Red Dirt Heart 04 - Red Dirt Heart 4 (13 page)

He totally wasn’t.

Charlie continued, “She’s smart, so for God’s sake, listen to her. She has ideas and dreams. Respect that. Respect
her
. And so help me Jesus, if you hurt her or touch her without her direct permission, I’ll rip the skin from your body, ya hear?”

Amos paled, so I cleared my throat. “Charlie.”

Charlie lifted his chin, but made no retraction or apology.

“Okay,” Amos said. “Manners, respect and flowers. Right. Got it.”

Charlie nodded, like he was pleased with his work here. “We’re a bit short on options out here, but it’s spring. There are wildflowers. Go pick her some.”

Amos raised one eyebrow and leaned back, in a what-the-hell kind of way. “Oh please. When was the last time you picked your man flowers?”

I snorted and played along. “Yeah, Charlie, when was the last time you picked me flowers?”

Charlie opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He looked out at the desert, then at me. “Well, I…”

“Right,” Amos challenged. “Where’s your respect for Travis?”

Charlie took turns glaring at each of us, despite the blush that crept over his cheeks and down his neck.

Amos laughed and climbed through the fence railings. “Come on, boss. You and me. We’re goin’ flower pickin’.”

“We’re what?”

Amos was undeterred. “We can check the cows while we’re out there,” he said. When Charlie didn’t move, Amos tapped a non-existent watch. “Come on, boss. I’m on a deadline, look alive.”

They drove out into the first paddock, and I was still laughing long after they’d gone.

* * * *

George and I were leaning against the holding yard, having just fed the poddy calves, when the old ute came back to the homestead. I’d told George how Amos had called Charlie out on his lack of flower-givin’, and by the way George laughed, I’d say it was the funniest thing he’d heard in a long time.

Ma and Nara were sittin’ on the front veranda enjoying the afternoon sun, and George and I stood in silence as we watched Amos get out of the ute, smilin’ like always, with a small bunch of purple and yellow wildflowers. He seemed nervous, hesitant even, but with a final look back at Charlie, he climbed the veranda steps, took his hat off and offered the flowers to Nara.

It was very sweet and altogether innocent. Nara smiled and delicately took the small and honest posy of wildflowers, and smiled before giving him a kiss on the cheek. Amos grinned like he’d won the lottery just as Charlie walked up to the veranda.

Ma was standing beside Nara now, the both of them gushing. “Are those for me?” Ma asked Charlie, nodding to the flowers he was holding.

“Oh, well…” he stammered, holding the flowers out like they were toxic. “Yes. Of course they’re for you.”

He’d just given
my
flowers to Ma. He looked over at me and shrugged, completely lost.

I smiled at him, letting him know he did the right thing.

Ma smelled the flowers, then gave George one raised eyebrow and yelled, “Nice that someone brings me flowers.”

George whacked my arm. “How the hell am
I
in trouble for this?”

“What are you complaining about?” I whispered so Ma couldn’t hear. “They were
my
flowers.”

George looked at me for a long, serious moment, then busted up laughing, causing Ma and Nara to scowl at us as they went inside holding their flowers to their noses.

Amos was still bouncing with excitement, whereas Charlie looked a little embarrassed and deflated. I mouthed, “Thank you,” to him and honestly didn’t give it another thought.

He set off doing other chores, and I did mine for the rest of the afternoon. He’d disappeared, this time by himself into the northern paddock, and I didn’t see him again until Ma called us in to get cleaned up for dinner.

Charlie met me in the hall, almost running in with a smile and happy eyes and one hand behind his back. “Travis,” he said formally. He brought his hand around to reveal a single purple wildflower. “For you.”

Not a bouquet. Not even a bunch.

A single, most perfect flower.

He grinned shyly, and it was so stinkin’ cute I just could have melted.

“You like it?”

“Love it,” I replied.

He grinned some more and stepped around me toward the bathroom. “I need to wash up.” But as he brushed past me, I turned him and kissed him. Hard.

It was a bruising kiss, all-consuming, tongue-sweepin’ kiss, and when I pulled away and took a step back, his lips were red and his eyes were dazed.

He put his hand up and tried to say something. Totally kiss-drunk, all he managed was “…welcome.”

I laughed as I walked into our room. I put my flower on my pillow and when I came back out, he was still standin’ in the hall. “I should bring you flowers more often,” he said.

“Yes. Yes, you should.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “I can’t wait to see how you react to a whole bouquet.”

I shook my head at him. “Nope. Not a whole bunch. One was more special than a whole bouquet.”

Charlie seemed confused by this. He threw up his hands. “Oh, for the love of God. Don’t make it complicated.”

* * * *

That night in bed, I started awake with the feeling of something being amiss and found Charlie just lyin’ on his back, starin’ at the ceiling. “Hey,” I said, my voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

He looked at me and smiled, his face kinda serene in the silver light of the moon. “I think it’s time. I want to get another horse.”

If stubborn was an Olympic event.

I’d been to the sale yards at Alice Springs twice before, so I wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the place. Though admittedly, those times were for cattle and this was for horses.

The dusty rows of corrals were no different this time, six long rows with five or six yards with five or six horses in each. People clad in Akubra hats, plaid shirts, moleskin pants and riding boots came from all over looking for stockhorses and brood mares.

And we walked up and down and up and down, looking at each corral, at each horse. Some were priced in the thousands, some just a few hundred. Not that price mattered to Charlie. Each time I thought Charlie looked remotely interested, he’d make a pained face and shake his head.

No horse was ever gonna match his Shelby.

A lot of the buyers and most of the sellers knew Charlie, and he called them by name when he said hello. Whether they knew him because he was Charlie Sutton of Sutton Station fame or if he knew them from his meetings at the Beef Farmers, I didn’t know. But to those he stopped and spoke to, he introduced me without hesitation—and maybe just a little bit of pride.

It still amazed me at how far he’d come.

“What’s so funny?” he asked. We’d just stopped and spoke to a guy who Charlie called Mick, and when we moved on, I guess I was smiling.

“Oh nothing,” I replied. “Just you. You’re like ‘this is Travis’, like you don’t give a shit what they think.”

“Well, I don’t,” he said. “Give a shit what they think, that is. At one of the meetings I was at, we were talking about the collars we put on the cattle and I mentioned that it was your idea. They asked who you were and I didn’t want to say you were one of my staff, because you’re not. And I didn’t want to say ‘boyfriend’ and scare the guy or call you my ‘de facto’ because I’d sound like a wanker, so I said you were my partner.” He cringed at the word and sighed. “But then I had to explain that no, Sutton Station didn’t have a business partner, that no, I hadn’t sold any portion of my business and no, I wasn’t in financial trouble. I had to explain partner as in boyfriend, de facto. It was so much worse. So now I just say you’re Travis.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh my God. Tell me you’re kidding?”

“No, it was embarrassing,” he said with a smile. “The word
partner
means something different out here. I hate the term
de facto
, it’s as corny as
live-in lover
, and there ain’t no way I’m callin’ you that. Then I had to explain using the exact words I was trying to avoid.”

I laughed at that. “You could just always tell them the truth,” I told him. “You know, ‘Hi, this is Travis. He’s my American fiancé.’”

Charlie snorted. “Yeah, because the word
boyfriend
didn’t scare ’em enough.”

I chuckled. “Well, I was gonna say you could tell them I’m your Centaur. You know, half man”—I grabbed my crotch—“half horse.”

Charlie busted up laughing and pushed my shoulder, just as George came walking up around the corner with our vet, Scott. George shook his head at us, but I could tell he was pleased to see Charlie laughing.

“Don’t even wanna know what you two found funny,” George said.

“No, you probably don’t.” Still smiling, Charlie shook Scott’s hand. “G’day, mate. You remember Travis?”

“Sure,” he replied, shaking my hand. I was a bit disappointed Charlie didn’t even make one mention of me being a Centaur. “How’re those cattle collars working?”

As me, Scott and George talked about the collars and how much easier they made our jobs, I noticed that Charlie was distracted by something at the end of the corrals.

As we walked back to grab something to eat, Charlie kept on his starin’, and when I followed his line of sight, I realised he had his eye on a small horse at the end of the row of seven bedraggled horses that were tethered to the end of the last yard.

He walked past them, still lookin’ at it, and then he stopped walkin’.

“Charlie?” I asked, but he didn’t answer.

By this time George and Scott had stopped and came back to where Charlie stood. He kept looking over there, and in the end the three of us looked as well.

The horse he was lookin’ at was, well, ugly. Not that horses could strictly be ugly, but where Shelby was a beautiful buckskin, fifteen hands of pretty, if this horse could have fell outta the ugly tree, it must have hit every branch on the way down.

It had a baldy face, a mismatch of brown, white and red colours that looked like the genetic printer ran out of ink. It was hard to tell if it was coloured that way or had been rolling in the dirt. It hadn’t been brushed in probably, well, ever. It had burrs in its mane and tail, and when I looked closer, I could see its two front feet were hobbled, which was a not too uncommon practice, but these were heavy chain and this horse had one of its hind legs pulled up and hobbled in as well.

It was a mare, and she was in dire need of a good feed. She had her head down, and I wondered how long she’d been standing there, hobbled, unable to move.

Charlie finally looked from the horse to the man I presumed was the owner of the row of horses. He was laughin’ with two other men, but he held a piece of poly pipe and pointed it toward the horses. Charlie gave a nod toward him. “What’s that guy’s story?” he asked Scott.

“That’s Lenny Edens,” Scott answered. “He does the dogger run.”

“The dogger run?” I asked.

Charlie answered without taking his eyes off the man. “He takes the unwanted horses to the dog food factory.”

Oh.

Charlie watched him for a while, then his nostrils flared. And knowin’ Charlie, that never ended well.

“If he hits one of ’em with that pipe,” he said quietly, “I might just have to have a little chat with Mr Lenny Edens.”

Scott growled out a sigh. “He’s not the most gentle-handed, no.” I could tell from his tone that was his diplomatic professional vet opinion. I’m sure if he could talk out of school, so to speak, he’d be a little more blunt.

Now, I’d seen a lot of horsemen in my time, and I’d seen a lot of horses being broken in. There were good ways to do it and some downright cruel ways of doin’ it, and most of the time the person doin’ the breaking in would use a pipe or a stick or a whip merely as an extension of their arm.

Never to beat the animal.

Without another word, Charlie walked over to the horse. He just looked at her through the railing for a long while and eventually put his arm out, offering the horse the back of his hand.

I looked at George and he looked at me, and we both smiled. I knew, right or wrong, Charlie had chosen his horse.

Me, George and Scott walked over to Charlie at the same time as this Lenny Edens did. “Can I help you?” he asked. He was an older guy with sun-weathered skin, a wide-brimmed Akubra and a not-so-friendly smile.

“This horse,” Charlie said, nodding toward the mare. “How much do you want for her?”

Lenny laughed, and the horse pulled her head back, her eyes wide, and tried to retreat despite being tethered to the railing and having three of her feet tied together.

It was a pretty clear reaction of fear, and one Charlie did not like.

“You want this poor excuse for a horse?” Lenny asked. “Are you mad or somethin’, kid?”

“Whatever the going rate is for selling her to the doggers, I’ll double it.” Charlie looked at the horse again. “And I want the hobbles off. Now.”

The man blinked at Charlie like he was crazy.

“You don’t want this horse,” Lenny said, his tone patronising. “Let me save you your time and money, son. And a bunch of broken bones. This horse is a bitch of a thing.” He pointed to the heavy chain hobbles. “Hence the jewellery.” He sneered. “She’ll buck, bite and stomp. Just about killed me trying to get her here.”

Charlie looked at the length of pipe the man was still holding. “Well, I ain’t surprised. If you had me tied up, unable to move, then hit me with that, I’d probably try and kill you too.”

Ah, Jesus.

How to make friends and influence people, by Charlie Sutton. Threaten to kill them. Great way to get him to sell you something, Charlie.

The man laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. He looked over his shoulder at the two other men he’d been talking to earlier, and I wondered if Charlie was just about to get his fight on.

Just then, Billy kinda of appeared from nowhere and stood right beside Charlie. “Hey, Charlie,” he said, looking between Charlie and Lenny. “Everything okay, boss?”

“Everything’s fine,” Charlie said coolly. “Just trying to buy a horse.”

From the look on Lenny’s face and the tightened grip on the pipe he was holding, I thought maybe he considered hitting Charlie. Whether he revised his chances because there were now four of us—I didn’t count Scott because I wouldn’t expect the vet to swing his fist, but I knew damn well that Billy and George’d take out anyone who threatened Charlie.

Charlie just looked at Lenny, not backing down. “Is the horse for sale or not?”

The man didn’t answer, so Charlie turned to Scott. “Can you look her over for me?”

Scott looked at Lenny and only now did they acknowledge each other with a nod and a name. “Lenny.”

“Scott. How’s your old man?”

“Fine, fine,” Scott answered with a tight smile. “He’s here today. You know how these things are. Vets have to check over the well-being of every animal.”

Without exactly saying as much, Scott basically just told him that included his horses, whether they’re bound for a knackery or not, then proceeded to verbalise his assessment of the horse.

“She’s a varnish roan. Maybe four or five years old,” Scott said before he gently, carefully opened her lips and mouth. “Teeth look okay, nothing obvious, but I’m no equine dentist. She’s underweight, needs worming I’d say from the look of her. Eyes and nose are clear.” He nodded. “She looks okay, but I’d need to have a proper look at her hooves and see how she walks.”

Charlie turned back to Lenny. “Can you remove the hobbles, please, sir.”

Lenny looked at the two men who were now standing a little closer, watching us, then back at Charlie. He smiled. “I’ll tell you what, son. If you can get that horse on your float, you can have her.”

Charlie didn’t even blink. In fact, he looked pleased. “Deal.” He climbed through the railings into the corral and oh so slowly stepped closer to the horse. She obviously didn’t like people standing too close to her because she tried to shy away, pulling her head back because she couldn’t move her chained-together feet.

“Be careful, Charlie,” I said quietly.

“She’ll be fine,” he whispered, but I think it was more to the horse than me. He put the back of his hand to her nose, letting her smell him, then touched her cheek gently, and she let him. Until Lenny appeared at her other side and she tried to pull away again.

George climbed up the railing and sat there. He looked casual, but I was pretty sure it was so he could be in the corral in half a second if he needed to be. Billy did the same, so I joined them. Scott stood leaning his arms on the railing, looking at the horse. “As soon as she’s free, she’s gonna pull,” Scott said.

Charlie had hold of the makeshift halter and lead while Lenny crouched down and leaned back from the horse as far as he could and still be able to unshackle the horse. The sonofabitch still had the length of poly pipe at his feet, though, and as soon as he had the hobbles undone, without any regard for Charlie’s safety, he picked up the pipe and tapped her hind fetlock with it.

The horse shied to Charlie’s side and then back again, causing Lenny to fall back on his ass. She pulled back immediately, quickly dragging Charlie on his feet like he was waterskiing across the dirt of the corral.

When he obviously wasn’t letting go, she reared up on her hind legs and towered over Charlie. Billy laughed, George was smiling and I was damn near havin’ a heart attack. All the while Charlie was calm, holding his ground and sayin’, “Whoa, whoa,” like she wasn’t a wild horse tryin’ to kill him.

Then she tried pulling again and buckin’ out both hind legs. That asshole Lenny thought it was funny, and I wondered, very briefly, if he’d like that pipe rammed down his throat. But he was right about one thing. The horse sure was fiery, but if he thought for one second this horse could out-stubborn Charlie, then he was sorely mistaken.

Because there weren’t a living thing on the planet more stubborn than Charlie Sutton.

The horse turned again, pullin’ her head back and throwin’ her front feet at Charlie, and as he stepped back, she pulled up, and somehow Charlie’s hat got knocked off.

And like a switch gettin’ flipped in that horse’s head, she stopped.

She was still breathing heavy, her chest heaving, and she was snorting quietly, but Charlie held the lead and stood right in close—her face almost touching his chest—and for a long minute, neither one of them moved.

Charlie held up the back of his free hand and she smelled it again, giving a bit of nod and a snort. He touched her cheek and ever so lightly scratched behind her ear, whispering soft words to her. And she let him.