Red Dirt Heart #3
Cover Artist: Sara York
Publisher: N.R. Walker
Life for Charlie Sutton has never been better, or busier. With Travis now a permanent fixture of Sutton Station, a permanent fixture at Charlie’s side, Charlie’s convinced he couldn’t do anything on his ever-growing to-do list without him.
He can run a multimillion dollar cattle business, finish his degree, try and further the local beef industry, deal with staff issues, Ma’s failing health, and an attention-demanding wombat. He can even deal with an unexpected visitor and some shattering news.
He can deal with it all, as long as he has Travis.
But what happens when he doesn’t?
Red Dirt Heart 3 is the story of Charlie Sutton finally realising he can be the man Travis Craig deserves, even if he doesn’t have Travis. It’s a story of love, family, holding on, letting go and coming home.
We climbed into the ute and Travis drove, only mumbling under his breath once or twice about what side of the road he was on. I thought we were headed to find something to eat, but he pulled up at a pet store.
“What are we doing?”
“You’ll see,” was all he said as he was getting out.
I followed him into the pet shop, past the puppies, fish and birds down to the kennels and produce. When he stopped at cat beds, I shook my head. “Oh, no no no. We’re not getting a cat. We used to have one, it lived in the shed and the bloody thing was feral.”
He didn’t even look at me. “It’s not for a cat, Charlie.” He picked up a cushion-box looking thing with a hole in the front. The label called it a cat igloo. “It’s for your damn wombat.”
“Oh,” I said brightly. “Well, that’s okay then.”
He pushed Nugget’s new bed into my chest. “So he sleeps in his bed, not ours.”
A sales guy, about eighteen years old, walked up and was looking at us funny. He probably just heard what Travis said, and I didn’t care. I just shrugged, guessin’ that I’d come a long way in the last six months. “How did I know he’d think it was playtime?”
Travis sighed and turned to the sales assistant. “Do you have any feed pellets for wombats?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Wombats?”
I nodded. “Yep, you know, ‘bout this big,” I held up my hands to show him, “shape of a brick, cute little thing.”
Travis took a god-fucking-help-me breath. “About a year old, pain in the arse, stubborn as hell, boot-chewin’, gets into everything type of wombat.”
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Who am I?
I am many things: a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer.
I have pretty, pretty boys who live in my head, who don’t let me sleep at night unless I give them life with words.
I like it when they do dirty, dirty things… but I like it even more when they fall in love.
I used to think having people in my head talking to me was weird, until one day I happened across other writers who told me it was normal.
I’ve been writing ever since…
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