Breakaway Creek. Heather Garside

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      Shelley stopped to pat the most appealing of the dogs, a little black female with a white muzzle, chest and legs, who sat gazing up at her with dark, trusting eyes. None of them had the long coats she associated with Border Collies, but Mitch explained they'd been bred that way for Australian conditions.

      'The long-haired types get their coats full of burrs and they suffer in the heat.'

      'So these dogs are bred for the bush? Not like city girls.'

      Mitch gave her a quick look.

      'Plenty of city girls settle in the bush, but Luke's wife was the exception. Miranda isn't the type to settle anywhere.'

      Shelley straightened, surprised at his bitter tone.

      'Doesn't sound like you think much of her.' He shook his head.

      'She's putting Luke through hell, not letting him have his boys.' His usually affable voice grated like a rusty gate hinge. 'He's only seen them a few times since they left, and it looks like he's got to go to court to get access.'

      No wonder Luke looked a bit grim whenever his wife's name was mentioned. Shelley's heart softened.

      'That's terrible. I know marriages have their problems, but I've never been able to understand why people don't put the children first. Surely those little boys have a right to know their father.'

      'Yeah, they sure do.' Mitch tipped dog biscuits into one of the collie's dishes. 'Luke is a good dad, too. He looked after those boys as much as she did. It was bloody frustrating at times when we had work to do and she took off and left him babysitting.'

      Shelley shifted uneasily. Obviously Luke had more things to worry about than some visitor looking up her ancestors. In the circumstances, it was a wonder he could be bothered with her at all. Or perhaps he needed a distraction, just as she did.

      When she returned to the house, Luke was in the kitchen, stirring a big pot of minced meat over the stove. The savoury smells of frying beef, garlic and onions reminded her how long it had been since lunch.

      'Do you want a hand?'

      He turned to smile at her. As long as his absent family wasn't mentioned he seemed relaxed enough. No doubt he was entitled to be prickly in the circumstances.

      'You could peel some spuds. I'll throw the rest of the veggies in here, but we like our mashed potato.' He added water to the pot, along with some chopped carrots and cabbage.

      'No problem.' Shelley grinned at him. 'Can I help with the weaners again tomorrow? I promise I won't chase them this time.'

      'I suppose I'll risk it. I'll show you the old house afterwards.'

      ****

      Lying in the narrow bed later that night reminded Shelley of her room in her parents' place in Rocky. But it was even quieter here, without the occasional hum of traffic and, even at 10 pm, it hadn't cooled down. She got up to turn on the ceiling fan and then leant out the window, looking up at the magnificent night sky. Childhood memories of camping out with her grandfather came rushing back.

      The stars! She'd forgotten how extraordinary they could be without city lights competing for attention. Shelley drank in the cloudy haze of the Milky Way and a myriad other twinkling pinpoints, including constellations she'd once been able to identify but could no longer remember, though she easily found the Southern Cross.

      She inhaled deeply, enjoying the freshness of the night air. This was something to savour, a memory to take back to the city. Perhaps coming out here was a good thing after all.

      ****

      The next day the weaned calves seemed calmer, approaching the hay feeders even as Shelley cut the netting from the bales. This time she summoned the courage to walk amongst them with Luke. She caught him glancing at her in approval and then wondered why on earth his opinion mattered to her. Once he'd had a chance to speak to his mother, she'd have no excuse to stay any longer. She'd probably never see him again.

      The old house looked even more dilapidated at close quarters. The front gate groaned as Luke pushed it open, and he ducked to avoid a hanging branch of spiny bougainvillea. Leaves and seedpods from the bottle tree littered the sagging veranda and rotting steps, the debris of years of neglect.

      Luke picked his way with care, carrying the stepladder he'd put in the back of the Toyota that morning. He glanced back at Shelley, indicating a broken step.

      'Watch where you put your feet. Don't stand on that one.'

      He led the way across the veranda, testing each board before allowing it to take his weight. The door resisted his efforts to open it and he set the ladder down before putting his shoulder to it, forcing a protesting screech from it as he pushed it across the warped floor. Shelley grabbed the ladder and followed him, wrinkling her nose at the musty interior. A rusty sink against the wall and a row of cupboards with peeling paint indicated the room had once been the kitchen. A heavy layer of dust covered everything.

      Luke took the ladder from her and led the way into the hall, where he positioned it under the manhole. He looked at her and smiled. He'd shaved the night before and the strong lines of his face looked tantalisingly good.

      'Now, for the moment of truth.'

      A flutter of anticipation winged through Shelley's stomach.

      'Let's hope there's something up there.'

      She held the ladder as Luke climbed up and pushed aside the cover. When she found herself admiring his denim-clad backside and long legs, Shelley turned abruptly to look out a dusty window.

      Why did he have to be married, she wondered, why did he have to live in the sticks? Why was she even interested? Hadn't she decided she was over men?

      The stepladder wasn't high enough to allow Luke to reach into the ceiling space, but he could grasp the edges of the ceiling. He hoisted himself the rest of the way into the crawlspace and disappeared.

      'Try not to fall through the ceiling,' Shelley suggested helpfully.

      'I will do my best. Just wait there, Shelley. If I find anything I'll hand it down to you.' A brief silence was broken only by the bumping noises of him moving about in the roof space. 'Heck, I should have brought a torch. There's one behind the seat of the Toyota. Can you get it for me, please? Just watch where you walk.'

      Shelley returned in a flash with the torch and climbed up to hand it to him.

      'There's an old port or something up here,' Luke said, dragging something back towards the trapdoor. 'And a bit of old furniture, but we'll start with the port. If I pass it down, can you grab it? Be careful, it's bloody heavy.'

      Shelley had to stand on the third rung to reach it as he cautiously lowered the case down through the hole. He was right - it was heavy. She set it on the top step of the ladder as she descended, and then with her feet safely on the floor she reached up to lift it down, almost overbalancing as she took the full weight of it in her arms.

      It was a very old suitcase with rusted catches and cracked leather straps, thickly coated with dust. Shelley sneezed several times as Luke climbed down to join her. He laid the case on its side and crouched to unbuckle the straps, struggling for a moment with the rusted СКАЧАТЬ