Read Online Sunset Ridge by Nicole Alexander - Free Book Online Page B

Harold replied indignantly, ‘the King would send troops.’
    â€˜If w-we w-were attacked? Out here in th-the b-bush?’ Luther let a handful of river sand run through his fingers. ‘Dying stock when it doesn’t r-rain, drowning s-stock when it does, and l-long b-boring days in b-between.’ He tapped his chin thoughtfully. ‘I’d tell the invaders they could h-have it.’
    A straightening of Harold’s shoulders was the first indication that he had a bite. Dave knew the signs by heart and could plot the course of the upcoming battle in his head; the tensing of muscles, the concentration, the battle of wills between fish and man. Harold, never one to be beaten by anything or anyone, treated fishing with the same solemnity Miss Waites gave to their weekly bible reading, and as Harold held the record for the most catches, every fish added to his tally left Thaddeus and the rest of them further behind.
    â€˜Keep it t-taut, keep the line t-taut, H-harold, or you’ll l-lose him.’ Luther jumped to his feet as Harold began to slowly wind in the line.
    When Harold took a step forward, they all did; when he paused briefly to check that his catch was still hooked to the line, they each held their breath in anticipation.
    â€˜I’ve got him.’ A final tug brought the shimmering yellow-belly to the water’s edge.
    â€˜He’s a b-beauty,’ Luther enthused, ‘a six-p-pounder.’
    The top of the fish was dark brown but once floundering on its side in the shallows the iridescent gold of its body sparkled up through the water. Harold grabbed hold of the fish by moving his hand from the head towards the tail so as not to get lanced by the protruding fins. ‘It’s a good size. Think I’ll keep it.’ Carefully freeing the hook, he dropped the fish into a hessian sack and sat the bag in the river’s shallows.
    â€˜Well, that gives Harold twelve big ones for the year so far,’ Thaddeus stated flatly. ‘Maybe we should change waterholes.’
    â€˜B-bollocks,’ Luther argued. ‘Th-this is the b-best fishing hole in these p-parts. Fishing’s about skill and Harold is th-the best.’
    Thaddeus fetched his rifle from where it lay in the sand. Deftly loading a bullet into the chamber, he swept the barrel across the river bank. The target came in the shape of a sulphur-crested cockatoo, which Thaddeus dropped from the branches of an ancient tree with a single shot. The white-feathered bird fell silently to land with a plop in the river as thirty cockatoos took flight, their outstretched wings filling the pale blue of the sky.
    â€˜If we do go to war, Harold,’ Thaddeus walked towards his horse, ‘I don’t think your fishing will help us.’
    Harold and Luther exchanged glances.
    Dave knew that Thaddeus was changing. He had, on more than one occasion, caught Thaddeus checking his reflection in the mirror. Anyone would think he was the one being exhibited at the Banyan Show and not Sunset Ridge’s prize fleece. No, Dave didn’t think the war was the reason for the changes in his brother. It was something or somebody else.
    With the others diverted packing up their things, Dave walked nonchalantly down to the water’s edge and, quickly untying the top of the submerged hessian bag, let the yellow-belly escape to safety. He caught a glimpse of shimmering scales beneath the water’s surface and smiled.
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    Lily Harrow fiddled with the cutlery at her place setting. At the opposite end of the ten-seat dining table, her husband twirled a water glass, the finely etched crystal refracting slivers of light from the kerosene lamps on the sideboard. At fifty, G.W. Harrow resembled the grainy photograph of his father. Over the years, watery blue eyes, sunken cheeks and a thick, military-style moustache had replaced crinkled laughter lines and a ready smile. Of course, in fairness she too had lost