Driftwood (2 page)

Sliding her back down the wall, Anne hugged her knees to her chest as she pondered a life up north with William. She had always dreamed of moving there. It would be glorious and they would be free of all of this misery, of living in a place governed by lawless authorities. She could wake up beside William every day, have his beautiful children, and be a good wife by happily tending to his needs. They could take long walks along the beach together, hand in hand, marvelling at how wonderful their lives had become. It would be absolute heaven. But was it ever going to become her reality? Would William evade being arrested long enough to come good on his word? Would he
live
long enough to keep his promise? For, as she was only too aware, there was no such thing as an old bushranger. She
had
to believe him, had to believe he would find a way to make their dreams come true, for it was all that kept her going in this godforsaken place.

2012 — Far North Queensland

Approaching the first T-junction she'd seen for over an hour, Taylor Whitworth eased off the accelerator of her Jeep Wrangler, paprika-coloured dust trailing out behind her as far as the eye could see. The dust had even found a way inside, speckles of it clinging to nearly every part of the interior.

Squinting through her windscreen, Taylor tried to read the road sign that was now shadowed by a radiant setting sun. The vast countryside she was driving through was glorious, exactly what she'd yearned for, but she found it hard to fully appreciate, conscious of the fact night was fast approaching and her fuel light had been glowing orange for the past half-hour. The likelihood of a servo being nearby was slim considering the empty surroundings.
Shit!
She should have stopped at the fuel station she had sped past hours ago but being from the city, she had just assumed there would be another.

With panic beginning to set in, Taylor took a few deep breaths while willing her usually logical mindset to take control. She had to find a township soon or she would end up running out of fuel, leaving her stranded in the middle of nowhere for the night. The very thought terrified her, and images of being eaten alive by a pack of hungry dingos or dying from a venomous snake bite consumed her. The brave young woman who had stormed out of her parents' bay-side Brisbane home yesterday morning with only one bag of clothes and her treasured Fender acoustic guitar, threatening that she was never going to set foot in their house again, was long gone.

What was she thinking, driving into the unknown? Letting her anger get the better of her, allowing it to cloud her usually cool, calm judgement? Being a typical Aries, she was an easygoing soul and it took a lot for her to get pissed off, but once she felt something or someone was worth fighting for, all hell could break loose. And yesterday at her family home, it had.

Taylor took a look around her at the endless fields glowing with golden light from the setting sun. Where in the hell was she going? And what was she going to do when she got there? With fewer than five hundred bucks in her bank account she would have to find work quick smart. But what was she going to do if there was no work? Go crawling home with her tail between her legs? Not bloody likely!

She smacked the steering wheel as she recalled the heated argument with her parents. What a mess her hot-headedness had gotten her into! Damn her cold-hearted stepfather for demanding she quit her stablehand job so she could go to medical school and follow in his footsteps. Damn her mum for agreeing with him. And damn her toffee-nosed younger stepsister for not standing up for her, as usual. Yes, her grades had been good enough to go to uni, but why couldn't her parents allow her to follow her
own
dreams? Dreams of embracing her love for horses and becoming a jillaroo, of living in the country, of singing her country songs to people who would actually appreciate them, and finding herself a tall, sexy cowboy to fall madly in love with. Ahh, in a perfect world . . .

‘True love,' she whispered to herself. She had been searching for true love since she was seventeen, it was just that all the guys she had dated over the years seemed more concerned about being in love with themselves than falling in love with her. Now at twenty-two, she craved falling deeply in love, feeling what it was
really
like, the overwhelming kind of love that leaves you breathless, that moves heaven and earth, makes you do crazy things; someone you would die for, someone who would die for you. Now that, to Taylor, was true love.

Was she, like her parents had repeatedly told her, naive and crazy for thinking she could make an honest life for herself in the country? Maybe they were right. Or maybe she was just the black sheep of the family. Perhaps she was more like her biological father. If it were true, she was glad of the fact. She didn't want to be like her upper-class family, stressing about every little detail in life, mapping out the year ahead, pretending to be something or someone she wasn't. No, she wanted everything opposite to that, to them. She wanted to feel free, to let life lead her where it would. An irrepressible sixth sense confirmed she was meant to be a country girl and follow in her real father's footsteps, not her stepfather's. Her passion for everything country was deeply embedded in her. It was a compulsion she couldn't shake, and one she could no longer ignore, much to her mother's annoyance.

Taylor wiped the gathering tears from her eyes. God, she wished she had known her dad. Wished he hadn't passed away. All she knew of him was that he was a stockman and that he had died in a mustering accident, a single black-and-white photo of him holding her as a baby the only evidence he had even existed. She didn't even know his name. Her mum, Grace, and her grandparents refused to speak of him. They told her he was a bad man best left in the past. She resented them for that. How could they be so cruel to not even talk about him as she was growing up? It had caused massive arguments but her mum had never budged, had never revealed a thing. What could he have done that was so terrible? He looked like a really genuine bloke in the snapshot, his broad smile showing how proud he was of the new bundle in his arms. And her mum looked really happy standing beside him, undeniably in love.

Her heart sinking as she thought about her dad, Taylor switched off the Jeep's ignition, the haunting melody of ‘Wish You Were Here' by Pink Floyd vanishing, leaving her sitting in ear-ringing silence. Sometimes she wished she could pull on a pair of massively flared jeans and go back in time to live in the peace-loving seventies. Bands like Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin were among her favourites, along with her country idols like Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton — but the hunky and extremely talented Adam Brand was at the top of her country music list. Adam's voice melted her insides, and word had it he was a very approachable and down-to-earth guy, the stardom he'd reached not having gone to his head at all. She would give almost anything to meet him in person, maybe even sing for him, if she had the guts, to find out what he thought of her vocal abilities. Her friends were forever telling her how talented she was, but they were biased; getting approval from an accomplished musical artist was a whole different ball game.

Glancing over at her Hungarian Vizsla, Floyd, Taylor smiled adoringly. His need for a toilet break was apparent as he whined and gently scratched at the passenger door, so she reached across him, tugged at the door handle and shoved it open. Floyd bounded from the Jeep, running around in circles, his reddish hunting nose to the ground in search of the perfect spot to cock his leg, the golden rust-colour of his coat almost merging with the colour of the road.

Taylor giggled, thankful for his company. Floyd was a typical Vizsla: robust, lean, lively, loyal, gentle-mannered, fearless and — most importantly of all — very protective of her. He'd been Taylor's mate for six years, her sixteenth birthday present, and she couldn't imagine a day without him by her side.

Sliding from the driver's seat, Taylor stretched her long limbs, her butt numb from spending almost nineteen hours behind the wheel, nine hours of it yesterday. A quick stop at a roadside hotel last night had allowed her a restless sleep on what felt like a bed older than her before she had hit the road again early this morning after a greasy breakfast of bacon and eggs. Placing her hands deep in her jeans pockets, she wandered up to the signs, weighing up which way she should go, a weird yet wonderful feeling of excitement washing over her. It was as if the land was reflecting her inner confusion, offering her — literally — a crossroads. Exhilarating, liberating and scary all rolled into one.

A weathered sign pointing to the left read ‘Waratah Station' and an equally worn one pointing to the right read ‘Driftwood — 38 kilometres, population 712'. Hmm. Waratah Station sounded very alluring but Driftwood sounded out of the ordinary, picturesque. The name suggested it was nearer the ocean, which was odd, seeing this was primarily northern cattle country. Taylor's curiosity was piqued.

Pulling her wild tresses of waist-length strawberry blonde ringlets into a ponytail, Taylor motioned to the left with a wide sweep of her arm. ‘Well, Floyd, what do you reckon? Do we go this way like a pair of crazies, deeper into the magnificent countryside and towards a station we have no idea about,
or
do we go right, towards the town of Driftwood, where there will most certainly be a fuel station, and a bed?' Taylor felt her tummy rumble. ‘Oh, and possibly a pub with steak, chips and salad?'

Floyd barked his reply, his tail wagging zealously.

‘Yep, that's what I thought. Driftwood it is then. Let's just hope we have enough fuel to make it there, bugger having to walk in the dark — I'd be shitting myself.'

Jay Donnellson smiled wearily at Frank Forester, Driftwood's one and only copper, as the officer passed him an extra-strong black coffee across the desk then sat down opposite him, a frown creasing his middle-aged features. An uncomfortable silence settled, each waiting for the other to speak. Jay knew there was a lecture coming his way, and he probably deserved it.

Jay picked up the cup, his swollen knuckles throbbing, and took a lengthy sip as Frank tapped the desk with his fingers. ‘Cheers, Frank,' Jay said, trying his best to break the silence but to also avoid the inevitable conversation.

‘No probs, Jay,' said Frank, his office chair creaking as he leant back and folded his arms. ‘I'm starting to think you
like
being arrested, considering you've been in here twice these past few weeks. What's going on with you? Is the stress of everything that's happened catching up? 'Cause if it is, I'm all ears. Sometimes it helps to talk about it.'

Jay shrugged casually, not knowing how to reply. Jay didn't want to talk about his father's sudden death; about his older sister running off to a high-paying job in the city and leaving all the farm work to him; about Becky, his childhood sweetheart, leaving him for another man; about his mothers' heavy drinking; about almost losing Waratah Station — which had been in his family for five generations — to the clutches of the bloody bank. Hell, he didn't want to accept that this was his life at all, his shitty, demanding, depressing, and problematic life. He took a few more sips from his bitter coffee, wishing Frank had offered milk and sugar.

No wonder he didn't have a woman to share his life with. Five months after moving in, Becky had run for the hills, unable to cope with the stress of being a cattleman's girlfriend, and straight into the arms of a rich city boy. She didn't even have the decency to say goodbye, had just left a note, like he wasn't even worth her breath. She'd broken his heart. He was still trying to mend it, and trying to get over his bitterness towards the human race, because lately, all anyone seemed to do was break his heart. Even his own mother — whom he loved dearly — had her moments, her binge drinking creating a massive rift in what used to be a loving mother-son relationship. Wasn't it enough for him to lose his dad without having to worry about losing his mum as well?

Thank God he had Tom Connors back on the station to help him out — he'd be up shit creek without him. Tom could be a cantankerous bugger when he wanted to be but Jay thought of him like a father. He'd been the head stockman at Waratah for going on twenty years and Jay had the comfort of knowing that Tom wasn't going anywhere; Tom swore he would be taking his very last breath on the station.

Frank raised his eyebrows and Jay groaned. He didn't want to talk about it with Frank — or anyone else, for that matter. What good would it do anyway? Couldn't he just keep on pretending that this life he was living was someone else's? Pretending he was all right and handling everything like a bona fide countryman should, with a stiff upper lip and balls of steel. That was what his father would have expected of him, so that was what he was trying to do. Jay wanted his dad to be proud of him.

‘I'm okay, Frank, but cheers for asking. Nothing going on in my life I can't handle.' Jay pinched the top of his nose, a killer headache suddenly arriving. Considering he had been up before the crack of dawn to muster his cattle, it had been one long day. ‘Anyway, both times I've been in here it hasn't been my fault. Last time was because I was trying to stop a fight at the footy and this time was because I knocked some bloke out who was beating on his missus out the back of the pub. The bloody coward, picking on a woman. Scum of the frigging earth blokes are who do that. I'm glad you've locked him up. I hope you throw away the key.'

Frank released a long, drawn-out breath. ‘Believe me, I agree, and I wish I could throw away the key. But still, you can't go around clouting people, Jay. It's against the law. You're lucky the bloke didn't press charges tonight considering the mess you left him in, or you would have found yourself in court. And Lord knows we don't need you being shipped off to jail. Who'd look after Waratah then, and your dear mum? I may have been your father's best mate but I can't change the law to suit you. I have to uphold it. Honestly, Jay, it breaks my heart having to arrest you in front of everyone.' Frank leant over and squeezed Jay's shoulder. ‘Come on, mate — you're not
that
guy. You're far from it. I believe in you. You just gotta start believing in yourself.'