Fenced-In Felix Read online

  I sent mental thanks to Josie, no doubt still pouring beer at the Commercial.

  “Of course. Why don’t you pick your spot and then come up to the office? I’ll fix you up.”

  CHAPTER 2

  I can’t say there was a rush as a result of my new signage, now prominently displayed on the highway by the gravel road that led to Jayboro, but there was a trickle. The couple who’d overheard me talking in the pub moved on to explore the delights of the Northern Territory and were replaced by a German couple and a campervan bursting with gap-year Brits. The teenagers proved my first test of tact and diplomacy, as their idea of a good time involved a staggering amount of beer, loud music, and conversation around an inferno of a campfire. I hated to spoil their fun, but the other campers were complaining. I suggested they shift their camp to the far end of the campground, where they wouldn’t have to walk as far to find firewood. Bleary eyed with morning hangovers, they agreed with surprising docility, and everyone was happy.

  I spent my days working on the campground as well as preparing the second cabin for rental. I sanded the wooden floors and borrowed one of the hands from the main station to help me fix the kitchen cupboards on the wall.

  It was a red-letter day when I rented the completed cabin for the first time to a pair of grey nomads—older people who were spending their retirement travelling around Australia. Although they had a tidy set-up in the back of their four-wheel drive, they liked to allow themselves a little more space every so often—as the woman said with a smile—to make sure they didn’t kill each other before they got to Alice Springs. They stayed two nights, and their enthusiastic Facebook posts made me think I might attract some of their friends.

  When the sun went down, I’d return to the house where I grew up. It was too large for just one person, but it was still my house, inherited when Mum died. The weatherboard walls held the echoes of my parents, of my bandy-legged father and my crackling-with-life mother. I was born here, and I’d never lived anywhere else. I’d grown up running wild with the rest of the station kids and attending school in Worrindi. I’d sat impatiently on the school bus coming home, feet drumming as I waited to run in the door, drop my school bag on the floor, change into jeans, and get out to the horses. I’d broken my first colt when I was eleven. Won my first barrel race when I was thirteen. On the personal side, my childhood bedroom at the back of the house was where Mum had sat on the edge of my bed and told me about periods and pregnancy, about love and sex. The kitchen was where I’d told her that I would never date a boy because I liked girls. And the master bedroom, where I now slept, was where I’d watched Mum fade away over long months as the cancer ate into her bones.

  The bed in the master bedroom was new, but most other things were the same. The en suite bathroom had been enlarged to allow wheelchair access, and the small steps and angles of an old house had been smoothed to make getting around easier. Even though she was gone, the house still held the imprint of Mum and the bouncing gaiety that had defined her life. I’d thought of remaining in my childhood bedroom after she died, but the room was small and the bathroom awkward and old-fashioned, so after a couple of months, when I could enter the master bedroom without seeing Mum lying there like frail cobwebs in the bed, I moved my things. The house was mine now, only mine, and it seemed stupid not to use it to the full extent.

  One morning, about a week after my trip to Worrindi, I sat in the old parlour turned office, flipping through my bookings. I had no trail rides arranged, but I still had to check on my horses and on hay. Winter was the dry season in the outback, and realistically, I couldn’t expect rain for another few months at least, if then. The horses were already starting to become ribby.

  I grabbed my akubra and went out to the veranda to find my boots. The phone rang as I was jamming them on my feet. I raced back inside and grabbed the phone before it could ring out. If only there was mobile reception here, I wouldn’t miss so many calls. “Jayboro Outstation, this is Felix.”

  “Hi Felix, this is Josie. I don’t know if you remember me, I’m the—”

  “Barperson at the Commercial,” I interrupted. I smiled at the remembered pleasure of watching her stretch for the cheese and onion chips. Too late, I wondered what she’d make of me remembering her so well. But I’d never been good at playing it cool.

  “Yeah. That’s me. You’ve got a good memory.”

  A mental image of her legs flashed through my mind. “Suppose it comes of having to remember guests.”

  “True.” Was that disappointment in her voice? “I’m the same. So many people come into a pub, and they all get offended if you don’t remember them.”

  I pressed the phone closer to my ear and glanced at the caller ID. Private number. Oh well.

  “But I remember you very well,” Josie continued. “For lots of reasons. I’ve been sending all sorts of people down to your campground. Grey nomads, a few backpackers. I hope at least some of them found you.”

  “Quite a few have, but they didn’t say who recommended them, or I’d have dropped by to thank you.”

  “You can thank me anyway if you want,” Josie said. “It struck me I’m sending all sorts of people out to you, and maybe I could take a look myself. Actually, I know it’s short notice, but I was wondering if you could fit me in for a trail ride this morning? I have a last-minute day off.”

  “That’s no problem. There’s no one else booked today. What time?”

  “I’m sitting in my car, ready to drive away. According to your brochure, I’ll be there in half an hour. I don’t mind waiting if you’re busy, but it would be good to ride before it gets too hot.”

  “Drive slowly, and that will be fine. It will take me a bit to get the horses ready.”

  “Thanks. See you, Felix.”

  The phone went dead. I hurried out of the house. In truth, I wouldn’t be ready in half an hour, but I hadn’t wanted to put her off. Halfway to the barn, I realised, too, that I had neglected to ask her about her horse experience, the sort of ride she wanted, or how long she wanted to go for. She’d mentioned being able to ride, so I figured she’d want something with a bit of liveliness to it. I went into the home paddock with a couple of halters and looked at my small herd. Patchwork should do her nicely; the piebald mare was a lively but obedient ride with a surprising turn of speed and agility on her. She’d been my last barrel racing pony before I’d stopped competing to care for Mum. And if Josie was riding Patch, I’d need something equally speedy to keep up with her, or she’d leave me floundering. I slipped the halters on Patch and a young stockhorse, Ben, and led them back to the barn.

  I liked to check on the campers in the mornings to make sure everything was okay, but today, the rounds would have to wait.

  I was brushing Ben’s tail when I heard a car. A door slammed, and then footsteps came down the barn aisle.

  “Felix?”

  I straightened from Ben’s rear end and smiled. “Hi, Josie. Nice to see you again.”

  Her smile could have been merely friendly, the practiced smile of a bartender, but I thought there was an extra curve to it, more than she needed for the appearance of friendliness. It crinkled her eyes.

  She looked good. My gaze flicked up and down. I told myself it was a professional assessment to make sure she was suitably dressed for the ride, but deep down I knew better—I just wanted to check her out. She was appropriately, if eccentrically, dressed. Her jeans were close-fitting and would protect her legs from rubbing on the saddle, but they were mauve, and she’d paired them with a lime green singlet and akubra hat. But her boots were well-worn and sturdy and obviously hadn’t been new for a long time. They were flat-heeled leather, the boots of a stockman.

  Ben, the big sook that he was, ambled over to the bar and pushed his nose against her shoulder, leaving a damp mark on the singlet. She rested her palm against his cheek and worked her fingers up to scratch him behind the ear. He closed his eyes in pleasure and dropped his nose down to rest between her breasts. Luck
y nose.

  “Am I riding this one?”

  “No. Ben’s a pussycat, but he pulls like a train. I’m sure you’d prefer your arms remained attached. You’re riding Patchwork. She’s in the next stall.”

  Josie paced down to where Patch looked over the bar, ears pricked, ready to meet a new friend.

  “Aren’t you the pretty one?” Josie crooned, her voice low and sweet. “Aren’t you the dainty girl?”

  “Don’t let her looks fool you. She’s fast as a bullet and gutsy as they come. She and I won the open barrel racing competition three years in a row at the Mount Isa Rodeo.”

  “I’m honoured you’re letting me ride her.”

  “I figured if you’ve ridden a fair bit, you wouldn’t appreciate one of the quieter horses. Patch will give you a good time.” I finished tacking Ben, pushed the bar across, and led him out into the aisle.

  Josie followed suit, and led Patch out. She handled the mare with confidence; obviously, she was used to horses.

  We mounted, and I led the way out of the yard, along the beaten path that skirted the edge of the campground. A couple sitting outside their caravan lifted a hand as we went by, and Josie waved back. “I sent those two here,” she said. “Must have been three days ago. I guess they like it.”

  “I hope so.”

  We rode side by side, far enough apart that I could make sure Josie was comfortable in the saddle. She rode in a loose manner, not quite slouched Australian stockman style but not upright English, either. I guessed she’d grown up with ponies, learnt at a riding school somewhere, and then relaxed into a more casual style. But she was easy on the horse, with light hands, and Patch, by her pricked ears and free movement, was clearly fine.

  Josie was also comfortable with silence, something I appreciated. My love of quietness came from growing up in the bush, where low population density meant that I’d often been alone. Had Josie also grown up somewhere rural? I stole a glance at her. Her mop of curls exploded out from underneath the riding helmet, beads glinting in the sunlight. This particular piece of scenery was clearly new to her, but as she glanced around, it was obvious she was familiar with the outback.

  Then she looked across at me and grinned. “Do you have any idea how good this is after a week of serving beer to sweaty station hands and dusty tourists?” She continued without waiting for my response. “Bloody good. It’s been months since I’ve been on a horse.” She patted Patch’s neck. “And this mare is a darling.”

  “She is. And you’re handling her nicely.”

  Patch sidestepped a lizard and snorted, and Josie momentarily swayed in the saddle. I revised my opinion slightly. Despite Josie’s comfort on the horse, maybe she wasn’t as experienced as I’d thought. But it could also just be that she hadn’t ridden for a while.

  “Thanks. How many horses do you keep here?”

  “Half a dozen, all for trail riding. A couple of quiet ones for beginners. A couple of ponies for kids, and these two.”

  “I have a horse down in South Australia. I haven’t seen her in months, of course. I miss her.”

  That explained her ease around horses. “What’s your horse like?”

  “She’s a thoroughbred, an ex-racehorse. Feisty and utterly beautiful. She didn’t do well at the track—not fast enough.”

  “You must miss her.”

  “Yeah. But I move around a lot. It’s hard to do that with a horse in tow. I’d love a dog, but even that would be hard. A lot of the jobs I take come with accommodation—like the Commercial—and they’re usually reluctant to have a dog. Maybe I should get a caravan and be self-sufficient, but I don’t think my old car would tow it.”

  “Where do you keep your horse?”

  “In South Australia, at a friend’s place.” Josie shut her mouth abruptly. The sentence clipped off as if she wanted to say more but didn’t.

  “Is that where you’re from?”

  “Yeah. Small town north of Adelaide. Not outback, but still fairly rural. I learnt to ride there as a kid, getting lessons in exchange for mucking out at local stables. I left when I was seventeen, been moving around since.”

  I wondered when she’d stopped off long enough to acquire a horse, but figured it wasn’t my business. Josie had doubtlessly had some extended times in one place.

  She nudged Patch closer to me, and the horse obliged, shifting close enough that Josie’s stirrup banged against mine. “Worrindi is a good place, though. Think I’ll stick around a while. Chris and Madge are decent people, and I like working for them. That isn’t often the case with these sorts of jobs. Got sick of working for dickheads a long time ago; that’s one of the reasons I move so often. They also pay me fairly, and I’ve got a reasonable room upstairs. And now that I’ve met you, I know where I can come on my days off.” She looked at me sideways from under the helmet. “That is, if you don’t mind and you’ve got a spot for a rider.”

  “Of course not. I don’t mind if you want to call at the last minute, as you did this morning. As long as you’re not offended if I’m fully booked—although that doesn’t happen often.”

  She blew out a gusty sigh. “That’s great. Thanks, Felix.”

  We’d moved away from the fence as we rode, and the expanse of land unfurled beneath our horses’ hooves. “Want to go faster?” I asked.

  In response, she nudged Patch forwards, and the willing mare leapt into a fast canter. I followed but held back to let her set the pace. Dust billowed as Josie and Patch increased pace. Patch was a competitive horse, and she responded as much to my horse at her flank as to Josie’s urgings. Josie sat the pace well. The dust blew into my face, and I urged Ben forwards into the clearer air, which only spurred Patch on. Neck and neck, we raced along the red ground, sand and dust in our faces.

  “Slow,” I yelled at Josie. “Soft sand ahead.”

  She obeyed and steadied Patch, turning her in a wide circle to reduce speed.

  I came up alongside her again and slackened the reins to let Ben stretch and cool. It was still very early, only around eight, but the sun was already warm. Momentarily, thoughts of the camp kitchen that needed cleaning and the second cabin still needing work intruded, but those thoughts left my head for the pleasure of the here and now.

  “You live here alone, Felix?” Josie glanced at me sideways as we ambled along.

  “Yeah. Since my mother died a few years ago.”

  “No partner?” That same sideways look. “Seems to me, going by the propositions I’ve had in the Commercial, that there’s no shortage of willing blokes around.”

  I wondered whether to set her right about my sexuality. Normally, I figured it was no one’s business except my own, and it never came up with any of the passing tourists. But Josie had said she’d be back.

  “Plenty of blokes,” I said. “But they’re not my type.”

  “What is your type?” There was a smile in her voice, along with something more, the tiniest edge of interest, of flirtation.

  “Someone who likes the outdoors, down to earth, practical. Honest.”

  “That’s it? You’re not asking for Brad Pitt?”

  “And female. But they don’t need to look like Angelina Jolie.” I concentrated on Ben’s ears rather than Josie, in case she would withdraw.

  “I thought so. No wonder you live alone. Not many pickings around here for us.”

  She’d said “us”.

  “Not much. But that’s fine. Even if I lived in the city, I wouldn’t be one for the pubs and clubs.”

  “Me neither.” She stretched out a hand towards me, and I took it. She clasped my fingers briefly, then released. “It’s nice to talk to you though, Felix.”

  I wondered what she’d heard in Worrindi, if that was the reason for seeking me out, but she pre-empted me. “No one said anything, in case you’re wondering. I figured I’d read you right when you dropped off the brochures at the pub. And the good people of Worrindi think I’m just very picky.”

  Small towns could be difficult for
anyone growing up different. It had been okay for me—I’d been lucky—but I’d heard stories from others that made it clear that wasn’t always the case. My friend, Sue, lived a few hours away in a place that was even smaller than Worrindi. She’d grown up in the outback, and she’d told me her story; her experience hadn’t been nearly as positive as mine. She’d denied her sexuality for ten years before she couldn’t repress herself any longer. And I’d been the person to break her same-sex drought.

  “Worrindi’s okay,” I said. “Most of them know I’m a lesbian. Word travels fast around here. We may be spread out in the outback, but the bush telegraph works well.”

  Josie grinned. “They haven’t spread the word about me yet. My life’s an open book—apart from all the secrets.”

  I grinned back. “If you’re around for a while, you’ll have to meet my friends Sue and Moni. They’re four hours away, but they sometimes come up for a weekend.”

  The shared knowledge of sexuality had advanced our tentative friendship.

  “I’d like that.”

  The horses moved apart as they picked their way over a rough piece of ground, and we were silent. Josie stared at the horizon, and there was a stillness about her, an aura of contentment. I glanced at my watch. We’d been out for nearly two hours. We hadn’t fixed how long the ride would be before we left, but we’d ridden in a wide circle and were now about twenty minutes from the barn, approaching a point where we could either head back along the fence line or take a loop out the other side. I looked over at Josie. If she hadn’t ridden for a while, those two hours would be enough, or she’d be as stiff as a plank tomorrow. And I had a cabin to work on.

  “By the time we get back, we’ll have been out for two hours. Are you happy to leave it at that?” I asked.

  “That’s fine. I realise I messed up your day by calling at the last minute. I’m glad you were able to fit me in.”

  “No worries. But now I’ve got to clean the camp kitchen and do other chores. Nothing very exciting.”

  “Would you mind if I took a look around? I’d love to come for another ride, maybe next week, if that suited you. I was thinking I could bring my tent and stay over if I can swing two days off in a row.”