A Changing Land(52)

‘Good trip?’ Sarah asked politely. She thought back to their first meeting in the ruins near Tongue. Their roles were completely reversed. Now it was his turn to be in a foreign land.

‘Aye.’

Deciding against any physical show of welcome she got behind the steering wheel. ‘Throw your bag in the back and we’ll be off.’

Jim slid into the passenger seat. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

Sarah recalled his brief letter. ‘I considered my options, Jim, after you pointed out this wasn’t going to be a pleasant reunion. But Wangallon is a working property. I can’t pull people off jobs even if I wanted to.’

There it was, the clipped tone of someone who was firmly in charge. Jim recalled Robert Macken’s parting words: ‘Remember the old man that willed you the money is dead. Them that are left may not have been taught how to share.’

‘How’s the season?’ Jim had heard the line used between two wide-brim-hatted men at the airport in Sydney.

Sarah turned towards him briefly, her eyes narrowing. ‘Good enough’. She slowed as they turned down the main street of Wangallon Town, idling the vehicle to a stop outside the Wangallon Town Hotel. ‘Thought you might prefer to stay here?’ She let the question hang, positive he would agree that sleeping under the same roof was a bad idea.

Jim looked at the peeling paintwork and reminded himself of the purpose of his journey. He was here to meet his father, have a look at the property and then get his money. Although part of him would be happy to escape into the pub, it wouldn’t help his cause being stuck here without transport. ‘No, thanks. Wangallon will be fine.’

‘You sure?’ Sarah persevered. Silence answered her. The pub and its wrought iron upstairs balcony disappeared in the rear-view mirror. ‘You might be interested to know that this town was built just before my great-grandfather selected Wangallon. My family has been here a long time, Jim. We have a proud history.’

‘You forget, Sarah, it’s my family too.’

She hadn’t forgotten, but she considered the link tenuous at best. He had his own family in Scotland and they were good people. ‘I’m surprised your parents agreed to you coming out here.’

‘Do you begrudge me the right to my inheritance?’

She wanted to say yes, that he had no right to take something that he did not create himself, that he had never been part of; that he wasn’t born to. The length of time it took her to answer betrayed her true feelings. The air grew tense between them. Sarah wound down the window and breathed in the freshening wind. In a month it would be spring. Turning up the radio, she took the back route into the property. It cut through West Wangallon and added an extra five gates to the normal four. She figured the exercise wouldn’t hurt him.

‘I grew up there.’ She pointed out the West Wangallon homestead. ‘After mum and dad retired to the coast the place was locked up for a while. Matt Schipp, our stock manager, lives there now.’

‘But Ronald’s back here, isn’t he?’

‘Nope.’ If Jim had been hoping for a showdown with her father it wasn’t going to happen. He looked disappointed and for the briefest of moments she felt sorry for this boy who had travelled halfway around the world thinking he would meet his birth father.

‘But you told him I was coming.’

‘Nope.’

‘Why not?’

‘You didn’t mention your undying need to meet him.’

‘That’s a bit unfair.’

‘So sue me.’ Bad choice of words, Sarah decided.

‘I want him told.’

‘You don’t get to make demands, Jim. My mother’s ill and Dad has enough stress at the moment.’

By the time they reached the main homestead it was nearing lunchtime. They passed Matt and young Jack walking eight Hereford bulls into the yards. Sarah didn’t slow as she normally would to chat to them. She skimmed her eyes over the lumbering beasts, waving as she continued on to Wangallon Homestead. Wordlessly she parked the Landcruiser and walked up the back path, kicking her riding boots off at the back step. Bullet was there instantly, slithering out from beneath the rainwater tank to give Sarah’s hand a quick lick and bestow upon Jim a low growl.

‘Nice dog.’ Jim reached out to pat him, as he removed his shoes.

‘I wouldn’t,’ Sarah advised. ‘He’s very loyal.’ Bullet wagged his tail at her voice, his head cocked to one side, and then silently began to chew on Jim’s rubber-soled footwear.