Ringer Read Free Page A

back to Moira Station at all costs. So my decision was clear; as soon
as I had veered left off the main highway and saw the Sheehan Road sign, my
first point of call would be to pay my dear old friends a visit. Right after I
inadvertently almost kill a stranger. I grimaced, casting my eyes into the
rear-view mirror, seeing nothing more than a hazy speck in the distance. I had
felt bad, kind of. But how was I supposed to know he was so bloody slow at
opening up a farm gate? It wasn’t bloody rocket science, he would have had to
have opened at least four before then, the idiot. Must be from the city?
Although his car and attire hadn’t screamed so. I bit my lip; what if he was
visiting the Sheehans? Or worse – Moira? Either way, I was screwed; my hands
became clammy on the wheel and I wasn’t sure if it was down to the fear of
running into the clearly crazy, swearing man, or the fact that my car had no
air conditioning? At least with the window wound down I afforded myself some
fresh air: fresh air for life now that it was firmly wedged open. You always
took your life into your own hands each time you chose to operate anything in
my car; still, it was mine and had been since I had driven away in it four
years ago.
    I neared the final gate that led towards
the Sheehan’s homestead; mercifully there was no canary-yellow Ford blocking
the way, and no stunned stranger with fear in his eyes. A smile pressed the
corner of my mouth, thinking back to the look on his face when I had flipped
him off. Absolutely priceless. It had been so worth almost running him over for
that look.
    I stopped the car with less violent force
this time as I readied myself to get out to open the gate. The screeching
unoiled hinge of my car door was music to my ears; sure I copped a lot of flak
about it, but she was my car and I loved her just as much as the day I got her.
    I went to unhook the gate, but was stilled
by distant screams and the sound of footsteps.
    “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
MIRANDA.” Melanie Sheehan knocked the wind out of me, hugging me so severely
she restricted my breathing, her arms circled around my neck like an anaconda
crushing the very life out of me, pinning me, and my chest, into the gate
between us.
    “Dad said you were coming home, but I
didn’t believe it.” She stood back, grasping my shoulders and studying my face
as if what she was seeing before her was a mirage. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
she asked.
    Dear, sweet Mel, my lifelong childhood
friend and astonishingly dedicated pen pal. She was a few years younger than
me, but she had been my only playmate as a child. How I had missed her clear
blue-sky-like eyes, and the light dusting of freckles across her nose. She wore
her hair in a constant ponytail; the lighter wisps of her brown hair bleached
by the sun swept around her face. She looked just like her dad.
    I smiled, an actual real smile that I
hadn’t done since I couldn’t remember when. “I’m sorry, it’s been insane since
I got back, I haven’t had much time to find my feet really. It’s not like Mum
and Dad gave me much choice,” I said, trying to sound light about it.
    The brightness in Mel’s eyes dimmed and her
mouth gaped in a question that was stilled when we heard a distant wolf
whistle. Over Mel’s shoulder stood a man I would never be able to forget, a man
whose essence no photograph over the years had ever been able to capture. Mel’s
dad was tall, built, and had an electric presence of power and masculinity.
Even though he was my dad’s best mate and more of an adopted uncle, any female
could appreciate his draw. Aside from that, to me he was just Bluey. Luke
Sheehan, nicknamed ‘Bluey’, a namesake that drew much popular debate. Some say
it’s because he only owned Blue Heeler dogs, others put it down to his
affection for blue dungaree pants and blue checked flannel shirts, but the one
I believed true was because of the piercing blue of his eyes. Had to be.
    He leant