Cowboy Town (4 page)

I opt for outside.  Even though it’s technically winter, the Northern Territory winters are nothing like a Sydney winter.  It’s mid-morning and a balmy twenty eight degrees Celsius according to the weather app on my phone.  This time of year in Sydney, you’d expect it to reach a top of fifteen.  I’ve never been much of a fan of winter, so for me, this is heaven.

While I’m waiting I decide to give Jules a call.  She answers on the second ring.

“Hey, babes,” she greets.

“Hi, how’re things?”  I smile.  Jules is the kind of friend that only comes by once in a lifetime – if you’re lucky.  She’s loyal, honest, caring and funny - the perfect friend combination.

“Same shit, different day here.  You know, the usual.  What’s happening with you?  Where are you?”  She fires off her questions fast.

“Well, I’m in Pine Creek, Northern Territory.  I love it here, Jules.  I just got here yesterday, and I don’t know what it is, but I feel like a local.  I’ve made friends with Doreen, she owns the pub where I’m staying, and Skip, one of the regulars.  He helped me lug my suitcases into my room and then we shared beers for hours.  It’s like a whole different world here, Jules.  Everyone is so friendly and warm and accommodating,” I gush then add hopefully, “I can’t wait for you to come and visit.”

“Wow,” she says quietly.  “I haven’t seen you this passionate about something since you made it your mission to convince the school principal that teachers should wear school uniforms.”  I can hear the grin in her tone.

“That was important, Jules.  How many times did they go on and on about the importance of wearing a school uniform?  They told us repeatedly that wearing the uniform signifies that the student is part of a ‘team’.  Did they not want to be a part of that team?  Is that why teachers refuse to wear uniforms?”  I explain heatedly.

“I know, I know.  I was on your side, remember?  I was the one beside you in Principal Fuller’s office when he suspended us for organizing a protest remember?”

“That was fun,” I giggle, remembering the look on the teacher’s face as all the students got up out of their chairs one by one and left the room midway through his lesson.

“Happy days,” she laughs.  “Well, sounds like I’m going to have to come and check this place out, Edie.”

“Sooner rather than later?” I ask with anticipation.

“I’m flat chat with work at the moment, but I think I’ve got a free week in about a month and a half – that’s the soonest I’ll be able to visit.  I’ll book the flight and let you know what time and date I’ll arrive. Can you pick me up in Darwin?” 

“Yay.  Of course I can.  So, is anyone missing me yet?”  I ask referring to our group of girlfriends.  We usually catch up for coffee once a week and I’m a little disappointed that I haven’t heard from any of them since I left.  They hadn’t even asked Jules where I was.

“I have lunch with the girls today and I’m going to find out what the fuck is going on.  I missed the last couple of catch ups so I’ve only been to one and that was a couple of days after you left.  I’ll fill you in, anyways.  Heard from the slime ball?” 

“Nope.  Not a thing.  I’m okay with it though.  I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last month or so and deep down I don’t think I really loved him – he was just a stable figure in my life for me to latch onto after mum and dad passed.  It doesn’t hurt so bad now, but even when it hurt heaps in the beginning, I think it was just that I was humiliated and I felt disrespected.  Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, babes, it does.  And you’re right – I don’t think Matt was ‘the one’ for you, I think he was just convenient.”

“Oh, I’ve got to go, brunch just arrived.”  I say as I spot the waitress heading my way juggling my coffee and sandwich.

“Have fun, love you,” Jules tells me.

“You too, ‘bye,” I disconnect just as the waitress sets my order on the table.

“Phew, it’s warming up out here today,” she states.

“I’m loving it.  If I were in Sydney today I’d be rugged up with a scarf, gloves and jacket.   This is gorgeous weather!  I’m Edie, by the way.”

“I’m Ava.  So you’re from Sydney? You staying a while or just passing through?”  Ava inquires.

“Think I might be staying a while,” I smile huge.

“Awesome.  We’ll have to catch up, have beers at the pub,”

“Sounds good.”  I’ve made another friend!  Ava reminds me so much of Jules personality wise.  Looks wise she’s stunningly beautiful; she looks to be the same height as me (five foot six), with blonde hair that’s been cut into a sharp bob just below her ears.  Her eyes are a pretty grey/blue, she’s well-proportioned and looks toned, like she spent her childhood playing sports, whereas I spent mine larking about with Jules.

“Better get back to work.  Nice to meet you, Edie.”

“You too, Ava,” I call out as she walks back in.

As I eat my toastie and drink my coffee, (both by the way, are delicious) I people watch.  People watching in Sydney is one of my favorite activities.  Have you ever just sat somewhere and watched the people who go by?  You wonder where they’re going, what they’re going there for, what’s on their mind.  When I was a child I used to lie on my trampoline in the backyard and watch the planes going over me.  I’d wonder who was on the plane and where they were travelling to.  Then I’d imagine that I was one of the people on that plane, bound for a tropical destination with my husband – we’d be on our honeymoon.  Jules would be there too of course, on her own honeymoon.  When my parents passed away, I would sit in the park and watch the people that went by and I’d wonder if any of them were hurting as much as me, if they’d ever experienced the loss I was feeling.  There’s a lot to be said for people watching. 

“Hey der man, do you know where I can find the local hospital?” A thick Jamaican accent drags me from my thoughts.  I look up and into the dark dancing eyes of the man standing beside me.  He’s got one of those colorful Jamaican crotchet Rasta caps on with thick long dreadlocks hanging down the sides.  I know you can buy the hats with the dreads attached but I have distinct feeling that those dreads are real.

“Uh, no, sorry I don’t.  I’ve just arrived in town yesterday.” I search his body for life threatening injuries.  Seeing none, I inquire, “Are you hurt?”

“No, man, you’re-,” before he finish, I click to what he’s about to say so I join in and we say together, “-Jamaican me crazy.” He erupts in laughter, holding his hand to his face and bending his knee up and I laugh along with him. 

“Me name Bastiaan,” he says taking a seat across from me.  He pronounces it BAHS-tee-ahn and I don’t think I’ve heard a sexier sound fall from a man’s lips.  There’s just something about a man with an accent, especially a Jamaican one.

“I’m Eden, but you can call me Edie.  It’s nice to meet you Bastiaan.”

“Ah, Eden, lucky we not in de garden and me name not be Adam, hey,” he raises his eyebrows suggestively.  “So what be bringin’ you to Pine Creek, Edie?”

“I’m on an adventure, but I think I found my destination.  What about yourself?”

“Well, de missus, she want to travel ‘round the world.  I just want to travel to Australia.  So we compromise  and travel ‘round dis great southern land.  How you be knowin’ my line?”

“Ah, well you see, my friend Jules and I went through a Jamaican phase in high school.  We used that line a lot, and I mean
a lot.
  We had Rasta caps with the dreads attached that we wore
all the time
, we listened to Bob Marley constantly, we pissed our teachers off by talking in a Jamaican accent through class – we even smoked a few doobies,” I smile remembering the good ole’ days.

“Der you are.  Swear to God, Bastiaan, you can’t wait five minutes while I shop?”

I turn my attention to the stunning woman who is strutting down the sidewalk, eyes glaring at the man across from me.  Although she’s glaring, it’s either a show or she’s mad but not
that
mad because you can see her love for him radiating through.

“No, me found meself a friend.  Edie meet my missus, Zekia.”

“Nice to meet you,” I smile.  She turns to me and blinds me a full on, all-bright-white-teeth-showing-mega-watt-smile.

“Nice to meet you, Edie.  I’m sorry you had to put up with rat-bag while I did me shoppin’.”

“It was a hardship,” I lie on an eye roll.  Zekia bursts into laughter as Bastiaan mock scowls at both of us.

The three of us sit around and talk for a couple of hours.  Then, before I make my leave to go back to hotel, we swap numbers and promise to keep in touch.

Chapter Two

“Bottle of four X, please,” I place my order to Doreen as I slide up onto the barstool next to Skip.  After I’d gotten back to the hotel after spending too many hours hanging with Bastiaan and Zekia, I unpacked my bags and straightened my room and then took a hot shower and changed into one of country outfits I’d bought this morning.  I had on a pair of bootleg dark denim Wrangler jeans which cupped my ass in a way that even I thought looked pretty good, a thick tan leather belt wrapped around my waist and met at the centre with a silver belt buckle (it was not too small, not too large and had a pink pearlescent detail on it).  My shirt was checkered pink and had little pink pearlescent press studs down the front and one each on the breast pockets.  Because I thought I couldn’t wear a country outfit with city shoes, I had also gotten myself a pair of cowgirl boots.  They were the hottest boots I’d ever seen.  Dark brown color with an embroidered pattern stitched in a swirl design up the sides and on the toe.  The upper part of the sides had a large circle cut out of each of them (technically, this would be for looks, but for me, they served the very useful purpose of being boot-puller-on-erers – of course I know this is not
actually
a word, but you get my drift).

“Sure thing, luv,” Doreen answers.

After about an hour the bar starts filling up with what I assume are a mixture of locals and foreign backpackers with the odd Australian tourist thrown in.  Doreen is beside herself behind the bar.  She’s flustered and struggling to keep up with the demand.

“Where’s Bear?” Skip asks her when she comes our way. 

“Just called in – he’s stuck in a paddock two hours away.  He’s bogged and reckons he can’t get out ‘til mornin’.

“Belle?” Skip asks.

“Got the weekend off, she’s visiting friends in Daly Waters, she says there’s a good chance she’ll be moving there ‘fore the month’s up.”

“Is there anything I can do to help, Doreen?” I enter the conversation.

“You know how to pull a beer?”

“I ought to – it’s what I did before and during getting my real estate diploma.”  I wasn’t lying.  I worked in a bar in Sydney for four years from the time I turned eighteen.  I loved it and didn’t want to leave.  The only reason I did was because my parents thought I should have a job that was more reliable.  Stable.  They also said I shouldn’t waste a good diploma and that I’d spent the time doing the course so the right thing to do would be to put it to good use. Especially considering the grades I got.

“Well?  What’re ya waitin’ for?  Get behind here,” she snaps, pointing to where she’s standing.  I waste no time getting off my stool and scooting behind the bar.

“The till is self-explanatory; everything is already programmed on there.  I take it you know how to use a till.”  It wasn’t a question, more of a statement, but still I nodded my head in the affirmative.  “Chop, chop,” she snapped, clapping her hands.

“What can I get you?” I ask the Aboriginal man on the other side of the bar.

“Two four X’s, a Rum & Coke and a Vodka Orange,”

It’s like I’ve never even left the industry.  Everything just comes flooding back and I race around making sure everyone has been served.  Doreen works one side of the bar and I work the other.  When there’s a lull in service, I scoot up and down the bar collecting empties and placing them in the dishwasher.  I’d been behind the bar for around an hour, give or take, when I noticed a band setting up in the corner.  Actually, it wasn’t so much as a band as a one-man show.  He had a microphone, a stool and a guitar.

“Hey, gorgeous, can I get another beer?”  I turn my attention from the one-man show and spot Luke, the guy who was here yesterday, and he’s waving an empty glass at me.

“Sure thing,” I reply.  I grab a glass and pull his beer, hand it to him, take his money and return his change. 

“So, Dory’s put ya to work, has she?”

“Just helping her out for tonight,” I smile, then sweep my gaze along the bar checking that no one needs refills.  It’s during this exercise that I spot the man who has just walked in.  My breath gets caught in my throat as I watch him take a seat at the bar.  I see his lips move and he’s smiling at people but it’s too loud to hear what he’s saying.  I’m captivated.  He’s utterly gorgeous.  The epitome of Cowboy Hot.  His hair is dark and his jaw is square.  His body is built – broad across the shoulders and narrowing slightly at his hips.  He spots someone across the bar and hands them a fully-fledged, bright white, straight-toothed smile.  My breath leaves me in a
whoosh
, and then catches again as what has to be his twin slides onto the stool beside him. 
Oh my fucking god.
 

I’ve got a job to do.  I have to pull it together.  It’s not like I’ve never been in contact with good looking guys before.  I worked in one of Sydney’s hottest bars for four years for fuck’s sake.  I mentally slap myself across the face and tell myself to pull it together.  Then I walk across to where they’re sitting and set about getting their order.

“What’ll it be, boys?” I ask in my most relaxed I’m-not-affected-by-you-at-all voice.

Hotty One unashamedly rakes his gaze over my body.  Slowly.  So slowly, I feel my blood start to heat – just from him looking at me
.  I must be going mad.  Perhaps it’s the heat up here.  I’m not used to it all.  I really should have worn some linen shorts instead of jeans.

“You, later,” he winks suggestively when he finally pulls his eyes to mine.  Now, don’t get me wrong – the wink was hot.  Fucking hot.  It was the way he said it that turned me off.  You know those guys that can get anyone they want?  Yeah, they’re not so bad.  It’s the ones who can get anyone they want,
and
they know it,
and
they show it – that’s the turn off.  Just with that line, Hotty One has shown me he’s a player, unfaithful, untrustworthy and most definitely not the kind of guy I want to get involved with – in bed, or out of.  But, as a woman, I’d rather die than have him know how he affected me, so I tilt my head to the side, smile my cheeky smile and say, “Not tonight, handsome. Or ever.  Drink?”