Hope's Road (16 page)

It was then that Tammy found herself in a whole lot of trouble. Trav had reacted almost instinctively to the change in rhythm, pulling her into his chest, tucking her head under his chin. She was instantly aware of him. His smell, his feel. Her whole body pulsed with heat and suppressed flames of desire erupted to life. The slivers of cotton and chiffon that kept their bodies apart became almost negligible. The hall, the music, the people around them, all seemed to flee her consciousness. They were alone. Moving as one to something beyond the music. The roaring in her ears grew louder and louder, and her whole body felt like it would simply explode from the heat flowing through it. They may as well have been naked. The feel of the long and hard muscles resting against her skin sent tiny quivers of erotic need thrumming through her body. She felt a hand move gently to stroke her back. It felt so natural, so infinitely
right
to be in this man's arms.

And then abruptly it was over. Trav was pushing her away as if he wasn't sure what had just happened. ‘Thanks for the dance,' he muttered, before fleeing the floor, leaving her standing alone.

Bereft.

The last she saw of him was the back of his head disappearing through the side hall door.

Chapter 24

Tammy was up on the dance floor doing the ‘Nutbush' with Lucy, Cin and Susan Sellers when a very drunk Shon Murphy sauntered in the door of the Lake Grace Hall. Tammy had been glad of a dance with the girls. After Trav had disappeared, her whole evening had gone pear-shaped, what with wondering what she had done wrong, trying to keep Dean out of her personal space without offending him . . . and now this.

Shon made his way towards the bar, before stopping when he caught sight of her. ‘What's my fucking wife doing here dancing half naked?' he yelled across the hall, causing everyone within earshot to fall silent. ‘Hey! Tammy Murphy! Get your frigid arse over here!'

The young boy operating the karaoke machine was stunned into pressing the off button. The music stopped. The crowd around the edges of the hall shuffled their feet, nudged each other, pointed.

‘I said get over here!' Shon roared again.

Tammy stood stock-still in the middle of the hall, Lucy on one side, Cin on the other. Both women had their hands on her arms, holding her back from moving a step in any direction. Susan Sellers stood behind her, shoring up the rear.

‘She'll be going nowhere, mate.' Travis's voice came from Shon's left. He walked up and stood in front of Murphy, facing him down. Trav's shoulders were back, his head was up and he looked unperturbed by the huffing and puffing red-faced menace standing in front of him. ‘And I'd like you to do all of us a favour and turn around and walk right back out that door.'

‘That might be for the best,' said Rob Sellers, coming up on Trav's right flank, desperately trying to look amiable but threatening all the same.

Dean Gibson scrambled to his feet from a nearby chair. He'd been watching Tammy dancing while devouring one of Beatrice's delicious cakes. ‘I second that,' he squeaked around a mouthful of cream.

‘Who the hell are you? I know him and him,' spat Shon pointing to Trav and Rob, ‘not
you
.'

Dean tried to swallow the cream that was threatening to tumble from his mouth. ‘Ummm . . .'

‘Dean is the new ambo,' said Trav, nice and slow. ‘And if you don't leave now he'll have to patch you up, so I'd go easy on him if I were you.'

Shon dipped his head up and down like a bull deciding whether to charge. From twenty feet away a mortified and fearful Tammy watched. She saw flashes of his face as he sneered at her and her friends, as he took whatever he wanted and spat on the rest, as he swung his arm back and –

Dean leaped back three feet. ‘C'mon, boys . . .' He attempted to inject a soothing note into his voice, arms out in front, palms down. ‘Let's sort this outside.'

‘Too fucking right we'll sort this outside,' roared Shon. ‘Who are you to tell
me
what to do, boundary rider?'

The silent crowd drew back with a collective breath – and then leaned in to watch what was going to happen next.

‘Shon Murphy! You should be plain Jane ashamed of yourself!' A voice could be heard from beyond the standoff. Beatrice Parker came tottering up to the little knot of men, the diminutive figure leaning on her walking stick, pushing past Rob Sellers and inserting herself between Shon and Travis Hunter. ‘Speaking about your wife like that!'

‘Ex-wife,' chorused Dean and Rob. Trav didn't say a word. He was too busy staring Shon Murphy down.

‘Whatever,' said Beatrice, flapping her arthritic hands in dismissal. ‘Stop this nonsense at once, you hear, dears. I won't have my dance all mucked up. You can head back to wherever you came from, Shon Murphy, and sleep off that drink or throw up in the sink. We've got a defibrillator to raise money for. So come along. No more.'

And she grabbed hold of Shon's arm, and towed him through the hall, and right out the double front doors. The night air was filled with his threats but it was to no avail.

‘Say hello to Joanne,' Beatrice called outside the hall. ‘I'll be in to get a donation towards the defibrillator from the hotel when she's well.'

The little elderly lady then walked back inside, clapped her hands and motioned to the karaoke boy to crank the music back up before making a beeline towards Dean, Rob and Trav who, seeing her coming, hastily fled towards the men's toilets.

‘Pikers,' muttered Susan Sellers from behind the girls.

‘Cream puffs, more like it!' said Lucy, looking around and wondering why no one was laughing.

‘Are you all right?' A deep voice came from the hall doorway. Tammy was leaning over an old horse-hitching rail outside, trying to calm herself. Shon had scared the crap out of her. More memories of being down on the ground spun like a kaleidoscope before her eyes. Shon looming over her with his fist in the air . . .

‘Hey. It's okay.' Trav was right beside her now. ‘He's gone and no harm done. He's probably fallen unconscious after vomiting on Joanne's silk sheets. She'll give him curry for that.'

Tammy attempted to laugh. She really
wanted
to laugh at the fact her ex-husband had made a fool of himself – and her – in front of their whole community.

Instead the laugh became a sob and she found herself crying, the grief coming from deep inside her belly. How had their marriage resulted in this? It had been so
good
at the start. Love and hate – they really
were
aligned close together and Shon's violence, she sensed, was born from supreme frustration, his inability to get or be what he wanted. She just happened to be the whipping post, the thing he perceived to be in the way of achieving his dreams. Plus, the drink didn't help. She couldn't really put her finger on when
that
had become a problem. But none of it was an excuse for treating her like this.

Trav's arms came around her, firm and secure yet again, but this time there was an unspoken question at the same time. Perhaps he wanted to comfort but didn't want to intrude on the end of a marriage.

Or was it that he didn't know what he wanted himself? The man confused her completely. Their obvious attraction kept bringing them both to this point, and each time the mixed messages drove them apart. What the hell did he want? She couldn't do this seesaw of emotions, not now, not yet and maybe not ever.

‘No – Trav. I can't.'

He lifted her chin. ‘Can't? Or won't?'

‘Can't. Won't. Does it really matter?' The sobs were coming freely now and she wasn't sure they'd ever stop. She moved to break away. ‘It's not you. It's me. I –'

‘It's okay,' Trav said, his arms quickly releasing her. ‘It's fine.'

There was that incongruous word. Fine. It wasn't fine. Not the way he was saying it anyway.

His warm body was moving away, leaving her cold, lonely, heartbroken. ‘I've been there, remember,' he said.

And then he was gone.

At midnight they'd all driven home pretty much in silence. Even Cin had the good sense not to say too much on the trip back to Montmorency. After pulling in the drive, a brooding Trav had
shaken
Cin's hand goodbye, thanked Dean for the ride, nodded tersely at Tammy then jumped in his ute and roared out of the drive.

Cin stared after him, blinking back tears.

‘Well, then . . .' Dean coughed and cleared his throat. ‘Thanks for a lovely night, ladies. We should do it again some time.'

Both women glared at him before Cin walked towards her own car in silence. She flung them a half-wave, got in and took off, spinning the wheels as she high-tailed it out towards the main road.

Dean turned to Tammy. ‘Well, the supper was really nice . . .'

She had to give him credit. He really tried. ‘Dean, thanks a lot for the ride, the date. I think I'll just wander in and go to bed,' Tammy said, putting her hand up to fake a yawn. ‘I've got to be up at five to milk so you won't mind if I don't invite you in.'

‘Oh. Okay,' he said, sounding disappointed. ‘Ummm, Tammy? I meant it. Maybe we can do it again some time?'

She gave the man a small, sad smile.

‘Maybe. Good night, Dean.' And she leaned forwards and kissed him on the cheek before turning and making her way down the path, into her big, old silent house. To be alone with the feelings of loss, sadness and grief that were swamping her mind.

Chapter 25

In the light of day Tammy decided she wanted nothing more than to drive into Narree and buy that plane ticket to the Great Barrier Reef. Warmth, peace and quiet. Far away from Montmorency Downs, Lake Grace and the problems mounting up around her.

It was autumn and thus, on a dairy farm, time for maintenance – sowing new pasture and fencing and putting in stock troughs and irrigation outlets and renovating delver channels – the list went on and on.

Buying the run-down run-off block two years earlier had doubled her workload. The whole place needed fixing up – which was why they'd bought it at such a good price.

She walked around the hayshed and headed towards the house for her lunch. Well, it was breakfast really, because a slice of toast at five am, when she was running out the door to bring up the cows to milk, probably didn't cut it.

The day was lovely. The sky bright and blue. The sun not too hot, not too cold and there was the scent of the hay in the shed on the slight breeze. Nothing made you inhale more deeply than warmth, fresh air and the smell of hay. It was a shame she wasn't in a better mood to appreciate it. She was tired and cranky because of the night before. The dance. She didn't want to remember really.

As she turned towards the homestead, something caught her eye up at the house. A flash off a windscreen glinting in the sun. There was a ute in her driveway. A twin-cab parked close to the garden fence like it was staking its right to be there.

Shon.

Tammy's heart sank right through her boots.

What the hell did he want?

He was sitting in the kitchen, feet up on a chair, lounging back like he owned the place. The odour of stale alcohol floated around him.

‘And so, the lady of the manor returns. Whose bed did you end up in last night? Or do I need to ask?' His sneer crowded a red vivid face. ‘That paramedic looked like he was all for jumping your bones. Him or maybe even Rob Sellers? He was pretty quick to leap to your defence.'

‘You leave Rob out of this,' said Tammy, stung her friend's loyalty to
his
wife was being called into question.

‘So the bitch bites back. Interesting.'

Tammy wondered how she could have ever thought she loved this man. It was incredible how much he seemed to hate her. Her mind spun back to her conversation with Lucy, the day she knew her marriage was over.

‘When did it all go wrong? What did I do?' she'd asked.

‘You didn't do anything. He's got a lot of problems, Tam, and none of them came from you, no matter how he blames you for them.'

Now
she asked, ‘Why are you here, Shon? Because you sure as hell aren't welcome.'

‘When was I 
ever
welcome?'

‘Oh for goodness sake –'

‘Fuck off, you stuck-up frigid bitch.'

‘Well, gosh. Am I frigid or am I seducing my friend's husband? So confusing.'

He jumped up from the table and came towards her. The look on his face truly dreadful.

Tammy stepped back and sped right out the door, Shon following her – chasing her. She flung a glance over her shoulder, then grabbed the long shovel that was still leaning against the back of house – her snake shovel. What better use for it than now? She swung back around towards the man, spade held across her body protectively.

With his thick shoulders thrust back, head up and forwards, moving relentlessly towards her, Shon looked like a charging pig.

‘Stay away from me, Shon Murphy. Say what you want and then clear off, you hear!'

‘You think you can stop me taking what I want with a
shovel
?' He started to laugh. Big, masculine guffaws that, years ago, were one of the things she loved about him. All in or all out. That was Shon Murphy's motto.

‘What. Do. You. Want?' Tammy spat it out.

Shon sobered up quick. ‘Half the farm.' His eyes were calculating. He crossed his arms and slouched nonchalantly to one side, like he had her right where he wanted her. ‘I'll take the money in two instalments. Half now. The rest in twelve months. It's the least I deserve after putting up with . . .' and the man went on and on, his grievances boiling to the surface in one big seething cauldron of rage.

Barely listening to him rant, Tammy sucked in a breath, stunned. Half the
farm
? In
instalments
? Like hell.

‘No.'

Shon's irate voice ground to a sudden halt. ‘What do you mean, “no”?'

‘The farm belongs to me. The run-off block belongs to both of us. I'll pay you out for the block, but that's all you're getting.

‘I worked my arse off here,' he snarled.

‘
Ha!
That's a joke. Sitting around drinking and playing
lord
of the manor isn't “working”, Shon Murphy!'

‘Why you little –' And he was coming towards her, thrusting aside the shovel like it was a twig, meaty fist in the air . . .

The morning's fun had started not long after Hunter's ute disappeared down the hill. The dog trapper had arrived to tell Joe that he needed to check out a line of traps. Could he have the boy for the day? Which was interesting in itself. Hunter had never worried about leaving the boy on his own before.

And Travis hadn't seen the look of glee on his son's face. He didn't know about the conversation from the night before. Joe had told Billy he'd show him how to set one of the rusty rabbit traps hanging in the shed. ‘Me, I shoot 'em these days,' the old man said to the boy.

‘How many of the little bastards have ya shot?' asked Billy.

Joe blinked at him for a minute, not sure if he should say anything about the swearing – after all, the child
was
a boy.

Then Billy added the clarification he thought Joe must be waiting for: ‘Honest to goodness. Man to man, like.'

Joe had grinned and said, ‘Shitloads. I'll show you how to do that tomorrow too, if you like?'

‘If I 
like
?' yelled Billy. ‘Awesome. Totally awesome! Stuff the Cheeseburger. With you on board, my family is now the size of a McFeast. I just need a mother and I'll have the whole Big Mac!'

Joe had shaken his head. He had no idea what the boy was talking about but he was happy, that was the main thing.

And then, just to add a bit more excitement, Joe suggested that Billy might like to have a go at driving his tractor.

The kid had bounced up and down with glee. ‘You mean you'll teach me all that? Like a real granddad would?'

Joe had nodded, feeling unfamiliar threads of satisfaction unravel through his body. It was a strange feeling, this making someone happy.

‘Move it, boy,' he said when Travis left. ‘Get some brekkie into ya and we'll get cracking. Got to feed them cows today.'

‘But Dad said he'd do it.'

‘I know what your father said,' Joe grumbled. ‘But since when does a learned man of nearly ninety years have to listen to a young whipper-snapper like him?' The old man's grin was conspiratorial.

‘Ummm . . . He'll be
ma-ad
!'

‘Travis Hunter doesn't scare me,' said Joe with a scoff. ‘Tammy does, though, a wee bit.' The old man then looked rueful. ‘When she gets that glint in her eye, like she doesn't give a bugger what you say, she's going to do it her own way and to hell with the rest of 'em.'

Billy looked thoughtful, like he was trying to work out whether he should say something or not.

‘What?'

The child shook his head, smiled and then asked very politely where to find the toaster.

So then the day started in earnest. It'd taken a while but they'd got over to the shed eventually, a small boy gambolling along with two dogs at his heels, an old man moving slowly but surely on an aluminium walking frame.

Billy had found a chair in the shed for Joe to sit on, and the man had sunk into it gratefully, though he did his best not to show the boy just how much of an effort it really was to be out there.

When Joe gave him the nod Billy hopped up onto the tractor, bouncing excitedly on the seat.

‘Now settle down, boy, and listen to me carefully. The key is there on the right. Clutch at the left foot, brake at the right foot. Gearstick in the middle. Throttle to the right of the steering wheel, on the arm. Ya driven your dad's ute before?'

Billy nodded, though Joe could tell he wasn't really paying attention.

‘Okay, now start her up.'

The tractor rumbled to life. The cat shot out from under the massive back rubber wheels, squealing. Both dogs started to bark excited yelps.

‘Clutch in, gearstick engaged, clutch out and go,' yelled old Joe, not sure Billy was hearing him over the din. Oh well. If he'd driven Hunter's ute, he'd work the clutch and the gears out on the tractor quick enough.

‘Way to
gooo
!' Billy yelled at the top of his voice. His little foot depressed the clutch, his fingers crunched the gear, and he was off. Bunny-hopping. Tractor roaring. Dogs dancing around the front tyres, yelping, barking, running from side to side with glee. Joe watched the cat shoot up the drainpipe and onto the rafters, then turned at the sound of a yell.

Billy. Still heading straight ahead on the tractor. Poleaxed into position. Staring at what was ahead. The side wall of old Joe's house.

‘
Stop
, Billy! Turn the wheel! Turn the fucking steering wheel, you idiot!' Forgetting his bad hip, Joe went to jump up, intent on running after the tractor. He sat back down with a thump. ‘
Fuck!
' The old man grappled for the walking frame, wincing and chomping down hard on his bottom lip with the pain. The tractor was moving closer and closer to the house, until even the dogs started to look worried.

‘For crying out loud, Billy!
Turn the wheel
!'

Finally the boy heard him and hauled hard on the big, round metal circle. He heaved down, and tried with all his might to get the tractor to turn. The machine slowly responded and the smaller front tyres missed the house wall by inches.

Joe slumped back into his hard chair in relief and closed his eyes. Then opened them again as he realised the sound of the motor wasn't stopping. In fact it was moving away. Billy and the tractor, and his dogs, were all chugging off into the distance, towards the hayshed. Billy was yelling something back at Joe.

The old man cupped his ear to try to catch the words.

‘How do I 
stop
?'