Race Girl Read online

  Kyle Buckley stepped out from behind Fia, the glinting blade of a hunting knife in his hands. He opened Dahlia’s door slowly, the blade raised at Pearce. ‘In, both of you,’ he said.

  Dahlia snorted and danced at Tully’s side, her eyes darting from Bucko to Pearce, but sharpening on Weston.

  Tully’s mouth fell open as Bucko raised the knife to Pearce Weston’s thick throat – the sleek, deadly blade of the knife she’d seen him use so many times around their farm. ‘In,’ he repeated, squaring his shoulders to push Pearce into the dark box stall.

  Tully reached forward, grabbed Fia by the arm and pulled her over next to Dahlia in the back corner of the stall. Dahlia squealed, lashing out at Pearce with her near-fore. She snorted and tossed her head, pacing across the middle of the stall – a lioness assessing her prey.

  Pearce puffed in annoyance, creeping along the wall of the stall, his whole bulky body craning away from the glint of the blade. ‘How the hell’d you get in here, Buckley?’

  Bucko’s jaw tightened, he glanced across at Tully. ‘He hurt you?’

  Tully shook her head. ‘No! No, Bucko, of course not. Please—’ She took a tentative step towards him— ‘Please, Kyle. Put the knife down, okay? You’re scaring Dahlia. You’re scaring me.’

  Bucko threw his head back and laughed, his black spiked-up hair catching in the light of another bolt of lightning. ‘So that’s how it’s gonna be, is it, Tully? Siding with the Westons, huh?’ He narrowed his wild, dark eyes at her and shook his head, his mouth twisting with disgust. ‘Couldn’t believe it when you brought one home with you. Then you go and leave us, leave the farm, to run off with that traitor—’ he jerked his chin in Fia’s direction. ‘Then he gets a hold of our girl, our horse that I helped you save.’ He pushed the blade closer to Pearce’s skin and the daggers of sheer hatred in his eyes sent terror racing down Tully’s spine.

  ‘I know, I’m so sorry, Bucko,’ she pleaded, taking another step towards him.

  ‘You might think you know these people, Tully,’ he growled, raising his elbow to urge her back. ‘But you don’t!’

  Fia let out a sob and reached for Tully.

  ‘You don’t know how they use and discard people; how they abuse them,’ Bucko said, his eyes flicking between her and Pearce. ‘My mother was ruined; he left us with nothing. She gave everything to him – quit her job bar-tending to live in his house and take care of him after his father died. He kept my mother there like his dirty little secret, then how does the great Pearce Weston re-pay her loyalty?’

  ‘I’m sure—’ Tully said trying to put some distance between them, but Bucko kept coming. ‘By casting her out, three months pregnant – then moving in the first blonde with pedigree he could hunt down, setting her up with everything and having another son. A son he would recognise as his own. My mother and I were his wastage. But the world is finally going to know – I am his son. I am a Weston.’

  38

  Baling Twine and a Plea for Righteousness

  Tully clung to Fia, tears rolling down her cheeks as she listened to Bucko’s story unfolding, the shock of his words and disturbing change in this man she’d known most of her life shaking her to the core.

  ‘She told me on my sixteenth birthday,’ Bucko said, his mouth twisting around every word as if he was spitting out stones; his eyes darting around the room, widening with madness. ‘Just after she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer. She said Pearce Weston was my father, but he didn’t want to know us. So I started to do some research, found out who he was, what he was involved in. Got a job as a stable hand, worked my way around, then applied to your father, to Avalon. The perfect place to keep watch, to bide my time.

  ‘He didn’t even notice when the colt went missing. I stashed him at a mate’s out in central Queensland, and it didn’t even hitch his stride. Collected the insurance money, and moved right along. Just like he does with everything – it’s all disposable to him. We’re all disposable . . .’ Bucko laughed, and the sound chilled Tully to the bone. ‘Well, I couldn’t watch anymore. And now’s the perfect time to dispose of him.’

  The stall door eased open and Brandon stalked in, hands outstretched, wide shoulders dipped in surrender and caution. ‘I just want to take the girls out, Buckley,’ he said, his eyes meeting Tully’s.

  All she could do was stare into his wide, long-lashed, passionate brown eyes, until the sound of Pearce letting out a bellow of pain sent shock waves through her.

  ‘NO!’ Brandon lunged for him, but Bucko kept his hold on Pearce, the blade meeting skin, a trickle of blood running down over cleanly shaven skin.

  ‘Any closer and I’ll do it, Baby Brother,’ Bucko said, nudging Pearce down into the corner of the stall. ‘And hands off Tully. Don’t think for a second either of you is going anywhere—’ He laughed suddenly, his spare hand flinging up in an unsettlingly violent gesture. ‘This really couldn’t have worked out any better, could it? First I’ll dispose of Dad, and I’ll get Baby Weston as a bonus!’

  Fear rocked Tully and she cried out, rushing to Brandon’s side. He put an arm around her, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Bucko, and she pushed her face against the wet wool of his jumper, soaking in his heat. Lifting her head after a few seconds, she noticed a figure in the open doorway. Making sure not to be obvious, she snuck another look, and yes, it was Richard, hovering outside the stall, eyes wide, a mobile clutched in his hands.

  ‘Don’t you even think about it,’ Bucko said over his shoulder. ‘Actually, no—why don’t you go and make sure that guard stays busy, hey? He comes in, and Daddy here is dead.’

  ‘Please, Bucko,’ Tully said. ‘Please, stop! You’re not like this!’

  ‘You don’t know evil until it’s done to you, Tully.’ He shook his head at his father. ‘Karma’s been a long time coming to these guys.’

  ‘Brandon’s not like his dad!’ she protested, pulling herself from Brandon’s encircling arm to move in front of him, shielding him from Bucko.

  ‘We all are like our parents! You can’t fight it . . .’ Bucko spun to raise his knife at Brandon, but as he moved, Pearce seized his opportunity. Rising up behind him, he leapt, bringing him to the ground. The men grunted and wrestled, stirring dust up from the shavings.

  Dahlia squealed and broke free from Fia’s arms, lunging forward, one of her hooves catching the edge of Pearce’s leg, slicing through flesh to the bone.

  Pearce cried out, but maintained his grip on Bucko, pinning him against the back wall. The knife sailed into the air, hit the wall with a sharp clatter, before dropping into the deep bedding. Pearce kicked it away, pinned the smaller man’s arms in a bear hug. ‘Go get something to bind him, Brandon!’

  Fia and Brandon darted from the stall. Tully’s heart hit overdrive, trying to restrain Dahlia, who was, by now, thoroughly unsettled.

  Moments later Brandon raced back in with a few loops of baling twine, Fia with a halter. Tully threw the halter over Dahlia’s head, doing her best to keep the plunging mare from trampling the struggling men.

  ‘Get her out of here, Aunt Fia!’ Tully said, her voice low but urgent. She helped to get Dahlia out of the stall and into the safety of the barn aisle, before rushing back inside to help Brandon. The sound of Bucko’s desperate, broken wails struck straight to her heart as Tully watched Brandon and his father tie Bucko’s hands and feet. She found herself stammering out a string of apologies, over and over, for the heartbreak he’d been through, for the tragedy of his life.

  Richard jogged back to them, the out-of-breath guard in tow. They halted at the edge of the stall, the guard speaking quickly into his walkie-talkie. Richard chucked Pearce a glove and a roll of duct tape – he shoved the glove into Bucko’s mouth, ran a strand of the silver tape over it and around his head.

  The chill of the storm and the utter shock of the morning’s events began to settle over Tully as the adrenaline wore off and she found her whole body shaking uncontrollably. She shoved her hands into the pockets of
her jumper to stop their trembling, her eyes fixed to Bucko’s wide, confused, unfocused eyes.

  Brandon wrapped an arm around Tully, pulling her against his chest. She finally let go, sobbing hard into his shoulder as he led her to the office where Fia was making them all hot chocolates – waiting for the police to arrive.

  Detectives hung around, questioning them all individually after taking Bucko into custody. A kind female detective slipped Tully her card before ushering them out to her police car – Tully was needed to identify and collect the briefcase and belongings her father had been carrying when his plane went down. Tully made sure Dahlia was being taken care of by one of Richard’s nicer girls before she left, glad to see the horse happily munching her way through a bag of apples.

  The detective told Tully on the way into the station that the crash had also claimed the life of the pilot and owner of the small plane, a mate of her father’s from high school. The grief and guilt hit Tully all over again as she accepted the final legacy of her parents, Brandon holding her as she sobbed her heart out.

  Tully made sure to tell the detectives every detail she could remember of their shocking morning, and to include the fact Bucko had been kind to her for all the years she’d known him. He’d been pushed to breaking point and the fact he’d finally snapped and let Pearce beat him plagued Tully’s heart the most. It didn’t seem fair.

  Brandon stayed at Fia’s with her that night, all three of them drifting around the apartment in a daze. The image of Bucko’s face, of his unhinged eyes, of the blade of his knife – all haunted Tully when she tried to sleep.

  She woke screaming before dawn and Brandon held her, tears rolling down his cheeks. Tully felt his pain and was instantly ashamed for not thinking more of him – he’d discovered he had a brother, that all this time he had a big brother when he’d always felt he had no one. A brother who’d tried to kill him.

  They all got moving before dawn the next day. Fia was convinced it was the only way to deal with things, and she emphasised to Tully and Brandon they weren’t to answer their phones for the next few days as the story was sure to hit the media and none of them needed to be pulled into the circus that would ensue.

  Fia had matters at her own barn to deal with, but Brandon and Tully headed to Barn One to see Dahlia.

  Trinity met them at Dahlia’s stall, explained that Pearce had been answering a steady stream of questions for detectives as well as being in and out of hospital having the wounds to his neck and leg dealt with. ‘We’ve had to put two more guards on to keep the journos at bay,’ she said. ‘I’m surprised you guys made it in.’

  ‘Brandon came prepared,’ Tully said, pulling the beanies and black sunnies from her pocket. ‘Bundled us around the back entrance; they didn’t even see us.’

  Trinity smiled. ‘If only your mare was so adaptable,’ she said, her grey eyes turning to Dahlia, concern wrinkling across her forehead. ‘She runs the Cup in just four days, and she won’t let the bloody jockey anywhere near her.’

  ‘What?’ Tully said, squaring her shoulders. ‘Has he arrived, has he?’

  ‘He got here just before yesterday’s incident, as Pearce is calling it. We tried to mount him up, but she pulled him off her back, then ripped the jockey pad off with her teeth and trampled it to death.’

  Tully couldn’t contain a giggle. She peered into her mare’s stall. Dahlia looked up from her feed bucket, her ears pricked forward. ‘Cheeky girl,’ Tully said, a smiling. ‘Well, what does Pearce plan to do?’

  ‘He was gonna have the best jockey in the world ride the best horse in Australia,’ Trinity said. ‘But this Aussie girl won’t have a bar of the Frenchman, and the clock is ticking.’

  ‘I know exactly what he’s going to do,’ Brandon said, nodding at Trinity before taking Tully by the arm. ‘You’re ready to ride the Cup, aren’t you, Athens?’

  ‘What?’ Tully stammered as Brandon dragged her away from her mare. ‘Your dad will never let me!’

  ‘Like hell he won’t.’

  She had to jog to keep up as Brandon marched through the rows of barns towards the officials’ buildings and main offices of Flemington. He stopped just after they’d past the Headquarters Tavern, took her hand in his. ‘I’m so sorry I snapped about bloody Zack and everything, Tull,’ he said, glancing back at her before pulling her along gently. ‘I just missed you – this whole thing has been driving me mental. But there’s no way he’s gonna keep me away from you anymore. I’m sure after everything that happened yesterday, Dad will have a change of heart. You deserve to ride this race.’ His eyes lit with surprise, then happiness and he noticed the silver horseshoe necklace he’d given Tully for her sweet sixteen. ‘Nice to see you’re still wearing it,’ he said, a finger teasing it out from under her shirt.

  ‘Of course,’ Tully said with a teasing grin, relieved by the light change in mood. ‘Always. It’s the only piece of jewellery I own—they’d really call me a tomboy without it.’

  ‘Tomboy looks good on you. Although, I reckon you’re a bit of both.’

  She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Tomboy, and girly girl,’ he explained. ‘Best kinda chick, I reckon. And I am sorry, so sorry, Tulls. Nothing will ever keep us apart again.’

  ‘It’s all good, Brandon,’ she smiled, ‘I seem to be able to forgive easily, or to forgive you, anyway. I guess it’s like my fatal flaw.’

  ‘No way,’ he grinned, ‘Forgiveness, that’s a real strength.’ He kissed her deeply, before they slipped their beanies and glasses on, heading towards the main building where a large contingent of media and other jockeys and trainers had gathered. By the look of the banners and logo-laden backdrop with the table and chairs set up in front of them, there would be a pre-event media conference, which would no doubt focus on the ‘hostage situation’ that had gone down in one of the country’s top stables the day before.

  Pearce burst out of the side door of the building, nearly running into them. ‘Brandon?!’ he said. ‘Get back to the barn, mate.’

  ‘No, Dad,’ Brandon said, slipping off his sunnies. He pulled Tully up next to him. ‘I think there’s one more matter to discuss with the stewards, don’t you?’

  Pearce narrowed his eyes.

  ‘We know that Dahlia won’t run for Lamonte,’ Brandon said. ‘You’re going to tell them that Dahlia is running, with Tully Athens as jockey.’

  Pearce pulled in a long breath, puffing up his chest, before laughing deeply. His eyes were rimmed with red and deep lines had spread out from the corners. He raised his chin and squared his shoulders – the same arrogant, iimperious Pearce Weston Tully had always known.

  Voices rose behind them and Tully glanced back, her breath catching in her throat. ‘Ah, Brandon,’ she whispered. ‘Maybe we should take this back to the barn?’

  Brandon glanced down at her, then raised his eyes over her shoulder. He grinned, dropping an arm around her. ‘No, this is perfect, actually,’ he said, loud enough for the ring of journalists and cameramen who had surrounded them to hear.

  Tully swallowed hard, her heart thudding like it could explode. She recognised two of the top officials from Racing Victoria, as well as many of the trainers and jockeys she’d always idolized, standing in the scrum around them. Richard had weaselled his way onto the racing board and he and Miena whispered off to one side, Miena’s eyes fixated on Brandon like a minx ready for dinner.

  Tully fought the urge to shrink back behind Brandon, Pearce’s glare scalding her skin. She looked nervously out across the crowd, flinching with surprise when she spotted Zack on the outside rim. He smiled tightly, but turned his shoulder, chatting to another jockey. Guess you won’t be standing up for me, then—or even coming to ask if I’m okay! Tully thought, gritting her teeth. Great mate you are! She threaded an arm through Brandon’s and took a jagged breath, raising her chin at Pearce.

  ‘Now’s the perfect time to announce your new jockey, Dad.’

  ‘Listen here, you bloody little—’ Pearce hissed
, grabbing Brandon by the sleeve.

  ‘No, actually—’ Brandon cut him off, shrugging off his hand and moving his face close to his father’s— ‘I can’t believe after everything that’s happened, after meeting Kyle . . . How can you still be so cold-hearted?’

  ‘I thought you’d come to understand this business, Brandon,’ Pearce said, glowering across at his son. ‘Guess I was wrong.’

  Brandon’s jaw hardened and he looked away for a moment, out over the impatient crowd. Then he took a step forward, turning his back to the cameras and recording devices of the journos, away from the amused-looking trainers and jockeys and deepening gathering of passers-by. ‘Tully’s always wanted this, Dad. She has the skills, and Dahlia won’t run better for anyone. Let her have a go.’

  Pearce let out a breath, crossed his arms. ‘She hasn’t even finished her apprenticeship.’

  ‘What better way to do it, and what a story it will make for all of them—’ He nodded over at the pack of media— ‘She wouldn’t be the youngest jockey to do it – Peter St. Albans won the Cup, eight days short of his thirteenth birthday.’

  ‘That was in 1876, boy, things have changed a fair bit since then!’ He glanced around at the cameras, tipping his cap to run a hand over his brow.

  ‘Apparently not, if you don’t consider a female jockey, a female owner, on the same level as the men. A female jockey has won the Cup, for God’s sake! And they match the guys nearly fifty/fifty now. Let’s be one of the smart ones who take the chance!’ He paused, and then continued. ‘Not that’s it’s even taking a chance: Tully knows this mare better than anyone! Their bond is undeniable. This isn’t just about the money, Dad. It’s about what’s right. Dahlia is Tully’s horse.’

  ‘My horse now,’ Pearce said, refusing to concede the point. ‘Transfer papers say so.’

  ‘That sale should never have happened . . .’ Brandon’s voice strengthened and rose out towards the hovering journos and racing elite. ‘And you know it, Dad. Believe in her,’ he said, loud enough for the whole paddock to hear. ‘Like I do.’