out with his older brother over a girl, so he’s down here for six months or so until the storm subsides.’
‘He’s handy.’
Matt nodded. ‘He’s your drover.’
Sarah watched him approach from under the brim of her hat. ‘And Pancake?’
‘Victorian. Mountain Country bred: Probably the better rider of the two, just not as showy.’
‘Got the buggers,’ Jack said when they all met at the gateway.
‘Good dog that,’ Toby commented to Sarah. Bullet was standing on his hind legs, his paws on Sarah’s boot. Toby slid off his saddle and passed the dog up to her, his hand managing to rest briefly on Sarah’s thigh.
‘You’ll be his friend for life,’ Sarah commented as Bullet settled himself on the horse as if he were on a rug.
Toby looked at her and winked. ‘Hopefully.’
They headed back slowly in the direction they’d mustered, the dogs trotting down the dirt road in front of them. Matt caught her eye. ‘Gardening and office work isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.’
Sarah tore her eyes away from Pancake, Toby and Jack who were all laughing loudly. ‘You can say that again.’
Luke Gordon relaxed one arm behind his head where he lay on the bed. On the first night he had enjoyed the novelty of lying a few feet above the ground, but now in this narrow room, upon a lumpy mattress almost wrecked by his exertions, he longed for freedom. In the gathering light he could see his belongings: swag, boots, strewn clothes and saddlebags on the floor beneath the casement window. The remains of his money, a paltry sum he was sure, would still be beneath the leather inside his left boot. Hopefully the cook would manage some eggs and perhaps some thick bread with a good dollop of mutton dripping – aye, that would set him up for the day.
The water splashed loudly. Droplets from the dampened cloth ran in rivulets over her bare shoulders. The beads of moisture moved downwards, tracing the length of her spine until it gathered in the soft folds of the chemise pooled at her waist. Gradually the wetness began to darken the material, forming patches of variegated colour. It was an uncommon sight to watch the female form bathing in the still of morning. Especially this girl, for she was careless. Her skin shone moistly from her endeavours, her long brown hair dripped onto the wooden floorboards. The curtains, drawn wide to reveal a brightening sky, illuminated the few scattered objects in the room. Bed, washstand, table, chair and the girl. Barefooted, her long underskirt swung almost tiredly as she moved her hips from side to side, the washcloth sweeping perfunctorily beneath an armpit. Somehow, her morning routine had suddenly become too familiar.
Standing, Luke stretched into his nakedness, feeling the pull of his thigh muscles and the dull pain of his back. There was more to these aches than the many hours recently spent freeing his mind and body from months of isolation. Age gave him twinges and pains, headaches and stomach aches. It stung him when he thought of his 46 years. And now he carried another wound to add to his list of scars. Although his shoulder was usable he could no longer lift his arm above his head. Somehow he could not imagine making old bones.
The floorboards squeaked as he walked towards the girl. Lauren twisted away from his grasp, pulling up her chemise in an effort to cover her nakedness, giggling as he touched her breasts. Her fingers scrambled into the armholes of her clothing, plaiting swiftly at the ribbon lacing at her cleavage. Luke relented quickly, shifting sideways until half the room separated them. He could not understand this coyness, not after nights spent in a bed paid for by him. Suddenly she looked downcast as if she had been willing all along. Luke gave a brief grunt. He was not interested in histrionics.
‘Do you have the makings?’ She pinned her brown hair roughly into a bun at the nape of her neck.
Luke found a tin of tobacco and papers in his doeskin trousers and passed them into her calloused hands. She rolled the tobacco quickly, effortlessly and then encased it in a strip of thin paper plucked efficiently by thick, short fingers. Once finished she placed the makings on the washstand and backed away as if trading an object for peace. Luke, pulling on his trousers and slipping the braces over his shoulders, helped himself to the water in the porcelain bowl, adding the remains