It took Patrick a week to realise something wasn’t right at Springbank. Initially he put it down to Nicola and Grant’s new wariness. To his dismay, Nicola’s nervous regard had seemed to worsen rather than improve, despite Patrick’s best efforts to be cheerful and caring, and prove his lapse was an aberration.
Early morning wasn’t Patrick’s usual visiting time but he’d been chatting to his dad earlier about Beef Expo—a major agricultural event in the district’s calendar scheduled for early the next month—and it had felt right to ask Grant if he wanted to travel to the main day with them. They’d done so in the past, before Maddy’s accident, and both Patrick and his dad agreed it’d do Grant good to get out and catch up with old friends. Patrick was heading into the ag supplies in town anyway. A call into Springbank wouldn’t cost him anything and it’d be harder for Grant to say no in person than on the phone.
If it weren’t for this spontaneous decision, Patrick would probably still have had no idea what was wrong. But as he steered his ute to Springbank’s remaining swamp paddock where Nicola had said Grant was working, the feeling he was missing something deepened.
Then it clicked.
It was nine thirty in the morning and Khan wasn’t near the house. In fact, the horse was nowhere to be seen. Patrick knew they moved him out of sight during his visits but the horse was otherwise kept close. The eastern side of Khan’s paddock bordered Castlereagh Road and Patrick would glimpse him on his trips into town, his gaze drawn to the animal along with his hatred and guilt. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen the horse for days, perhaps longer. A quick inspection of the lower paddocks revealed only grazing cattle.
‘Where’s Khan?’ he asked Grant, who was digging up thistles by hand. At Wiruna they spot-burned or sprayed, depending on the growing cycle, but in the baking summer it was too dangerous for the former and too late for the latter.
‘He’s not here.’
Prickling awareness turned to alarm as Grant kept his gaze deliberately averted.
‘What do you mean he’s not here?’ If something had happened to the horse Patrick would be sick. Having Khan harmed so close to his ‘episode’ would be like he’d willed it to happen.
Stabbing the spade into the dirt, Grant stopped digging and faced Patrick square-on. ‘He’s at Castlereagh. Tash’s taken him.’
For a long hot moment Patrick was too gobsmacked to speak. Tash? Castlereagh? Why would they do that? Especially after Grant’s talk about how much losing Khan would hurt Maddy.
‘What about Maddy?’
Grant’s mouth thinned and he shook his head.
Patrick took a step closer, fists clenched. ‘What about Maddy, Grant?’
‘You know as well as I do she doesn’t care. How could she?’
It was Patrick’s turn to shake his head. ‘Don’t say that.’ Tightness threatened to cut off his air. ‘She knows.’ There were things he was certain she didn’t know—him, for starters—but she knew Khan. ‘You said yourself that losing him would hurt her.’
Grant’s shoulders dropped and he rubbed his face. ‘Saying that was the only way to stop you. You’d never have forgiven yourself if you’d shot him.’
Patrick stepped away. This was his fault. They’d taken Khan from Maddy and he was the cause. He didn’t know why he was so upset. He’d hated the horse since the accident, harboured violent thoughts towards it, yet here he was in knots because it was gone.
‘Tash is a good girl,’ continued Grant. ‘She’ll take care of him. Too much of a waste to have a horse like that doing nothing. Maddy would have hated seeing him unworked. Tash has promised to bring him over every week or so. Not that it’ll do much good, but you never know. He’ll probably become a star of her show like the dog. Did you know Liz’s dog has its own Facebook page? The world’s crazy.’
Patrick said nothing. He couldn’t. Guilt was scrambling his brain.
Grant sighed and pulled the spade from the dirt. ‘We thought it’d make it easier on you.’
‘I’m not the one that matters. Maddy is.’
‘Patrick, son, you can’t keep acting like your life hasn’t changed.’
He held up his palm. ‘Don’t start this. Not now.’
‘You’re a young man.’
‘I said don’t.’ Not again. Not while he was reeling.
Grant’s expression sagged with sorrow and reproof but he remained silent.
‘When? When did Tash take him?’
‘Tuesday. We spoke to her Monday afternoon.’
Patrick swallowed and nodded. A week. A whole week and he hadn’t noticed. And he should have, for Maddy. His chest ached as the implications of what they’d done hit him.
‘You didn’t ask me.’
‘No.’
Patrick had expected an excuse, an apology that it was a spur of the moment decision or that they didn’t think he’d mind, but the simple ‘no’ was it. He knew why. The day with the rifle had made them think he had no right when it came to Khan, but he had every right. If it weren’t for that horse he’d still have Maddy, still have a future, with all its dreams and glories waiting to unfold.
‘I didn’t—’ Patrick closed his eyes. Why lie? In those horrible heartbeats he had absolutely meant to shoot Khan. The intention had been like a rampaging fire in his head and heart. But it was on impulse, a fevered moment devoid of reason. ‘She’s still my fiancée, Grant.’
‘Yeah, and we’re her parents.’
There was an edge to Grant’s voice that Patrick didn’t like. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Just what I said.’
He kept staring, his words careful. ‘Your daughter is still my life.’
‘We know.’
‘So why not consult me about Khan?’
‘You know why, son.’ He turned away and resumed digging.
Patrick regarded Grant’s bent back with something akin to panic. He wanted to keep chasing the hidden meaning but fear and shame held him back. This was his own fault. He should have shown more control.
He looked north, towards Castlereagh, and wondered what Tash thought she was going to do with the animal. He swung suddenly back to Grant. ‘She’s not planning to ride him, is she?’
Grant gave him a look like he was crazy. ‘I imagine so.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ Patrick strode for the ute and yanked open the door.
‘Don’t be an idiot. You know Tash. She’ll be fine.’
Patrick slammed the door and started the engine. Horrific thoughts were crowding his head. Thoughts of another person lying hurt because of that horse. He reversed away from Grant. The older man had abandoned his spade and was standing with his hands on his hips. When Patrick dropped the car into first, Grant flung up an arm in exasperation, the gesture clear—go make a fool of yourself then, what did he care.
Which was pretty frigging rich. Patrick was trying to do the right thing. They’d given Khan to a girl who’d barely been near a horse since she’d left home. A girl who probably had no idea how dangerous the animal could be.
He breathed through his nostrils in an effort to control himself but there was no control. His head was crowded and his chest tight. Things were slipping away, he could feel it, and it frightened him. Grant’s sharp-edged words about being Maddy’s parents, as though Patrick had no rights, no say, no part. Maddy was to be his wife. A few months’ difference and she would have been. He had every right, every say, every part. She was his frigging life, for better or worse, like it was meant to be.
He took the turn into Castlereagh too fast, the ute fishtailing momentarily. Realising he needed to calm down, he slowed to a more sensible pace, and drove with his head and window lowered to peer through the windscreen and out the side, heart pounding as he searched for the horse.
The house appeared empty, which was no surprise. Liz worked during the week and, like his own dad, Peter would be out somewhere on the farm.
Patrick circled past the shed and around the back of the house. Between his mum and Nicola, he had more than a vague idea about Tash’s arrangements. Basil’s old place had been cleaned up and renovated for Tash to live in and run her business. He hoped that was where she was, safe inside and nowhere near Khan.
A small hatchback was under the carport. He parked behind it and stepped out, pausing to check his surrounds, but if the horse was nearby, he couldn’t see it. Then a flicker of bright pink caught the corner of his eye. Patrick squinted towards the swamp. Just below the slope something moved slowly. Something … odd. A torso, dressed in pink, floating just above the fringed edges of the golden grass.
‘What the?’
He broke into long strides and with each step, as the paddock fell away and exposed the rest of the picture, his brain finally registered what he was seeing. Anger and fear began to boil. Tash wasn’t floating in space, she was mounted—no, not mounted—sprawled backwards over Khan with her hands rested on her belly like the horse was some sort of furry brown banana lounge. Her pink top clashed spectacularly with a pair of brief, lime green shorts. Tanned bare legs ending in thick socks and boots dangled over the horse’s shoulders. Khan was grazing contentedly, like Tash was nothing more than a settled bird or fly.
Neither sported any equestrian gear—not a halter, not a bridle, nothing. But what really kicked Patrick’s gut was Tash’s helmetless head.
The urge to bellow and sprint was huge but he’d been around Maddy’s horses long enough to know that’d be a dumb move. Instead he walked as fast as he dared, shoved his way through a wire fence and kept going.
At the second fence he stopped, heart hammering. Tash remained with her face turned to the sky, smiling.
‘I thought you had bowls,’ she said without moving.
What? Then it clicked. He wasn’t Baz. Oh no, Patrick was someone far less indulgent.
‘Get down. Right now.’
Her eyes flared open and she jerked upright. The sudden movement brought Khan’s head up and lurched Patrick’s stomach with it.
‘Patrick.’ She looked shifty and guilty, as she bloody well should.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Thinking.’
‘About what? Crashing your head into the ground like Maddy?’
‘Dairy cows, if you must know.’
‘Well, you’ve finished. Get down.’
She folded her arms. ‘No.’
Patrick closed his eyes for a moment as a volcano began to rumble inside him. ‘Jesus Christ, Tash.’ His words hissed through his teeth. ‘Get fucking down.’
‘No.’
The rumblings worsened. Patrick crushed his hands into fists.
Tash continued to regard him steadily. ‘I appreciate you have issues with Khan but that does not give you the right to bully me.’ She jabbed a finger. ‘Not now. Not ever.’
‘He’s dangerous!’
‘Yes,’ said Tash, leaning forward to ruffle Khan’s mane and blow kisses. ‘Very dangerous, aren’t you, sweetheart?’ She threw Patrick another look. ‘I’m not Maddy, Patrick.’
‘No. You don’t have her talent.’ The ice in her gaze would have frozen another man, but not Patrick. He was too furious and full of roiling fear. ‘And you’re not wearing a fucking helmet. Get off.’
‘You know what? Screw you.’
To Patrick’s horror she made a clucking noise at Khan. Immediately, the horse began to walk away from the fence.
‘No!’
Ignoring him, she pressed her heels into Khan’s flanks and clucked some more.
As the horse broke dutifully into a trot he yelled again, but Tash, defiant, continued to urge Khan on. Patrick vaulted the fence to follow, his vision misted with red. She had no helmet. No reins. No saddle. Nothing. One misstep from Khan, one slip out of balance from Tash, and her head would plummet to the ground, just like Maddy’s.
The risk of startling Khan meant he couldn’t chase, couldn’t roar. All he could do was watch in despair.
‘Don’t, Tash. Please.’
He must have struck the right note because somehow she managed to ease Khan back to a walk and steer him around until they were face to face. Patrick dragged a sweaty hand through his hair, chest heaving and eyes smarting. He blinked hard, afraid she’d see the insanity that had unravelled inside him.
Slowly, she slid off the horse. The defiance was gone, replaced with sympathy. Patting Khan on the neck, she closed the gap between them, her gaze curious and examining. Patrick forced stoicism, not wanting her to see his weakness.
He wracked his brains to think of something that would make him seem less of fool than he already was, but came up with nothing. He didn’t think he had the voice for it anyway. Not the way his throat had closed over.
Fortunately, she saved him the effort, smiling and patting his arm the way his mum did when she felt sorry for him but knew there was nothing to be done.
‘Come and have a cuppa.’