A Changing Land(132)
‘Never,’ the boy answered.
‘He’s ridden half the night,’ Claire argued, patting the dappled mare her son rode.
‘He’s my father,’ Angus replied.
‘Where’s your horse, Willy?’ Luke asked. He didn’t trust Angus being much good to him. The boy looked done in.
Claire dismounted. ‘You can take mine.’
Luke placed his rifle in its holster on the saddle, took his waterbag and stuffed the remains of the half-eaten damper in his saddlebag. He looked about the camp; it was a sorry place seen through her eyes. ‘Sorry, Claire.’ It only took a moment in her presence to be reminded of his love for her. ‘I am sorry,’ he hesitated, ‘for everything.’
‘Go,’ she replied gently. ‘I will walk back to the homestead. It’s not more than three miles. It will do me good.’
Luke hesitated.
‘Luke, bring him back to me. Bring my husband home.’
Luke knew then he’d never have won her. ‘I will. I promise.’
He left Claire by his campfire, her figure growing smaller as he raced ahead with Willy and Angus. He left her knowing that one dream was ending and a new unexpected life was soon to begin. His half-brother looked beat. His trouser legs were torn in strips and dried blood showed through on his skin. It took some coercing to get the truth of the story from the boy as they cantered across the paddock, but by the time Angus finished explaining, Luke expected the worst. This was a theft of life-altering consequences. Even if his father was cunning enough to pull it off, would he survive? Luke had a feeling that men were dead already and his formidable father one of the casualties.
Picking up his longneck of beer, Anthony grabbed a glass and walked the length of the homestead to the verandah. He sat tiredly in one of the old squatter’s chairs, poured himself a beer and took a long refreshing sip. A swirl of pink masked the late afternoon sky. It was going to be another lengthy night with another ripping frost in the morning. Through the gauze, the garden was still as the chill of the late afternoon crept from air and ground to meet midpoint a couple of feet above the earth. Anthony shivered. The logical idea would be to go inside and watch some telly in the warmth. However, these day’s his brain resembled a 7-Eleven store – it wouldn’t shut down.
It had taken some time to swallow Matt’s unwanted advice, but unfortunately the man was right. The stories and events of the past spoke of manipulation and the type of tenacity that was single-minded and results orientated. Anthony witnessed firsthand Angus’s obsessive nature regarding Wangallon: The old patriarch’s refusal to hand the mantle of succession to his son Ronald, his dislike of Ronald’s city-bred wife. However, being personally informed that he’d been specifically selected as a future husband for his granddaughter almost ruined Anthony’s fledging relationship with Sarah. The insult of being relegated to stud bull status still rankled. Then Angus tried to bind the family together with his will. Anthony took another sip of his beer and stared at the foam. And now Sarah … well Matt was probably right. It wasn’t her fault. It was genetic.
Stretching his leg out over the arm of the squatter’s chair, Anthony sat his glass on the verandah and drank directly from the beer bottle. He gulped at the yeasty brew, trying to salve more than his thirst. He was lonely and it was a loneliness that spanned weeks. Nothing was the same or as it should be, at least not from his perspective. Every step taken by Sarah to date was akin to her holding a chisel between them. Having tried to meet her halfway by temporarily abandoning the development, he’d been accused of poor financial planning and been spoken to like an employee. Anthony understood Sarah’s need to fight Jim, useless though it was, and now her grieving was done it probably was fair that she become more involved in Wangallon’s management; however, pulling rank didn’t cut it with him.
Anthony didn’t want to work in an environment where his management decisions were continually being queried, and they didn’t need the likes of Matt Schipp acting as understudy to his role. The question was, could he live with everything the way it was? He loved Wangallon. The property was more than his home, yet he no longer believed living one’s life tied to a piece of dirt was all it was cracked up to be. Time changed everything. Sarah’s attitude had changed. They were not a team anymore and he doubted his ability to forgive her for recent events. He couldn’t help it. He still loved her, probably more than he could ever love anyone. Unfortunately he was beginning to see that it was possible love wasn’t enough.