Women and War (34 page)

‘I know. I'll manage it,' Richard said. ‘Stay with Reg, Tara.'

Tara sat down in a cane chair beside the bed thinking that if her life depended on it she would not know how to work a pedal wireless.

‘Ugh – err …' Reg was trying to say something. Tara leaned closer, thinking how old he looked, his leathered face turned yellowish and those eyes watery and tormented.

‘Is there anything you want, Reg? Can I get you anything?' she asked, lifting him a fraction and adjusting the pillow behind him.

‘Horses,' he said.

‘You're not to worry about your horses. They are fine,' Tara soothed.

‘Water. Bluey forgets. They need water.'

‘All right,' Tara said. ‘I'm sure he didn't forget. But I'll make sure for you if you like.'

He nodded, satisfied. She went back into the kitchen. Richard, sitting on one of the cane chairs, was fiddling with the wireless. He glanced up questioningly as she came in.

‘It's all right. He's just worried about the horses. Wants us to make sure they have got water.'

Richard fiddled with the wireless some more.

‘You could do that, couldn't you? I'm having a problem with getting through. The static is really bad – it's the heavy weather I suppose.'

Tara hesitated. She was just a little afraid of horses.

‘Oh, and you could bring in the respirator from the ute while you're about it. A whiff of oxygen might make Reg more comfortable,' Richard said without looking up from the crackling wireless.

Unwilling to admit to her nervousness, Tara had no option but to do as he asked her. As she went out the door the heavy atmosphere hit her, clogging her throat. No wonder Reg was so groggy, she thought. No wonder the static on the air waves was so bad. She crossed the yard to the stables. It was dim inside where the strange clear light could not reach and it smelled heavily of horses. Tara wrinkled her nose.

Missie, the mare Kate loved to ride, was in the end stall looking out. Her ears pricked questioningly. Tara spoke to her softly trying to move her away from the door by pushing her at arm's length. At first Missie tried to muzzle her, then, puzzled, side-stepped away. Tara opened the door and slipped inside, plunging her hand into the water bucket. Yes. Full. She hadn't thought Bluey would forget his beloved horses. She backed out of the stall and with the door closed after her again she was so filled with relief that she stopped to give Missie's nose a pat.

That left Barney, the gelding. Tara had never seen him but she had heard Kate talk about him – a mettlesome horse, highly strung, as likely as not to land a kick if you did not keep clear of his hind legs. Tara's heart came into her mouth.

Barney was in the next stall. A shaft of light coming in from the window behind Tara showed the rich chestnut gleam of his coat – and the flare of his nostrils. Tara went to open the stall and Barney came forward to meet her, not muzzlingly as Missie had done, but in a manner which struck Tara as threatening. She retreated hastily, sliding the bolt back into place.

I can't go in there! she thought. Surely if Missie has water, Barney has too!

But she couldn't be sure of that. She didn't like Barney but she didn't want to think of him going thirsty either. Again she tried to get into the stall, again Barney came between her and the water bucket rolling his eyes and curling his lip to reveal evil-looking teeth.

‘Sure you've got the devil in you and no mistake!' Tara said to him.

She could not pass him, she simply could not. Never mind hind legs itching to kick out – she could not stand the way he was looking at her! She stood for a moment thinking. It wasn't that far to the water bucket – she could see it quite clearly from here. It was just that she could not see how much was in it. Well, there was one way …

She went back outside and searched for a smooth pebble, then another in case her aim was not good enough first time. Barney fortunately had retreated to the rear of the stall.

Stay there, Barney. I don't want to hit you, Tara thought.

She took careful aim and tossed the pebble towards the water bucket. A good shot. There was a satisfying plop as it hit the water and Tara saw spray fly. She smiled, feeling ridiculously triumphant. Beat you, Barney! And I haven't got to fill your bucket either – praise be!

Missie was back poking her nose over her own stall, curious to see what was going on. Tara touched it tentatively.

‘Bye, Missie. That's a pat from Kate.'

As she left the stable she thought what a pity it was that she did not like horses. Richard rode she knew – he had told her about his stables at home in the hills outside Melbourne. For a brief moment, she had a vision of them riding together through the bush, laughing as they cantered, wind whipping their hair. Of course, it was only pleasurable viewed as a scene from a picture shown at Tom Harris's Star Cinema. Put her on a horse in reality and she would be terrified. But it was a pity, nonetheless. There were so few places she and Richard could go, especially now that the Wet had set in and the time they had together was so short. Take today – over so soon. She had come with Richard looking forward to being alone with him for the first time in a weekend yet, as soon as the ambulance had collected Reg, they would be heading back to the hospital with Richard tearing along no doubt so that he could be the one to admit Reg and start his treatment. What it was to be so dedicated! It was always the same when he was working. Yet off duty he could be so different.

She smiled, imagining the way he would deal with the high-bred, high-spirited Barney. A firm sure touch that would say ‘Don't think you can push me around, old sport.' And the horse would know that he had met his master and recognize that he was not the only blue-blood in the stable.

And I'll bet my bottom dollar I can think of someone else who could handle him, Tara mused. Alys Peterson. It was such an unwelcome thought that she pushed it quickly away but the aura of it lingered.

Alys Peterson. Why did I have to think of her?

She crossed the yard, stopping at the ute to pick up the respirator. As she leaned across the seat she noticed the keys were in the ignition. Unlike Richard to leave them there, even out here in the wilds. He was usually particular about making sure he had them in his pocket. Presently, when they came to leave he would be wondering where they were …'

Tara stopped, a sudden smile hovering on her lips, then she leaned into the ute again, pulled the keys out of the ignition and pushed them down the back of the seat. Just far enough to be out of sight, not so far as to be lost forever. Then she picked up the respirator and, humming, went back to the house.

Richard was with Reg again now, making him as comfortable as possible for the journey. He asked Tara to find the things Reg would need – pyjamas, shaving tackle, tooth powder – and she did so, no longer minding the dark airlessness in the house. Then she made tea and they sat beside Reg's bed doing what they could for him while they waited for the ambulance.

At last it arrived. It had made good time down the Track and the driver, a cheery, chirpy corporal, had driven along the last five miles of unmade-up road with no respect for suspension.

‘You riding in the back with the patient?' he asked Tara and her heart nearly stopped beating.

‘That's your partner's job,' Richard reminded him and Tara breathed again, though the driver looked less pleased. Clearly he preferred to have company in the cab to yarn and smoke with as he did his imitation of a driver in the Monte Carlo rally.

The first sharp crack of thunder came as they were carrying Reg, on his stretcher, down the veranda steps. The edge of it seemed to split the sky and the echo rolled menacingly around the outbuildings. Tara drew back, hanging onto the veranda rail. She hated thunder – and feared it as much as she feared horses.

‘Get in the ute, Tara,' Richard said over his shoulder.

‘It's all right – I'll lock up the house.' She did not want to be there when he found the keys missing!

She made one last tour of the bungalow, checking that everything was safe. She heard the rain start as she returned to the kitchen – heard it come pattering onto the corrugated veranda roof with a sound like a volley of bullets. As she emerged the ambulance was just pulling away but the sound of its engine was unable to drown the rumble of thunder that announced there was not one storm but two and she saw a fork of lightning somewhere beyond the stables.

Richard had seen it too. ‘Thank God for the rain – that's the sort of bolt that starts bush fires!' he said, running up the steps to help her lock the door. Already, within those few seconds, he was drenched, his shirt sticking to his back, his hair plastered to his head. ‘ Ready to make a run for it?'

‘Yes, I guess so …'

He slapped his pockets and she saw the beginnings of a perplexed look.

‘Did you see what I did with my keys?'

She looked at him; looked away.

‘Perhaps you left them in the ute,' she said demurely.

He frowned. ‘Perhaps I did. I didn't think … Wait here and I'll see.'

He ran down the veranda steps and she watched him go thinking; Don't let him find them
too
soon! Because of the rain he got right into the ute to check – sitting on them of course, she thought, amused.

After a few seconds he came running back.

‘I can't see them, dammit. Perhaps I had them in my hand and put them down somewhere in the house.'

‘I didn't see them anywhere when I locked up,' she said.

‘They must be there somewhere. Have you got the door key?' She nodded, reached into the cooler beneath the veranda where she had hidden it and gave it to him. He unlocked the door and they went back into the house. Richard retraced all his steps, searching, and she followed, pretending to search too.

‘They don't seem to be here – what the hell have I done with them?' he straightened, wiping away drips of rain that were running from his hair down his forehead. ‘ They
must
be in the ute – unless I dropped them on the path.'

He locked up again and Tara hung back under the veranda thinking furiously. She should have known, of course, that he would be too worried about losing the keys to think of making the most of their unexpected time together. Stupid really. Oh, for an opportunity, just a tiny opportunity …

Another fork of lightning split the sky followed by the thunder roll, loud enough to waken the dead. Tara caught at Richard's arm, pulling in close to make the most of her fear.

‘Oh, I hate thunderstorms! I've always hated them.'

‘It won't hurt you.' Richard sounded preoccupied.

‘I know that really, but … I'll bet the horses don't like it either. That gelding is so highly strung. Couldn't we just go and see if he is calm? If he panics in his stall he could break a leg …'

‘All right. Let me just have one more look for the keys in the ute.'

They were halfway across the yard when the heavens opened. Tara squealed and grabbed Richard's arm.

‘Never mind the keys – let's get in the stable – shelter!'

She jerked his hand, veering off towards the stables, and to her relief he followed. Hand in hand they ran, while the rain lashed down with tropical fury all around them. A horse whinnied. ‘It's all right, it's all right!' Tara soothed.

It was almost dark in the stable now that the thunder clouds had thickened the already heavy sky. Only the flickering lightning showed the looseboxes and the tack, the cobwebs – and the hay blocked up in the corner.

‘Oh!' Tara was laughing and shuddering. She shook her head and the black curls sprayed water; her dress was soaked, her feet caked with red splattered mud. ‘ I'm drenched! And so are you!'

She put her hand on his chest where the taut wet material of his shirt clung like a second skin and ran her fingers up to his shoulders.

‘Richard …' she turned her face up to his, sliding her other hand around his back, and felt his arms go around her. The thunder rolled again, directly overhead, and lightning illuminated the stable. ‘Oh!' she pressed in close, burying her face in his chest. Her skirt was clinging to her legs; through it she felt the hard length of his body and thighs and the coolness of her plan became charged with the heat of desire.

She raised her face again without relinquishing the touch of a single square inch of his body and he bent and touched her forehead with his lips. ‘It's all right, Tara.' A droplet of water ran from his hair and rolled down her nose. A shudder ran through her. ‘It's all right!'

His mouth traced the line the droplet of water had made down her wet face to her mouth. Their lips touched, hovering for a moment, then clinging, parting, fusing. She moved against him, her breasts thrusting beneath the soaked cesarine, and heard the tiny suck and squelch as their bodies fused.

She could feel the desire mounting within her now, knew it was stronger than anything they had generated before. As she moved her hips against his he groaned softly into her hair and she felt the answering response shudder through her own body, darting a fine line of fire through the very core of her being, making her soft inner thighs prick and tremble. For a long unreal moment she felt as if she was floating – no, not floating but being lifted, very gently, on a column of water, up, up, with the happiness bursting in the sparkling droplets all around her and the love and desire drowning all thought, all reason and planning. She had wanted him to make love to her because she had thought it was the only certain way of making him hers, now suddenly she wanted him to make love to her only because nothing else in the world mattered. Not the thunderstorm, not the war, not the horses moving restlessly and curiously in their stalls. Nothing. Nothing. Except to be closer, closer …

Holding tightly to one another they stumbled towards the bales of hay. Tara felt them behind her knees and sank into them. The thunder rolled again but she scarcely heard it. Her wet dress peeled off like the skin of an overripe peach, the hay scratched her back and shoulders as well as her legs, but she scarcely noticed that either. There was only Richard, his body strong and white in the flickering lightning, only Richard taking her at last, making her his …