Hope's Road by Margareta Osborn Page B

angry. ‘I just want to know if my son is here as I need him to come home. Now.’
    â€˜He’s here. Working on my computer. Because you won’t buy one. Have you ever thought what damage you’re doing to his schooling by refusing to get him one?’
    â€˜I don’t see that it’s any of your business, Mrs Murphy.’
    â€˜It’s Ms McCauley to you. And it is my business. That poor kid has to come down here and use my computer to do his homework because his father won’t buy him one of those “newfangled” things. Computers are part of the modern world whether you like it or not!’
    What was it with the females in this valley today? Now he knew why he’d avoided them. ‘Ms McCauley, I have no idea what’s got your goat this afternoon, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take it out on me. Give me my boy and I’ll get out of your way.’
    â€˜What’s got my goat? What’s got my goat ?! Listen here, Mr Hunter, if you spent a little more time looking after your son than wandering willy-nilly round the bush looking for four-legged animals, then I think you’d find he might stay where he’s supposed to be. At home with you.’
    That struck a raw nerve. Finding out Billy was wagging school from a lollypop on legs was one thing, having this stick of dynamite giving him curry for not looking out for the boy was another. He sucked in a breath, trying to hold onto his temper. ‘Where’s Billy?’
    She pointed in the direction of the back verandah of the house then spun on her neat, well-proportioned legs and stormed off. Trav watched her walk away and wondered how anyone could make such a graceful exit wearing gumboots. But, man, she was a piece of work. Her snug backside sashayed as she high-tailed it in the direction of the dairy. Her ponytail swung in agitation and those boots found every puddle in their path. Splat! Splat! He suspected his face was at the bottom of every one.
    Trav shook his head and walked towards the homestead. Compared to his place this joint was huge, all angles and windows. And old, and quiet.
    â€˜Billy? Billy !’
    A tousled head appeared from behind a screen door. ‘Dad? What’re you doing . . . ? I mean, yes, I’m here!’
    â€˜In the ute. Now.’
    â€˜Yes, sir. I’ll just shut the compu –’ Billy shot his father a look before continuing, ‘No, maybe I won’t. Coming!’
    Trav spun on his Redbacks and walked to the ute. He was revving the engine when a red-haired streak came flying across the yard and clambered up beside him. He could feel the boy’s nervous sideways glances, but he wasn’t going to put the kid at ease or let him know what was coming. No bloody way. His son would be punished – grounded for a week – and he’d think up as many boring jobs as he could for him to do. He’d teach the little bugger to wag school.
    And he’d show that siren with the liquid brown eyes he was a responsible father, whatever that was supposed to be.

Chapter 9
    What had got into her? Travis Hunter must think she was hell on wheels. Which, at the moment, she was.
    Bloody men.
    Tammy grabbed hold of a piece of poly pipe and went out into the cow-yard to bring up the first row of cows to be milked.
    What was his story, being a single father and all? He looked like Mad Max meets George Clooney. There was something animal-like emanating from him, something rough, primitive and raw, yet he was good-looking, in a tough kind of way. He disturbed yet at the same time intrigued her. He wasn’t overly tall but he was solid, with a close-cropped head of sandy-brown hair that looked like it might curl if left to grow. Nothing too remarkable about all that. But it was his eyes, a piercing blue, that had struck her. They seemed to see right into her soul.
    Tammy absent-mindedly swung the cups onto the cow’s teats.