Red Dirt Country Read online

  Fleur McDonald has lived and worked on farms for much of her life. After growing up in the small town of Orroroo in South Australia, she went jillarooing, eventually co-owning an 8000-acre property in regional Western Australia.

  Fleur likes to write about strong women overcoming adversity, drawing inspiration from her own experiences in rural Australia. She has two children, an energetic kelpie and a Jack Russell terrier.

  Website: www.fleurmcdonald.com

  Facebook: FleurMcDonaldAuthor

  Instagram: fleurmcdonald

  OTHER BOOKS

  Red Dust

  Blue Skies

  Purple Roads

  Silver Clouds

  Crimson Dawn

  Emerald Springs

  Indigo Storm

  Sapphire Falls

  The Missing Pieces of Us

  Suddenly One Summer

  Fool’s Gold

  Where the River Runs

  Without a Doubt

  Starting From Now

  First published in 2020

  Copyright © Fleur McDonald 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone:(61 2) 8425 0100

  Email:[email protected]

  Web:www.allenandunwin.com

  ISBN 978 1 76052 929 1

  eISBN 978 1 76087 387 5

  Set by Bookhouse, Sydney

  Cover design: Nada Backovic

  Cover images: Rob Lang Images and iStock

  They say that a feather is a symbol of those who have passed, sending love and support from realms beyond. Every time I see a feather, I think of you.

  In memory of the beautiful Amy Milne, publicist wonder, dear friend and Pooh-bear lover, who died far too young and left such a gaping hole in many lives.

  And to those who are precious.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Author’s note

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  2000

  Deep ragged breaths tore from Dave as his heart hammered against his chest wall. Heat pulsed through him and sweat trickled down his brow, onto his cheek. Impatiently, he tried to flick the beads away. He wanted to cry out. To fill his lungs … They were burning with the effort of dragging air into them.

  Heavy footsteps pounded behind him on the pavement. Were they closer? He had to resist turning around to check, so he put his head down and concentrated on running. Running away. One foot in front of the other.

  His muscles ached with the exertion, and fear swirled around his body.

  ‘No,’ he muttered as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dave twisted his body one way, then the other, feeling freedom again, before he stumbled.

  Head down, he faltered again, regained his footing and kept his pace consistent. Fast enough to just be out of reach. Away, away, away.

  Crack! The sound of a shotgun.

  Dave’s instinct was to yell out. He opened his mouth, but something else, something more deep-seated—terror, maybe—made him close it before he could utter a sound. They’d hear him if he cried out and then they would know where he was.

  Three more steps, then he lurched as if he’d been pushed forwards.

  Heat seared through him; he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Only heat, not pain.

  His chest was burning too; he couldn’t catch his breath and his whole body was on fire. He had to stop. No choice.

  Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, he thought, reaching up to touch his shoulder. Now he could smell blood. He knew without looking that his hand would be red.

  The river, he had to get to the river …

  But he was too late. His slowing had meant Bulldust was on top of him, pulling him to the ground, shaking him by the shoulders.

  ‘You’re dead!’ Bulldust’s breath was acrid in his face.

  ‘Get off me,’ roared Dave, trying to throw his arm back, but his arm was too heavy. As much as he tried, he couldn’t raise it to fend off Bulldust. Instead he twisted and tried to roll away, kicking out as he moved.

  ‘Thought you were cleverer than me, didn’t you?’

  ‘Get off …’ He tried again to fling Bulldust from his body.

  ‘Dave!’

  ‘No,’ he grunted as he felt Bulldust shake him even harder.

  ‘Dave, wake up. You’re having another dream!’

  Not Bulldust. Melinda.

  His eyes flicked open and he saw the pale glow of the bedside light and Melinda above him, frowning. Her hands were on his arm. ‘What?’

  ‘You were having another nightmare,’ she said.

  Dave licked his lips as he tried to get his bearings. His heart felt like it was pounding in his temples, and when he reached up to touch his forehead, his fingers came away damp with sweat. He automatically touched his shoulder. No blood. No open wound. Only the ever-present ache from where the bullet had entered his flesh a few months before.

  ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, sitting up and reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table. ‘Didn’t mean to wake you.’

  Melinda was upright now, her arms crossed over her pregnant stomach. ‘It’s the third time this week. I think you’re going to have to do something about the nightmares, Dave. You can’t go on like this. I can’t keep waking up every night. God knows it’s going to be bad enough when the baby comes.’

  Dave threw back the covers and swung his legs out of bed, his feet checking the floor to make sure it was solid, not like the shifting ground of his dream. He stood up and rubbed at his face. ‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  ‘Fat chance of that now,’ she huffed, starting to pull the covers up and roll over. ‘Between the baby kicking and you moaning, there’s not a lot of rest to be had.’

  Dave switched off the bedside lamp and ran his hand over Melinda’s hair. ‘Try to go back to sleep,’ he said, before shutting the door quietly.

  He walked out into the kitchen and stood by the sink. The nightmare had seemed so real—he had smelled Bulldust’s sweat and breath. Heard his heavy breathing as he chased him.
Felt his hand on his shoulder. Listened as Bulldust threatened him. So real.

  Swallowing hard, he poured himself a glass of water and drank it, staring at his reflection in the window. Bulldust had changed his life. Changed the way he looked at the job; made Dave want to get back out onto the streets, to chase down those bastards who thought they were above the law.

  The ache of his shoulder reminded him of the vow he’d made as he’d walked out of the Brisbane hospital: he would track down Bulldust and his brother Scotty, and he would make sure they went to jail.

  Dave knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep now. The gnawing pain had seen to that, but so had his thoughts. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was 3.09 a.m.

  That was the time he’d been waking up at, most nights, since he returned to Perth from Queensland. Not always to a bad dream. Not always to Bulldust chasing him. Sometimes he just woke up. He would go from being in a deep sleep to staring at the ceiling, wondering what had woken him.

  He usually had the unsettling feeling that Bulldust was watching him.

  Of course, it wasn’t the case.

  Or was it?

  How could they really be sure that the brothers hadn’t tracked down Dave and his family to where they lived and were just biding their time?

  Dave grabbed two painkillers from the packet on the bench and refilled his glass. Swallowing them, he hoped that the pills would stop the pain and make him sleepy enough to stop thinking. He walked through the house until he reached the lounge. Here, he pulled back the curtain and stood in front of the window, almost daring Bulldust to come and find him.

  Looking into the darkness, he tried to see if there was any movement in the bushes that hid his house from the road. There was no moon tonight, so it was hard to tell. Perhaps the bushes were shifting in the gentle breeze. Maybe he should go out and look. Just to be sure.

  A dog barked in the distance and Dave froze. Spencer, his previous partner at Barrabine, the one who had suggested Dave go undercover, had said he was suffering from the effects of being shot.

  ‘Mate, it’s a traumatic thing to have to go through,’ he’d said when they’d talked on the phone yesterday.

  ‘I should be tougher than that,’ Dave had answered. ‘I’m a copper.’

  ‘Don’t see how that makes you exempt. Plenty of other fellas out there who have been through the same, more or less, and feel the way you do. No shame in it. How many times have I told you that?’

  Dave had harrumphed, still feeling that he shouldn’t be reacting this way. The doctors were hoping he would be able to get back to work in another week, but he wasn’t sure he could wait that long. He needed to keep himself busy. Get his mind occupied again.

  Of course, it hadn’t helped that Mel’s father had visited yesterday and made some pointed remarks about him being off work.

  ‘Planning on going back to work any time soon? I shouldn’t have thought a gunshot would stop you for too long. Seemed like you love your work more than your family.’

  The remarks had made Dave want to punch Mark again; he’d done it once before and had never felt the need to apologise. Oh, he’d thought about saying sorry since he’d returned home after being undercover in Nundrew, but every time he came close, Mark made a snide remark and Dave only wanted to hit him all over again.

  Even though being around the house all day was hard, he had to admit that part of him loved it. He got to play with Bec and be involved with her daily life. Things he’d missed out on for a while. Yesterday, he’d taken her to playgroup while Melinda had had a pre-natal appointment. He’d wanted to go to that too, but Melinda had said it would be too hard with Bec there.

  Sometimes Melinda made him feel like a hired babysitter rather than Bec’s father. And when she was having her afternoon sleeps, the house was so quiet. Silent enough to hear the clock tick. This was when he most craved the noise and adrenalin-filled rush of detective work. The phone calls and call-outs. Being on a high-pressure job.

  Spencer had reminded Dave that it wasn’t like that all the time, only when they were nearing the end of a case. Most times, the detectives would be labouring over photographs, witness statements and answering phone calls from victims who wanted answers. That was easy to forget when he longed for the stimulation of a case.

  I know, I know, he thought to himself as he continued to stare out the window. But I miss it. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against the cold pane. And maybe it would help my head.

  Melinda handed a wriggling Bec to Dave. ‘Can you give her breakfast? I’ve got to get ready for my doctor’s appointment.’

  Bec gurgled with laughter as Dave held her under his arm and tickled her tummy. ‘We can do that, can’t we, princess?’ He looked over at Mel who had picked up the sponge and was wiping the bench down. Her stomach was pressing against the bench, her hair swept up into a loose bun. From where Dave was standing, she looked beautiful.

  ‘Hey.’ He reached out and touched her cheek. ‘I’m sorry about last night. You look gorgeous today. Having my baby suits you.’ He didn’t mention the black rings under her eyes, or that she looked exhausted. He was sure he looked the same. The only one who was sleeping just fine was Bec, and her energy showed that.

  A flicker of a frown crossed Melinda’s face before she smiled. ‘I wish you’d talk to someone about how you’re feeling, Dave. Maybe you should see a different counsellor or something.’ She covered his hand with hers for a moment, then dropped it again as Bec began to wriggle in protest. ‘This one doesn’t seem to be making progress with you.’

  It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her that the police were paying for his sessions and he had to be cleared by this lady before he could return to work. The police force couldn’t have a person back at work who was unfit, physically or mentally. Dave decided against saying so. Considering how little sleep they had both had, it would start an argument. Instead, he nodded as if he agreed.

  He didn’t, of course. The counsellor was fine, and the appointments were just something he needed to do so he could get back to work. He knew he’d be better off at the pub with some of his colleagues; men and women who understood what it was like to be shot for the greater good. To be shot taking down some hardened criminal.

  To fear. Fear never seeing his family again. Fear that he’d lose his life in the process. Fear that he wouldn’t catch the criminals he was chasing.

  A counsellor could only provide coping strategies, not the real understanding of someone who had been in the situation Dave had. With someone bearing down on him, wanting him dead.

  ‘Daddy!’ Bec slapped her chubby hand against his shoulder to get his attention.

  ‘Sorry, princess.’ He set her down on the floor and opened a kitchen cabinet. ‘There’s a bowl in here,’ he sang to the tune of the Play School jingle. ‘And a spoon as well. We’re looking for the Weet-Bix … and the milk …’ He broke off as Mel grabbed her handbag.

  ‘I’ll be back late morning,’ she said. ‘Hopefully the doctor will be on time and I won’t get held up there.’

  ‘Do you have to have any blood tests or anything today?’ Dave asked, as he helped Bec get out one Weet-Bix. ‘You can crush it up,’ he said to his daughter.

  ‘Not today. Just the normal urine tests. I’ll let you know if there’s anything amiss.’ She walked around to Bec and gave her a kiss. ‘Be good for Daddy,’ she said.

  ‘Bye, Mummy,’ Bec answered, looking up from the bowl of breakfast cereal.

  ‘Little Miss Princess and I will be just fine here, won’t we?’ He leaned over to give Mel a kiss goodbye, but she’d already turned away and was heading out the door. ‘See you then,’ he said to her disappearing back.

  Dave watched her raise her hand and give a little wave without turning around. Life with Mel hadn’t got any easier since he’d come back from undercover. He’d thought it would be perfect. They’d both agreed they wanted to be with each other. To try. His near-death experience had reminded them both what they felt for e
ach other and what life would be like without the other. With this in mind, he’d thought their relationship would be fail-safe.

  Dave had agreed to move to Perth, but not Bunbury, where her parents were. Perth was closer to them than where he’d been stationed, at Barrabine, and he’d felt it was a good compromise. But then her parents had moved to Perth instead. Only two suburbs over from where he, Melinda and Bec lived.

  Dave had tried his hardest to fit in with this new life in the six months he’d been back. He’d been promoted to Detective Senior Constable in the stock squad—where he’d always wanted to work—but he hadn’t yet started. Maybe the counsellor would sign off on his mental fitness after his next appointment. Until then, he was in limbo.

  As he listened to the car start and his wife drive away, he thought, The sooner I get back to work, the better.

  Chapter 2

  Kevin swung the Toyota Land Cruiser across the red ground and headed towards the windmill. The cattle pads were deep in the earth and made the ute shake and clatter as the vehicle ran over them. He inspected the feed, bushes and trees as he drove. Some rain wouldn’t go astray. The seasons had started to change, and it wasn’t long before the Wet was supposed to start. The temperature had risen in the last couple of weeks from the balmy high twenties to the more intense high thirties and, over the weekend, the first lot of thunderclouds had turned up, but dissipated as quickly as they’d arrived.

  His father, Jackie, had been sitting next to the fire back at the homestead, talking to other Elders from the community, and Kevin had joined them to ask if they thought the Wet might come early this year.

  ‘Nup. Not this year, boy. Still too cold.’

  Kevin had frowned as he’d looked out across the bushland. Last year had been dry too. If it didn’t rain, he’d have to bring in hay from down south and that was a costly exercise. Not something he wanted to do if he could avoid it.

  As he rattled across the bush, the steering wheel vibrating under his hand, he realised that the grasses were more than dry—they’d started to break down. The bushes and trees had the telltale signs of broken branches and leaves stripped off. The cattle were eating them now. Kevin knew that when the cattle started to eat the bloodbush and leaves, most of the more palatable feed had been eaten.