Down Outback Roads (21 page)

‘It’s okay, little mate,’ Ewan said to Darby, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack as silent tears slid down his nephew’s cheeks. ‘Tish will be back soon.’ He picked Darby up to hug him. ‘You can talk to her every day and even see her on Kree’s computer.’

‘That’s right,’ Kree said from where she stood, close beside him on the driveway. ‘We’ve already put my laptop on the kitchen table so we can chat to her when she gets to Sydney. Remember how my crazy brother pulled the funniest faces when we tested it by calling and waking him up.’

The shudders shaking Darby’s small frame lessened. Seth’s wild bed-hair, his exaggerated facial expressions and his thick American accent had the boys in stitches. Ewan checked on Braye. The five-year-old held Kree’s hand and stood unnaturally still, his eyes trained on Hazel’s disappearing car.

‘I don’t know about anyone else,’ Kree said, her tone bright, ‘but I’m hungry. Who wants pancakes for breakfast?’

Silence. Then Braye answered in a lack-lustre tone, ‘Me.’

Darby slowly nodded against Ewan’s chest.

‘All rightee, then,’ Kree said. ‘Pancakes it is.’

Ewan set Darby on the ground and Kree slipped his hand into hers. Together, she and the boys walked towards the house, Kree swinging their arms in an attempt to make them smile.

‘I’ve got to get a shifter from the shed,’ Ewan called after them. ‘Make sure you don’t eat all the pancakes before I get there.’

He would need to keep the boys busy and fixing the leaking tap near their sandpit would be a good start. There’d be digging, water and tools involved.

He entered the man-cave and stopped. His workshop looked more like an artist’s studio than a masculine sanctuary. Rainbow-splattered drop cloths covered the concrete beneath the wide panels Kree had assembled in a neat row along the rear of the shed. Small pots of paints and brush-filled jars lined the nearby bench. On the floor, larger paint tins, dried colour coating their sides, sat in clusters. On the bench, a small compressor was attached to what he assumed was the airbrush Braye was desperate to get his busy hands on. Despite the scent of paint overlaying the usual smell of diesel, a strange sense of contentment drifted through him. Having Kree and her art in his special space somehow felt … right.

Beside the large mural, two smaller boards leaned against the wall. He walked closer to inspect the boys’ masterpieces, but it was Kree’s work he couldn’t look away from. Even with only the background done and white shapes where a stage coach, horses and bushrangers would later go, the effect was striking. The main bushranger’s horse had been filled in with a block of chestnut colour and details added to its head. Wind lifted its mane and the thrill of the chase flared its nostrils.
Goosebumps prickled Ewan’s arms. It was as though he could feel himself astride the galloping horse, hear the pound of hard hooves and smell the dust from the red earth. He closed his eyes to disconnect from the picture and from the woman who’d painted it.

Last night, sitting with Kree in the dark on the verandah may have freed him from the guilt he’d been carrying that he’d caused Darby’s poor speech, but nothing else had changed. He had to stay strong. He couldn’t give in to the growing feeling that the decision he’d made to cool it with Kree was the wrong one. No matter how desperate he was to kiss her again.

He retraced his steps to the homestead, sat the shifter on the verandah table and walked through the front door.

‘I hope you saved me some,’ he said as he entered the kitchen, which was filled with the sweet smell of maple syrup.

Kree, spatula in hand, turned from where she was standing in front of the frying pan. ‘It’s your lucky day, there are three left.’

‘Just as well. I’m so hungry I could eat more than Mikey’s favourite tyrannosaurus rex.’

He joined the boys at the table. Braye’s cheeks bulged like Fudge’s had yesterday morning when she’d scooted through the open gate to raid Tish’s vegetable garden. ‘Braye, how many have you eaten?’

He held up three sticky fingers.

Darby held up two.

‘They must be good pancakes?’

Both boys nodded, their mouths full. Relief coursed through him. While his nephews were still missing Tish, their sadness wasn’t quite as overwhelming.

Kree appeared at his shoulder and placed a plate loaded with the three pancakes before him.

‘Thanks, but you don’t have to wait on me.’

‘I know. So, don’t get used to it.’

Her smiling eyes held his for a fraction longer than normal. Warmth curled through him like the steam swirling from the pancakes.

Darby passed him a knife and fork from the container in the middle of the table and Braye handed him the bottle of maple syrup. He smiled his thanks and glanced at Kree as she remained standing at his shoulder. ‘Hope you’ve had some, too?’

‘I did, but I’m saving room for morning smoko, because it’s going to be extra-special.’

She pulled out the chair closest to him and sat. He concentrated on eating and on not watching the woman sitting less than an arm’s length away.

‘Darby, why don’t you tell Ewan what you’re helping me to cook?’ Kree asked.

Braye chewed quickly in order to talk for Darby, but before he could do so, Kree reached across the table and gently touched his hand. ‘Darby’s thinking. Let’s give him time to answer. Then you can tell Ewan what we’re both making.’

Darby swallowed his mouthful before speaking. ‘We’re making Anzac biscuits.’ His words were quiet but clear.

‘Awesome talking, Darby.’ Kree smiled and glanced at Ewan. ‘I’ve no idea what Anzac biscuits are, so Darby’s going to tell me what I have to use to make them.’

Braye again went to answer and again Kree touched his hand. ‘How about we let Darby tell me in a little while, because if you tell me now my silly brain will forget.’ She covered her
hand with her mouth and spoke in a stage whisper. ‘Don’t forget you also need to tell Ewan what else we are making that he
has
to try.’

Braye giggled. Ewan almost missed the sound. He was having trouble making his pancakes disappear. Emotion constricted his throat. Kree had said with the right help Darby would be fine, but a part of Ewan had remained worried. But now, seeing what Kree was gently doing, making sure Darby had both time and space to answer, and then seeing how he’d already responded by talking, for the first time he could see hope for Darby’s future.

‘Guess what we’re making?’ Braye’s eager question returned Ewan’s focus to their conversation.

‘As long as it’s not peanut butter with chocolate, I’ll try anything.’

Braye burst into laughter which Darby shared. Ewan raised a brow and glanced at Kree.

She held up her hands. ‘Don’t look at me. It was Braye’s idea. We were talking about what else to make for morning smoko. Anzacs are Darby’s favourite biscuits so I told them how Seth loves peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies.’

Ewan groaned. ‘Peanut butter and chocolate
together
in a cookie.’

‘Exactly. A perfect combination.’ Kree’s eyes twinkled. ‘And the boys and I think, seeing as you wouldn’t try the Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups, you must try our cookies because they will be
so
good.’

Ewan pulled a face. Braye laughed so hard, he choked. Face red and still laughing, he gulped from the water glass Kree slid towards him.

‘I suppose, Darby,’ Ewan said with an exaggerated sigh, ‘if you had to try the meatloaf Tish cooked for you last night, I’ll have to try your cookies.’

Darby’s grin widened. He glanced at Braye, then towards Ewan and said, ‘Yes.’

Kree came to her feet. ‘It’s official, boys, your uncle has to try your super-fabulous cookies.’

That afternoon, Ewan took a long call from Camo while the boys painted with Kree in the man-cave. Phone call finished, he collected his Akubra from off the hallway hat stand and walked out the front door, to head to the shed to see how everything was going. A gust of wind blew an empty plastic pot across the verandah. He returned the pot to the neat pile Tish had left to later move into the potting shed. With any luck, the darkening skies would deliver more rain. The timing would be perfect. He needed both his crops and his pastures to grow.

He whistled to Whiskey as he crossed the gravel driveway. The kelpie appeared from beneath the rainwater tank where he’d been resting. Freckle trailed behind him, his little legs pumping to keep up with the larger dog. Camo had talked non-stop about his plans for his breeding programme involving Ewan’s UltraBlacks. His unbridled enthusiasm bolstered Ewan’s confidence that everything would be okay. His investment in the Angus crossed Brangus cattle hadn’t been foolish or a financial long-shot. All he had to do was make sure he suffered no calving losses.

He neared the man-cave. The sound of the radio was punctuated by a series of loud bangs. He smiled. Hard-to-sit-still
Braye would have painted for a short while but then gone in search of something more energetic to do. As predicted, when Ewan entered the shed he saw Braye sitting cross-legged on the floor, a hammer in his hand, and nails and wooden off-cuts beside him. To his right lay his abandoned plywood, covered in slashes of jagged colour. In contrast, Darby sat on a stool, his expression focused as he painted a small, neat, green tree on the plywood balanced on his knee.

Kree flashed Ewan a smile from where she stood on the stepladder continuing to add detail to the bushranger’s horse. ‘I see you haven’t keeled over yet from our cookies.’

At morning smoko he’d tasted the dreaded cookies and to his surprise, they not only proved edible, but were indeed good.

‘No. I’m still in one piece.’ He matched her smile. ‘Anyone like to come and check the cattle?’

Darby briefly stopped painting to shake his head. Braye leaped to his feet. ‘I will.’

Ewan glanced at Kree to make sure it was okay Darby stayed.

‘Darby’s fine. You and Braye go and check on those golden horned cows of yours.’

A short time later, Braye sat in the ute passenger seat, his seat belt on and his busy eyes taking in everything inside and outside the window.

‘Having fun, mate?’

‘Yep.’

‘How about we go the long way round to see the cattle?’

‘Yep,’ Braye repeated with a satisfied nod.

Ewan had been driving a variety of ways to see the UltraBlacks, to ensure his tyre tracks indicated the cattle were checked regularly. This visit, he’d head out the side double gates, as if he were going to the Tylers’, but would turn left, not right. The public dirt road running along the boundary fence of his farm would take him past another set of double gates, which he’d use to re-enter Marellen. From there, he’d cross two paddocks to reach the UltraBlacks.

The tread of a wide tyre track imprinted in the red earth caused him to take his foot off the accelerator. Despite the tension that balled in his gut, his frown cleared. Pete Grey lived further along the road and he’d be expecting a visit from the fuel tanker, now sowing had finished. Ewan scanned the road ahead. The truck tyre marks veered left towards his padlocked double gates. His hands clamped around the steering wheel but he kept his thoughts clear. Sometimes truckies thought this road was a shortcut to the small village of Allington, only to see how it narrowed once it passed his gates. His gateway then served as a turning circle to head back the way they’d come. When he got a little closer he’d see the tyre tracks double-back.

But as he slowed to turn into the gates, the only thing to register was the glint of sunlight on the bronze casing of the padlock. A padlock that he’d checked only yesterday was still securing the two gates together. A padlock that now lay on the ground in the bleached grass.

Anger knocked the breath from his lungs. Self-control silenced his curses. He stopped the ute and reefed on the hand brake. His chest heaved. His teeth ground.

He didn’t need to inspect the padlock to know it’d been cut with bolt cutters.

Just like he didn’t need to check the UltraBlack paddock to know it would be empty.

The muted ring of her mobile phone sounded above the country music playing on the local radio station. Kree clambered down the stepladder, set her brush on top of a paint tin and searched for the mobile she was sure she’d placed on the bench beside the air compressor.

‘Darby, do you know where my phone is? For some reason it’s ringing from over here.’ She walked towards the pile of wood Braye had banged his nails into.

Darby shook his head. The phone stopped. Kree stared at Braye’s construction, but no slim, black rectangle appeared to be on or around the mini-building site.

‘Not to worry. Whoever called will call back if it’s important.’

She collected her paintbrush from the paint tin lid. She’d love to finish the main horse this afternoon. The count-down of her internal stop-watch reminded her that the mural deadline was drawing closer.

She had climbed the bottom two steps on the ladder when her phone rang again. Darby raced over to Braye’s wooden
masterpiece. He examined the nailed off-cuts and then bent to remove a piece of wood resting against the base. The phone ring blared louder.

‘Well done.’ Kree stepped off the ladder. ‘So, that’s where my missing-in-action phone was hiding.’

The caller was probably Tish. The boys had mentioned during their lunchtime chat they’d be in the shed for the afternoon.

‘Here it is,’ Darby said, passing her the phone. Without the board along the base, she could see what Braye had built. His construction was a shed and he’d used her mobile as a pretend vehicle to park inside.

Ewan’s name filled her phone screen. She pressed the green button and spoke. ‘Hi, Ewan, sorry I didn’t answer earlier. Please tell Braye that Darby and I had to drive my car out of his shed before we could talk to you.’

Kree expected Ewan to laugh and ask her what she was talking about. She also expected him to request that she repeat what she’d said. What she hadn’t expected was his grave tone or his grim words. ‘Kree, the cattle are gone.’

Her stomach twisted. She pressed her phone closer to her ear. ‘What? Gone? How?’

Darby tugged her hand, eyes wide, and she put her arm around his small shoulders.

‘Stock thieves. They’ve cut the gate padlocks with bolt cutters.’

‘Unbelievable.’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’ From the anger clipping his sentence she had no doubt he’d thought of a few other choice words. ‘I need you to do something.’

‘Name it.’

‘Saddle Rocket. Travis is using his plane to look for the truck from the air and the local coppers are organising a ground search. Bill heard a rumour in the pub last night about a mob of cattle being kept on the stock route. He thinks this might be where the stolen cattle are held before being trucked out of the district. The quickest way to the stock route is directly through Marellen, but the timber gets pretty thick and the ground rough, so the best way to get there is on horseback.’

‘I’m coming, too.’

Silence.

‘Ewan, a month ago we were combing that scrub for Seth. I’m not letting you go out there by yourself. Anything could happen.’

‘I don’t have time to argue.’

‘Then don’t. I’m coming. I’ll saddle the horses and call Pru to take care of the boys.’

‘Kree -’

‘I’m hanging up now. See you soon. I’ll have the horses ready.’

Kree pressed the red phone button. Arm still around Darby’s shoulders, she bent so he could see her face.

‘Someone has stolen the cattle and I’d like to help Ewan find them. I know your mum only left this morning, but would you be okay if Pru came over this afternoon?’ She hugged him. ‘If it’s not okay, honey, I’ll stay.’

‘Will she bring another movie?’

‘I can ask her to.’

Darby nodded.

‘Thanks.’ Kree kissed the top of his head. ‘Now how about we go inside so I can find Pru’s number, and maybe we can
pack some of your cookies to put in the saddlebags I saw in the tack room.’

In the next fifteen minutes, Kree ticked off the items on the mental list she’d compiled while she and Darby had raced across to the homestead. She’d called Pru, who was on her way, she’d made sure her laptop was good-to-go so the boys could talk to Tish, and she’d organised the boys’ dinner and Fudge’s bottle in case she and Ewan arrived back late. The boys would know what to feed the dogs, chooks and ponies. The saddlebags had been filled with water bottles, cookies and the first aid kit out of the Tylers’ ute. Banjo was already saddled and stood quietly in front of the hitching rail. Rocket was another story.

Excited and restless, the big bay pulled at the lead rope, testing Kree’s quick-release knot. Patches of sweat already marred his glossy, brown coat.

‘Whoa, boy,’ she soothed, but no sooner had she spoken the quiet words than the wind blew the tack room door shut with a loud bang. Rocket flung his head high, nostrils flaring.

Kree looped the bridle she was holding over her arm. At this rate, she’d need a stepladder to be tall enough to slip the bridle headpiece over his ears.

She glanced at Darby, who stood a safe distance away. Together they’d tied up Midget and Freckle and locked Fudge in the pony paddock behind the shed to make sure Rocket didn’t have any excuse to be jittery.

‘What was the word Ewan used the other day that meant crazy?’

Darby thought. ‘Hissy fit.’

‘That’s it. I hope Rocket stops having hissy fits, so I can saddle him before Ewan gets here.’

Rocket lowered his head and pawed at the ground. Talking softly, she moved forward. ‘We have to get you saddled, boy, otherwise Ewan can’t find his cows.’

She slipped the reins over the stock horse’s neck and then slid the bit into his mouth. Standing on tiptoe, she managed to manoeuvre the headpiece behind his ears and the brow band beneath his forelock.

‘Good boy,’ she crooned as he tossed his head. His ears flicked and he turned to look towards the side road. Kree followed his gaze to where Ewan’s ute approached, a plume of red dust behind it. From the kennels beneath the jacaranda tree, Midget and Freckle barked. She patted Rocket’s neck before making her way to the tack shed to collect the saddlecloth and saddle.

Ewan drove into the machinery shed. He emerged straight away, his phone to his ear and his hand in Braye’s. Braye caught sight of Darby and he pulled his fingers free from Ewan’s grasp to run towards his brother. Ewan followed, purpose and determination lengthening his stride. His shoulders were set and his hooded eyes stark. Kree hefted the heavy saddle onto the hitching rail. Heaven help the stock thieves if he caught up with them.

‘Bad men took the cows,’ Braye panted as he stopped before Darby.

The corners of Darby’s mouth turned down. ‘I know.’

‘Uncy Ewy’s going to get them back.’

‘And Kree.’

Both boys turned to look at her as she approached, their eyes round.

‘Braye, will you be okay if Pru looks after you this afternoon? I told Darby if it wasn’t okay, I’d stay. And I’d stay, too, if it wasn’t fine with you.’

Braye nodded without any hesitation. ‘Pru’s fun.’ He glanced to where Ewan stood a short distance away still talking on the phone. ‘But Uncle Ewy said to Travis you should stay.’

‘Did he now? And what did Travis say?’

‘He said very loudly for Uncle Ewy to stop being a princess and to let you go. If he didn’t, Travis said he’d come himself and not fly his plane.’

‘Thankfully, I think your uncle has been outvoted on me going with –’ Rocket’s high-pitched whinny drowned out the rest of her sentence.

Ewan ended his call and strode towards the restless stock horse.

Kree held her breath. Between Ewan’s tension and Rocket’s volatility, their meeting wasn’t going to end well. But as Ewan approached, the saddle over his arm, it was as though a magic wand had been waved. Ewan’s taut shoulders relaxed and Rocket’s agitated ground pawing stopped. Ewan touched Rocket’s nose and the big horse lowered his head. He gave a soft snort and rubbed his head on Ewan’s chest. Smiling, Ewan ran a gentle hand along the stock horse’s neck. No wonder Rocket hadn’t responded to their efforts to calm him. He was a one-man horse.

Kree could see Ewan’s mouth move, but couldn’t make out his words as he slid the saddlecloth into position, followed by the saddle. As he bent to collect the girth, the crunch of tyre-compressed gravel sounded from the driveway. She swung around to see Pru’s small, blue car stop in front of the homestead. Kree had thought the magnetic red-and-white
P on the front of Pru’s car had stood for the first letter of her name until Tish explained it meant provisional driver and that Pru could now drive without an instructor.

The boys left Kree’s side and raced through the garden to Pru. She unloaded a basket of DVDs from off the back seat and then allowed the boys to drag her to Kree.

‘Thanks so much for rushing over,’ Kree said to the fresh-faced brunette with the quick smile.

‘It’s no problem. I’ve packed a bag to stay the night, if need be, and brought lots of movies.’

‘It’s much appreciated, Pru,’ Ewan’s deep voice said as he stood beside Kree. ‘Boys, Kree and I have to go now, but we’ll be home as soon as we can.’

Darby and Braye moved into his open arms and they shared a group hug. The boys then each gave Kree a tight cuddle.

Once on Banjo, Kree gave Pru and the boys a final wave before cantering after Ewan and Rocket, who’d already passed the machinery shed.

Kree concentrated on following Ewan and making sure she didn’t slow him down. Any other time, she would have taken mental snapshots of the rural scenery through which Ewan was steering a certain and unwavering course. Flat and fertile river flats gave way to undulating hills, and then rocky outcrops as they climbed higher. Every so often, Kree looked over her shoulder. If only she’d brought her sketchbook or camera. Her fingers itched to record the charm of the valley that was receding behind them. She glimpsed the wide wingspan of a distant eagle as it glided towards the ribbon-thin river meandering through the valley floor.

Each time she faced forward, Ewan’s back appeared a little more rigid, and the sky in front of them a little darker. The gaps between the trees thinned and their pace slowed as the horses picked their way over the uneven ground.

Wind danced in Banjo’s black mane and tugged at her ponytail, which was pulled through the back of her cap. Once delicate clouds now hung heavy and swollen. The scent of rain swirled around her. Flocks of pink and grey swooped and dived overhead as galahs raced the stiff breeze to find shelter. White cockatoos shrieked as they abandoned the branches they were covering like a winter snowfall.

Ewan pulled Rocket to a stop in front of a collection of granite boulders offering protection from the wind. Kree shivered, despite having rolled down the long sleeves on her lime-green cotton shirt. The temperature had dropped. The rain wouldn’t be far away.

‘How are you holding up?’ Ewan asked, his eyes probing hers.

‘I already know I won’t be able to sit for a week,’ she raised her voice to compete with the wind. ‘Otherwise, I’m peachy.’

Humour briefly toyed with his mouth before he took his mobile phone from his shirt pocket. Phone in hand, he nudged Rocket forward a few paces and then checked the screen.

‘We’ve been out of range but should be high enough now to receive a decent signal, if I can find the right spot.’

He held his mobile to his right. The phone beeped as messages poured in, confirming he’d found a signal pocket.

A burst of wind caught beneath the peaked front of her cap and Kree put a hand on her head to prevent her hat taking flight. She searched Ewan’s face as he lifted his phone to his ear and listened to his voicemail. Despite the worsening weather
and the distance they would still need to cover, the glitter in his eyes hadn’t dulled. He was a man focused on protecting what was his.

Another wind-blast buffeted her hat. She took off the cap and stuffed it into the saddlebag. A raindrop stung her cheek. Another, her hand. They were going to get wet. Very wet. She hoped lightning wouldn’t snake across the now ink-blotted sky. She’d once been caught in a summer storm while riding in the foothills. She and Monty had almost made it to the stables when lightning had split and burned an old pine tree. The deafening boom and the brilliance of the flash had stayed with her long after the tree stump had stopped smouldering.