The Outback, Australia, August 1989
The chuck wagon was the center of activity after the mob was settled to graze. Its drop-down table revealed the cabinets and drawers that stored the implements and ingredients to prepare a trail meal. The crew well respected the cook. He could make your belly ache or belch with fullness. He was also the quartermaster for the small oaken whisky kegs that he would tap for the Saturday muster, the one night the stockmen could drink without worry of “ridin’ and hangin’ o’r ’is horse.”
A platter of smoked beans and sausage and a dollop of taters satisfied the hungry men who stood round the cook fire. Tales were spun of droves past, rhymes and jingles in singsong merriment. This is what they lived for, the open range under the stars, singing to the strings that strummed their homelands songs passed from generation to generation—
“The night is dark and stormy, and the sky is clouded o’er;
Our horses we will mount and ride away,
To watch the squatters’ cattle through the darkness of the night,
And we’ll keep them on the camp till break of day.”
Kelsey grabbed his arm and drew him into the circle that widened as she did, her boots kicking up a jig for him to follow. The men hoot’s brought life to his feet as they sang the traditional Ozzie ballad to the tune of “Little Sally Waters.”
“For we’re going, going, going to Gunnedah so far,
And we’ll soon be into sunny New South Wales;
We shall bid farewell to Queensland, with its swampy coolibah—
Happy drovers from the sandy Maranoa.”
The cattle queen hollered, “Bring out the keg!” as the men swabbed their plates clean. The round-bellied cook, the only one of them that had any weight to spare, tipped the keg on his shoulder for her to tap the first swig from its spout.
“When the fires are burning bright through the darkness of the night,
And the cattle camping quiet, well, I’m sure
That I wish for two o’clock when I call the other watch—
This is droving from the sandy Maranoa.”
This is what they lived for; whisky, song, and laughter after a weeklong drove on the range. They filled their tin cups, one and all, and Kelsey led the song.
“Our beds made on the ground, we are sleeping all so sound
When we’re wakened by the distant thunder’s roar,
And the lightning’s vivid flash, followed by an awful crash—
It’s rough on drovers from the sandy Maranoa.”
A fiddle wailed, a guitar strummed, a mandolin plucked, and harmonicas hummed. They sang from their bellies, hearty and glad. Life in the Bush, living in the Back, gone droving along the Oodnadatta Track.
“We are up at break of day, and we’re all soon on the way,
For we always have to go ten miles or more;
It don’t do to loaf about, or the squatter will come out—
He’s strict on drovers from the sandy Maranoa.”
Tin cups tipped to drain the whisky toast, and another round passed among them. Into the night, they sang and drank until the snore of cattlemen who called the Outback home was all that one could hear.
“We shall soon be on the Moonie, and we’ll cross the Barwon, too;
Then we’ll be out upon the rolling plains once more;
We’ll shout “Hurrah! for old Queensland, with its swampy coolibah,
And the cattle that come off the Maranoa.”
During their merriment, Kelsey and Jerry had slipped away to the rocks of the butte where they had nestled their camp, the violet-black sky brilliant with stars.
“They have one night a week to let it all out and one day to rest before saddling up. It’s a hard life, but they love it. It’s in their blood, some young jackaroos with nowhere else to go, dreamin’ o’ being a drover, others making it their life in the saddle until their bones can’t take it anymore.”
“And you, what is your dream?”
“Me? You’re the one who came Down Under to find yours. This is my life, raised in the Back. I don’t know any different.”
“And I’m searching for mine, confusing as it is.”
The rising cast of moonlight reflected in her softened blue eyes as she tenderly lowered her voice to offer her reply, “Follow your heart, not your head. Let your passion lead you.”
Her hand brushed against his arm with a lingering touch as she shifted on the rock to face him.
“Your heart won’t lie to you, but your mind can trick you with questions of “what if?” and “why not?” You’re in love with a woman who has your heart, but you’ve tasted the other, and she is on your mind.”
Through the haze of the whisky, he understood, but its stupor and his loss of inhibitions made him vulnerable to the attraction he felt between them. Her scent of arousal mixed with his muskiness was like that of a beautiful blend of red wine—spiced floral aromas that lead to layered, juicy flavors of red currant and smoky plum—with a deep, velvety finish. She leaned forward, forearms resting on her parted, crossed legs, the gap in her shirt revealing her sloped cleavage. He heard his heartbeat in his head as the pounding of native drums, ears flooded with warmth.
Her mouth parted, and he found himself focusing on her tongue as its tip slid behind her ivory teeth forming words he did not hear—She mouthed touch me that sent tingles down his spine. His hand drifted to her moist palm. Her eyes smoldered with intensity.
She felt her breasts fill with warmth and her nipples tighten. Her face flushed and she felt a rosy glow through her ginger complexion. Her heart at a gallop, she parted her lips to breathe, the breathlessness of the foretaste of his mixed with hers gave her eyes the sleepy feeling of awakening from a dream. The cascading warmth spread to her thighs, her deep muscles throbbing, wet with expectancy.
He could hold back no longer. His inhibitions slipped away like an untethered boat on the waves of his emotions. They crossed that space that only lovers know.
v v v
Excerpt from PURSUIT – A Matter of Choice,
a novel by Jeff Cambridge.
Author of transformational
fiction—
Realistic characters in real life drama that tell a story of
growth in wisdom and understanding that changes their outlook on life, where
achievements are no longer about self or competing. Instead, life is about
completing their purpose and planting a legacy of redeeming value.
To
read the scenes sequentially, begin with
“PURSUIT:
A Novel – Prologue”
Located
in the May Blog Archive. Click on the episodes and enjoy.
This
episode is pre-published. The book will be available Spring 2018.
Your
comments are welcomed and appreciated. Check one of the reaction boxes below,
write a comment, or email me at lightbycambridge@gmail.com.
This
novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses,
organizations, and locales are intended only to give the story a sense of
reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
v
One mistake changes the course of three lives…
Jessie
– chasing the dark side of destiny
The daughter of an
alcoholic father in prison for manslaughter and a mother who has
abandoned her for her latest boyfriend, Jessie has but one objective in life – to find the big ticket out of her
miserable childhood.
Christina
– striving to bring comfort and light
The daughter of a
nurse who served in the Army medical corps, she follows in her mother’s
footsteps, pursuing her passion to care for the disadvantaged. A ballerina – a thousand eyes behold her, the dance
flowing seamlessly.
Jerry
– living in the grey of his circumstances
The son of a
sixth-generation Kansas rancher, his desire is to make it rich – to find the American Dream. A
cowboy with a tender heart and crystal blue eyes, he finds love in unforeseen
places.
An
allegory of destiny and choices,
of
wasted dreams,
of paths
that lead to nowhere…
of
trials, we face every day.
PURSUIT
Where
will the chosen path lead?
v
Copyright 2018 © Jeff Cambridge
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