Driftwood Read Free Page A

nose to the ground in search of the perfect spot to cock his leg, the golden rust-colour of his coat almost merging with the colour of the road.
    Taylor giggled, thankful for his company. Floyd was a typical Vizsla: robust, lean, lively, loyal, gentle-mannered, fearless and — most importantly of all — very protective of her. He’d been Taylor’s mate for six years, her sixteenth birthday present, and she couldn’t imagine a day without him by her side.
    Sliding from the driver’s seat, Taylor stretched her long limbs, her butt numb from spending almost nineteen hours behind the wheel, nine hours of it yesterday. A quick stop at a roadside hotel last night had allowed her a restless sleep on what felt like a bed older than her before she had hit the road again early this morning after a greasy breakfast of bacon and eggs. Placing her hands deep in her jeans pockets, she wandered up to the signs, weighing up which way she should go, a weird yet wonderful feeling of excitement washing over her. It was as if the land was reflecting her inner confusion, offering her — literally — a crossroads. Exhilarating, liberating and scary all rolled into one.
    A weathered sign pointing to the left read ‘Waratah Station’ and an equally worn one pointing to the right read ‘Driftwood — 38 kilometres, population 712’. Hmm. Waratah Station sounded very alluring but Driftwood sounded out of the ordinary, picturesque. The name suggested it was nearer the ocean, which was odd, seeing this was primarily northern cattle country. Taylor’s curiosity was piqued.
    Pulling her wild tresses of waist-length strawberry blonde ringlets into a ponytail, Taylor motioned to the left with a wide sweep of her arm. ‘Well, Floyd, what do you reckon? Do we go this way like a pair of crazies, deeper into the magnificent countryside and towards a station we have no idea about, or do we go right, towards the town of Driftwood, where there will most certainly be a fuel station, and a bed?’ Taylor felt her tummy rumble. ‘Oh, and possibly a pub with steak, chips and salad?’
    Floyd barked his reply, his tail wagging zealously.
    â€˜Yep, that’s what I thought. Driftwood it is then. Let’s just hope we have enough fuel to make it there, bugger having to walk in the dark — I’d be shitting myself.’
    Jay Donnellson smiled wearily at Frank Forester, Driftwood’s one and only copper, as the officer passed him an extra-strong black coffee across the desk then sat down opposite him, a frown creasing his middle-aged features. An uncomfortable silence settled, each waiting for the other to speak. Jay knew there was a lecture coming his way, and he probably deserved it.
    Jay picked up the cup, his swollen knuckles throbbing, and took a lengthy sip as Frank tapped the desk with his fingers. ‘Cheers, Frank,’ Jay said, trying his best to break the silence but to also avoid the inevitable conversation.
    â€˜No probs, Jay,’ said Frank, his office chair creaking as he leant back and folded his arms. ‘I’m starting to think you like being arrested, considering you’ve been in here twice these past few weeks. What’s going on with you? Is the stress of everything that’s happened catching up? ’Cause if it is, I’m all ears. Sometimes it helps to talk about it.’
    Jay shrugged casually, not knowing how to reply. Jay didn’t want to talk about his father’s sudden death; about his older sister running off to a high-paying job in the city and leaving all the farm work to him; about Becky, his childhood sweetheart, leaving him for another man; about his mothers’ heavy drinking; about almost losing Waratah Station — which had been in his family for five generations — to the clutches of the bloody bank. Hell, he didn’t want to accept that this was his life at all, his shitty, demanding, depressing, and