rivaled in the state only by Weston Park.
âNope,â Bucko said, raising an eyebrow. Tully narrowed her eyes at him as he casually lifted a finger to acknowledge a silver Land Cruiser passing in the oncoming lane.
She turned back to the highway, chewing her lip until it hurt and was lost in her thoughts when Bucko finally slowed to hang left into a gravel road that dipped down into the river flats. She sat forward in the seat, dropped her bag on the floor, searching the paddocks of the acreages and farms all around. The tyres crunched over gravel, the trailer banging over the grooves etched like a washboard on the narrowing gravel track.
The road hit a dead end a few hundred metres along, and she didnât see the driveway until they were on top of it. Tully took in the faded pink Queenslander, raised several metres off the ground to protect it from flooding, sagging in the middle of a wide, overgrown front yard. A rusted station wagon and dozens more shells and skeletons of cars and motorbikes were strewn across the yard, around the house and as far as she could see into the property. A man with long grey hair holding a brown paper bag with a bottle top sticking out of it stood up on the front verandah, which was rotting at the edges and open to the drop with no handrail. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, his mouth tensing into a hard, unwelcoming line.
Tullyâs heart sped as Bucko pulled into the driveway and parked in a narrow void amongst the disintegrating collection of vehicles â alongside the house and a barbed wire boundary fence. He killed the engine, un-clicked his seatbelt and went to hop out. âCâmon,â he said, nodding towards the house.
Tullyâs eyebrows almost met, but she reached for the door handle. She watched the man on the front verandah from the corner of her eye. The hair on the back of her neck crept up, goosebumps racing down her arms and legs. Her heart thumped with uneasiness, but she was willing herself to open the door just as a huge, muscly dog came tearing around the corner of the house. It hit the end of the chain, barking ferociously.
â Holyâ â Tully said, her hand ripping back from the door handle like it was scalding. â Bucko! â
He didnât look back, but waved for her to follow as he disappeared through the maze of cars, around the back of the house.
Holy crap , Tully thought, her face suddenly burning, her brain pulsing, hands clammy and shivering. Now what do I do?!
âTerror!â The man yelled at the dog. âEnough.â He sat back in his chair and reached for something on the plank of wood beside him.
Tully froze, imagining it could be a gun, and ducked to the floor. When she realised she was probably being ridiculous, she peeked up over the dashboard. The man had turned away, a cordless telephone pressed to his ear.
Come on, Athens , she told herself, quit being such a sook! She opened the door and hopped swiftly out of the ute, keen to get as far away from the snapping dog as possible. He growled as she darted past â she ducked around a rusted hatchback half sunken into the dry ground, then escaped around the corner and into the full shade of the side of the house. Bucko was up ahead, leaning against a wooden fence, staring into the back paddock.
Tully glanced over her shoulder to make sure Terror hadnât somehow slipped his chain and followed her, before joining him at the rail. She squinted across the paddock in the dull light of dusk, then blinked, her heart leaping when she spotted a skinny bay thoroughbred in the back corner of the wide, square dirt paddock. The horseâs hip bones jutted out sickeningly, each of the ribs clearly defined under a patchy, filthy coat. Something in her curved face and cute pointed ears gave her away as a filly. Tully groaned at the condition of her body, of her long, cracked hooves, but found herself smiling at the way the little filly still managed to
âNope,â Bucko said, raising an eyebrow. Tully narrowed her eyes at him as he casually lifted a finger to acknowledge a silver Land Cruiser passing in the oncoming lane.
She turned back to the highway, chewing her lip until it hurt and was lost in her thoughts when Bucko finally slowed to hang left into a gravel road that dipped down into the river flats. She sat forward in the seat, dropped her bag on the floor, searching the paddocks of the acreages and farms all around. The tyres crunched over gravel, the trailer banging over the grooves etched like a washboard on the narrowing gravel track.
The road hit a dead end a few hundred metres along, and she didnât see the driveway until they were on top of it. Tully took in the faded pink Queenslander, raised several metres off the ground to protect it from flooding, sagging in the middle of a wide, overgrown front yard. A rusted station wagon and dozens more shells and skeletons of cars and motorbikes were strewn across the yard, around the house and as far as she could see into the property. A man with long grey hair holding a brown paper bag with a bottle top sticking out of it stood up on the front verandah, which was rotting at the edges and open to the drop with no handrail. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, his mouth tensing into a hard, unwelcoming line.
Tullyâs heart sped as Bucko pulled into the driveway and parked in a narrow void amongst the disintegrating collection of vehicles â alongside the house and a barbed wire boundary fence. He killed the engine, un-clicked his seatbelt and went to hop out. âCâmon,â he said, nodding towards the house.
Tullyâs eyebrows almost met, but she reached for the door handle. She watched the man on the front verandah from the corner of her eye. The hair on the back of her neck crept up, goosebumps racing down her arms and legs. Her heart thumped with uneasiness, but she was willing herself to open the door just as a huge, muscly dog came tearing around the corner of the house. It hit the end of the chain, barking ferociously.
â Holyâ â Tully said, her hand ripping back from the door handle like it was scalding. â Bucko! â
He didnât look back, but waved for her to follow as he disappeared through the maze of cars, around the back of the house.
Holy crap , Tully thought, her face suddenly burning, her brain pulsing, hands clammy and shivering. Now what do I do?!
âTerror!â The man yelled at the dog. âEnough.â He sat back in his chair and reached for something on the plank of wood beside him.
Tully froze, imagining it could be a gun, and ducked to the floor. When she realised she was probably being ridiculous, she peeked up over the dashboard. The man had turned away, a cordless telephone pressed to his ear.
Come on, Athens , she told herself, quit being such a sook! She opened the door and hopped swiftly out of the ute, keen to get as far away from the snapping dog as possible. He growled as she darted past â she ducked around a rusted hatchback half sunken into the dry ground, then escaped around the corner and into the full shade of the side of the house. Bucko was up ahead, leaning against a wooden fence, staring into the back paddock.
Tully glanced over her shoulder to make sure Terror hadnât somehow slipped his chain and followed her, before joining him at the rail. She squinted across the paddock in the dull light of dusk, then blinked, her heart leaping when she spotted a skinny bay thoroughbred in the back corner of the wide, square dirt paddock. The horseâs hip bones jutted out sickeningly, each of the ribs clearly defined under a patchy, filthy coat. Something in her curved face and cute pointed ears gave her away as a filly. Tully groaned at the condition of her body, of her long, cracked hooves, but found herself smiling at the way the little filly still managed to
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