Free The Golden Stranger by Karen Wood

and planted her firmly into a chair in front of the mirror. Shara sat obediently while Rosie plucked and preened and forced her hair into an amazing side-part do, talking the whole time about Tom. She applied make-up and a squirt of something floral-smelling. By the time she was finished, Shara had to admit the results were good. She twirled in front of the mirror, admiring the new girly version of herself. ‘I should do this more often.’
    She picked up her denim jacket, and stuffed both her wallet and keys into the pocket. ‘Come on. Luke’ll be waiting.’
    Outside, Barry had Luke pinned to the side of his HQ ute, giving him a stiff lecture on speed limits and passenger safety.
    â€˜Not a problem, Baz,’ Luke said cheerfully.
    Shara saw her father’s jaw tighten. He hated being called ‘Baz’. He ran his eyes over Luke’s old yellow ute, with its dark-blue door from a wrecker’s yard. ‘You’re to give me a call straight away if you have any engine troubles.’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ said Luke. ‘It shouldn’t be a problem, though. This old girl will get us down and back in one piece.’
    Shara gave the doorhandle a yank and slid in next to Jess. As they drove out the gate, she waved to her father, who stood on the verandah with hands on hips and a rigid face. Safely down the road, Shara turned to Jess. ‘Did you bring some scissors?’
    â€˜Yep!’ Jess drew a small box of clip-lock bags and a pair of hairdressing scissors from her bag. ‘You bring the camera?’
    Shara pulled it out of her pocket and aimed the lens back towards them. ‘Lean in!’
    The flash went off, leaving blotches of colour in her vision. The girls huddled over the LCD screen, admiring their exaggerated smiles.
    â€˜The scissors won’t be much use,’ said Luke. ‘You need a hair follicle for a DNA sample. You’ll have to pluck it, not cut it.’
    â€˜Cool, let’s go pluck!’ said Shara.

10
    IT WAS DARK when they arrived in Brisbane. They found a park down the road from the showgrounds. A bustle of cars, trucks and taxis tore past in streams of red and white light.
    â€˜Come on, Shara,’ said Jess, grabbing her hand and leaping into the traffic.
    â€˜Holy crap,’ said Shara, stumbling off the kerb.
    They crossed three lanes and waited, toes on the white lines, until another gap appeared in the rush of vehicles. A taxi zoomed behind them and honked. Shara jumped in fright and Jess pulled her forward across another three lanes and onto the footpath. Behind them, the cars slowed and the lights turned red. Luke calmly crossed at the intersection.
    Jess took Shara by one arm and Luke by the other, and linked together, they headed for the showgrounds. Before they reached the main gates they could hear the country music, crooning cattle and over-excited commentators, all sounding totally out of whack with the roar of city traffic.
    At the back of the main arena was a cluster of trucks and horse floats, four-wheel drives and dust-covered vehicles. Beyond that, Shara could see caravans and temporary accommodation. They bought tickets and strolled through the turnstiles into the smell of popcorn, horse hair and sickly-sweet fairy floss.
    In the arena the Clydesdale tug-o-war was on, with at least sixty kids braced against a long rope, chattering excitedly. The rope was attached to the harness of two huge feather-legged horses with muscled hindquarters. The announcer bellowed to the handler to take up the slack. ‘Averaging twenty-five kilos per kid, that there is a tonne and a half of kids!’
    â€˜My money’s on the Clydies,’ said Luke.
    â€˜No way, they’ll let the kids win,’ said Jess.
    Shara thought it looked evenly matched and couldn’t decide either way.
    They stayed and watched three rounds of squealing children being dragged through the dirt, pulling and laughing and eventually conceding