Fenced-In Felix Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  BOOKS IN THE SERIES GIRL MEETS GIRL

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  ABOUT CHEYENNE BLUE

  OTHER BOOKS FROM YLVA PUBLISHING

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  www.ylva-publishing.com

  BOOKS IN THE SERIES

  GIRL MEETS GIRL

  Never-Tied Nora

  Not-So-Straight Sue

  Fenced-In Felix

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Writing can be a painful process as well as a glorious one, but when you have a great team at your back, it really helps to make the difficult things easier. The team at Ylva are awesome in this respect. Huge kudos and thanks go to them: Astrid Ohletz, Sandra Gerth, Jove Belle, and their team of copyeditors and proofreaders. Thank you.

  The team at Streetlight Graphics has once again designed a cover that I love. When they put that string of beads in Josie’s hair, I knew I had to write them into the story.

  I had some extra help with this one from my friend and fellow author Katharina Marcus, my “horse beta”, who speaks the language of horse fluently. She checked my horse facts and terminology. Thanks, Kat.

  As always, love and thanks to D, my cheer squad of one, who didn’t complain when I spent way too long doing edits when we were on holiday.

  And finally, to the Aussie outback, in all its dusty red glory. It will always hold a piece of my heart.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Hey, Felix!”

  The shout rang loudly in the stillness that was Worrindi’s main street in the middle of the day.

  I turned. My friend Narelle stood in the doorway of the weatherboard post office, waving a piece of paper in the air.

  “Your parcel’s here! Don’t go home without it.”

  I lifted a hand in acknowledgment, and she darted back inside.

  My parcel. Anticipation thrummed in my chest. I’d been waiting for my new signage and brochures for over a month; the next baby step on my new venture.

  Even as I marched purposefully down the main street, my thoughts raced. If I was quick, I could collect my parcel, pick up some groceries, and maybe treat myself to a beer before I had to hotfoot it home to Jayboro Outstation. I ducked into the store. Although it was big by Worrindi standards, it barely qualified as a chain store. “Small town, small store.” That’s what Narelle liked to say, usually after she’d arrived at a community get-together and discovered someone else was wearing the exact same shirt as her.

  I needed curtains. Not something I bought everyday—indeed, the old Queenslander where I lived alone had had the same curtains hanging at the windows for the last twenty or so years.

  “Faded like last year’s rodeo queen,” Mum used to say. “Imagine how much faster they’d fade if Queensland joined the twenty-first century and brought in daylight saving!” Her old joke, the one she used to trot out every year when the rest of Australia moved the clocks forwards an hour to summer time but Queensland stayed resolutely put.

  But these curtains weren’t to replace the ones in my house. No, with luck, those would last another twenty years. Until recently, I’d barely used them anyway; living in the outback meant there were few people to see into your house, and fewer still who would care if they could. I was always up by daybreak, even in the summer when the sun crested the horizon by four, thanks to that same lack of daylight saving. No, these curtains were for the same project as my signage and brochures; my brand new tourist cabins that sat in a scenic spot in my campground. If I could find some blue and yellow curtains to match the doona and sheets on the bed, then I could open the first cabin for visitors today.

  “Today,” I whispered to myself as I walked into the store and surveyed their meagre stock. Today could be the start of something big. All I needed were customers. But first, curtains.

  I was in luck. At the back of a shelf, I found some curtains with bright yellow sunflowers on a blue background. The print was big and bold, and while it was a bit louder than I would have liked, it would save me a trip to the Isa—Mount Isa, the large town four hours’ drive away.

  In the spirit of optimism, I bought four sets, enough to curtain both cabins—the one that was finished and the one that was a timber shell awaiting fit-out whenever I got enough money together. But if I didn’t buy them now, I’d be lucky to find matching ones a few months down the track, when the second cabin would hopefully be open.

  I headed back to where my ute was parked in the shade and put the curtains inside. Next priority was the post office.

  Narelle was selling stamps and postcards to a couple of tourists. I waited as she chatted with them about the opal quarry and the camel farm—two of the region’s biggest tourist attractions.

  When the tourists left, walking out into the sunlight with leaflets clutched in their hands, Narelle turned to me.

  “Wait a sec,” she said and disappeared out the back. She returned in a couple of minutes, manhandling a large, flat parcel. My new signage. It was bigger than I’d thought and would take some manoeuvring to get it onto the back of the ute. I’d have to tie it down to keep it from getting slapped onto the bitumen if the wind lifted it out of the tray.

  Narelle propped the parcel against the counter and disappeared, only to come back a second time with a box. From the way she was puffing, it was heavy. “Your brochures. How many did you order?”

  “Maybe a few thousand. It was cheaper that way.”

  “A few thousand?” Narelle’s voice lifted in amazement. “Just how many people are you expecting?” She held out her hand. “Give some to me, and I’ll put them on the counter. You heard those tourists; they quizzed me as to where they could find the real outback experience, not the made-up show that some of the bigger towns put on.”

  “They’ll get real all right at Jayboro.” I ripped open the parcel, and Narelle handed me scissors to get into the box. It was sealed tighter than a fish’s bum hole. Finally, though, I pulled it open and scooped out a bundle of brochures.

  “Nice.” Narelle nodded approvingly. “Some fancy designer did you a good job with those.”

  On the front was a photo of a group of tourists in akubra hats sitting around a campfire. One of them held a guitar, and the brilliant outback sky blazed with stars above their heads.

  Experience the real outback at Jayboro Outstation.

  I smiled. The brochure looked fantastic, and no tourist would realise that the happy “campers” around the fire were my friends, Sue and Moni, along with a few borrowed jackaroos from the main Jayboro Station. Nor would they know that Moni couldn’t play a single chord on the guitar she held. The brochure gave the feel and the atmosphere of the outback, and that would hopefully be enough to entice them in.

  I handed a wad of them to Narelle. “I’ll give you a beer bonus if you send them my way.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” She put the brochures prominently on her small front counter.

  I dropped off mor
e brochures at a couple of other businesses in town, run by people I could count on to promote a local venture. Worrindi was a small town that struggled at times, as it was bypassed by the major highway and didn’t have the striking attractions of bigger towns like Winton and the Isa.

  I went into the mechanic’s, which was always busy with tourist vehicles choked with the dust of outback roads, and gave some to Bazza behind the counter.

  “That ute of yours doesn’t sound so good, Felix,” he said. “Heard it missing on a cylinder as you pulled in. Is it hard to start?”

  “Took three tries this morning.”

  “Might just be a dodgy ignition lead. That’s nothing much. If you leave it with me now, I’ll take a look just as soon as I’ve finished with this beast.” He nodded in the direction of a huge four-wheel drive. Its roof rack, awnings, and paraphernalia—all coated with red dirt—proclaimed it to be a tourist vehicle.

  “Thanks. Be good if that was it. Keys are in the ignition.”

  “No worries.”

  I went to the grocery store for some supplies and arranged to pick them up once the ute was fixed. Then I wandered back to see if Bazza was finished.

  He was talking to the owner of the four-wheel drive and shot me an apologetic glance. “Can you come back in an hour, Felix?”

  I gave him a thumbs up and went back to the street. I was done with errands. Now I had the perfect excuse for a short bit of Felix-time, something I seldom seemed to have.

  A few doors up, the wide and welcoming veranda of the Commercial Hotel beckoned. I could kill two birds with one stone and see if the publican would put my brochures on the counter, plus I’d have a beer at the same time. I grabbed more brochures from the ute and headed for the pub.

  Even though the lunch rush was over, there were a few people rubbing the long bar with their elbows. I recognised some locals, and there was also a handful of tourists enjoying a beer or browsing the historic photos on the wall.

  The barperson was new. She was a short woman with a mop of unruly curls that bounced on her shoulders as she moved. A string of white and turquoise beads glinted in her hair, and she wore a tie-dye T-shirt with a pair of very tight denim shorts. She was maybe thirty, but it was obvious from her economical movements as she poured pots that she was experienced at bar work.

  I deliberately picked a spot close to the tourists and waited while the barperson served more people. Her tight shorts rode up as she stretched up to snag a packet of chips from the top of the wire rack to reveal more of her muscled thighs. From the appreciative glances, it seemed that cheese and onion was the most popular flavour of the day.

  Finally, she came over. “What can I get you?” Her smile crinkled fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and her skin was tanned, the year-round tan of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors.

  “A pot of light, please.” An imp of mischief made me add, “And a packet of cheese and onion chips.”

  The view as she stretched up to the top of the rack was once again nothing short of spectacular. She set the chips and a beer down on the counter in front of me. “Five fifty, please.”

  I counted out the coins and watched as she whirled around to ring up the sale. For the next few minutes, she was busy serving other customers. She wasn’t graceful or pretty. If she were a horse, she’d be a stockhorse rather than a thoroughbred, but she moved with the lightness of one who is comfortable in her skin.

  A drifter, I decided. One of Australia’s casual workforce, moving from place to place, following seasonal work in small towns. She’d probably learnt of the bar job from one of the city employment agencies, and they’d given her the job over the gap-year students from Europe. She’d probably stay a few weeks, maybe a month or two, and then move on, maybe to pick strawberries near the coast or mangoes up the Top End. But in the meantime, here she was, pouring beer in Worrindi, doubtless staying in one of the tiny rooms above the pub.

  Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realise I’d been caught staring until my gaze drifted up, away from her backside, to find her amused smile and direct gaze staring straight back at me.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  My breath froze in my throat, afraid she’d be annoyed by my staring. But there was a half smile on her face. She didn’t seem too pissed off. I suspected she was enjoying my appreciation. That seldom happened.

  I opted for professional—after all, I had an agenda here. “Actually, you might be able to help. I’m Felix, and I run a campground at Jayboro Outstation, about half an hour from here. I’ve got a couple of cabins available too.” Mentally, I crossed my fingers against the white lie. The second cabin would be open soon. “I wondered if it would be okay to put my new brochures on the bar.”

  She smiled, and the impish mischief of it made her instantly look younger. Maybe late twenties. “Nice to meet you, Felix. I’m Josie. New in town, but you probably already know that if you live around here.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I’m used to seeing Chris or Madge behind the bar.”

  “They’re still here, of course, but I’m here as well.”

  I noticed she didn’t say for how long or in what capacity.

  “Chris used to have some of my old leaflets somewhere. Maybe you could check with him?”

  “No need.” She picked up the top one and studied it. “Nice looking campground.” Her words were slightly louder, and pitched at the couple of tourists nearby. “Looks like a peaceful place to stop. Do you have powered sites, or is it just tent camping?”

  The answer was clearly written on the brochure, but I appreciated what she was doing. “Powered sites, tent sites, and the cabins, which are brand new.”

  The tourists were openly listening now. With luck, I’d have guests by evening.

  “And I lead trail rides,” I continued. “I have horses to suit beginners through to experienced riders.”

  That caught her attention past the little boost she was giving me for the benefit of long ears. “Oh? I’ll have to come out. I love to ride, but I haven’t had a chance to do so in a while. Be nice to be back in the saddle.”

  “Please do. The number’s on the bottom. I’m sure I can find you something good to ride.”

  She glanced at me again, and her lips twitched as if in on a private joke. Her eyes were a warm brown, slightly flecked. Intriguing. But I was here to entice campers, not a woman I might find attractive.

  She took the brochures and placed them on the end of the bar, next to the collection tin for the Royal Flying Doctor Service. As I sipped my beer, the tourists came up to take a brochure. They read it, folded it, and tucked it in a top pocket.

  For the next twenty minutes, I enjoyed the drift of time. Just me and a beer. No horses to feed, no tourists to talk to, no toilet block to clean. I let my mind wander, and if my gaze sometimes followed the tempting outline of Josie behind the bar, well, what of it? There were few enough women around here who even gave the hint that they might not mind the appreciative gaze of another woman.

  I was tempted to have a second beer so that I could rest my elbows on the bar and watch Josie’s deft movements as she poured beer and bantered with customers. And yes, watch the play of muscles in her legs. But I couldn’t linger; I had my ute to collect and things to do back at Jayboro. Always something to do.

  I stood, picked up my hat, and took my leave.

  Josie waved from the end of the bar. “See you around, Felix.”

  I lifted a hand in reply and went out into the sunlight.

  Bazza had finished with my ute. It was parked in the street, as if its battered and dusty sides weren’t good enough to grace his forecourt. I knew better, though; Bazza was simply busy. Indeed, the forecourt was jammed with a fleet of Toyotas, all with interstate plates.

  Inside the office, Bazza looked harried. “Needs a new ABS sensor,” he said to a grey-haired man who seemed to be the leader of the tourist group. “It’ll take two days to arrive, even with express delivery.”

  The tourist
said something I couldn’t hear.

  “The alternative is I disconnect the sensor, but no, I don’t know what that will do to your warranty.” Bazza shrugged. “Your choice.”

  The tourists debated amongst themselves, and Bazza came over to me. “I replaced an ignition lead, and it’s going much better now. Keys are in it. You can fix me up next time you’re in town. I don’t have time to do the invoice right now.” He gestured with his thumb at the tourists. “Gotta get this one sorted.”

  I nodded and thanked him. Worrindi was a few hours’ drive from the nearest city big enough to have a supply of uncommon items. Things like car parts didn’t arrive in a blink via courier. It was one of the reasons I loved the place.

  The new curtains looked fantastic. They were maybe a little long and brushed the floor, but they gave the cabin a lift of colour. When they were closed, the cabin was cosy and welcoming. I opened them again and tied them back with the matching loops. Now all I needed were my first guests.

  I stepped outside and saw a dusty four-wheel drive towing a camper trailer at the house, parked near my hand-painted sign that said Office. I ambled over. It was the couple from the hotel in Worrindi.

  “G’day,” I greeted them. “Can I help you?”

  “We overheard you talking to your friend in the pub,” the woman said. “Can we see your campground?”

  I took them down to have a look. The light was starting to drop, and it slanted over the ground in the clarity of evening. A row of galahs sat expectantly on a railing, and overhead, a flock of budgies wheeled in the sort of tight formation that would be the envy of stunt pilots the world over. A couple of red kangaroos grazed in one corner, not put off by the young couple sitting outside their campervan a few yards away watching them. The scene looked peaceful and welcoming, like a magazine picture captioned the peace of an outback evening welcomes the weary traveller.

  The woman sighed in a soft shudder of breath. “This looks wonderful. Can we stay for three nights?”