Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
RHYS
T he next day I’m still beating myself up for almost kissing Morgan.
She was being vulnerable and opening up about her past. One minute I was picturing the asshole's death, and the next I was thinking about kissing my best friend’s sister.
And that’s why she’s on her way into Burra Point with Dani. Putting some much-needed space between us. Maybe I should move her to a donga, to create even more space. But even then, I know that can’t happen. I push the idea from my mind.
After the storm, there’s thankfully no serious damage. There’s plenty of fallen trees; one fell onto the roof of a donga. I get Davis to clean all that up. Normally that would be Miles’ job, but Davis is still on my shit list. Yes, Morgan is ok. But she still received fifteen stitches.
We should probably have them looked at. She was out in the rain yesterday with Molly. The last thing we need is for it to get infected. Not that she’d tell me if she showed signs of an infection. She would just try to handle it by herself. Like everything else.
Ron told me she barely flinched when he stitched her up, and he has sewn up big burly men who have cried. His words.
Parking the buggy at the shed, I cross the makeshift road to my place, but I’m stopped by Dani. “Just know I had no part in it.”
“Part in what?”
“You’ll see.” She sing-songs over her shoulder.
I get to the side veranda of my house, and there is Morgan with a fucking puppy in her lap.
“What is that?”
She doesn’t look at me, just continues to play with the dog. “You went to school, right?”
“No.”
“No? No, you didn’t go to school or no you don’t know what this is? I’ll help you.” Looking at me, she then proceeds to sound out ‘puppy’. I’d laugh if she was directing this attitude at anyone else.
“Very fucking funny.”
“Thank you, no one recognises how funny I am.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I have to call Shane and see where he’s at with finding her scumbag ex. Opening my eyes I watch as she encloses the head of the thing and puts on a baby voice while rubbing its ears. “You just ignore Mister Grumpy; you can stay with me.”
“That isn’t staying here.”
“Why?”
The yellow-sandy colouring of its fur has me questioning whether it’s a dog or a dingo. But then its ears directly point upward, and it’s a dead giveaway. “Because it’s a fucking dingo!”
“And?”
Slowing it down I restate my previous comment, “It’s a fucking dingo, Morgan.”
“The poor thing is a stray.” Completely ignoring what I said, which would point her to the fact that it’s a wild animal, but she continues, “And I thought that was ok.” She shrugs.
I feel my face twist up in question, “What?”
“Well, you brought that stray back the other night.” She deadpans, still not looking at me, but I can see the smirk slowly forming on her face. She’s proud of that comment.
“You mean… fuck. I can’t remember her name.”
“Shocking.”
“Yeah, well she was, is, a human. That is not.” I point at the pup.
“She was still chasing a bone.”
That’s actually pretty funny, but I bite back a laugh, “Let me break this down, Morgan. You are not keeping that mutt here.”
“Yes I am.”
“Morgan Rae Elliot.”
“Fuck off Rhys.” And with that, she is walking into the house. My fucking house. With the fucking animal. This fucking woman is pushing every button I possess.
Brent rounds the corner. Thank God, it’s his station, he can tell her to get rid of it. Molly is close behind him.
Shit. The fucking dingo is staying. I know it.
“So, we have some men coming in the next few days to help with the muster.” He looks at me. “What?”
“She found a fucking pup.”
“Morgan? ”
“Who else?”
Molly squeals and runs inside asking to see the puppy. I hear Molly’s gleeful, “She’s so cute!” from out here.
“Dad, dad, daddy, dad.” Molly comes running back out, “It’s so cute, but Morgan said Mister Grumpy said she couldn’t keep it. Who’s Mister Grumpy?”
Brent chokes on a laugh, he turns to look at me then laughs out loud.
“It’s a dingo.”
That sobers him, “Yeah ok. No, it can’t stay.”
“Daddy.” Molly whines.
He bends down to her level, “Baby, you know what dingos do to the cattle. We can’t have one here.”
Yes.
And just then the fucking mutt walks out and sits in front of Brent with a whimpered bark.
Morgan is close behind. “If we expose her to the cattle and treat her like a pet, she’ll be ok.”
Fuck.
“She’ll be your responsibility, Morgan.”
Double Fuck.
“Of course.” You can hear the excitement in Morgan’s voice.
Brent scratches behind the pup’s ear “Ok, she can stay.”
Triple fuck.
Molly squeals and does her happy dance, asking what her name is.
Morgan looks at the pup rubbing its head, “I was thinking Esky, since I found her in one.”
“Esky is a stupid name.” It’s my turn to deadpan.
Without skipping a beat Morgan snaps back, “So is Rhys, but you don’t hear us complaining. ”
Brent snorts and mutters about catching up with me later, leaving Molly, Morgan and fucking ‘Esky’ with me. Prick. I glare after him. She better take it with her when she leaves.
“I think maybe she was hungry and went looking in an esky and got trapped.”
“Oh, poor Esky.” Molly tapers off into a giggle as the pup licks her face trying to play with her.
“Or maybe someone put her in it to let her?—”
Morgan shoots up, glaring at me. “Do not finish that statement, especially with a five-year-old hanging around.”
Molly isn’t even paying attention to us, and she has grown up on a fucking cattle station; she knows how things work. But I don’t voice any of that. Instead, I turn around and walk in the direction Brent left.
Eventually, I catch up with him and he explains that a few travelling jack-a-roo’s will be coming to give us a hand.
We don’t typically take the backpackers with us.
We might be sitting in the buggies all day, but it’s still hard work.
And after a while the seats stop being as comfortable as you think they’d be.
After discussing the logistics of the muster with these extra people, I decide it’s now or never, and I go back home. When I get back to my place, Molly is gone, but Morgan is sitting at the outside table, the pup curled up in her lap while she draws.
I stop and watch her. Tongue caught between her teeth. A few strands of her hair have come loose from her ponytail and are delicately framing her face. She works the pencil back and forth over the page at an odd angle, so maybe colouring?
I’m lost in watching her, so when her head snaps up to look at me, I jump and actually stumble.
Morgan fights a smile, but when I try to right myself, I manage to over-correct and fall into the pole that was holding me up.
This has her smile turning into laughter.
She holds her stomach laughing, while tears gather at the corner of her eyes.
The pup sits up at the commotion tilting its head while watching me rub my shoulder.
“I’m glad my pain can cause you so much happiness.”
“Oh, come on, if you weren’t watching me like a creep, you wouldn’t have jumped like that.” She manages to get out through the laughter.
“I wasn’t exactly quiet. Maybe if you weren’t so in the zone. ” I put in air quotes.
Morgan’s laughter slows. “Yeah, well, stop watching me.”
“It was just good to see you relaxed.” I shrug.
All humour is gone. “Oh, because I don’t relax?”
“That’s not what I meant, I just meant that the prick you were with tried to take something from you, and you’re getting it back.”
“Something?”
“I don’t know, your spark or some shit.” I’m really not good at this.
She looks at me puzzled. “My spark?”
“Yeah, the thing that makes you, you.”
Morgan doesn’t respond, I don’t know how she would. I walk over to her, but when I get in view of her sketchpad, she snaps it closed.
“What were you working on?”
“Nothing.” She blushes and seems sheepish. But I leave it, for now. That doesn’t stop me from asking,
“Will you show me one day?”
“Maybe. ”
And with that, she’s up and walking back inside, with the fucking dingo pup following her.
She’s with me tomorrow. Because otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll come back to an emu or a fucking joey in my house. Plus, Shane trusted me to watch her. I can’t let anything happen to her, or he’ll kill me. At least that’s what I tell myself.
It’s two days before the muster, which means we need to start pushing the herd closer. Davis and Beau have already added runs to the yards that this herd will be going in.
When I tell Morgan she is with me. She tries to argue against it, but I don’t give her a choice. I don’t want to come back to her being stitched up again or to another animal.
She gave me a condition though…. Esky had to come with us.
The pup seems to already be attached to Morgan, and I guess she’s not that bad.
Two of the four jack-a-roo’s arrive today.
By time we get back they should be there.
Hopefully the others will arrive in the next couple of days.
I want to get this lot done sooner than later.
We’ll have to move a few more herds around.
Watch for the last of the pregnant heifers, move them and their calves, so we can round up the latest herd we received and add the bull to the lot.
Not to mention the small jobs between all of that.
It never ends, and I wouldn’t mind a day or two off after this muster.
I’m lost in my own thoughts, work and the laundry list of shit I have to do there.
Then there’s Morgan and the fact I want to teach her self-defence, once her arm is completely healed.
I am a little concerned about the jack-a-roo’s and Morgan.
We’ve hired three of them before, and they’re top blokes.
Hard working and ready to help whenever.
But I’ve not heard of the other one, and neither has Brent.
Morgan’s voice pierces through the haze, “Rhys, stop!”
“Hmm?”
“Slow down!” she purposefully pronounces each syllable.
I look at her in question, but she just points out into the distance. I follow her line of sight and let out a sigh. What I’m about to do is going to make her hate me, more than she already does.
Morgan is out before the buggy comes to a complete stop, Esky behind her. I shift it into park while watching her make her way to the wounded animal. I take a deep breath before getting out and step around the back and reach for my shotgun.
She’s really going to hate me.
Morgan hears my approach. She’s kneeling by the head of the heifer, stroking it. “We have to do something.” She turns to look at me. “Rhys, no.”
Throwing herself at me when I ignore her. Esky follows her lead and starts barking at me. I don’t like this much either, but it’s honestly the best thing I can do for it.
“This is the most humane way.” I pick up the rifle and rest the butt against my shoulder.
“There has to be another way.”
I lean my head over to line up.
“We’re thirty minutes from the homestead, and another two and a half hours from the nearest town.” I pull in a deep breath and as I exhale, “This is all we can offer her.” I squeeze the trigger.
The air quickly fills with the scent of gun powder, as the bang ricochets around us.
“You’re an animal!” She hisses.
With everything that is going on, the guilt of what I just did, the guilt of almost fucking kissing my best friend’s sister and wanting to do it again, plus all the other day to day bullshit, I snap, “This is a fucking working cattle station, what in the hell do you expect happens around here? If you haven’t noticed, we are so removed from civilisation. I did the only thing I could.”
“Shooting it?” Her voice rises but cracks ever so slightly. I think I would have missed it if we weren’t glaring at each other.
“Yes!” I yell out. I hate myself as soon as I raise my voice, but instead of flinching or backing down, she goes toe to toe with me, her eyes ablaze with hate.
“You’re a heartless fucking prick.”
“Whatever you say.” I pause. “Princess.”
I walk back to the buggy, and she throws one more jab through clenched teeth, “I hate you.”
“Feeling is fucking mutual, get your ass back in the car.”
I throw the gun back in the back while Morgan scoops up Esky and climbs back into the passenger seat, sitting as close to the door as possible.
Fine by me.