by Janet Gover
‘Sure, we’ve got it,’ Quinn said joining them. ‘I’m an expert at this. So, Dan, if you’re not sure, I can tell you exactly what to do.’
She was smiling as she said it. She was so obviously enjoying herself. Dan was amazed. Not many women he had ever met would have taken it upon themselves to organise a rescue mission for a herd of wild bush horses. Even fewer would have been prepared to get their hands dirty doing it. And Quinn was probably the only one who would look so good when she was that dirty and sweaty.
‘Okay. We’re off.’ Justin started to walk away, Carrie a step or two behind him.
‘See you two tomorrow,’ Quinn called after them.
‘Shall we get this done?’ Dan asked as he picked up the shovel.
Quinn took hold of the post and pushed it until it was in a proper vertical position. Dan shovelled the soil he had so recently removed back around the base of the post. When Quinn was certain the post wasn’t going to tilt, she picked up the fencing bar and reversed it in her hands. Then she began using the flattened end to tamp down the loose soil. They soon fell into a smooth rhythm. Dan shovelling and Quinn tamping. Dan was very conscious of Quinn’s heavy breathing as she worked every bit as hard as him. Then it was done. They both stepped back to admire their handiwork.
The line of posts stretched across the gorge – perfectly straight. At least as far as the unaided eye could tell.
‘Now all we need are some rails, and we’ll be halfway there,’ Dan said.
‘Then there’s just the small matter of catching the horses,’ Quinn said, wiping the sweat from her face.
‘Hey, that’s up to Justin and Carrie,’ Dan countered.
‘I have a feeling it’s not going to work quite like that.’
Taking the tools with them, they headed back towards their campsite, collecting the canvas water bag on the way. They quickly divested themselves of their tools, and both took long draughts of the cool water.
‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ Quinn said easily. ‘But I wouldn’t mind washing off some of this sweat and dirt.’
‘Do you want to go back to the ranger station? There’s a shower there.’
‘Not really. I was thinking we could use the billabong. Like yesterday. Then, if you’re lucky, I might fix you some of the food that Trish sent.’
Images of the previous evening flashed through his mind. Quinn stripping off for her swim. The water on her silky skin. The unwanted feelings that she aroused in him.
He should say no.
‘That’s a good idea,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
Chapter Seventeen
It was dark by the time they returned from the billabong, refreshed by the water and still dripping just a little.
‘Let me get some dry clothes, and I’ll see what Trish has in store for us for dinner.’
Quinn walked back to her tent and ducked inside. She quickly stripped off her wet tank top and bra. Her jeans were a bit damp from wearing them over her wet legs. She found some dry jeans and a cotton shirt. Before she ducked back out of the tent, she took a couple of minutes to comb her wet hair. Quinn had never been self-conscious. No one who worked in the fashion industry, even for a short time, could afford to be self-conscious. With models and designers and photographers of both sexes hurrying through the madhouse behind stage, modesty just wasn’t an option. And most of those present cared more about the clothes than the bodies in them anyway.
But stripping to her underwear to swim this evening with Dan had been different.
Quinn’s lifestyle didn’t exactly lend itself to long term relationships. She had tried that once, and was still haunted by her failure. Now she seldom stayed in one place more than a few weeks. Any relationships she had forged were based on the unshakable fact that she would soon be moving on. Quinn knew she was attractive. She probably could have made a career as a model if she hadn’t preferred to be behind the camera. In her travels she had met more than a few men who were happy to share a short term relationship. She enjoyed the best of the relationship, without a great emotional entanglement. Without any need to change who she was or the life she led. Without any call on feelings that she kept well buried. That suited her just fine.
Dan should have suited her just fine too.
He was a good looking man. Strong and intelligent. Interesting. As sexy as hell when he stripped off his shirt to swing an axe. The scars on his body only added to his aura of strength. The attraction was there. She felt it every time she looked at him. And she was pretty sure he felt the same. They were both loners. Neither of them looking for any sort of permanent relationship. So why was it that she kept her eyes downcast as he stripped down to his boxers? Why did she slide into the water and start to swim away from him, before he could look at her?
They had swum for only a short time. By some sort of unspoken mutual agreement, they gave each other a little more space than they had the day before. Quinn was the first to suggest they head back to the campsite. It wasn’t that she felt uncomfortable swimming in her underwear. She certainly wasn’t afraid of anything. Perhaps she was uncertain of herself. Or of Dan. And now here she was, hiding in her tent, actually wishing she had a mirror.
She was behaving like a bashful teenager.
Getting a firm grip on herself, Quinn ducked back out of the tent and disappeared into the bush to answer a call of nature. There was nothing like dropping your jeans behind a tree to take away all pretentions. By the time she returned, Dan had the campfire burning. Despite the heat of the day, it could get very cold at night. He looked fresh and dry and was staring down into the flickering flames. He was so lost in thought, he didn’t notice Quinn. What was he thinking about, she wondered? Was he remembering his days in the military? It was clear from his reaction to unexpected noise that he had brought something back with him from that foreign war. Something more than just the scars on his back. Whatever it was, it still haunted him and left him strangely vulnerable for a man with so much strength.
Quinn felt herself longing to photograph him again. She seldom photographed people. She didn’t find them as interesting as the wild spaces that usually inspired her. For some reason Dan was different. Such a portrait that would make. The handsome face so deeply thoughtful, illuminated by the flickering flames. So intent was Dan on his thoughts, she could have retrieved her camera from the tent and taken some shots without his knowledge. But she didn’t. That would have seemed an intrusion on something private. Something personal. And not just for Dan. She felt it to.
Instead, she took a couple of steps towards the fire, making no attempt to mask her approach. Dan looked up but his face revealed nothing of his thoughts.
‘I seem to remember you made mention of food,’ he said. ‘I hope you weren’t joking. I’m starving.’
‘Nothing like a good day’s work to build an appetite,’ Quinn said. ‘Trish sent it, so it should be good.’
‘You’re not a cook then?’
‘I can cook,’ Quinn said. ‘I enjoy it and I’m not bad at it either. Mostly I cook over a camp fire, and that doesn’t lend itself to anything too fancy. What about you?’
‘I have never poisoned anyone.’
‘Didn’t they make you peel potatoes in the army? As punishment?’ Quinn stepped closer to the fire.
Dan hesitated. Quinn had a feeling she might have struck a nerve.
‘They don’t make you peel potatoes as punishment,’ he finally said. ‘That’s only in the movies.’
The food Trish had sent was good. A thick meaty stew with rice. Dan ripped the tops off two beer cans and handed one across to Quinn. They were sitting in camp chairs, eating by firelight. Dan was enjoying the food and the beer. He was also enjoying watching Quinn eat. He had never understood women who nibbled at their food, as if a good appetite was somehow a sin. Quinn ate the same way she did everything else – with great gusto and enthusiasm.
He liked that about her.
There were other things he liked too.
&n
bsp; He liked the way she laughed. He liked the way she was willing to get her hands dirty for something she believed in. He liked the way she looked in her wet underclothes. He liked that very much. Quinn knew how to be silent. They had spoken hardly a word since they started eating. As a man who spent much of his time alone, he appreciated her ability to be silent. But he also liked the sound of her voice.
‘How did you become a photographer?’ he asked.
‘I was a model before I was a photographer.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. You’re far more beautiful than most of the girls I see in magazines.’
‘Not that sort of a model.’ Quinn sounded indignant, and he smiled.
‘Not those sorts of magazines,’ he said. ‘And honestly, I only read them for the articles.’
He liked her laugh too. It wasn’t coy or pretentious. She enjoyed laughing. So did he, but he knew he didn’t do it often enough. He decided he should do it more, because he liked the way her laugh harmonised so well with his.
‘This sounds like a line, but I really was stopped in the street when I was still at school by a talent scout for a modelling agency. He was on the lookout for tall girls, and there I was.’
‘Did you enjoy modelling?’
‘Not really. I was far more interested in the photography than the clothes. I started working more and more as a photographer’s assistant. And then as a photographer.’
‘It sounds like every young girl’s dream. Why did you give up such a glamorous lifestyle for a tent in the middle of nowhere, stew cooked on an open fire and served with warm beer?’
‘I lost interest in making beautiful things look even more beautiful. I wanted to find beauty that wasn’t manufactured by a make-up artist and a stylist. I wanted to find a perfect moment in time – and preserve it forever. So it can never be broken or taken away.’ Her voice trailed off and she turned her gaze to the flickering flames.
‘You don’t miss it? Or miss having a home somewhere?’
‘No. I love what I do. I don’t like feeling … trapped, I guess. I don’t like having to live up to someone else’s expectations.’ She shook her head. ‘Between jobs I stay with my parents sometimes. My mother and I … well, I guess you could say we have our moments. I never lived up to her expectations.’
‘And your father?’
‘He’s an art teacher. I guess that’s where I got this creative streak from.’
‘I’m sure he’s very proud of you,’ Dan said.
She didn’t reply, just sat staring into the fire. Her mind seemed a long way away.
Dan watched her face. The easy smile had faded. There was a softness about her eyes that made him wonder what she saw when she stared into the flames. Everyone saw something different in the leaping red and gold. He saw the dark eyes of a dying girl. What was it that brought the sadness to Quinn’s face?
‘So, what about you?’ She looked up at last. Her voice was bright, a forced gaiety that she couldn’t hide. Dan was happy to let her change the subject, but given a choice, he would have sent it in a different direction.
‘I joined the army straight out of school. A few of us did. We were all friends, hyped up by talk of terror attacks and weapons of mass destruction. We thought we were going to save the world.’
‘And you didn’t?’
‘No. I served in Iraq and Afghanistan. It was …’ Words failed him as they had so many times before. When talking to his officers, military doctors and psychiatrists. Even his family. He had written reports, but he had never been able to talk about that time.
Quinn seemed to understand that words were difficult. ‘I saw the scars on your back. You were wounded?’
He nodded. ‘I.E.D.’
‘Improvised Explosive Device,’ she said. ‘A roadside bomb?’
‘Yes. I was one of the lucky ones. Some of my unit didn’t make it.’
‘It must have been terrible.’
Not as terrible as what came later, he wanted to say. A soldier expects to come under fire. That was what you signed up for. You know some of your comrades may be wounded or even killed. That you may be wounded or killed. A soldier is trained to deal with fighting a war. A soldier is not trained to deal with the thought of killing a child.
Dan closed his eyes. He knew if he looked into the flames he would see the girl’s face looking back at him. He would see the blood on her cheek and her small hand moving weakly, trying to reach her father’s hand where he too lay bleeding in the hot desert sand. Silence settled around him, broken only by the night sounds of the bush.
‘And when you got back?’
‘I saw your book. Those photos spoke to me. I needed a job and being a park ranger seemed to suit. There was a job going here. So here I am. Speaking of which, I should go back to the ranger station.’ Dan got to his feet.
‘I thought you were staying in camp tonight,’ Quinn said, her voice registering her surprise.
‘I have remembered something I have to do. You’ll be fine here by yourself, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I will.’
‘Fine then. I’ll see you bright and early in the morning. Sleep well.’
He was running away. He knew it. But he was powerless to stop. The memories were back. Louder. Clearer. Harder than ever before. He knew if he stayed, the nightmares would take him. And he didn’t want Quinn to see him like that. Better that she thought him rude, than she knew him to be a coward.
Quinn sat staring at the fire and listening to the sound of Dan’s Land Rover recede into the night. She wasn’t sure quite what had happened. Obviously she had touched a nerve, one that triggered memories Dan found difficult to face. She understood that. Everyone had their own secrets. And for every secret there was a trigger that turned it into a different kind of I.E.D. She knew this because she had been very close to her own secrets tonight. She didn’t like talking about her past. She almost never did.
Quinn got to her feet and walked over to her Hummer. She opened the back and delved into one of the compartments. She pulled out the small packet wrapped neatly in tissue. She rested her hand on it just for a moment, feeling the softness under the tissue.
‘Kim,’ she whispered.
Then she carefully placed the package back. Her eyes were slightly misty as she returned to her tent for her knitting bag and gas light.
Moving her seat away from the fire and the risk of soot and smoke soiling her work, she pulled out her needles and held up the unfinished garment. The infant’s jacket was pale yellow. A simple but lovely pattern that she had knitted before. She could knit this without too much thought and right now, thinking was something she wanted to avoid.
Knowing it would be a while before she felt like sleeping, she settled herself into the chair, and the soft click of the needles joined the other sounds of the night.
Chapter Eighteen
Carrie woke up in an unfamiliar bed. She lay staring at the bare white ceiling for a few moments before she remembered where she was. Justin’s house. In his spare room. They’d come back from the park last night, arriving just on dusk. Together they had fed the horses. It had been easy enough for Carrie to maintain her pretence. She’d checked water troughs and distributed the feeds Justin mixed, without the need to actually handle any of the horses.
Afterwards, Justin had made them a simple but tasty dinner which they had eaten sitting at the big wooden table in his kitchen. Their dinner table conversation had been all about the brumbies. Justin was brimming over with plans that would begin when he recovered Mariah’s son. He had already made enquiries about getting the horse registered in the stud book. Once that was done – and Justin’s face had shone as he said this – he would train the stallion, and start competing on him. He had no doubt the horse would soon earn a name for himself both as a working horse and in breed shows. But, Justin said, for the first two years, he wouldn’t stand the horse at stud to outside mares. If anyone wanted one of his progeny, they would have to buy a Fraser horse. In a fe
w years, he was certain, Fraser horses would again become known as the fastest and smartest and best.
Carrie had barely sipped the wine Justin had poured for them both. She had played with the stem of her wine glass, twirling it between her fingers as she listened to him talk with such enthusiasm and hope. Each word was torture for her.
She had once had such dreams. Dreams of a life working with the animals she loved. Perhaps of sharing that love and life with someone – someone a lot like Justin. But she had lost those dreams under the flashing feet of the racehorses the day that she fell. Some dreams, once lost can never be recovered.
Then Justin had reached out to touch her hand, his face intense and thoughtful.
‘Carrie, I don’t know how to thank you for this,’ he said. ‘If you hadn’t recognised the stallion. Well, this wouldn’t be happening. What you have done means more to me than I can ever begin to say.’
Even now, Carrie felt the heat of her shame.
She had mumbled something about being lucky and pleased she could help. A few minutes later, pleading tiredness after the long hard day of work, she had escaped into her bedroom, to lie awake a very long time, staring up at the ceiling and despising her own weakness.
Now morning had come, and with it the time for her to confess. She couldn’t go on working with Justin – Quinn and Dan too, of course, but mostly Justin – under false pretences. Justin had so much riding on this plan of theirs. If she didn’t tell him the truth now, she was putting everything at risk. In the long dark hours of the night, her mind had thrown up images of her own failure. If Justin relied on her at a crucial moment and she let him down – his whole future would come crashing down around him. And it would be all her fault. Far better to tell him now, so he could find someone else more fit to help him.
‘Good morning. I’ve made coffee,’ Justin greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. He was seated at the table, some papers spread in front of him, eating an apple, but he got to his feet as she entered and started to pour her a mug of coffee. There was a gentleness about Justin. Old-fashioned good manners. Carrie felt her heart contract. She liked the way his face lit up every time he saw her. She loved the way he treated her as if she was … as if she was who she had once been. And now she was going to destroy all that with a few words.
