. The way his voice had choked when he said his sister’s name.
She mentally slapped herself. He was her workmate. She shouldn’t be thinking about him like that.
But where was he?
His ute rolled slowly down the driveway shortly after midnight, its headlights dimming to black before it reached the cottage. The lights went on for a short while before switching off, and then the station was silent again, except for screeching bats over the fig trees.
The next day he barely acknowledged her unless it involved work. He was polite and reasonable. But then he got on with working. It was weird at first, but over the course of the week, working in silence alongside him, she got used to it.
At night his shutters stayed drawn, but around their edges she could see the soft glow of his lamp until the small hours.
Kirra considered going over with a deck of cards to try to apologise, but Natalie’s voice of reason stopped her. He was a messed-up unit and she should forget about him.
She got on with her job and tried to pretend he wasn’t there. He made that easy, carrying on as though she wasn’t there. Occasionally he put a question to her – was there any medicated horse shampoo for a horse with a skin problem, when was the farrier coming next – but otherwise worked by himself if possible.
On Saturday and Sunday, he stayed behind closed doors. Monday and Tuesday went okay. But Wednesday didn’t.
One of the foals, a bay with a lovely heart-shaped marking on his forehead, went down with colic and both she and Daniel had to take turns walking him until the vet came. The youngster was as yet unhandled, and he fought every attempt to get him up on his feet, rearing and thrashing wildly, while the mare lunged at them from the other side of the fence.
