Jumping Fences Read online

  Also by Karen Wood

  The Diamond Spirit series

  Diamond Spirit

  Moonstone Promise

  Opal Dreaming

  Golden Stranger

  Brumby Mountain

  First published in 2014

  Copyright © Karen Wood 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available

  from the National Library of Australia

  www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 1 74331 639 9

  eISBN 978 1 74343 411 6

  Cover and text design by Sandra Nobes

  Cover images: Shutterstock

  Typeset in 11.5 pt Apollo by Midland Typesetters, Australia

  For Anthony, Annabelle and Ruby

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Zoe rode out of the home paddock with Caitlin and Scott. A thick morning mist hung over the paddocks and fairy wrens darted in the saddle-high grass. Her dog Frankie trotted at Blackjack’s heels as the jet-black gelding took long, eager strides along the creek flats and up onto the hills. Beside her, Scotty played with a stockwhip, twirling it in his hands as he rode.

  ‘You won’t need that,’ said Zoe. ‘The older cattle will know the way down. They’ll bring the others with them.’

  ‘Don’t spoil all the fun,’ grinned Scotty. He swung the leather thong around his head, and snapped it back with a loud crack.

  Zoe laughed and rolled her eyes. Scotty loved his whip, almost as much as his hat. He never missed a chance to crack the thing.

  ‘How many head are we moving?’ Caitlin asked.

  ‘One hundred and twenty,’ said Zoe. ‘Dad needs them off the lease by this weekend. We’ll just run them into a holding paddock.’

  ‘Too easy,’ Scotty said.

  Zoe grinned. She was out with her two best friends on what was going to be the most sensational day. The cattle would virtually muster themselves, and as soon as this fog lifted it would be all blue skies and sunshine.

  1

  ‘Zoe. Are you all right?’

  A boy’s voice. Whose? Someone far away . . .

  ‘Zoe!’ Another voice cut in.

  That’s Mum.

  ‘How are you, darling?’ Her mum leaned in closer.

  Zoe forced a smile and closed her eyes again. She took a moment to let her mind recalibrate, taking in the sounds, the smell of disinfectant. Hospital. A ward assistant stood next to her mum. ‘I need to strip your bed,’ said the woman in a kindly voice. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Zoe, pulling herself to the edge of the bed with her good arm. ‘Happy to vacate.’ More than happy, in fact. She was going home, finally. All this sitting around doing nothing was so frustrating. She needed to get back to normality, whatever that was. She sat down on a chair in the corner of the room while the ward assistant stripped the sheets from the bed and threw them into a trolley.

  ‘You were mumbling in your sleep,’ said her mum, taking the seat next to her. ‘Were you remembering the accident?’

  Zoe frowned, and for the millionth time wondered how this had all happened. How had she ended up in the intensive-care unit of the Royal North Shore Hospital? The frowning made her head hurt, but she tunnelled through the pain, searching for more fragments of memory.

  All she could recall was riding out of the home paddock on Blackjack with her best friend Caitlin and boyfriend Scott. The sun pierced the early-morning mist; the horses’ hooves beat in a steady rhythm on their way to the leasehold to muster cattle. She’d been in such a great mood.

  That’s where her memory ended – as if they’d all ridden into oblivion and never come back. As if she’d ridden that horse into a time machine and it had landed her here in the hospital, weeks later, with a body full of bruises and a head that felt as though it had been through the wood-splitter.

  She took in the yellow walls of the children’s ward that had surrounded her for the past few weeks. Where were Scotty and Caitlin now? There was a card from Scotty but she couldn’t remember him visiting. She had sent him a hundred text messages, the way she always did, but so far hadn’t got a response. She figured it was something to do with the accident. His phone had ended up in the dam or been trampled by some feral heifer. Then she worried that he had been trampled by a feral heifer.

  No, he hadn’t, everyone assured her. But back home there had been huge rains, and the whole Bell River district had flooded. Many properties had lost power, and most families were flat out trying to clean up the mess. The roads were blocked with debris, and bridges had been washed away.

  ‘Okay, darling?’

  ‘Huh?’ She snapped back into the present. ‘Yes. I just want to go home. I wish you could sign me out, Mum.’

  Her mother’s mouth went tight. ‘You know I can’t do that.’

  Zoe felt sorry for asking. Whenever something like this happened, it reminded everyone that Mum had walked out on her kids and had no authority over them. She had moved to the city with her new man, and now Zoe and brother Mike went to her place once a month, if that.

  Since the accident, Mum had been in to visit every day, trying to prove she really was a good mother. She’d helped to change the bandage on Zoe’s sprained and swollen wrist and cleansed the spectacular graze over one side of her face. ‘We really don’t want that to leave a scar, honey.’

  Zoe wished she’d just chill out and stop fussing so much.

  The doctor came by with a clipboard. ‘You need to take it easy at home,’ he said. ‘Don’t go trying to do everything you used to straight away. That was a nasty concussion, a contusion on your brain, and healing takes time.’

  Zoe nodded obediently.

  ‘No sport, no horse riding, no motorbikes for six weeks. Stay inside and take it easy.’ He gave her a kind smile. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Yep,’ she said, and her heart lifted when he looked down at the clipboard and started scribbling.

  ‘When’s your father coming?’ asked Mum, looking at her watch.

  ‘He said he’d be here some time today.’

  ‘What time exactly?’ Mum liked schedules.

  ‘Soon as he can get away from the farm,’ Zoe muttered evasively. The truth was, Dad had rung last night to tell her the creek crossings were washed out and it might take him until the afternoon to get through.

  ‘You could always come and stay with me for a while, you know,’ her mother said.

  In the city? No thanks. Zoe made a pr
ivate grimace.

  ‘Hey, Shorty.’

  Zoe spun around. ‘Dad!’ He was still in his checked jacket, and his workboots and jeans were caked in dried mud. She warmed at the messy, exhausted sight of him. She’d missed him terribly.

  ‘Hello, Archie,’ said her mother in a stiff voice.

  ‘Gloria.’ He briefly acknowledged her and turned his attention to Zoe. His eyes ran all over her, assessing her, before he spoke again. ‘You right to go?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Don’t bother asking how she is,’ muttered Mum.

  ‘Well, they said she could go home, didn’t they?’ her dad retorted. ‘She must be all right.’

  ‘You haven’t been to see her for days.’

  ‘I had to work a bulldozer for six hours to get the car through the creek crossing to even get here. And then it was a five-hour drive.’

  Her mum rolled her eyes and began fussing with Zoe’s suitcase. ‘All her stuff is packed. I checked the bathroom and the closet. You have to sign the paperwork.’

  Groan. Why did Mum always have to compete for the best-parent award?

  ‘I’ve done that, thank you, Gloria.’ He didn’t smile.

  Her mum exhaled slowly. ‘You know, it wouldn’t hurt to give Zoe a bit of sympathy every now and then. She’s been through a lot the past few weeks.’

  Her father looked incredulous. ‘In case you haven’t been watching the news, there’s been a massive flood out west. The farm is trashed, I’ve lost hundreds of kilometres of fencing and I haven’t even had a chance to do a proper stock count yet.’ He started waving his arms around. ‘Don’t tell me about going through a lot. How’s the new sports car going, by the way?’

  ‘Well, nice to know what’s more important,’ she said icily. ‘I just want you to go easy on her when you get her home. You put too much responsibility on her shoulders. I don’t want her out mustering any more without an adult to supervise.’

  ‘Mu-um,’ Zoe moaned. She loved working on the farm and she was perfectly capable of mustering a few cows . . . usually. She had no idea what had gone wrong this last time.

  ‘You’d be much better off living with me for a while,’ her mum answered.

  Zoe struggled not to look aghast. No way was she going to go and live in the city with Mum and Phil. Mum would go ballistic making up for all her lost parenting. She would be unbearable. Send Zoe to a private school, monitor every minute of her time and make her wear conservative clothes – generally, mould and shape her into the perfect child. Ugh, she would probably even make Zoe go to the ballet.

  She looked beseechingly at her father. ‘The farm is my home.’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘I’m not going. I’ll run away,’ she threatened.

  Her mother winced. ‘Thanks a lot!’

  Her dad’s eyes met hers and she saw a horrible gloom in them. ‘Your mum’s right,’ he said, in a flat voice. ‘You’d be better off at her place for a while. I can’t look after you right now. The farm’s in chaos.’

  ‘Then let me come home and help you,’ she begged. ‘I am better, truly. I just need to get home. I don’t need to go to some strange place where I don’t know anyone.’ She started pulling the stupid sling off to prove it.

  Her mother sighed, picked her handbag up from the bed and stalked out the door. Zoe knew she would be crying.

  ‘Mu-um,’ she called after her.

  Mum lifted a hand, and disappeared around a bend in the corridor.

  Her dad picked up Zoe’s bag. ‘This everything?’ he said.

  Zoe nodded.

  He marched out the door.

  Zoe hurried after him. ‘Dad, wait, I . . .’ She stopped and squeezed her eyes shut. Walking that fast made a carousel of the room. Everything spun. ‘I can’t keep up with you.’

  ’Sorry,’ he said, stopping and looking back. ‘She just . . . drives me insane.’

  Zoe nodded. He was always worse when Mum was around. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said.

  ‘I’m losing the plot, Shorty. I’m losing everything.’ He sat on the suitcase and put his face in his hands.

  She looked at him and smiled. ‘Dad . . .’

  ‘What?’ he muttered.

  ‘Either you need a bigger suitcase or a smaller bum.’

  He looked between his legs at the case, which threatened to split at the seams. Then he smiled. ‘Does your head still hurt?’

  ‘Nah,’ she said, straightening and stuffing her good hand further into her pocket. She waved the bandaged one at him. ‘I’m good.’

  2

  Dad squeezed himself behind the wheel of the car, started the engine and immediately got down to business. ‘There are some orphaned lambs in the yards. You right to look after them when we get home?’ He backed out of the parking spot.

  ‘Yep.’ Bottle-fed lambs were her specialty. If the ewes had triplets or even quads and they became too much for their mothers to feed, her dad would pull numbers three and four off and Zoe would hand-raise them.

  ‘We need to be on top of fly-strike and footrot,’ he said. ‘I have to buy spray.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I’m going to sell off what’s left of the sheep. We’ve lost the best breeding ewes anyway.’

  Sheep had never gone well for Dad. He had tried to diversify, cross-graze, use the steep country more. But they’d just made everything more complicated. The good part was that Zoe loved looking after the lambs.

  Dad turned onto the road. ‘I have to get the pump running again,’ he continued. ‘The bore is full of mud and needs cleaning out. It’s a huge job. Dave Miller’s bringing his compressor over to give me a hand with it. He’ll be there now.’

  He looked at her bandaged arm appraisingly. ‘Can you open a can of dog food with one hand? The dogs need feeding too.’

  ‘Umm, yeah, sure.’ She’d forgotten about the dogs. Memory Lane was full of potholes these days.

  ‘Mike’s been keeping up with most of your jobs. He’s getting sick of it, though,’ her father continued. ‘Frankie won’t do a thing I say. Took him out yesterday with the others and he went AWOL.’

  Dad always complained about Frankie. His name was short for Frankenstein because he had a dent in his head from where the tractor had run over him, but Zoe loved him to pieces.

  She pictured the dogs now: kelpies and heelers, five of them. Poor old Queenie – her rickety hips could hardly carry her any more; but she still loved a good muster. Frankie was one of her pups.

  The vision of another dog flashed before her eyes. It was small, white and moved quickly. She frowned, unable to place it, and felt suddenly giddy. She wound down the window, let the breeze wash over her face and blow the greenness off. Oh god, she needed to get home.

  ‘You carsick?’ Her father’s words cut through her thoughts.

  Zoe shifted uncomfortably in the seat. ‘I keep getting these . . . sort of flashbacks,’ she said, her breath still uneven.

  Her dad kept his eyes on her for a few seconds. ‘What sort of flashbacks?

  ‘Of the accident,’ she answered. ‘At least I think they are. But they don’t make any sense.’

  A troubled look crossed his face and Zoe instantly regretted telling him.

  ‘What can you remember?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘You must remember something.’

  ‘Just a dog. A white one.’

  ‘Was it a working dog? A stockman’s dog?’

  She shook her head. ‘No idea. It moved too fast.’

  He drummed his finger on the steering wheel a few times before speaking again. ‘Who counted the cattle off the leasehold on the muster, Shorty?’

  Her head started banging. ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember.’

  ‘Was it you or your boyfriend?’

  Zoe shook her head, unable to answer. Everything about the day of the accident had been deleted from her brain. Her hard drive had completely crashed.

  He gave a frustrated sigh. ‘This is the third time in the last year this h
as happened, Zoe,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Third time of cattle going astray. Twelve prime bullocks went missing from that muster on top of eighty-plus earlier in the year. They were nearly ready for sale. Do you know how much they’re worth to me?’ He paused for effect. ‘Eight hundred bucks each!’

  ‘I thought you hadn’t counted the stock yet?’

  ‘We sold the bullocks before the flood. We were twelve short.’

  Zoe sat there, searching the murky recesses of her mind for answers, but none came.

  ‘Either they weren’t mustered off the lease . . .’ He took his eyes off the road for a moment and eyed her shrewdly. ‘Or they jumped the fence or something.’

  She shook her head, totally confused. ‘Sorry.’

  Four hours later, they turned onto Split Log Road. ‘Brace yourself,’ Dad murmured as they came around a bend.

  Zoe was shocked at the state of the road. Half of it had fallen away, and the remaining strip of bitumen was shattered. Everything was coated in a thick layer of silt. The fences were gone – swamped beneath mounds of dead grass. Miles of black poly pipe were twisted and tangled into a massive pile. Huge black wattles and flooded gums lay over the river bed, forcing the water to find new channels. The original track and creek crossing no longer existed.

  Dad drove along the new track beside the bitumen. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get down to see you more often,’ he said. This was clearly his explanation.

  Zoe screwed up her face. ‘What’s that stench?’

  ‘Sheep.’

  ‘Are they dead or something?’

  ‘Yep. Have to bury them this afternoon before they attract wild dogs.’

  ‘How did they even get into the creek paddocks?’ Normally they lived in the hillier, less fertile country. ‘Poor things. Most of them were pregnant.’

  ‘They must have got trapped in here somehow. Sheep usually hate running water.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m selling off whatever stock’s left as soon as I can get a truck through to the yards.’

  Further along, there were more fences down and the bridge over the creek was washed out. Mother Nature had been doing some major re-landscaping.