FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (2 page)

TR walked downstairs into the kitchen, lifted his well-worn Akubra off the peg where it hung beside Queenie’s at the back door, and stepped into the dawn.

He had debated about going alone for their regular ride, savouring the knowledge that soon he and Queenie would be together for what she called their morning star ride. However, the horse needed exercise and he wanted to think through a few mundane business problems.

At the stables he handed Queenie’s horse, Honey, a handful of oats to appease her for being left behind, and saddled his stallion, Star. The horse’s full name was Starlight Sky but it had been shortened because of the small star-shaped patch of white on its forehead.

Deep in thought, TR rode out of the corral, past the stables and away from the homestead. Star automatically followed their regular track with Spike, TR’s blue heeler, leading the way. The dog zigzagged to and fro, stopping to sniff bits of grass and clumps of red soil, running twice the distance the horse travelled.

Without Queenie riding at his side, TR didn’t pay as much attention to the beauty of the early morning bush: the blush sweeping across the pale sky, the chorus of the birds, the clear light turning the red gumtips translucent ruby. The morning star had paled then disappeared in the brightening sunrise by the time TR reined in his horse at the top of the first
rise and looked out over the view which never ceased to lift his spirits.

The Blue Hills followed the rolling acres of Tingulla’s country — 250,000 acres of classic merino stud that had survived times of hardship over three generations to become one of the top wool producers in the country. Nestled in the heart of this land that Queenie’s family, the Hanlons, had carved out stood Tingulla homestead, a magnificent landmark. The double-storied mansion with its upper and lower verandahs and imposing front entrance faced the circle of the drive which embraced the dancing brolga fountain. A giant peppercorn and a white cedar, planted by great-grandfather Ned Hanlon, shaded the house and side garden. The driveway wound down through landscaped lawns and gardens to the imposing logs that formed the front gate archway two kilometres from the house.

Star was fidgety. TR leant forward and scratched behind the horse’s ear, speaking softly. As he straightened up he heard what was bothering his mount — steady hoofbeats. TR turned and stood in the stirrups, looking back down through the trees. Who was following him and why?

In a minute he had his answer. Honey trotted into view, riderless and unharnessed. TR realised that in his distracted and sleepy state he hadn’t latched the gate properly and Honey, wily beast that she was, had followed them.

‘Damn you, Honey,’ he sighed.

The horse eyed him balefully and stopped a
few metres away. TR whistled Spike, turned Star around, and began walking him back down the hillside. Honey didn’t move: this was not their normal pattern, there was still some distance to the crest of the hill, and she did not want to turn for home yet.

TR knew she could be a temperamental horse who often only obeyed Queenie. He broke into a trot but the mare stood her ground, forcing TR to ride back to her. He unlooped the rope tied to his saddle, made a lasso and slipped it over Honey’s head.

‘Sorry to lead you this way, Honey, but I don’t trust you and I haven’t got the time to chase you all over the hills,’ TR said firmly.

He moved off but Honey yanked her head back in alarm as she felt the rope tighten. TR spoke soothingly, giving a gentle tug, and the horse followed.

Star was fretful and kept glancing back at the mare as they edged down the hillside. TR suddenly realised Honey was in season. So he decided to let her go now they were heading home. He began fumbling with the rope then saw it was tied around the pommel of his saddle. But before he could unknot it Honey reared and bolted for home. The sudden surge as she sped past caught TR off guard. Star was pulled by the lead rope and took off after Honey, both racing to get ahead of the other. The knot tightened with the strain and TR began frantically working to undo it, cursing himself for tying the rope to the pommel, something he knew he should never have done.

He didn’t look up in time to see Honey swerve to round an old blue gum, pulling Star towards it. In the split second before colliding against the tree, TR swung hard across in the saddle. The horses went either side of the trunk but with the rope restricting space between them, there was little room. The right side of TR’s body slammed hard against the tree and he crashed to the ground, still and broken.

Snowy, the wizened old Aborigine acknowledged as Tingulla’s spiritual guardian, was repairing a fence when a shiver ran through him. Puzzled, he stopped what he was doing and returned to the truck. Suddenly he heard the sound of horses galloping and within seconds two riderless horses sped past in the direction of the homestead. Snowy dropped his tools and hurried into the truck.

Seeing the usually sedate Aboriginal elder roaring his old Toyota towards him, Ernie rushed over to see what was wrong.

‘What’s up, Snowy? Is somethin’ bad?’

‘The boss’s horse come back. Honey too. Bad accident, I reckon.’

Ernie, faster and stronger than his tribal elder, raced for the stables where both horses now stood, stained with sweat and breathing heavily. Ernie tried to grab Honey but the horse swerved away from him, her eyes wide and nervous. Ernie grabbed the nearest unsaddled horse and swung onto its bare back. Snowy caught the foaming but quieter Star and climbed into the saddle, taking off after Ernie.

They both knew Queenie and TR’s habit of an early morning ride and they set out towards the Blue Hills, dreading what they might find there.

Half an hour later, they found TR lying unconscious where he had fallen, his blue heeler licking his face and whimpering. TR’s leg and hip were mangled and crushed, his right arm and collarbone looked broken, and a nasty gash was bleeding at the side of his head. Snowy and Ernie glanced fearfully at each other, both afraid to voice the same terrible thought.

‘Best not move ’im,’ said Snowy. ‘Go back and git the Flying Doc.’

Ernie nodded and clung to his horse, his heart beating with alarm. As he galloped back to the homestead he muttered frantic pleas for help from his tribal spirits.

Snowy crouched beside TR whose body looked like a broken toy flung to one side. Head bowed, his face creased in pain, Snowy rocked gently back and forth on his heels as tears ran unchecked down the furrows of his sad old face.

‘Don’t die, TR. Hang on, mate. Hang on.’

Chapter Two

The twin engine Piper Cherokee banked over Tingulla, the pilot admiring the scope and sheer beauty of the magnificent station. He’d flown over it countless times in the years he’d been in the district but he never ceased to marvel at it. Tingulla had survived flood and drought; good management had brought it through the hard times, and in the flush of the wool boom in the fifties its merino clip had earned princely sums.

He glanced over at his passenger, the mistress of Tingulla. What a beautiful woman she was: slim and shapely, her thick long brown hair shot with burnished lights. She was a natural beauty with a gorgeous smile and when she turned her green eyes on them, men went weak at the knees. But it was also her strength, resilience and extraordinary bush skills that they respected. Privately, even tough men wondered if they could have coped
so well with the hand fate had dealt Queenie in the past.

The pilot smiled at her. ‘How’re things going, Queenie?’

‘Good thanks, Tom. Tingulla and Cricklewood are going great guns and Guneda, TR’s horse stud, is starting to make a real name for itself in the race world.’

‘Well there’s not much TR doesn’t know about horses.’

Queenie smiled and nodded. How she longed to see and touch TR again. They had only been apart for a week, and she’d enjoyed the break, but now it seemed as if she’d been away too long. She missed TR. He was a part of her. He was her soul mate and her best friend. This fierce love of theirs had been hard won, but that was all behind them now. They were blissfully happy and the future stretched ahead of them, each day one of joy. TR felt as she did, and they both appreciated every moment together for they knew what a precious gift they had been given.

As they began their descent Queenie tightened her seat belt and drew a deep breath. She was glad to be home, anxious to share her experiences with TR.

As they approached the dirt strip she sat forward and peered out of the window. There was no mistaking the tall athletic frame of Tango standing at the edge of the runway. What had brought her son up from Guneda? She smiled to herself, how handsome he was, just like his father. At twenty-five he was tall and slim with deep blue eyes and burnished
gold hair, yet he seemed completely unaware of his charm and looks.

The plane landed with a bump, jolting Queenie out of her pleasant reverie. As the aircraft’s door was opened, she saw Tango hurrying towards her and she knew straightaway that something was dreadfully wrong.

‘Tango darling, what is it?’ demanded Queenie the second the pilot dropped down the small step.

‘It’s TR. He’s had an accident. He’s in hospital. I think we should turn around and go back to Brisbane.’

She gripped his arm. ‘Brisbane? Why is he over there? God, Tango, what’s happened?’

Tango took her in his arms and held her tightly. ‘Dad fell from his horse, banged into a tree. He’s pretty badly smashed up.’

Queenie’s knees buckled and a searing pain exploded in her chest then spread like a burn through her flesh. The blood drained from her face. ‘Oh no! How bad is it, Tango? Is he going to be all right? Tango? Tell me.’

‘Yes, Mum. Don’t worry,’ said Tango trying to disguise his own pain and fear. He turned to the pilot. ‘How soon can we leave?’

‘Now. I was going straight back anyway. I have clearance and fuel.’

‘Millie packed a bag for you and I’m coming too.’ Tango picked up the two small bags by his feet.

Queenie nodded and climbed back into the plane, her face pale, her legs trembling.

‘Millie has everything under control. She and Jim send their love. We couldn’t reach you any sooner.’

‘How is he, exactly?’ she asked in a tiny voice, terrified of what the answer might be.

‘I don’t know. They won’t give out any more information till we get there. Until then, we’ll just have to hope . . . and pray.’

Colin Hanlon could feel the surge of blood, power and passion rising to its delicious peak and he sucked in his breath and thrust feverishly, awaiting the glorious moment of release.

The girl beneath him stirred and strained against him, pushing her hands against his shoulders in a feeble attempt to still him. ‘Colin, stop . . . wait . . .’

He ignored her, grunting as he shoved at her. Then, with a groan, he stiffened as he flooded into her, unaware her frantically swivelling hips were trying to move from under him, not with him. He fell on top of her, panting slightly, then rolled off her onto his back, satiated.

‘Fan-bloody-tastic.’ He turned to her with a grin, looking for the agreement and acknowledgement of mutual pleasure. But the girl lay rigid on her back, hands over her face, a tear trickling from under her fingers.

‘Was it that good?’ He pulled her hands away, then seeing her distraught face, flopped back on his pillow. ‘Oh struth, what’s up now?’

The girl rolled on her side, breaking into noisy sobs.

‘Oh Christ!’ Colin sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Antonia, what’s the problem? Stop the bawling and talk to me. I’ll get you some water.’

Colin went into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, swilling some in his mouth and spitting out the taste of stale red wine. He filled a glass with water and returned to the bed, where the slim dark-haired young woman was sitting up, dabbing at her face with the edge of the sheet.

He sat beside her as she sipped the water, choking a little. He took the glass from her. ‘Now, why are you crying? You always bounce around and laugh after our sessions, what’s got into you?

‘You,
caro mio,
’ she answered in a tiny voice.

‘Now listen, petal, I told you at the start not to get involved with me. This is just for fun.’

She shook her head. ‘No longer. Not for me. I love you, Colin.’

‘No, you don’t,’ he answered, covering his annoyance at the familiar scene about to be played out. It was a shame, but as soon as they got heavy, the fun was over and he had to move on to new sport. Damned nuisance too. Colin was impatient with the discreet and dangerous courting that was necessary. He liked it as it had been these few months. Swift and sexy liaisons on the understanding it was mutual fun and pleasure. He hated this bit, when they got clingy and demanding.