Page 36 of Road to Rosalee

Her rushed steps turned into a frenzied sprint and before she knew it, she was tearing across the house paddock, destination unknown. Reaching the far fence out of breath, she dropped to her knees, looked to the heavens and, with a deep inhalation, screamed louder than she ever had before. Her cries echoed all around her. She continued to do this until the wind had been taken from her, until she felt she had nothing left, until her throat was raw. Only then did she give in to whatever this was trying to erupt from deep inside of her – comprehension, consciousness, awakening, pure rage. Only then did she collapse forwards, spent, vulnerable, sobbing so hard it felt as if she were crying her tortured soul right out of her.

Time passed in a blur. She rose to her feet, feeling different, but how, she wasn’t quite sure. Hands tucked into her pockets, she wandered back towards the common kitchen, her head clearer, and her heart less heavy. The ghosts still lingered but had lost their grip. Nearing the kitchen, she paused at the golden blanket of wattle trees and, closing her eyes, listened to the rustle of air moving through the long grass, coupled with the call of birds and the whinny of horses. Everything sounded clear, louder, and more beautiful. Eyes flickering open, she watched where a mob of kangaroos grazed, all five of them unperturbed by her presence. There was never a day that passed in the outback where she didn’t bear witness to something that stirred her soul and touched her heart. The mob of Aussie icons reminded her of the many school holidays when she and her mother would go and stay in a little cabin in the Blue Mountains, for old time’s sake. They would spend their days out riding through the bush tracks of the property where kangaroos would suddenly appear on the track, startling the horses, and her. They’d swim in the creeks and hunt down wild berries, and her mother would point out all the magical splendour of the bush. At night, her mum would help her to light the campfire, where they would cook their dinner over the hot coals and then roast marshmallows on long sticks they’d found in the scrub. That’s when her love for cooking had really begun. Somewhere along the way, amidst the need to fit into the foodie society of urban life and make a go of it as a prominent chef, her yearning to prepare wholesome food had been overshadowed. But now, thanks to coming here, she was free to cook as she loved again. Just the acknowledgment of this had her racing back to the kitchen to finish preparing the men’s lunches.

Half an hour later, eight sheets of tin foil had been torn off, and were lined up along the bench. Four pieces of buttered bread sat atop each one, a slice of cheese, three bits of bacon, and grilled onions on one side and her homemade garlic aioli on the other. Breaking eggs into the hot frypan, she marvelled at how orange the yolks were – free-range really meant free-range out here. Sprinkling some salt, she popped a lid on to help steam the tops to rich, gooey goodness. In her opinion, there was nothing more satisfying then biting into a bacon and egg sanga and seeing the yolk running down her fingers.

‘Far out, brussels sprout. This kitchen smells like my kind of heaven.’ Footfalls came up behind her. ‘I know I keep telling you, but I’m going to say it again, you’re spoiling us, Melody, big time.’

She turned to look up into Slim’s smiling face. ‘I don’t mind, mate. I love seeing the grins on your mugs at mealtime. It makes every bit of effort worth it.’

‘We’re not going to want you to go, you know that, right?’ Plucking a grape from the bowl, he tossed it into the air, balancing like a trapeze artist on one foot as he tried to catch it, which he did with a flourish.

‘Aw, thanks, Slimbo.’ A heartfelt smile filled her face – it was so refreshing to feel so wanted, so appreciated. She began packing the food into her usual basket. ‘Are you going to take this out to the men today, mate?’

Slim shook his head. ‘Oh, no, we knocked off early for lunch, and I’ve given the blokes a couple of hours rest before we head back out this arvo. So we decided to come to you for a change.’

‘Oh, groovy, I’ll set the table instead. Are the others far off?’

Plucking the orange juice from the fridge, he wandered over and grabbed a glass out of the overhead cupboard. ‘Nah, they’re just washing up. They’ll be here in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

Zai’s deep laughter carried into the kitchen, enveloping her right before his presence did. Saying g’day to the men over her shoulder, she kept her gaze on the huge hunk of watermelon she was chopping.

The handsome tower of manly man saddled up beside her. ‘Watch those fingers of yours, because the nearest hospital is hours away.’

‘Don’t you worry. I got this.’ She offered a playful sideways glance, liking the shadow of hair over his strong jaw. Job done within half the time it would take a person without chef skills, she set the knife down and grinned at his expression of complete and utter awe. ‘See, I still have all ten.’ She held her fingers up, wiggling them.

‘Holy heck, you’re like the Houdini of slicing. Bloody impressive.’

Showbags was the last one to join them. Saying a quick hello to Melody, he skidded to a stop at Zai. ‘You trying to grow a beard, mate?’

Zai chuckled and shrugged his big shoulders. ‘Nope, just don’t have anyone to impress out here.’

‘Rolling out of bed and staying that way isn’t going to be doing you any favours, even out here. You never know who you might happen to meet.’ With utter banter in his eyes, Showbags looked to Melody. ‘What do you think of a man who hasn’t shaved, Melds? Yay, or nay?’

Talk about putting her on the spot. Personally, she liked the five o’clock shadow on Zai’s angular jaw – it gave him a rough-around-the-edges air that she found very appealing. ‘I dunno.’ She shrugged. ‘Eeether, either, makes no difference to me, it’s not like I’ve got to kiss him, because then it might matter, because I don’t like being sandpapered.’ Oh shit. She was yabbering because this damn man rendered her senseless.

Zai’s eyes crinkled at the corners.

She fidgeted beneath his red-hot stare. ‘What?’

‘So it would only matter if you had to kiss me?’ He looked at her as if he could read her mind.

She rinsed her knife off at the sink. ‘Yes, why is that so alarming?’

‘It’s not, but who said anything about kissing?’

‘I did, because I was asked a question,’ she shot back, looking from Zai to a very amused-looking Showbags. Oh crap, were her cheeks glowing red?

‘Righto, don’t stab me.’ Zai held his hands up. ‘I probably shouldn’t be stirring you with a knife that size in your hand.’

She laughed, her unease disappearing – he always had the knack. ‘Probs not.’ Man oh man she had the hots for him – bad.

The ropey muscles in his neck stood out as he chuckled with her. ‘Hey, when lunch is done, would you like to go for an arvo ride? I have to go and check a few of the fences out yonder and thought it might be nice for you to get out and about.’

‘You know what, I reckon it might be just what the doctor ordered.’ She wiped her hands on the tea towel, deciding not to mention she hadn’t been in a saddle for more than five years. ‘Sounds like fun, thanks Zai.’ Her stomach sizzled as she imagined galloping alongside him, her hair flowing in the wind, a sunset on the horizon, sending shadows across his strong jaw, cue the romantic music …

‘Good, great. I’ll swing by around three to grab you.’

She snapped from her fantasy. A record scratching and the scene became realistic – her hanging on for dear life, hoping to god she didn’t fall off and make a complete and utter fool of herself in front of this man.