The Golden Stranger (17 page)

She heard Corey inhale. ‘Your old man sent him away?'

‘Both of them. Rocko's out at Blakely Downs and Goldie is with your dad at the surgery until they can sort out who owns him. Didn't John tell you?'

‘Oh, Shara,' he said softly. ‘I didn't know. I haven't been over to the surgery. Dad's been so gnarly, he's barely spoken to me. That's ruthless.'

‘Guess I deserved it.'

‘Reckon?' He sounded stunned.

Shara decided not to dwell on it and cheered herself up by telling him about all the people who were coming to the brumby ride. She talked and he listened.

‘Mr Hoskins wants me to counter-sue Graham Conne–man. He said he'd represent me for free,' Corey told her when she finished.

‘You should go for it. He deserves it.'

‘But I can't remember what happened.'

‘I can,' said Shara. ‘I can remember all of it.'

Later that morning, the house phone rang. Shara dived on it. ‘Brumby Ride Hotline—'

‘Shara.'

‘John?'

‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?'

‘Good,' she said. ‘I don't think I could handle any more bad news.'

‘The dead brumby tested negative for Hendra, so we can pursue cruelty and neglect charges against the Conn–emans.'

‘That's great,' exclaimed Shara. ‘I knew it!' She looked out the window to where her dad sat on the balcony, having a cuppa. She couldn't wait to tell him and vindicate herself.

‘But it also means the brumbies from the dairy are cleared from quarantine and technically they can be used at the rodeo this weekend for the wild horse race – unless we can get charges on the Connemans before that. But I doubt we can.'

Shara's heart sank. Those poor wretched creatures would be completely traumatised. By the time the wild horse race was over they would be beyond any hope of a relationship with humans. They would be dog mince. ‘Is there any more news on Goldie?'

‘Yes – the Connemans have surrendered ownership.'

‘Yay!' Shara jumped around, tangling herself in the phone cord and victory-punching the air. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!'

‘The paperwork came through this morning, so I got the gelding done straight away.'

Shara immediately had visions of the little taffy horse grazing alongside her dad's cattle in the front paddock. ‘What will happen to him?' she asked excitedly, letting hope rise inside her. ‘Will they re-home him?'

She felt a surge of determination; to make things right; to run this brumby ride with all she had. She would show her dad that she could do the right thing, that she deserved to have that beautiful silver taffy colt – no, gelding!

‘He's already gone to a new home.'

‘What?' Shara felt her chest collapse like a pricked balloon. ‘New home?' She stood bewildered, staring at the phone. ‘What do you mean? Where?' She glanced out the window at her dad, absorbed in his newspaper.

‘It's a really nice place in New South Wales. It was such a good deal for him with such a kind family that we thought we should seize it. It's what's best for Goldie.'

Shara was struck dumb.

‘You do want what's best for him, don't you?' said John.

‘Yes,' said Shara, in a choked voice. ‘Of course I do.'

She hung up the phone and opened the screen door to the balcony. ‘You knew, didn't you? You let John give Goldie away.'

Barry finished turning a page of his paper, lifted his glasses from his nose and looked at her. He spoke in an irritatingly calm voice. ‘I told you, I won't discuss the horses until you've shown that you can do the right thing.'

Shara turned on her heel, let the screen door crash back into its frame and ran to her bedroom. She slammed her door with a bang that reverberated through the entire house, and threw herself on the bed.

22

HER COMPUTER PINGED.

Sharsy, what time do the CWA ladies have to deliver their cakes tomorrow?

‘Oh, Jess.' Shara wiped her eyes. She couldn't care less about the stupid cakes. She typed back.

John just rang, he's already re-homed Goldie.
What the . . .

Shara sniffed and continued hammering on the keyboard. Her hands shook as she typed.

He's gone to a new home in NSW.
OMG, that was quick.
Dad already knew. He had it lined up.
I can't believe it.
I didn't even get a chance to prove myself!

There was a knock on her door and Shara went stiff.

Another knock.

‘What?' she demanded.

‘Shara, I want to talk to you,' said her father's voice.

‘Go away,' she sobbed back.

The door slowly opened and Barry stood in the doorway with one hand on the knob. ‘I said, I want to talk to you.'

Shara closed her laptop to hide her chat with Jess and stood up to face him, her arms folded tightly across her chest. ‘This isn't fair and you know it,' she said tearfully. ‘You know that the Connemans are cruel and dodgy. You know that they're the bad guys; that they let their horses suffer. Why are you still being so cruel to me? You've taken everything that I love!'

‘Don't get melodramatic,' said Barry quietly. ‘You can still hold that brumby ride and then we can talk about the horses.'

‘Hold the brumby ride?' said Shara. ‘What's the point now? What's the point of anything? I have no horses left. Rocko is gone forever and so is Goldie. What's left to talk about?'

Barry folded his arms, no give in his expression. ‘So that's what this ride is all about?' he said. ‘It's all about you. Not about helping brumbies or about preventing cruelty. It's all about you and your own horses.'

‘You don't get it, Dad!' she yelled. ‘I don't even have a horse to ride!'

‘Can't you borrow one?'

‘What for? I told you, there's no point!'

‘There
is
a point,' said Barry. ‘You did something wrong. What the Connemans do or don't do doesn't change that. You still need to put it right. Just because they're crooks, it doesn't give you the right to be a crook as well.'

Shara looked her father in the eye and let her tears stream down her face. She wanted him to see what this was doing to her. ‘Can't I at least have Rocko back? He's too young to retire. I need him. If I can have him back, I can still ride. Without him, I just can't . . . I can't even live.'

At last she saw Barry's face soften. ‘Shara.' He stepped forward and tried to rub her arm. She pushed his hand away and stood with her arms wrapped tightly, protectively around herself.

Barry sighed long and deep.

‘This is too harsh, Dad.'

‘Even if I did say you could take Rocko in the brumby ride, I couldn't go and get him. There's no time. The four- wheel drive is back at the mechanic's again and I can't tow a horse float with your mother's car.'

Shara looked to the ceiling. It was just hopeless.

‘I'll leave it up to you as to whether you continue with the brumby ride. But if you do decide to cancel, you'll have to let all the riders know pretty quickly. It's on tomorrow.' He left the room, closing the door behind him.

Shara threw herself back on the bed and lay staring at the ceiling. Her phone rang. She ignored it. After it had rung out, a text message came through.

I can ride and drive again! Finally!

As if she cared. She thumbed Corey a message.

Lucky you.

She flung the phone at the wall, picked up her jacket and stormed out the front door of the house.

Her feet tumbled one after the other down the steep grassy paddock, startling and breaking up the mob of weaners. The setaria seeds whipped at her bare arms, outstretched to balance herself as she hurtled down to the creek, hoping that, somehow, she could outrun the hurt and confusion that was chasing her. Hex gambolled along behind, his tail rotating like a propeller.

Shara followed the cattle trail that ran along the cool water's edge, in and out of mossy-trunked trees and clumps of strappy lomandra grass, until she was halted by a barbed-wire fence. She slipped under it and ran across the lightly timbered hillside of the neighbouring property.

At Mr Hickling's orchard she slowed to a walk, puffing heavily, still trying to blow away the ache in her chest. She continued past the rows of lychee trees, skirting a discarded fruit-collecting tub and a stack of white buckets that had fallen over. Lorikeets flew in and out of the trees, screeching and squawking.

Beyond, the land sloped down into Slaughtering Creek and Shara stepped along a slippery log that had made a bridge across the smooth-running water. On the other side a trail ran along the creek and then up a hillside where the trees became gradually smaller and sparser.

At the top of Mossy Mountain, she sat heavily on her favourite rock, with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees and her eyes squeezed closed, feeling streaks of cold where the breeze dried her tear-soaked cheeks. She swallowed, opened her eyes and let the view snatch her breath away as it always did. The Coachwood River meandered through the valley below, linking the farms and properties. The railway line appeared out of an arched tunnel that bored through the middle of the mountain. The road wove between the folds of the hills.

Where the river, the railway line and the main road all met in a series of bridges was the cluster of grey rectangles and tiny cars that was Coachwood Crossing. Close by she could see the showgrounds. Now empty, it was just a huge lot with an oval show ring, neat rows of pavilions and exhibition buildings, and a rodeo arena.

The chutes were barely visible. What had she been thinking two weeks ago, when she'd agreed to make a bold anti-cruelty statement? She'd barely understood what those words meant.

Shara waited for regret to well up inside her, but it didn't. When she looked at those rodeo chutes she saw ghosts; spirits of bewildered horses waiting to be broken, and felt the same as she had two weeks ago – only more so. Wild horse racing was wrong, no matter what she had lost. It would always be wrong. And it only happened because people didn't realise. They didn't know what happened behind the scenes. They hadn't seen what she'd seen. The memory of the smell in that dairy made her inwardly gag again.

The Connemans were awful people, and even if they were put out of business, there would be more contractors supplying wild horses to rodeos. Beautiful horses, just like Goldie, would continue to be chased by teams of men, roped and forced to the ground, have their ears bitten and twisted, girths tightened around their bellies and spurred in the flanks until they bucked and bolted in terror around an arena full of laughing and jeering people. And then, off to the abattoirs with them.

A cold, wet nose touched her hand and she wrapped it around the silky fur of Hex's ears. The dog dropped to his chest with his paws out in front of him, panting and swallowing. Shara shuffled down and lay with her head in the crook between his ribs and his shoulder, arms folded across her chest, looking up at the sky, where nothing but clouds and sunshine existed.

‘You okay?'

The gently spoken words made her jolt upright.

‘Jess!'

Her bestie walked out onto the rock platform and sat near her, leaning back on one hand. She didn't speak, but sat, looking thoughtfully over the valley. Jess always knew when to just shut up and say nothing. Right now, she knew that no words were going to make Shara feel better. But Shara loved that Jess had climbed the highest mountain in the Coachwood Valley just to sit next to her when she felt miserable. The fact that Jess had also come on foot didn't escape her.

She closed her eyes and felt a passing cloud briefly cast a cool shadow over her face before allowing the sun to warm it again.

‘Still coming tomorrow?' asked Jess.

Shara kept her eyes closed against the sunlight. ‘Yep.'

She would do this ride for Goldie, his red taffy mum and his entire herd. And if she didn't have a horse, she would walk.