Page 26 of A Home Among the Snow Gums
She turned blindly for the stable door.
‘Hannah. I’m so sorry. I thought—Crikey, I don’t know what I thought. I’d never do anything to hurt you. You know that, right?’
‘Go away, Tom,’ she said, her back to him. She didn’t need to see how bad she’d made him feel. He didn’t deserve it, and she should tell him that, but then she’d have to tell him everything. And that wasn’t happening—ever.
‘I’ll call Josh. Or Kylie.’
She hustled out of the stall and dropped to her knees beside her kitbag, scrabbling around in it until she’d found her sunglasses and wedged them on. She could barely see now in the dimness of the barn, but that was good. It made it easier to make the cut.
She stood up and risked a look at him. ‘I’ll send someone to collect Skipjack; he can find lodging in the stables in town from now on. I’ll pass my patients up here over to Josh. He’s had plenty of experience with horses now.’
‘Is that necessary? Hannah, can we just talk—’
Dumb question; of course it was necessary. ‘Please respect my wishes on this, Tom.’
He held his hands wide. ‘Of course. Look, I was just … I don’t know. There’s no reason to be upset, I promise. I didn’t mean anything by it. But Hannah …’ He rubbed his head. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing. Let’s both leave here and never mention this—incident—again.’
‘Sure, like that’s a healthy reaction. Come on, brat.’
‘Promise me.’
‘Shit. All right, I promise, but at least tell me how I can make amends.’
He had nothing to make amends for. She supposed he deserved some explanation so he’d understand that this was all on her, not him. She’d tell him the short version, then she was getting in her ancient green car and driving away from Ironbark Station as fast as the mountain road would allow. Maybe this stupid, hammering, idiot feeling she had would blow out the window and that would be that. Incident over.
‘I don’t do romance, Tom.’
CHAPTER
9
A puddle of scary water leaking from the cattle troughs had Skipjack whinnying and shaking his head and Hannah strong-armed her mind back to the present before she humiliated herself and lost control of her horse.
‘The draft,’ she muttered. ‘That’s what you’re here for, Cody.’
She nudged Skip with her knee until the puddle was behind them.
‘Cut a steer in the camp, demonstrate control, drive it out through the gate,’ she instructed herself. That’s what she needed to be thinking about. She told Skippy he was being a baby and trotted him alongside the cattle pens, where heifers and steers waited their turn for an event. So many. Campdraft was way more popular than she’d guessed.
She reached the end of the pens where a small yard about the size of the block of land the vet clinic sat on had been gated off. The organisers had announced they’d be penning eight into the cut-out yard, and at first glance the animals huddled together at the back of the yard looked much of a muchness. But—okay, yes—there were differences. Some jostled up against each other wanting to be in a pack, others stood their ground; one had a badly formed eye.
She’d have just a few seconds to make her choice when it was her turn to compete, and most probably she’d have to settle for whichever heifer or steer she could single out. It’d be luck, not skill, for her and the other newbies.
Spectators milled about wrapped in warm jackets, kids squealed, country music blared from speakers when the master of ceremonies wasn’t introducing riders and events. Sitting here up high on Skipjack at the centre of it all felt alarmingly like being on stage, but so long as everyone kept their eyes on the winners with their fancy belt buckles and their dusty spurs, she was going to be okay. More than okay.
She might even start to have fun.
An official who looked vaguely familiar marched past in a hi-vis vest and Hannah checked her watch. She was up in a couple of minutes.
A showy black horse fell into step beside them, with a young owner who barely looked to be in her teens. She gave the kid a nod.
‘Hi. You up soon?’
‘I’m next. I like your horse. He’s tall; does he have a bit of quarter-horse in him?’
‘Thanks. His name’s Skipjack. He’s a sweetheart, but he was born on the wrong side of the saddle blanket, so there’s no listing in any stud book to check his provenance.’
