Page 49 of Road to Rosalee

Chapter

14

At the end of the following week, Melody had done exactly as she’d promised herself – for nine long, gruelling days. As hard as it was to resist the magnetic attraction that had the power to drag her heart towards Zai’s the second he was anywhere near her, she was succeeding, if only just, in staying over her side of the boundary she’d silently created. She could tell it was baffling, and possibly even frustrating, for Zai, with her being a lot more detached than he was used to, and a lot more platonic, but she didn’t owe him an explanation, especially when nothing amorous had happened between them, other than intense feelings of wanting to ravish each other. Her feelings ran deep for him, of that she was certain, but he didn’t need to know that – it would only complicate things more. And whether her choice to draw the line so definitively yet so silently was right or wrong, she reminded herself not to make a mountain out of a molehill each and every time she found herself wanting to explain the hurt look in his eyes away. Nobody here, not Zai, nor her father or Sarah, needed to know of her broken marriage – that was her mess to sort out when she went back to Sydney. And sort it out she would.

Flicking the fluorescent lights off in the common kitchen, she undid her messy bun and ran her fingers through the ends before pulling the sweaty hair up into a high ponytail. With the brimming dinner basket in her hands and the old homestead dog in tow, she strode across the shimmering red dirt and climbed behind the wheel of the dusty old four-wheel drive used for errands around the station. Old Harold did his usual trick and jumped through the open window, landing himself on the passenger seat. Kicking a couple of empty Coke cans out of the way, she revved the old girl to life, the almost empty bag of Minties in the centre console urging her to have one. And so she did – just like that. If only the same could have been said for her urges regarding Mister Knock-Her-Socks-Off Wellstone. She half laughed, half groaned with the predicament she was in, the Mintie almost sticking her jaw together in the process – there was a knack to eating the Aussie legends unless one wanted their teeth clamped together by the sweet morsel.

Pressing the button to spray some water onto the windscreen, she momentarily flicked the wipers on, the two coppery arches made clearer as the film of red dust shifted. Then, tugging her seatbelt on, she turned the ABC radio up – tuned in by the strategically placed wire coathanger on the bonnet – then ground the old gearbox into first gear and lunged forwards towards where the men were branding and sorting for the day. Bouncing along the earthen track, she drew comfort and strength from the countryside surrounding her – there was something to be said for the solitude and sheer grit of it all. And there was also a hell of a lot to be said for the men and women who called a place so isolated, sometimes brutal and quite often unforgiving, home. She was proud her heritage made her part of it all.

Singing the lyrics of ‘Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys’, she crossed the second of three cattle grids – the Waylon Jennings classic had been one of her mother’s favourites. Her heart warmed and sweetened as she recalled singing it with her mum, in the car, while washing up, whenever the opportunity arose. It was a beautiful reminiscence. And for the very first time since losing her, she embraced the memory without tears rising. It felt so good to recall her mum with fondness instead of grief. Although the sadness still lingered, and always would, her gratitude of having the years she did with her amazing mum finally outshone the gloominess, like the sun pressing through clouds. Being at Rosalee Station, where the landscape was as raw and real and rich as the people who lived here, it felt like a huge step in the grieving process had been accelerated. God really did work in mysterious ways.

A pesky fly buzzed around her face and she hopelessly tried to shoo it away, but it was hell-bent on trying to cling to her lashes. Doing the Aussie salute, she finally swatted it out her open window, only for another to buzz through Harold’s window and land on his snout. He nipped at the air, trying to catch it, his teeth snapping. She couldn’t help but chuckle at his antics before gasping when he succeeded in swallowing it. Even the bloody flies were determined to be hard-as-nails out here, but Harold knew how to beat them at their game – not that she was about to start swallowing flies.

Bouncing over the final cattle grid, she did her best to ignore the beads of sweat rolling down her back and between her breasts. The air-conditioner was still on the blink and the dust-laden wind floating through the open window was searing. She’d tried rolling it up, once, and had felt like she was being roasted in an oven. If it were at all possible, the weather pressed in upon her more than ever. It had been relentless over the last couple of days, making them all a little less patient with one another, especially Hasselhoof. He seemed to be getting broodier as the days zoomed past.

Humming to the next country tune, one by the brilliant Adam Brand, and without another soul in sight – not something common in the place she usually called home – a bubble of rashness rose. Having broken from the ranks of the kitchen, and with nothing but open countryside rolling out around her, she felt free, and a little reckless. Should she have a little harmless fun? she thought with a little smirk. Why the heck not …

Cranking the steering wheel to the left, she squealed with delight as the back-end fishtailed and an even bigger plume of dust was left in her wake. She righted her forward track then, spurred on by the rush, did it again, the opposite way, feeling like a wild rebel out of something like The Dukes of Hazzard. But then, just as she tightened out, without warning, the four-wheel drive jerked to a teeth-shattering halt. Harold gave her a sideways what-did-you-do-that-for look from beneath his brow-wrinkled eyes. She couldn’t blame him, as she was asking herself the same question. Her knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel, she sucked in another sharp breath as she stared apprehensively out the windscreen. What in the hell had she hit? Putting the four-wheel drive into neutral then yanking on the handbrake, she flung the door open and jumped out. Her heart stopped, and she grimaced. The front tyre was as flat as a tack.

Panic rose. In a couple of hours, it was going to be pitch-black out here. What in the heck was she going to do now? Tears threatening, she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, reprimanding herself for allowing such recklessness to rise – it always ended badly when she did. She’d have to swallow her pride and contact the guys. She needed to ask for help.

Leaning back into the four-wheel drive, she grabbed the two-way. ‘Hey boys, it’s Melody, can any of you hear me?’

She was met with crackle and an unnerving silence. Oh, crap.

Straightening her shoulders, she drew in a calming breath – not that it did much good – and tried again. ‘Zai, Slim, Hasselhoof, anyone?’

Again, nothing but radio silence met her.

Right, what in the hell was she meant to do now? Surely when she didn’t arrive with the smoko, they would come looking for her. Wouldn’t they?

Maybe …

With a deep exhalation and a few expletives, she slipped the handset back into the harness on the dash then, hand on hips and with her lips caught between her teeth, experienced another lengthy moment of absolute panic. She’d never changed a tyre in her life. Didn’t even have a clue where to start. That’s what her roadside assistance was for. Fat chance of that out here. The thought actually made her chuckle – living in the city had allowed her the luxury of being inept in so many things that country souls essentially had to know simply to survive. Far out, talk about stretching a person past their comfort zone – this place certainly had the knack for it.

Deciding there was no time like now to learn the art of changing a tyre, she drew in another deep breath. Then, mentally regathering herself, she firmly told herself that she had this. Hopefully. Possibly. If not, she’d just have to fake it until she made it because by the sounds of the static on the two-way, there’d be nobody to come to her rescue anytime soon. So much for her knight in shining armour. Then again, she’d never needed one before, so why start now?

Folding the driver’s seat forward, she spotted the dust-covered jack, jack handle and wheel brace buried beneath empty chip packets and a roll of fencing wire. Heaving it all out, she placed it on the ground and went in search of the spare tyre. Trailing her gaze from top to bottom, she finally discovered the spare secured behind the drums of fuel and water strapped to the back. Almost ten minutes later, after much grunting and groaning and hitting her funny bone hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, she succeeded in rolling the tyre off the tray, strategically landing it beside her gathering toolkit. Dusting her hands off, she felt a bubble of accomplishment.

Hightailing it over the side, she felt her boots hit the ground with a thud. Wiping beads of sweat from her brow, she crouched down to evaluate her next move. It didn’t look too complicated, and that helped to buoy her fleeing confidence. Positioning herself beside the offending tyre, she knelt down and slid the jack beneath the chassis. It took a few goes for it to do what she wanted. Then, cranking it as hard as she could, she ignored the burn between her shoulder blades as she gritted her teeth and dug her heels in for traction. It was tough going but she persisted, and the four-wheel drive rose, then rose some more. She squealed in delight when it got to where it needed to be for her to begin her next test – taking the flat tyre off.

Before rising to the challenge, she grabbed her water bottle from the cab and took a decent glug – the relentless heat was making her feel a little dizzy. Harold had the idea – the old cattle dog was lazing beneath the only shade for miles, provided by a lone cluster of mulga trees. As she grabbed the wheel brace and hooked it onto the first of the nuts, the distant beat of horse hooves brought her to her feet. Raising a hand to shade her eyes, she squinted into the blinding sunshine. An Akubra-topped silhouette appeared through the heat-haze – it was a scene right out of an old Western movie. And when she spotted who it was, just like the horse’s thundering hooves, so too did her heart beat just as fast, and just as passionately.

One hand resting on her hip and the other still gripping the wheel brace, she watched the horse and its rider skid to a stop just shy of her.

‘Howdy, Miss Melody.’ The two-day stubble surrounding Zai’s kissable mouth was all she could see, the rest of his face shaded by his hat. ‘You were running a little late, so thought I’d come check on you. Bit of car trouble?’

‘Hmm.’ She glanced at the sorry state of affairs she’d found herself in, and back up at Zai’s gorgeous face. ‘You could say that.’

‘So, tell me, with nothing much for miles and a track as flat as a tack, how’d you manage to flatten a tyre?’ His lips seductively curled into that knee-buckling smile.

‘I, um, well …’ She tried to keep the embarrassment out of her voice, but it just crept in. ‘I kinda tried to fishtail, and before I knew it, this happened.’

‘Fishtail, hey?’ His chuckle was deep and throaty. ‘I never imagined you to be the kind to like that sort of thing.’

‘I have a rebellious side, I just don’t show it much.’ She was gushing beneath his stare, and hated the fact, but with him looking so rough and ready atop his horse, his get-up the epitome of a true-blue countryman, she just couldn’t help herself.

‘I like your rebellious side. You should let it out more often.’ Sao shifted a little impatiently. ‘Whoa, buddy, ease up, now.’ Flaring his nostrils, Sao danced on the spot, blowing out an almighty sigh. Shifting his weight in the saddle, Zai leant in and gave the gelding a rub on the neck. ‘We’ll get back to it all soon, buddy.’ He looked back to Melody. ‘So, do you need a hand or have you got it covered?’ There was a playful lilt in his voice.