The Bark Cutters by Nicole Alexander

morning. Mum and Dad were arguing. It was something about Cameron. It sounded strange, like they had this secret they were keeping from everybody.’ She hesitated. ‘Even you.’
    â€˜Ridiculous. Your mother has a fixation regarding Cameron. Everyone knows that.’
    â€˜But –’
    â€˜You don’t want to pay attention to her.’
    â€˜But –’
    â€˜I have to attend to a few things.’
    Sarah was left standing in a cloud of dust.

    Shearing was finished. The team had already packed up and were enjoying a well-earned beer. Some of the men, lining up empty tins at the end of the lanolin-smoothed board, were playing bowls; others were cleaning and packing away the metal combs they used for shearing. Cameron was urging the men to join him at the closest village, Wangallon Town. Few needed convincing. Sarah sat quietly on a large wool bale, enjoying the smell of wool, manure and powdery soil trampled ceaselessly by yarded sheep. The men talked and laughed, spun stories and mostly ignored her, not quite sure how to include the boss’s granddaughter. Sarah observed their easy banter for a few more minutes before leaving the shed to cross the wooden fences of the sheep yards. Scuffing the dirt with her boots, she muttered angrily under her breath. She had gone back as hergrandfather had ordered and Anthony was nowhere to be seen.
    â€˜Where you off to?’ Cameron grinned, his battered army green jeep shuddering as it idled to a stop next to her.
    â€˜Jump in,’ Anthony called, opening the door for her. Sarah smiled – maybe her grandfather was right.

    Back at the house, Cameron coerced their parents into agreement. Tonight they were off to the pub.
    Sarah spent the night in the ladies bar, drinking lemonade. Cameron sat cross-legged on the corner counter that separated the bar itself from the public drinking area and the ladies lounge. He occasionally slipped her a rum and coke, watching over her, entertaining everyone with his stories and jokes. Between Sarah and the shearers in the public bar, Cameron held court while Anthony jumped the bar, deciding he would help pull beers during the evening.
    â€˜Tell us another one, Cameron,’ one of the shearers enthused, a schooner of beer in hand.
    â€˜Well …’ Cameron scratched his head, his face widening into a mischievous grin. He skolled his rum and coke and, within minutes, the young barmaid, all heaving bosom and bottle-blonde hair, was holding another one towards him.
    â€˜There you go, Cameron,’ she sighed, her free hand coming to rest on his thigh. ‘I never charge my special customers.’
    Cameron pinched her cheek playfully, the soft skin yielding easily under his touch as it had only last weekend.
    â€˜That’s enough, Lottie,’ the publican bellowed, as he tucked a pristine white shirt into skinny-legged cowboy jeans. ‘There are a few other blokes here that need some attention.’
    With a quick smile at Cameron, Lottie moved to collect empty glasses from along the bar.
    â€˜You’re not wrong there,’ one of the patrons yelled from the opposite end of the bar, holding up his empty schooner glass. ‘A little service wouldn’t go astray.’
    â€˜No soliciting allowed at this pub,’ another boomed. ‘Now what about that joke?’
    â€˜What do blondes and cow shit have in common?’ Cameron called loudly across the crowded bar.
    The barmaid narrowed her eyes.
    â€˜The older they get, the easier they are to pick up.’
    The bar erupted into bellows of laughter. Lottie stared hard at Cameron and poked her tongue out at Sarah, who was doubled up in mirth. Instantly Cameron slipped off the bar to give the girl a quick hug. She grudgingly responded, eventually pushing at him a little with her well padded hips.
    â€˜Oh, Lottie, I wasn’t referring to you, my bonnie lass,’ he said softly, putting on a very poor Scottish