Hope's Road Read online

  ‘Jacinta.’

  ‘Call me Cin, Trav. What a beautiful . . . er . . .’ She stalled as she took in the old and ugly cement-sheet cottage. ‘ . . . view. What a lovely view.’

  He’d give it to her: she was a trier. There had been a few of them over the last few years. Always trying to coax Trav into their bed. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the sights and sounds of a good woman. Far from it, he liked them all right – at a distance. It was just that in the early days he hadn’t been able to think beyond Katrina. And now? Well, now he just couldn’t be bothered. Worst thing was, women seemed to be attracted to ‘couldn’t be bothered’.

  ‘Thanks. If you don’t mind I’ll keep it to Jacinta, you being Billy’s teacher and all.’

  Jacinta started flapping her hands as though she wanted to brush his words away.

  ‘Billy might get teased by his mates if they heard me calling you by your nickname,’ he said, scrambling for another reason.

  ‘Oh yes, I see. Of course.’

  Trav could tell she didn’t see at all. Hell. This one was going to be harder to put off than he’d thought. ‘So what brings you to McCauley’s Hill, Jacinta? We don’t often get visitors up here.’

  ‘Well, I was just passing by –’

  ‘On a dead-end road?’ Trav raised an eyebrow.

  Cin looked slightly pissed off. ‘Well, actually, now you mention it, there’s a little problem with Billy. Your son.’

  ‘I’m well aware he’s my son.’ Trav might have been playing it cool on the surface, but his stomach muscles were clenching. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘It’s what he’s not doing that is the issue.’

  ‘And that is . . . ?’

  Jacinta sighed, then right before his eyes pulled on another persona. In an instant, it seemed, the flickering eyelashes and the sultry expression disappeared. ‘He’s been wagging school. Over the last month he’s missed at least four days. And there’s been no note.’

  ‘Four days?’ Shit. What was the little bugger up to?

  ‘Yes. And I thought you should know about it. Much better for me to tell you in person rather than over the phone, don’t you think?’

  ‘Four days,’ Trav muttered to himself. He never saw Billy off to school, relying on the kid to get ready by himself. Trav had to be gone by five-thirty so he was out in the bush early to check on or set his traps. ‘Right then. I’d better find him and together we’ll see what’s going on.’

  ‘Oh no, Travis. That’s fine. I’ll leave you to talk to him.’

  ‘No. I’ll get him now. He’ll be close by somewhere. Here, you sit down on this stump.’ He kicked a tree butt across the gravel and dumped it in front of the red car. ‘Just plant your bum – I mean sit here and I’ll be right back.’

  His last view of Jacinta Greenaway was the one in the rearview mirror of his LandCruiser ute. She looked down at the ironbark log with distaste and then kicked it with her pointed high-heeled shoe.

  Chapter 8

  Travis found Billy on his second try. One glance at Joe’s place from the T intersection at the bottom of the hill and he could see the old man pottering around his sheds. Billy wouldn’t be spying on him today. By the looks of it nothing was happening there that was interesting enough.

  That left Tammy McCauley, or should he say Tammy Murphy? Billy had been doing some odd jobs for the woman. Trav drove his ute a half a kilometre along Hope’s Road in the direction of the Montmorency homestead and pointed his bonnet down the driveway to the house. He could see by the absence of the copper-coloured Mitsubishi Triton ute that Shon Murphy wasn’t around. Thank God for that. He couldn’t stand the bloke. There was nothing genuine about the man. Plus, according to the boys at the Department, he was cheating on his wife, the bastard.

  He remembered the first time he’d met Ms McCauley Murphy. He’d gone with Billy for a drive into Narree. The kid had disappeared while he was getting their groceries, re­appearing just as Trav was going through the checkout. He was carrying a Narree Toyshop bag in his hand.

  ‘What’s in that?’ he had asked sharply.

  Billy had silently opened the package for his dad to take a look. Three Matchbox cars for his dirt heap.

  ‘Where’d you get the money from?’

  ‘Ms McCauley’s paying me to do a few jobs for her. And she’s really nice. Lets me ride the motorbike.’ The kid’s eyes were sparkling. Guilt – the guilt Trav always felt when it came to Billy – kicked hard at his guts. ‘I wear a helmet,’ Billy added quickly. ‘And she’s shown me how to ride nice and quiet like.’

  ‘You sure she really wants you there?’

  The light in Billy’s eyes died. Pooft. Just like that. Trav’s guts churned all the more. He did that to the boy all the time and cursed himself for it while at the same time feeling incap­able of doing anything else.

  The kid mumbled, ‘Well, I think so . . .’ The remainder of the sentence hung in the air between them . . . not like some people.

  Trav grunted, paid for their groceries and walked out the door, loaded the bags into the back and then got into the ute, waiting for the boy. He wasn’t coming. Where was he? Trav looked around and spotted him.

  A woman stood at the door of the supermarket investigating the paper bag Billy was holding out. Dressed in neat denim jeans that cupped her backside like a second skin, a choc­olate brown shirt, dangling beads and elastic-sided boots, she looked as sexy as hell. Her heart-shaped face was animated as she pulled a racing car out of the bag. She was laughing now, and Billy was giggling along with her. Trav hadn’t seen that in a long time – his son laughing. Whatever was going on was obviously very funny and Trav found himself undoing the seatbelt, exiting the ute and sauntering up to them.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m Billy’s father, Travis.’ He dipped a finger to his hat and tried a half-smile. Smiling was definitely one of his rustiest skills. That and talking. And sex.

  The laughter had dried up as he joined them. They both looked at him in consternation. One pair of assessing dark brown eyes. Another smaller pair of concerned hazel. Trav sighed. So much for joining in on the joke.

  ‘Hi. I’m Tammy McCauley,’ the woman said. ‘I’m just admiring Billy’s new cars. Classy way to spend your pay packet, that’s for sure.’ She smiled at Billy. Trav wanted her to smile at him like that. All warm like you were the only person worthy of her attention at that moment. And then there was that voice. It reminded him of rich chocolate. Sinful yet sweet.

  What had got into him? He never mooned over a woman. In fact having one in his life wasn’t even on his to-do list, as long as that was. He loved Katrina. Correction. Had loved Katrina. She’d killed anything he was ever going to feel for the opposite sex.

  His heart seemed to have other ideas. Eight years was a long while. Maybe it was time to move on? Yeah right, Hunter. Move on to a married woman. Just what he needed, more ­complications.

  ‘Mr Hunter? Travis?’ Tammy was talking to him again and Trav realised he must have been staring because Billy was looking at him like he’d grown two heads. He could almost see the boy’s mind working. What the heck’s got into the old man? He quickly pulled himself together. The best form of defence was attack, right? ‘Billy tells me he’s working for you. Sure you want him? He’s pretty young and all –’

  ‘I’m not too young, Dad!’ Billy piped up, indignant. Then the boy stopped like he’d just realised who he was talking to. ‘I’m the right size. Ms McCauley said so,’ he squeaked.

  Travis frowned at his son, pissed off at the interruption. ‘How about we let Ms McCauley answer that one, Billy?’

  Tammy moved to stand behind the boy, and placed two hands on his scrawny shoulders. ‘He’s the perfect size for a farmhand, Mr Hunter. Not too small that he can’t drag a pressure hose around the cow-yard and not too big that he can’t clean out the chook nesting boxes. Y
ou’re built for both jobs, aren’t you, mate?’

  She had an almost proprietorial air around his son. He had to battle with his natural inclination to tell her to get her hands the hell off his boy. But then he noticed the way Billy leaned into her body, like a pup seeking reassurance off his mother, and he had to bite his tongue.

  The woman was obviously trying to help. But she just made Trav feel all the worse. He already knew he wasn’t much of a father. He didn’t need some do-gooding Tammy McCauley Murphy to tell him so, that’s all.

  And now he’d been told his son was wagging school, and he had to admit to the kid’s teacher he had no idea where the boy was.

  Trav pulled his ute up in the yard large enough for a B-double milk tanker to turn around in. Two dogs came screaming around the side of the dairy, yelping their heads off but wagging their tails as they ran. They could probably smell dogs all over Trav’s ute. His dog boxes on the ute’s tray were empty, but that didn’t mean their scent was gone.

  Tammy McCauley appeared around the corner of the cowshed. He got a better look at her this time. She was slim and finely built, brown hair clasped tightly back from her face in a ponytail. In the middle of pulling on a peaked cap and donning sunglasses, she had a frown on her face. When she worked out who was in her drive, the frown deepened into a scowl.

  He wondered what he’d done to deserve that. ‘Just wond­ering if Billy was around here somewhere?’

  ‘And why would you care, Mr Hunter?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, why would you care?’

  ‘I know what you said.’ Trav could feel his own hackles rising. He couldn’t for the life of him work out why she was so angry. ‘I just want to know if my son is here as I need him to come home. Now.’

  ‘He’s here. Working on my computer. Because you won’t buy one. Have you ever thought what damage you’re doing to his schooling by refusing to get him one?’

  ‘I don’t see that it’s any of your business, Mrs Murphy.’

  ‘It’s Ms McCauley to you. And it is my business. That poor kid has to come down here and use my computer to do his homework because his father won’t buy him one of those “newfangled” things. Computers are part of the modern world whether you like it or not!’

  What was it with the females in this valley today? Now he knew why he’d avoided them. ‘Ms McCauley, I have no idea what’s got your goat this afternoon, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take it out on me. Give me my boy and I’ll get out of your way.’

  ‘What’s got my goat? What’s got my goat?! Listen here, Mr Hunter, if you spent a little more time looking after your son than wandering willy-nilly round the bush looking for four-legged animals, then I think you’d find he might stay where he’s supposed to be. At home with you.’

  That struck a raw nerve. Finding out Billy was wagging school from a lollypop on legs was one thing, having this stick of dynamite giving him curry for not looking out for the boy was another. He sucked in a breath, trying to hold onto his temper. ‘Where’s Billy?’

  She pointed in the direction of the back verandah of the house then spun on her neat, well-proportioned legs and stormed off. Trav watched her walk away and wondered how anyone could make such a graceful exit wearing gumboots. But, man, she was a piece of work. Her snug backside sashayed as she high-tailed it in the direction of the dairy. Her ponytail swung in agitation and those boots found every puddle in their path. Splat! Splat! He suspected his face was at the bottom of every one.

  Trav shook his head and walked towards the homestead. Compared to his place this joint was huge, all angles and windows. And old, and quiet.

  ‘Billy? Billy!’

  A tousled head appeared from behind a screen door. ‘Dad? What’re you doing . . . ? I mean, yes, I’m here!’

  ‘In the ute. Now.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll just shut the compu –’ Billy shot his father a look before continuing, ‘No, maybe I won’t. Coming!’

  Trav spun on his Redbacks and walked to the ute. He was revving the engine when a red-haired streak came flying across the yard and clambered up beside him. He could feel the boy’s nervous sideways glances, but he wasn’t going to put the kid at ease or let him know what was coming. No bloody way. His son would be punished – grounded for a week – and he’d think up as many boring jobs as he could for him to do. He’d teach the little bugger to wag school.

  And he’d show that siren with the liquid brown eyes he was a responsible father, whatever that was supposed to be.

  Chapter 9

  What had got into her? Travis Hunter must think she was hell on wheels. Which, at the moment, she was.

  Bloody men.

  Tammy grabbed hold of a piece of poly pipe and went out into the cow-yard to bring up the first row of cows to be milked.

  What was his story, being a single father and all? He looked like Mad Max meets George Clooney. There was something animal-like emanating from him, something rough, primitive and raw, yet he was good-looking, in a tough kind of way. He disturbed yet at the same time intrigued her. He wasn’t overly tall but he was solid, with a close-cropped head of sandy-brown hair that looked like it might curl if left to grow. Nothing too remarkable about all that. But it was his eyes, a piercing blue, that had struck her. They seemed to see right into her soul.

  Tammy absent-mindedly swung the cups onto the cow’s teats. Billy’s mother wasn’t around so Hunter must have left her or something. He’d been here for about six months but she hadn’t sighted him much. Hadn’t even known they’d turned up until one day she saw Billy waiting for the bus down at the intersection of Hope’s Road and the Narree–Lake Grace roads. The boy sure as heck hadn’t come from Joe’s place so that left only one option. The old Hunter joint. Lucy hadn’t been able to shed any light on the details: Travis Hunter preferring to keep to himself, which nearly killed Lucy as she loved a good gossip. Especially about someone so enigmatic.

  Crikey, what must that man think of her now? She had no right to blow up at him like that. Just all this stuff with Shon, then Billy arriving and looking like a little lost soul. Damn it! Didn’t that man see what he was doing to his son? The kid was desperate for love, for a father. And where the hell was he? Up the bush playing with dogs. He left Billy alone for hours on end. No wonder the child looked feral half the time – though that appearance belied the guts of it. The boy was capable of a lot. He was intelligent, loved words, loved learning but just not in the traditional way. Billy really needed a schoolroom set in the scrub, one that was part of the environment. To learn by doing in the real world rather than by rote in a stuffy ­classroom.

  And Tammy couldn’t shake off the feeling there was something else wrong with the boy. He was so bright but sometimes couldn’t get really simple stuff through his head. Something was holding him back. She just couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

  Whatever, she needed to apologise to Travis Hunter. She’d had no right to meddle in affairs that weren’t anything to do with her. She had enough troubles of her own. She’d go later this evening, after she’d finished her jobs and had tea. Shon was staying in Cann River in far East Gippsland tonight, so she didn’t have to concern herself about him coming home.

  It was around seven-thirty when Tammy let herself out her back door, gathering up the paperwork she’d found printed beside a humming computer. She decided to walk. The night was bright with a full moon and it would do her good to trudge up that hill. She’d had a shower, slapped some concealer around her eye to blot out the bruise, donned a pair of clean Wranglers, a soft blue shirt and her Redback boots. Leaving her hair to float around her shoulders to dry, she walked down her driveway and along Hope’s Road, hesitating as she got to the low level crossing. Up on the bank of the Backwater Creek and casting dark shadows in the moonlight was a decrepit bark structure. It had once been a hut for an elderly prospector named Cecil Du Pont. Such a
n auspicious name for a vagabond who lived in hope of finding gold.

  She walked on, around the corner and then through Travis Hunter’s front gateway. As she climbed the hill, she started to puff and wondered at her stupidity. She should have brought the ute. Damn. So much for feeling cool and fresh. She was sweating and cursing as she topped the rise that led to the house yard.

  A smart red car sat in the drive. She hadn’t pegged Travis Hunter as the owner of a girly car like that. She slid past the vehicle where it sat shining in the moonlight, let herself in through the garden gate and walked onto the old wide verandah. She spotted a beer fridge, dog kennel, and a blackened metal washing machine inner drum that had seen better days. It was stacked with firewood. Obviously the drum was all ready to be set out in the yard and lit on a clear night, so you could watch satellites, cook jaffles, drink beer and pretend you were camping up the bush. Tammy felt a stab of jealousy. She wished Shon enjoyed doing that type of thing. She used to do it as a kid with her grandfather. Cook marshmallows and draw pictures in the sky with the end of a burning stick.

  She sighed and knocked on the door. The sound of crashing crockery came from inside, followed by a high-pitched squeal. What on earth was going on in there? She knocked again and a head of red hair appeared at the door. Billy slid back the glass.

  ‘Tammy? Gee, you look pretty!’

  ‘Thanks, Billy, you little charmer. You forgot this stuff when you left.’ Tammy thrust out a handful of papers. ‘I thought you might need it for your speech on Monday.’

  The boy ducked his head in embarrassment as a voice came from behind him somewhere. ‘Who’s there, Billy?’

  In for a penny in for a pound, her grandmother used to say. So when Billy moved back reluctantly, she stepped through the doorway and past the curtain, to see a sight which would have been funny if it wasn’t so shocking. Jacinta Greenaway, the lower-grades schoolteacher, was on her knees in front of Travis Hunter. All Tammy could see were acres of blonde hair but she’d know that voice anywhere. Slightly breathless, almost childlike in its intonation. ‘Ohhh, Trav . . .’