pulled into the rough driveway and tried to ignore the depressing emptiness that was the absence of horses mooching about in paddocks. She consoled herself that all that was about to change. But would it? She wondered. One horse was a start, but it would hardly bring the old place back to life. Horses were social animals – what if Paycheque was miserable here on his own? She brightened – people were always trying to find homes for unwanted horses and ponies. Bernadette was bound to know someone who knew someone. That was one of the great things about country life.
Claire was so focussed on summoning the energy to go into the house she almost didn’t see Bernadette’s car by the front verandah. Her best friend was grinning cheekily at her from the back steps. Claire leapt out of the car and threw her arms around her.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Little bird told me you might need a hand picking up a horse.’
Claire’s eyes were wide. ‘How the hell…? This place is far too small,’ she said, and laughed.
‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ she said, clapping her hands. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’
‘The ute keys are inside,’ Claire said. She retrieved the house key from her glove box and then stood in front of the door. She wanted to be strong and just open the door and walk in. But she couldn’t. She felt a complete fool – it was so damn childish.
In a split second Bernadette had grabbed the key.
‘Pathetic, huh?’
‘Not at all. But I say we deal with it another day – we’ve got a horse to get.’
‘Keys are on the shelf above the kettle, just inside the kitchen.’
‘Thanks. Now you organise a halter and fill a hay net. I’ll meet you at the float.’
Rarely did Claire McIntyre enjoy being told what to do, even by her best friend. But right now she was relieved to have someone else giving the orders.
Twenty minutes later they were heading off.
‘I can’t believe the ute started first time,’ Claire said.
‘Obviously I had my tongue held right.’ Bernadette grinned and patted the steering wheel, cooing, ‘Who’s a good girl, then?’
Claire hadn’t objected when Bernadette had climbed back into the driver’s seat after hooking on the float. Now the adrenaline was starting to subside, she didn’t think she’d be able to drive anyway. She stretched her legs out and noticed a pair of work boots on the floor at her feet. She picked them up and turned them over wondering what they were doing there.
Bernadette noticed her quizzical expression. ‘I grabbed the smallest from the laundry – I assumed they must be yours.’
‘Yes, thanks, but I can’t possibly wear them.’
‘Why not?’
Claire indicated her attire with raised eyebrows.
‘I don’t care how you look – safety first. I’m not having a cantankerous horse and you with a broken foot to deal with alone. Anyway, Jack would kill me. Remember the day he caught us without boots and helmets at the quarry?’
‘God, yes. And we were doing so well impressing those boys until he turned up. How embarrassing.’
‘Yeah, but don’t worry, no one will see you today.’
They were bound to bump into the whole damn town if her current track record was anything to go by, but Claire was too tired to argue. She just hoped Paycheque would behave himself. At least they had safety in numbers, if not strength. She and Bernadette had always been a great team – highly competitive at times, but a great team when it counted.
After a few moments, Claire snapped to attention. ‘Oh my God! I still haven’t rung the hospital,’ she blurted. ‘Jack’ll be wondering where I am.’
‘It’s okay – I rang them and explained. Well sort of. They said they’d make up some innocuous story. They’re still keeping things simple with him until he’s stronger. So don’t worry, it’s all under control.’
‘I can’t thank you enough, Bernie – you’re the best…’
‘I know, I know. Don’t go getting all carried away,’ Bernadette said quickly. ‘We’ve a mission to complete.’
Claire sat upright. ‘So how did you find out about all this anyway?’
‘About third hand I think – you know how the bush telegraph works. Daryl Hannaford came into the shop – you remember him, has the cherry orchard out on Grey’s Road. Anyway, he was at the post office and overheard one of the guys from the abattoir telling someone else the hilarious story of some crazy, dolled-up city chick by the name of McIntyre turning up and paying double to save a horse from the knackery.
‘Oh great,’ Claire groaned, ‘I’m now my very own urban myth.’
‘Country actually,’ Bernadette corrected with a grin.
‘But I didn’t tell anyone my name.’
‘It’s stamped on your cheque, silly.’
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