Race Girl (16 page)

Tully beamed, leading Dahlia forward in the stall.

‘Now, you're gonna to be a good girl for me, aren't you?' Shannon said, letting his hand brush down Dahlia's face; her whiskers; her rare white snip – it was unusual for a thoroughbred to have a splash of white on their nose with no other markings. She nudged him hard in the side, nibbling at his pockets. ‘Ahh,' Shannon laughed, ‘Want some more, do ya?' He slipped a few more sugar cubes out of his pocket. Dahlia gobbled them up, ears forward with happiness and contentment. She allowed Shannon to give her a gentle pat, before going to his ute to grab his gear.

Tully stayed at Dahlia's head while Shannon got to work, holding her still as she hopped forward and kicked free of Shannon's hands. ‘Whoa,' he said, letting the filly put her off-hind down. He managed to hold onto it through the next few kicks and got her long, cracking hoof trimmed and a shining new shoe fitted. Dahlia kept him on his toes, dancing to the side and kicking out – it took him about three times longer than normal to get her trimmed up and all her shoes fitted.

Sweat poured off Shannon's sandy hair and his blue work shirt was drenched by the time he was finished. ‘Wow, I know she's still under conditioned,' he said, wiping his brow with the back of a big, callused hand. ‘But this filly needs to get out on the track!'

Tully grinned, patting her like crazy. ‘Such a good girl! Can she please have another sugar cube, or some apple, Aunt Fia? She was such a brave girl.'

‘Of course!' Fia laughed, swept over to Shannon and slipped her hand into his front pocket, feeling around.

‘Hey, there!' Shannon laughed, grabbed Fia and pulled her into a bear hug.

Fia wriggled free, winked at Shannon, then handed a cube of sugar to Tully.

‘Um, thank you!' Tully said.

Fia burst out laughing and Tully couldn't help but stare at this bold, beautiful woman who shared her smile.

‘Gimme a call if you ever need anything, Tully,' Shannon said, scooping her up for a quick hug.

‘Thanks again,' Tully said. She reached up and pecked him on the cheek. ‘Thank you so much.'

‘My pleasure. Fia—see ya soon, darl.' He kissed Fia on the cheek, then grabbed his gear and headed down to Greg and Frangi's paddock to give them a quick trim.

Fia watched Shannon leave. ‘I'll marry that man one day,' she said with a sigh. ‘Such a bach, but such a babe.'

‘A
bach?
' Tully said.

‘Bachelor . . .' Fia laughed, patting Tully on the shoulder. ‘Kingston will be here in an hour. He's much more serious and much less fun, but he's the best horse vet around.'

Kingston was tall and slim, with small round glasses and a foreign accent. He came with an assistant who looked much the same just in a shorter version, carrying a laptop. Fia said they were both German. It was late in the day when they arrived, and Dahlia was already antsy from being kept in her stall to rest her feet and get accustomed to the new shoes.

Tully's stomach knotted with apprehension as she watched the vet lift his stethoscope from around his neck and reach forward to press it against her filly's body, just under where the girth would go . . .
This could make it, or break it
, she thought, her body trembling with nerves and anticipation as she imagined herself working up the courage to take Dahlia around the track for the first time . . .

Dahlia turned and snapped at the vet, then jumped straight up and went to bolt out of the stables.

Tully's heart hit the roof, the lead rope ripping from her hands, burning against her palms. ‘WHOA!' It took all of her strength to keep the filly from taking off out of her stall.

Bucko joined in to help, but as Dahlia was still wary even of him, Kingston asked Fia to finish the examination under his instruction. He asked for constant feedback, which his assistant typed in a steady stream into the laptop. Dahlia snorted, prancing the whole time, her eyes locked on the vet and his assistant and their strange little white van parked beside the stables. Fia felt each of her legs carefully, starting at her hocks, then running down her tendons to her fetlocks.

‘She have zee typical flat, thin sole of zee Thoroughbred,' Kingston said, staring down his nose at her feet. ‘But her shoes look good, vill help a lot.'

Kingston got within about a metre to peer in and have a look at her teeth. He was impressed by Bucko's vet skills and the cut on her rump healing nicely.

Then it was judgment time: the trot up for soundness.

‘Take her down zere,' Kingston said, pointing down the row of jacarandas. ‘In bet-ven zee trees and zee fence, on zat grass? No rocks.'

‘Okay,' Tully said, moving Dahlia forward.

‘Geev her a good look vonce, zen ve do flex for thirty seconds of each leg to check for tenderness.'

Tully nodded.

‘Now go.'

‘Right, sorry.' She clucked lightly and went to move Dahlia forward. The filly's eyes bulged at Kingston's assistant, lurking in front of her with his scary silver laptop. Dahlia reached her nose out to sniff it, but changed her mind to flight and lunged forward, spinning back for home. She dragged Tully for a few metres before Tully could get her attention, bring her back under control. Tully pushed her weight hard into a prancing Dahlia's shoulder as she led her back across the stable yard, down towards the internal road and the row of jacarandas.

She coerced the filly to the bottom of the row of paddocks, then crossed onto the grass and pointed her up towards the barn. Tully took it slow, letting Dahlia sniff the branches of the trees to assure her no bogey men were hiding there. After they'd made it back to the onlookers, Fia came forward slowly to flex Dahlia's first leg. Then it was time for the filly's first trot.

‘Good girl,' Tully said, aiming her back down the strip of earth between the trees and the paddock fences.

Dahlia surged forward. Tully's body lurched with the fear of being dragged back across the yard. Or worse, of Dahlia getting loose. Running down to the main road . . .

Thankfully, the filly fell back when Tully checked her. ‘Oh,
good
girl!' Tully cried, tightening her grip on the lead. She grinned into the hot breeze, running hard to keep up with Dahlia's pace as they trotted up towards the stable, her ponytail and Dahlia's tail bouncing in unison.

Dahlia whinnied out to Wheeler as they passed by his paddock.

‘Got a boyfriend, have ya?' Tully whispered, laughing as Dahlia nipped at her arm, then shunted Tully with her head. Tully was having so much fun as they reached the top that she wasn't keen to stop when Bucko raised a hand for them to whoa up and do another flex.

‘
Okay
, so—' Tully said, puffing to catch her breath after all four trots. ‘How'd she look?'

Fia smiled and gave her a thumbs up. Tully squealed, wrapping her arms around Dahlia's neck. She fished a slice of apple out of her pocket, showering Dahlia's face with kisses as she munched away.

‘Is early day, and she still have a lot of condition to put on,' Kingston said, straightening his glasses. ‘But she iz settled and calm now—not out of breath after zee trots, which is very good sign. I zink she have big lungs, and a big heart . . . She alzo have good recuperative powers, could be a bred stayer . . .' He frowned slightly. ‘Her left front iz a bit crooked, zo—zee how it flicked out to zee left?'

Tully's eyebrows knitted together – she glanced down at her filly's front legs.

‘No big problem,' Kingston smiled, ‘Just keep an eye on it. She is a runner, zat is for sure, and she really pranzes with zee back feet – really brings zem up. She is a proud girl . . . very intelligent, too.'

‘That she is,' Tully said, giving Dahlia a firm pat.

‘Hopefully she'll have the will to win,' Fia added, running a hand down the filly's neck.

Kingston offered a thin smile. ‘I zay she good to vide in a month or zo, once she up to weight.'

‘
Yes
,' Tully said, giving Dahlia a kiss on the nose. ‘Thank you all so much!'

The next night was Christmas dinner with everyone from Avalon. Grace seemed relieved to let Fia take over the meal prep, and rushed out to have dinner with her parents on the other side of town.

Tully set a spot for her mum at the head of the table, opposite her father. Then they tucked into stuffing, gravy and veggies. Tully placed a little angel on her mother's plate and thanked her mum for looking over her and the family when she said grace.

Her father joined them to carve the turkey, and sat silently, cocking an eyebrow when Fia began regaling them with tales of her ex-husband, life in Melbourne, her excitement for ‘a special party she'll be inviting them to for New Year's' and her horses in most states of Australia.

Tam and Judy stopped by a little while later with a homemade pavlova, fresh cream and berries for dessert. Tam hardly got through one piece before dragging Tully to her room to grill her about Brandon. ‘You could always text to wish him a Merry Christmas,' she said, snatching Tully's phone.

‘You're really
not
gonna to drop this, are ya?' Tully grabbed her phone, flipping her stifling doona over her head.

‘I'm really not,' Tam said, tickling Tully's feet until she emerged, sweaty, squealing and kicking.

‘
God!
' Tully cried, pushing Tam onto the floor. ‘Off ya go now, cow face. Your mum's waiting!'

It wasn't until everyone had said their goodbyes and Tully was in her room alone, listening to the cicadas and staring up at her pitch-black ceiling, that the business card with Brandon's number really started to call her.

She
wanted
to have a sweet sixteen, and she wanted to go with Brandon Weston.

I can invite Tam, too, of course,
Tully thought, flipping over onto her stomach and moving her face forward into the blow of her fan.
Maybe Brandon can drive us . . .

But the niggling guilt, the nagging reality that Brandon was a Weston: read,
not to be trusted
, just wouldn't leave her alone.

Does he know about his dad's offer for our farm????

Maybe I could help,
Tully realised, like a light bulb illuminating in the dark.
Maybe if I could explain it all, so he
understands where we're coming from, then he could tell his dad to back off and leave us alone . . .

Anything is worth a shot. If it works . . .

Tully rose from the bed, slipped the card out from under her computer. She held it in her hand, running a finger over the sharp edges, tapping it against her thigh. Then she grabbed her phone, typed in the number and a text:

Merry Christmas, Weston. Can we talk? Tully

She considered a smiley face, or xo, to finish off the message, but deleted both and stabbed at send. She wasn't expecting a speedy reply, but her phone beeped just as she was drifting off to sleep.

Been wondering when you were gonna be in touch, Athens. Should we meet at our secret spot?

Tully stifled a grin, her stomach dancing with nerves and excitement. She forced a frown.
This is just business,
she told herself, her bottom lip curling in between her teeth.
Re-con for our farm. And maybe a date for my party—or not. Probably just farm talk. And re-con to find out if he's a wanker or not . . .

But he probably
is
a wanker.

She shook her head at her own confused thoughts, bashing out a reply:

We don't have a secret spot, Brandon, and don't forget the lookout is inside OUR property line.

He replied quickly:
Lol settle down. Where then?

Tully:
Down by my dam, near the jetty . . . Tonight?

Brandon:
It's a date.

Tully's body went cold and shook with the shock of what she'd just done. She stared at her phone, disgusted by her impulsiveness.
What have I gotten myself into?!!
Her belly was invaded by butterflies, her hands so shaky she could hardly pull on a clean shirt.

She dug out her least grubby jeans, redid her ponytail and found an old lip-gloss her mum had left in her bottom drawer from dress-ups.
It's
not
a date,
she told herself, taking in her pale reflection in her cracked dresser mirror.
You
can't
like him, Tully. But Avalon needs all the help we can get.

15

Brandon Weston