One
Dallas
Three Years Later
“Iswear to fucking god, if this damn ute doesn’t start in the next ten minutes, I am going to gut it like a fish,” I growl. Slamming my fist against the steering wheel, I roll my eyes. Considering I’m usually the guy that fixes the cars in this town, my own never seem to bloody run.
“Daddy, don’t say naughty words!” comes a giggly reply from the backseat.
“Sorry, honey. Daddy didn’t mean it,” I say as I turn in my seat towards my daughter. She’s hauled up in her car seat, swinging her lanky legs with glee at the thought of scolding me. Cheeky brat.
Her curly, blonde hair falls in ringlets, stopping as it reaches her shoulders. Purple corduroy overalls just cover her Paw Patrol T-Shirt – her and those bloody pups. My eyes trail down to her frilly, blue socks and light-up gumboots. Fuck, she looks like her mother.
I smile at her. “Alright, Billie-Mae Northlane, let’s get you inside. We’ll have to wait for Uncle Colt to get here and take us into town, okay, princess?” She huffs a sigh and stares out the window.
I’m sorry, angel.
“Daddy, will Uncle Colt bring me lollies again?” she asks, her voice rising an octave as she talks about my brother.
“I’m sure he will.”
I pull out my phone and shoot a text to my brother, asking him to detour via the farm on his way into town – he was coming back from Wattle Ridge, having been out dropping off cattle earlier this morning.
I rip the handbrake on and kick the door open with my boot; the awful creaking sound sends shivers down my spine.
My boots hit the dirt with a heavy thud. I straighten myself out before opening the backseat door and unstrapping Billie from her car seat. Her blue eyes pierce into my soul as she smiles up at me, arms outstretched.
I lift her into my arms and carry her through the property bridal style, like the princess she is.
We meander past one of the chicken coops, and I make a mental note to fix it up.
The storm last month hit pretty hard, and the wooden box has definitely seen better days.
By the time we reach the barn closest to the house, she’s singing away, kicking her legs and asking when Uncle Colt will arrive.
Fucking soon, I hope.
I deposit my daughter onto the couch and walk into the kitchen to check the time. We can’t be late. Not today. My phone buzzes aggressively in my pocket, and I pull it out to see my brother's name flash across the rectangular screen.
“Colson.”
“Hey man, just pulling in now. The ute looks fucked from here, old boy.” His deep, familiar voice is a quiet comfort.
Although my brother is fifteen years my junior, we’re all but twins. Colt’s a mere few inches shorter than me and has about a million more tattoos. I just have a few more grey hairs these days.
Colson might be my little brother, but he’s my best friend, my partner, my entire world aside from Billie. There’s nothing in this world that I wouldn’t do for him, not that he’d ever ask; he’s just as stubborn as I am.
“You gonna be okay today, Dallas?” he asks, his voice softening ever-so slightly.
“Yeah. I have to be. For Billie.”
The rumble of the diesel engine grows closer as I hang up the phone and head back into the lounge room to get Billie.
She’s surrounded by teacups and teddy bears, chatting away like they’re gonna grow lips and yap back.
My girl is almost four and her imagination is something else.
She’s always dressing up, making silly dances, and telling stories. I hope she never loses her passion.
“Alright, missy moo. Say bye-bye to the crew, Uncle Colt’s here,” I announce as I lift her up and throw her over my shoulder before carrying her out to the car.
“Uncle Colt! Uncle Colt!” she squeals.
“Billie-Mae Northlane, look at you!” He grins, stealing her from me and twirling her in the air, and her giggles echo through the silence.
He lowers her until her gumboots thud heavily onto the dusty driveway.
As he slides a hand into the front pocket of his Levi’s, Billie’s toothy grin spreads across her entire face.
My brother slips the packet of lollies from his jeans and jiggles it in front of her nose.
She’s beaming at this point, completely ecstatic that Uncle Colt did, in fact, bring her lollies again.
“For you, Bumble,” he says with a dramatic bow, handing the packet to her and tousling her curls.
“Thank you, Uncle Colt!” she squeals, ripping the bag open and stuffing an entire handful into her mouth. Typical toddler.
I nod at my brother and take a seat in the passenger side of his ute, allowing him to have a moment with his niece before he straps her into her car seat.
My ass hits the leather and I hear the crinkle of paper.
Reaching into my back pocket, my fingers find the pamphlet that I had haphazardly stuffed into it this morning.
Lifting the scrunched-up brochure into my line of view, my eyes trail over the words printed on the paper before me.