Red Dirt Heart Imago, page 1
Red Dirt Heart Imago
A Red Dirt Heart and Imago crossover ~
The story of when red dirt and butterflies collide.
N.R. Walker
Blurb:
When Charlie Sutton’s neighbour Greg is notified by the Queensland government that they intend to run a pipeline through his property, Charlie vows to help him fight it. Then Travis remembers seeing butterflies at the creek near their joining fence line - the same butterflies they couldn’t find in any Australian butterfly book. Hopeful this might be their only chance to stop the development, they seek the help of a specialist.
Lawson receives an email request to identify a butterfly in the Outback, only to discover it’s not an Australian butterfly at all. But that’s not all he discovers. The name on the request is familiar to Jack. An old friend from his university days, who also happened to be his old friend with benefits, Charlie Sutton.
Years ago, two out-of-towners met at the University of Sydney. Both studying environmental sciences, both hundreds of miles from home, and both finding their worlds open to new experiences, they fell into bed together. Meeting again after all this time, in front of Lawson and Travis, won’t be awkward at all, right?
Lawson and Jack’s trip to Sutton Station certainly doesn’t go to plan, and what they take back to Tasmania isn’t just butterflies, but a cocoon of possibilities.
A Red Dirt Heart and Imago crossover ~ The story of when red dirt and butterflies collide.
Contents
Copyright:
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
EPILOGUE
THE INVITATION
About the Author
Contact N.R. Walker
Also by N.R. Walker
Copyright:
Cover Artist: Sara York
Editor: Labyrinth Edits
Red Dirt Heart Series © 2017 N.R. Walker
Imago Series © 2017 N.R. Walker
Publisher: BlueHeart Press
All Rights Reserved:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.
The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only.
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Warning
Intended for an 18+ audience only. This book contains material that maybe offensive to some and is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.
The author uses Australian English spelling and grammar.
Trademark Acknowledgements:
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Land Cruiser: Toyota Motor Corporation
Range Rover Defender: Jaguar Land Rover Limited
KingGee: The Workwear Group Pty Ltd
Dedication
For all my readers, who encourage me to keep writing. Your emails and messages of support are the highlight of my day.
To Sam Higson, for planting this little plot-bunny seed.
To Robyn, for helping with Brennan’s name.
To Nic, for helping with the right photo.
I hope you all enjoy this short trip with old friends…
CHAPTER ONE
Charlie Sutton
Travis and I sat at Greg Pietersen’s dining table along with Greg, his wife, Jenny, and Alan, Greg’s neighbour to the north.
I was Greg’s closest neighbour to the west, and over the years, Greg and Alan had become both friends and allies. They were the reason I was on the Board of the Territory’s Beef Farmers Association, and together the three of us were, apparently, the faces of Farming the Future in the Northern Territory.
Greg had been a mate to my old man too, and he’d been the one to come help look for Travis when Trav’d found himself lost overnight in the desert. So one phone call from him was all it took for Trav and me to be sittin’ there over a cuppa with our serious faces on.
“It’s bullshit,” Jenny said. “They can’t just do what they damn well please.”
Greg gave his wife a smile. “Seems the government can do what they please, love.”
I stared at the letter on the table while chewin’ on my lip, tryin’ to think.
“It doesn’t belong to anyone,” Alan added. “The Artesian Basin is an underground water supply that feeds half the Territory and Queensland into New South Wales, even South Australia. It’s not theirs to take.”
“The water don’t belong to anyone,” Greg agreed. “But the property they wanna run a pipeline through certainly does.”
No one spoke for a bit, while we all let our tempers simmer down and our thoughts settle into order. The thing was, I was really pissed about this. No, the bloody government hadn’t declared they’d just drop a few hundred kilometres of pipeline through Sutton Station, but they did tell Greg they’d put it through his place. And that was something I just couldn’t rightly let happen.
I would defend his property like it was my own.
“Have you spoken to Melville?” I asked. Melville owned property to the north of Greg, and he was no friend of mine.
Greg’s eyes met mine, and he shook his head in disgust. “The old bastard’s happy to sell it off. His kids don’t want his place, and he can’t work it like he should. I reckon he was as happy as a pig in the proverbial when he got his letter.”
I had to unclench my jaw so I could speak. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Greg’s nostrils flared. “I don’t want their bloody money, not a goddamn cent. What they’re proposin’ to pay us off with isn’t worth shit anyway.”
“Then we fight them,” Alan said. “In court. The Supreme Court if we have to.”
“They’ll just wait us out to bleed us dry,” Greg mumbled. I’d never seen him so resigned, like he was beat already. “They’ll be expecting that and’ll simply tie us up in red tape until we can’t afford to stay.”
I shook my head. “This ain’t over yet. Not by a long shot.” I tapped the table with my finger. “It’ll be a cold day in hell when I let some pen-pushin’ government idiot tell me what they will and won’t do with my land, and I sure as shit won’t let ’em tell you what they’re gonna do with yours.”
Jenny squeezed Greg’s hand, and I gave her a smile. I could hear their boys playin’ in the room next door, and I could only imagine what trouble Milly was getting’ up to at home with Ma.
I lifted my chin and set my jaw. My mind was made up. “Jenny’s right,” I said. “It is bullshit, and they won’t do what they damn well please. This is our land, this is our kids’ land, and it’ll be over my dead body that they try and take anythin’ away from my daughter.”
Greg smiled properly for the first time all day. “There’s the Sutton I know.”
I noticed Trav then, staring out the window like he was a million miles away. He had that busy-thinkin’ line between his eyebrows. “Whatcha reckon, Trav? We’ll find some way to fight ’em, yeah?”
Trav looked right at me. “Absolutely. Oh, we’ll fight them all right.” Then he sat forward in his seat and stared right at me, his blue eyes as intense as I’d ever seen ’em. “Charlie, you remember the other week we were out fixing fences along the northwestern paddock? What did we see in that creek that I couldn’t find in no book?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I remember.” Then I clued in to what he was getting at, and I began smiling. I turned to Greg. “If we’re gonna fight these bastards, then we need to beat ’em at their own game. And I reckon Trav might’ve just figured out how.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lawson Brighton-Gale
“Jack?” I’d just opened and read an email that was quite interesting. I picked up my laptop and closed up the butterfly house, going in search of Jack. It was a Sunday, and he’d been busy tending to the gardens and pottering around while I was holed up in my lab. I found him in the kitchen, slicing apple and cheese, one of his favourite snacks for TV watching. “Oh, there you are.”
“Hey,” he said with a smile. He looked at my laptop. “What’s up?”
“I just received an email from Piers Bonfils.”
“Oh, how’s he going? The Ulysses still breeding okay?” He held a small slice of apple to my lips, which I took into my mouth. Then he frowned. “It is okay, isn’t it? The Ulysses, it’s not dying again, is it?”
I finished chewing the apple and swallowed. “Oh no, all is well in that regard.”
Jack slid some crackers straight from the box onto the plate of apple and cheese. Then he tossed a small square of cheese into his mouth. “So, what’s up?”
“There’s a fellow who wanted help identifying a butterfly. He took photographs and sent them to Piers. Piers confirmed it was definitely worth looking into, but he was simply too busy with the Ulysses, so he recommended me.” I turned the laptop around and showed Jack the photograph. “It’s a Charaxes bru
He studied the picture for a moment, then me. “Is it endangered?”
“It is on a watch list, but that’s not what makes it remarkable.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What makes it remarkable?”
“Because it’s only found in Africa.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “Africa? He wants you to go to Africa?”
I smiled at him. Lord knows, he was probably envisioning me being eaten by a lion or hippo. “No, the Northern Territory.”
“Oh.” He huffed out a breath in relief. Then he mumbled, “Thank God for that.”
I ignored that and went back to the email. “Do you know a Charlie Sutton?”
Jack choked on a piece of cheese.
How odd.
“Are you all right?” I patted him on the back.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, swallowing hard. “That’s just a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
“Well, I take it you do know him. May I ask how?”
He nodded slowly. “We went to uni together.”
“And you were sexual partners,” I deduced. “Your reaction said enough.”
Jack made a face and went a little red. “Well, yes, but that was a long time ago. We were at uni. You know how that is.”
I chuckled at his horrified expression and stole another piece of his apple. “Well, yes. You have no reason to worry, Jack. Or to be embarrassed.”
“It just kind of came from nowhere,” he said, back under control now. “Remember when we were in Cairns that time at the CSIRO building and I sat in the waiting room and was reading a magazine article? I said it was of a guy I went to uni with. Well, that was him. Some big-shot farmer he is now. Well, he was. That magazine was a few years old even back then.”
“I think I remember that,” I answered, when the truth was, I hadn’t a clue.
Then a look of confusion crossed Jack’s features. “If the email is from Piers, what on earth does Charlie Sutton have to do with anything?”
“The butterfly was found on or near his property.”
Jack gave a piece of cheese to the patiently waiting Rosemary. “Oh. The African butterfly?”
I nodded and smiled at the idea of going on another butterfly hunting expedition. “What are the chances of you taking some time off work for an Outback adventure?”
“Well, if you think I’d let you wander off on your own into the desert where the deadliest snakes in the world call home, you’ve got another thing coming.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Barely. “Not forgetting the fact I’ll be meeting a man who you’ve slept with.”
Jack pouted, most adorably. “That too.”
“Excellent. I’ll reply in the affirmative, yes?”
“Uh, I guess.”
I sat myself on the sofa with my laptop and replied to Piers. By the time Jack sat down beside me with his plate of snacks and two glasses of wine, I’d already had a response. I took the offered wine glass and gave him a grateful smile. “I have contact details. Piers said this Charlie fellow said it was urgent. Should I call him now?”
Jack bit his lip and nodded, so I took out my mobile and called the number in the email. It answered on the third ring. “Hello? Sutton Station,” an older female voice said.
“Yes, good afternoon. My name is Lawson Brighton-Gale. I was hoping to speak to a Mr Charlie Sutton.”
“Can I ask what it’s about? If you’re selling something, I’ll save us all some time and stop you right there.”
I almost laughed. “No, I’m not selling anything. I’m a lepidopterist.”
Silence.
So I elaborated. “I’m calling about the butterflies.”
“Oh! Oh, sorry, yes, he’d be real interested in speaking with you. Please just hold on and I’ll go find him. He was out the back.” There was a dull clunking noise followed by the sound of a screen door slamming, then a faint, “Charlie! It’s a man about the butterflies!” Then silence for a short while, more footsteps, and then a gruff, warm voice spoke into the phone. “Hello, this is Charlie Sutton.”
I smiled at Jack. “Hello, Mr Sutton. My name is Lawson Brighton-Gale. I have received your email from the Cairns Butterfly Conservatory. Professor Piers Bonfils thought I might be able to offer some assistance.”
“Ah, yeah, we found a kind of butterfly we couldn’t find in no book, and we were hoping it was some kind of new or endangered species?”
“Well, from what I can assess by the one photograph, if it’s the butterfly I’m thinking it is, it’s neither new nor endangered.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed.
“But there’s never been one found in Australia, Mr Sutton.”
“Really?”
“Yes. From the one picture, I would be confident enough to name it. Though I was hoping you would have more photographs you could send me. I’d like to determine if it is indeed a White-barred Emperor before I trek a few thousand kilometres to see it for myself.”
“Oh sure!” He was excited now and talking to someone else, asking them about the photos. I gave him my email address, and as we waited for them to arrive in my inbox, he asked, “So, you’d need to come out and take a look?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“No, no, not at all. If it is one of those White Emperors―”
“White-barred Emperor,” I corrected.
“Right. If it is one of those, then what happens next?”
“I would confer with the Lepidopterist Society of Australia.”
“And?”
Hmm. “Mr Sutton, may I ask why the urgency? You’re very keen for this finding to be in your favour.”
It sounded as though he ran his hand over his face. “I’m gonna be honest with ya, Mr Brighton-Gale. We’re running outta time. Ya see, the government wants to run a pipeline through my neighbour’s place, right where we found these butterflies. Or close enough to ’em. And we were hopin’ if these butterflies were special enough, it just might stop the pipeline.”
Just then, my laptop pinged with an email from Sutton Station. I clicked on the attached photographs. “I’ve just received the photos,” I said, in case Mr Sutton was beginning to question my silence.
The pictures weren’t perfect, but I could see enough. The butterfly itself looked like a Charaxes brutus, though I was more interested in seeing what plant the butterfly was on. That would tell me more. I pointed to the green foliage on screen and looked at Jack. “What kind of plant is that?”
He studied the photo for a moment, squinting and frowning. “It looks like Grewia insularis. It’s a species of flowering plant in the Malvaceae family, but I’d need better photos to be sure.”
I didn’t really need to know any more. If there was a White-barred Emperor in Australia, the only type of plant the caterpillar would feed upon was the Grewia insularis.
“Mr Sutton, those specific plants in the photograph, do you have those anywhere else on your property?”
“No, we don’t. Not that I’ve seen. These were along a creek on Greg’s property. We were fixin’ fences and stopped to water the horses when Travis saw them. The butterflies, that is. That’s when he saw the butterflies. They’re kinda big, and we thought they were little birds at first, so he took some photos, and when we got home, he couldn’t find them in any Australian butterfly books.”
“Because they’re not Australian. They’re African. And Mr Sutton, if you’re agreeable, I’d like to come and see them for myself.”
“That’d be real great, Mr Brighton-Gale.”
“I should tell you now, I’ll be bringing my husband along with me.”
A brief pause. “Husband?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
He snorted into the phone, then laughed. “Uh no. No problem at all.”
“Good. Because I believe you know him. His name is Jack Brighton.”
