Red Dust E-Book

Fleur McDonald

• Herausgeber: Allen & Unwin
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 400

Beschreibung

Red Dust opens with Gemma Sinclair grieving the death of her husband, Adam, in a horrific plane crash and learning she's inherited the ten thousand hectare station his family has worked for generations. Despite huge scepticism from surrounding landowners, Gemma decides not to sell Billbinya, disregarding Adam's dying words that he's in trouble and she must sell the station. As if the job of keeping the station going isn't enough, a wave of innuendo sweeps through the local community about Adam's involvement in cattle and sheep duffing. There are even whispers the plane crash was no accident. A visit from the police confirms the rumours, with Gemma discovering that not only was Adam involved, but has indirectly implicated her by using Billbinya as a holding station for the stolen stock. Intent on clearing her name, Gemma determines to get to the bottom of what was going on. In the process, she's shocked to discover the masterminds behind the duffing are two former school friends, and that a trusted stock agent and good friend are somehow involved. When Gemma is finally cleared of any wrongdoing, she decides to put the past behind her and return to the family farm - a new love by her side.

Leseprobe

Fleur McDonald lives on a large farm east of Esperance in Western Australia, where she and her husband Anthony produce prime lambs and cattle, run an Angus cattle and White Suffolk stud and produce a small amount of crops. They have two children, Rochelle and Hayden. Fleur snatches time for her writing in between helping on the farm. Red Dust is her first novel. www.fleurmcdonald.com

FLEURMCDONALD

This is a work of fiction. Geographical locations are not necessarily described exactly as they are in real life.

This edition published in 2010 First published in 2009

Copyright © Fleur McDonald 2009

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Arena Books, an imprint of Allen & Unwin 83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065 Australia Phone: [phone] Fax: [phone] Email: [email protected] Web: www.allenandunwin.com/uk

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australiawww.librariesaustralia.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74237 005 7

eISBN 978 1 92557 629 0

Set in Granjon by Midland Typesetters, Australia1

To Anthony, Rochelle and Hayden, you are my world. To Carolyn and Jeff with heartfelt thanks and to Louise Thurtell for the opportunity.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Postscript

Acknowledgements

Preview: Indigo Storm - Chapter 1

Preview: Indigo Storm - Chapter 2

Prologue

Tears rolled down her cheeks as Gemma stood looking into the grave, a lonely figure in the hot January sun. All the other mourners had since left for the coolness of the church hall, seeking welcome cups of tea or cold drinks.

With her arms wrapped around herself she couldn’t decide what hurt most: the fact that he was gone, or what he’d said before he died.

In her mind’s eye, twenty-nine-year-old Gemma saw herself driving over the hill in the ute. There was dust everywhere; more than was usual for shifting a mob that size. The red dust was swirling, the wind was blowing so hard she could only hear the roar in her ears, not the bellows of the cows nor the noise coming from the plane. All she saw was the plane coming into land as usual . . . but then something was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to land there – there wasn’t room – and he was coming in too fast. Whatthe hell? had flashed through her mind as the plane carrying her husband hit the ground.

Beside the grave Gemma shook herself. Don’tdwell, she told herself. You’ve got to be strong. She turned towards the hall.

If she’d turned only moments earlier she would have seen a man she didn’t know leaning against the doorframe of the church hall, staring at her with such intensity it would have startled her.

Heads turned as Gemma walked through the door and a hush came over the room. Everyone started to talk again, trying to fill the silence. Someone rushed forward with a cup of tea and someone else whispered how sorry they were. It was all a blur.

‘Gem?’ A voice at her shoulder made her spin around. Seeing her best friend brought tears to her eyes again.

‘Jess,’ was all she could manage.

Jess put her arms around Gemma. ‘Come on, let’s blow this joint. You don’t need to stand here like some sort of freak show.’

Gemma allowed herself to be led away, as family, friends and neighbours watched in silence.

Chapter 1

Gemma woke in a sweat. Another nightmare. The plane coming down, her rushing over to it, to Adam. His face bloody and his body twisted. Her screaming in frustration at not being able to open the door. Then Adam had opened his eyes.

‘Not going to make it, Gem,’ he’d gasped. ‘Be careful, I’m in trouble and they might come after you when I’m gone. I’m sorry. Sell the station.’They were his last words.

Although it was only 2 am Gemma threw off the covers and got up. Padding out to the kitchen she made herself a Milo, knowing from experience there was no hope of sleeping again tonight. Picking up her jumper and ugg boots, she headed towards the office, which she’d searched high and low for a clue as to what sort of trouble Adam might have been in. She’d found nothing. Tonight, however, she put that to the back of her mind and fired up the computer. It was time to start working on the accounts and trying to decide what she was going to do with the one hundred and ninety-five square kilometres she’d been left by her husband.

Her inheritance had made her one of the most asset-rich young women in the district. No one had thought she would be able to manage the property on her own, but she had. So far. She employed two stockmen to do a lot of the grunt work – and she wasn’t afraid of getting her own hands dirty when push came to shove – but it was Gemma who made the decisions and ensured things ran smoothly.

Despite what Adam had said, she had never had any intention of selling Billbinya after his death. Her land was good productive land. It was just on the northern side of Goyders Line but close enough to get a bit more rain than those areas further to the north of South Australia. The phone calls from the real estate agents had come thick and fast with offers, good offers, but the answer was always no. She would keep on farming. It was all she knew and all she wanted to know.

Her decision had caused surprise and resentment among the other landowners.

While Adam had been by her side, Gemma’s hands-on involvement with farming had been accepted. Now, she was a single woman in a man’s world and this caused a wariness amongst the women of the district who had always been involved in the CWA, trading tables or tennis, rather than agriculture.

The men looked at her with a mixture of respect and contempt. She knew that the men thought she couldn’t manage the land on her own. As she was leaving the Hawkins & Jones Stock Agents & Farm Merchandise store one day she heard one of them say, ‘She must have balls to take that on but you watch – she’ll get sick of playing farming when the money runs out. It’ll end up on the market before long.’

If asked, Gemma would admit that running a large station was hard, but no one had bothered to ask. It would have been completely impossible without her dependable stockmen, Bulla and Garry. They had worked overtime in the six months since Adam’s death. They hadn’t complained, but she was going to need more manpower so they could have some time off. Besides, there were places on Billbinya she hadn’t been to in weeks and goodness only knew what was going on with the sheep and cows in those areas. The station could use another bloke, she decided, and went about wording a situation vacant ad to run in magazines.

Once the email had been sent she turned to the batch of bills and letters that had arrived in the last mail. Opening them, she felt her heart start to sink. Billbinya was running mainly wethers, with a few ewes to breed replacement stock and some cows thrown in, and wool prices hadn’t been good for a long time. Gemma was beginning to think that there would have to be changes to the enterprises she ran on the station. Obviously wool wasn’t going to make her the money she needed on its own. But she needed to work out what would, and how she could do it.

By the time she’d updated May’s debits and credits, reconciled the last month, and calculated the GST, the sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon. She stretched and got up.

Walking to the doors that led from the office onto the verandah of the rambling homestead, she threw them open and breathed in the icy morning air. She’d stood at this same spot most mornings in the eight years she’d been living on Billbinya.

Billbinya was, for the most part, gently undulating country. Running through the middle of the station was a creekline with big old gum trees and moss-covered rocks.

The homestead was snuggled into the bottom of a granite hill surrounded by large gardens full of rambling ivy, geraniums and lawn. Pepper and almond trees were dotted all around the edge of the garden fence. Once there had been a vegetable garden with an orchard that had produced most of the food, but Gemma had let the garden go now that she was so busy on the station.

The house itself was a stone construction with a tin roof, built by Adam’s great-grandfather. The windows were small but the house was of generous proportions, with five bedrooms, a dining room, formal lounge and an expansive sunroom that looked out over the native bush that led to the summit of the mount.

The side of the house where the office was situated opened out to the wide plains of the farming land.

Gemma could see the dog kennels under the trees and this early in the morning, all except her faithful work companion were still snoozing. Scoota sat outside his hollowed log which passed for a shelter, with his ears cocked, listening to the movements of his mistress inside the house.

To the right stood an old shed full of machinery needed for cropping and feeding stock. Behind that, the shearing shed and sheep yards stood silently in the morning light. The cattle yards were on the other side of the station, near where Bulla and Garry lived.

As she watched, the golden rays of the sun picked up the edges of the gum leaves and made them glow. She loved this time of the morning, but it was one of the worst times for missing Adam. They had always risen early and had their first cup of coffee watching the sun come up and talking quietly. They would work out who was doing what for the day, make decisions and just enjoy being together.

With a burst of determination, Gemma pushed away her feelings of loss. Replacing her uggies with her Rossi work boots, she jumped over the railing of the verandah and raced to the ute which was parked under the lean-to, off the house.

Let’s get an early start to the day, she thought. She revved the ute, fishtailed down the drive and laughed out loud. Shaking her honey-coloured hair, feeling the wind in her face, she felt the day was going to be a good one.

In another house, in another part of South Australia, a man looked at his files and tapped his fingers against his mouth, thinking. He had no idea what Gemma knew – or if in fact she knew anything. Had Adam managed to convey a message to her after the plane crash? The man had heard that Adam had been conscious briefly, but what had happened in those final minutes? He had to find out . . .

Chapter 2

Gemma decided that there was nothing better than checking around your own land, seeing green grass, fat stock and their progeny running, bucking, and chasing each other. There had been many years in the north when there hadn’t been any green grass to see. Drought had turned the grass to dry and dusty soil, so to look at the wonderful spread of green now was good for the spirit. The fact that she was listening to Sara Storer sing about drovers and people who worked the land also helped Gemma feel inspired to keep doing the things she was doing. Tapping her fingers in time to the music, she sang loudly, ignoring the fact she was tone deaf.

By twelve thirty, not having found anything amiss, Gemma turned the ute towards home. Walking into the homestead she put the kettle on and went straight to the office. The message light was blinking on.

‘Hi Gem, Jess here. What’s going on? No word from you for yonks. Hope you’re okay. Give us a call when you’ve got time. Seeya!’ Gemma smiled at Jess’s happy but concerned voice – she must ring her.

‘Ah, hello. It’s Mike Martin from Australian Transport Safety Bureau calling. I just wanted to let you know that the report on the fatal accident involving the aircraft Foxtrot Juliet Papa is being released today. The findings will show that a catastrophic engine failure caused the aircraft to make an emergency landing, impacting with a large tree and resulting in the fatality. If you have any questions, please give me a call. I will be in the office for the rest of the day.’

‘The fatality?’ Gemma mouthed as she wrote down the number which followed. She steadied herself against the office desk as a picture of the plane entered her mind. She could see the wings wobbling madly, the wheels buckling beneath the body, the metal crumpling like a tin can as the plane hit the ground.

‘Gem, it’s me again.’ Gemma looked blankly at the answering machine. ‘I reckon I’ll come and visit this weekend. I’ll be there Friday night about seven thirty. I’ll ring as I’m leaving town. Catchya, mate!’

‘Brilliant!’ said Gemma out loud as her friend’s voice banished the vivid images of a few moments ago.

‘You on the channel, Gemma?’ The two-way crackled to life with the voice of Bulla, one of her stockmen. Turning to where the radio sat on shelves that held the past three generations of records, she picked up the handset.

‘Yeah?’ she answered.

‘Yeah, Gem, I’m getting these sheep in and I think there might be about another four hundred-odd more than we thought, so we’ll need more gear for lamb marking.’

‘Oh,’ said Gemma in surprise. Adam had always kept such up-to-date records of stock numbers, yet it was the third time since Adam had died that they had found mobs with increased numbers. ‘That’s weird. Well, no worries, I’ll get it organised. Everything else going okay?’

‘Yeah, we’ll be at the yards in about half an hour.’ Gemma signed off and went to the kitchen to fix herself some lunch. While she was eating she started making a list of things she’d need in town. She knew she would have to return Mike Martin’s call at some stage, but she couldn’t deal with it now. Instead, she’d focus on the lamb marking – and looking forward to Jess’s visit.

Gemma was excited. Jess had rung – she was on her way – and Gemma couldn’t wait to have some female company. Although she had loved Adam to distraction, there was no denying that marriage had affected her female friendships as she’d devoted herself to working and spending time with her husband. Not that she was complaining – that was the way she wanted it – but she’d missed partying till the small hours with her brilliant, energetic friend. She and Jess had a history! Growing up as farmers’ daughters, they had travelled on the same school bus, until Jess’s parents sold up and moved to Port Pirie. The girls had been ecstatic when they realised that they would be attending the same boarding school, along with other friends from the local school. They had been inseparable ever since.

Of course, Jess’s partying had calmed down slightly since she shifted back to town, so she could practise her profession – banking. Gemma shook her head every time she thought about the profession Jess had chosen. Gemma had thought her wild, outgoing friend would do something that would turn the world upside down – instead, Jess had become a boring old loans manager. It was almost as bad as being an accountant!

Chuckling, Gemma put on some music, mixed herself a rum and Coke, and sang along while she made the gravy for the roast lamb she’d bred, butchered and cooked herself. The breeding and butchering were her forte, she noted ruefully, not the cooking.

Hearing the dogs bark, Gemma raced outside and saw Jess’s red Holden ute pull up. It looked every part of the souped-up ute that a young bloke would drive, complete with huge spotlights and aerials, autographs from famous country singers on the tail gate, and the bar runner she’d pinched from Oodnadatta pub when they had been up for the races running across the dash. It was always sparkling clean and hardly ever saw dirt roads these days. Flying towards her friend, with her arms outstretched, Gemma pulled her into a huge bear hug.

‘Jess, you made it!’

‘Gem, wonderful to see you, gorgeous.’ Jess returned the hug with vigour. ‘Man, I forgot it was such a long way out here. I didn’t even think to get some roadies as I came through town, I’m so used to not drinking and driving. But the cops wouldn’t even know this road existed!’

‘You poor bugger, it must be hard to drive a whole hundred and fifty k without a drink!’

‘Well, you know a girl can get kinda thirsty.’

‘Obviously,’ Gemma said dryly.

‘So how are you?’ asked Jess as they headed back to the house, their arms slung around each other.

‘I’ve had my moments. But mostly I’m okay.’

‘I knew you would be. Any word from the out-laws?’

‘Hey, let’s just have fun tonight,’ said Gemma.‘We’ll talk that stuff tomorrow.’

Walking inside with her friend’s arm warm around her shoulders, Gemma felt a peace she hadn’t known since Adam died. It was nice to feel almost whole again, to know that whatever happened, she’d be all right.

The smell of burning met them at the door. ‘Oh bugger! That’s what’s left of the gravy,’ said Gemma, running to the stove. Jess – a fabulous cook – laughed so hard she almost had tears running down her cheeks.

‘You haven’t improved on the cooking front then! So what is for tea? I’m starving,’ asked Jess, opening the fridge and pulling out the Coke to mix with her scotch. Popping the top, she leaned against the kitchen counter. ‘Is it eggs on toast? Grilled cheese sandwiches?’

‘Get away! I’m not that bad a cook! I just don’t do a lot of it now that there’s only myself to cook for. Anyway, we’re having roast lamb – without the gravy!’

‘Roast lamb? Yum, I haven’t had that for ages!’ She nudged Gemma out of the way. ‘Allow the master!’ She started trying to salvage what she could of the gravy. ‘I think we might have to make some more. Where’s the flour?’

‘In the pantry.’ Gemma looked at Jess. Her red hair hung below her shoulders and her freckles and green eyes stood out against her pale skin. ‘You’ve been indoors too much,’ she observed.

‘Ah yes,’ sighed Jess dramatically. ‘Well I do have to spend some time in the office and that tends to play havoc with the complexion. However –’ she held up her finger to make a point, ‘that’s why they invented makeup!’

‘You’re awfully cheery,’ said Gemma. ‘Is there anything wrong?’

‘Like you said, we’ll talk that stuff tomorrow,’ replied Jess with her head deep in the pantry. ‘I cannot find any flour in here of any sort. I can’t believe you have a pantry without – oh, here’s some. Gemma Sinclair, it’s about a year out of date! You’ll poison yourself one day. Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers.’

‘Flour is not exactly big on my agenda at the moment,’ Gemma said defensively.

‘C’mon, let’s eat and I’ll fill you in on all the gossip from town. You would not believe who I saw yesterday at the hairdresser.’

‘Tell me,’ said Gemma.

‘Gabby Clarke. Do you remember her from school? Blonde, with legs up to her ears and really skinny. I couldn’t believe it was her – she’s got three kids hanging off her.’

‘You’re joking!’ interjected Gemma. ‘I didn’t even know she’d got married.’

‘Yeah, she married some guy from the city about five years ago.’ She threw her hand up against her forehead for dramatic effect. ‘Oh, and guess who I had a wine with last week at the pub?’

‘I couldn’t guess. Do you actually do any work?’

‘Of course, but only if it doesn’t interfere with my social calendar,’ Jess stated solemnly, and then burst out laughing. ‘But you’ll never guess who I heard was back in town,’ she continued.

‘Who?’

‘Paige Nicholls.’ There was silence as both girls remembered the accident that had killed one of their friends, another committing suicide, and the part that she had played in that.

‘Well, that’s interesting. I wonder what she’s doing back here.’ Jess shrugged. ‘No idea. And I don’t really care.’

They laughed and talked into the night, soaking up one another’s company. At midnight Gemma stretched and said, ‘Well, this is the latest I’ve been up in ages. I need to go to bed. I’ve got to check the heifers in the morning – I’ve given Bulla and Garry the weekend off.’

‘Yeah, I should go to bed too. Where am I sleeping?’

‘Where you did last time. Second on the right. Do you remember where the bathroom is?’

‘Yep, dishes?’ asked Jess, yawning.

‘In the morning, I think. Do you want to come with me tomorrow?’

‘What time?’

‘About five thirty.’

‘No way! Sorry, Gem, you’re on your own.’

‘Night, Jess,’ said Gemma with a smile. ‘It’s good to have you here.’

Jess moved forward to hug her friend. ‘I’m glad I came. It’s taken me too long. Night.’

It felt good to have someone else in the house, Gemma thought as she settled into bed. For the first time in months she slipped easily into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 3

By 5 am Gemma was up making coffee and looking out at the cold, clear day. Pale sunlight was just visible on the horizon. As welcome as the sun was, when she switched on the radio for the weather report, Gemma found herself hoping that the week would hold some rain. They had had good rains this year, but she would never knock back more.

By five thirty it was nearly light enough to see, so she wrote a note telling Jess not to expect her back before eight, though she knew it was likely she’d be back before Jess got up anyway.

Untying her dog Scoota, who ran madly around her legs in a morning greeting, she jumped in the ute and made her way towards the heifer paddock, her thoughts drifting to Jess. Something wasn’t right with her, but Gemma knew her friend wouldn’t talk to her about it until she was ready. They had had angry words more than once when Gemma had offered help before Jess was ready for it.

After opening and shutting several gates and driving over a couple of cattle grids, Gemma finally arrived at the heifers. She methodically counted the hundred cattle in the paddock; there weren’t any problems this morning. She would come back this afternoon and check again.

Jess had woken when she heard Gemma leave. Tossing and turning, she finally decided that coffee was a better option than lying in bed alone with her thoughts, so she rose and dressed. Coffee in hand, she walked over to the fire and stoked it up, then went and stood in front of the wedding photo hanging on the wall in the big sunken lounge room. Looking pensively at Adam, she asked aloud, ‘Were you the weak, untrustworthy bugger I think you were?’

She stood there for a long while, sipping coffee and looking at the photo, recalling her conversations with Adam, searching for any clue that might substantiate the rumours she’d heard in town, but nothing came to her. Sighing, she put down her cup and wandered outside. Instinctively, she headed towards the shearing shed, passing the kennels on the way. Gemma loved dogs, and whether they were good or useless, she always had at least five of them. Jess untied the house dog Scoota; he’d give her some companionship on her walk. A Lab look-alike with about a dozen different breeds in him, Scoota had belonged to an old grader driver who was going to have him put down because he couldn’t take him on the road anymore. These days many people on farms objected to contract workers bringing dogs with them.

Jess hadn’t spent a lot of time on Billbinya. Between her social life and work, there hadn’t been the opportunity. She had quickly risen through the bank to loans manager, and though Jess told no one, she loved her numbers and her job with a passion. She specialised in agribusiness accounts that put her in contact with farmers, her past, which she also treasured. Because of her farming knowledge, she often received phone calls asking for her guidance on the industry and its opportunities, but even though she subscribed to many of the leading agribusiness and farming magazines, the answer wasn’t always immediately clear. Jess would research the issue and return with good, professional advice.

With Scoota bouncing at her feet, she resumed her path to the shearing shed. She’d always loved the old lanolin smell of shearing sheds, the way everything was oily to the touch. Wood of the railings smooth from years of sheep rubbing against it. She breathed deeply, finding peace in the silence, then went outside to survey the scene she could see from the shed.

Walking on towards the creek, she bent down to pat Scoota and picked up a stick for him to chase. ‘Do I tell her?’ she asked the dog.

* * *

As Gemma approached the house she could smell the bacon and eggs already sizzling. Entering the kitchen, she arched an eyebrow and said, ‘Well I didn’t think I’d see you this early.’

‘Oh, I’m still able to get up early most days – I just choose not to. Do you want a coffee?’

‘Is the Pope Catholic?’

‘So what’s the go for today? Do you have anything you have to do?’ Jess asked as she moved about the kitchen getting coffee and turning the bacon.

‘Nope, I’m all yours. Is there anything special you want to do?’

‘Well, I was thinking that it would be fun to go camping. We could camp down by the creek where we used to go when you were first seeing Adam. Take the swags, have a fire – you know, all that sort of stuff we used to do before we got old and sensible.’

Gemma nodded slowly, the idea growing on her. ‘Yeah, camping in winter. A fire, crisp air and some port to keep us warm. That sounds great. We can leave this afternoon after I’ve checked the heifers.’

‘You’ve got a new ute,’ Jess commented after they piled their swags and provisions into the tray late that afternoon and set off.

‘Yeah.’ Gemma rubbed the dash of the new white Toyota LandCruiser affectionately as they bumped across the paddocks. ‘I got it after Adam died. All the other vehicles on the station are old and pretty clapped out. I thought that if I was going to be out on the station, doing long distances by myself then I needed something reliable.’

‘Good idea. Be horrible to get stuck out in the middle of nowhere and have to be rescued,’ Jess agreed as they pulled up at their old camping site. It was exactly as Jess remembered – a sheltered spot on the side of the creek where native pine trees grew. There was a granite outcrop covered in old moss and the creek gravel was soft.

Setting the fire, Gemma laughed. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this. How old are we? We’re supposed to be mature and responsible. This feels like we’re teenagers again camping on Mum and Dad’s place just so we could play our music up loud and smoke without getting caught!’

‘Hey, want a rum and Coke? Let’s party like we used to. We don’t get many nights like this anymore.’

‘That sounds like a plan.’As Jess got the drinks from the esky and Gemma set up the camp site she threw some more branches on the fire then rummaged through a box in the tray of the ute for a barbecue plate, chops and flour.

‘Are you making damper? Fantastic! Well, I think fantastic – how old is that flour again?’

Gemma laughed and threw some of the flour at her. ‘Here, make yourself useful. Grab some of those spuds and the foil and chuck them in the fire. I thought we could go the whole hog.’

‘Ah, I’ve needed a night like this for a long time,’ said Jess, leaning back against her swag and staring deep into the heart of the flames. ‘So tell me, Gem, how are you really? You haven’t said much at all about you or the farm or what’s happening.’

Gemma took her drink and sat on her swag looking at Jess.

‘I’m going okay. I thought it would be harder – well, no, that came out wrong; it’s been bloody hard and I miss him so much, and would give anything to have him back again . . . but I’m doing all this stuff I never imagined I could do. And I can do it.’

‘Well of course you bloody can,’ said Jess indignantly.

‘Yeah, but there are so many things I’ve wanted to ask and I can’t and that always makes me feel frustrated. And going to bed without him . . . no one to cuddle or talk to . . .’ Gemma’s voice was getting softer and softer. She looked down at the ground and fiddled with the can in her hand. ‘It gets a bit lonely, especially when I don’t see anyone except for Garry and Bulla for days on end. I must admit that when the stock agents come, I quite enjoy it. There’s a bit of news from around the district and someone different to talk to. Someone to throw ideas around with about stock and markets, that sort of stuff.’

Getting up she went back over to the card table to finish the damper.

‘But I think that has helped me out emotionally, you know, being so busy on the farm and not having a lot of time to think during the day. Making sure that Billbinya runs smoothly and that there’s enough money in the bank to pay all the bills isn’t easy. I mean, I know I used to do some of the office work, but Adam did most of it and he was the one who knew when the big payments were due, like tractor payments or the payments to his mum and dad. To tell the truth, I’m not even sure how he managed to make some of the large payments. Sometimes there isn’t enough money in the bank to pay the wages with, let alone make a loan repayment. I don’t know how I’m going to come up with the money for the next repayment to his mum and dad, but I’ll work something out. I’ve got a while yet, and shearing is coming up.’

There was a silence broken only by the crackling of the fire, and Jess noticed the card table wobbling as Gemma kneaded the damper harder than necessary – the only sign that Gemma was upset. She couldn’t help but think that her friend wasn’t really dealing with the emotions of losing her husband at all. Gemma had always been good at sweeping her feelings under the carpet.

Without looking up from what she was doing, Gemma said, ‘I feel like I’m achieving something, but then I’ll overhear some bloke in town talking about me “playing farming” and that really hurts. I know that people are gossiping, but it’s awful to actually hear it.’ Looking up she smiled sadly.‘I’m not playing, Jess; I really want to make this work.’

‘Oh, Gem, I never thought for a minute that you were playing. I’ve always known that you can do this. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to do – even when we were stuck in that stupid, pompous boarding school you only ever wanted to get back out to the farm. It has to be wide open spaces for our Gemma!’

‘I miss Adam every day, but life goes on and I plan to have the best life I can for the rest of it,’ Gemma said quietly.

She turned her attention to the damper again, muttering something under her breath that Jess couldn’t quite hear.

‘What was that?’ asked Jess.

‘I said I wish I could ask Adam about the discrepancy in the stock numbers,’ Gemma repeated.

‘What stock numbers?’ asked Jess with a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

‘Most of our ewe numbers are up for lamb marking, which means the lamb count is up too. It’s strange because he was always so good at keeping accurate figures. Bulla reckons that Adam always knew how many were in a mob, and some of these mobs have been up by five hundred. That isn’t an insignificant amount. I’ve got the stock agent coming next week and we are going to get all the mobs of both cattle and sheep in and do a proper count. I need to be sure before 30 June so I’ve got the numbers right for the taxes.’

Jess was quiet. This was her opening. ‘You know, Gem . . .’

But Gemma was still talking. ‘I remember him being on the computer, using the stock management program saying he had shifted stock from one paddock to another,when I knew they hadn’t been shifted at all, but I just figured he planned to shift them the next day or something like that.’ She shrugged and gave Jess a big smile.‘Come on, the damper’s ready to go in the fire and I need another drink.’

Jess opened her mouth to speak then closed it again. The moment had passed.

After dinner Jess undid her swag and pulled it up to the fire, then took off her boots and climbed in. Gemma put another big log onto the fire and did the same.

‘Are you still having trouble with Ian and Joan?’ asked Jess.

‘Ah, the dreaded out-laws . . . No, not really. They were so upset about losing Adam that they really couldn’t see past that and I was the obvious one to take it out on. They couldn’t understand why he left the station to me rather than passing it back to them, but I think we’ve sorted that out. As long as they get the money they’re owed, we get on pretty well. I go and see them when I’m in town and they ring occasionally to see what’s going on, but we don’t have that much to do with each other really. Ian thinks that a woman has no business running a station, but I just let him think that Dad is helping me make decisions.’

‘And how is the money situation? Is it as bad as you just said?’ asked Jess tentatively.

‘Oh, I don’t suppose. Farming is tight. Cash flow is the main problem, but I’ll get it sorted in time. Anyhow, what’s bothering you? I know there’s something wrong. Is it a bloke?’

Jess’s stomach constricted. ‘Me?’ she said brightly. ‘Nothing’s wrong with me. Working hard at the bank, and not enough time to do all the things I want to do, but other than that everything is fine.’

‘Uh huh,’ said Gemma, clearly not convinced but deciding not to pursue it. ‘What about that bloke you’ve been seeing . . . what was his name? Brad, Chad, Gonad?’

‘Brad!’ cried Jess huffily, leaning over to thump Gemma through the swag. ‘He’s wonderful,’ she said dreamily.

‘Aren’t they all?’ Gemma teased.

‘This one is different,’ Jess said.

‘You always say that.’

‘Well he is. Tall, dark hair . . .’

‘Tall, dark and handsome,’ interrupted Gemma.‘What are you going to do if they break the mould, Jess?’

‘He’s great,’ continued Jess, ignoring Gemma. ‘He’s an agronomist and he only moved to Pirie a year and a half or so ago. He’s just started his own business after being with one of the main stock firms, but he reckons he can do better out by himself.’

‘So, why is he different? What’s the best bit about him?’

‘Well,’ Jess said coyly, ‘I can’t really tell you that – but I’m sure you can use your imagination!’

‘I should have known better than to ask!’ said Gemma with a laugh.

‘Nah, really, he’s just different. He listens to me, talks to me, and we enjoy just hanging out together. Life can be pretty lonely. I’ve got lots of friends but they don’t know me like you do – and I think Brad is beginning to know me better than anyone. But he’s a real man’s man, if you know what I mean. Plus he likes to have a good time.’

‘Well, Jess, I hope he’s the one then. I can’t see you tied down though!’

‘Yeah, I know! I can’t see it either – but I haven’t got cold feet yet, and he’s spending a lot of time with me.’

They lay back without speaking, looking at the stars and watching sparks from the fire crackle up into the air.

Jess left Billbinya on Sunday afternoon to head back to Port Pirie, work and Brad. Leaning on the airhorn and watching Gemma wave in her rear-vision mirror, she berated herself for not coming clean about her suspicions. But Gemma’s plate was full enough without adding something from left field.

Chapter 4

The next few weeks were busy ones for Gemma. No time for trips to town or anything but work. Her ad had garnered some responses, and she had interviewed a couple of blokes, but neither of them had really stood out. She had to get someone, so against her better judgement she’d hired Jack Marshall, a man in his mid-thirties who had spent most of his life on stations in the north of Australia. A tall man with a thick bushy beard and a cracked front tooth that showed when he smiled. He had arrived in a white Holden ute with a bad-taste picture of a naked blonde woman on the rear window. He seemed quite surly but his references from previous employers had been impeccable. So far he’d worked hard and there hadn’t been any trouble, which was just as well – while Bulla and Garry lived away from the main house, on another part of the station, Jack had moved into the shearers’ quarters near the shearing shed, within a few hundred metres of the house.

The shearers’ quarters had seemed the obvious place for him to move into since there weren’t any spare rooms at Bulla and Garry’s house. The shearers’ quarters had eight rooms that were used only during shearing time. Gemma was also short of a work ute for him so she had asked Garry to fix up an old Yamaha bike that had been forgotten in the depths of the shed.

On the last day in June, Gemma received a phone call from Ned Jones, a partner in Hawkins and Jones Stock Agents and Farm Merchandise. Whenever he was in the area he’d called to let them know and they had got a few mobs in to count. It had taken some weeks and a lot of Ned’s time, but he was happy to help out. A middle-aged man with a big beer belly, big hat and a red face from being outside all day, he was quick with a joke and a laugh. Gemma thought him the epitome of the old-style stock agent.

When Ned pulled up at the cattle yards, he had someone with him in the car. Gemma went over to greet them.

‘Hi, Ned, how are you going today?’

‘Hi, Gemma, how are ya? I’m good.’ Heaving himself out of the car, he motioned with a calloused hand to the passenger side. ‘Gemma, this young bloke is Ben Daylee. He’s come on board with us as a new stocky. Ben Daylee, Gemma Sinclair.’

Gemma looked over as the ‘young bloke’ got out of the car. Expecting to see a nineteen- or twenty-year-old, she was surprised to see he was about her age. Looking at him she drew in a breath, and then blushed, hoping no one had noticed. He was gorgeous.

She held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. Do you know what you’re letting yourself in for, hanging around with this one?’ She gestured to Ned.

Ben smiled. Perfect teeth. Was there anything not perfect? wondered Gemma.

‘Sure, but does Ned know what he’s in for? I could probably teach him a thing or two!’

‘I bet you could,’ said Gemma. ‘Now about these cattle . . .’ She turned and headed toward the yards, Ned and Ben close behind.

‘These are beautiful beasts,’ said Ben appreciatively as they gazed at the mob.

‘Thank you. Adam and I bought these from my dad, who breeds Angus cattle. Have you had a lot to do with cattle?’

‘I’m from a cattle background. My parents have about four thousand acres right down south. They breed Angus as well, actually.’

‘Oh, what bloodlines are they on?’ Gemma asked, more to test his knowledge than out of genuine interest. So many new blokes thought they understood the stock industry when really they were very green.

‘Well, there are three different families essentially. We mainly do artificial insemination and embryo transfer work with sires from the US.’ Ben talked knowledgeably about genetics and Gemma listened intently; he really did know his cattle.

‘I do a bit of AI for Dad,’ she told him.‘I did a course a few years ago so that we could do it ourselves, but we – I – don’t use it here since I don’t breed my own bulls. I like to buy them in from registered studs. Dad usually, but others as well to keep the bloodlines fairly separate.’

‘Right,’ Ned broke in, ‘these cattle need counting.’

They ran all the cattle through the gates, with both Ben and Ned counting. Bulla and Jack kept the cattle coming through, while Garry brought more mobs in from different paddocks. After they had finished, Ned, Ben and Gemma went back to the homestead for a coffee, while Garry, Bulla and Jack returned the cattle to their paddocks.

Ned busily added up numbers from counts done in the weeks before and laid them all out on the table for Gemma to go through when she sat down.

‘Now, Gemma, these figures don’t square up with what Adam had recorded. Most of the sheep numbers are up; some mobs by five hundred, but most only a hundred and fifty or so. The cattle numbers are pretty much on track. Except the steers. There are five hundred and seventy-three steers when usually you would sell around one thousand in a year. You’ve got the three hundred contracted to the feedlotters and then you usually put up about seven hundred in the January sales. You’re down by four hundred-odd steers.’

Gemma let the teaspoon she was holding fall to the table with a clatter. ‘Down four hundred? What contract? Adam didn’t tell me about a contract!’

‘The contract he’s signed for the last three years. You know, with the feedlotters on the other side of town.’

‘Oh,’ said Gemma in confusion, racking her brains. Contract? Last three years? ‘I must have forgotten,’ she stammered. ‘Um, look, I’m not sure, Ned – how many did you say were contracted?’

‘Three hundred.’

Gemma shook her head, puzzled.

‘Did you definitely get all the mobs in?’ asked Ned. ‘I’m pretty sure we did. I’ve been to every paddock on Billbinya in the last two weeks, and unless the guys made a mistake bringing in the cattle I don’t see how we could have missed them.’ She thought for a minute. ‘Maybe he had something in mind with Dad.’ Even as she said it she felt herself relax. That must be it. ‘I’ll give him a call and see what he says. When was the contract for?’

‘End of October.’

‘Right, no worries.’ Gemma was suddenly professional again. ‘I’ll talk to Dad tonight and give you a call.’

‘Okay. Well . . .’ Ned pushed back his chair.‘We have to head off – we’re due over at the Carters in about a half-hour. Got to finish introducing Ben around to all his new clients.’

They rose from the kitchen table. Ben collected the cups and carried them over to the sink.

Walking them to the car, Gemma asked: ‘So, Ben, are you my new stock agent?’

‘I’m not sure; that’s up to Ned. But I certainly hope so.’

Ned laughed and clapped Ben on the shoulder.‘He thinks he can take on the world. Doesn’t realise that if he takes on all my clients he’ll be as burnt out as I am! That’s the reason me and Bert hired him – so we could finally manage to have some time off! Oh yeah, that reminds me, Gemma – I’m taking some holidays in about three weeks. Taking the missus up to the Alice for a fortnight. Ben will be filling in for me while I’m gone.’

‘That sounds wonderful, Ned! I can’t remember you ever taking a holiday and I’ve known you just about my whole life.’ Gemma was genuinely pleased.

‘Yeah, well Rose’s wanted to go up there for a while and now that young Ben’s here we think that it’s the perfect opportunity.’

Opening the car door,he leaned over and squeezed Gemma’s shoulder.‘Look after yourself, girl.’

‘You too.’

Ben handed Gemma his card. ‘You can reach me any time,’ he said, and shook her hand. ‘Seeya later.’

As soon as they left, Gemma hopped in the Toyota to have a drive around Billbinya. News of the contract had come as a nasty surprise, but by hell she was going to get to the bottom of it. And find these three hundred cattle she would need if she were to fulfil the agreement.

Ned and Ben turned out of the driveway and onto the single-lane bitumen road.

‘Phew,’ said Ben, leaning back in his seat. ‘She’s amazing.’

Ned glanced across at him. ‘Now don’t you go getting any ideas, boy,’ he said sternly. ‘She’s been through enough in the last year or so. You leave her well alone.’

‘Mate, I haven’t got any ideas, but she’s still amazing.’ He shook his head. ‘She had no idea about that contract,’ he said after a pause.

Ned rubbed his face tiredly.‘I know.’ ‘What do we do about that?’ asked Ben. ‘Is it something we should warn the feedlotters about?’

‘Well, let’s just see what she comes back with tonight. Sinny was a shifty bugger at times and might not have told her. He might’ve forgotten or just thought she didn’t need to know.’

‘Sinny? Is that what they used to call Adam?’

‘Yep.’

‘Is it really possible that he’d spoken to her father about the contract?’