Chapter 1 #2
With a short sharp ruff in reply, Sherlock held up his paw in anticipation.
It was a gesture she knew all too well. But this time it wasn’t for a little helping of whatever she was eating, especially when it was hot chips.
This time around, as if he knew the ins and outs of what was ahead of them, it was in support of their new adventure.
And that made her heart melt. Little did her four-legged companion comprehend just how much his constant, unconditional camaraderie meant.
If only the blokes who’d tried to woo her at university had learnt the art of loyalty, gentleness, respect.
If only they had been more like Sherlock – or more like the always steadfast, always gentlemanly Logan Steele, the man she was so proud to call her dad.
Then her admirers might have found her to be less – how had one of them put it?
– frigid. Ew. Neanderthal. In less than a minute he’d reinforced why she’d sworn off the male sex in favour of her career.
None of the guys she’d encountered had been bothered to get to know her, instead making it obvious all they really wanted was a romp in the sack.
And when she didn’t oblige, it seemed to make them want her all the more.
Most of them just seemed to want what they couldn’t have.
And as for the others, they were either already snapped up by various lucky women, or in extremely happy same-sex relationships.
Go figure.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to sigh her thoughts away as the white lines of the highway carried her further from Riverstone Ridge, the sun-drenched horizon luring her forwards.
As she flicked the sun visor down, then turned up one of her favourite Waylon Jennings’ songs, ‘Good Hearted Woman’, visions of being Sweetwater’s resident mobile vet played in her imagination.
The amazing opportunity, which had landed in her lap one sunny Sunday morning while she flipped through her dad’s newspaper, was now a blank canvas ready to be filled with endless possibilities.
She hoped it was going to be smooth sailing, but at the same time she wasn’t one to wear rose-coloured glasses.
Tough times were a given; it was how she reacted to such moments that counted.
And reacting the best way was going to be easier said than done without her mum and dad nearby to give her sound advice.
Sidling closer to her, Sherlock nudged his nose against her hand, grounding her amid the whirlwind of change.
She smiled at him, feeling the full spectrum of emotions mirrored in his kind brown eyes – the bittersweet farewell, the thrill of independence, and the boundless promise of the future.
‘I love you, buddy,’ she said, before breaking into the verse of the twangy country song, wholeheartedly and extremely off key.
As for Sherlock, he did his usual trick of amusingly howling along with her.
Three and a half hours later, with a toilet stop thrown in – a field for Sherlock and a public toilet block for her – along with a food scavenger hunt at an IGA, Brianna tried to unstick her teeth in a battle with a toffee lolly as she marvelled at the breathtaking landscape before her.
All around, the endless expanse of the countryside stretched out like a patchwork quilt, with fields of green and gold flanking the ribbon-like road that led towards her new home.
The ever-changing scenery, from flat paddocks to rolling hills, some with glimpses of the far-flung ocean, was a reminder of why she’d chosen this rural lifestyle alongside Nina and Logan over a city change with one of her adoptive parents.
Her country-loving blood was why she felt so drawn to the land, and just knowing that made her feel even closer to the parents who had arrived in her life when she was barely twenty-one years old.
At first she’d considered having nothing to do with them, but thank goodness she’d overcome her anger, because they had turned out to be the best parents, and she loved them with all her heart.
Gazing in wonder at the ever-shifting scenery flashing past her windscreen, her wide sapphire eyes took in every detail as the scent of tropical fruit blossoms and damp rainforest soil wafted through the open window, filling her with a heady sense of both freedom and responsibility.
Long gone was the drier landscape of Huntingvale, and the rainforest was a refreshing change.
As if sensing the imminent end to their road trip, Sherlock – his safety tether latched into the seatbelt – balanced his front paws on the armrest of the passenger door and hung his head out the window, ears flapping like little flags.
His nose twitched in overdrive, greedily sampling the cocktail of new scents – damp earth, distant livestock, maybe even the whisper of ocean salt far ahead – and his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, fluttering joyfully in the breeze.
Brianna’s gaze drifted from the winding road to the rolling paddocks that unfurled beyond the trees where vast, verdant fields were speckled with grazing cattle and majestic horses, their slow movements watched over by ancient paperbark trees.
The Australian natives stood like sentinels, their bark peeling in elegant curls to reveal smooth trunks beneath, as if shedding the past to make way for the present.
Something about their stature – stoic, towering, somehow wise – made her breath catch.
These trees didn’t just exist. They endured.
And she felt them, somehow. Felt them pulsing with a quiet strength that reached through the glass and settled inside her ribs.
And then she saw it for the second time in her life.
The welcome sign.
Sweetwater. Population 7876.
Her chest tightened as anticipation coiled inside her, ready to spring free.
The letters on the sign weren’t just paint.
They were a promise. A threshold. A new beginning.
As if by a click of fingers, Sweetwater township materialised on the horizon like a mirage, a cluster of corrugated-iron rooftops and the outlines of weathered buildings, all etched against the midday sunshine.
Leaning forwards in her seat, she felt something deep inside her shift as a quiet certainty unfurled.
‘Well, Sherlock,’ she murmured, her voice hitching slightly with emotion. ‘Here we are. Our new home sweet home.’
She eased her foot off the accelerator, letting the four-wheel drive glide past the old corner pub.
Its name, The Gum Boot Hotel, scrolled across a timber sign, its letters chipped from decades of sun and summer storms. She couldn’t help but smile.
It was quirky. Memorable. Exactly the sort of place where she imagined everyone would know everyone, and a newcomer wouldn’t stay a stranger for long.
The pub, a grand two-storey Queenslander, sat proudly on its corner as if it had been holding court there for over a hundred years.
And likely it had been. Its white-painted weatherboards were sun-faded and peeling in places, but that only added to its charm.
A wide verandah wrapped around both floors like welcoming arms, with tropical vines spilling over the railings in thick cascades.
Her eyes flicked to the side beer garden, nestled under a canopy of tree limbs that filtered the sunlight into soft golden patches.
Wooden picnic tables sat scattered across the lawn.
The scent of hops and grilled meat carried.
Someone was cooking on the pub’s barbecue; the smoky tang of charred sausages made her mouth water as the familiar aroma filled her senses.
The scent made her stomach stir with hunger, and something else.
Longing, maybe. For community. For laughter that felt familiar.
For a sense of family. Sherlock let out a soft huff beside her, his tongue still hanging from the corner of his mouth, tail thumping gently against the seat.
She reached over and scratched behind his ears, not taking her eyes off the pub until it faded from the rear-view mirror.
‘Don’t worry, boy,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll stop in soon enough, once we get ourselves settled in.’ She smiled. ‘I have a feeling we’re going to get to know that place real good, given that it’s apparently the best place in town to get a counter meal, or so Doc Garrettson says.’
Sticking to the forty-kilometre speed limit, she drove the Hilux down the main street where quaint storefronts lined either side.
There was a butcher with a cheerful red awning, a florist bursting with blooms in every shade of summer, a general store with a hand-painted sign swinging in the breeze.
Their awnings cast playful shadows that danced across the sun-warmed footpath.
Everything about Sweetwater, so far, exuded warmth.
A warmth that was more than just the heat of a tropical day, something deeper, like a sense of welcome, of belonging, of neighbours helping neighbours, of secrets kept and dreams chased, of stories half-told and waiting to be finished.
And as she rolled past it all, her heart answered in kind.