A Changing Land(91)
It was true he’d had thoughts of easing his way out of the whole shooting match, as his dad used to like calling avoidable disasters, but well, that day on the verandah pretty much sealed him up as neatly as a brown paper parcel and string. The old fella, Angus, had him by the balls to the extent, Matt mused, that he couldn’t even scratch one. All he could do was keep his mouth shut and see what happened next and wait for the payout at the end of the day. He drove slowly back to West Wangallon and was contemplating whether he had time to put a frozen pie in the oven for lunch when he saw he had company.
Tania Weil was sitting on the bonnet of her white sedan. Matt reckoned a good four years must lay between now and the last time he saw her. It was the day he resigned from the spread up north.
‘Last time I saw you, my paperback westerns were scattered across the lawn.’
Tania smiled and slipped off the car bonnet. A spray-on pair of white jeans, black T-shirt and white cap emphasised the weight she’d lost. Even her hair was different. It was still the same dull brown, although the curls and length were gone. Short and straight suited her angular features.
Matt walked towards her, avoiding a kiss by holding out his hand. ‘How did you find me?’
Tania laughed and, ignoring his hand, managed to kiss his weathered cheek. She rubbed at the smudge of beige lipstick with a glossy white thumbnail. ‘Once a month you’re in the rural papers, Matt. Buying or selling stock, hanging with your pretty boss or socialising after a sale.’ Tania glanced around at the breadth of lightly timbered country, then back at West Wangallon Homestead. ‘You certainly managed to fall on your feet.’
‘Didn’t know I hadn’t been standing upright.’
Tania looked pointedly at his hand. ‘You know what I mean. How is it?’
Matt held both hands up as if examining a sale item that he didn’t want. ‘Buggered.’
‘You miss me?’
Matt looked her up and down. He had to admit Tania was looking pretty damn good. ‘Nope.’
‘Sure you did. Invite me in, Matt. You can make me some lunch and tell me if it’s true that the Gordons are going to lose some of their land thanks to a father that couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.’
Despite a bad sense of deja vu, Matt led the way down the cement path.
Claire walked her horse carefully across the paddock, her gloved hands loose on the reins. The morning sun was bright and hot, offering only a few precious minutes before she would need to retire indoors. She needed to escape the dreadful vision in the hallway and the whiff of illness that still encircled her. Yet barely twenty minutes in the saddle and she was exhausted. Her mind kept returning to Hamish’s words, to the black girl entering his room in the dead of night. Once again she wondered if he’d ever truly loved her. She shifted in the side saddle. She was of a mind this morning to pull on a pair of Hamish’s trousers and ride like a man, like she used to, thirty years ago. Instead, convention saw her don a riding suit complete with veiled hat, cropped jacket and black-heeled boots. Ridiculous, she now thought, as her legs and back began to ache, her stomach swelled in anger against her tight corset and the perspiration on her skin formed a sticky barrier next to her clothes. A final muscle twinge in her lower back ended Claire’s thoughts of continuing on and, unhooking her leg from the side saddle, she slipped off the horse to stand in the tufted grass.
‘Claire.’
In the midst of lifting her veil, Claire looked to where Luke was riding towards her. Despite her discomfort and her annoyance at his recent absence, a flutter of pleasure greeted his arrival. His wide-brimmed hat sat laconically on the rear of his head, his hair looked damp and lay plastered to his forehead. Claire lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the homestead, its whitewashed walls shining brightly behind him.
‘Morning ride?’ It was a rare sight to see a woman on horseback around these parts, particularly one garbed as if she were about to join an English hunt. Luke swallowed his amusement. ‘Dressed for the occasion I see,’ he drawled, looking down from his horse, although she cut a fine figure with her snug-fitting jacket and jaunty hat.
Claire finished poking the black netting into the grosgrain ribbon banding the hat. ‘Where have you been?’ They’d not spoken since Christmas Eve, apart from the unsettling glance that had passed between them the day prior to Hamish’s departure. Claire was unsure as how to proceed.
Luke dismounted and fell into step with her. ‘I went trapping.’