Shadows Over Taralon Read online

  “If it’s all right with Bill and Mrs. Harris, I’d love to come riding with you.”

  “A break will do you good,” Mrs. Harris agreed. She must have seen Tony ride up and stood smiling by the kitchen door. “Wayne can saddle a horse. You go and get changed.”

  Tony’s smile flashed even brighter. Wayne stood up without a word and sauntered down the veranda steps. Jenny fled inside to change into jeans. When she returned Buttercup, the chestnut mare, had been saddled and waited by the grey horse at the rail, and Wayne and her employer were gone.

  “We can ride over to our place and have a look at Dark Prince,” Tony suggested, as he got back on his horse after closing Taralon’s last gate behind them. “We can cut across country.”

  He reined back his horse to keep pace with the stolid Buttercup. Tony was on his best behavior, polite and informative. The sun was warm and the air fresh, and Jenny’s spirits rose. He seemed a different person away from his sister. He pointed out the boundary of their property as it curved alongside the river.

  “It’s bigger than Taralon, but only the plains along the river are any good for grazing,” he explained. “Like Taralon, we run mainly beef cattle. Our great grandfather called the property Millalong.” He gave a short laugh. “Marise and I thought it a very suitable name when we discovered what a mess we had inherited.”

  “Was there a mill here originally?”

  “Not even a trace left now,” Tony said more cheerfully. “The old boy built it above the falls. We will have a picnic there one day.”

  “Perhaps,” Jenny agreed.

  Her pleasure at her outing dimmed when she arrived at the homestead. It was a beautiful and gracious building, and reared in all its elegant grandeur in a very English style garden. There was certainly nothing homely or comfortable or, for that matter, welcoming, about it.

  Marise swung out on her crutches to invite her in, but hardly bothered to conceal her annoyance and dislike. Tony’s face darkened at their reception. Jenny forced down a cup of tea and some cake in the aloof high-ceilinged drawing room, and reminded him he was going to show her Black Prince.

  Tony looked relieved and whisked her out to admire the horse. Jenny was able to say with perfect truth that Black Prince was the most magnificent horse she had ever seen. However, she had no desire to see him from a closer viewpoint than the high wooden rail. He lacked Pretty Boy’s docility and friendliness. As soon as he saw them, he flung his head back, his nostrils flaring and his eyes rolling, and edged away from them, muscles rippling under his shining black coat.

  “He’s quite mad,” Tony said proudly. “But pointed in the right direction he’s faster than anything else on four legs.”

  “I can understand your confidence in him,” Jenny agreed as they returned along the track that led off the property. “He looks unbeatable.”

  She was relieved that they had left Millalong. It was run efficiently and in meticulous order, but the aura it radiated was a hostile one. The hands seemed sullen-faced and morose, and the elderly woman who acted as housekeeper and cook had been equally wary and disdainful as she had shuffled in with the afternoon tea tray.

  “What about coming down the river for a quick swim,” Tony suggested. “It’s warm enough and I know a much better spot than Panniken Bend.”

  “It’s getting late and I have to get back. Mrs. Harris is shorthanded this afternoon,” Jenny said coolly.

  She wondered if Tony expected her to go skinny-dipping? There had been no suggestion that she bring bathers or a towel with her.

  “That’s her problem,” Tony said sullenly. He sneaked a sidelong glance at her. “Are you using her as an excuse to avoid me, Jenny Wren?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Tony was silent until they reached the top of the hill. From here could be seen most of Taralon and the Millalong properties, with the river edging a natural boundary beside them. Tony dismounted, and reached for Jenny to lift her down.

  “I want to get to know you a lot better,” he murmured, without releasing her from his arms. “You should be more friendly,” he continued into her stiff silence as he dropped a light kiss on her mouth.

  “I’m friendly enough,” Jenny answered lightly, and stepped back under the pretence of soothing Buttercup.

  “I think you’ll find it easier to become a lot friendlier, Jenny Wren,” he coaxed. He looked down at Taralon, shimmering in the sleepy haze of the afternoon heat. “You don’t belong in a backward dump like this. I’ll show you a good time when Dark Prince wins.”

  “Counting your chickens before they hatch,” Jenny teased. “Dark Prince still has to beat Pretty Boy and the other seven starters.”

  Tony’s face darkened. Jenny was shocked at the reckless, bitter and desperate expression his face wore. She changed the subject. “It’s been a lovely break, but I really do have to get back.”

  Tony helped her into the saddle, and put a restraining hand on the bridle. “I’ll see you again,” he insisted.

  “Of course,” Jenny agreed.

  Buttercup, sensing her unease, tossed her head and fidgeted until she loosened the reins and she headed towards Taralon at her fast trot. Jenny sensed Tony’s brooding gaze until she had turned into the shelter of the trees along the winding driveway. She was relieved that her afternoon with him had ended.

  To extend a light-hearted friendship to him was one thing. To cope with his unpredictable intensity and demands for an instant relationship was another. Despite the flashing smile and friendliness, she sensed he was as unstable as Black Prince, with hidden depths of bitterness and resentment. The thought crossed her mind, to be suppressed almost at once, that perhaps Wayne Paterson had a logical reason for forbidding a closer acquaintance.

  When she eventually got back, unsaddled and rubbed down Buttercup, the boys were home from school, and playing a noisy game of football. There was no sign of the gray Mercedes, and she asked no questions when Wayne didn’t join them for dinner.

  After bathing and bedding down Merry, and supervising the boys’ inevitable homework, she relaxed in the lounge. Mrs. Harris placidly knitted in front of the television. Bill Williams just sat, as was his usual custom, staring at nothing. When the subject of Merry’s clothes came up, Jenny volunteered to finish her party dress.

  “Gwenda was making it for her fifth birthday,” Mrs. Harris explained. The knitting needles slowed for a few seconds. “It’s been in the sewing basket, since—”

  “I quite like hand sewing,” Jenny said hastily.

  It was a pink velvet dress with lace around the collar. Jenny found the needle and cotton and started to tack up the ruffled hem. She sewed until Mrs. Harris yawned and went to bed. After a while Bill Williams stirred himself, and looked at his watch.

  “Don’t sit up half the night with that, Jenny,” he said in his absent manner. “It’s getting late.”

  “I won’t be much longer,” Jenny promised. “Just a few buttons to sew on.”

  He left the room. Jenny turned off the television and the overhead light and sewed by the light of the small shaded lamp. After she had sewed the buttons on, she had to make the buttonholes. It was tedious and time consuming, and she finished the last one with a sigh of relief.

  She stood up and stretched. Everything was very quiet. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning. She turned the light off, and walked over to the French windows.

  It was a cloudy night, but suddenly the bright moonlight shone through and lit the property, every fence and roof distinct, the large gums throwing deep pools of shadow across the yard and stables. A light flashed for a brief second behind the furthermost group of buildings. Jenny blinked and looked again. That particular building was used to store harnesses and spare saddles and rusting farm machinery. Just beside it were the stables.

  Who could be prowling around at this hour? Perhaps one of the animals was sick? She stepped through the French windows and walked quietly along the veranda, down the steps and along the side path
that led to the furthermost buildings. She pushed past the large flowering shrub at the end of the stables and worked her way around the back against the barred fence. The clouds had covered the moon and it was suddenly very dark.

  An arm went roughly around her waist and a hand clamped across her mouth from behind her. She tried to scream, and bit savagely. There was a muffled curse as she was lifted off her feet and dragged into the shadows.

  “Quiet, Jenny,” whispered her employer’s voice.

  The arm around her waist relaxed and she was put down again. She made out the white blur of Bill William's face. He wore a dark, high-necked sweater and leaned against a tree, rifle under his arm. She turned around. Her attacker, Wayne Paterson was examining his hand where she had bit him.

  “What are you doing at this hour of night?” she whispered.

  “Later,” Wayne whispered back.

  Through the darkness could be heard the muffled noise of a motor. It seemed to be coming towards them across the paddock. The dark bulk of a truck appeared. It had no lights on. In one fluid motion Wayne picked up a rifle. Jenny widened her eyes. What was going on? Who was driving the truck?

  She tried to work out where the truck was coming from. The road was four paddocks away. To come from that direction they would have had to cut the wire of the fences to drive through. The truck stopped. Dark figures jumped out the back and let down the tailgate to make a ramp. Jenny drew her breath in with shock, as the figures moved towards the stables.

  “All right,” Wayne warned, his voice loud and brisk. “That’s far enough—move away from the truck.”

  He stepped out of the shadows with Bill Williams beside him, their rifles raised. The dark forms froze and then everything happened at once.

  A dark figure at the front of the truck threw something. Wayne dropped without a sound and Bill Williams fired before he went down under the attacking dark shadows. Jenny screamed. Then the floodlights lit up the stable area. Three of the station hands came sprinting down the path. The truck motor revved loudly and the shadows attacking Bill Williams fled for the truck.

  The truck started to move, tailgate bumping behind it. Two figures chased it fleetly to scramble up into the back. Bill Williams sat up and grabbed for his rifle and fired. The truck swerved and lurched, gathered speed, and bumped over the slight rise. There were no lights to show its passage across the paddocks. The sound of its engine died away.

  “Everyone okay?” someone asked.

  Bill Williams scrambled to his feet. Jenny dropped down beside the still body of Wayne.

  “Missed them!” Bill Williams sounded annoyed. “Where the devil were you blokes? You were supposed to watch the southern boundary!”

  The taller figure sounded apologetic. “Sorry boss, but there was a car parked over by the long paddock and we waited there. The truck must have cut through along the creek.”

  Jenny glanced up, her finger on the uneven pulse of Wayne’s wrist. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ll get Wayne up to the house and have a look at him,” her employer said, sounding unusually brisk and practical.

  The men stooped to pick him up. Jenny stopped them.

  “Use one of the hurdles,” she directed.

  Her employer nodded agreement and with Wayne limp on the hurdle, the slow procession wound up to the house. Jenny sped down to the bathroom for the first aid kit. On her way back to Wayne’s room she overheard the muttered orders of her employer.

  “This time patrol nearer the stables. Are all the cattle out of the creek paddocks?”

  There were muttered acknowledgements and figures slouched off through the darkness. Bill Williams ran his hand through his graying hair and sighed.

  “Let’s see how he is then,” he said.

  Wayne’s face was colorless, except for the large purple bruise on one temple. His breathing was heavy and loud.

  “Could be concussion, if nothing worse,” Jenny decided as she bathed his temples. “Have you called the doctor?”

  “He’s coming over.”

  “So what’s going on?” Jenny asked her employer again.

  “Having a bit of trouble with rustlers,” he admitted.

  “Rustlers!” Jenny echoed. “I thought they went out with the Wild West.”

  “The entire district has suffered,” Bill Williams explained. “The worst of it is they seem to know where and when to make their raids. It’s always the most valuable animals we lose. They cut the fences, push the animals into a truck and take off.” He prowled restlessly up and down the room. “Can’t put up a roadblock, and search every truck going through. The highway has a continual convoy of trucks, all loaded with cattle on their way to market.”

  Jenny concentrated on bathing Wayne’s forehead. Rustlers in the twenty-first century! So this was the reason for the worry of the local property owners, despite their good year. This was why Allan wasn’t getting his promised new saddle.

  “It’s always worse this time of the year. We’ve been patrolling the properties constantly for the past several weeks. I dunno why they were trying for Pretty Boy though.”

  Wayne groaned and his eyes flickered. Jenny brushed his hair back and felt his forehead. It was hot to touch. Wayne opened grey eyes and looked at Jenny.

  “What did pretty Jenny Wren grow into—a parrot or a vulture,” he muttered. He started to thresh around.

  “Delirious,” Bill Williams predicted gloomily.

  It was a frightening few hours. Wayne raved and thrashed. At one stage he vomited. Later he shivered with an uncontrollable cold and they piled blankets on him. The doctor was tired and terse when he examined him. It was nearly dawn and the doctor had covered a distance of forty miles to reach them.

  “Concussion probably. Doesn’t seem to be any fracture.” He closed his bag. “Keep him quiet for a few days.”

  “Like some coffee?” Bill Williams suggested.

  The two men strolled from the room. Jenny turned off the light, weak yellow in the strengthening daylight. She studied the sleeping figure on the bed. Wayne looked a lot younger and more vulnerable and not at all like the grim bad-tempered dictator of Taralon. The door opened again and Bill Williams tiptoed in with a mug of coffee.

  “Come on, Jenny,” he said kindly. “You’ve had quite a night.”

  Jenny gave him a grateful smile and drank the coffee. The first rays of the morning sun slanted into the room and she stared vacantly as the dust motes danced in the golden rays.

  “Jenny!” Bill Williams said again.

  Jenny blinked awake with a start, and with a last quick glance at the figure on the bed, walked down the long passage to her own room. She undressed and tumbled into bed. Although she was tired, sleep was a while in coming. She wondered how she could have been so unaware of what was going on. She had taken a lot of things for granted: the new floodlights around the stables area, the hands sitting up with sick animals, and Bill William’s horror when he discovered her out walking one night by herself.

  It had been a bright moonlit night, she remembered. The children were in bed and she was restless. She had walked down the long drive and then veered across to the small park by the billabong. She had sat on a fallen log and listened to the frogs croaking and watched the moonlight on the water.

  One of the Border Collie dogs had arrived and given a small “whuff.” Bill Williams had arrived with it.

  “Jenny,” he had said. Almost in horror, Jenny remembered. “What are you doing down here at this hour of night.”

  “Just felt like a walk.”

  “I’ll escort you back to the house. Not safe here after dark.”

  “Really?” Jenny had said.

  “You can’t see what you are treading on in the dark. There could be snakes or anything.”

  “Isn’t it a bit early for snakes?”

  “Very aggressive in the spring.”

  And she was escorted most firmly back into the house.

  “I’m stupid, that’s what,” she
scolded herself and, on that note of self-accusation, fell into a nightmare-filled sleep of bumping trucks and rifle shots in the dark.

  Chapter Six

  Jenny sighed. Her weekly phone call to her mother was getting harder and harder. There seemed to be so much she couldn’t say.

  “You would have been impressed with my sewing ability, as I actually finished Merry’s party dress, buttonholes and all. Wayne Paterson taught John to play chess while recuperating after an accident.”

  Should she comment about how improved he was on closer acquaintance despite his bossy streak? Or was he just trying to be polite? Jenny took over the brunt of the nursing for the two days he was kept in bed. Bill Williams shook himself out of his apathy and vanished to take over the management of his own property.

  Not that Wayne had been a difficult patient, she told herself hastily. He was quiet, appreciative of her efforts and, when he felt well enough to be bored with the enforced rest, he sprawled on the battered couch in the office. Jenny was surprised to realize she actually enjoyed his company. They discovered they had the same tastes in reading and music, and both liked animals and mystery novels.

  “Sherlock Holmes,” she had commented. “I’ve got the entire series. My dad collected them and I think that most of the Doctor Watsons were miscast in the films.”

  This then led to a long conversation about all the different Sherlock Holmeses and whether they were well cast or not. The conversation about The Hound of the Baskervilles led to a discussion about the working dogs on the property which led to their liking for animals which led to music used in films which led to . . . She disciplined her mind and continued hastily. “He has gone back to work and now John is trying to teach Allan to play chess, and whoever thought chess was a quiet game hasn’t heard them argue over moves.”

  Better not say that Wayne had kissed her this morning when he left. The incident took place in front of Merry, who jumped up and down and chanted, “Uncle Wayne kissed you. Uncle Wayne kissed you.” Bill Williams waited at the bottom of the steps and watched in amusement.