A Change in the Dreaming

By Laura Sykes

When Flick McGregor's sister asks her to sell her half of the family farm, she figures she has nothing to lose. After all, she's been running from the place and the memories it holds for years; filling the void with beer, boys and her beloved horses. Returning to arrange the details of the sale, she discovers that the wild horses blamed for the death of their younger sister have moved down into the valley, and their lives now rest between those who want them slaughtered, and those who want to use them for their own profit. But then Flick meets Eddie, a young man unlike any she has ever met, and together they hatch a plan to save the horses from a terrible and certain fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Sykes
• Release date: Feb 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310833786

Book preview

Chapter One

March, 2014.

The air grew stuffy, steaming up the windows in the cab of the Hilux. My companion smiled seductively, lips twitching upward in a way that made me shiver. I didn’t even know his name.

In the distance, crowds cheered as another brave fool came unstuck from a bull and bit the dust. Darkness pressed in, hiding us from unsuspecting passers-by.

He pulled me over. His hand caressed my shoulder, moving down to pause in the small of my back. I pressed myself harder into him and ran my fingers down his neck, tracing his collarbone. He parted my lips with his tongue. I toyed with it, nipping at his lips. I could feel him fighting temptation, waiting for a sign from me.

One by one I undid his shirt buttons, exposing his torso, tracing the lines of his chest with my lips. He shuddered. His hand found its way underneath my shirt and fiddled with the catch on my bra. Freedom. He began unbuttoning my shirt with his free hand. It fell off my shoulders. Goose bumps spread across my skin as he pushed me backwards, one hand on the back of my head to ensure I didn’t hit it on the car door. He nipped at my neck as his fingertips caressed my bare breasts…

Ring, ring.

Damn, I mumbled, searching for my phone with my free hand to tell whoever it was to get lost.

Ignore it, he said, voice husky. God he was sexy.

I’m just going to turn it off. I frowned. Where the hell is it?

I found the phone under the driver’s seat, face down. I looked at the screen and scowled.

Who is it?

My sister, I grumbled. What the hell does she want?

Answer it.

Hello, Lib, I said as I held the phone up to my ear. What do you want?

Why are you up so late? My sister’s voice was sweet and uplifting and never failed to put me in a bad mood.

That’s a stupid question, you’re the one that called me. I sighed. Being annoyed at her would only make her carry on longer. What’s up?

I wanted to talk to you about something, but I can call back if this is a bad time…

Yes, it is a bad time, I thought, shooting a quick glance at the cowboy in the seat beside me, one hand slowly working its way up my thigh.

No, I can talk. Just make it quick though. I’m busy.

Hmm. Okay well I’ll just come straight out and say it. I think we should sell the farm.

No.

Felicity, neither of us want the place. Why are you being so stubborn?

Because I’m not selling. My voice rose a few octaves. And without my half you can’t sell yours either, so just give up.

At least let me have it valued and see what we’re looking at.

Fine, I said. You do that.

Flick…

Beep.

I tossed the phone back onto the seat and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. My temper subsided a little. Surely it couldn’t hurt to have the place valued. My sister was right, we never went there anymore. What was the good of keeping it? Wouldn’t it be better to take the money, leave the past to some poor, unsuspecting buyer and run?

A shrill ringing cut through my thoughts. Without looking at the caller ID, I picked up the phone again.

Hello?

Flick, don’t hang up on me again, just hear me out.

You’ve already had it valued, haven’t you?

Guilty silence was all the answer I needed.

I sighed. Okay Lib, how much?

My eyes widened at the figure she told me.

How can it possibly be worth that?

Development potential, so I’m told. But, I’ve already got someone interested.

So they can subdivide it and turn it into fancy houses? I asked, shaking my head. No way, not interested.

Actually this is a local bloke who wants to keep the property as it is, do the place up and all that. He’s willing to pay full value too. We’d be idiots not to at least meet with him to discuss the offer.

Memories flashed through my head like images on a projector. Blonde hair curling around slender shoulders, long lashes framing brown eyes that twinkled with laughter and mischief as I chased after the little girl, half exhilarated and half afraid she would fall. But that was all gone now. Maybe selling would be for the best. Maybe I could finally let the past sleep and move on.

Alright, I said, at long last. Talk to him and find out more. If you really think it’s for the best, we can discuss it.

Lib was stunned. Are you sure? I expected you to put up more of a fight than that.

I’m sure, I lied. Do it, before I change my mind.

Okay, thanks Flick. I’ll talk to you soon.

I hung up the phone, deep in thought. Something touched my ear and I flinched.

Sorry, a deep voice chuckled. Didn’t mean to startle you. You looked a million miles away.

He leaned in to pick up where we left off, but being stuck in here with a complete stranger no longer seemed cozy. It was stifling.

Confusion flashed through his face as I pulled away, shaking my head.

I’m sorry, I said. I’m really sorry, I just can’t.

He stared at me for a moment blankly. I expected him to be angry, but he just shrugged. Whatever. See you round.

A blast of cold air shot into the cab as he opened the door and trudged off, back toward the crowds and the noise. I buttoned my shirt and sat there, staring off into the darkness outside.

I couldn’t get those brown eyes out of my head.

****

The kettle clicked, last vestiges of angry bubbling urgently insisting that it was time for tea. Dropping a bag into the mug, my mind wandered as I stuck the spoon into the sugar bowl three times.

Shit… I backtracked, removing two of the spoonfuls now sitting in the bottom of the mug. Resigning myself to a too-sweet brew, I poured the hot water in over the top, jiggling the tea bag until the liquid turned to a honey-amber.

I took a sip and grimaced. Far too sweet. I pulled my cardigan further around my shoulders, wrapped my fingers around the scalding mug, and stared off into the night.

The view from my window was dismal. A quiet Armidale road, paltry streetlights not bright enough to illuminate the world, but just enough to hide the stars. I leaned against the freezing glass, my warm breath condensing into a veil of fog. I wiped it away, longing to see the tiny glints of light in the sky but knowing I wouldn’t. Only the brightest of stars shone through these blackest of nights.

The tea burnt my lips, already raw from the cold and my escapades at the rodeo earlier that night. It was well after midnight now. In a few hours the first shreds of light would touch the horizon. A low headache hummed in the back of my skull. It would be a shocker tomorrow. For now I ignored it, lost in my thoughts.

I’d moved to Armidale to get away from my past. I’d thought it was working.

Outside, a flash of blinding light flew past the window. In the afterglow I saw a pair of red P plates and heard the doof doof of music that faded into the night. But inside my mind, I was screaming.

Why did my sister have to go dragging all this up now? Months of silence, and now this?

Anger bubbled up inside me like a furnace. I pushed it down. What good would it do? We’d been down that road before and it never ended well.

****

September, 2003.

Addie, come back!

My little sister’s infectious laughter carried back to me on the wind as she and her pony raced ahead.

Addie! You’re going to kill that pony of yours!

You can’t catch me, Flickity! she yelled back, still laughing.

Oh, for God’s sake, I mumbled under my breath. Come on. My spurs nudged the barrel of my horse a little harder than I intended. His ears went back as we shot forward, chasing after the speeding five year old.

Sorry. I apologised to the horse, and urged him on faster.

It didn’t take long to catch up to Addie. For all her zooming, her pony, Minnie, was old and too chubby to run very far with any great alacrity. She used to be my pony, and Libby’s before that, until Addie came along and she was passed down to her.

I leaned over, pulling my horse to a stop as I grabbed Minnie’s rein. The grin faded from Addie’s face when she saw the scowl on mine. She dropped the reins and folded her arms indignantly with a look that would churn butter. It worked on everyone except me.

We were just having fun. Why do you have to spoil everything?

Why do you have to be so insane? I retorted. You think it’s fun to tear across a field without checking it first? The grass is belly-high to Minnie out here, there could have been rocks or wombat holes. You could have broken both your necks!

But nothing happened…

It doesn’t matter! It was stupid and irresponsible. If Mum and Dad found out they’d ground you from riding until you’re thirty.

A look of genuine terror twisted her pretty features. No, Flickity, please, don’t tell them!

I sighed. It was hard sometimes to remember she was only five. Five going on twenty, our father often said. Apart from her adorable mispronunciation of certain words – my name included – she was mature enough to know better. Unfortunately, she was also impulsive enough not to care.

Fine, Addie, but honestly, if you do it again…

I promise, I won’t.

****

March, 2014

So, what are you going to do then?

I swung one leg over the front of the saddle, resting it there as I gazed at the cattle in front of us, pondering the question.

Don’t know.

But you don’t really want to sell. It wasn’t a question.

I glanced at my boss. He nudged his horse sideways, closing the gap between us. At his feet, his border collies mirrored his steps, keeping ever vigilant to the movements of their master. All three animals shifted a few paces closer, the two dogs plopping back down to the earth with contented grins.

I really don’t know, Charlie. I played with the tendrils of mane that flicked up at the front of the saddle. I haven’t been back there since… I haven’t been back there for years.

Why not?

I squinted at the distant horizon, wide brim of my Akubra doing nothing to hold back the rays of the early morning sun. I shrugged.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. Bad memories, huh?

Not bad.

Well, Christ, Flick, what are you running from?

I glanced at him again, and a sad little laugh escaped my throat. Why are you always so damn perceptive? He grinned back.

I met Charlie when I answered an advert for a job on one of the big stations outside town. He was the manager, a few years older than me, and he took one look at me and frowned. I had no horse, no working dogs and blatantly refused to move into the cottage onsite. Still, something about me obviously convinced him to take a chance on someone who, at face value, was totally unsuitable for the job. He saddled up two of his horses and spent the rest of the day with me riding over the property checking fences. At the end of the day he informed me that if I turned up the next morning the job was mine. We’d been firm friends ever since, and I was still riding that same chestnut mare he gave me to ride the very first day.

He was tall, lanky, had brown hair that was always just a little too long and an open manner that commanded respect and likability. His uncle, the owner of the property, lived in the city and rarely made trips out to the station, so Charlie lived in the big house by himself with just the collies for company. He’d asked me a few times to move in with him as he didn’t need all that space, but each time I declined.

Moments like this, watching the sun rise over the New England high country, bathing the snow gums in golden light while the cattle lowed peacefully in the pasture, I wondered if I should have given him a chance.

My childhood was actually pretty happy, I said. Charlie looked at me, clearly surprised. I never spoke about my past, let alone willingly offered information, but last night’s phone call from my sister had unsettled me.

So you and your sister didn’t always hate each other?

No, we used to be great friends, the three of us. And Mum and Dad were always happy and laughing. We had the run of the farm and we all loved it.

He gave me a quizzical look. Do you have a brother?

No, just Libby. Why?

You just said ‘the three of you’, but you’ve never mentioned another sibling.

Oh. Inwardly, I cringed. I hadn’t noticed the slip. No, it was just us three girls. We had a younger sister too.

Getting information out of you is like blood from a stone, you know that right?

She died.

Oh.

We fell into an uncomfortable silence, memories threatening to engulf the sunny autumn morning and cloud it with grey and shadows.

A crackle broke through the hush. Charlie reached down and unclipped the UHF he wore on his hip.

Charlie, do you read me?

I read you. What’s up?

We got brumbies, south paddock. Tree is down over the fence and it’s only me over here. Can you come lend a hand?

How many?

’Bout ten or so. Big mob.

Right, we’ll be there soon. Stay there and watch them, don’t let them wander off. He clipped the radio back onto his belt and winked at me.

Ready to go chase some brumbies?

Always. I swallowed the lump that had risen to my throat as soon as I heard the voice speaking through the static. I hated this part of the job.

Chapter 2

The brumbies were grazing peacefully when we trotted to where Steve was lounging on his big bay stock horse, stockwhip slung over the front of his saddle. He sat up as we approached, tipping the brim of his battered Akubra in greeting.

All quiet Boss, he said to Charlie. What do you want us to do with them?

Where’s the tree down? Charlie asked, ignoring the question.

Steve swung the handle of the stockwhip around, pointing off to the right. Next paddock over that way. The gate between the two was open so they just wandered in here.

There’s the dam up in the far corner, they probably came in for the water, I pointed out. Steve squinted at me.

Well, we clearly can’t take them out the way they came in. We will have to push them through to the yards.

Least we’ll get some decent firewood out of it, Steve mumbled. Charlie turned to me.

Flick, can you ride on ahead and make sure all the gates are opened for us to herd them through? If you run into Brad along the way send him down as well. You never can tell how skittish these mobs are going to be.

I shot him a grateful smile, inwardly relieved. Sure Charlie, I replied, turning my mare around. Thanks, I added, quiet enough that Steve couldn’t hear. Charlie’s lips turned up sympathetically.

The mare flowed forward as I urged her to a canter. There were a number of gates to open on the ride back to the main yards. I daydreamed, letting the mare take me where we needed to go, only stopping to unlatch the gates and push them out wide. It wasn’t long before I was within sight of the maze of metal framework that made up the cattle yards, a paddock funnelling the herds of cattle into the system of smaller enclosures gradually leading to the race, which branched off to the loading ramp on one side and another paddock on the other.

I slowed to a trot, searching for signs of anybody near the yards or the sheds. A kelpie dog rose to its feet from the shadows of an old dodge truck, jogging towards me with tail wagging.

Hey, Boulder, I said to the brown-and-tan grinning animal.

Hey, Girly. The dog’s owner appeared from the other side of the dodge, wiping his oily hands off on a rag.

Hi Brad, I replied. My lips pursed. He had bestowed the nickname upon me not long after I arrived here, and I hated it. I’m pretty sure that’s why he insisted on continuing to use it. He was a few years older than me, quite good-looking, and could be an arrogant arsehole when he wanted. He was also the longest employee here after Charlie, so there was an unwritten agreement between us all that he was second-in-command, for which I warranted him a grudging respect.

What’s up?

Where’s your horse?

In the paddock. He nodded over his shoulder. Why?

I dismounted. Here, take Polly. I handed him the mare’s reins, ignoring the confused look on his face. Charlie needs your help down at the south paddock, he’s got a mob of brumbies down there that he and Steve are going to push up.

Brad’s eyes lit up. No worries, and good thinking, best to leave this to the men. He winked at me, and it turned my blood cold.

Yeah. My tone was clipped. Better get going.

He swung into the saddle without putting his foot in the stirrup and booted the mare in the flanks. She snorted indignantly, but sprang into a gallop. I cringed, feeling sorry for her.

Boulder looked at the dust kicked up by his owner, letting out a shrill whine. He looked up at me, ears pricked.

You can go if you want, I told him. He stared after Brad again, looked back at me, then plopped down into the dust at my feet. I laughed, secretly glad he’d chosen me, and ruffled the fur between his ears.

I unlatched the chain that stayed the gate into the largest holding yard. Swinging it open, the kelpie followed at my heels as I trudged across the ground. The second holding yard was ringed with a studier fence of steel and lined with rubber belting. I let the gate swing and began working my way around the inner circle of smaller yards, opening latches to form a large enough area for the whole mob.

By the time I was done I could hear the faint crack of stockwhips and cries of the boys as they herded the mob towards where I waited with the dog. I cleared my throat, trying to dislodge the hard knot of dread that had settled there.

Eventually the mob came into view, flanked by Steve and Brad on either side as they trotted towards me. Charlie had set his collies to patrolling the edges near the front of the herd. They couldn’t risk the mob stampeding.

Charlie took a wide berth, galloping around the side to reach the yards first, waiting near the gate into the inner circle of enclosures. Once the mob was through the gate the other two men dropped back, leaving the dogs to push them through to the next yard as Steve dismounted and closed the first behind them.

I heaved myself over the fence near the second gate just as the last brumby jogged through. Charlie swung his gelding’s hind quarters around, blocking off the entrance while I closed the latch from the outside.

Well done, boys! Charlie called out. He tipped his hat to me, but the exhilaration drained from his face. He leaned down, stockwhip coiled in his hand. Are you alright, Flick?

I’m fine, I lied. I pulled myself up onto the lowest bar of the gate, leaning over the top to get a better view of the horses on the other side.

Are you sure?

Hey Charlie. Brad rode up to the fence, Boulder now back at his owner’s side. What do you want us to do with this lot then? Want me to call the truck?

My heartbeat froze. The horses in the next yard circled and fidgeted, ears flicking back and forth as they snorted nervously. The stallion, scarred by countless fights for supremacy with other males, stood protectively in front of his band of mares and foals.

The rest of the herd huddled behind him, foals hiding behind the protective flanks of their mothers. One mare, probably the alpha, strode forward to stand next to her mate. Their hides were a colourful motley of bays, browns, blacks, chestnuts and a few buckskins. The stallion, beautiful creamy palomino, I named Ghost. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Charlie looked at me.

What are we going to do with them? Steve asked.

Just put them on the truck, said Brad. No good for anything else. May as well get a few bucks out of the pests.

No, I interjected. Let me try something.

A chorus of protests arose from the men as I slipped between the gate rails into the yard.

The herd fidgeted and turned, breathing heavy puffs of air through their nostrils as they tried to determine whether the newcomer posed a threat. I stood motionless just inside the gate, my presence enough to have the effect I was looking for. One foal took a few cautious steps towards me, then stopped and turned back to his mum. Their ranks swelled and shifted, those that had been hiding in the centre of the huddle now visible. Underneath the too-long manes and the unkempt shaggy coats just beginning to grow long for the winter, they were beautiful. Some lacked muscle, but that was nothing some hay wouldn’t fix.

Why don’t we break them in? I said. All the stations in the old days used to do it, they’re tough as anything. They don’t look like bad types at all, and they’re not too wild.

What do you mean, ‘not too wild’? They’re bloody brumbies. Steve was incredulous. Get out of there now, before they kill you.

Not going to happen, I mumbled, but climbed back over the top of the gate. They’re just scared. If we handle them and get them quiet, they’ll be worth a lot more to sell than anything we would get from the doggers.

I don’t know, Charlie, Brad said. I still say we just call the truck and save ourselves the bother.

I looked at the boss, my eyes wide and imploring. Charlie, please.

Charlie stared at me for a few long moments and sighed, shoulders heaving. Let me think about this. Give them some hay and I’ll decide what to do tomorrow morning.

Thank... I started to say, but Charlie held up a hand to cut me off.

Don’t thank me. I’m not making any promises.

Come on. Steve pushed himself off the rail, straightening his back. I reckon its smoko time.

****

January, 2002.

Flickity… what is a bruh… My little sister scrunched her nose as her eyes followed her finger across the cover of the book. A bruh-m-bee?

It’s a wild horse, why? I looked up from my maths homework. Addie sat, legs swinging, sideways on a chair at the other end of the table. Libby had left her book behind, abandoning it for the television in the next room with Dad.

The silver brumby, Addie announced, little face beaming with pride.

Did you read that all by yourself? I couldn’t help but be a little proud myself. At four, she hadn’t even started kindergarten yet, but already she was teaching herself how to read.

Yes, but I’m not sure what it is.

I suppressed the chuckle that bubbled inside me. It’s what we call wild horses. They’re called brumbies.

Why?

I closed the cover of my maths book, marking the page with my pencil. Well, some people think it comes from an old aboriginal word, I