Chapter 1
South Australian Kiefer Kennedy (24), leaned back into the seat of his pickup in the small town of Willunga at 4:50 pm, wondering what it would be like living in Melbourne.
He understood cops were heavily outnumbered by crooks and a guy from the countryside would be unable to tell the good-time babes from the younger mothers and female workers with obvious bridal potential.
Kiefer was resting after showering away the sweat and smells collected from working with his father on a farm south of Adelaide, moving, yarding, weighing and drenching Red Angus cattle for almost nine hours, including through the heat of the windless day.
He was waiting to collect incoming Jenni Wilder, the troublesome 23-year-old daughter of his mom's best friend at high school, who was arriving from Melbourne to be sorted out by the clean country air, hard work and his no-nonsense mother's swinging arm as required.
Yeah, he and his sister Kate (22) had grown up aware that their mum Muriel's slap could make your ears ring if unleashed full-power, which in Kate's case had been a few times and stubborn Kiefer many times before he toed the line, finally accepting it would be smart to capitulate to escape on-going harassment.
It wasn't as if Muriel was a violent person.
When she was in her defiant teens, her mum had slapped her around a bit and Muriel had come to accept she'd been turned out to be well-adjusted. That had of course had convinced her that a bit of a 'tickle up' appeared to be an effective tool in training children.
Jenni had been booked on a flight from Melbourne to Adelaide and would travel south by bus for just under 50 miles from the airport to an arranged meeting point on the Fleurieu Peninsula, arriving around 5:15 pm.
* * *
A female voice shouted exasperatedly close to Kiefer. He'd fallen asleep behind the wheel of the parked pickup and awoke with a start.
"For the second time, wake-up arsehole. The sign on your vehicle door states Red Angus Farm. Are you waiting to take me to the Kennedy property near here?"
Kiefer took his time replying to the shrew.
Just as she appeared about to let rip again, he said "Yeah."
"Christ, you took your time. You need a good kick up the butt to keep you awake."
"Get in," Kiefer yawned.
She looked down at the four bags at her feet.
"Who's going to load my luggage?"
"You are; I'm only the designated driver. Toss you bags into the tray."
She scowled and claimed designated was a big word for a country boy.
Kiefer ignored that taunt and said calmly, "If you don't stop bitching at me I'll leave you stranded here to be raped after nightfall by drunk itinerant workers, probably females."
Jenni muttered what she'd like to do to him and placed her bags into the tray. She walked around the vehicle and got in, sullenly.
He drove off wordless and she, being female, couldn't keep her mouth shut.
"Who are you, one of the farm boys?"
He said he was Kiefer Kennedy, Duncan and Muriel Kennedy's son. They didn't employ permanent farm labour but hired temp labour as required or else used contractors.
"Is your family farm small?"
"Nah, we have 7.5 acres planted in 60-year-old Shiraz vines on a strip along the road frontage and that's the edge of soils good for grape-growing in this locality. As the land begins to rise in height above sea level, the fertility of the land begins to decrease. We own and graze and crop 3882-acres of that hilly land including a significant plateau area that is irrigated and provides us with more than enough hay, with the surplus usually sells readily.
"We have 663 cattle currently including the current two generations of offspring, being yearlings and rising 2-year-olds. We manage a high stocking rate because the rainfall and even the average soils are pretty good on the peninsular, unlike much of the bulk of the state that includes huge areas of desert."
Jenni sighed and said, "We have water conservation rules in Melbourne and sometimes have emergency water restrictions."
"Yeah right, Australia is a dry place overall but are you aware that some farming areas inland often don't receive appreciable rain for years and starving emancipated livestock just lie down and die?"
"I've seen the misery caused by killer droughts on TV but your family with that fancy artwork painted on this near-new vehicle don't appear to be doing it tough, and if those people didn't farm marginally arid areas they wouldn't be harmed by adverse weather."
"Jenni, my family are aware they're not doing it tough, just as we are aware that everything we have has been earned mainly thanks to family inheritance and our investment in our land and in ourselves through blood, sweat and in some instances tears through hard work."
"That's bullshit. I understand you are 24 years of age. What blood and tears have you shed in your life?"
"I have nothing to boast about, but for example I cried when I was seven when my pet calf died needlessly from having its throat ripped out by a dog, not a wild dog because little of the carcase was eaten. That a well-fed marauding farm or town dog was the killer."
"That was sad but it would have been your father's calf, not yours."
"Not so, because dad had given me the calf to raise myself and use the proceeds when I sold it as a two-year-old to go into my personal education bank account. In return, I had to work under his direction every weekend for three months to equate for the loss of that animal from future farm revenue."
"God, he should have gifted the calf to you. What a hard bastard."
"If you think he's hard, wait till you experience my mother's wrath. My sister Kate could vouch that what I say is true."
"That's bullshit. You mother boarded at the high school in Melbourne where my mother was one of the day pupils and they became friends and my mother says she was the nicest friend she's ever had."
"Nevertheless, you have been warned."
"Again, that's bullshit. What do I call you?"
"Kiefer, spelt K-i-e-f-e-r. Kiefer was a character in one of mum's favourite books when she was about ten."
"As you know, I'm Jenni, but without an 'e'.
