Georgie’s wave was instant, but Lara’s was a little more hesitant. What did he expect? He was a stranger to her. Bracing himself, he walked down to greet them. “Have a nice ride?”
“Yeah, it was lovely,” Georgie said. “We saw some emus. You should come with us next time.”
He hadn’t been on a horse in years and the urge to agree was strong. Lara screwed up her nose, but he said, “Yeah, sure.” He examined the horses. “That’s not Charger is it?”
Georgie shook her head. “No, it’s Wesley. Matt usually rides him. Charger died a few years back.”
Not surprising. He’d been gone a long time. Before he could ask who Matt was, Georgie said, “Whatcha doing out here?”
“Taking it all in, it’s been a while.”
“It has. Don’t take so long to come back next time. We missed you.”
He had no words. She might have missed him, but she was the only one. “Heading back now?”
“Yeah, it must be about scone time,” Georgie said.
His mother’s scones were legendary, soft, fluffy and oh so good. He’d never have them again. He rubbed the ache in his chest. “Lead the way.”
Lara turned her horse and they rode back to the yard with Brandon following. When they arrived a couple of unfamiliar cars were parked out the front and as the girls dismounted a dirty white ute drove into the yard. A dark-skinned man in his mid-twenties got out. He might be from the Baiyungu people. Lara beamed.
“Uncle Matt! You’re back!” She dropped the reins of her horse and ran to the man, flinging her arms around him. He picked her up and swung her around. Brandon ignored the stab of jealousy. To have a relationship like that with his niece, he had to be around.
“Hey, La La. Did you miss me?” As he put the girl on the ground she burst into tears.
“What’s up?”
Georgie dropped her reins and joined them. “We’ve got bad news, Matt.” Her voice cracked. “Mum and Dad died in a car accident yesterday.”
“What?” The man stepped back, his face full of horror and then seemed to process the news. “Christ, I’m so sorry.” He dragged both girls towards him in a hug. They clung to him.
Brandon was glad they had someone they could turn to even if it wasn’t him. He gathered the reins of the horses and the man looked up, tears in his eyes. “Hey, Brandon.”
Crap, who was this guy? Georgie pulled out of the man’s arms and said to Brandon, “You remember Charlie’s best friend, Matt. He’s a station hand for us now.”
Of course. He should have recognised him, should have remembered his mother had mentioned employing him.
“Sorry to see you again in these circumstances.”
Brandon nodded. “Yeah, likewise. Why don’t you three go inside and I’ll deal with the horses?”
“You sure?” Georgie asked.
“Yeah, is everything still in the same place?”
She nodded.
He waited until they went inside before he led the horses into the yard.
The tack room hadn’t changed, still full of clean and polished old saddles. His father had always insisted they keep everything clean, shut all the doors in his war against the red dust, which he constantly lost. The dirt squeezed through any gap, got in everywhere. They tried to keep the equipment clean because out here, spare parts were scarce and if something broke, it could be days, sometimes weeks before a replacement was found and sent up from the city. You took care of what you had. His family motto. The one he’d failed.
Blocking out those thoughts, he focused on his task, uncinching the saddles and placing them on the rail, replacing the bridles with halters and brushing both horses until their coats gleamed. When he returned the brushes to the tack room, an old poster advertising a gymkhana caught his eye. He stared at it. He’d won his first trophy at that event, had felt such pride at being a good horseman. So long ago.
Heading back to the farmhouse, voices reached him first. Loud chattering and then a female voice rose higher than the others. “Amy, just three dunks of the tea bag, a teaspoon of sugar and a dash of milk.”
A smile crept onto Brandon’s face. He’d recognise that voice anywhere. Mrs Fredericks, his primary school teacher and his mother’s best friend had her tea just so for as long as he’d known her. All the Stokes children knew how to make it, understood how much trouble they would be in if they got it wrong, but she loved to remind them, with a smile on her face, a cheeky glint in her eye. He tapped his finger on his thigh. He hadn’t considered all the people he would face. All the judgement he would receive.
His footsteps slowed. Going inside had little appeal now, but if the military had taught him anything it was that sometimes you had to face enemy fire. He took a breath and strode inside.
