Always a Rainbow Read online

  Dragging her thoughts aside, she tried to concentrate on other matters, Jill for instance. Even though Brian might regard the girl with whom he had been brought up in the light of a little sister Angela felt certain that Jill was deeply in love with him. Love took little account of the loved one’s responses, didn’t she know it! It would be an agonizing experience for Jill to watch Brian taking part in the riding events where a split-second decision could make all the difference between victory or a threat to his already precarious state of health. Funny that she still felt no particular sense of trepidation about Mark, even though he too would be riding the wild horses that he and the shepherds had driven down from the bush-clad hills at the back of the station a few days previously. He was experienced at that type of riding, and if he took a fall he wouldn’t be seriously hurt.

  Was this mere wishful thinking? Or worse, one more proof of the blind adoration she had for him? She was fast becoming like the other employees at Waikare, trusting to his judgment implicitly, thinking there was no man in all the world like him. It’s because of living in this small isolated community, she told herself. There are so few men with whom to compare him. Who was she fooling? For in her heart she knew that all her life she would feel this way about him. Love ... she fell into a daydream. At the beginning of their acquaintance, how long ago it seemed, but it was actually , only a few weeks earlier, she had hated him. But even then something about him had sparked her into instant awareness of him. Now the spark had caught fire and if she weren’t careful the flames would destroy her. She jerked her thoughts aside, forcing herself to dwell on the tasks awaiting her attention.

  Yesterday she had prepared a picnic lunch in readiness for the outing and soon she was packing in a woven cane hamper the small savoury pies, club sandwiches and man-sized fruit cake baked in readiness for the outdoor meal. In the chili-bin she stowed away cans of beer for the men and fruit drinks for the children. Presently Mark was placing the bulging island-style hamper in the rear of the Land Rover.

  When she came lightly down the steps from the porch, a slim figure in black trouser suit, bright hair caught back with a ribbon, she found that already the drive was crowded with vehicles.

  Brian, seated at the wheel of a dust-coated truck, sent her a grin and the thought passed through her mind that today he appeared different from usual. His air of lassitude and boredom had given way to an expression of suppressed excitement. Like everyone else here the general atmosphere of the rodeo must have affected him.

  All at once she realised that Mark was striding towards her and as she met his quizzical blue gaze her traitorous heart gave its customary wild leap. “In you get. Twenty!” He was flinging open the door of the Land Rover. As she seated herself inside she realised that young Kevin was in the back of the vehicle.

  “Hi, Angela,” he leaned forward, “Mark says he has to bring me along to open the gates.”

  She smiled over her shoulder. “Well, that lets me out!”

  Ahead of them a stock truck was moving off, a group of children shouting and waving wildly from the cab. It was followed by a battered truck and as the weatherbeaten face turned smilingly towards them, she realised that the driver was Rusty. Horns tooted and drivers called to one another, then the cavalcade was taking the curving drive leading out towards the main road.

  “You’re going to enjoy this outing today. Twenty!” Mark told her, and for no reason at all she was swept by a wave of high sweet happiness. Aloud she admitted, “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  Her heart said. I’m enjoying it already, just being with you. What if she meant no more to him than Kevin in the seat behind? She was with Mark and suddenly everything was exciting. In this sense of newly-heightened perception hills were sharp-cut against the bluest of skies, the morning sunshine burnishing the leaves of the Moreton Bay fig trees was purest gold. She was with him and that was all that mattered. She hadn’t realised her gaze was fixed on his strong profile until suddenly he turned his head and at something in his gaze the tell-tale colour crept up her cheeks and she quickly averted her gaze. Still the sense of wild happiness, transient and somehow akin to pain, stayed with her. Much too aware of his nearness, she heard herself saying quickly, nervously, “I’ve never been to anything like this before. I don’t suppose,” she was unaware of the thread of wistfulness in her voice, “that I ever will again. Tell me, do any of the competitors ride in the rodeo as a living, make it a full-time job?”

  They jolted over the cattle-stop and Mark’s eyes were on the winding road ahead. “At twenty-five dollars a win and a few shows a year? You’ve got to be joking! No Twenty, it’s not a matter of the cash awards. These guys ride because they’d rather be doing that than anything else in the world. Lots of them are full-time musterers, stockmen, shearers, but others do all sorts of jobs.”

  She twinkled up at him. “Like managing a sheep station?”

  His warm appreciative grin sent her pulses racing. “Among other things. We’ve had a schoolteacher, an office worker, a couple of insurance salesmen. It’s a man’s game and we ride because we love it!”

  “You know something,” Kevin’s tones reached her from the back seat, “this is my first rodeo meeting too! You wouldn’t believe it, Angela, but the riders come up here from all over the country, right from the foot of the South Island, to compete in the championships!”

  Mark threw a teasing glance towards the small overhead mirror. “I can see you’ve been doing your homework on the subject.”

  “Have I ever?” Kevin leaned forward eagerly. “There’s a rider coming all the way from America and three buckjumpers from Queensland over in Australia. They’re here specially to follow the rodeo circuit. You have to stay on the horse until the bell sounds after ten seconds. Ten seconds doesn’t seem long, does it, Angela, but I bet when you’re up on one of those bucking broncos it would seem like forever! The judge gives twenty-five points to the rider and the horse for each buck! Gee, I can’t wait to see you ride today, Mark!” Glancing towards Kevin, Angela saw that the young face was fired with enthusiasm. “I wish I could ride like you! All the shepherds say you’ve won the Open Steer ride and the Bareback so many times it’s just not any fun for them any more!”

  Mark laughed. “They were having you on, mate.”

  Somehow, though, Angela was inclined to believe Kevin’s version. She brought her mind back to the wistful tones. “It takes a heck of a lot of saving up for, though, the gear. A saddle sets you back about two hundred and fifty bucks altogether.” His tone lightened and he raised a foot encased in a high leather boot. “I’ve got the boots, though, and the loan of this hat.”

  “Good for you,” Mark encouraged gravely.

  Angela turned to regard the boy in surprise. “Are you really competing today?”

  “Of course I am,” Kevin returned with pride.

  “The Youth Steer Ride, isn’t that it?” queried Mark. “That’s the one.”

  Angela laughed. “You know something, Kevin? I always had the idea that you were more at home on the motor-bike.” For it was well known on the station that the young farm worker preferred his “mountain goat” for careering over the rough terrain of the hills to the stock horses ridden by Mark and Brian as well as by the shepherds.

  “I like the bike,” Kevin admitted, “but the rodeo’s different. And I can ride you know!” Angela suspected that Kevin’s entry in the rodeo event was a matter of not losing face, for to compete with the rest of the staff at the annual event was a tradition of station life. He leaned forward, betraying a hidden anxiety by the tone of his voice. “Anyway, it’s the first event, so it will soon be over!”

  “You’re right, mate,” Mark teased. “I’ll give you two minutes at the most!” They laughed together.

  After a moment Kevin said thoughtfully, “You know what, Angela? I’ve been talking to the others at the station—you know, about falling and all that, and the fall doesn’t count, that’s nothing.” It was clear that fear lurked beh
ind the brave words. “What you’ve got to watch for is being kicked by one of the horses or getting your foot caught in a stirrup and being dragged along the ground.”

  Angela shuddered. As they swept over the Land Rover tracks winding up a sheep-dotted hill she gave voice to her thoughts. “But isn’t it cruel?”

  It was Mark who answered. “How do you mean? For the horses or riders?”

  “Well, both.”

  He guided the vehicle over a ridge and down towards a gully below. “It’s not too bad. Actually the rodeo mounts have a pretty easy life altogether. They’re only ridden for a handful of days throughout the year. The rest of the time they’re free to do nothing at all. We graze a few of the horses at Waikare; the station who keeps them usually gets the foals in exchange for grazing. Don’t worry about cruelty, the SPCA inspectors are there at every meeting, keeping a good watch for any cruelty or infringement of the rules.”

  Angela looked relieved. “How about the riders?”

  “It’s not too bad,” his tone was careless. “To them accidents are a way of life and a fall is just part of the act.”

  “I know, I know, but if you happened to be watching someone who was competing and they took a really bad fall—”

  His swift sideways glance took in her apprehensive look and the deep tones softened. “You wouldn’t be worrying over anyone in particular, would you, Twenty?”

  He had caught her unawares, the wide hazel eyes wide with concern. When he looked at her like that ... “Oh, you know what I mean.” she muttered, “you and Kevin and Brian and the shepherds.” Somehow she had a suspicion that her heightened colour pinpointed one name in particular.

  “The bulldogging always goes over well with the crowd,” Mark was saying.

  Relieved that the conversation was back on impersonal grounds, Angela said, “it sounds awfully dangerous to me.”

  Mark smiled his lopsided grin. “Not half as bad as it seems to the onlookers. Stopping a galloping steer in full flight isn’t half as difficult as it may look to the audience. Once you get hold of them by their horns they lose their balance and go down fairly easily, even though the animal may weigh a few hundred pounds.”

  “Goodness!” Angela looked unconvinced. “Are you entering for that event too?”

  She had intended the words to sound offhand, disinterested, but to her horror they emerged on a breath of apprehension. Mark would be certain to catch the note of fear in her voice.

  He did. “Does it matter so much, Twenty?” he asked softly.

  There it was again, the dangerous look, the look against which she had no defence. Now she would have given anything to recall the betraying query. Confused and uncertain, she didn’t know what to say.

  Kevin came to her rescue. “He’s not, you know! This year he’s going to give Brian a go, eh, Mark? Girls,” he added in a tone of disgust, “are scary about everything. My sisters, they used to get het-up over nothing, just because someone was riding a motor-bike.”

  “Someone?” Mark teased.

  “Well, you know what I mean.”

  They were moving along the road where on either side tall white daisies raised shaggy heads from a tangle of dried grass fern and blackberry. A notice-board nailed to a tree-trunk loomed ahead. “Rodeo” and a painted black arrow. Presently they swept through a small township. The sleepy main street with its timbered corner hotel and handful of old shops put Angela in mind of pictures she had seen of Wild West towns in America. Then they were catching up with other vehicles in the stream of one-way traffic moving towards the sports grounds. Already Angela could hear the lowing of steers. As they swept over a cleared hill crest she found herself looking down on a big tea-tree fenced enclosure far below. Flags unfurled their colours lazily against the blue, and gates enclosed chutes near a corral where horses stood awaiting their turn in the sawdust-covered arena. Ringed around were stock trucks that made excellent grandstands. Family parties were grouped beneath colourful sun-umbrellas blossoming on sun-dried slopes and sheep wandered amongst the picnickers.

  As Mark guided the Land Rover through clusters of cars and trucks, stock trailers and jeeps moving over the grassy hill, Angela stared about her. Ambulance men were pitching their tent near a tree-lined enclosure filled with calves and steers.

  A Maori rider strolled past them, a colourful figure in his wide felt sombrero, high boots and sheepskin-leather chaps. Women wore gay summer frocks with sandals on bare feet, the men, shorts and vividly coloured shirts in tonings of scarlet, tangerine or violet. The vehicle drew to a stop near the arena and Angela couldn’t stop her gaze from roving over the milling crowd in search of an attractive blonde-headed girl.

  “There’s Susan’s car!”. Kevin said suddenly, and Angela’s spirits plummeted. Who was it who had once said that green cars were unlucky? She had expected to find the other girl here, hadn’t she? So why this absurd feeling of let-down?

  “That’s right.” Mark threw a glance towards the late-model car. “She’ll be over in the nerve centre of the whole operation today. She’ll miss a lot of fun of the show, but she’s so darned expert at the job they just can’t get along without her in the secretary’s tent.”

  Angela thought waspishly, she would be. Was there anything in this world of country living at which Susan didn’t excel? Mark’s next words confirmed the unspoken thought.

  “She’ll be getting someone in to relieve her for a while, though. She’s entered for the barrel race—” He broke off at Angela’s puzzled expression. “That’s something fairly recent in the events, a ‘girls only’ affair. Susan’s been in it for two years running and won both times. Not bad for a local girl.”

  At the pride in his tone Angela’s heart sank a little lower. The thought that she wouldn’t now be forced to see Susan hanging on Mark’s arm so tenaciously throughout the day was no consolation.

  “Gee, she must be good!” The boyish tones underlined Angela’s reflections on the other girl’s riding prowess. Even to Kevin it seemed Susan was someone special, not to be compared with run-of-the-mill females like his sisters and herself who displayed a certain squeamishness about things like rodeo events and motor-cycles piloted by youthful riders. But Susan was different, she was utterly fearless! Not only had she ridden in the woman’s barrel race but she had succeeded in winning it—twice running! Angela realised with a stab of guilt that since coming to Waikare (why not admit the truth? You mean since falling in love with Mark) she had become a totally different person, small-minded, petty-natured and horrible. Else why was she hoping that just for once Susan wouldn’t win her event? After all who could blame one for the uncharitable thought? For wasn’t Susan about to win the greatest prize of all?

  “She’ll win her event today too, I shouldn’t wonder,” enthused Kevin.

  Angela wouldn’t wonder either. The goblin in her mind who was so fond of pointing out home truths raised his jeering head. Admit it now, she’s an ideal partner for Mark. They’ve got everything in common. She’d step into the life of the homestead as though she’d been there all her life (didn’t she act that way already?) And he? On, Mark was adept at hiding his feelings but no doubt the other two had a secret understanding. Her spirits dropped. Wasn’t Susan’s attitude clearly that of a girl so nearly mistress of the homestead that it made no difference? Don’t think of her, don’t torture yourself, it never does any good. Already the day, the sparkling sunshiny day, had lost a little of its lustre. She recalled her thoughts to the present, aware that Mark was being hailed on all sides, aware too of the curious and interested glances that followed the tall man and the Titian-haired girl at his side.

  Before long other vehicles from Waikare drew alongside the Land Rover and everyone was talking at once. Rugs were laid on clean portions of the dried grass and stools and camp-chairs and picnic baskets brought from trucks and cars, as the party from the outback station prepared to enjoy the buck-jumping and steer riding in the tea-tree enclosed area close by.

  Angela dropped
down on the rug Mark had spread and found herself seated beside one of the shepherd’s wives, a dark pretty girl of about her own age whom Angela had met briefly at various times.

  Pamela sent her a shy smile. “Hello, Angela! This is all new to you, I guess. Smoke?” She extended a packet of cigarettes and the tang of smoke mingled with the strong smell of pennyroyal rising from the ground. Angela noticed with surprise that the girl’s tanned hand was trembling.

  “Shaky, aren’t I?” Pamela gave an unsteady laugh. “Silly, but I can’t help it! I’m always like this at these shows. Oh well,” she exhaled the smoke, “Barry’s in the third event, so it’s not too long to wait. After that’s over I can relax and enjoy myself.” Although she was smiling Angela was aware of the look of strain in the grey eyes.

  “You know,” Angela said wonderingly, “they told me you were a real country girl, brought up on a big station down south. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Don’t you believe it!” For a second naked fear glazed the other girl’s eyes. “This is one time when Barry and I don’t agree,” she confided to Angela. “To me rodeo riding may be fine for a single man, but for a married guy who’ll be a father next spring I can’t see that a sore back or a kick on the head is just part of the fun of trying a quick buck or a twist.”

  Angela nodded sympathetically. “You’ve got a point there. I just thought you’d be used to it.”

  ‘Watching your husband riding an unbroken horse isn’t exactly the sort of thing you get used to—here he comes now.” Pamela broke off as Barry came striding towards them, a tall muscular young man in scarlet shirt and calf-tight jeans, a wide felt hat shading his excited face. “Would you, if he were your husband?”