Hope's Road by Margareta Osborn

school, relying on the kid to get ready by himself. Trav had to be gone by five-thirty so he was out in the bush early to check on or set his traps. ‘Right then. I’d better find him and together we’ll see what’s going on.’
    â€˜Oh no, Travis. That’s fine. I’ll leave you to talk to him.’
    â€˜No. I’ll get him now. He’ll be close by somewhere. Here, you sit down on this stump.’ He kicked a tree butt across the gravel and dumped it in front of the red car. ‘Just plant your bum – I mean sit here and I’ll be right back.’
    His last view of Jacinta Greenaway was the one in the rearview mirror of his LandCruiser ute. She looked down at the ironbark log with distaste and then kicked it with her pointed high-heeled shoe.

Chapter 8
    Travis found Billy on his second try. One glance at Joe’s place from the T intersection at the bottom of the hill and he could see the old man pottering around his sheds. Billy wouldn’t be spying on him today. By the looks of it nothing was happening there that was interesting enough.
    That left Tammy McCauley, or should he say Tammy Murphy? Billy had been doing some odd jobs for the woman. Trav drove his ute a half a kilometre along Hope’s Road in the direction of the Montmorency homestead and pointed his bonnet down the driveway to the house. He could see by the absence of the copper-coloured Mitsubishi Triton ute that Shon Murphy wasn’t around. Thank God for that. He couldn’t stand the bloke. There was nothing genuine about the man. Plus, according to the boys at the Department, he was cheating on his wife, the bastard.
    He remembered the first time he’d met Ms McCauley Murphy. He’d gone with Billy for a drive into Narree. The kid had disappeared while he was getting their groceries, re­appearing just as Trav was going through the checkout. He was carrying a Narree Toyshop bag in his hand.
    â€˜What’s in that?’ he had asked sharply.
    Billy had silently opened the package for his dad to take a look. Three Matchbox cars for his dirt heap.
    â€˜Where’d you get the money from?’
    â€˜Ms McCauley’s paying me to do a few jobs for her. And she’s really nice. Lets me ride the motorbike.’ The kid’s eyes were sparkling. Guilt – the guilt Trav always felt when it came to Billy – kicked hard at his guts. ‘I wear a helmet,’ Billy added quickly. ‘And she’s shown me how to ride nice and quiet like.’
    â€˜You sure she really wants you there?’
    The light in Billy’s eyes died. Pooft . Just like that. Trav’s guts churned all the more. He did that to the boy all the time and cursed himself for it while at the same time feeling incap­able of doing anything else.
    The kid mumbled, ‘Well, I think so . . .’ The remainder of the sentence hung in the air between them . . . not like some people .
    Trav grunted, paid for their groceries and walked out the door, loaded the bags into the back and then got into the ute, waiting for the boy. He wasn’t coming. Where was he? Trav looked around and spotted him.
    A woman stood at the door of the supermarket investigating the paper bag Billy was holding out. Dressed in neat denim jeans that cupped her backside like a second skin, a choc­olate brown shirt, dangling beads and elastic-sided boots, she looked as sexy as hell. Her heart-shaped face was animated as she pulled a racing car out of the bag. She was laughing now, and Billy was giggling along with her. Trav hadn’t seen that in a long time – his son laughing. Whatever was going on was obviously very funny and Trav found himself undoing the seatbelt, exiting the ute and sauntering up to them.
    â€˜Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m Billy’s father, Travis.’ He dipped a finger to his hat and tried a half-smile. Smiling was definitely one of his