Page 7 of Wild Horses

Christy stood on the verandah of her childhood home.

Morning shone over the jacaranda trees lining their Brisbane street.

Her fingers wrapped tight around a steaming mug of tea, as if it could anchor her to the moment.

Familiar scents lingered in the crisp April air – fragrant jasmine blossom and the waft of fried bacon.

‘A fresh start – that’s what you need, love,’ said a gruff voice behind her.

She put her tea down on the gatepost and turned to her father, who enveloped her in a smothering bear hug, filled with a warmth Christy wanted to bottle and take with her.

She forced a smile, even as doubt swirled within her.

Her mother appeared beside him, looping an arm around his waist. ‘It’s a brave thing you’re doing, going out there on your own.’

Christy took in the familiar freckles of her mum’s heart-shaped face.

‘We’re so proud of you for taking this step.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ Christy’s voice wavered slightly.

‘Call us when you get there,’ Alan said, his emotions apparent despite his stoic exterior.

Christy mentally pulled away, their expectations and her own doubts mingling with the excitement of starting anew.

She was about to embark on a journey into the unknown, a world far removed from the structured predictability of her former city life.

An unfamiliar world of horses and wide-open spaces.

Christy climbed into her car, turned over the ignition and put it in drive. The little Mazda lurched violently forwards and jerked to a stop.

Her dad frowned. ‘Didn’t you get it serviced like I said?’

Christy shot him a guilty smile. ‘I forgot. Do you know what’s wrong?’

Alan shrugged his shoulders. ‘It could be anything: faulty torque converter, low transmission fluid, blocked fuel line.’ He gestured for her to turn off the car. ‘Pop the bonnet and I’ll take a look.’

Christy shook her head. She was finally geared up to go and couldn’t bear the thought of any delays. ‘It only happens when I start. Once I’m going she runs fine.’

Her dad’s narrowed brows showed his disapproval. ‘Well make sure you have it serviced once you get there.’

‘Will do.’ This time the car started smoothly. ‘Here goes nothing,’ whispered Christy. And with one last wave she began the three-hour trip to Currawong Creek.

The drive to Merriang was a lonely one, filled only with the hum of the engine and her own thoughts.

Christy toyed with the idea of listening to the radio or a podcast but decided against it.

The urban landscape slowly transformed into stretches of open road.

Her surroundings were so unfamiliar. Andrew was a beach person, and the only holidays Christy had been on recently had been to the coast. How many years was it since she’d gone bush?

She passed through Toowoomba, the Garden City, its floral beauty a fleeting distraction from her gnawing doubts.

Then on to Dalby. Paddocks of bright yellow sunflowers, newly sprouted crops and fallow fields stretched out like a patchwork quilt beneath the vast open sky.

The closer she came to Merriang, the more the landscape changed.

The Bunya Mountains loomed in the distance, majestic and ancient.

Patches of forest dotted the horizon, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind.

Christy’s trepidation grew with every passing kilometre. But then she’d catch glimpses of the beauty of the country – a group of parrots bursting from a tree, the sweeping plains, and the distant silhouette of the Bunyas. These sights triggered something deeply comforting within her.

A shiny black Mercedes caught her eye, parked haphazardly by the side of the road. The car had a blown-out tyre, and two figures stood beside it – a teenage boy and a man in his thirties.

Christy pulled over and rolled down her window. ‘Are you guys okay?’

She studied the man, struck by his compelling presence.

He seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

Tall and lean, he carried himself with an air of quiet confidence.

His hair, a rich shade of chestnut that complemented his green eyes, was styled with a sophistication that spoke of city living.

It framed a clean-shaven face that was both strong and refined, with a sharp jawline.

His clothes married casual comfort with an undeniable air of quality.

A simple, well-fitted shirt accentuated his lean physique, and his trousers fell just right, suggesting a preference for tailored clothing.

He really was very handsome, and to Christy’s surprise she felt an instant tug of attraction.

Just as well she’d sworn off men after her disappointment with Andrew.

The man favoured her with a heart-stopping smile. ‘Flat tyre.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘No spare.’

‘I’m heading into Merriang,’ she offered. ‘You want a lift?’

The pair of them loaded their bags and climbed into her little Mazda hatchback. The man seemed to have trouble folding his long legs into the available space in the passenger seat.

The car jumped forwards. ‘Sorry,’ said Christy, as Tyler steadied himself with a hand on the dash. While they drove she introduced herself.

The man reciprocated. ‘I’m Tyler, and my son’s name is Leo.’ His voice was deep and resonant. Something clicked in Christy’s mind – Tyler Ward, the celebrity chef with a smile that charmed the nation.

Her heart beat a little faster. ‘From Ward’s Kitchen ? I love that show!’ she gushed in a genuine fan-girl moment. ‘I almost didn’t recognise you without your beard.’

A loud groan erupted from the back seat, and Christy restrained herself from pulling over and asking for Tyler’s autograph then and there. She imagined the teenage Leo would be heartily sick of people fawning over his father, so she kept her fond memories of watching Ward’s Kitchen to herself.

Back in Sydney, when she’d stayed over at her boyfriend’s on Saturday nights, the show had been their regular Sunday morning viewing.

Tyler Ward was a magician in the kitchen, cooking with a flair that was just as entertaining as his amazing creations.

She and Andrew would watch the show together and then try to recreate that week’s haute cuisine dishes – often with hilarious results.

Christy smiled to remember their attempt at assembling a croquembouche.

Piping the lumpy dough onto the baking sheet resulted in shapes more akin to abstract art than regular pastries.

The resulting tower, which was supposed to be a majestic cone of golden choux buns, resembled a tumbledown beehive.

Sticky caramel spiderwebs not only connected the buns to each other, but also to the counter, their hair, and even the cat who jumped onto the counter at the wrong moment.

The memory brought on an unexpected wave of missing Andrew.

Christy sneaked a sideways glance at Tyler.

He was staring out the window and seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Leo was equally quiet in the back seat. So, although she was full of questions, Christy allowed her guests to complete the trip to Merriang in peace.

Who knew what private troubles they might be facing?

As they drove, Christy’s own worries resurfaced.

She was about to start teaching at an equine therapy program, yet her experience with horses was limited at best and confined to her childhood.

A question gnawed at her. Was she stepping into a role far outside her capabilities?

She checked her GPS. Merriang was only ten minutes away, which meant that Currawong Creek wasn’t much further.

She suddenly wished she could put everything on hold until tomorrow.

Almost unconsciously she dropped her speed, which made her feel foolish.

As if travelling ten kilometres an hour slower would make any difference.

Before long the inevitable happened and they reached Merriang. Christy drove slowly along the broad main street. Bisected by a bridge, the little town was a snapshot of a bygone era, with barely any modern influences to disrupt its historical charm.

The first building that caught her eye was the pub, with its green and cream colonial facade and an attached café overlooking Bunya Creek.

Next was a combined general-cum-feed store.

It displayed an eclectic array of goods: crates of fresh fruit and vegetables, sacks of grain and unique local crafts.

Christy looked around for a supermarket but couldn’t see one.

Over the bridge was an old miner’s cottage being used as a veterinary clinic, and a historic bluestone church with an adjacent graveyard. Then a primary school on the other side of the road, an Anzac monument, a small memorial park and a mechanics’ institute hall.

In the background, the Bunya Mountains loomed majestically, their towering presence a dramatic backdrop to the picturesque little town.

‘Can we stop here for a drink?’ Leo asked.

‘Wait until we find the garage.’ Tyler pointed to the right. ‘There it is, past the post office.’

Soon Tyler stood facing the local mechanic.

‘Jim Murray.’ The man offered an oil-stained hand. After a moment’s hesitation Tyler shook it and explained his situation.

‘So, let me get this straight,’ drawled Jim, leaning against a workbench cluttered with tools and car parts. ‘Your fancy Mercedes doesn’t carry a spare.’

Tyler cleared his throat. ‘No. It’s equipped with run-flat tyres. They’re designed to be virtually indestructible.’

Jim’s eyebrows shot up in amusement. ‘Indestructible, eh?’

‘Well, they’re meant to be.’ Tyler reddened.

‘They have reinforced sidewalls. In the unlikely event of a puncture they’re supposed to let you drive on them safely for up to two hundred kilometres.

’ Tyler kicked at the scuffed concrete floor of the garage with the toe of his boot. ‘That’s the theory.’

Jim chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag. ‘So, how’s that working for you?’

Tyler had the good grace to look abashed. Jim nodded at a ginger-haired youth who was sliding out from beneath a battered black ute. ‘I’ll send Shane here out with the tow truck.’ Jim held out his hand expectantly and a glum-looking Tyler tossed him the car keys.

‘It’ll be at least two weeks, maybe three before I can get a replacement tyre for your vehicle,’ said Jim. ‘Although if you’re planning to travel much on these roads ...’ His lips curled upwards in a contemptuous half-smirk. ‘You’ll be back in the same boat before long.’

Clearly in Jim’s world of grease, grit and manual problem-solving there was little room for the overly technical foibles of modern luxury cars.

Christy watched Tyler curiously. The tight line of his lips, his tense shoulders and the flash in his eyes betrayed his irritation.

She sensed he was on the tip of making a sharp rejoinder, but he managed to bite his tongue.

After all, Jim was probably the only mechanic in town.

Tyler merely thanked him instead. Jim shot him a last, derisive look and turned his back.

‘Great,’ spat Leo, kicking at a pile of tyres. ‘We’re stuck in this dump of a town.’

Christy stepped forwards. ‘Depending on where you’re headed, I might be able to help.’

Tyler trained his cool eyes on her, a captivating blend of blue and green that shifted with the light, much like the ocean’s depths. They left her a little mesmerised. ‘We’re going to Currawong Creek,’ he said. ‘It’s a horse therapy place. My son will be staying there for a while.’

Christy couldn’t believe it. Leo was one of those troubled teens she could be teaching as soon as Monday. ‘That’s where I’m going too. I’ll be teaching there.’

‘Great ... maybe we can grab a lift?’

‘Can we get something to eat first?’ grumbled Leo. ‘I’m starving.’

Tyler glanced at Christy, who nodded. Nothing would please her more. Delaying her arrival at Currawong Creek and spending more time with Tyler was a win–win.

‘Come on, then.’ Tyler attempted to clap a hand on his son’s shoulder, but Leo ducked away with a scowl. ‘Let’s walk back to that café.’

They sat at a rustic outside table overlooking fast-flowing Bunya Creek. The unfamiliar scent of sun-warmed grass, eucalyptus and pine wafted on a breeze off the water. Christy breathed a deep lungful of fragrant air.

‘My shout,’ said Tyler.

Christy’s stomach, still churning with nerves, made her choice easy. ‘I’ll just have coffee.’

The waitress, a middle-aged woman with a pen poked behind her ear, came over. ‘What’ll it be folks?’

Tyler looked to Leo, who shrugged. ‘I don’t care.’

‘Two grilled chicken sandwiches, then,’ said Tyler. ‘And can you add some avocado and garlic aioli dressing?’

The waitress shook her head and gave him a deadpan look. ‘We’re out of avocado. You can have mayonnaise, though.’

‘Okay then, how about some sundried tomatoes and a sprinkle of feta cheese?’

‘Nope, don’t have that either.’ Her tone remained flat, but her eyes held a hint of amusement.

Christy stifled a giggle.

Tyler tried one last time. ‘What about a touch of pesto and some roasted capsicum?’

‘Dad!’ Leo rolled his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ said the waitress, ‘but I can add tinned beetroot if you like, and a side of chips.’

‘That’ll be great,’ interrupted Leo. ‘And a can of Coke, please.’

The waitress nodded, jotting down the order.

‘And we’ll have two coffees as well.’ Tyler glanced at Christy.

‘A cappuccino, please.’

‘And I’ll have a soy latte,’ said Tyler.

‘We don’t do soy,’ said the waitress. ‘Cappuccino or regular. Take your pick.’

‘Never mind. I’ll have a glass of water instead.’ Tyler handed back the menu.

Leo was obsessively fiddling with the salt shaker as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

Christy had seen that sort of behaviour before, back at St Luke’s College, in student’s whose mobile phones had been confiscated.

She studied her two companions: the stubborn, sullen son and his famous father.

Perhaps her time at Currawong Creek would be more interesting than she’d first imagined.