Gil had just finished moving some calves to another paddock and was heading up the race towards his house when he saw Tara appear from beneath the underpass, leading a white pony. She was wearing a blue top with tiny sleeves, jeans, her floral gumboots and her snootiest expression. When she spotted Gil, she began towing the reluctant pony up the race towards him.
Gil watched curiously, wondering what on earth could have brought her across the road to seek him out and how on earth she managed to make gumboots look sexy. But when she finally reached him, Gil saw that Tara wasn’t nearly as calm and collected as she had at first appeared. He sniffed discreetly. Sweat overlaid with floral deodorant and perfume. Although he knew he shouldn’t, Gil couldn’t resist asking, ‘Problems with another pothole?’
Tara pursed her lips. ‘No.’ She pointed at the pony. ‘Him.’
He whistled soundlessly. How had she ended up with Magic?
Her breasts rose and fell agitatedly beneath the thin blue top. Even sweaty, she trumpeted hot, luscious femininity. Gil wanted to trumpet right back. Instead, he forced his gaze away from the creamy scoops of flesh swelling over the neckline of the blue T‑shirt and tried to concentrate on Magic.
‘I have a slight problem,’ Tara said.
Me, too, Gil thought. ‘Uh huh.’
‘It’s probably nothing, but I thought I should check.’
He waited. Whatever it was, it was bound to be interesting.
She took a deep breath. ‘I think I’ve poisoned this pony.’
Gil looked closely at Magic, who was munching contentedly on grass. Apart from Magic being overweight, Gil couldn’t see too much wrong with the pony. Magic was notorious for his total lack of respect for humans, horses and anything in between. A lot of people in Divine would think Tara had done them a favour if she had poisoned the little bugger. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘He got out. I’ve been chasing him all morning, and I got so angry that I sat down outside and had a glass of wine, and before I knew it . . .’ Tara trailed off.
Gil nodded encouragingly. ‘Before you knew it?’
‘He got to the wine bottle and drank quite a lot.’ She gave up trying to look unconcerned. ‘I know I should have been paying attention, but I was so furious and tired and —and —’
‘About to commit murder?’ Gil suggested.
‘Yes!’
He nodded. ‘Magic has that effect on people. He’s nothing but trouble. You know that kid’s party game Pass the Parcel?’
Tara frowned. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, Magic’s like the parcel, only nobody wants to be left holding him.’ Gil studied the pony. ‘You must be acquiring some polish in your old age, Magic. In the past it was always Waikato Draught.’
‘It isn’t funny! He finished off my last bottle of Mills Reef Reserve!’
‘Well at least you can’t accuse him of being cheap.’
Tara swept on. ‘Every time he lies down I’m terrified he’ll vomit and choke.’
‘Horses can’t vomit.’
‘Oh. I didn’t know that.’
‘So, tell me, how did you get him?’
‘Barney Bigelow,’ she hissed. ‘The swine!’
Gil wasn’t sure if she meant Barney or Magic. He reached out and took the lead rope from her. ‘Hello, Magic.’
Magic stopped eating and looked warily at Gil. Tara could almost see the horsey equivalent of uh oh! going through his nasty little head. He dug in his little black hooves, humped his back, and tried to snatch the lead out of Gil’s hand as he had done so successfully to Tara several times already. Gil gave one short, sharp jerk on the rope and said ‘No!’ sharply, before relaxing his grip again. Magic tried the same trick twice more, and each time received the same treatment.
Tara was piqued when he gave up and walked quietly alongside Gil up the race towards the house she could see on the rise above.
Tara followed behind. ‘I don’t want to take up too much of your time.’
‘No worries, just page the oracle.’
‘You love rubbing in everything I do wrong, don’t you?’
‘Some things are just too hard to resist.’
Like you, Gil thought.
Tara was distracted by the sight of Gil’s house. It was long, low and built from wood with lots of bi-fold doors that opened out on to gardens bursting with spring colour. A pergola smothered in lilac wisteria extended from one end of the house above a bricked courtyard. Two pukeko were scratching around a large birdbath that stood in the middle of a wide expanse of lawn at the front of the house. The lawn swept on downwards to end at the driveway leading to the race and underpass nearby. A large half-round barn stood on the other side of the driveway opposite the courtyard. Tara could see a long row of sheds, housing the tractor and other farm implements and Gil’s black ute. Everything was tidy and well maintained. The house was every bit as beautiful as her house in Auckland.
Tara longed to see inside. Her lips curved and her eyes glowed in her filthy face as she gazed at it wonderingly. This was Gil Sorensen’s house? Gil, of the ugly, brown clothes and god-awful beanie?
‘The halter’s on inside out.’
‘Hmm?’
Gil pointed a thumb at Magic. ‘His halter — it’s on inside out. The buckle is digging into his nose.’
‘Oh.’ Tara reddened. ‘Sorry, Magic.’
Gil led the pony past the house and into the barn and tied him up. ‘I’ll get another halter to put on him while we sort this one out, just in case he decides to do a runner.’
He disappeared into a tack room next door.
Tara wondered if he was collapsed in a corner, rolling around in silent laughter. She didn’t need a mirror to know she looked an absolute mess, and she could imagine that that tickled Gil Sorensen no end, although he’d been a complete gentleman and refrained from mentioning it, much to her surprise. She went to check Magic’s halter, wincing when she saw the buckle pressing against his nose. ‘Sorry, Magic,’ she said again softly. ‘Do you think the wine will hurt him?’ she called out to Gil.
He reappeared, carrying a large blue halter.
‘It’s Lazarus’s,’ he explained when Tara looked puzzled. ‘It’ll do to keep him tethered for a few moments.’ He flipped the longest strap around the pony’s neck and adjusted it and the nose strap to fit before clipping the lead rope to it and removing Magic’s red halter, which he held out to Tara. ‘Here you go.’
She refused to take it. ‘No, you do it. I might hurt him again.’
‘No you won’t. I’ll talk you through it.’
‘Pat’s shown me dozens of times already.’
‘You mean you’ve stood and watched while Pat did it.’
Tara nodded reluctantly.
Gil took her arm and guided her closer to Magic. ‘You’ll never learn by watching somebody else. You need to do it yourself. Come on. If it makes you feel any better, he’s drunk.’
Tara looked down at the warm, callused fingers encircling her arm and smelt the scent of man and sweat and soap.
Gil dropped his hand. ‘Find the long strap and practise doing it up so that the buckle is on the outside.’
It took several attempts before Tara got it right, not because she didn’t know what to do, but because having Gil standing so close turned her into an imbecile. She felt like crawling beneath the hay bales stacked in a corner of the barn, but Gil was explaining how to set up an area for Magic with an electric fence to stop him escaping again.
‘Do you know how he got the name Magic?’ he asked when Magic was once again wearing his red halter.
Tara studied the strong column of his throat, only half-listening. ‘No.’
‘Because he can take a perfect day and turn it to shit.’
She laughed.
Gil watched her. There she was again — the surfer girl, grubby, smiling, sexy.