Mike Dixon

„I thought I‟d take the horse down to the paddock. Have
a lie-down under the trees.‟
She removed a burr from his shirt.
„There‟s plenty of shade here, David.‟
Her fingers slide across his chest. The smell of saddle oil
was overpowering. David wondered if she‟d got high on it.
Her hand slipped inside his shirt and she began to work it
up and down with the same attention she‟d been giving to
the saddle. It slipped lower and David decided he‟d already
done enough to ease the burden of Noelene‟s uneventful
life. He grabbed the saddle and headed outside to where an
old stallion was tethered in the shade of a pandanus palm.
Noelene followed him. To his relief she stopped pestering
him for sex and started to speak about the horse.
„It‟s his,‟ she said taking the saddle from him. „I cleaned
it up so we could use it today.‟
David patted the horse and it nuzzled up against him.
„He likes you, David.‟
„Who does he belong to?‟
„One of the owners. He used to come up for holidays but
he‟s old now and hasn‟t been here for years.‟
The horse licked David‟s face.
„He thinks he knows you … like you‟re an old friend.‟
David had ridden a few times before. Once on a trip to
the Snowy Mountains with Tim and many years earlier when
he was a small child. Noelene hoisted him up and checked
that the harness was properly in place.
The horse led the way, leaving the paddock and entering
the road the Volvo had taken on its way to the airstrip. David
was content to let it plod along. There was no need to
hurry. They were going in the right direction. He pulled his
hat down to shield his eyes and yawned. He‟d become used
to taking a siesta. It made sense in the tropics. In the middle
of the day it was too hot to work.
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