The Golden Stranger (15 page)

She nodded and thought of Corey. She had a big job ahead to put things right with him, too.

19

THE DOOR TO THE
Duggins' sprawling Queenslander home was wide open and Shara could hear a telly. She stood outside on the verandah and knocked. ‘Hello?'

Corey's voice echoed down the hallway from an inner room. ‘Yeah?'

She kicked off her boots and crept along the floorboards in her socks, following the voice. ‘Corey?'

‘In here.'

Shara peered through an open bedroom door at Corey, who sat cross-legged in jeans on a bed, a remote in his hand, staring at a small television. She quickly withdrew when she registered that he had no shirt on.

‘It's Shara,' she said, hovering at the doorway. No one else seemed to be home.

The telly volume lowered. ‘Come in.'

His arms and head were halfway through an old T-shirt when she entered. When they popped out, she saw that the side of his face was heavily bruised. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘What are
you
doing here?' she smiled.

‘Got the crap smacked out of me,' he said, stating the obvious. ‘Told you those Connemans were bad news.' He didn't seem happy. At all.

Shara stood there, with her bag hooked over her shoulder, wondering if she should sit down. He didn't invite her to. ‘I'm so sorry, Corey,' she said, switching tone.

He didn't answer but stared back at the television. She took the swivel chair by a desk strewn with old videos and DVDs, and put her bag on the floor.

It was a while before Corey spoke again. ‘I can't even remember what happened.'

‘Can you remember being at the roping finals?'

He shifted his eyes to hers. ‘Some of it.'

‘Do you remember plucking the mare?'

He frowned with concentration, then snorted suddenly. ‘You fell off the side of the truck.'

‘Yep.'

‘You fall off everything.'

‘Except my horse.' She shrugged.

Then his frown returned. ‘I remember that lanky vermin Conneman getting hold of you. He was hurting you.'

‘He would have hurt me more if you hadn't fought him off.'

‘Yeah, well, I hope I got him good,' Corey said, looking at the bandage over his broken knuckles and then putting it up to his swollen cheek. ‘He got
me
a ripper!'

‘You got him pretty good,' she assured him. ‘Enough to make him let go of me. Then the other brother king-hit you. It was two against one.'

His frown deepened and he stared hard at the floor. ‘Nope, don't remember that part.'

‘You were a bit of a hero,' she said quietly.

He lifted his eyes. ‘Was I ?' He sounded unsure of himself. She nodded. ‘Thanks for saving me.'

His gaze ran over her and she could see he was still wrestling with his memory.

‘Graham had me by the arm. He was calling me names and wouldn't let go,' she said, trying to help him picture the scene. ‘You flew at him, gave him one in the jaw.'

Corey looked at his bandaged hand. ‘I can't believe I did that.'

‘You didn't hesitate.'

Corey began to look quite pleased with himself. ‘Yeah?'

‘Took two of them to fight you off.'

He gave her a heart-melting smile and the crescent-shaped bruise around his eye merged with the one on his cheek. ‘You're just trying to make me feel good!'

‘It's true.' She saw the same amused twinkle in his eyes that she had seen in them that day at the Coachwood Crossing Show, when she had just gone tail-up off the fence.

‘You're sweet,' he said, shifting around to face her more directly, ‘and funny . . . in a klutzy kind of way.'

She felt suddenly awkward. ‘I'm a troublemaker.'

‘There's something I do remember,' he said, as though weighing up whether to tell her or not.

‘What?'

He hesitated.

‘
What?
' she repeated.

His voice softened. ‘I can remember how much I wanted to kiss you when those security guards walked past.'

She looked away, blushing hotly. ‘You laughed at me.'

‘No, I didn't.'

There was an uncomfortable moment as she tried not to meet his gaze, instead taking in his tanned neck and the way his T-shirt fell over the broad contours of his shoulders.

‘I still want to kiss you,' he said.

She allowed her eyes to meet his, and she felt that mix of thrill and fear again – fear that if she let herself fall into their warm hazel depths she'd fall so far and so hard that she might never be able to climb out.

‘You want to kiss all the girls.'

‘No, I don't.' He gave a hopeless shrug. ‘They want to kiss
me
.'

She scoffed, trying to diffuse the awkwardness she felt. Suddenly the room seemed to suffocate her. She needed to get out of there. ‘My point exactly,' she said.

He put out a hand to stop her. ‘Just hang out with me, then. I'm so bored.'

‘Only if we go outside. Your room smells like old socks.'

There was an old couch on the verandah, covered in dog hair, bridles and dirty jumpers. Scattered about were boots, more dog hair and more stinky socks.

‘Place is a bit of a bachelor pad,' said Corey apologetically. ‘Between me, Dad and Elliot, it doesn't get a lot of sweeping.' He reached into a large fridge with stickers all over it and pulled out two cans of cola. ‘Want one?'

He brushed all the clutter off the couch, plonked down into it and crossed his legs again.

Shara took the can, sat next to him and put her feet up on an old milk crate. ‘Where's your mum?'

‘Lives in Brissie.'

Shara cracked her can. ‘Well, here's to her!'

‘Cheers,' agreed Corey, taking a long, thirsty guzzle.

Shara looked back along the tree-lined driveway. On either side were small post-and-rail paddocks with bandaged horses and baby calves. Nearer the house, an offshoot led to the surgery. From that direction came the sound of feet crunching over gravel.

As Shara sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Corey, a girl appeared, her legs as thin as pencils in skin-tight black jeans. She wore a collared shirt tucked in under a rodeo buckle and a peaked cap with a black ponytail poking out the back; she looked vaguely familiar.

The girl's eyes narrowed when she saw Shara and darted back to Corey.

Shara smiled, trying to look friendly.
Awkward!

Her smile wasn't returned.

Corey spoke first. ‘Hi, Mandy.' He didn't move from the couch.

Mandy stood there without speaking, her face pinched.

Shara stood up and offered her hand, since Corey was making no attempt to introduce her. ‘I'm Shara.'

‘
Shara?
' Mandy glared at her, and then at Corey. ‘What's going on, babe?'

Babe?
Shara retracted her hand.

Mandy's glare was firmly locked on Corey.

‘I should probably get going,' said Shara, looking around for her bag. Corey was fine, and obviously had plenty of company. She'd apologised and set things straight, so there was no further reason to hang about. She realised she had left her bag . . .
argh
. . . in Corey's room.
Not good!

Corey saw her searching. ‘You left your bag in my bedroom,' he said, without getting up.

Shara felt herself shrivel with embarrassment. Corey made it sound like they'd been
doing
something in there. He was using her as a weapon against this Mandy girl! She had no idea what was going on between them, but she had no intention of getting involved.

‘Maybe you could go and get it for me then,' she said icily.

Her tone must have reached Corey, because he pulled himself off the couch, went inside and resurfaced a moment later with her bag. ‘Sorry,' he said to her quietly.

Shara hopped off the balcony and marched back along the driveway, slinging her bag over her shoulder. When she got to the first easement, she ran down through the long grass and sprinted across the river flats to the creek.

There, she sat on a smooth rock platform and watched the water slither and gurgle over the pebbles, trying to digest what had just happened.

Schmuck!

‘How's Corey?' asked Louise, when Shara walked onto the verandah at home later that morning.

‘Not all that great,' said Shara.

She threw herself into the hammock and curled its edges up around her, hiding her face. She thought of Mandy's cold glare.
‘Shara?'
Mandy had known who she was. How?

And Corey. Did he mean all those nice things he said, or was he just a charmer to everyone?

Shara flashed back to before Mandy had shown up; his warm, easy smile.
‘I can remember how much I wanted
to kiss you.'

She hadn't been brave enough, or stupid enough, she now realised, to tell him she had felt the same. She thought of his breath on her neck again, when he'd pushed her against the side of the truck at the Brisbane showgrounds and whispered to her. She closed her eyes and relived the clean smell of him.

Then she forced her eyes open. She had to stop thinking this way about him. Corey was a player. God, how much more proof did she need? Mandy was at his place now, probably with her paws all over him.
‘What's going
on, babe?'

Shara shook her head and tried to focus on the brumby ride. She didn't need distractions. But there was the vision of Corey again, leaning into her, whispering softly in her ear, apologising for getting too close, when all she'd wanted to do was reach up and kiss him.

Arghhhh!
She had to stop this.
Focus, woman!

His complete lack of hesitation when it came to protecting her . . .

‘Shara?'

‘Huh?' Shara snapped back to earth. ‘Sorry, what?'

‘I asked if you'd like to visit the colt this afternoon,' said Louise. ‘John rang and said he needs people to exercise him because he's locked up.'

Shara peered over the edge of the hammock. ‘Oh, can we?'

That would be great – as long as she didn't have to go anywhere near the Duggins' house. Yay! Things were turning around!

Horses – so much easier to understand than boys!

20

THEY FOUND GOLDIE
under lock and key when they got to the surgery. Two extra padlocks had been added to his stable and there was a strip of checked blue tape across the wire mesh of the upper door.

Goldie recognised Shara instantly and began tossing his head and whinnying. She tried her best to pat his nose through the mesh and he nipped playfully at her fingers, banging at the stable door with his hoof.

Shara went to John's office and found Elliot under the desk fiddling with the leads of a computer. She noticed a framed studio photo of the two boys: Elliot, aged about seven, and Corey about ten. They actually looked like brothers: Elliot without his glasses and with the same dark hair as Corey. How different they were now.

Elliot crawled out from under the desk and blinked up at her through his specs. ‘Hi, Shara.'

‘Hi,' she smiled. Elliot was always so earnest and genuine. Unlike his big brother. ‘I need the keys to Goldie's stable. Your dad said I could exercise him.'

‘Oh, sure.' Elliot got up and went to a nailboard full of keys. He grabbed a set and handed them to her. ‘There's a lunge rope hanging outside the stable. I would do it, but the office modem just blew up. I told Dad I'd fix it.'

‘That's okay.' Shara had seen Elliot trying to lunge horses before.

‘I'm more of a cat person,' he said apologetically.

She laughed. ‘I'll give him a good work-out.'

‘Don't let him off the rope, whatever you do.'

‘Yep.' Shara ran off towards the stables.

Goldie exploded out of his stall.

‘Whoa,' gasped Shara, holding onto his halter. He was a
lot
stronger and heavier. She led him, prancing and snorting and tossing his tangled silver mane, out to the small exercise paddock.

‘I'm going to groom you too,' she said, as she let him out onto the full length of the rope.

Goldie burst away from her and galloped as hard and fast as his legs would carry him for about ten laps. He bucked and farted and then broke back into a trot, tail high and waving like a flag, nose swinging from side to side. Shara let him play and get it all out of his system, and Goldie ran and ran as if he hadn't been out for weeks. Each time Shara thought he was beginning to slow down a bit, he took off with a whole new level of energetic bucking.

Finally, he propped into an abrupt halt, puffing heavily, all four feet planted beneath him. He dropped his head and faced her with a pleased look. Shara laughed. ‘You're an idiot.'

Goldie walked to her and tossed his nose up and down, giving Shara an idea. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a few of the pellets she had taken from the feedroom, clicked her tongue and treated him. Every time Goldie tossed his head, she clicked and treated him. Then she added a cue.