His fingers itched for a paintbrush and some paper. Could he do the colours any justice? He breathed deeply. Perhaps he should see whether there was anywhere in town that sold paints and proper paper. He’d not brought anything up with him, and the notebook he took on the boat was almost full of his sketches. Maybe it was time he stopped hiding his passion. It would be nice not to have to sneak around, or make excuses to come out here and draw or paint.
He shook off the shame his father had instilled in him. Sam and Brandon wouldn’t judge him. They’d be pleased he was doing something.
They moved around the base of the dunes, a mini desert amidst this mostly flat land, and then along a dry riverbed. Sweat trickled down his back and he wished he had a wide-brimmed hat like Brandon’s to shade his face. The eucalyptus lining the riverbed provided a measure of shade from the harsh evening sun. Around them birds sang; the harsh squawk of a cockatoo, the high-pitched chirp of some little bird flittering amongst the branches and the occasional deeper song of something else.
His shoulders relaxed. Peaceful. Even the children’s excited calls to each other as they spotted a bird or a lizard couldn’t disturb the peace of this land. It was embedded in the vastness, the harshness, the remoteness of it all. He could understand why Brandon loved it here. It was a far cry from the tension and control of the army.
Arthur frowned. The rules and regulations of the army had told him how he had to act, even if at times it was against what he wanted.
He’d never liked the freedom to make his own choices, because he inevitably made the wrong one.
Up ahead, Jordan and Cody rode two abreast and leaned towards each other, whispering, and then glancing at him. What were they up to?
He found out after they arrived back at the horse yard and had unsaddled the horses. Cody nudged Jordan and said, “Go on, ask him.”
Jordan stumbled forward. “Excuse me, sir.”
At first Arthur didn’t realise Jordan was addressing him. Since when had he become a sir? “Yeah?”
Jordan looked past him, as if not brave enough to meet his eyes. “Mum says you have a pro… pros… fake leg.” He finally glanced at Arthur.
Arthur nodded. “I do.” Where was this going?
“Me and Cody were wondering whether it was like a bionic leg, with gadgets and stuff, like you see in the movies?”
Cody grew brave enough and stepped forward. “Yeah, like does it have an inbuilt gun or something, so you can do sneak attacks?”
Arthur stared at them, surprise making him speechless. He’d never thought anyone would think his leg was interesting, but it was clear the boys had been debating it the whole ride. The shock morphed into delight at their imagination. He considered telling them the truth, but he didn’t want to disappoint them. He gestured them closer and lowered his voice, staying serious. “That’s top secret. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
The boys’ eyes widened. “Epic,” Jordan breathed.
Arthur nodded, then turned away before he smiled. His gaze met Gretchen’s, who was helping the boys unsaddle their horses. She grinned at him, having obviously overheard the conversation, and tapped her nose. His cheeks heated, but he couldn’t prevent the smile from widening over his face.
“Time to wash up,” Gretchen called to the kids. “Dinner is almost ready.”
The sun hovered on the horizon above the ridge, still bathing the land in a soft glow of pinks and oranges. Faith made the rounds to ensure the children had finished packing up correctly, and she followed his gaze. “It’s magic watching the sunset from up there, but trying to get a dozen kids back down the slope safely in the dark would not be fun.” She smiled. “We’ll have to take you up there another day.”
“I’d like that.”
Her eyes widened at his statement, but then she smiled. “Good.” She tucked her arm through his. “Come on, we’ve got the horde to feed.”
Faith led Arthur around the house to the side yard, where the scent of barbecue sausages and onions hit his nose. He inhaled, filling his lungs. The smell of good times.
Brandon and Darcy stood by the barbecue, Brandon with a pair of tongs in his hands. Arthur moved closer, not entirely sure of his welcome. He swallowed. It was past time he made the effort. “Isn’t it dangerous to let Brandon be in charge of the sausages?” He inevitably overcooked them, which is why the team had banned him from cooking.
Darcy laughed. “I’m just letting him think he’s in charge.”
“That’s a relief.”
Brandon glanced at both of them, mock offence on his face. “I cook a mean sausage.”
“If bymeanyou’re implying nasty and burned almost beyond recognition, then yes, you do,” Darcy replied.
Brandon shoved his brother and handed Arthur the tongs. “Let’s see you do better.”
Arthur gripped the metal tongs and stared down at the sizzling barbecue. It was almost as if the past few months hadn’t happened, as if he was at a barbecue with his team mates and they were teasing each other as usual. Normal life. He’d been so caught up on losing his leg, he couldn’t see past that. He should have been embracing being alive. But that was part of the problem. The army had been his life, and he’d been cut off as abruptly as he’d lost his leg. One second there, the next gone.
“You going to turn those things?” Brandon asked. “Or stare at them?”
