A Man For All Seasons (17 page)

Then the car stopped. Chad smiled and relief spread like sunshine through her troubled thoughts. Silently he pointed to the road in front of them.

Eager to ease the tension she leaned forward toward the windscreen. Walking across the bitumen, in orderly procession, were four huge spiky footballs. “Oh, how cute. Giant hedgehogs.”

He laughed. “Echidnas.”

For several minutes they waited until the procession ended and the marsupials disappeared into the dense mulga scrub. Happy that the awkward moment had passed, Seraphim reluctantly decided to let the whole thing go. For the time being anyway.

The rest of the day passed easily. Seraphim insisted on organising the kitchen to her satisfaction. She found that there were only four full-time staff to cater for. This worried her at first, until Chad informed her that Chin's job description was actually quite diverse, ranging from cook to fencing contractor, and everything else in between.

“Well,” said Seraphim, doling out a mountainous pile of pasta, a lake of sauce, and two steaming loaves of garlic bread to take over to the old shearer's quarters for the staff, “I'll help out anyway I can too.”

Chad nodded and wrestled the two tureens out of her hands, balanced the garlic bread on top and carted it off before she could protest. Actually, she reflected, as she sat down, she really didn't have the strength to argue.

In short time he returned. “Smells good.”

Throughout dinner they ate in companiable silence. Or, more accurately, she watched Chad eat, while she pushed her food tiredly around the plate.

He paused, and his warm, topaz eyes caught hers. “Not hungry?”

She felt ridiculously pleased by his concern, by the fact he'd noticed, and by the gentle tone of his voice. She gave up all pretenses and dropped her fork. “I'm just tired, I guess.”

He shook his head. “Of course you are. Come on… bed.” He put down the fragrant piece of bread in his fingers and stood up.

Hastily Seraphim hopped up. “Sit down! Finish your meal. I'm quite capable of putting myself to bed.”

But he ignored her protests and in one effortless motion, lifted her up into his arms, until she lay curled into the broad expanse of his chest, her head resting upon his shoulder. She opened her mouth to protest, but his head bent, and his lips sealed hers.

In the bedroom he laid her gently on the bed and pulled the red quilt around her. “Sleep,” he said.

And she did.

When she awoke the room was bathed in light. For a moment she lay and watched the dust motes swirl around in fingers of sunshine that poured through the window. The bed was empty. She checked out the clock and to her surprise found it was just four thirty. Did that man never sleep?

Eager to greet the new day and to reconnect with Chad, she hopped out of bed and dressed. Outside the sky spread away in an endless sea of blue. Very faintly her ears could just make out the steady progress of galloping feet. Eager to be outside where the action was, she threw on her clothes and bounced down the steps of the front verandah. She followed the sound around the vast stable complex, and out to a paddock so huge she could not make out its boundaries. In the distance three horses cantered along a wide track, noses nodding in unison, jockeys perched effortlessly in their tiny saddles.

Beneath the shade of a mottled tree, she paused. Dust drifted away on a soft breeze as the trio thundered past. The scene spread out before her, dearly familiar and strangely alien at the same time, kind of like drinking a cup of tea out of a crystal vase. Her heart fluttered when she recognised Chad, teeth flashing white in a dirty face, as he sped past on The Huntsman.

Once more they circled away. Critically she watched horse and rider, carefully examining the form and action of the big stallion. Years spent fine-tuning expensive, talented horses backed up her instincts. As The Huntsman trotted down toward her she knew exactly what the problem was. Better still, she thought she knew how to fix it.

For a frantic minute she tried to formulate the best way to put her case to Chad. It was not going to be easy. Although he'd been supportive and kind, she sensed he would be politely dismissive when she voiced her opinion.

By the time the horses reached her they had slowed back to a loose, active walk, flanks still heaving, and steam rising from slick, shiny coats. Chad pulled up The Huntsman and smiled down. There was something incredibly vital about him; he seemed to crackle with energy, eyes brilliant, hair glossy in the harsh sunlight. Here, in his natural environment, he seemed somehow larger than life. It was hard to believe that he was hers.

“Hi,” she said, suddenly a little shy.

In one fluid movement he dismounted, his booted feet barely making a sound in the dusty earth. “Hi you,” he smiled.

She patted the horse's damp neck. “How was he?”

“Lazy.”

For a while they walked side-by-side in silence; Chad pensive, her hesitant. Should she tell him? Or was it not really her place, or even her business.

Chad broke the moment. “If this horse doesn't shape up soon, his owner will shift him somewhere else.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

He looked away from her, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Jimmy Farthing owns most of the horses in training. During the drought he's been my only source of income. If he pulls the pin, I'm in trouble.”

Suddenly the decision seemed easy. “I think I may be able to help.”

He stopped and looked at her, surprise etched into his face. “How's that, then?”

“Well, I think you're absolutely right about this horse. He should be phenomenal. And I think he will be. I believe that if you let me work on him for six weeks or more, I could make a big difference to his performance.”

Chad's frank amusement was expressed in a short burst of laughter. “You reckon?”

Irritation prickled through her like nettle rash. “Yes, I do.”

He ran a hand over his face, and to his credit, she could see him trying to contain his hilarity. “I'm all ears.”

“Look at him,” she said, moving closer to the big horse and running a hand down his neck. His ears waved and he butted her softly with his huge head. Chad moved in behind her, and pulled her close. It was very difficult to concentrate as heat flared and spread through her abdomen. “He's not using himself as well as he might,” she struggled on. Chad's hand had crept beneath her shirt, softly caressing the taut skin of her belly. She brushed the hand off. “Behave,” she warned. The hand did as it was told.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding it.

“If we changed his work routine and developed all the big muscles along his top line,” she paused, and then, pulling away from Chad, swept her hand along the animal's neck, back and quarters, “he'd be able to push himself along from behind, rather than pulling from the front.” Eagerly she turned to gauge his response. “Do you see?”

He lifted one dark sweep of eyebrow, in an expression of disbelief. “You want to do dressage with him?”

Disappointment flooded through her. It seemed that some prejudices ran too deep. “Yes,” she said flatly.

Then a broad grin spread across his face. “You're kidding, right?”

For a moment she wished she were a cat so she could fluff up her coat, pull out claws and hiss and spit in protest. Exasperated and infuriated, she searched for the right words. “You know, the other day you told me that people don't always give Chin a chance because he's different. Well… you're no bloody better.” Feeling the pressure of unshed tears gather and determined not to share them, she turned abruptly and headed back toward the house.

Back in the kitchen she vented some of her unexpressed angst banging cupboard doors and jangling cutlery loudly onto the table. Why Chad was as bad as her parents! As bad as Bloody Barry!

The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that she was right. And with that conviction came a deep-seated determination to prove it.

Nineteen

Barely aware of his actions, Chad returned to the stable block then untacked, hosed and turned The Huntsman out into his paddock. His brain turned over like a turbo driven engine. He'd really put his size twelves in it. What a moron. A bit of tact would have gone a long way. Of course, the whole idea was ridiculous, but still…

In the barn his two young lads scurried around lobbing hay into stables, to the eternal gratitude of the inhabitants. Chad found Chin in the tack room tidying away the morning's collection of abandoned whips, boots and bits.

“Chin, do you think I'm unreasonable.”

“Yep. Sometimes.”

Chad could feel his temper bite, but strangled it down. “In what way… exactly?”

Chin stopped work and ran a hand thoughtfully over his bald head. “Well, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, you have to get rid of those solar panels. While they're sucking up the radio waves, the rain won't come.”

Chad counted to ten, and then added another five for good measure. “Chin, the solar system has nothing to do with the weather.”

“How do you know that?”

Exasperated Chad stared at Chin. “Because it's ridiculous.”

Chin picked up his radio, pulled up the antenna and pressed the unit against his ear. “So, you gonna take down the panels?”

“No!”

With a sad smile Chin shook his head. “I rest my case.”

Torn between laughter and tears, Chad stood and watched Chin, now totally tuned into outer space, wander off down toward the yards. Then for one crazy moment Chad actually found himself wondering if, just maybe, there might be something in his mate's bizarre theory. After all, there had to be a reason for the dry. But he pulled himself up sharp. It was going to rain. Soon.

By seven he was starving but kept finding things to do to put off breakfast. Seraphim was bound to be pretty mad with him still. But then the meaty roar of a V8 engine announced the arrival of Jimmy Farthing. A little reluctantly he went out to greet him.

“Morning Jimmy.”

“Chad,” said Jimmy, climbing down from the plush leather depths of his Cruiser. “How's it hanging?”

The Huntsman's owner, dapper in clean moleskins and black akubra, took Chad's hand in his, and shook in a friendly gesture. Fifty-five, bearded and rangy, the crinkled skin around his eyes reflected a sunny disposition. This morning being no exception, he smiled, showing good teeth. “What's new?”

Chad's spirits drooped even more. “I've had better days.”

The smile widened into a grin. “Horse trouble?”

“Worse, woman trouble.”

Jimmy chuckled, his beard waggling like a Billy goat's. “Can't help you there, mate.”

“Breakfast?”

“Why not.”

In companionable silence they made their way over to the house. Jimmy sniffed appreciatively. “Smells good. Chin feeling better?”

Before Chad could answer the screen door swung open and Seraphim stuck her head out. “Oh, I was just coming to find you, breakfast is ready.”

Relieved to detect no open hostility in her tone Chad stepped through the door.

“Looks like a passel of trouble to me,” Jimmy whispered gleefully into his ear.

After a quick wash up the two men returned to the kitchen and sat down. In the middle of the table a mountain of fragrant rice took pride of place. Chad's mouth watered. He forgot their earlier misunderstanding, as he tried to identify the ingredients. “Kedgeree?”

“You remembered.” Then she smiled at Jimmy. “I'm Seraphim.”

Filled with remorse for his lack of manners Chad leapt up and made a hasty introduction.

Jimmy accepted a mountain of rice and spooned in a generous forkful. He chewed for a minute and swallowed. “Bloody beautiful. And you can cook.” He looked slyly at Chad and then regarded her thoughtfully. “Will you marry me?”

She laughed. “You couldn't afford me.”

Chad grinned. Jimmy might not have made it into Australia's top ten wealthiest, but he wouldn't be far off. He decided he'd tell Seraphim later, save her future embarrassment.

Conversation moved inevitably to horses.

“So, when's the great Can't Take A Trick arriving?” asked Jimmy.

Chad smiled. “Should be here September for the start of the breeding season. Bit cooler then, give him time to adjust.”

Jimmy shifted in his seat. “Let's hope he performs better than The Huntsman.”

Chad felt the knot of anxiety that seemed to have taken permanent residency in his chest contract at the mention of The Huntsman.

Jimmy swallowed the dregs of coffee in his cup. “That animal must be the most expensive arachnid on the face of the earth.” He managed a wry smile.

Chad recognised the disquiet that lay just below it. Utterly miserable, he could only agree. The horse was a dismal failure. All the great plans they had made for The Huntsman seemed doomed never to eventuate. There was no point in bullshitting. “He's not shaping up so well, is he?”

For a moment Jimmy's eye contact wavered, and Chad felt something subside inside him. Here it came.

His friend and business partner shifted around in his chair, as if he were uncomfortable and then raised his gaze once more. “Chad, mate, I think it's time to cut the losses. I've decided to send him to sale.”