Page 47 of Wild Horses

Christy finished cleaning Honey’s saddle and replaced it on the rack. She started on the bridle, fingers working the supple leather as the pleasant scent of saddle oil and glycerine soap filled her nostrils. How she would miss this.

The door creaked. Christy looked at it hopefully, but it was just the wind.

‘Leo, where are you?’ she murmured to herself.

He and Lofty should have been back by now.

Crazy kid. Hopefully he was okay. She didn’t fancy having to search for him in this storm.

Christy pushed her hair out of her eyes, smudging her forehead with oil, and reached for a cloth to wipe her face.

It was then she heard it – a sharp retort loud enough to sound above the din of rain on the tin roof.

It almost sounded like a gunshot. Christy stopped cleaning and listened.

Thunder, surely. Tom would never shoot so close to the horses, and anyway, he was away at the music festival.

Another crack rang out, sharper and more distinct this time.

Her heart lurched against her ribcage and the bridle slipped from her fingers.

Christy moved cautiously to the door, peering out into the rain-soaked scene.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. A man was creeping around the corner of the stables holding a raised pistol.

She ducked back into the tack room, shutting the door softly behind her.

No point in wasting time trying to figure out why an armed stranger was at Currawong Creek.

She needed all her brainpower to focus on what to do and how to protect herself.

Her hands trembled as she tried calling 000.

No coverage. Damn this storm. Then she remembered Tom’s rifle in the gun cabinet at the back of the tack room.

Christy scrambled to the little floor safe, her fingers fumbling with the dial – Tom had told her the combination – and the lock clicked open.

She grabbed the gun cabinet key and some ammunition, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

Then she fetched the rifle. ‘Okay,’ she said to herself as she loaded the bullets.

‘You can do this. Just like Tom taught you.’ The barrel felt heavy in her hands, a cold yet comforting weight.

All she wanted to do was hide and hope the man didn’t find her.

But what about Leo? He and Lofty could return any minute now.

Christy gathered her courage and moved back to the door again, opening it slowly.

She peered outside, half-thinking she’d imagined the threat.

No such luck. The gunman was still there, his back to her as he inched away from the stable’s verandah and out into the open.

That at least was a relief. Perhaps he was leaving, although his weapon remained raised.

Then, through the downpour, a nightmarish tableau unfolded – Lofty and Leo trotting across the paddock towards the stables as the shooter advanced on them.

Christy stepped off the verandah, rain encompassing her like a shroud.

It lashed her face and plastered her hair to her cheeks, but she barely felt it.

Fear gripped her, grim and overwhelming.

Should she fire at the man? It was a huge decision to shoot a person.

What if she’d somehow misread the situation, or if she accidentally hit Leo?

Then an astonishing thing happened. A figure rushed into the open, shouting, ‘Leo! Go back! Run!’

Tyler? It had to be. None of this made sense. What exactly was happening?

The gunman turned, aimed at Tyler and a shot rang out. Christy couldn’t stifle a howl as Tyler hit the ground. For a moment the sound seemed to distract the man, for he swung his head towards her. But then he took aim again at Tyler, who was struggling to his feet.

A sudden anger exploded inside her and every nerve was on fire.

Christy raised her rifle, just as Leo screamed something unintelligible and urged Lofty into a gallop.

The boy’s cry distracted the intruder, who pivoted, his gun now pointed directly at Leo as the big bay thundered straight for him.

Time seemed to slow. Christy’s breath caught in her throat, and her hands shook as she found the gunman in her sights.

There could be no more prevarication. She had to steady her arm and stop this madman.

Safety off, aim, breathe, pull – that’s all there was to it.

Christy exhaled, focused, and squeezed the trigger.

Please let this bullet count. The rifle kicked against her shoulder and a shot echoed through the chaos.

‘Leo!’ Tyler’s shout tore through the storm, but it was the gunman who staggered and crashed to the ground. Christy stood, breathless, the rifle still aimed as the man writhed and clutched his leg. He was down, but he wasn’t dead. Should she shoot him again?

In a flash Tyler reached him and grabbed the gun. Then he ran to Leo, who’d reined Lofty to a halt nearby and dismounted. The storm seemed to lose its fury and the rain abated, as if all the tension was leaving the world at once. The clouds parted, showing a slash of blue.

Christy shakily lowered the weapon, her chest hurting, her pulse hammering in her ears.

Tyler embraced his son as Lofty pranced around them.

She took a step forwards, legs unsteady.

Relief washed over her, leaving her weak.

It was hard to get her head around what had just happened, and she shuddered at the thought of how close they’d all come to tragedy.

Christy called out to Leo and Tyler, who turned towards her.

She moved at a stumbling run, dropped the rifle and fell into Tyler’s arms. The world narrowed as he pulled her close, and she thanked the universe for the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart – thanked it for the gift of his life.

Tyler’s hands cupped her face, fingers tangling in her damp hair.

Then he swept her up in a kiss. She closed her eyes, savouring the salty taste of their mingled tears.

Christy wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Their kiss deepened as she poured into it all her relief and need and longing.

And to her great joy, Tyler responded in kind.

The kiss was a declaration – a love letter to each other.

And when they finally pulled apart, everything had changed.

‘Okay, break it up,’ said Leo. ‘I’d tell you guys to get a room, but I think we should decide what to do about him first.’

Leo indicated the intruder, who was lying on the ground ten metres or so away. He’d stopped groaning and now lay quiet. It didn’t look like there was much fight left in him, but Christy picked up her rifle just in case.

‘I can’t believe you actually shot him,’ Tyler said, his voice tinged with awe. ‘I didn’t know you even knew how to use a gun.’

Christy felt a flush of pride. A series of notification pings came from her phone. She glanced up to see the dark shelf of clouds shifting east, revealing wide swathes of blue sky. She checked her phone – yes, three bars! ‘I have reception,’ she said before ringing 000.

Lofty pawed the wet earth, throwing up great clods of mud. The big bay was sweating and shivering, and Leo laid a soothing hand on his neck. There was a fierce protectiveness in his posture that spoke volumes.

‘The police and an ambulance are on their way,’ announced Christy to a collective sigh of relief.

Together they cautiously approached the prone man.

At first Christy feared he was dead. She’d shot him in the thigh, but he also had a gaping head wound and one eye was swollen shut.

There was a lot of blood, some on his head and much more on his leg.

Christy swallowed hard. Someone could bleed to death from a leg wound, couldn’t they?

Perhaps she should put pressure on it. But as Christy approached, the man opened his good eye and let out a string of curses.

Lofty snorted in fear and Christy backed away.

Tyler’s face grew grim as he peered down at the gunman, and she saw recognition in his eyes.

Leo noticed it too. ‘Who is he, Dad?’

Tyler put a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘That’s Ricky Callan – the man who killed your mother.’