Tash Ranger was, Patrick decided, some sort of goblin-siren hybrid burped up from the underworld to torment him. Dealing with her in real life was disconcerting enough, but now she was invading his dreams. Some were nightmares involving Khan, crushed skulls and lifeless bodies. The others were something else entirely. Fantasies that, while delicious in sleep, left him deeply uncomfortable and guilt-ridden on waking.
If he had any sort of sense he’d leave her to whatever fate decided. As long as Tash wore the helmet she said she’d bought, her head should be protected enough. Peter was never too far away and Liz was usually home by four thirty, and, according to Patrick’s mum, Tash was using her grandfather in her business. Unlike with Maddy’s accident, there’d be no laying helpless for hours if she fell.
Patrick didn’t trust her to wear the helmet though. The image of her defiantly trotting away on Khan without even a halter and lead rope to control the horse played on a loop in his mind. Who was to stop her indulging in that kind of behaviour again? As for the helmet she claimed to have bought, he only had her word for that. Their relationship was so fraught he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d lied to spite him.
Perhaps it was what he deserved. He’d handled everything badly, charging in like a rampaging general, ordering her around, swearing and acting like a bull-headed moron with no respect for women. Not once, but twice. Patrick should have learned his lesson the first time, when she’d demonstrated in no uncertain terms what he could do with his bullying.
Trouble was, he couldn’t seem to act normal around her, which was the stupidest thing ever. They’d known each other since they were kids, for Christ’s sake. Something had changed though. Him, her, Patrick didn’t know what. All he knew is that his head was overloaded with images of either Tash riding helmetless, posed like a sexy ’50s housewife, or presenting him with her gut-pullingly curvy arse and paddling it.
After leaving her on Thursday Patrick had gone straight to Maddy to sit with her for a while. He needed the anchor of her, the feel of her hand in his, the glittering meaningfulness of her engagement ring. He hadn’t said much. All he wanted to talk about was Tash and that subject would have been cruel to them both.
Instead, he’d held her soft hand and rested his head on the side of her belly, and felt the slow rise and fall of her body as she breathed. The way he used to do in bed after making love, when he’d close his eyes and imagine the future: Maddy’s body swollen with pregnancy; the ecstasy and pride of holding their first child; the thrilling certainty there’d be more to come; their lives as they cycled through time and aged together, still in love and content.
Except his thoughts wouldn’t moor the way Patrick wanted. Restlessness gripped him and the longer he chased peace the deeper and darker the hollow thing inside him became. He clenched his jaw against it, but still it called, like vertigo, tempting him to dive into its ugly, unthinkable depths.
Maddy had his promise. He would not break it.
The problem of Tash remained though, which was why, after dinner that evening, he stretched out on his bed with his back propped against the wall and his laptop humming on his thighs, and began investigating.
Like most everyone he knew, Patrick was on Facebook. He used it to keep up with family, his mates, footy team and district league, along with a few local businesses, community groups and agriculture news. Although aware there were plenty of other ways on the internet to interact and keep up with news, it was enough for him. Patrick simply had no interest in anything else, nor the time.
Tash, though, was everywhere. A search brought up pages of references. As he scrolled, Patrick wondered what sort of cave he’d been in these last few years to not see how truly famous she was. Yeah, she’d been on the front page of the local paper. Big deal. Maddy had done that plenty of times. Even Patrick had made the front page when the photographer from the Emu Springs Spectator happened to snap him taking an impressive mark during the under 18s grand final, years before.
The Spectator was not, however, the Herald-Sun or The Age or The Weekly Times. Tash had even made it onto radio, several times, and been mentioned in a few glossy magazines. And these were just her Australian achievements. According to Google, she had fans and a media profile worldwide. Incredibly, in the few weeks since she’d moved home, her popularity had skyrocketed even further.
Patrick set the laptop aside for a minute to brood. No wonder she was so different to what he remembered. Her life had expanded to encompass the world. His had shrunk to a room filled with sorrow and fading hope.
It was almost as though she was living the life Maddy had craved. Not in quite the same way, but something similar. Maddy had wanted old-fashioned sporting stardom. Tash had found hers through new media.
Deep admiration began to form in his chest, and he smiled a little. She might be frustrating and disconcerting, but Tash Ranger was a hell of a girl. Adventurous, clearly cleverer than he realised, cheeky and popular. Sexy.
And with one fall from Khan, all that wonder, the miracle of her life, could be over. Unless he stopped it.
He picked up the laptop and began trawling in earnest. Half an hour later Patrick started to detect a pattern. There was little Tash didn’t put online, from what she had for breakfast, to catch-ups with friends, to media commitments and everything in between.
Her Melbourne routine seemed to have been less transparent—perhaps for security reasons—but at Castlereagh it appeared Tash kept to the farm during the mornings and early afternoons. In her latest posts, though, she talked about Khan and how much she looked forward to riding him properly. There was even a selfie photo of her posing in a pair of tight breeches that Patrick found himself paying a bit too much attention to. Plenty of her fans had as well, especially the male ones. He read through the comments, mood turning thunderous at their crudity and familiarity. If anyone had commented on Maddy’s social media profile like that there’d have been hell to pay. Tash didn’t seem to mind. Even the worst had a ‘like’ against it.
He’d have no trouble tracking when she planned to ride Khan. Most likely she’d even post about it on one site or another, which meant he’d have to sign up to them all, if he wanted to get the news.
Patrick began to do just that and then stopped. Facebook was fine—they were already friends—but his sudden following of her on a stack of sites was bound to look suspicious. Even worse, if she checked and discovered the only person he’d connected with was her, the humiliation would be huge. So would her anger at his obvious online stalking.
The thought made him squirm. This wasn’t stalking, this was watching out for someone’s wellbeing. Perfectly innocent. Except there was every chance she mightn’t see it that way, in particular after his recent piggish behaviour.
The only answer was to create fake accounts.
Uncertain, Patrick stared at the screen and the sign-up page he’d opened. He scratched his head, then reached across for his notebook and pencil. He tapped the lead against the page, contemplating the wisdom of this step, the consequences of discovery. Other than embarrassment, which would be unpleasant but hardly fatal, there weren’t really any. Tash had so many fans, followers and friends she was unlikely to notice one more, and if he changed his mind a few clicks on delete would solve the problem anyway. Decided, Patrick began jotting names and assigning them to platforms. When the list was done, he began the laborious task of creating the accounts and profiles. By the time he’d finished, synced everything to his phone and set up alerts, it was late. He set the computer aside and went off to brush his teeth.
Back in the cocoon of his bed, he began to drift. Thinking about the farm, the chores he had lined up for the next day, about Maddy. Inevitably, his mind circled back to Tash and the photo of her in breeches, bright-eyed, cheeky and rounded. Seductive, inviting, full of life. His cock hardened.
Patrick jerked the pillow from under his head and slammed it onto his face, hating himself, wanting to stop, but she wouldn’t leave his mind. He breathed hard into the pillow then threw it to the floor and reached for his laptop. Seconds later, Maddy filled the screen.
Maddy in a bikini, her long wet hair in crinkles, her tanned skin otter-sleek and glistening from her swim. They were on the top of a houseboat, moored on a sandy stretch of bank along the Murray River. Patrick was leaning against the rail, drinking a beer and perving at her arse where her bikini bottoms had ridden up, and thinking he wouldn’t mind taking her down to their bunk for a bit of afternoon delight. Clip was still in the water, floating in an old tyre tube, his chest pink with sunburn, a beer in one hand while the other paddled against the current. Bec was filming them all on her phone.
Maddy grinned at the camera and stretched her arms above her head in a diver’s pose. ‘Watch this.’
‘Don’t be a tool,’ said Patrick. ‘You don’t know what’s under the water. Could be logs or anything.’
‘I checked. It’s fine.’
It wasn’t fine. The Murray was notorious for its snags. Patrick knew that look though, the ‘Don’t tell me what to do’ one. She was going to jump.
‘Maddy …’
But before he could reach her, she’d poked her tongue at him and launched off the deck, arms wrapped around her knees in a classic dive bomb.
A loud splash sounded, followed by a string of curses from Patrick. The video wobbled crazily as Bec rushed to the edge of the boat. For a horrible second there was nothing but murky brown water, and Clip swearing as he tried to stop his tube from capsizing, then Maddy’s head broke the surface and she was laughing and splashing, and Patrick was calling her an idiot while inside he was thinking she was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen.
Patrick watched the video on repeat until his eyes were too gritty to stay open, then he set the laptop aside and rolled over.
Only for his mind to fill with Tash.