Hope's Road (32 page)

If you enjoyed HOPE'S ROAD, look out for Margareta's new novel

MOUNTAIN ASH

After years of struggling as a single mother, Jodie Ashton has given up on love and passion. What she craves now is security for herself and her beloved daughter Milly. And marriage to widower Alex McGregor, the owner of the prosperous Glenevelyn cattle station in East Gippsland, will certainly offer that. If only he wasn't so much older
and
so controlling.

Needing space to decide her future, Jodie reluctantly agrees to a girls-only weekend at the Riverton rodeo …

Meanwhile, cowboy Nate McGregor vows off women, after his latest one-night stand costs him his job in the Northern Territory. Perhaps it's time to head back to his family home, Glenevelyn, to check out for himself the ‘gold-digger' his father seems determined to marry.

But first, on his way through Riverton, he plans to stop off at a rodeo.

Two lives are about to collide in one passionate moment - with devastating results…

 

Read on for a taster.

The bride was enveloped in an ethereal glow. She was beautiful and held herself with grace. A wedding dress of chiffon, caught at the bust, flowed like a river down elegant legs. Long golden hair was caught at the nape of her neck with a cream ribbon. Her face was chalk-white, her eyes downcast. She swayed on the arm of a much older man, who had her caught in a firm but gentle grip. Down the path they came, stepping away from the double-storey house quarried from local stone, towards a civil celebrant waiting under the ancient rose arbour.

Guided by her escort, the bride moved over stepping stones wrought from brown river rock, past a scattering of guests, some of whom looked askance and some envious. It wasn't until the couple reached the place where the celebrant indicated they should halt that the girl finally looked up. Past the arbour with its bending canes of blush-pink blooms, past the blue-grey eucalyptus trees and manuka scrub that had been pushed back
to make way for the lush garden and manicured lawns. Past the high hills that were looming a dark brown on the lee side of a nearby mountain in the late afternoon light.

The bride stared off into the heavens, where the sun shot beams of silver through the clouds. Her eyes closed momentarily, as if in prayer, and she whispered something unfathomable under her breath. The man beside her leaned in to try to catch it, but the words were gone as quickly as they had come.

Whatever the bride saw in the sky, or heard on the wisps of wind that had come to toy with her hair, seemed to give her strength. She took a deep breath. Straightened her shoulders. And, with the older man still beside her, stepped forwards.

The celebrant smiled and opened her arms. ‘We are gathered here today to witness the joining in matrimony of this man and this woman…'

Parnassus shone like burnished copper. In the slight breeze on this glorious mountain day, his long mane and tail flicked like wisps of thick cotton. At the judge's crack of the stock-whip, Jodie Ashton urged her gelding forwards. Parnie picked up his hooves with confidence and jig-jogged through the gate into the camp.

The small yard contained seven Hereford cattle all milling in the back corner. Jodie looked shrewdly across the mob. She was searching for a beast with a kind eye that moved away from her nicely, not like the last one she'd picked in the ladies' event. Head up, square-on to both her and her horse, that steer had eyeballed her with arrogance. Anyone would think she was a raw beginner, choosing him, rather than someone coming back to campdrafting after a few years' break. She'd spent the last hour asking herself what she'd been thinking!

Alex: that's what she'd been thinking. Alex and the argument over getting her a new horse. A horse she didn't need, didn't want and certainly didn't require him to buy for her.

A voice came over the loudspeaker: ‘And next up is number twenty-four, Jodie Ashton on Parnassus.'

Focus, woman!

Jodie pulled her mind away from Alex and walked Parnie through the cattle, taking particular note of the ‘freshies', the new stock brought into the yard after the last competitor. Eyeing them over, mentally sizing each up and then discounting one after the other. She could hear her father's voice in her head, reminding her to sit strong in the saddle, to tilt her pelvis, push her feet forwards – ‘Get her boots on the dashboard' as Robert Ashton used to say with a smile. Oh God, her dad. She didn't need to be remembering him any more than she needed to be thinking about Alex just now.

A voice came from her right. ‘Ready,' said the judge.

From the loudspeaker: ‘And for those of you who don't know what this event is, it's a maiden draft. That does not refer to the sexual experience of the rider – although with a body like that I'd have Jodie in my bed any day!' Raucous laughter erupted from the grandstand. The announcer, Richard Muldeen, was a womaniser of the first degree. ‘A maiden draft means the
horse
is just starting out and hasn't won a draft yet.'

Like Parnie, thought Jodie, as her eyes locked onto a beast. She moved Parnie forwards, aiming to cut the steer from the rest of the mob. The horse signed onto the steer, cutting and weaving, trying to force the beast away from its mates, until there were only two steers left in front of them. Muscles and sinew moved like quicksilver, powerful hindleg muscles hunching as Parnie blocked the cattle from heading back where they'd come
from. Together rider and horse pushed the remaining beasts towards the double gates at the far end of the yard. Two men wearing broad Akubra hats waited, hands on the rails, ready to jump into action and swing the gates wide open at Jodie's call. She just had to get her chosen steer away from his mate.

Above her head, Jodie was vaguely aware of a loudspeaker blasting her earlier disaster to all. ‘In the ladies' event, Jodie was cracked off. For the uninitiated this means she lost her beast back to the mob for a third time and had to leave the camp. Let's see if she and Parnassus can hold on to this one…'

The cattle made a break for the right-hand rail but Parnie was onto them, facing up to the steers. His ears were working, flicking back and forth. He was so signed on to the beast, she could tell he was in his element and loving every minute of the challenge as much as she was.

There! Her selected steer was by himself, the other behind them. Finally. Steer, horse and rider turned to the right. Another swing to the left, all in concert.

‘
Gate!
' yelled Jodie as the beast moved for another turn.

The two steel barriers were yanked open by their keepers. The animal could sense freedom ahead.

And then Jodie, Parnassus and the beast were out of the camp and galloping into the arena. She had forty seconds to get the animal around the course. Covering the steer on the inside, horse and rider headed him towards the first peg. Ears still flicking, Parnie put on a burst of speed, guiding the beast around the peg. The steer was moving okay with his tail up over his back, all promising signs he was going to run well. Jodie allowed a little frisson of pleasure to thread through her body. She'd made the right choice.

From a nearby fence-top she could hear a piping voice yelling, ‘
Go, Mummy!
'

Milly. Her daughter. There would be no one prouder.

Jodie sat down in the saddle to hold her stride for a smooth cross-over. Around the second peg they went, the steer guided by Jodie and her horse. This was all going so sweet. She'd show Alex what she and Parnie were made of, my oath she would.

Beneath her she could feel Parnassus sensing the end of the course. He started to run harder, more fierce in his intent. She moved to check him, make him shorten his stride, but the horse didn't respond.

Parnassus was over the top of the animal before Jodie's brain could assimilate what was happening.

Fuck! She was going to hock the beast. Jodie's body automatically braced for what she knew was to come.

Parnie's head was over the hindquarters of the steer, his front hooves clipping the back feet of the Hereford. The steer tumbled to the ground. The horse and his rider followed, plummeting in a flurry of limbs, hooves and solid unforgiving kilos of flesh.

It only took a second for Parnassus's warm body to disappear from beneath Jodie and she tumbled over his head.

And then Jodie was falling … falling … down into the black.

Images came like photos from a camera.

Open sky. Dirt. A teeth-crunching, bone-jarring thump.

No feeling.

Black images with fuzzy grey-white edges.

Forcing her eyes open. Someone screaming. Searching for the voice. She knew it.

Screaming still. Milly. It was her daughter…

Struggling to move. Being forced back. A male voice. ‘You've gotta keep still. They're coming
… they're coming … they're coming.
' It was like a whispered litany in her head. Who was coming?

Opening her eyes again. Sniffing the air. The scent of Milly's shampoo, that distinctive smell of strawberries. A mop of hair lying on her chest. Oh God, it all hurt. Pain buzzed through her nerve endings like she was holding on to an electric fence. But that was nothing compared to hearing Milly's screams. ‘Mummy! Mummy!
Mummy!
'

Oh God.

Alex. Dear Alex. Holding Milly's hand. No, wait. Alex was trying to pull Milly away. Haul her back. Jodie wanted to scream at him, ‘Let her go!' But again that male voice: ‘No, Jodie. Keep still till the ambos get to you.'

She stared up into the kind eyes of an upside-down stockman. His hands were gently cradling each side of her head, stopping her from moving her neck. She could see chest hairs poking through his once yellow shirt. She wondered if he knew they were smothered in claggy grey dirt.

What had she been thinking? Something about a little girl …
Milly
…

Navy blue. Flashes of red. The kind eyes of the stockman were gone, replaced by efficient hands. A collar around her neck. A board under her back. Sticky tape around her head. Milly's smell again. She could hear the wracking sobs of her daughter – the most precious thing she had in the world.

The sound of Alex giving orders.

A sharp prick to her skin.

Softness, fuzziness.

Then nothing. Nothing at all.

Acknowledgements

The control of wild dogs is a significant issue for livestock producers across country Australia. Bodies such as the government-appointed Wild Dog Control Advisory Commit­tee of Victoria, representing landholders and the appropriate government agencies, are currently working to advise government on improving wild dog control management practices into the future.

I would like to thank the Wild Dog Controllers (formerly Dog Trappers) in East Gippsland for sharing their time and wisdom with me, especially Peter Lee, Jim Benton and Terry Higgins. Any errors are mine. To Dan (and Harvey) Mayo, Jenny Lacey, and Peter and Mary Bevan, many thanks for insights into the world of the boundary rider and life in remote western New South Wales. Appreciation and love also to Erlina Compton.

Sincere thanks once again to my wonderful publisher, Beverley Cousins, and the rest of the team at Random House Australia, particularly Jessica Malpass, Tobie Mann, Brandon VanOver, the fabulous reps (especially Lyndal, Di, Anthony and Jim) and the talented Kate O'Donnell for her insightful editing. Much gratitude also goes to my lovely agent, Sheila Drummond, for your wise advice and friendship.

To the people of Gippsland, I offer my sincere thanks for getting behind one of your own. The support has been incredible. To all the booksellers across Australia – those who hand-sell my novels – I am very grateful for your faith in my work. A special cheer to Liz and Trevor Watt and Di and Duncan Johnston.

All my fabulous friends – you know who you are – your support and love means so much. Particularly our wonderful Helen White, my incredible ‘Lardner Park team', the Dekker and Ross families (for Dekkerby adventures), Jenny Green (for saving my butt over and over), Emma and Buck Williamson (for campfires and brainstorming), and the Nambrok tennis girls – you rock. To the people who read drafts and/or gave specific advice – Pam and Mal Beveridge, Glenda and Ross Anderson, David Wadey, Jen Scoullar, Leonne Seymour, Melinda Bent­velzen and Wayne Doull, to name a few – sincere appreciation.

To Kim Wilkins (aka Kimberley Freeman), gratitude for your lessons and counsel; the awesome Little Lonsdale Group for your support; the talented
Gippsland Country Life
team
– another great year; Kath Ledson and Kate Belle, my go-to editing and critique stalwarts, thanks is never enough; and Karen Chisholm, website extraordinaire, I salute you.

Much love and appreciation to Andrea Killeen for planning assistance, the road trips, keeping me focused (and on time!); Fleur McDonald for a treasured friendship; Helene, Nicole and Fiona for the chats and all the other rural authors and readers for your enthusiasm and support.

As the theme of
Hope's Road
centres around family, I would like to acknowledge mine. To the entire Osborn, Jones, Justice and Kerby families, I am so proud to stand among you. In particular, Deborah and Joshua Westland for all things bright yellow; Graeme Osborn for, once again, the serenity of the homestead to write; Margaret Caffrey for her encouragement; the beautiful and courageous Tamara Kerby for her name; and Margot, along with the rest of the Kerby clan, for welcoming us with such open arms.

To my cherished family – my father John, Pat, Kerry, Des, Stephen, Patrick, Trish, Silas, Paul, Emma, Eliza, Tom and Will – thank you for your love, support and encouragement. You mean the world to me.

And finally to my beloved husband, Hugh, and beautiful, talented children, Brent, Callan and Katie. You make me so proud. Thank you for allowing your wife and mother to live a dream: family, farming and fables.