Ringer Read Free Page B

casually against a verandah post
of his homestead, watching on at our reunion.
    A crooked curve lifted his mouth as he
shook his head. “There goes the neighbourhood,” he said, straightening from his
casual stance and making his way down the steps towards the gate.
    I tilted my head. “Oh hardy-ha! I could
probably teach you a thing or two, old man.”
    “Old man? Ouch,” he said as he approached,
towering next to Mel. He rested his elbows on the top of the gate. “Your old
man will be glad to see you,” he said, ruffling my hair up.
    I pulled away, feigning annoyance as I
brushed my hair back into place. “I bet he will, his own personal slave he can
push around the farm.”
    “Slave? More like princess,” Bluey scoffed.
    “Ha! What kind of princess is asked to man
the fort while her parents leave her to go to cattle auctions? I think not,” I
said, brushing a layer of dust off my jeans.
    Bluey’s eyes dimmed in the same manner
Mel’s had before; it was a look of genuine bewilderment, more so when Bluey
shifted uneasily and caught the eye of his daughter.
    “Man the fort?” he asked.
    “Yeah, can you believe it? I haven’t even
been home for a week and he wants me to babysit Moira Station, as if I have a
clue what to do; it’s preposterous.”
    “You wouldn’t.”
    “Exactly. Thank you.”
    “That’s why he’s hired someone.”
    “What?”
    Bluey shrugged. “He’s hired someone Max
recommended.”
    “But … but he said he needed me home.”
    “Needed or wanted you home?” Bluey
emphasised the latter.
    I blinked; thinking back to the
conversations that had gone on, the only link in my mind, now having thought about
it, was Max wasn’t going to be there, so naturally I would be the one expected
to … oh God! They had merely wanted me to come home, lured by my own stupidity.
    Mel laughed. “You running Moira, now that I
would like to see.”
    My eyes narrowed.
    “You said so yourself it would be pretty
preposterous.” Bluey smirked.
    Right!
    I stormed back to the car, madder than
hell: mad at my dad being shady on the details; mad at Max having a life; mad
at the Sheehans for making me feel foolish.
    “I’ll see you later,” I called, rage
bubbling under the surface, because most of all, I was mad at myself.
    I reached to grab the handle of my door.
    “What the … ?”
    My hand hovered over the bare alcove of my
missing door handle, and a new dread swept over me.
    He hired someone.
    Someone Max recommended.
    Oh shit!

 
     
    Chapter Five
     
    Ringer
     
     
    “You’re more
than welcome to stay in the house.”
    Steve Henry walked in front of me down the
long hallway that led into a pristine, cream-coloured kitchen with stainless
steel modern appliances. He was tall and wiry like Max, except for one obvious
difference: Max didn’t have a beer gut … yet. Steve’s sandy-blond hair and
weathered face from working outdoors no doubt made him look older than he
actually was. Still, he had a firm handshake which immediately put him in good
stead—it’s all any bloke could ask for in order to make a good impression;
well, that and an offer of a cold beer that I gladly welcomed. After the long
drive and near-death experience, I must have looked a sight. I arrived at Moira
station covered in dust, my jeans torn on the side and a skinned elbow. Max’s
dad, Steve, had looked me over with guarded humour.
    “Rough trip?” he asked.
    Nothing like a bit of smart-arse humour to
lighten the mood. I think I would like Steve Henry just fine.
    “Like I said, there’s plenty of spare rooms
in the house if you want to claim one for yourself.”
    “Thanks, Mr Henry, but I’ve stayed in
shearers’ huts before, I’m happy to crash there.”
    “Ha. Maybe you better inspect them before
committing, and if you call me Mr Henry one more time I’ll force you to sleep
in the shearing shed with the sheep.”
    I smirked, picking at the VB label of my
stubby. “You’re a subtle man, Steve.”
    “Ha.