Race Girl Page 6

  ‘Nope,’ Bucko said, raising an eyebrow. Tully narrowed her eyes at him as he casually lifted a finger to acknowledge a silver Land Cruiser passing in the oncoming lane.

  She turned back to the highway, chewing her lip until it hurt and was lost in her thoughts when Bucko finally slowed to hang left into a gravel road that dipped down into the river flats. She sat forward in the seat, dropped her bag on the floor, searching the paddocks of the acreages and farms all around. The tyres crunched over gravel, the trailer banging over the grooves etched like a washboard on the narrowing gravel track.

  The road hit a dead end a few hundred metres along, and she didn’t see the driveway until they were on top of it. Tully took in the faded pink Queenslander, raised several metres off the ground to protect it from flooding, sagging in the middle of a wide, overgrown front yard. A rusted station wagon and dozens more shells and skeletons of cars and motorbikes were strewn across the yard, around the house and as far as she could see into the property. A man with long grey hair holding a brown paper bag with a bottle top sticking out of it stood up on the front verandah, which was rotting at the edges and open to the drop with no handrail. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, his mouth tensing into a hard, unwelcoming line.

  Tully’s heart sped as Bucko pulled into the driveway and parked in a narrow void amongst the disintegrating collection of vehicles – alongside the house and a barbed wire boundary fence. He killed the engine, un-clicked his seatbelt and went to hop out. ‘C’mon,’ he said, nodding towards the house.

  Tully’s eyebrows almost met, but she reached for the door handle. She watched the man on the front verandah from the corner of her eye. The hair on the back of her neck crept up, goosebumps racing down her arms and legs. Her heart thumped with uneasiness, but she was willing herself to open the door just as a huge, muscly dog came tearing around the corner of the house. It hit the end of the chain, barking ferociously.

  ‘Holy—’ Tully said, her hand ripping back from the door handle like it was scalding. ‘Bucko!’

  He didn’t look back, but waved for her to follow as he disappeared through the maze of cars, around the back of the house.

  Holy crap, Tully thought, her face suddenly burning, her brain pulsing, hands clammy and shivering. Now what do I do?!

  ‘Terror!’ The man yelled at the dog. ‘Enough.’ He sat back in his chair and reached for something on the plank of wood beside him.

  Tully froze, imagining it could be a gun, and ducked to the floor. When she realised she was probably being ridiculous, she peeked up over the dashboard. The man had turned away, a cordless telephone pressed to his ear.

  Come on, Athens, she told herself, quit being such a sook! She opened the door and hopped swiftly out of the ute, keen to get as far away from the snapping dog as possible. He growled as she darted past – she ducked around a rusted hatchback half sunken into the dry ground, then escaped around the corner and into the full shade of the side of the house. Bucko was up ahead, leaning against a wooden fence, staring into the back paddock.

  Tully glanced over her shoulder to make sure Terror hadn’t somehow slipped his chain and followed her, before joining him at the rail. She squinted across the paddock in the dull light of dusk, then blinked, her heart leaping when she spotted a skinny bay thoroughbred in the back corner of the wide, square dirt paddock. The horse’s hip bones jutted out sickeningly, each of the ribs clearly defined under a patchy, filthy coat. Something in her curved face and cute pointed ears gave her away as a filly. Tully groaned at the condition of her body, of her long, cracked hooves, but found herself smiling at the way the little filly still managed to hold her head high, standing as square as she could on all four legs, her eyes alert, ears pricked firmly forward at her new visitors. They watched each other for a few minutes, the humans and the filly, before Bucko whistled to her. Her nose shot even higher into the air, her body pushing hard into the back fence.

  ‘Oh,’ Tully said. ‘Let’s not frighten her.’

  ‘Looks like she’s had plenty of that already, poor darlin’,’ Bucko said, a dark frown crossing his face, landing on his lips. ‘Let’s go have a quick chat to Dennis, then you can head over and see if you can’t get acquainted. Hopefully you’ll need this—’ He handed her a worn rope halter and lead rope.

  Tully accepted it, her eyes firmly on the filly.

  ‘You can go see her in a sec,’ Bucko said, taking Tully gently by the arm. She waved at the filly, before drifting along behind Bucko as he marched around the front of the house to see the man on the front verandah.

  ‘Buckley,’ the man said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Didn’t know you’d be stoppin’ by.’

  ‘Didn’t want you to,’ Bucko laughed, ‘How ya been, Dennis?’

  Dennis rocked back in his chair, resting his feet on a tipped-over milk crate. ‘Heard about the filly, did ya?’

  ‘Word ’round the pub is you took her as a partial payment from Nevins?’

  Must be a bookie . . . Tully thought, taking a step out from behind Bucko.

  ‘Hiya, Darlin’,’ the man said, letting out a low whistle. ‘That the Athens girl, Buckley?’

  Bucko’s body tensed and he took a step forward, urging Tully back. ‘Not here to chat.’

  Dennis laughed roughly, rubbing a hand down his scraggly beard. ‘That fool Nevins’s always gettin’ in over his head,’ he said. ‘I’d race her meself if I thought she’d go any good.’

  Bucko balled his fists. Tully could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

  ‘Too much money and risk in it anyhow,’ Dennis continued, ‘I’m happy where I’m sittin’ on the side of the track.’

  Taking people’s money, Tully thought, her heart sinking. That poor little filly’s gonna be stuck here . . .

  ‘Well that’s the thing about this sport,’ Bucko said, crossing his arms across his chest. ‘As old John Wilko said, ‘For all its flaws, one of horseracing’s enduring qualities is that it gives everyone a shot. Commoners, Kings, cowboys, and cowgirls . . . all you need is a horse and some hope.’

  Dennis huffed. ‘Someone like me’s seen too much to waste time on hope,’ he said, looking far off across the plain.

  ‘What were the doggers gonna give ya?’ Bucko asked.

  ‘Two-fifty.’

  Bucko shook his head. ‘Always have been a sly old bugger, haven’t ya, Dennis? It woulda’ been two hundred—we’ll match it, and take her off your hands right now . . .’ Before Dennis could answer, Bucko had turned to Tully. ‘But this is up to you, Tulls. You know how expensive a racehorse in training is, and this filly will need a lot of work. I have a good feeling about her, for you. But it’s your decision. I’m not forcing you to take her.’

  ‘What?’ Tully’s eyes widened in shock, her body jolting upright. ‘I can have her?!’

  ‘We need another horse; we need one bad. I know your dad will come around, and let you ride again. And when he does, you’ll need something decent to train on. To race. Plus, Greg is in desperate need of a girlfriend. But . . .’ he shrugged. ‘It’s up to you.’

  Tully burst out laughing. ‘Oh my God!’ she said finally, throwing her arms around Bucko’s neck. ‘Yes, yes please! Of course I want her, Bucko. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can get to the bank.’ She squeezed him tight, then he turned back to Dennis.

  His cordless was ringing again, but he wasn’t reaching for it. ‘Go see if you can catch her,’ Dennis said, his scowl softening a whisker. ‘She’s a right brat of a thing—I’m not chasing her all over the paddock, strainin’ my back again. If you can catch her, you can call her yours.’

  Tully ran to the paddock, the halter over her shoulder, lead rope ready to go. She ducked around the end of the timber fence, through the barbed wire, scanning the neighbouring paddock to make sure there weren’t any huge bulls or other dangers lurking there. Then she made her way through the prickly hitchhikers and other weeds to the back fence of the filly’s paddock.

  The filly watched Tully,
but took a few steps back, keeping her distance. Tully stopped at a middle post, wishing she’d brought some treats to offer. She glanced down at the dirt, desperate to score some grass to at least entice the filly’s interest. She pulled a long stream of air into her lungs, settling herself, praying her nerves would stay at bay. She had nothing to hand to entice this horse towards her, and yet, she needed to get her. Now.

  Tully’s fingers gripped the halter and before she’d even taken a breath to consider if it was a wise or safe move she’d ducked into the paddock, making her way over the rocky, uneven ground towards the filly. She clucked her tongue, raising her hands and lowering her shoulders into a passive stance. ‘It’s okay, sweetie,’ she said gently, locking eyes with the horse.

  The filly raised her nose, snorted and pranced in a circle, tossing her head, jumping back a pace. Tully didn’t retreat. ‘It’s okay, girl,’ she said, approaching in slow, small steps. ‘I’m here to help you.’ She held out her hand as if she had a treat, hoping the filly would at least find the salt of her sweat appealing.

  Tully stopped when the filly reared. Was she preparing to charge? Her heart stopped, expecting the horse to either bolt or come at her with the intention of running her down.

  Tears of relief flooded Tully’s body when the filly dropped her head and trotted straight up to her, stopping square and sniffing her hand first, then the halter, lead rope, Tully’s hair, her cheek. Tully shook with elation and disbelief and a sudden fear of what she was taking on – of this new animal in front of her and this place she’d found her in. Her hand rose slowly and lifted the lead rope carefully over the filly’s neck.

  The filly hopped back when Tully first attempted to get her nose into the halter, but before Tully’s mind had fully processed what was happening she was leading the filly across the paddock to the gate where a grinning Bucko waited.

  He handed Tully a bucket about a quarter filled with fresh water. Tully slowly raised the bucket, offering the filly a drink.

  The filly stared deep into Tully’s eyes, before sniffing the rim of the bucket, then pushing her whole face in and proceeding to drink it dry, her ears flopping to the side and ticking forward with each gulp. Tully reached forward, gently stroking the filly’s filthy, matted face. The horse had the most gorgeous, intelligent dark eyes, fringed with long, thick black lashes.

  ‘Easy, girls,’ Bucko said, taking the bucket. ‘We need to try and introduce feed and water slowly. Don’t want her to colic.’

  Only the silver light of the full moon illuminated the paddock by the time Bucko arrived back with a hay bag. He used the hunting knife he wore on his belt when making the rounds of the farm to cut the baler twine holding the gate closed, swinging it open for them to exit. The filly eyed Bucko for a moment, shying back towards Tully, but stepped up for him when he offered her the hay bag and took the lead rope to guide her out of the barren paddock.

  She jumped at the sound of Terror growling from under the house as Bucko lead her around, and practically dragged him up the ramp of the trailer, leaping in between the barriers in the tiny two-horse vehicle. Tully walked in beside her, keeping a steadying hand on her wither, ‘Atta girl,’ she said softly, ‘Good, clever girl.’ The filly’s ears flickered back and forth, and she snorted loudly, pawing at the rubber matting.

  She jumped again when Bucko brought the tailgate up, both ears pinned back. ‘It’s okay, girl,’ Tully said, running a hand down the filly’s neck, feeling her agitation. Tears spilled hot down her cheeks, her heart swelling. ‘You’re safe now.’

  The filly’s nostrils flared and she tossed her head, her eyes creeping around to meet Tully’s. Then her ears flopped to the side and she buried her head back in her hay bag, ripping out a huge mouthful.

  Tully begged Bucko to ride in the trailer, but he assured her the filly would be fine. He took Tully by the arm, leaving the filly happily munching at her hay bag, and they hopped into the ute. He pulled out of the driveway slowly, spinning in his seat a few times to make sure the filly was all right. Tully sat backwards, keeping watch through the little window in the front of the trailer on the bay ears, tinged red from the tail lights of the ute. ‘So how old do you think she is?’ Tully said.

  ‘Can see that she’s three going on four by the bottom numbers on her brand,’ Bucko said, shifting up to second. ‘But her foal number for that year and her stud has been branded over. We’ll have the vet check for a microchip, but my gut tells me he won’t find one. There’s little chance of ever finding out her parentage, but I’d bet my life she’s from a decent bloodline. She’s definitely got the Northern Dancer look to her, and there’s something special in those eyes . . . Who knows, she could be the long lost cousin of Makybe Diva – she’s Dancer’s great-grand daughter , you know – or Black Caviar, he’s her great-great-grandsire. He’s sired that many prominent stallions and mares it wouldn’t be too far fetched to imagine that a horse with even a fourth generation drop of his blood had fallen through the cracks. Especially one with as much fire in her temperament as this little filly.’

  ‘Oh my gosh,’ Tully said, her mind reeling through the colossal names he’d just dropped. ‘She looks like a runner. This is all so exciting. Thanks so much, Bucko! I know I’ll be able to look after her. I’ll pick up some more shifts – I’ll do whatever.’

  Bucko nodded, raising his eyebrows in a secret, chuffed-with-himself-kinda-way. ‘We’ll have trouble getting her registered without parentage, but I know a few of the ladies in the office, and once they see her there shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll figure a way to get it sorted.’

  ‘Thanks again, Bucko,’ Tully said. ‘But, um . . . you didn’t tell Dad about this, did you?’

  ‘We will.’

  Tully nodded. ‘I don’t want to sound ungrateful, or anything, Bucko. But you could have kept her for yourself. Why help me?’

  ‘No one else’s giving you a break, Kiddo.’ He coughed, before muttering, ‘I feel like you’re my own daughter, and I want to look after you.’

  Tully reached across the cab of the ute, kissed him on his clean-shaven cheek.

  ‘Her name at the moment is ‘Filly’,’ Bucko chuckled. ‘What’re-ya gonna call her?’

  Tully thought for a moment, then glanced through the back window of the ute. The filly raised her nose from the hay bag, her lovely arched neck held proud, ears pricked, staring out across the highway. ‘Dahlia,’ she said, swallowing down another wave of tears. ‘Avalon-Sky Dahlia.’

  Bucko glanced away and Tully was sure she could see a tear glistening on his cheek.

  ★

  ‘Who the heck is that?’ Tully’s father hollered, stomping in an uneven line down from the house.

  Tully gave Dahlia a pat on the nose, then left her settled with a bit more hay and water in her new stall and walked slowly over to meet him. ‘It’s . . . a filly, Dad. Bucko and I saved her.’

  ‘And you intend for her to stay here?’

  ‘She’s got good strong legs,’ Tully said, glancing down at the scuffed toes of her Blundstones. ‘And she’s a real firecracker, even if she doesn’t look it right now. She just needs some loving, Dad. Poor girl.’

  ‘We need more horses, Gerald,’ Bucko said, joining them in front of the ute and trailer. The yellow night-time lights shone out from the stables, giving the men’s faces a jaundiced glow.

  ‘This your idea, Kyle?’

  ‘I’d heard that Dennis came across a decent filly – wasn’t gettin’ on with the boys, and doesn’t have a brand to prove any bloodline, but we got her cheap. And she took to Tully straight away.’

  ‘He’s right, Dad! She was so happy to leave that place, but then she wouldn’t come out of the trailer for Bucko. She was so good for me, even walked straight into her new stall.’

  ‘I don’t care if you got her for nothing!’ Gerald turned on Bucko. ‘And why do you keep saying we—this girl certainly won’t be riding it!’

  ‘But, Dad!’

  ‘This is all very s
neaky, isn’t it, you two?’ Gerald threw his arms in the air, turned for the house. ‘You’re grounded!’ he pointed at Tully, then at Bucko, ‘And you’re sacked!’

  ‘God, no!’ Tully rushed towards her father, but Bucko caught her by the arm. ‘Let him go,’ he said gently. ‘He’ll see it clearer in the morning.’

  Tully’s stomach churned as she watched her father stalk off to the house, slamming the door behind him. Then she heard a whinny, spun around. Dahlia was standing tall in her stall, pawing at the shavings, tossing her head. A smile tickled Tully’s lips, warming her heart and lifting her soul. ‘Comin’, sweetheart!’ she said, sprinting back to the stable to find an apple and some oats.

  Once Dahlia was happily munching her treats, Tully helped Bucko give her a good looking over. Her legs were clean, miraculously, but she had a nasty long gash to her rump that had been hidden by mud and the dull light of dusk when they’d found her. Bucko got the vet kit out and Tully held Dahlia’s head, feeding her apple and speaking to her softy as Bucko swiftly and skillfully cleaned the wound, then stitched it shut and covered it in amber-coloured iodine-based ointment. They gave her a few flakes of hay and fresh water for the night, and she dug straight in like she hadn’t eaten in a month.

  Tully double-padlocked Dahlia’s stall door that night with a new lock Bucko gave her, and tucked the key in the hidden pocket inside her backpack when she made it to her bedroom at about 1am in the morning. Her whole body buzzed with excitement and disbelief of the day’s events. None of it seemed real – her drive with Bucko out into the river flats – Dennis and his scary yard – the amazingly beautiful filly Tully could now call her own. All too surreal, too extraordinary to be real.

  Tully slipped off her shorts, kicked them towards her dresser, and fell into her bed. She left a hand on Bear, panting happily at her side. She gazed out her window, grinning hugely when she spotted Greg already trying to kiss noses with an unimpressed Dahlia. Greg was getting more comfortable on his leg, and no one had said anything about the bandages. Tully couldn’t wait to have a crack at giving Dahlia a bath and getting her cleaned up.