The Golden Stranger (11 page)

‘They'll give Goldie back to the rodeo.'

Her mum said nothing.

‘I didn't even get to say goodbye. He didn't let me say goodbye.'

The rest of the morning was just one long, miserable stretch of time. Shara lay curled in a ball on her bed. How had her life become so messed up so quickly?

The vision of the two horses disappearing in the float wouldn't leave her mind. It was as though she had to keep replaying it over and over for her to be able to believe, comprehend, that they were actually gone from her life, especially Rocko, whom she had spent so many years rehabilitating. The sound of their hooves walking up the ramp into the float kept ringing in her ears.

Then the yelling and the flashing lights from the previous night cut across her thoughts. She shuddered as she felt the cruel grip on the back of her neck again.

And Corey; his teasing laughter at the truck, but then the way he had fought for her, literally. She remembered that horrible crunching sound and winced. Was he
okay
? No one had told her anything; they were all too busy yelling at her.

From her floordrobe of dirty jeans and shirts, her phone let out a muffled jingle. A pang of hope jolted her off the bed and she rummaged desperately and fruitlessly for it through the mess on the floor. Finally, a buzzing voicemail tone helped her locate it.

‘Shara, it's Luke. Corey's still in hospital. Can you
meet me at my place this arvo? It's really important.'

Shara filled with dread. Why would Luke ring instead of text? Why did he need to meet her? Had something really bad happened to Corey? Was Jess grounded? So many questions. She thrust her feet into her boots and threw on a jumper. Nobody had said anything about her being grounded.

13

A MAN IN
a crisp white shirt and a dark blue tie was sitting on Luke's couch, a mug of coffee in front of him. He looked weirdly out of place in Luke's tiny flat, which was a converted stable full of second-hand furniture. Luke was sitting on a stool with his elbows on the kitchenette bench, his face down and his hands clasped over his head. He didn't look up as Shara peered through the split doors.

‘You must be Shara,' the man said, standing up as she walked in.

He was fiftyish and handsome in an old kind of way, with tanned skin and brilliant white teeth. She recognised him as the man at the police station. Tom's dad. A lawyer. Something about the sight of him made her want to turn and walk straight out the door again.
This was bad. Really
bad
. She tried to think of an excuse to leave but couldn't.

Tom's dad extended his hand to her over the cable reel that Luke used as a coffee table. ‘Ian Hoskins.'

Shara took his smooth, cool hand, shook it and saw his expression become formal and businesslike. He gestured to the chair in front of him. ‘Would you like a cup of anything?'

She shook her head and sat where she was told.

‘Tell me the truth, Shara. Did you kids have any notions at all about trying to steal that horse?'

She didn't answer. The question made her angry. His being a lawyer didn't mean she had to tell him anything.

‘Shara, I'm trying to help Corey,' he eventually said. ‘I just need to hear your version of events.'

‘Why? He's got his own dad.'

‘Yes, John's a good friend of mine,' said Mr Hoskins coldly, ‘and right now he's at the hospital with his injured son. He's asked for my help.'

‘Ian's okay, Shara. He's . . . helped me out before.' Luke's voice was flat.

Shara looked from Luke to Mr Hoskins. She was faintly aware that Luke already had a history with the police. This would be the last thing he needed.

‘Is Corey okay?'

‘There've been a few complications,' said Mr Hoskins.

‘Like what?'

‘Dislocated jaw, for a start. Broken knuckles.' Mr Hoskins' voice became disapproving. ‘Concussion. They need to make sure there's no swelling around his brain before they discharge him. The police also want to talk to him. The Conneman brothers intend to lay charges.'

Shara couldn't believe what she was hearing. Corey had nothing to do with this. None of this was his idea. He'd become involved only as a way of looking out for her. She looked to Luke. ‘And Jess?'

‘The police have been to her place too.' Luke's voice was empty. ‘Her dad rang me. She's not allowed to see me for six weeks.' He put his head down on the bench in front of him.

‘Six weeks?'

‘I should have talked her out of it. I shouldn't have let her go through with it.'

‘This wasn't
your
fault, Luke.'

‘I'm the one who drove her down there.'

‘Luke's right. None of you should have gone down there in the first place,' said Mr Hoskins.

‘Yeah, well, easy to say that now,' snapped Shara. God, adults were so good at stating the bleeding obvious. ‘That horse was locked inside a truck – there was absolutely no way we were going to steal it! All we wanted was a photo and a lock of hair.'

‘What for?'

‘Because if we could prove that the Conneman brothers owned the colt . . .' ‘What colt?'

‘Goldie. He turned up in Coachwood Crossing after they left town, badly malnutritioned and—'

‘Malnourished.'

‘He was starving, okay?' Shara could hear her voice rising. ‘If we could prove the Connemans owned the colt and neglected him, then he could be seized by the RSPCA. They could re-home him and make sure he was properly cared for.'

‘Re-homed to
you
,' Mr Hoskins clarified.

Shara glared at him. What did that have to do with anything? Whose side was this guy on?

‘It's unlikely that the authorities would take the Connemans' animals if they use them to earn a living,' continued Mr Hoskins. ‘That's why there are still elephants in circuses. It's why brumbies can be used in rodeos. They might be closely monitored by animal welfare groups, but they're rarely removed. But what's the colt got to do with the mare you were . . . plucking?'

Shara went through the whole story again – her silver taffy theory; the little brumby mare and the black stallion; the idea that the mare was the colt's mother. If they could prove the parentage, they'd prove Goldie had been owned – and maltreated – by the Connemans. She recounted the events of the previous evening and Corey's attempts to protect her.

Mr Hoskins listened patiently while she spewed it all out. Then he stood, walked around to her side of the coffee table and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘I'll see what I can do to help Corey.'

Luke stood up and fumbled with something around his neck. ‘Shara, if you see Jess, can you give her this? Tell her I'll get it back from her in six weeks.' He handed her a smooth stone pendant on a thin leather strap, his face intense. ‘Tell her I'll be back.'

‘Where are you going?'

‘Blakely Downs,' he said in an empty voice. ‘No point staying around here.'

Shara's heart ached for Jess. She'd be shattered. Everyone was shattered. What had they gone and done? She took the stone from Luke, putting it carefully inside her top pocket and buttoning it closed. ‘I'll get it to her somehow.' Then she watched as he followed Mr Hoskins out the door.

She just wanted everything to go back to how it was before that stupid trip to Brisbane. She wanted Corey out of hospital and back on his big quarter horse. She wanted her father to come home and smack her playfully on the side of the head with the newspaper. She wanted her Rocko back.

And what would become of Goldie? She'd let herself dream that one day he would be hers – but now she'd well and truly blown any chance of that.

14

‘YOUR FATHER RANG
to say both horses are settled,' said Louise from the kitchen sink. She pulled off her rubber gloves and reached for a tea towel. ‘Rocko got to Blakely Downs okay.'

Shara took a seat at the table, unable to contemplate breakfast. ‘He'll have to . . .' She closed her mouth tightly, as the pain of talking about him caught her throat. ‘He'll have to take Rocko's shoes off before he turns him out.'

‘One of the ringers has already done it.'

Shara sucked in a breath, silently hating someone else for taking charge of her horse, even if they were doing the right thing. ‘Is Goldie back at the shelter?'

‘He's at the vet hospital, waiting for ownership to be sorted out so he can be gelded.'

Shara got up, walked back to her room and closed the door. She tidied her desk and pulled a balled-up T-shirt from under the bed. If she kept busy she might not feel so much like smashing something. She bundled up her dirty clothes from the floor and carried them to the laundry.

As she threw her denim jacket into the machine, something clunked. She pulled it back out, checked the pockets and found her camera. She leaned against the washing machine as she scrolled through the photos.

Shara and Jess in the front of the car with cheek-splitting
toothy grins > Jess and Luke on the street corner
in Brisbane > The mare, head high, eyes rolling.

Shara stared a little closer, then panned in to a black smudge on the horse's shoulder. Was that a scar – or a
brand
? She squinted long and hard at it.

B . . . 2 . . . B . . . She gasped. ‘Bred to Buck!'

She hurried back to her room and drummed her fingers on her desk as her computer gurgled to life. She poked the memory card into it and the photos came up on screen. Yep – that was a brand, all right. Now, what had she done with that hair sample?

‘Oh, crap!' She ran back to the laundry, fished her jacket out of the machine and rummaged through the pockets for the lock of the taffy's mane. ‘Gotcha!' she said, and carried it back down the hallway in its little clip-lock bag.

She carefully saved the photo of the mare onto a thumb drive. As she searched for the cap in her jewellery box, she was momentarily distracted by her charm bracelet lying on the cushion of blue velvet. Something about it wasn't quite right. She pulled the bracelet out and jangled it, looking over the charms.

A link was broken and the little silver horse, the one that represented Rocko, was missing. Shara stared at the broken bracelet. The charm must have come off when it got stuck on Corey's shirt. She thought of him leaning close to her, against the truck . . . She closed her eyes and remembered how his breath had felt against her neck.

Then she shook herself. She'd be lucky if Corey ever spoke to her again.

She placed the hair sample into a small jewellery purse, together with the thumb drive, and zipped it safely into the front pouch of her backpack.

Not only were these the key to Goldie's identity and a chance to help him, but they would confirm that the Connemans were lying, dodgy, cruel scumbags. If she could prove that, she might have some hope of persuading her parents to return her horses.

Hex greeted her on the front verandah. ‘Hey, fella,' she said softly. She pulled a three-day-old ham sandwich out of her bag and held it in the air, making him stretch his neck and hold his head high. ‘Are you a good boy?' she asked in her special training tone.

Hex nodded his head, lifted a paw and whined. Shara ripped off a portion of the sandwich and threw it to him. ‘And are you well?' She held another piece out and gave the signal to speak. Hex growled and woofed together. ‘You miss Rocko?' She gave him another bit and held some more out. ‘That's no good. What else did you say? Dad should give my horses back? Yes, I think so too. You can have
two
bits for that one.' Shara tossed Hex the rest of the sandwich, and stepped off the front verandah.

She walked purposefully along the dirt track that wove between gum trees and wattles and down the steep hill that ran along the front boundary of the property, begrudging the time it took to get anywhere without a horse to ride. She headed towards town, her thoughts weaving in crazy, confusing patterns.

As the track connected with Coachwood Road, the main way into town, she stepped out to cross and was forced back by the rushing wind of a passing car. It honked loudly.

‘Whoa!'

The small red car sped away, leaving a trail of exhaust smoke behind it. As Shara stood on the side of the road, regaining her balance, the sound of a cantering horse clattered behind her.

‘Coo-ee!'

‘Jess!'

Her bestie pulled Dodger back to a trot and clip-clopped along the road towards her. ‘What happened, Sharsy? No one will tell me anything. Mum and Dad won't let me talk to Luke. They're so angry at him for driving us down there. They reckon I can't talk to him for six whole weeks. They even took my phone off me so he can't ring!'

‘He told me.'

‘When?' Jess reined her horse to a stop. ‘Did you see him? What did he say?'

‘He's pretty upset.' Shara fished in her top pocket. ‘He wanted me to give you this.'