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I just hung my head and swore.
23
TOM
Tom’s unsent letters:
Dear Rosie,
Saw your dad today and he asked me about helping to prune the vineyard as we’ve always done. I almost said no. I haven’t been to the vineyard or seen your family since you left nine months ago.
I went. I missed the vines. I missed your parents. Even your sisters.
And then I did something I’ve never done before. I showed him my vines, the ones I planted for my high school ag science project. They were looking fantastic after two years and I suddenly wanted him to know about them.
He said I’d done really well with how well the vines were growing in that valley. Your dad promised me some more canes and cuttings. So I’m going to expand it.
Yep, that’s right.
I couldn’t help but wonder what Dad would make of his son, who is meant to be a grazier, part Shearer, part Station Manager, growing grapes.
When your dad complimented me on my vines, I almost cried in the middle of the paddock. I miss my dad so much and to have your dad say I did something okay, well I bloody well almost lost it.
Shit. Had to dry my eyes after I wrote that. I needed to write that.
Wish my old man was here so he could see what I’m doing here and hear about what I’m studying and what he thinks of these academics and their studies.
I even want to see the look on his face seeing my secret valley vineyard.
I want to know what you would think of these vines and see the look on your face. But that won’t happen.
Regards,
Tom
The sun weakly shone through grey clouds gathering on the horizon. A lone kookaburra heralded dawn. His mates had decided it was way too cold to be bothered with birdsong at daybreak.
Our horses snorted, and their breath clouded in front of them. It was freezing today and the horses were a little cranky they had to spend the night in the paddock shelter beside the pump house rather than the stables. I whispered promises of a rub-down, carrots and a wool blanket when we reached the shepherd’s hut. They grizzled but nudged my hand for pats.
All teams had headed out except me and Rosie. I’d seen everyone off first before dawn. An hour later, I was checking the saddles and panniers of our horses at the paddock shelter and pumphouse.
Soon, I would be alone with Rosie.
When Pete had made an offer to swap muster teams with Rosie, including the placement of her cameras, she’d declined.
I hadn’t heard from her online or by text overnight. Lord, I wanted to message her but I held off. I had to keep focused on the muster.
Which was no easy task after a largely sleepless night tossing and turning, dreaming of the confrontation with Amanda.
With tracking the sheep with the dogs, using the drone, and placing cameras at the burrows, there wouldn’t be time for conversation. And, at least I’d have the hut to myself.
I mounted up with Rusty barking excitedly, oblivious to the cold and keen to get going, and Ruby content to sit on the saddle behind me.
Ryan checked my satellite phone yet again and grunted. “Weather bureau has called it for tomorrow. Snow down to 500 metres in the high country.” He looked between both of us. “The hut is at 800 metres. It’s coming straight for you guys and the sheep.”
I swore under my breath and silently prayed for dry firewood in a nice, neat pile at the hut. We would need it.
“Don’t like the idea of you in a tent with this snow coming,” Ryan grumbled to Rosie.
