to the homestead to follow one of the many sheep trails that crisscrossed Wangallon. Sarah often wondered what these trampled single-file dirt paths would look like from the heavens; leading to and from watering points and feed.
‘Nice action,’ Anthony commented as Sarah trotted through a gate in front of him.
She could tell by the directness of his expression that he wasn’t talking about her riding ability. She pouted cheekily. ‘Interested in seeing it up close and personal?’
Leaning from the saddle, he chained the gate closed. ‘Before or after dinner?’
‘Hmm. Depends on your appetite,’ Sarah replied, breaking Tess into a canter.
They rode back to the homestead, reaching the stables as the horizon blurred between day and night. The coolness of autumn seeped upwards from the ground as they unsaddled Tess and Random. Anthony did the honours with the curry comb, giving each horse a quick brush down as Sarah put a ration of feed in their stalls. Having planned on a leg of mutton for dinner, roasted with some potatoes, carrots, pumpkin and lashings of gravy, time-wise it was looking more like spaghetti bolognese, with that special sauce only she could concoct: straight out of a jar.
‘Done.’ Sarah bolted the half-gate on Tess. Contented munching sounds echoed through the still air. ‘Shelley’s flying up this Friday. You didn’t forget?’
Anthony extricated his shirt sleeve from Random’s teeth and gave a final shove to the stall gate, bolting it closed. ‘Geez, you’re getting an attitude,’ he commented. Random turned away from Anthony in disgust.
‘You did forget, didn’t you?’ Anthony seemed to have relegated her city life into the wastepaper bin. Whether it was due to her time in Sydney being associated with her ex-fiancé or purely because he disliked the city and couldn’t relate to it, she’d never been sure.
‘Is she coming with or without the suit?’ A glimmer of mischief crossed Anthony’s face.
The suit in question was a fast-talking advertising executive, Robert, with an ex-wife, a brand new apartment and a walloping expense account that suited Shelley, aka recently crowned Lady-Lunch-a-Lot, just fine. ‘Without.’
Even in the half-light she could tell he wasn’t disappointed.
‘Well even without him that buggers up my recreational activities for the weekend. Guess I better make up for them now.’
Sarah found herself thrown uncomfortably over Anthony’s shoulder. ‘You Neanderthal.’
He laughed, smacking her hard on her backside. ‘That would be me.’
Sarah flung open the double doors of her bedroom and breathed in dawn’s chill. The air caught at her throat and lungs, pinching at her cheeks. Young Jack Dillard, their jackeroo of twelve months, had taken particular care in fertilising the lawn during spring and summer, the result obvious in the prolonged green tinge carpeting the expanse of garden around the homestead. Within a week, however, the lawn like the rest of Wangallon’s garden would begin to shut down for winter. Sarah grinned happily as she scraped her hair from her face, twisting it nonchal antly before securing it with an elasticised band. Every season on Wangallon was filled with wonder. The crisp breath of frosty mornings, birds ruffling feathers to warm themselves and bush creatures foraging amid sleeping trees were just as welcome to her as the new shoots of spring.
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Sarah waited until a glimmer of the new day appeared in the east. Rays of red-tinged light infused trees, grass and geranium-filled pots until finally the ancient bougainvillea hedge with its straggly trails of flat green leaves and desert bright flowers of pink and red were saturated with light. Pink in the morning, Sarah thought, shepherd take warning. Her grandfather would have predicted a shower of rain within three days at the sight of this morning’s sky. Let’s hope so, she murmured, for this morning they would begin to discuss their winter feeding plans. Selecting a rusty brown sweater from the cedar wardrobe, she slipped it on.
‘Morning,’ Anthony said groggily.
Sarah’s eyebrow lifted in amused accusation. Shelley and Anthony had gone for the pass the port routine after dinner last night. Sarah, never having liked any type of fortified wine, stuck with her preferred poison, a soft merlot, and consequently was feeling pretty healthy. ‘Choice of beverage not agree with you, honey?’ Sarah covered the few short steps to the side of the bed and planted a kiss on Anthony’s sun-brown cheek. He struggled up from beneath the warmth of the bedclothes, his arms folding quickly across his bare chest.
‘What’s with the blast of cold air?’ He frowned, glancing at the alarm clock.