Page 127 of A Home Among the Snow Gums
‘Where’s Tom?’
‘Am I your secretary? I can’t keep track of everyone.’
‘But you’re taller than I am. You’re my lookout.’
He gave her a leg up. ‘Not anymore I’m not. Your boyfriend and I have engaged in a secret men’s ritual whereby I passed my mantle of duty to him.’
She snorted. ‘Did this ritual involve beer breath and back slapping?’
‘All the finest rituals do. Now, get your head in the game, Hannah Banana. I’ve bet Dad two dollars you won’t get through the cut out, so go prove me wrong.’
‘No worries.’
She ruffled his hair in thanks for his help and nudged Skip towards the competition arena. The cut-out yard was set up just to the side of Ironbark Station’s training paddock and portable fences had been brought in to pen the groups of cattle. Ironbark Station’s campdraft had been up, up and away since shortly after nine and the day could not be more perfect.
Bruno gave her a nod from the officials’ area, a raised platform made accessible with a wide steel ramp. He wouldn’t be judging her event—oh, no, she was way too insignificant a contender for Bruno’s expertise—but it was sweet of him to be taking an interest. Especially since she’d had to sidestep all his offers of help. Kev would have had his heart broken and she was too aware of how that felt to be disloyal. Bruno had taken it on the chin, so that was fine.
In fact,everythingwas fine.
The rider ahead of her on the program charged through the open gates and into the cutting yard and Hannah watched as the steers and heifers splintered into two groups. A tough one. Ride at them and hope one got separated? Or pick one and try to nudge it free without trapping it up against the fence?
The rider caught a break when two steers bolted across the yard and like a flash, horse and rider had one of them cut off. Back and forth they went, side to side, and the rider called, ‘Gate!’ and the first part of the event was done.
The crowd all turned to the main arena and watched the steer put some speed on. The first post was made, the second post was a bust and then—whip crack—the rider was done.
Not bad. Hannah would be thrilled to do half as well.
Nobody had ever said the draft was easy, but by heck it had taught her a thing or two about tenacity. And patience. Both qualities she’d had to learn the hard way.
She looked at the officials’ stage as she and Skippy entered the cut-out yard for their turn, and there he was.
Her Tom.
He wore a dusty old hat low over his forehead and denim jeans that clung like oil, and she’d probably fall off her horse and embarrass herself in front of every campdrafter for a thousand kilometres if she didn’t stop ogling him and concentrate.
Pick a steer, that was Kev’s constant advice, but there was a heifer on the edge of the group who was looking right at her.
‘You are mine, my precious,’ she muttered, and drove Skippy in with her knees. The heifer turned to bolt, but Skippy’s shoulder was there, blocking her way.
Another turn.
Another shoulder.
‘Gate!’ she called—like a boss!—and the ringers manning the wide stock gate swung it open and the heifer bolted like the hounds of hell were after it.
Hannah and Skippy weren’t quite hounds, but they were riding hell for leather now. They drove the heifer round one post, and this, Hannah knew, was officially the best they’d ever done. The second post, yes! Around they went!
She had no idea where they were for time, but they were on that heifer’s tail, and driving her to the gate, whenwhip crack! They were out of time, but only just.
It’d be a good score.
‘Skippy, you’re my wonderful boy,’ she told her horse, patting him on the neck.
He gave a little head toss and they trotted out of the field.
Her event was done.
Now all she had to do was bide her time, chat with the locals and catch Tom on his own.
