Page 11

Chapter Eleven

Dunna Dunna succulent

( Lawrencia helmsii)

Often mistaken for cacti as it is very cactus-like in appearance. The shrub has a candelabra-shaped growth which superficially gives the plants a ‘cactus look’. Flowers are yellow/green and are produced from mid-winter through spring to early summer. This species is most commonly associated with soils that are crusted and therefore seed access and germination would be very difficult for most plants. It does well in home gardens as it has a higher tolerance of other minerals than general garden plants.

S teph had been in my life for two whole months and yet it felt like the best part of a year. I grinned inside my helmet as I turned up at Steph’s place on Sunday that week in what I called my biker pants: denim pants that fitted beautifully on my thighs and had a leather strip stitched along the outside seams.I pulled off my helmet and fluffed up my short hair hoping to impress. When Steph bounded down the walkway from her apartment wearing hiking boots, designer jeans, and an empty backpack, she took one look at me and smiled like a cat that had got the cream.

“Ooh. Look at you. Yum,” she purred, and I preened, pressing my foot, which was holding the bike steady, into the ground so my thigh tensed. Steph’s smile widened to a grin. “Yeah, yeah. We all know you’re built like an Adonis. Now, you promised me a thicker jacket.”

I kicked down the stand, then dismounted and gave Steph a lingering kiss with little pecks just to say “Hi,” which made her tighten her hold around my body. We were about to give the neighbours quite the show.

I broke away. “It’s in the pannier. Hold on.” I lifted the lid and pulled out one of my older jackets that had fitted me ten years ago. Good thing leather lasted forever.

Steph shrugged it on and tucked her chin to sniff the lapel.

“It smells like you,” she said with a sigh.

I gaped. “I…I don’t know how to answer that.”

Steph giggled. “I mean it smells of fresh earth and tending to plants. And some petrol.”

I bobbed my head from side to side. “Okay. I can handle that description.”

* * *

I’d told Steph that we were going to the outskirts of Ballarat, which was famous as the centre of gold mining during the 1800s. Technically, we weren’t supposed to be taking lumps of interesting iron, like gears and cranks, from the national park that surrounded the mine shafts, because…well, the mine shafts. Many were still open at the top or covered in a layer of thin mud and light dirt. Death traps.

Steph’s eyes had widened, her mouth was open, and she froze. “You’re kidding? This is properly dangerous. We could die, Angel.”

I laughed. “We’re not going to die. I always stay around the edge of the park, because the unchecked mines are all in the centre. Besides, the big pieces are further in and I don’t want them. The best little stuff that I pot the succulents into are at the perimeter.”

Steph didn’t look convinced.

Meanwhile, we were sticking to the highway’s sweeping bends on my beautiful bike. The latest injection of funds into the Victorian department division of roads maintenance meant that the camber of the road was exactly right, the white lines were crisp, some even textured, making the tyres buzz to alert sleepy drivers, or give riders a heart attack.

Soon enough, we rode through the red soil drifting across the asphalt and between rolling hills that flattened out to display the vista of the town. The skyline was marked with the towers of the three working gold mines in the region.

I rolled to a stop on the side of the highway leading into Ballarat and turned the bike into the lay-by area. One car was already parked and I could bet what he was up to. Gold detecting was the favourite weekend activity around here, particularly the faintly illegal kind.

The eucalyptus trees bowed over the picnic tables the magpie and cockatoo population had defecated on, turning the brown-painted timber to a muddy white and grey. No picnic there. Good thing we were riding into town for lunch. The cinder block toilets would most likely be filled with unflushed bowls and a collection of annoyed spiders; another reason for lunch at an actual establishment.

I was very glad that I had my jacket on and so did Steph because it was cool while we were travelling, but that didn’t explain the goosebumps. They were entirely Steph’s fault. My reaction was visceral to Steph’s body, her looks, her smiles, her kindness, her Greek-speaking ability which was an odd linguistic point of arousal. But there it was. I was falling for her.

I parked the bike near the car, then grabbed the parts of the metal detector to lock together. The dinner-plate-sized detector went on last, just after the electronic alert system that immediately started beeping.

“There’s gold here!” Steph cried, then fell about laughing at the long look I gave her.

“It’s shale,” I commented dryly. “Come on, shove the little spade, the dust brush, the water bottle, and the old newspaper into your backpack.”

The brush, water, and spade were self-explanatory but Steph was clearly confused by the newspaper.

“Um?”

“Oh, it’s for wrapping the little pieces of iron. I can’t carry much weight on the bike and I don’t need the pieces rattling around in the panniers. So I pack them in a bit plus it keeps rust flakes out of my gear. No rust anywhere near my bike, thanks very much.” I puffed up with importance and again Steph fell about laughing.

“Come on,” I said with a grin.

* * *

It turned out that metal detecting with Steph was a lot of fun. After I’d given her instructions on how to use the machine, she promptly waved it about like a conductor in front of an orchestra.

“Gah. Steph! That’s…” I cringed, then she stopped and smirked at me, while moving the detector in the manner I’d shown her.

“You’re a tease,” I said, pushing up on my toes to whisper in her ear.

“Oh, I know I am. Wait until we get home and I’ll show you how much.”

We grinned at each other, then suddenly the little indicator gave off a different alert and we both stopped. Steph slowed down her movements until I saw the tiniest piece of iron under the disc.

“There!”

Steph laid the detector down carefully and pulled out the spade. I grabbed a small stick and squatted down, tracing the outline in the dirt of what I thought it was; a fly cog. Steph dug following my line and sure enough, a fly cog emerged from the dirt. I picked it up and dusted it off. It was only a hand span in size but a number of little wedges of open space were perfect for a cute miniature garden of succulents. Someone from the care facility was sure to fall in love with it.

The rest of the morning went the same way. Lots of “Eureka!” for bottle tops, and “I’ve found something awesome!” for beer cans, a few “I’ve got it this time!” for coins that were interesting and some odd bits of metal that were probably two hundred-year-old bolts from some gold mining setup. I’d put those in the pile of trinkets I had in a bowl at the front of the store where the little kids could take one when their parents bought a plant.

Our detecting didn’t always lead to detecting. Sometimes when I squatted down, Steph did as well, and we got a few kisses in before one of us nearly toppled over. One time, I looked about, then leaving the detector on the ground, backed Steph up to the nearest smooth-barked gumtree. I spun us around because, with my boots standing on a root, it put me at eye level.

“Hi, there, sexy bush woman,” I said huskily, and her eyes grew dark.

“Hi, there, right back, gorgeous thing you. Just to let you know,” she whispered, her voice easily heard over the silence of the bushland. “I’m so turned on that you could make me come through my clothes.”

I gasped, then after quickly looking around again, I held Steph to me, while I ran my fingertip across her breasts and nipples, then slid them down so I could undo the zip on her jeans. I slid my hand inside her undies.

“Forget clothes,” I muttered. Then pressed my lips to hers. My finger slipped through her slick folds. “Fuck, Steph. You’re so wet.”

“I told you,” she panted.

With our mouths open and tongues twisting together, I manipulated Steph’s clit, rubbing and tweaking it. “What do you want?” I whispered.

“What can I have?” Steph gasped.

“Ask me.”

“I want you to make me come,” she moaned.

I rubbed faster. Then stopped.

And Steph keened into the air.

I moved my hand from her hip to her mouth and stifled her moans. “Sh. Sound carries in the bush.”

“Oh! Angel, I’m—I want to come.”

She grunted and groaned against my hand, while I worked her clit. Suddenly, she went rigid and clutched at my shirt, shaking as she came silently, her trembling body saying more than any words could.

She dropped her forehead to my shoulder while I carefully zipped up her jeans, then I held her to me as we leaned back onto the trunk of the tree.

I was in the bush, metal detecting and having tree sex. I was exceedingly happy. I was doing all those things with a person that I might have fallen in love with.

* * *

In the late afternoon, I dropped Steph back at her place and both of us agreed that we were absolutely wrecked.

“Shower is a must,” Steph said, wrapped in my arms as we leaned against the bike. “Then a cheese toasted sandwich and bed.” She looked at me. “Is it okay if you don’t stay over?”

“Of course it’s okay,” I replied. “I’m in need of all those things as well. In fact, I’m even leaving the pieces we found still wrapped in the pannier. I’ll just unload the detector. I’ll get to the rest in the morning.”

So, after kisses and sexy words, I rode home and duly showered, ate dinner, and went to bed, dreaming of Steph being in my arms for more than just an orgasm or two.

* * *

Steph was barcoding potted Lawrencia helmsii succulents on the two flatbed trolleys. I came up behind and hugged her around her waist.

“Careful. I’m armed with a pricing gun. You’ll be marked at a discount.” She turned in my arms.

“I’m priceless,” I said, grinning.

Steph sobered. “Yes,” she said simply and my heart soared.

“How well did the pieces clean up?” she continued.

“Oh!” I pulled away. “I have to shove them into the coke bucket.”

“Coke?”

“Yeah. Best ever rust remover before a vinegar wash.”

I hustled to the back of the store to the table where I’d set up two large tubs, one filled with coke and the other with vinegar. Next to the buckets were my rubber gloves, a steel scrubbing brush, and the wrapped bits of metal.

Suddenly, Steph yelled. “Mail!” It was an excellent imitation of Lucas’ baritone, and I chuckled. It was probably a bill or something equally as horrible, but I figured I should investigate. I looked at the contents on the table, seemingly vibrating with potential, and said, “Stay,” to the pieces, then wandered down to the front.

“It’s got a council logo on the front,” said Steph, handing me the envelope.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. This’ll be a letter saying they’re going to stick a roundabout through Mrs G’s chip shop.”

I tore open the envelope and shook out the letter, then scanned the words.

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

“What?” Steph ducked her head so she could read my expression.

“We won. We bloody won. Walker’s has to move one kilometre back from the highway, so that people will need to travel to the warehouse via a side road. Yes! This is amazing.”

I tossed the letter on the counter, grabbed Steph around the middle, and swung her in the air. She squealed, then when I placed her feet back on the ground, a shadow passed over her face and she didn’t look as excited as I though she would.

Probably didn’t enjoy the swing around. I was about to apologise when she grinned at me.

“Go. Go, do your coke immersion then we can tell the others,” she said, making shooing motions.

I rushed back to the iron work, still scattered over the newspaper. Carefully putting to the side the evidence of our win over big business, I donned rubber gloves and picked the first piece, pausing to smile at the age of the photo in the paper underneath.

Suddenly, my hand froze mid-air, then I placed the cog piece down, took off my gloves, and brushed the iron flakes away.

I knew that face, that body. I knew that woman intimately. But the caption was surely incorrect. ‘Stephanie and Benjamin Walker attend the opening of the first Walker Warehouse in Ballarat’. I studied the photo in disbelief. There was Steph—Stephanie bloody Walker—with slightly longer hair, dressed in a business suit and heels, standing between an anonymous guy and her brother. She didn’t look overly happy to be there. I knew Steph’s smiles and that one plastered on her face was one of simply tolerating the situation.

“I can’t believe this,” I whispered, then after moving all the iron pieces off the paper, I gave it a final shake and marched down to the counter.