Driftwood (5 page)

‘Yeah, well. I tend to agree with that. Life gets too boring if it's all mapped out. I like to consider myself a bit of a free spirit.'

Jay glanced over at her, smiling. ‘Hmm, a free spirit, hey? I like the sounds of that. I'm afraid my life doesn't allow me the pleasure.' Jay swerved slightly to avoid an echidna that was wandering across the road, and then continued on. Taylor liked the fact he hadn't run it over, like her stepfather would have. ‘You'll get on like a house on fire with Col's wife, Faith, who looks after the kitchen. She's the complete opposite to him: calm, unconventional; hippie-like, really. They're like chalk and cheese, those two, but after twenty-odd years of marriage they're still madly in love. Lucky buggers. It's just a shame their daughter, Zoe, isn't more like her mum. She can be a right little spoilt brat. Doesn't like it when she doesn't get what she wants.'

‘Really, in what way?'

Jay frowned and sucked air in through his teeth. ‘In more ways than one, but, I didn't say that, I just wanted to warn you. She can be a handful.'

‘I'll keep it in mind, thanks. I like the sound of Faith, though. She sounds really cool,' said Taylor, smiling. ‘You know, you
can
be free, Jay. It's easy. The way you view your life, the way you make your life, is all in here,' said Taylor, tapping her head and then her heart. ‘You start believing you're a free spirit and life will make it that way. Trust me. I know from experience.'

Jay rubbed his stubble once again, a thoughtful expression creasing his brow. ‘Hmm, not too sure if I believe in all that hocus-pocus. I wish it were that easy.' He shrugged. ‘Each to their own, though. Can I ask you, what are you doing up north, in Driftwood of all places?'

‘Um, I'm not really sure yet. I had a bit of a falling out with my parents and decided it was time to hit the road, in search of an adventure. And voila, I found myself here. I'd like to believe it's my destiny, that there's some reason I've ended up here. I just gotta figure out what the reason is.'

‘Bloody hell, you really
do
throw caution to the wind. I'm not sure I could
ever
do that. Good on you, though, for having the guts to do it.'

Taylor grinned, enjoying Jay's compliment. ‘Thanks. I believe that if you don't take risks in life then you're never really living.'

Jay chuckled. ‘Well, I wish you good luck on your, um, adventure.'

Taylor gave him the thumbs up as she stifled a yawn. ‘Cheers.' She leant her head back. The fight with her parents, her big drive up north, then running out of fuel and having to walk, had made her extremely tired. ‘Do you know if there's any work around here?'

‘Why? Planning on staying?'

Taylor's belly rumbled and she remembered how hungry she was, her mouth watering with the thought of the juicy steak she now wasn't going to eat. She just hoped there was a vending machine somewhere in the vicinity of the hotel. Otherwise, she might have to consider chewing her own arm off. ‘If I can find work and I like the place, yep, sure am. Why the heck not?'

‘What sort of work you after?'

‘Jillarooing would be my dream job, but I'm not too fussy, anything really: grocery store, bar work, cooking at the pub. I don't mind, as long as I can pay my way. Plus, I sing. So maybe the pub might give me a few gigs, if I'm lucky.'

Jay raised his eyebrows. ‘You sing? A woman of many talents by the sounds of it! What sort of music?'

Taylor widened her weary eyes, grinning sassily as she wriggled her eyebrows. ‘Two types.'

Jay waited for a few moments, tapping the steering wheel in time to the music. ‘And they are?'

Taylor smirked cheekily. ‘Country
and
western.'

Jay chuckled once again, his dimples prominent on his cheeks. ‘Well, here in Driftwood, you'd certainly have a captive audience. That's all we listen to. Although I don't think Col will have the money spare to
pay
you to sing. He would, on the other hand, pay you to work behind the bar. One of the barmaids took off the other day with a truckie, left poor Col in the lurch. Nobody's come forward for the job so he'd be rapt to find a replacement. And if you want some mustering work, I might have something for you in a month or two, around March, when the season starts up in full swing again. As long as you can handle yourself in the saddle, that is?'

Taylor clapped her hands, her weariness forgotten for the moment, the excitement of already having job prospects, especially as a jillaroo, filling her with optimism. ‘Of course I can handle a horse; I've been riding them since I was six! I've had five years' experience as a stablehand and I did some work experience on a cattle station in Victoria last year, which was great. Fan-bloody-tabulous! See, I told you your life is what you make of it. I am
meant
to be here. I can feel it in my bones.'

‘Point proven,' Jay agreed enthusiastically as he pulled his gaze from her and focused on the road, the soft glow of streetlights from Driftwood's township peeking around the distant bend. Not long now and this magnificent woman that had just wandered into his life would be wandering back out of it again. That's what typically happened in his life, people came and went. Not many chose to stay, especially the women. He turned the stereo up a little louder, drowning out the need for any more conversation. Taylor looked tired and he was exhausted too.

Taylor yawned and wriggled further into the seat, staring out the windscreen in awe at the glittering stars caressing the blackness of the country sky. It was beautiful, breathtaking. Life was looking up. Things were falling into place for her so easily. She'd made the right decision to drive north instead of south when she'd left Brisbane, she just knew it. There was a reason she had followed the roads all the way to Driftwood. Her instincts were telling her whatever it was, it was going to knock her socks off.

‘I love your choice of music,' she said, tapping her feet in time to the tune, ‘Hell of a Ride'.

‘Adam Brand? Yeah, he's brilliant! We're so close he's like my cousin, he and I are great mates!' Jay announced proudly.

Taylor impulsively shoved him on the arm, her mouth gaping open. ‘Get out! He. Is. Not!'

Jay grinned back at her, obviously chuffed at her reaction. ‘Uh huh. No word of a lie! Our families go way back. Cool, huh?'

‘Oh my God! You lucky bugger! I wish Adam was
my
good mate!'

Jay chuckled. ‘That's what all the girls say. But I reckon what they
really
mean is, “I wish he was my lover.”'

Taylor laughed. ‘Yeah, we probably do. He's a spunk.'

‘Adam comes here every year in March, to have a break from his busy schedule and also to help me out with the big muster. I'm forever telling him he doesn't need to work when he visits Waratah Station but he swears he loves it. Reckons spending time out in the saddle, mustering for days on end, gives him loads of inspiration for his songwriting. So, you'll probably get to meet him at some point — that is, if you decide to come and work for me.'

Taylor's eyes widened. ‘Holy shit! Really? In that case, consider me the hired help already! Although I reckon I'd pass out if I came face to face with him!'

‘Nah, you wouldn't. He's a really friendly bloke. He normally does a free gig at the hotel too, just for us locals. Keep that to yourself though, as he likes to keep it small and personal.'

‘Wow, this just keeps getting better and better,' said Taylor, grinning from ear to ear.

They sat in companionable silence, letting the music wash over them, Adam Brand's commanding voice filling in the quiet nicely with the tune, ‘Cigarettes and Whiskey'. Taylor sang the lyrics in her head, wishing she could instead sing them out loud, smiling as she noted Jay was quietly singing the lyrics to himself too, his full firm lips moving ever so slightly. She wondered if the lyrics meant anything to him, seeing he knew them so well, or whether this was just a favourite of his. She let the lyrics roll around in her mind, enjoying the melody of the catchy song.

2012 — Far North Queensland

The sun crept over the distant mountaintops, the dawning of the new day sending hues of vibrant reds and oranges throughout the sky. Tom Connors, Waratah's head stockman, leant on the steel railings of the holding yard, a rolling paper dangling from his lips. He pulled some tobacco from his leather pouch and rolled a cigarette between yellow-stained fingers. Then, yanking a Zippo from his back pocket, he flicked it alight and inhaled pleasurably as the rollie sparked up, the scent of lighter fluid lingering briefly as he blew a perfect smoke ring skywards.

Brash squawking drew Tom's attention above and he watched absentmindedly as a flock of galahs created a sea of pink among the cottony clouds. The raucous birds were headed in the direction of the top dam, he guessed, where they frequently congregated. Clever birds. It was his favourite spot for a swim, too, and the small waterfall was magnificent in the wet season.

Bringing his attention back to where Jay was loading the cattle onto the waiting truck, Tom groaned as he eased his head from side to side, trying to rid the kinks from his neck, squeezing his shoulder with his hand. His forty-four-year-old body felt aged beyond its years, his shoulders full of knots, his back throbbing constantly from his time spent out in the saddle. His right knee was forever popping out of its socket thanks to the injuries he'd sustained riding bucking bulls.

Inhaling his cigarette deeply, he chuckled to himself. He'd certainly given his body a tough run, but he'd had fun doing it, that was for sure. After the emotional torture that wicked woman had put him through all those years ago he'd had to do something,
anything
, and running amok, pushing himself to the limits, working hard and playing hard had gotten him through all the anguish. With the help of Greg, Jay's father, of course. Shit, he'd be six foot under without the bloke. Greg was like the brother he'd never had and Tom was extremely protective of Waratah, Jay and his mother, Patty, because of it.

Since Greg's death, Tom had felt the need to step up to the plate, to make sure Waratah Station stayed in the family and that Jay and Patty were happy. He knew Jay had his grandad for words of encouragement, but that was all. At eighty-seven, Reg was too old to take care of anyone other than himself, his arthritis making it almost impossible for the old bugger to get around. After his last bad fall three years ago, Reg was more than willing to go to the retirement village in Cairns — some of his old mates were already there. Tom respected the courage it would have taken Reg to leave Waratah Station after spending his entire life here. He was always the pillar of strength, and still was: strength of mind was a common Donnellson trait, one that Jay had inherited, but lacked the confidence to believe in after his father's death.

‘
Please, take care of the wife and kids, mate
,' Greg had begged as he'd died in Tom's arms, and Tom was determined to stick to that agreement. He would
never
give up on them, although he felt like he was failing in his promise. He just wished he could find a way to get Patty off the drink, and to help Jay see the positive side of life again, like the lad used to. It didn't matter how many times he found Patty's stash and confiscated it, she would just go and buy more. She used to be such a feisty spirit, full of life and love for the land, and now, well, she'd turned her back on life
and
Jay. Greg had undoubtedly been the glue that had stuck the family together.

Pushing down the emotions threatening to surface, Tom shook his head sadly; it was filled with images of Greg being gouged by the bull. It was still so vivid: the screams for help, the frenzied bull, and the blood, all over Greg, on Tom's skin and clothes . . . If only he could have done more, maybe Greg wouldn't have died. If
he'd
been the one in the chute instead of Greg, maybe it would never have happened. The memory of Greg being crushed to death would haunt him forever and had left guilt so heavy in his heart that some days Tom struggled to take a decent breath from the weight of it.

Stubbing his cigarette out on his boot then placing the butt in his pocket, Tom pushed himself from the steel rails of the portable holding yard. He strolled towards Jay, his belly rumbling in protest at skipping breakfast. A decent plateful of steak, grilled tomatoes, baked beans and fried eggs would hit the spot perfectly once he was finished here. He was bloody starving, paying the price for sleeping in.

‘Come on you lot! Move along! Up ya bloody get! We haven't got all fucking day!' Jay hollered as he pushed the last of the cattle up the loading ramp and into the road train, feeling exhausted and grumpy already, his unexpected late night taking its toll. The cattle bellowed loudly, as if proclaiming their exasperation at being sent to the saleyards, their hooves clomping noisily as they traipsed up the ramp.

Jay watched as the last cow shuffled in. He shut the back door to the cattle truck, ensuring the latch was locked firmly into place. Fine dust and insistent flies hovered around him as he tipped his hat and waved the truck driver off. He sighed, recalling why he was so damn tired. His thoughts wandered back over last night and the uncanniness of happening upon such a beautiful woman in the most unlikely of places. He found Taylor Whitworth's attitude a breath of fresh air and couldn't help liking her and admiring her carefree spirit and natural beauty. What sane man wouldn't? What bravery it took to hit the road, destination unknown, to leave your life in the hands of fate. He wished
he
could break free of his cage and run, but Waratah Station meant too much to him to give up the fight. Bloody responsibilities sucked sometimes, though — what he'd give to be eighteen again. Back when his life felt normal, and happy.