Read an Excerpt
Kututu
'Heart'
By Olivia Osborn iUniverse LLC
Copyright © 2014 Olivia Osborn
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-6591-9
CHAPTER 1
Tjinytjulu's Ngura
Beau's Camp
A harsh, tropic sun beat down from the noonday sky. Heat haze hung, stagnated, over the parched, arid country. Nothing moved, except dust, billowing from Stretch's battered, Toyota truck as it ate up the endless miles of poker-straight road, cut into a vast, tree-studded plane. Stretching her stiff, cramped muscles, Clare Daine yawned out at the flat, mind-numbing horizon, engulfed by the endless blue of Northern Territory, sky. Smirking quietly to himself, Stretch suddenly, yanked down hard on the steering wheel; the truck slew crazily off the road, erratically bolting bush.
"Are you nuts!" Clare screamed, grabbing on as the vehicle bounced haphazardly over deep ruts and jagged, sandstone rims. Accelerating hard, Stretch tore off through the long, blonde Speargrass.
"Just callin' on a mate!" He chortled, the truck bursting into a steep, walled canyon. Shrieking, Clare's bloodless knuckles gripped the dashboard hold. Her anxious eyes adhering to the towering, ironstone walls. Braking suddenly, the vehicle skidded sideways to a halt; a huge dust cloud engulfing them. Sneezing, Clare wiped the grit from her eyes.
"Are you insane?" She shrieked.
"Nope!" Alighting, Stretch straightened out his long, six-foot frame, limbering up his tired, cramped muscles. Slowly, Clare climbed from the truck. The Cicada's shrill, deafening chorale filled her ears. Flies, multitudes of them, clung to her sweat, stained shirt, jockeying to crawl into her eyes and mouth as she squinted into the harsh, tropic glare.
"Oh my god!" She gasped, taking in the steep, rock bastions protecting the shaded billabong's tranquil beauty. "What a magnificent place." Drawing breath, she stared at the contingent of palms, climbing bamboos and tangled vines, spreading to hang gracefully over the cool, inviting waters. Huge, magenta lilies wavered, high on slender stalks. Birds flitted over the water's mirror surface. Black cockatoos screeched from trees on high. "You drive forever over the dreariest country, then this ... what I wouldn't do for a swim!" Giggling suddenly, Clare tugged at her shirt. "That water looks heaven."
"What about the crocs?" Stretch's brow rose.
"I don't see any." Halting, Clare scanned the waters.
"Ya rarely do." Stretch shrugged. "Ain't mean they ain't seen you."
"Stretch McNally!" Clare chided, continuing to peel off her shirt. "You're just trying to scare me."
"Okay, why're all the ducks sittin' in the flamin' trees?" His head shaking, Stretch looked out over the cool, dark waters.
"Ducks don't sit in trees!" Shading her eyes, Clare squinted up into the paperbarks. Amid the branches were hundreds of ducks.
"Still sceptical then, me young Clare?" Reaching for his shotgun, Stretch took aim. A shot rang out, the silence of the bush, shattered! Masses of birds rose screeching into the air. A duck fell from the paperbarks; barely it hit the billabong's calm surface, the waters erupted! Squealing, Clare's hands flew to her mouth; she stared dumbstruck for no less than a heartbeat into a primordial, monster's cold, yellow eyes. Gulping, she watched as silent ripples panned out over the dark, empty waters.
"Ya still keen ta go swimmin' then?" Stretch guffawed, his brown eyes twinkling.
"Stretch, that wasn't funny!" Clare scowled.
"Ain't meant ta be funny." The stockman shrugged, putting away his gun.
"Is there no where safe to swim?" Pulling her shirt back into place, Clare's vigilant eyes scanned the waters.
"I always check the bathwater afore I get in." Stretch grinned. A quiet snap of metal, meeting metal, brought them up sharp. Turning, they looked down both barrels of a shotgun.
"Ai, walypala!" Fierce, blue eyes pinned them. "Waddya mean shootin' up the bloody joint?"
"Holy, snappin', heart attack!" Stretch threw up his hands. "Beau, ya just flamin' aged me ten bleedin' years!"
"Ya noisy bastard! Waddya mean shootin' me taka taka?"
"Taka taka?" Stretch's brow twisted. "What in hell?"
"Me ducks!"
"Come on Beau?" Stretch grumbled. "Ain't go gettin' ya knickers in a twist!"
"Uwa!" She glowered, pointing the gun. "We do! Least 'til ya learn some flamin' manners!" Her lips pursing, she lowered the weapon. "It'd be nice if just once, ya damn well knocked! And done it quietly." A stocky woman, wiry, red curls escaped her large, bush hat. Her clothes; ex-army, jungle greens. Her feet; well-worn, yet expensive-looking, riding boots. Except for Clare's intuition, nothing indicated her gender as female.
"Knock!" Stretch barked. "Ya truck's parked under a fuckin' tarpaulin!" His hands spread to take in her bush camp. "Where's the blasted door? For Christ's sake! Have ya gone completely bloody troppo?"
"Awari!" Beau glared. "If I bleedin' lived in town, ya'd ring the flamin' doorbell!" Suddenly, she grinned, weather beaten wrinkles dancing around her lively, blue eyes. "Ah, shit! Ya gonna barge right on in, no how! What the heck, did ya bring a lady a beer?"
"Ain't bloody game ta come all this way without one!"
"Hope ya flamin' brought more than one!" Beau pouted, leaning her gun against the truck. Suddenly, Stretch let lose a loud blood-curdling yell, knocking Beau clean off her feet. They landed brawling in the dust. Cackling, Beau threw a savage punch. Wide eyed, Clare held her breath. Chuckling, Stretch delivered his own hefty blow. Beau's gravely laugh echoed bush as they rolled, wrestling in the dirt. Beau emerged, sitting triumphantly on top, Stretch still struggling to gain the upper hand. Cackling, Beau twisted his arm up behind his back.
"Ya ain't never learn, aye?" She panted. "Streuth! Ya ought'a know better than ta show up here, makin' all that din! Bloody hell! Shootin' me taka taka ... and bringin' blasted visitors. For that, a mouthful of bulldust!" Snorting, she cackled, shoving his face into the dirt.
"Ya stupid bitch!" Stretch squirmed, spitting the fine, white powder. "Give a bloke a go?" Sweat streamed off his dust streaked face. "Clare here, wanted ta take a swim! I were just showin' her ya pet bloody crocs!"
"Well, I guess that ain't so bad." Beau's penetrating eyes scrutinised the city girl. "Hell! I reckoned ya were another bunch of sticky-nosed, flamin' tourists!" Her head shook. "And I ain't expectin' no visitors, 'specially from town."
"Streuth Beau!" Stretch spluttered. "Ya flamin' touchy!
Afore long, no bastard's gonna visit." Panting, he coughed. "Get off! I need ta wash the flamin' dust outta me throat!"
"Me?" Beau grumbled, not moving. "Ya're the touchy bastard! Lately ya gettin' ta be a real pain in the arse!"
"Least I ain't a fuckin' 'greenie'!" Stretch rumbled, his face crimson.
"Nyaapa?" Beau's brow arched. "What's one of them?"
"A conservationist." Clare put in. "Someone who doesn't like the wildlife to be destroyed."
"Streuth!" Beau squinted, meeting her eyes.
"For Christ's sake Beau!" Stretch struggled. "Ya bloody puttin' on weight!"
"That's quite a few insults ..." Beau's face clouded. "Ya lose ya manners somewhere boy?" She growled. "First stupid! Then bitch! Last, but not least, fat! I ain't sure about the 'greenie' thin', I'm gonna have ta think on that."
"Okay! Okay ..." Stretch spluttered. "Ya win! I'm sorry! Now will ya get off! I need a tinny ta wash the flamin' dust outta me throat!"
"So long as ya get me one, aye?" Beau's eyes narrowed.
"Ya can have the whole blasted carton!" Stretch groaned. "Just get the hell off!" He heaved out a long breath. "Please ..." Rolling off, Beau cackled, graciously offering him a hand up. Taking it, Stretch curled out his long, gangly frame.
"It's okay hon'." Beau reassured Clare. "I ain't seen this bugger ... what, since the Mara, aye?"
"The Mara?" Clare frowned. "What's that?"
"Mara Station, rodeo." Stretch spat, coughing. "Over in bloody West Aussie."
"What's that, aye Stretch?" Beau's eyes glinted. "A couple a months?"
"That were the blasted pub in Derby!" Stretch snarled. "Ya were in way over ya head!" Taking his battered, bush hat he beat himself; dust clouds filled the air, his sandy hair glued down with sweat. "That bastard from Christmas Creek, were gonna have ya! Ain't even cared ya're a woman!" Reaching for a plastic container, he poured the water into his hands, washing his face and neck. Rinsing his mouth, he spat it off into the dust. Running his fingers through his hair, he replaced his hat. Grabbing the stockman from behind, Beau snuck a bear-like hug. Stretch's breath caught, relaxing slowly, he patted her hands.
"Ai!" Beau nodded. "He's a real gentleman, our Stretch. Ain't too many of them left. But, I can take care of m'self. Been doin' it all me life. That blasted ringer from Christmas Creek's, gonna get his come uppence!" Returning Beau's hug, Stretch dug into the car fridge, handing her an ice-cold beer.
"Streuth!" She frowned. "Ain't ya got nothin' warmer?"
"Ohmigod!" Clare tittered. "I thought people in the tropics would kill for a cold beer?"
"Beau ain't most people!" Stretch mocked, his cheeky eyes creasing with laughter.
"Watch it! Ya gonna get another taste of that flamin' dust!" Snorting, Beau laughed. "Ah, hell! When ya've been out here as long as me, ya learn ta enjoy thin's just as they come. Besides, if the flamin' thin's too cold, it seriously slows ya drinkin' down!" Tilting the can she emptied it in one long draught.
"Holy, snappin', guzzle guts!" Stretch chuckled. "It'd have ta be fuckin' frozen ta slow ya're drinkin' down!" Handing her another, he got one for himself and Clare.
"Men!" Beau pouted, feigning injury. "They ain't ever got respect for us ladies." Pummelling her chest, she belched. Staring wide-eyed, Clare stifled her laughter.
"Bloody hell!" Stretch grumbled. "It's like that flamin' ringer over in Derby, aye Beau?"
"It's okay." She smirked. "I'm gonna get the bastard!"
"What did he do?" Clare searched their faces.
"Bloody hell!" Beau threw her arms akimbo. "I'm gonna tell ya what the mongrel done! He baited me best bloody ropin' horse! Poor basted nearly died!" Her eyes blazed. "And he beat up Billy Two Shoes in the flamin' pub!"
"Who's Billy Two Shoes?" Clare's brow twisted.
"Bill's a tribal, black pala!" Beau's eyes sobered. "Bastard were mindin' his own business, when knucklehead asked him had he'd a fight with his blasted welder. Crikey! What an insult!"
"What's pala?" Clare frowned. "And how's that an insult?"
"Pala ..." Stretch grinned. "Ya know, feller?"
"Wiya! Ain't I just said that?" Beau shrugged. "Tribal, black palas sometimes have initiation scars, long welts across their bodies." She grinned, running three fingers across the top of her arm. "Does kind a look like ya got on the wrong side of a bleedin' weldin' torch, aye?" Her eyes sparkled. "But Bill ain't said nothin' ta be insulted like that!"
"Why's he called Billy Two Shoes?"
"Black palas ain't own nothin'." Beau chortled. "When ya flamin' livin' bush with the tribe." She threw up her hands. "Well, it's first up, best dressed."
"Pardon me?" Clare squinted, meeting Beau's eyes.
"It's like you and me buyin' all this brand, new clobber." Her face lit up. "In the mornin' when we get outta bed, all our new clobber's bein' worn by whichever bugger in the tribe got up first." Clare screwed up her nose.
"Don't people object?"
"Wiya!" Beau's head shook. "It's their law, their Dreamin'." She shrugged. "Still, they've all got their own little hierarchies. If ya at the top, ya get ta call the flamin' shots, or if ya up early, ya get to be betta dressed, aye?"
"So why's he called Billy Two Shoes?"
"Palya, Bill's always wearin' shoes." Beau grinned. "They just ain't never a matchin' pair." Her eyes narrowing, she glared up at the lanky stockman. "Stretch, ya bugger! I still owe ya a black eye for interferin'. I would'a had the bastard if ya ain't dragged me outta the flamin' pub!"
"Come on Beau?" Stretch griped. "Ya'd way too much ta drink! The bastard were gonna beat ya ta a pulp." His brow creased, his eyes anxious. "There's way more ta this ringer than ya willin' ta tell. Holy, snappin' grievances! It's been goin' on way longer than the damned Mara!"
"Ya ain't give old Beau no credence." She gave a wry grin. "Us women ain't need no brawn, we've bleedin' got brains!"
"What in hell are ya up ta?" Stretch drew himself up. "And when are ya gonna come clean about the real reason ya hate his guts?" Beau's grin broadened. "Beau?" Stretch stood over her. "What in hell are ya up ta?"
"I were gonna give the bastard one of his own back." Smirking, her cheeky eyes squinted up at the lanky stockman.
"Whaddya mean?"
"Awari!" Anticipation stole over Beau's face. "I were gonna slip the bastard a Mickey Finn!" She looked at Clare. "Still, it can wait ... I might get me a better idea, aye?"
"Ya ain't ta do no such bloody idiotic thin'!" Stretch wagged his finger in her face. "What if the bastard died, what then? Have ya thought of that? Well, have ya?"
"Bah! Siddown Stretch! No one's gonna do the bastard in." Beau's eyes danced. "But hell! I know a few people who're gonna reckon it's a flamin' good idea." Cackling, she suddenly, pouted. "Ah gawd! He's probably just gonna get a flamin' good dose of the shits! Same as he gives everyone else!"
"Bah!" Stretch spat. "Women!"
"Ah, pssssh! Y'self!" Beau hissed, her eyes petulant. They fell silent. Sipping her beer, Beau examined Clare's striking beauty. Her eyes narrowing, she watched the perspiration bead on the city girl's pallid brow. "Clare, ain't it?"
"That's right." She nodded.
"Nyaapa?" Beau's eyes bit. "What in hell were ya blasted thinkin', wantin' ta take a dip with the damn crocs?" Her head shook. "Obviously ya ain't been in these parts long, and if I'm ta hazard a guess, ya ain't likely ta be here too much flamin' longer."
"You're very direct." Clare sat, unflinching under Beau's intense scrutiny.
"Awari!" Her head shook. "What ya see's what ya get!"
"I flew in yesterday, from Melbourne ..." Clare's brow twisted. "Why don't you think I'll stay? The country's stunning and the weather, fantastic!"
"Ain't nothin'." Beau looked knowingly at Stretch. "Ya see a lotta city kids come this way ... reckon on the romance of the bush, or some such shit!" She shrugged. "What they ain't reckon on is the flamin' dust! The flies! The heat! The bloody, hard work and the lousy pay! The fact everythin' damn well bites, except for the butterflies ..." She grinned. "And we still ain't sure about them!" Cackling, she reached into the car-fridge. Grabbing three more beers, she handed one to Stretch, offering the other to Clare.
"No thanks." The city girl declined.
"Awari! All the more for us." Beau chortled, returning the beer to the fridge. Pulling the ring-opener, she took a long draught. "Ahhh ... just bloody marvellous!" Wiping her mouth, she nodded. "We're only gonna know if ya stayin' after ya've made it through a Wet."
"What's so bad about the Wet Season?" Clare frowned.
"Hon'!" Beau grinned. "The Wet's when every bugger goes flamin' troppo! Ain't matter whether ya just come, or ya been here years." She chuckled, her eyes impish. "It gets so bleedin' hot it's like livin' in a damned sauna. Ain't no relief! Well, there ain't, until the rains come ... and that could take months." Taking another swig, her lips spread in a wry grin. "It builds! And it flamin' builds! It gets blasted hotter and hotter! Till ya reckon ya gonna melt clean away!" She snorted. "Ain't no point dryin' y'self after a shower, 'cause ya still as wet as when ya're under the blasted water!" Pouting, Clare mopped her face.
"Ah ... ain't ya let Beau scare ya outta the damned North, afore ya get settled in." Clearing his throat, Stretch took a sip of beer. "Guess what?" Beau squinted up at the lanky stockman. "Ya ain't bloody gonna believe it, aye?" He chuckled. "Clare here's got the job of governess."
"Nyaapa?" Beau smirked. "What, the boss's actually got himself a flamin' governess?" She stared at Clare. "Ya joshin' me aye Stretch?" Flinching, Clare looked from Stretch to Beau.
"Don't the children normally have a governess?"
"Wiya!" Beau's head shook. "I'm fuckin' flabbergasted!" Her nose wrinkling, she took in the stockman. "Ya sure?"
"Positive!" Stretch smirked. "Ya lookin' at the livin' damned proof, aye?" Their eyes meeting suddenly, they roared laughing.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Kututu by Olivia Osborn. Copyright © 2014 Olivia Osborn. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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