Page 8 of Wild Horses

Christy focused on the road ahead as her old hatchback jolted over potholes and cattle grids. They were deep in the ranges now, encircled by ever-steepening hills dotted with grazing sheep and cattle.

Soon the GPS directed her to turn left onto Railway Road. She slowed down, confused. There was no railway for a hundred kilometres, and besides, the rutted track to their left bore a different name on the signpost – Clydesdale Way.

‘Take the turn,’ said Tyler. ‘I checked out the route last night. Apparently Clydesdale Way is the local name.’

The road aimed them straight at the mountains, whose forested peaks and valleys rose abruptly from the surrounding plains.

They looked close enough to touch. A few minutes later they were slowed by a stock truck travelling in the same direction.

Through the metal slats of the truck’s tailgate Christy could make out the shadowy shape of a horse.

Twin bunya pine trees marked an open gateway on the right, and the truck put on its blinkers. A sign hanging on the fence read Currawong Creek and a weathered image of a draft horse was etched into the timbers.

They followed the lumbering vehicle uphill towards a collection of buildings.

A pair of majestic Clydesdales watched them from a paddock on their right.

More horses and ponies grazed beyond them on the green pine-sprinkled slopes that rose towards the mountains.

A mix of anticipation and dread knotted Christy’s stomach as she pulled into the car park beside a shiny new four-wheel drive.

A tall, athletic young woman stepped from the truck’s cabin, phone pressed to her ear.

She spoke briefly before lowering the ramp.

Now Christy had a clear view of the horse on board.

Tethered to a rail, the horse had a bright bay coat that glistened with sweat as it fought to free itself, tossing its head wildly.

The woman strode up the ramp and the animal aimed a vicious sideways kick at her.

She slapped its flank matter-of-factly and untied the rope.

The big bay clattered down the ramp, dragging the woman after it, muscles coiled tight beneath its shining coat.

For Christy, the stunning creature embodied both beauty and chaos.

With ears pinned it proceeded to trot around its handler in ever-widening circles.

She wrestled to bring it under control. The pair seemed evenly matched in this dangerous dance.

The woman caught Christy’s eye, gesturing for her to wind down the window. ‘Move your car,’ she shouted. ‘Can’t you see I need room here?’

Christy hurriedly turned over the ignition.

To her horror, the Mazda rocketed forwards, almost hitting the bay and startling it into a full rear.

The horse towered over them, all of its power and majesty on show.

It seemed to hang in midair forever. Christy held her breath, hypnotised.

Then it crashed back down, its shod forefeet smashing the windscreen of the nearby four-wheel drive with tremendous force.

The bay struggled to extract its trapped legs from the broken windshield, thrashing from side to side as the woman tried to calm it.

Christy hurried from the car, eager to help, slamming the door behind her.

The sound was like a gunshot. The horse’s reaction was immediate and terrifying.

It reared high again, freeing its bleeding legs, eyes wild with panic.

For a moment Christy feared it would topple over backwards.

Her hands flew to her mouth in horror as Tyler and Leo cautiously emerged from the car.

As the horse regained its balance and crashed back to earth, one forefoot landed on the woman’s boot.

A chilling scream tore from her throat as she collapsed – a cry of pure agony.

Christy rushed forwards again, intent on catching the horse before it escaped.

But it dodged her grasp, knocking her over in its bid for freedom.

It effortlessly cleared a five-rail fence before disappearing behind some trees, leaving behind nothing but the echoes of its hoof beats.

The young woman lay on the ground, fury etched on her face amid the pain. ‘What were you thinking?’ she screamed.

Christy climbed shakily to her feet. ‘I ... I’m so sorry. I ...’ Her voice faltered. Words were inadequate in the face of the mayhem she’d caused.

Tyler kneeled beside the fallen woman.

‘I’m Maggie Kent,’ she whispered through gritted teeth. ‘And I think my ankle’s broken.’

Tyler scooped her into his arms without a word and carried her to the little Mazda. Christy trailed after them, feeling helpless.

Leo opened the passenger door and Tyler gently sat Maggie on the seat. ‘Where’s the nearest place we can get you an X-ray?’

‘I feel dizzy.’

Tyler grabbed his phone. ‘Dalby Hospital has an emergency department,’ he told Christy after a few seconds. ‘It’s about an hour back the way we came. Can you drive her?’

‘No,’ yelled Maggie, shrinking back. ‘That idiot isn’t driving me anywhere. She’s already tried to kill me once.’

Christy paled at her words. Maggie vomited out the open door. Her breathing had grown shallow and rapid.

Tyler turned to Christy, speaking in a whisper. ‘She’s disoriented and her heart’s racing. I think she’s in shock. Maggie needs a doctor asap.’

‘You’d better take her then,’ said Christy. ‘After what just happened, it might distress her if I take the driver’s seat.’

Tyler seemed torn. He glanced at his son, who slouched nearby, eyes downcast, hands shoved in his pockets.

‘I’ll look after Leo,’ said Christy, seeing Tyler’s dilemma. ‘Just go.’

He shut Maggie’s door and got behind the wheel. ‘I’m taking you to hospital,’ he soothed. ‘Sit back and try to relax.’

As the car jerked into motion again, a couple emerged from the house on the hill. Christy’s tongue rasped like sandpaper against her lips. They must be the owners. What a disastrous first meeting!

The pair approached, staring firstly at Christy, and then at the empty truck. They were followed by a big black German shepherd playing chasey with a little blonde girl of about five.

‘Christy, right? I’m Tom Lord and I teach maths, science and double up as a counsellor.

’ The man offered his hand along with a killer smile.

‘And this is my wife, Clare, who runs the place. She teaches history, legal studies and equine therapy. Although we all pitch in when needed. Until you arrived, we were desperately short of a teacher.’ The pretty child ran up and Tom swung her into the air.

‘This is our daughter, Jess, and our son, Jack, is at footy practice.’

They were a good-looking couple. Him with sandy hair worn in a no-nonsense buzz cut, and rugged tanned features. Her, statuesque with clever eyes, an Akubra hat and a neat blonde bob. The dog ran up to greet Christy. ‘And that’s Samson.’

She patted Samson, who gambolled around her in pleasure. ‘I’m Christy Peacock, and this—’ When she turned around to introduce Leo, he was gone. Great – and she’d promised Tyler to look after the boy.

Tom looked at the empty truck. ‘Where’re Maggie and the new horse?’

With a sinking heart Christy explained what had happened. ‘Maggie’s on her way to hospital for an X-ray with Leo’s father.’ She showed them the broken windscreen. ‘Seems I’ve caused a lot of trouble. What a first impression I must be making.’

‘Around here we call that breaking in the newbies .’ Tom chuckled, his laughter softening the edges of her self-reproach.

‘It’s an unfortunate accident to be sure, but Maggie will receive the medical care she needs,’ said Clare, her smile kind. ‘Life at Currawong is never dull. You’ll fit right in.’

With those simple words, the taut strings of Clare’s anxiety begin to relax. But there was still the matter of the missing boy.

Tom examined the churned-up ground. ‘I reckon young Leo’s gone after Lofty, our wayward thoroughbred.’

Then they spotted him, a figure silhouetted on a rise, shoulders set and gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

Tom shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand for a better look. ‘I’ll get the quad bike and go fetch him.’

Clare laid a soft hand at Christy’s back, guiding her forwards.

‘Come on, I’ll give you the tour.’ She showed her the stables and yards, introducing her to several of the school horses.

‘This is Tango.’ Clare patted the white blaze of a roan gelding with a hogged mane and eyes like polished agate. ‘He’s nice and steady for beginners.’

‘Just right for me then.’ Christy let her fingers trail along the roan’s neck, feeling the powerful muscles twitch beneath her touch. There was something primal about the connection between humans and horses.

‘Have you ever ridden?’ Clare asked.

‘Only as a kid. I must have been twelve years old when I last mounted a pony.’

‘You’ll do fine then. It’s like riding a bike.’

Christy wasn’t so sure. Her mother had forgotten how to ride a bike.

When she’d tried last Christmas – admittedly after fifty years – she couldn’t get it to stay upright no matter how hard she tried.

Christy’s dad kept chasing after and saving her from falls, until he finally convinced her to give up.

It had been hilarious at the time. Christy gulped hard. It didn’t seem quite so funny now.

They walked along the row of friendly heads hanging over stable doors.

‘Most of our horses have been rescued from difficult situations,’ explained Clare.

‘Some were injured and needed time to heal. Instead they were sent for slaughter. Some came from homes that could no longer afford to feed them. Some came from rodeos, or cruel homes or the racetrack. Thanks to Tom’s and Maggie’s hard work, all these horses are now happy, healthy and safe to ride.

We like to think troubled humans aren’t the only ones who can find a safe haven here at Currawong Creek. ’