by Cathryn Hein
‘Don’t you worry about me, missy,’ he told her when she voiced her worry. ‘I’ll be out of here before you know it.’
Callie hoped he was right, yet her unease remained.
That night the weather turned again. Callie woke to a Sunday morning made sweltering and dangerous thanks to a high pressure system over western Victoria and a gusting northerly wind. The Country Fire Authority’s website had upgraded the fire danger to code red, leaving slashing and other machinery operations out of the question.
With a cup of tea in hand, Callie sat at Nanna’s kitchen table and ran through the CFA’s bushfire protection guide, wishing she’d had more time to prepare. Though the area in the immediate vicinity of the house was clear, weeds still grew rampant around the machinery shed. Wary of leaving herself short of feed, she hadn’t slashed Morton’s paddock– a mistake, given the horse’s fussy eating habits. He hadn’t touched any of the long growth, feasting instead on all the sweet clover patches and any tender young grass shoots he could find. The hayed-off older plants, with their ranker leaves and stalky stems, were left ungrazed. With each gust of wind, the seed heads bent and swayed, the paddock rippling like a silver-blonde ocean, as beautiful as it was hazardous.
Leaving the guide, Callie stared out the window and across the yard, rattled and worried. The groans of the house timbers as the wind tugged at its frame only reinforced her anxiety. Extreme bushfire danger days hardly affected her as a child. She knew they kept Nanna and Poppy busy, moving stock and checking water tanks and hoses, but they were always adult concerns. Other than the order that she and Hope remain close to the house, stinking weather merely meant playtime under the sprinkler or a quiet day inside sucking Nanna’s home-made frozen cordial icy poles.
But Nanna and Poppy were both gone and though it was the last thing she wanted, Callie was now in charge. Childhood ignorance and irresponsibility applied no longer.
Drawing a notepad across the table, she returned to the guide and began making a list.
Callie spent the first part of the morning inspecting equipment, resisting the urge to give Honk a good hosing down when he ambushed her near the water tank. The goose was cranky enough without her adding to his temper, nor could she afford to waste water. Instead, she took her irritation out on the worst of the weeds growing around the machinery shed, pulling them by hand or, when that failed, using an old shovel to shear them off at the roots.
By ten am, Nanna’s weather station read thirty-nine degrees. Patches of sweat left dark circles on Callie’s shorts and singlet. Messy streaks covered her legs where rivulets had slipped through the clinging dust and sunscreen. Her blonde ponytail hung limp down her back, the hair under her fishing hat wet.
She retreated to the back step with an ice-filled glass, sucking on the cold cubes as she gazed across the paddocks to the wind-wracked forest, hazily wondering if Matt would call in. Callie glanced at her phone, lying on the concrete next to her hip. Perhaps she should call him at Amberton, ask his advice about what else she should do. The number would be easy enough to look up.
As though sensing her attention, the mobile released an electronic flourish. Wiping her damp hands on the leg of her shorts Callie picked it up, smiling as she read Anna’s text asking if she was free to Skype.
Not shagging Bruce? she returned.
With Bruce. Not shagging. Skype? Anna shot back.
Callie texted back an OK and ducked inside for her laptop. Five minutes later she was grinning at a sleep and sex-ruffled Anna.
‘Where’s Bubby?’ Callie asked.
Anna narrowed her eyes, speaker distortion turning her voice even harsher than normal. ‘Let me guess, Rowan’s been telling tales.’
‘Pet names . . .’ Callie sucked air between her teeth. ‘You know what that means.’
A flush rose up Anna’s neck but she didn’t deny the allegation. ‘Nothing wrong with pet names.’
‘So where is he?’ asked Callie, suspecting she already knew.
‘He’s around.’
Callie gave her a stern look. ‘Wherever he is, he’d better be behaving himself. This isn’t a sexcam.’
‘I’m not that perverted.’ Anna looked away from the screen, her expression slightly soppy. Rowan was right, after all her protesting Anna now had it bad. ‘He’s just rubbing my feet. I need it. The last few nights have been epically busy.’
‘As long as that’s all he rubs.’ Callie took a sip of her melted ice. ‘So how’s things?’
‘Pretty good. We miss you. Everyone does. Rowan said you called the other day.’ Anna pulled her laptop closer and peered at her screen, frowning as she inspected Callie’s image. ‘He said you sounded a bit upset. Is everything okay?’
Though Anna’s concern made Callie’s throat thicken, she kept her face straight. ‘Sure. Things are fine. A bit more work than I expected but . . .’ She stopped. Why the hell was she lying to Anna? What difference would it make if she told the truth? ‘It’s not fine. It’s hard, much harder than I expected.’
‘You miss your nan.’
‘There’s that.’ Callie swallowed and looked away, her eye catching on the tyre swing’s broken rope. Yet another memory of Hope flitted through her mind: Callie urging her sister on as she swung dangerously high, Hope’s back so arched her blonde hair dragged on the ground. Their shared whoops colouring the air. Even then her sister like to push the limits.
‘There’s more bothering you?’
Callie gave a half laugh and shook her head. ‘You have no idea.’
‘So share it with me.’
She stared at Anna’s face, so pretty and open and warm. Callie wanted to talk, to tell Anna of her confusion, to ask for advice and reassurance, but the more she considered it, the more her skin began to prickle. Revealing confidences just wasn’t her way.
‘Thanks, but it’s fine, really. I’m just being dumb.’ She smiled brightly. ‘You wouldn’t believe what else Nanna left me.’
Her friend sighed. ‘When are you going to learn that it won’t kill you to get close to people?’
Shamed at the hurt in Anna’s voice, Callie turned her face away. ‘I don’t do it on purpose.’
‘That’s the trouble. You do.’ Anna let out another annoyed breath. ‘All right, show me what I won’t believe.’
Callie tried to ignore Anna’s comment but it left a ragged wound, mainly because she knew it to be true. She did keep people at arm’s length on purpose, but it was for their own good.
Tugging on her fishing hat, Callie rose and carried the laptop across the lawn toward the home paddock. Too hungry, dumb or simply oblivious to the heat, Morton was in the open, grazing. At her approach he looked up and slowly began to wander over, tail swishing at flies. Callie hoisted the laptop on a post, aligning the camera so Anna could see him.
‘You have a horse?’ Anna asked in disbelief.
‘I do. A big warty one.’
‘Warty?’
Callie eased the laptop out of reach as Morton stretched his neck out to sniff. She scratched his cheek, eyeing the screen to make sure Anna caught a good look at the horse’s face. ‘Very warty.’
‘Oh, that’s gross! Should you be touching him?’
‘They’re harmless grass warts. Not contagious for humans. They’ll disappear in a few months.’
‘For your sake I hope you’re right. Although you want to be careful he doesn’t scare potential buyers away.’
‘All going to plan, he won’t be here for much longer,’ said Callie, treating Morton to a last ear tug before heading back to the house and shade. Already her shoulders were stinging with sunburn. ‘I’m hoping his previous owner will take him back, but she had a bad fall and now she’s frightened of him. I think she’ll come good though. She’s crazy about him.’
‘What if she doesn’t take him? You’ll have to bring him here.’
Callie sank onto the step, balancing the laptop on her knees while she took a long slug of water. ‘I don’t think he’ll fit
in my room.’
Anna rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be smart. You know what I mean.’
‘I can’t keep a horse.’
‘Sure you can. You’d be able to paddock him somewhere. You love horses.’
‘I do, but it’s too much of a responsibility and they’re damn expensive to run.’
‘So find yourself a rich boyfriend.’ Anna grinned. ‘Just so happens I know of a good one.’
A surprised male voice sounded in the background. ‘Who, me? I’m not rich.’
‘I know,’ said Anna, blowing a kiss to one side. ‘But you, my darling Brucey-bubby, have other qualities.’
‘Must you?’ asked Callie, rolling her eyes.
Anna grinned at her. ‘I meant Mark.’
‘Not interested.’
‘That was fast. Usually I get at least a bit of a spark.’ Anna pursed her lips, eyes sharpening as she leaned in closer to examine Callie’s face on the screen. ‘Have you met someone down there?’
‘No.’
Anna’s eyes turned buggy at Callie’s too-quick response. ‘You have! Who? What’s he like?’
‘I haven’t and he’s not like anything. I have to go.’
‘Don’t you dare disconnect!’ She pointed a finger at Callie, her voice rising to a squawk. ‘Don’t you dare!’
Her grin huge, Callie flapped her fingers in a series of tiny waves. ‘Bye, Anna. Give Bubby my regards.’
By the time Callie’s computer had completed its shutdown procedure, Anna’s texts numbered five. Callie sent back only one message: I have NOTHING 2 tell. But when the sound of an approaching vehicle had her stomach doing a flip, only for it to sink in disappointment when the car kept on heading past, she wondered just who the hell she was trying to kid.
Compared with the previous night, the Royal proved a lot more subdued on Sunday. With plenty of daylight remaining and heat still in the day, the locals were either still squishing their toes in the sand and seaweed of MacLeans Bay or holed up in the shady cool of their homes. Doug warned Callie she’d be required in the main bar later, when the thirsty and overheated evening crowd started to arrive, but in the meantime she could look after the back bar, which catered for diners and poker machine players.
Happy to be on her own and away from the boisterous front of the pub, Callie set about unloading and reloading the glass washer and preparing for dinner patrons. She liked the back bar. Its flocked wallpaper and dark timber panelling gave the room an old-fashioned feel, reminiscent of what the pub must have been like in its glory days, when wool had made the district rich. The patrons tended to be an older, more polite group, whose interests lay in their stomachs or rattling another dollar through the ever-churning poker machines than in drinking themselves stupid.
‘You do that well.’
Callie looked up to find Matt grinning at her. What a typical remark from him; innocent on the surface but somehow inferring more.
Unable to resist, she fired back a quip: ‘You’d be surprised at what I’m good at.’
He rested his elbows on the bar and leaned toward her. Unlike his visits to Glenmore, when Matt turned up stubble-jawed and wearing stained work clothes, he was clean shaven. His green eyes danced, the colour deepened by his well-ironed green-and-white striped shirt.
‘Callie Reynolds, is that a challenge? Do you have hidden talents you wish me to uncover?’
‘No hidden talents, unless you count making cocktails. I’m pretty good at those.’ Keeping her eyes slid sideways to watch him, she added another glass to the rack. ‘So what are you doing here?’
‘Oh, the usual for a newcomer to town. Feeling a bit lonely.’ He winked at her, another habit of his. ‘Thought I’d come down here and chat up a barmaid, see if she’d take pity on me.’
She raised an eyebrow.
He grinned. ‘I’m meeting a couple of the guys from Dargate Rural Traders for dinner. Lucky for me they chose a pub with the best-looking staff.’
‘If you mean Doug, you’ll find him in the front bar.’
Matt shook his head. ‘Not my type. Too jaded. Anyway, I prefer blondes.’
‘If you think flattery will get you a free beer you’re wrong.’
‘Maybe it’s not free beer I’m after.’
Shaking her head, Callie moved to the taps. The man had all the lines. ‘So what can I get you?’
Wickedness flashed in his eyes. He took a few heartbeats to answer but when he did it was simply to order a pot of light beer. Callie poured it, glad for the reprieve from his banter. The game that had begun when she’d sought his help with the tractor seemed to grow a little more flirty with each encounter. It was fun, definitely, but the buzz it generated left her wondering if she shouldn’t be more careful.
She placed his beer on the drainer and took his money. ‘You didn’t come over this morning.’
‘No.’ He took a sip, eyeing her over the glass. ‘Did you miss me?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Not even a little bit?’
Callie considered for a moment. ‘Perhaps a fraction. Although it was more the capable man bit I missed.’
‘Attractive capable man, let’s not forget.’ He took another mouthful, watching her closely. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing really. It’s just this weather. The fire danger.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m probably worrying about nothing.’
‘That’s not nothing. It’s real.’ He turned to scan the bar, waving toward the door as a couple entered. ‘Looks like the boys are here. I’ll come around tomorrow after I’ve seen Wal and picked his brains. We’ll check things over.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ Then she grinned, relief making her reckless. ‘Attractive capable man.’
The look he shot back was so naughty schoolboy it sent the buzz into overdrive.
New patrons arrived, an elderly couple red-faced from heat. Callie tended to them, sympathising with their complaints about the broiling weather, her mood light. When she turned back, Matt had moved across the room to stand with two couples and a single woman. The men were around Matt’s age, attractive and well built. The sort of confident, ruggedly handsome country boys Callie had always admired. Standing close beside them were, she surmised, their partners. Both women were slim and dark haired, one wearing tight white Capri pants and a hot pink spaghetti-strapped singlet that matched her pink sandals, the other prettily feminine in a short, pale blue broderie Anglaise sundress. They looked young, healthy and carefree and, from the way the men had their arms slung around their shoulders, loved.
But it was the other girl who piqued Callie’s interest. She hovered at the edge of the group, eyeing Matt from beneath long, made-up lashes. A snub-nosed redhead, whose hair fell in gorgeous ripples down her back, and whose pale, slender legs were shown off perfectly by a pair of cuffed shorts and leather wedges. However, her undeniable copper beauty was ruined by the sour tightness of her mouth. She reached out limp fingers toward Matt, barely managing a polite smile, before looking away with a bored expression.
Lifting his hand, Matt rubbed at his scar before letting his fingers drop and turning to the broader shouldered of the men. Callie’s jaw tightened, her good mood evaporating at the obvious snub Matt had just received.
Irritated with herself for caring, Callie deliberately turned her back on the group. She crouched down at the rear, under-counter fridge and busied herself bringing stock forward, the bottles rattling as she clanked them together. Matt could look after himself. And she needed to mind her own business.
‘A man could get used to a view like that.’
Callie looked around to find Matt once more at the bar, his head tilted as he eyed her bum.
‘My shout,’ he said in response to her surprised look. ‘A Carlton Draught, a Cascade Light, two Diet Cokes, and a gin and tonic for my unimpressed blind date.’
‘Blind date?’
‘Yeah. Apparently the boys thought I needed one.’
She straightened and headed to the taps,
sliding him a sideways glance. ‘And do you?’
‘I don’t appear to be having much luck with the barmaid.’
Callie wasn’t so sure about that. Not that she was about to admit it. Positioning glasses under the taps, Callie began pouring, regarding the redhead as she worked. Matt’s blind date was leaning close to the Capri-panted woman, her hands twirling near her face, expression unhappy. As though sensing scrutiny, she suddenly looked up and caught Callie watching. Her gaze flicked to Matt, her hand quickly dropping as she muttered something to her friend, who jerked around to stab Callie with unfriendly eyes.
‘She’s very attractive,’ said Callie, shovelling ice into a tall glass.
‘Do you think? I’ve never been into redheads. Which is probably a good thing because she sure isn’t into me.’
‘Her loss.’
‘That’s what I reckon.’ Although the words sounded confident, Matt’s tone lacked its usual playfulness. He rubbed at his scar again in a way that made Callie speculate whether he even knew if he did it. It wasn’t so much self-conscious as automatic. ‘Anyway,’ he said, smiling suddenly as though he’d just shaken off a bad thought, ‘like I said, I prefer blondes.’
Callie placed the drinks onto a high-sided anodised tray, trying not to feel flattered by Matt’s comment. It was simply his way, but knowing that didn’t stop warmth spreading through her belly. He left with the drinks, returning a few moments later with the tray.
He didn’t leave after he’d handed it over, fingers tapping on the bar, watching her as she fidgeted with wiping unnecessarily around the sink. ‘What time do you finish?’
‘Late.’
‘How late?’
‘Drive straight home and collapse into bed late.’
He nodded, and flattened his hand, fingers pointing toward her, leaving Callie with the sense he wanted to reach out. Instead, he patted the counter and pulled away. ‘Watch out for ’roos.’
Matt didn’t return to the bar again but that didn’t stop Callie observing him. His group settled into one of the tables, the girls nattering at one end, the men at the other. Seemingly unperturbed by the redhead’s snub, Matt appeared relaxed, gesturing animatedly as he talked, leaning back occasionally to laugh. He fitted in, like he’d been born in the town. He even carried himself the same as the other men, with confidence, as though he knew, despite his disfigurement, that he equalled their country-boy handsomeness and strength. It wasn’t ego, as she’d first suspected, more a refined self-regard. A man who knew who he was and where he belonged.
