Читать книгу Breakaway Creek - Heather Garside - Страница 8

Half an hour later Shelley was bumping up a dirt track in the passenger seat of a Toyota Land Cruiser while Luke drove. She'd changed out of her good clothes after Luke had shown her into a spare bedroom. It was a functional space with two single beds, an old-fashioned wardrobe and not much else. She hoped her old denim shorts, joggers and a short-sleeved polo shirt were suitable attire for a working girl.

The track took them past a dilapidated house of greyed weatherboards.

'There's the old house.' Luke took his hand from the steering wheel and waved it vaguely in that direction. 'It's a bit of a wreck now.'

The branches of a giant bottle tree hung over the house and creepers sprawled on the neglected, tumbledown fence. Broken windows gaped like unseeing eyes, caught in a memory of better times.

Shelley stared at it, imagining it as it had been a century earlier, perhaps with a horse and buggy standing outside and a group of children in pinafores and short trousers playing in the yard.

'I don't suppose there's anything inside? Any old papers, or such like?'

His brow furrowed.

'We'll have a look later. Mitch and I used to play there when we were kids. There used to be some stuff in the roof space. It's probably still there, if the mice and rats haven't got to it.'

'That sounds interesting. I can take myself if you're too busy.'

'Better not.' He glanced sideways at her. 'The place is pretty rickety. I don't want you falling through the floor.'

'Whatever you think.' Noticing one of her shoelaces had come undone, she propped her foot on the dash to re-tie it. Something made her look up and her face flamed as she followed his gaze. Her shorts had ridden up, exposing a lot of bare thigh. She dropped her leg hastily, smoothed down her shorts and brought her knees together to sit so primly her grandmother would have been proud. 'Hey, aren't you supposed to be watching the road?'

He corrected a slight wobble in the steering and grinned.

'Sorry. You make it hard sometimes.'

She made a derisive noise in her throat. 'I thought we were supposed to be related.'

'Oh yeah, thirty-second cousins or something.' His voice had a husky catch to it. 'That's if we're related at all. We haven't worked out who Alexander was yet.'

'I'm not so sure I should be staying, now.' It was a miracle her voice sounded cool when he had her thoughts so agitated. He shook his head.

'I was kidding. I'm not looking for anything, Shelley. Officially, I'm still married. Although she has been gone a while.'

A breathless, involuntary laugh escaped her throat.

'When I heard about the job here, I pictured a pair of desperate and dateless hillbillies. Then I met you and that notion didn't fit. Now you're making me think again.'

He shook his head, a wry smile twisting his mouth as he changed the Toyota's gears.

'Desperate and dateless, that's me.'

Heart thudding, she turned to stare out the window, realising it was sensible to end this conversation right now. The suggestive undertones were too disturbing for comfort, considering she'd met this man only a couple of hours before. A man who, as he'd just reminded her, was still legally married.

Before the silence became too uncomfortable, Luke drew the Toyota up to a set of stockyards.

'Here we are,' he announced. He got out of the vehicle and waited for Shelley to join him. 'These are the calves we've just weaned from their mothers.'

Shelley joined him at the stockyard rails, peering through them at the mob of sleek red animals that fled to the far side of the yard at their approach. Dust floated over them, thick with the acrid stink of cow manure. She looked down at her clothes and grimaced. She'd need a shower after this.

'They're still a bit touchy, but they'll settle down over the next few days.'

'How many are there?' It was a relief to have a safe, unromantic topic like cattle to discuss.

'We counted two hundred and twenty-six. The hay's in that shed over there.' He gestured at a corrugated-iron building a hundred metres away. 'I'll bring it over with the tractor. Can you let me through the gate when I get here? Make sure none of the weaners get out.'

He pointed to several round hay feeders.

'I'll drop the bales of hay into those.'

Surely that wouldn't be too hard, Shelley thought. Except when she opened the gate, which obviously swung inwards, she would have to walk into the yard with the cattle. They weren't very big, but still...

Luke must have noticed her apprehensive glance. His face softened.

'You can get in there. They won't hurt you - they're more scared of you than you are of them.'

She waited beside the gate while he walked over to the shed. The tractor started with a roar and soon came trundling towards her, a huge round bale of hay speared high on the front forks. The noise made the calves retreat to the far side of the yard. This was easy, she thought. Shelley unlatched the chain and swung the gate wide as he drove through, then held it closed as he eased the machine close to the nearest feeder and tilted the forks downwards, dropping the bale of hay neatly into it. When he drove out of the yard, Shelley chained the gate behind him and waited for him to return with the next bale.

When all the feeders were full, he left the tractor and walked back to join her.

'We have to cut the twine off now.' He grabbed a large knife that had been wedged against the gatepost. 'Do you want to help?'

It would have been easy to say no. Already the cattle were crowding around the hay, snatching mouthfuls from the top of each bale above the webbing that encased it. But she didn't want to seem like a complete wuss.

She nervously followed him into the yard, ready to take refuge on the rail if necessary. The cattle moved away at their approach and she began to help him pull the webbing off as he cut it free. Then one bold animal ventured to the opposite side of the feeder, snatching a mouthful of hay. Its companions began to follow and she shouted at them, waving her arms in the air. Startled, they ran to the furthest side of the yard.

'Hey!'

She swung around at Luke's yell, to find him glaring at her.

'Don't frighten the cattle. We're trying to get 'em quiet!'

Chastened, she continued pulling off the netting, watching the cattle all the while. But it seemed the damage had been done. They didn't come close again.

After they'd finished, she sat on the top rail and watched as he spent ten minutes walking amongst the weaners, talking to them in a soothing voice. They soon stopped rushing away from him and began to snatch hungry mouthfuls from the feeders, watching Luke warily but accepting his presence. When he swung to the rail beside her he gave her a rueful look.

'I guess that's my fault. I didn't tell you."

Her face heated.

'I'm sorry - I know nothing about cattle.'

'At least you're willing to have a go. That's something.' He vaulted to the ground. 'Come on, I'm finished here.'

****

Back at the homestead, Shelley left Luke in the shed, patching a punctured motorbike tyre, while she returned to the house. She was hot and sweaty and her clothes and skin ponged of the cattle yards. She fetched her suitcase from the car, unpacked a few things and laid them out on the second bed in her room, then headed for the bathroom to shower off the fine layer of dirt.

Once fresh and clean, she checked the computer, which had finished its scan, and did a disc clean up. Then she ventured to the kitchen, looked dubiously at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and decided it wouldn't kill her to do a bit of washing up. She was just wiping down the table when Luke came in with a young man she assumed was his brother.

He looked pleasantly surprised.

'Thanks for doing that, Shelley. This is my brother Mitch.'

The newcomer was an inch or two shorter and more compactly built than Luke. He stepped forward with an open, easy-going smile and took her hand in his large, calloused one. He looked significantly at the sink.

'Going on the improvement in here, you're welcome to stay as long as you like.'

She smiled.

'Don't get excited. That was an aberration.'

'Can you cook?' Mitch jabbed a thumb in his brother's direction. 'You've gotta be better than him.'

'You should talk.' Luke hung his hat on a hook just inside the door and grinned at Shelley. 'He's the worst cook in Australia. Come on, mate, set the table while I get the food out.'

Luke cut slices of corned beef while Shelley made a salad with lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers. She voiced her surprise at the well-stocked fridge and Mitch grinned.

'I'm used to fending for myself and Miranda was never at home, so Luke did plenty of batching. It's just the cleaning that gets on top of us.'

Shelley glanced at Luke. His mouth had a grim line to it, dissuading her from any comment. It didn't sound as if Miranda had ever been the settled country wife.

'What'd you find out this morning?' Mitch asked as they sat to their places at the table. 'Any luck with that ancestor of yours, Shelley?'

'Luke found him in a photo.' Shelley passed him the salad bowl. 'But he's a bit of a mystery. His birth and marriage aren't recorded in the bible, like the rest of your family. We're wondering if he was adopted, or something.'

'We're going to look through the old house tomorrow,' Luke said. 'Check out that stuff in the ceiling.'

'Good idea. I hope you find something. You've come a long way for nothing, otherwise.'

She smiled at Mitch.

'Even if I don't, it's a new experience. Feeding weaners, cleaning up after two men...' Her lips twitched with gentle mockery. 'What more could any girl wish for?'

She didn't miss Luke's grin as he helped himself to the salad.

****

After lunch Luke headed off to do more repairs in the shed.

'Just make yourself at home,' he said. 'Unless you fancy holding a spanner.'

Shelley looked at his grease-stained jeans and shuddered.

'I've just had a shower. I think I'll stay away from the shed.'

She grabbed her laptop from the bedroom and settled into a wicker chair in a cool spot on the veranda. She experienced a moment of panic about the remoteness of her location when she plugged in her USB modem and the connection registered only one bar. To her relief she managed to spend a few hours checking her emails, catching up with news on Facebook and searching fruitlessly on ancestry sites.

She had no real idea how she was going to occupy herself while she was on leave. Perhaps she'd been a bit hasty. What had happened in Brisbane - the shock and humiliation of finding Jason in bed with another woman - had just made her want to escape. And she'd got away fast. In moments of crisis it was still her Mum and Dad she turned to, back home in Rockhampton. Shelley knew she wasn't ready to go back to Brisbane yet, but eight weeks was a long time.

Christmas was coming up too, and once that was over she'd need to go home. She had other friends in Brisbane after all. Her life hadn't revolved around Jason even though they'd been together for more than five years. Looking back, it was obvious now that they'd drifted apart, but that didn't excuse him from cheating on her. She was still stunned by the turn of events. One moment she thought she had her life mapped out, the next ... BAM! She was in limbo.

Jason had kept their flat so she'd need to find somewhere new to live. There was, however, no point in making hasty decisions. She had plenty of time to decide.

Mitch was the first to come in, just before dark.

'Want to help me feed the dogs?'

She jumped up eagerly.

She'd seen the four Border Collie-crosses jump in Mitch's tray-back after lunch, milling excitedly as he drove off to work. Now it was time to shut them back in their pens.

'They wander if we leave them off at night,' he explained. 'Collies tend to be a bit hyperactive, always looking for mischief. They should be kept busy, but we can't do cattle work all the time.'

Shelley stopped to pat the most appealing of the dogs, a little black female with a white muzzle, chest and legs, who sat gazing up at her with dark, trusting eyes. None of them had the long coats she associated with Border Collies, but Mitch explained they'd been bred that way for Australian conditions.

'The long-haired types get their coats full of burrs and they suffer in the heat.'

'So these dogs are bred for the bush? Not like city girls.'

Mitch gave her a quick look.

'Plenty of city girls settle in the bush, but Luke's wife was the exception. Miranda isn't the type to settle anywhere.'

Shelley straightened, surprised at his bitter tone.

'Doesn't sound like you think much of her.' He shook his head.

'She's putting Luke through hell, not letting him have his boys.' His usually affable voice grated like a rusty gate hinge. 'He's only seen them a few times since they left, and it looks like he's got to go to court to get access.'

No wonder Luke looked a bit grim whenever his wife's name was mentioned. Shelley's heart softened.

'That's terrible. I know marriages have their problems, but I've never been able to understand why people don't put the children first. Surely those little boys have a right to know their father.'

'Yeah, they sure do.' Mitch tipped dog biscuits into one of the collie's dishes. 'Luke is a good dad, too. He looked after those boys as much as she did. It was bloody frustrating at times when we had work to do and she took off and left him babysitting.'

Shelley shifted uneasily. Obviously Luke had more things to worry about than some visitor looking up her ancestors. In the circumstances, it was a wonder he could be bothered with her at all. Or perhaps he needed a distraction, just as she did.

When she returned to the house, Luke was in the kitchen, stirring a big pot of minced meat over the stove. The savoury smells of frying beef, garlic and onions reminded her how long it had been since lunch.

'Do you want a hand?'

He turned to smile at her. As long as his absent family wasn't mentioned he seemed relaxed enough. No doubt he was entitled to be prickly in the circumstances.

'You could peel some spuds. I'll throw the rest of the veggies in here, but we like our mashed potato.' He added water to the pot, along with some chopped carrots and cabbage.

'No problem.' Shelley grinned at him. 'Can I help with the weaners again tomorrow? I promise I won't chase them this time.'

'I suppose I'll risk it. I'll show you the old house afterwards.'

****

Lying in the narrow bed later that night reminded Shelley of her room in her parents' place in Rocky. But it was even quieter here, without the occasional hum of traffic and, even at 10 pm, it hadn't cooled down. She got up to turn on the ceiling fan and then leant out the window, looking up at the magnificent night sky. Childhood memories of camping out with her grandfather came rushing back.

The stars! She'd forgotten how extraordinary they could be without city lights competing for attention. Shelley drank in the cloudy haze of the Milky Way and a myriad other twinkling pinpoints, including constellations she'd once been able to identify but could no longer remember, though she easily found the Southern Cross.

She inhaled deeply, enjoying the freshness of the night air. This was something to savour, a memory to take back to the city. Perhaps coming out here was a good thing after all.

****

The next day the weaned calves seemed calmer, approaching the hay feeders even as Shelley cut the netting from the bales. This time she summoned the courage to walk amongst them with Luke. She caught him glancing at her in approval and then wondered why on earth his opinion mattered to her. Once he'd had a chance to speak to his mother, she'd have no excuse to stay any longer. She'd probably never see him again.

The old house looked even more dilapidated at close quarters. The front gate groaned as Luke pushed it open, and he ducked to avoid a hanging branch of spiny bougainvillea. Leaves and seedpods from the bottle tree littered the sagging veranda and rotting steps, the debris of years of neglect.

Luke picked his way with care, carrying the stepladder he'd put in the back of the Toyota that morning. He glanced back at Shelley, indicating a broken step.

'Watch where you put your feet. Don't stand on that one.'

He led the way across the veranda, testing each board before allowing it to take his weight. The door resisted his efforts to open it and he set the ladder down before putting his shoulder to it, forcing a protesting screech from it as he pushed it across the warped floor. Shelley grabbed the ladder and followed him, wrinkling her nose at the musty interior. A rusty sink against the wall and a row of cupboards with peeling paint indicated the room had once been the kitchen. A heavy layer of dust covered everything.

Luke took the ladder from her and led the way into the hall, where he positioned it under the manhole. He looked at her and smiled. He'd shaved the night before and the strong lines of his face looked tantalisingly good.

'Now, for the moment of truth.'

A flutter of anticipation winged through Shelley's stomach.

'Let's hope there's something up there.'

She held the ladder as Luke climbed up and pushed aside the cover. When she found herself admiring his denim-clad backside and long legs, Shelley turned abruptly to look out a dusty window.

Why did he have to be married, she wondered, why did he have to live in the sticks? Why was she even interested? Hadn't she decided she was over men?

The stepladder wasn't high enough to allow Luke to reach into the ceiling space, but he could grasp the edges of the ceiling. He hoisted himself the rest of the way into the crawlspace and disappeared.

'Try not to fall through the ceiling,' Shelley suggested helpfully.

'I will do my best. Just wait there, Shelley. If I find anything I'll hand it down to you.' A brief silence was broken only by the bumping noises of him moving about in the roof space. 'Heck, I should have brought a torch. There's one behind the seat of the Toyota. Can you get it for me, please? Just watch where you walk.'

Shelley returned in a flash with the torch and climbed up to hand it to him.

'There's an old port or something up here,' Luke said, dragging something back towards the trapdoor. 'And a bit of old furniture, but we'll start with the port. If I pass it down, can you grab it? Be careful, it's bloody heavy.'

Shelley had to stand on the third rung to reach it as he cautiously lowered the case down through the hole. He was right - it was heavy. She set it on the top step of the ladder as she descended, and then with her feet safely on the floor she reached up to lift it down, almost overbalancing as she took the full weight of it in her arms.

It was a very old suitcase with rusted catches and cracked leather straps, thickly coated with dust. Shelley sneezed several times as Luke climbed down to join her. He laid the case on its side and crouched to unbuckle the straps, struggling for a moment with the rusted catches.

Shelley held her breath, like a child at Christmas about to rip open her presents. Steady, she told herself. It's probably just old clothes or something else totally irrelevant.

At last the catches gave way and Luke lifted the lid and let out a low whistle.

'Bingo,' he said, lifting out a bundle of envelopes, tied together with string. 'This could be interesting.'

He shone the torch on them before flashing it over the rest of the contents.

'Here're some newspaper clippings, too.'

Shelley sank to her heels beside him and reached for the clippings, carefully flicking through them as Luke directed his torch on the brittle, yellowed paper. His breath was warm against her ear and the smell of the cattle yards clung faintly to his clothes. It seemed fitting that one of the clippings pictured a man on horseback, holding a silver cup in his hands.

"Jack Baxter on Firefly, winner of the Open Campdraft", the caption read. The paper was the Peak Downs Telegram, dated 1933.

'Was this one of your ancestors?'

'Yeah, that was my great-grandfather.' Luke's voice was matter-of-fact. 'He was a top horseman.'

There were others in a similar vein, celebrating family achievements. But right at the bottom of the pile was something that made Shelley draw a deep breath.

MAN GRAVELY WOUNDED IN SHOOTING ran the headline of another issue of the Peak Downs Telegram.

A man suffering from a severe gunshot wound to the chest was brought to the Peak Downs Hospital two days ago. He has been identified as Mr Alexander Baxter, of Breakaway Creek Station.

His frantic companion, a Miss Emma Watson, from Brisbane, claimed to be his fiancée. Police have interviewed her regarding the circumstances of the shooting but there is no suspect at the present time. Medical Officer Kent, reported that Mr Baxter was in a serious condition but refused to comment on the patient's chances of recovery.

The couple were married last night from Mr Baxter's hospital bed.

Shelley silently passed it to Luke, who expressed perfectly what she'd been thinking: 'Holy shit! The mystery deepens. I wonder who shot him, or if it was an accident?'

'And they got married from his hospital bed. That seems desperate. I wonder if he survived?'

'He must have, if they had a child. Unless...'

Their eyes met and Shelley finished the thought for him.

'Was she already pregnant when this happened? If so, no wonder they had a hasty wedding.'

'I wonder if there's anything more.' Luke thumbed through the clippings without success and then began to search the remaining contents of the suitcase. 'I can't see anything. We should take this home and look through it all with better light and a cool drink.'

Luke stood up and took Shelley's hand to pull her to her feet. His fingers were hard and strong, reminding her of the physical work he did for a living. She looked up at his face and their eyes met briefly before she lowered hers, alarmed by the thrill of awareness that coursed through her.

Way to go, Shelley! she thought. This man had more baggage than a supermodel on an overseas tour.

She was quiet all the way back to the homestead, trying to keep a bit of distance between them. But once they had the contents of the suitcase spread over the kitchen table and had begun sorting things into piles, she forgot her reservations. It was sad, but this was the most fun she'd had in a while.

They placed the bundles of letters together. The rest of it, apart from the newspaper clippings, appeared to be mostly old bills, some dating back to the 1900s. They were possibly of historical interest, but not helpful to her.

Luke looked at the postmarks on the letters.

'Some of these are hard to read. But this lot look like 18-something, is it 1885?' He untied the string and opened the first envelope.

'This one was written from Halborough Station via Longreach, August 4, 1885. It's addressed to Sarah. Is that the lady listed in the bible?' He scanned the letter quickly. 'Seems like Sarah's sister wrote this. It's full of family stuff, but no mention of Alex. At least this is the right era. If we read all these, we might learn something.'

He passed the bundle to Shelley.

'I'd better get back to work. I'll leave these with you.'

'You don't mind me reading them? It's your family.'

He shook his head.

'If you uncover any skeletons, they're probably to do with Alex. Besides, what's a bastard or two these days? And I mean that in the proper sense of the word.'

Shelley chuckled.

'I know. I must be old-fashioned, though. I still believe in marriage.'

'Yeah, so did I.' Luke pushed back his chair and got to his feet, grimacing. A scathing note crept into his voice. 'More fool me.'

Shelley watched his retreating figure in silence, surprised at the empathy his words evoked in her. But was she being too quick to judge his faithless wife? After all, she'd only heard one side of the story.