On closer inspection, it didn’t look unlike Jack’s brand. How many people put letters inside a triangle? Probably heaps. Jack McIntyre used a scaled-down version of his grandfather’s sheep brand. Claire found herself wondering if there was a tiny white star under the thick forelock. But she was being ridiculous – Paycheque was long gone.
When the horse pawed the ground for a few beats with one front hoof and then changed to the other, Claire began to feel faint. She must be seeing things. She looked away, convinced she was conjuring images with her guilt.
‘Funny, isn’t he?’ the lad said next to her. ‘Does it all the time when he eats.’
‘Yeah, it’s like the puddling some cats do if they are taken away from their mother too early.’ She stared at the bay. In all her years spent around horses the only one she’d seen regularly do it like this was Paycheque. But it couldn’t be.
‘Hey mate, what’s your story?’ she called to the horse.
The horse looked up, twisting his head as if contemplating the question. His forelock shifted to reveal a small white star with a jagged scar underneath. Paycheque had one similar from when he’d fallen and got caught under the bottom rail of the cattle crush as a youngster. It was the reason he was so afraid of racing barriers and why Jack had been so careful with him.
Claire’s legs felt weak and she grabbed the nearest stable thing – the arm of the lad next to her.
‘Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I think I have,’ Claire murmured, and let herself be helped to the side step of the Land Cruiser to sit down. She put her head between her knees. Had she seen what she thought she’d seen? Had it been coincidence or had she imagined the whole thing?
‘You know that horse, don’t you?’ the lad said, becoming excited. ‘I thought he was too good to be here – branded and all.’
Claire nodded. ‘I think so,’ she said, having trouble breathing.
‘Hey, don’t get upset.’ The lad had his arm around her shoulder. It felt nice. It had been so long since she’d had comfort from anyone other than Bernadette. ‘You’ve found him. That’s good, right?’
Claire nodded. And slowly it dawned on her that he was right. She’d done it, she’d actually found Paycheque. The relief was so overwhelming she began to hyperventilate.
‘You have to breathe – in and out slowly,’ the lad coaxed.
Claire tried to focus on controlling her breathing, and after a few moments noticed another pair of human legs standing in front of her. She looked up and took in an older man in an orange safety vest and khakis.
‘What the hell’s going on here?’
‘I was just feeding the horses during…’
‘Well your smoko’s over now. Get back to work. May as well bring this lot with you – part’s arrived, we’ll be ready for them in an hour.’
Claire’s breath caught. She looked at the lad through sodden lashes.
‘She wants that bay there – right, miss?’ he said, pointing at the horse.
Claire nodded, unable to speak.
‘Well she can’t have him.’
Her head snapped up, her eyes wide in question.
‘Why not?’ the lad asked on her behalf.
‘I paid good money for him. He’s mine now. Not my fault if some horsey chick’s got the guilts and changed her mind.’
‘But…’ Claire stammered.
‘You chicks are all the same. It’s just a bloody horse that’s about to be dog food. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an abattoir to run.’
‘I’ll pay you double what you paid,’ Claire blurted.
Claire signed the cheque for six hundred and fifty dollars and handed it over. The man was almost salivating at the thought of such easy money. She knew she should have bargained and got the price down a bit – she really couldn’t afford to be throwing away good money. And Bernie was going to love the irony of her last paycheque being used to buy a horse of the same name. A strange mix of relief and dread swept through Claire.
The lad with the hay offered her a doubled over piece of twine, and she led the bewildered horse to the holding yard in the corner of the small paddock. She felt ridiculous dressed in a white linen shirt and dressy three-quarter pants, up on tiptoes so as not to ruin her two-hundred-dollar kitten heels, stepping between the piles of horse poo. She’d wanted to look nice for Jack. If only she’d waited until after lunch to get changed.
The smirk across the face of the bloke with the cheque in his hand suggested he now thought she was one of those totally un-horsey women with too much money, on a crusade because the shops were shut and there was nothing better to do. That horse would end up on her less than one-quarter-acre block for sure – that was if she managed to find someone to transport it at such short notice. He shook his head and wandered off.
Claire waited in her car until the other horses had disappeared into the shed, and then another couple of minutes. Part of her wanted to make sure the rest of the horses had gone. Another wasn’t really ready to face the contents of the can of worms she was about to open. She savoured the peace before peeling back the lid.
Chapter Ten
Speeding along the highway, Claire’s head was awash with all she had to do and the short time she had in which to do it. She had to get to the farm, swap the car for the ute – fingers crossed she could get it started – hook on the float, and get back to the abattoir. All in an hour and a half – that’s when the nice lad finished his shift.
Her hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles white, palms aching. Her eyes darted across to the clock on the radio every few seconds. The needle was nudging 100, but the trip still seemed to be taking forever. Damn the speed limit, she cursed. There were hardly any cars on the road. She’d probably get away with speeding. But she continued to check the speedo at regular intervals and ease her accelerator foot.
Two tail-gating Commodores rushed past in a roar of V8 aggression and testosterone.
‘Bloody idiots!’ The vehicles were now taking up both lanes ahead of her. Her heart was racing a little. She took a deep breath and sighed, trying to steady the hammering in her eardrums.
Claire was tempted to pick up her own speed – the cops would be too busy with those two if they were out and about. But deep down she knew it wasn’t worth it; cops weren’t the real problem, death was.
She shook her head at the splotches of colour already disappearing around a bend a few hundred metres ahead. She really hoped they wouldn’t crash – though they deserved to. Nothing too major; just ding up their precious toys and scare a lesson into them.
She really didn’t have time to stop. Bernie would be wondering where the hell she was. What would Jack think about her not being at the hospital yet? And the nurses – Jesus, they’d think she was the worst daughter in the world. She really should have rung when they had decided to wait until after lunch.
Claire didn’t trust the bloke she’d given the cheque to. There’d been no receipt, no paperwork at all to say she now owned the horse. And he’d insisted the cheque be written out to cash. There was probably nothing to stop him selling the horse to someone else who came along. He certainly hadn’t seemed that hung up on morals. If she was late, he’d