Red Dirt Heart 04 - Red Dirt Heart 4 (15 page)

“A lot,” I answered immediately. I was glad I wasn’t the only one who’d made that connection. “I think he sees an awful lot of himself in her.”

Abandoned. Mistreated. Alone. Given up on.

“And for what it’s worth,” I added, “I think the horse knows it. Somehow, in some way, I think she knows Charlie understands.”

George didn’t say anything to that, so I added, “That sounds stupid, don’t it?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Not at all.”

“When will Charlie get on her?” I asked. “He just keeps saying when she’s ready. But man, I wanna see it.” Then it occurred to me. “Is that what he’s doing today? Is that why he didn’t want me there? In case he gets thrown off and he doesn’t want me to worry?”

George chuckled his old-farmer laugh. “Not that I’m aware of, Travis.”

“I’ll kill him if he does and I’m not there.”

He shook his head. “I highly doubt it. He’ll get on her when she’s ready. And she ain’t ready.”

I sighed. “You know, I thought between me and Charlie, I was the patient one. But watching him with her, well, he leaves me for dead.”

“You’ve got a truckload of patience,” George said. “And putting up with Charlie’s stubborn hide, you need every ounce of it. Just like how he is with that horse right now is how you were two and a half years ago.”

I looked at him, not sure I followed his meaning.

“He was that horse: scared as hell and just about ready to bolt. And like he is with that horse, you were all patient like you had all the time in the world. You stood your ground and made him yield.”

“I broke him in?”

George laughed. “In many ways.”

I thought about that for a while. “You know, there’s about three dozen horse-anatomy-related jokes I could say right now, but given Charlie’s not here, I’ll save them.”

George shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “I appreciate that.”

I laughed and stretched out the best I could. “I miss not being able to put my feet up on the dash like I could in the old truck. I’d lean against Charlie’s arm, put my feet up near the window, pull my hat down over my eyes and sleep for an hour.”

George smiled to himself, and the rest of the trip was pretty quiet, but it was never awkward. I felt comfortable around George, peaceful even. He’d fully accepted me into Charlie’s life, and I’d probably go so far as to say he seemed thankful for me. To me, he was Charlie’s dad, and I respected him as such.

When we got to the co-op, George told me which grains to get and I lifted the fifty-pound bags onto my shoulder and carried them to the truck. He chatted with Brian about God-knows-what, and Brian even acknowledged me by name. He knew I was Charlie’s boyfriend, but over the last two years he seemed to have gotten over any prejudice he might have had. Well, that and he was scared of losing the Sutton account. But either way, he was pleasant enough. He even told me to have a nice day as he waved me off.

It was just another sign that life here in the middle of the Outback was moving forward.

By the time we’d gotten all the groceries that Ma and Nara needed, I was starving.

“You’re always hungry,” George said.

“You sound like Ma.”

He smiled. “Well, we have a full car load of groceries. Pick something outta one of the bags. There’s bread rolls and enough apples to feed a small country.”

I laughed at Charlie’s only request. “Nah. I want something I can’t normally get. I eat this stuff”—I waved my hands at the bags and boxes of food—“every day. I want something else.”

George sighed, resigned. “Like what?”

I thought about it for a second. “Fish. I want fish, battered and served with fries.”

And that turned out to be a mistake of gastroenteritis proportions.

Gastroenteritis hell and an angel.

I started to feel unwell about halfway home. At first I thought maybe it was the greasy batter and fries that upset my stomach. But by the time we pulled up at the homestead, I was pretty sure it was something else.

It was late afternoon, and Ma, Nara and Charlie came out of the house to help unload the truck. Charlie took one look at me and his smile died right there. He rushed over. “Jesus. Do you feel okay?”

I shook my head. “I think I ate some bad fish.”

And because he made me think about it, I could feel it swirl in my stomach and lurch upward. I raced to the bathroom and made it just in time.

I crawled into bed, just needing to lie down. Charlie pulled off my boots and undid my jeans before he pulled the blankets over me. He left for just a second and came back with a bucket, some towels and a wet facecloth. He dabbed the cool damp cloth to my forehead and pushed my hair off my face. “Anything to get out of unloading the groceries, huh?”

I tried to smile, but my stomach lurched. Charlie quickly grabbed the bucket and held it while I vomited again. When I was done, he wiped my face and mouth with the damp cloth and spread the towels over the mattress. He took the bucket out of the room and brought it back emptied and cleaned, along with a fresh wet facecloth.

The thing about food poisoning is that at first you wish to
not
be sick, and then you wish for death.

I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been so sick.

Charlie never left me. He wiped my face, my forehead, and cleaned up my sick. Even when I slept, I doubted he went far.

I didn’t want him to see me sick, but I didn’t want him to leave me either.

I don’t remember much of that first night. Between bouts of vomiting and passing out, Charlie wiping my forehead and cleaning me up, my whole body burned.

He made me sip water, and I remember hearing his and Ma’s voices saying things like “he’s burning up” and “call the doctor”, and I tried to tell them that I’d much rather just die in peace thanks, but I couldn’t even speak.

And when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, it did.

Because vomiting up foamy green bile— there was nothing else left in my stomach—wasn’t horrible enough, I had to get diarrhoea as well.

When I’d been in the bathroom for what must have been too long, Charlie knocked. “Trav? You okay?”

By this stage, I was lying on the bathroom floor because it was closer than the bed, and the tiles were a cold blessing to my hot skin. “Yeah.”

The door opened slowly and he peeked around, seeing me on the floor. “Shit. Are you okay?” he said, walking in.

“Just needed to lie down,” I told him. “Tiles feel nice.”

And when I thought he was gonna make me get up and get back into bed, he didn’t. He sat down beside me, rested his back against the bathroom counter and lifted my head so I could use his thigh as a pillow.

“You don’t need to look after me,” I told him. My voice sounded strange and pathetic, even to me.

“Oh, Trav,” he whispered. “In sickness and in health, right?”

I was so sick, and I was so grateful for him, for how much he loved me, that it brought tears to my eyes.

And there, sitting on the bathroom floor, he gently stroked my hair until I fell asleep.

* * * *

Apparently they’d spoken to the doctor over the phone who told them to feed me Benadryl and packets of electrolyte powders in water, and by day two I was feeling much better.

And when I say much better, I mean not begging for death.

I don’t know what work Charlie got done over those two days, but from the amount of time he spent babysitting me, I’d guess it wasn’t much. And when it wasn’t Charlie looking after me, it was Ma.

It was late afternoon, and I needed a shower. It was amazing the difference hot water and soap can make, not to mention brushing your teeth. When I finally dragged my sorry ass out of the bathroom, Charlie was changing the sheets on the bed, again.

“I’m sorry,” I told him.

“Hey, it’s no bother,” he said, touching my arm. “Feeling any better?”

“A little. Almost human after a shower, but I’m tired. Dunno how, after all the sleeping I’ve been doing.”

Charlie took my hand and led me back to bed. “Your body’s been through the wringer, that’s why.”

“I kinda hurt all over,” I admitted with a groan as I lay back down. My joints ached and my head ached, but the cool sheets were divine on my sore muscles. “I do love a fresh-made bed, though.”

Charlie sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed my arm. “I think Ma’s making you some beef broth. I’ll bring it in when it’s done. And maybe some toast.”

My stomach protested at the mention of food, even though I was hungry.

“And when everyone’s had dinner tonight and gone, you might like to lay out on the lounge, yeah?” he asked. “You gotta be sick of being in this room.”

My eyelids were getting heavier, but I smiled at him. “Sounds good.”

Charlie leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Get some more sleep.”

“Mm’kay,” I mumbled, fighting to stay awake. “Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

I wanted to tell him how grateful I was. I wanted to tell him he was wonderful and attentive, and he looked after me better than my own Momma ever did. I wanted to tell him that this side of him was damn near perfect, and if this was how he’d take to parenting, then he’d be the best dad in the world. But sleep had me cornered, and I couldn’t fight it anymore. So I whispered, “Love you,” hoping like hell he heard me before I fell into sleep.

* * * *

I didn’t eat any of Ma’s broth. In fact, I slept right through ’til morning. And on day three of my never-eating-fish-ever-again episode, I felt a lot better.

I got up and took a shower. I washed my hair, shaved and brushed my teeth, and when I walked into the kitchen, I felt pretty good.

“Dear God,” Ma cried. “You look awful.”

I snorted. “Thanks.”

Charlie was two steps away. “Hey. I thought I heard you.” He put his hand on my back and gave Ma the stink-eye. “And you don’t look awful.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean awful as in
awful
,” she said. “I meant thin. You must have lost ten pounds, Travis. And you didn’t have ten pounds to lose. Sit down, and I’ll make you something.”

I sat at her table, and she heated broth for me. “I’m very thankful to both of you for looking after me. That can’t have been… pleasant.”

“Don’t mention it, love,” Ma said, giving me one of her special smiles. “I seem to remember two boys looking after me not too long ago.”

Charlie sat down beside me and hooked his foot around mine. “You sound better. You look better. You feel okay?”

I nodded and smiled at the concern on his face. “I feel much better, thank you. And I’m sorry I’ve missed so much work these last few days.”

“Days?” Charlie asked. “You’ve done nothing but watch me in the round yard for two weeks.”

“How’s she going? What did I miss?”

Charlie chuckled. “She’s going fine, and you missed nothing. I haven’t exactly spent a great deal of time with her these last few days.”

I frowned. “Sorry. Will you need to start over?”

Charlie took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Stop apologising for being sick, and no, a few days doing minimal work probably did her the world of good.”

“I hate being sick.”

“You scared me,” he said quietly. “You were so ill. I called the doctor, and I spoke to your mum.”

“You what?” My eyes widened. “Charlie, she’ll only panic. Is she on her way here?”

He laughed quietly. “No, no. I told her it wasn’t that serious, but I wanted to know what food she gave you when you were little. You know”—he seemed embarrassed—“like a comfort thing when you weren’t feeling well.”

I smiled up at Ma, thankful that someone else was witness to just how sweet Charlie could be. I leaned over and kissed him quickly, just as Ma put a bowl of steaming broth and a plate of toast in front of me.

And oh. My. God.

I’d never tasted anything so good. It was warm, salty, full of flavour, and it was
food
. I hadn’t eaten a scrap of food in almost three days, and this was a broth from the gods.

“Oh my God,” I moaned, taking another spoonful. “So good.”

Charlie watched as I took mouthful after mouthful. His mouth was kinda open and his eyes had gone dark as he watched me. I smiled at him when he shifted in his seat. He whispered, “You shouldn’t make those noises when you eat.”

Ma turned and basically picked Charlie up by the shoulders, pushing him toward the door. “Let the boy eat in peace.”

Charlie mumbled something that sounded like “food porn” as she shoved him out of her kitchen. I laughed but kept on eating. Then I had some of the buttered toast. I’m pretty sure the sound I made wasn’t strictly appropriate because we heard Charlie groan before the front door slammed.

Ma laughed. “It’s that good, huh?”

I shoved in more toast and nodded. “Can I have some more?”

Ma sat down next to me. She was still smiling. “How about we let your stomach get used to that first. If you’re still hungry in an hour or so, I can get you some more.”

She was probably right, but I pouted nonetheless. I pushed my finished bowl away and rubbed my belly. “Did he really speak to my mom?”

Ma nodded. “He was worried about you.”

“He’s been really kind of wonderful,” I told her. “He’s looked after me so well. I mean, you did too, but Charlie… well, he was something else.”

Ma smiled like my words warmed her through. “He’s got a hard exterior, but he’s just a big ol’ softie on the inside.”

“He is,” I agreed. But it was something else. Something more. I didn’t want to go on about it because I’d just sound like a gushing fool…

“Just say it, Trav,” she prompted with a knowing pat on my hand.

“I guess I saw a different side to him,” I tried to explain. “A caregiver side, a protective side. He was a provider, for me. I don’t think I’m explaining that right…”

Ma nodded. “I get it, love.”

“I saw a very paternal side of him,” I said softly. “I mean, we’ve all seen how he is with Gracie and how much he adores her, and even with Amos. But he cared for me like he would a child.” I shook my head and laughed at myself. “That sounds stupid.”

She got a little teary. “Not at all.”

“He’d make such a good dad,” I whispered.

Ma swallowed hard. “Is that something you’ve talked about?”

I sighed. “A little. I want kids. One day. Not now,” I added quickly with a bit of a laugh. Then my smile faded. “And I think he does too, but I’m pretty sure Charlie’s terrified of being like his dad.”

Ma’s frown was long and deep. “He’s not his father.”

“We know that.”

“But he doesn’t.”

“Not yet,” I said. “Give me five or ten years to work on him, yeah?”

Ma smiled now. “You’re a glutton for punishment.”

“He’s worth it.”

She patted my hand. “He sure is.”

My stomach reminded me that it was still a little uneasy, and I was grateful Ma had stopped me at one bowl of broth. I was suddenly weary. “Ugh. How can I be tired?”

“You need to rest,” Ma said, her tone back to stern. “Go and have a lie-down if you need. You need another day or two to let your body recuperate.”

As much as I wanted to be out doing actual work, I knew she was right. “I might sit on the front veranda and watch him with his horse,” I said.

So that’s what I did.

Over the course of the morning, I had Nara keep me company for a while, then Gracie sat on my knee for an hour or so while Trudy mucked out stables. Even Nugget scampered out to see me, though I’m pretty sure it was just a ruse so he could sleep in the sun. Because after just a quick scratch behind his ear, he waddled over to the edge of the veranda, rolled onto his back and let his tummy collect the warmth.

All the while, Charlie kept doing his thing with his still-unnamed horse. Though today, he leaned his body over her. He jumped up so his head and arms were one side, feet on the other. No saddle or rug, just leaned over her, letting her feel his weight for just a second before sliding off. She never even flinched. He finished with some lunge work, which she did perfectly.

He never even used a lunge whip. Just a lead, his voice and subtle body commands, and she did it all without error. He rewarded her with an apple and a carrot, brushed her down, put her away to a clean stable and came inside for lunch.

The dining room was loud over trays of sandwiches and fruit. I’d only been out of action for three days, but I’d missed everyone. Even if they did call me “Chucky” and ask me if I’d like to have some fish for lunch.

I didn’t mind the nickname for the vomiting I’d done these last few days—the thing about Aussies is, the more nicknames they give you, the more they like you—but just the thought of eating fish made my stomach roll.