Down Outback Roads (4 page)

Ewan’s low chuckle teased the fine hairs on her nape.

Off-limits. Remember.

‘Well, I’m glad to hear you’re getting something out of your understanding.’

‘I have to. I’m down to one pair of shoes.’

As they reached the verandah steps, Ewan placed Freckle on the path and he bolted over to the remains of her once favourite hiking boot. Fudge followed, leaping and frolicking, as though her legs were composed of tiny springs.

Ewan shook his head. ‘Good luck with saving your last pair of shoes.’

He swung around and set off towards the small yard gate that led into the paddock housing the water trough. Kree followed. The usual faded denim hugged Ewan’s lean hips but the cotton stretching across his wide shoulders was a finely woven pale blue instead of heavy navy drill. The boots he wore sported glossy, not scuffed, leather and when he turned to check she was still behind him, she realised the tanned line of his profile was clean-shaven.

Just out of his swag, his hair tousled and jaw stubbled, he was gorgeous, and now, dressed in his going to town clothes, he was plain out dangerous. Tish was a very lucky woman.

‘Okay,’ he said as they reached a large concrete tank and stopped in front of a metal contraption attached to a cream box. ‘This is the pump that draws water from the bore. And this,’ he pointed to what looked like a small spaceship sitting on top of the tank, ‘is the water indicator. When the tank is full, an internal float lifts the pole the indicator is attached to, and it rises above the tank. So when the indicator is flush with the tank, like now, there’s no water.’

Kree concentrated on the spherically shaped indicator and not on how good Ewan smelled. The woody notes of his aftershave made it impossible not to be aware of how close
they stood. She only had to lift an arm and she’d touch the smooth plane of his cheek.

Ewan leaned forward, his long fingers turning a dial. Nothing happened.

‘Right, the pump doesn’t work on manual, so that means we need to take a look at the control board. Sometimes a power surge can trip a fuse.’

He manoeuvred open the cream cover on the box.

‘Usually any problems with this pump are pretty straightforward. It’s that antiquated pressure pump that supplies your inside water from the rainwater tanks that is the nightmare. If it plays up, you’ll be in all sorts of trouble.’ He dipped his head towards the small lever that lay in the opposite position to all the others. ‘See? It’s a fuse.’

He flipped the lever, pressed a button labelled reset and then turned the dial again. The bore pump surged to life and the sound of spilling water echoed inside the tank.

‘Now we’re cooking,’ he said as he closed the cream cover. ‘I’ll leave the pump on manual to fill the tank, but tonight, switch the dial back to here where it says automatic.’

As the full force of his slow grin curled her toes, Kree knew she didn’t need any house pressure-pump problems to already be neck-deep in trouble.

Anytime you’re ready, look away.

Ewan ignored the sarcasm of his self-preservation and continued to observe Kree in the rear-view mirror. She stood on Berridale’s verandah, watching him leave, a hand shading her eyes. He didn’t divert his attention until she’d turned and headed inside.

The powerful thrum of his V8 engine carried him west to Glenalla on the bitumen road. Beside him, kurrajong trees, their canopies clipped to cattle-head height by hungry cows, marked the start of Old Harry’s property, Yuulong. Normally, Ewan would have stopped for a cuppa and a chat with his father’s eccentric mate, but he had an appointment to make.

The phone nestled in the car handset beside him blared into life with the chorus of ‘I’m sexy and I know it’. He groaned. Tish and her warped sense of humour. She was always telling him to lighten up and had taken to changing his ring tone. After their rural romeo conversation she must have hijacked his mobile. He pressed the green button after reading the familiar name on the phone display.

‘Hi, Trav.’

‘How’d you go at Berridale?’

‘Fine. The bore pump had blown a fuse.’

‘How was Kree?’

‘Good.’ Ewan changed the subject. Travis knew him too well not to sense the strain in his voice at the mention of the stunning American. His self-control had to appear as though it were holding firm. ‘You know what song Tish has used for my latest ring tone? “I’m sexy and I know it”.’

Travis’s laughter filled the ute cabin. ‘That’s going to go down really well with the new bank manager. What time’s your appointment? I’ll make sure I call.’

‘Very funny. As soon as I pull over, I’m changing it back to my normal boring ring. And don’t laugh too hard, Tish has threatened to sign us up to the Rural Hearts dating website.’

Travis’s laughter stopped. ‘She wouldn’t.’

‘Oh, yes, she would.’

‘Well, then, we’d better get you hooked up, quick smart.’ Ewan didn’t miss the underlying seriousness beneath Travis’s jovial words.

‘Trav, I don’t need hooking up, remember? I’m still recovering from my blind date with the blonde sales rep you thought would be my perfect match. She had us married and expecting twins by the end of dinner. What I do need is this city bloke at the bank to increase my overdraft.’

‘You still keen on investing in those Angus and Brangus crossed UltraBlack cattle?’

‘Yes, they’re the new black. If I could afford to tap into that market it would open all sorts of possibilities to keep Marellen soluble. Camo might have been all play and no work at uni, but some of his Sydney agricultural science degree must have
stuck as he’s now running Savannah Downs and other family properties up north. He sees genetically superior UltraBlacks, with their increased heat resistance and fertility, as the way forward.’

‘You’re kidding. Camo has grown up?’

‘I’m sure he still likes his rum and coke but yes, he’s grown up. I guess he had to, after the chopper-mustering accident killed his father. Death has a way of sobering even the most hardened of party animals.’

Travis didn’t immediately answer and Ewan wished he’d taken more care with his words. He knew exactly what Travis would be thinking. It wasn’t only hardened party animals that death wielded an impact on.

Ewan spoke quickly. ‘Wish me luck. I’m not sure what this new bank guy is like. He sounded very official on the phone, so the days of having a simple yarn to Mike might be over.’

‘I can’t blame Mike for retiring. The stress of keeping everyone going through the drought would have taken its toll on anyone. Listen, I’ll be in town in an hour and will meet you at the Calf and Cow for a counter lunch. My shout.’

‘Thanks, I’ll either be celebrating or drowning my sorrows. But it’s my shout, you took care of the last lunch. I’m outside the bank now, so I’d better park and deal with my ring tone. Talk to you later.’

Ewan ended the call. The cold ball of uncertainty that had lodged in his stomach as he’d talked about the new bank manager refused to shift. He didn’t hold any illusions as to his financial position, but he’d done extensive research and canvassed many options about the direction in which to take Marellen. One fact underpinned them all. He needed money.

Ewan dealt with his phone and quit the cool confines of the air-conditioned ute. Officially, it might be autumn but the strength of the hot sun ensured the temperature was more roasting than balmy. He stood outside the small bank office and glanced along the main street of Glenalla. Pete Grey was in town. His battered HiLux ute with his brown kelpie snoozing on the tray-back was parked outside the newsagent. Mrs Jessop’s pristine but dated white four-wheel drive claimed the space in front of the general store, but otherwise the wide street was empty. Sadness merged with his tension. His childhood town was dying.

The never-ending drought had siphoned off businesses until only a few remained. The coffee shop was the last to close. The Gilmores had had enough and moved to a larger regional centre two hours east. Now the pub on the corner remained the only place to grab anything to eat. Locals and a few tourists had once populated the footpaths, but the only movement today was a stray ginger cat who slunk past Pete Grey’s ute. The kelpie lifted his head but it was as though he were too tired and dispirited to care. The drought had robbed Glenalla of more than a reliable water supply. It had robbed the town of life. The rains had come but it was only when money again flowed that Glenalla would have a hope of surviving.

A long hour later, Ewan strode into the Calf and Cow, unbuttoning the top two buttons on his best shirt, which for the past hour had felt like a straightjacket. He’d survived the meeting with Clive, the ex-city bank manager. But only just.

Ewan’s eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the pub and he headed for the counter. He breathed in the familiar beer smell
and finally gave himself permission to relax. There was no sign of Travis but he wouldn’t be far away. Punctuality was important to his quiet-talking best mate. Unlike Camo, he’d always made his uni lectures on time and had his assignments in before the due date. Ewan hadn’t ever had to go searching for Travis after a night out on the grog, unlike Camo, who’d often been missing-in-action only to be later found in the girls’ dorms, or asleep on their front lawn.

Bill, the barkeep, nodded at Ewan as he dragged up a stool. ‘Nice shirt,’ he commented in his unhurried drawl.

‘That’s enough cheek from you,’ Ewan said with a smile, eyeing off Bill’s unfamiliar collared shirt, which had the Calf and Cow logo on the right front pocket. ‘I could say the same thing about you.’

Bill had owned the bar for as long as Ewan could remember. He’d served him his first beer as an eighteen-year-old when his father had brought him in to celebrate his milestone birthday.

Bill grimaced and tugged at the chambray-blue shirt collar. ‘It’s Jordy’s fancy idea. She thinks if I dress more professional-like, when tourists come they’ll visit again. She has pink ones for herself and even had a small green one made for Mikey.’

Ewan accepted the beer Bill slid to him with a small nod. ‘Your Jordy has a good head on her shoulders. She may very well be right.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

‘Things that bad?’

‘They’ve been better.’

Ewan took a sip of the cold beer. ‘It takes time. You’ve survived your share of droughts and know the drill. For farmers to have money in their wallets, their stock has to fatten and their cash crops ripen first.’

The older man wiped a tall glass clean. ‘How about you? Got any crops in?’

‘I’m trying. The winter oats are in and if I ever get the airseeder fixed the canola and wheat will soon be in, too.’

‘How’d it go with the bank?’

Ewan knew the shrewd barkeep wouldn’t have missed why he was dressed in his Sunday finery. Bill, Travis and Old Harry were the only people privy to his financial jam. ‘As well as can be expected. I don’t envy the city-bankie his job, but direct city ways don’t work out here. I don’t need to be told how serious things are. I sure as hell know.’

‘So, he’ll back you into those fancy-sounding cattle?’

‘I’ve got the green light but only for half the amount I need.’

Bill placed the glass he’d polished on the counter. ‘Ewan, you know your dad and I go way back. Your father was a good and decent man and you’re a chip off the old block.’

Bill’s mouth firmed and Ewan knew he’d mentally finished his sentence with the words, ‘unlike your brother’. He’d never asked Bill why he and Fergus hadn’t got on. Maybe it had something to do with Fergus’s willingness to start a pub brawl.

But Bill hadn’t finished speaking. ‘It would be an honour if you’d let me help. I’ve got a nest egg and I’m sure my money would be safe with you. Knowing you, those cows won’t be any hare-brained scheme.’

Emotion constricted Ewan’s throat. When the wheat silo on the property they’d share-farmed had fallen and killed his father, Bill had taken him on as though he were the son he’d once lost. And now Bill was offering him financial help when he should be making provisions for his and Jordy’s future.

‘Bill, I don’t know what to say.’

‘Say, yes. Little Mikey is only three and he and Jordy won’t need my nest egg for a while yet.’

‘Thank you, but you know I can’t. I couldn’t forgive myself if I wasted a cent of your savings.’

Bill collected another glass to wipe. ‘Well, my offer stands for anytime you need cash. If my boy had survived his motorbike accident, I hope he’d have turned out like you. Tish and the twins would be lost without your help.’

Ewan took a deep gulp of beer. ‘Thanks again, Bill, but I’ll find a way to afford the UltraBlack cattle … So how’s Mikey doing? He looked like he’d grown a foot when I last saw him.’

As Ewan had hoped, Bill’s faded brown eyes brightened at the mention of his adored, red-haired grandson, who lived behind the pub with him. Ewan’s tight grip around his beer glass eased. He was safe. There’d be no more talk about money or about the reason why caring for Tish and the boys had become his life’s mission.

Sweet dreams.

Tish zipped the plastic cover of her small greenhouse shut and smiled at the two new pots on the middle shelf. The thumb-high shoots would grow into clusters of white agapanthus. When Ewan had returned from town yesterday, he’d delivered Travis’s latest gifts. When the drought had started, Travis’s generosity had kept her vegetable garden full. Her smile widened. And now he was back in the district he’d again taken to sending her plants via Ewan. Despite his years away, a love of gardening still linked them.

She pulled on her worn leather gloves, grabbed her small spade and continued to prepare a new garden bed. When she’d first arrived at Marellen, Travis had taught her what plants grew where and how to make her small garden at the cottage water-wise. Though she’d been naïve and city-green, he’d spoken to her as an equal, something Fergus hadn’t ever done. But then she’d fallen pregnant, rain had become a distant memory, and everything had changed.

As her stomach grew, marking her as Fergus’s wife, Travis’s visits to Marellen slowed to a trickle and then stopped. Heavily pregnant, she’d bumped into him in town one summer afternoon and he’d gazed at her with his serious hazel eyes and wished her all the best with the twins. On that hot and dizzying day, a part of her had shrivelled and died. It’d felt like he was saying goodbye. Their friendship had provided her with the laughter and emotional support her marriage had lacked. Without Travis to talk to, it was as though a light had switched off in her world.

The next time she’d seen him was when he’d come grave-faced and solemn, to tell her he’d be heading south to set up a crop-dusting business so he could someday buy his own farm. Tish paused in her digging. She hadn’t seen him again until Fergus’s funeral. Travis had guided her through the French doors into the garden and held her under the wisteria-covered pergola until no more tears could fall.

She thrust the spade deep into the friable soil. She might make jokes about Travis and Ewan’s bachelor status but if she was honest with herself, the day Travis married would cut far deeper than losing the husband who’d only ever wanted a trophy wife and never wanted to be a father.