An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden (23 page)

Poor, problematic Christine, he thought, with ongoing resentment towards Christine's autocratic mother. His own home had been more of a shelter
and a haven to Christine than this mansion had ever been.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Enid rose from behind a long glass-topped table, extending her hand like royalty.

“How are you, Enid?” He took it gallantly. His mother was big on manners.

She seemed to search his face for something. He wasn't sure what. “Well, I'm doing my best.” She sucked in her cheeks. “I miss Mother terribly, of course, but I can't let the rest of the family down. I want this to be a peaceful time for Christine whilst she's here.”

“So how long is that to be?” He half turned, caught Christine's eye, his expression as sardonic as hers.

“Just until Mum decides to kick me out.” Christine rocked on her boot heels, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

“Christine, the things you say!” Enid looked exasperated. “You know I hate it when you go away.”

Christine smiled broadly. “Gosh, Mum, I've never noticed.”

Enid waved a hand at her. “Darling girl, must we air our differences with Mitchell here?”

“He won't stand up for me.” She shot Mitch a swift, challenging look.

“You can stand up for yourself,” he returned coolly.

“True.”

“I had such high hopes for you two,” Enid went on to reveal. “To my mind you're perfect husband material, Mitchell.”

“Pity Chris didn't think so,” he answered carelessly, as though it no longer mattered. “If she had, life would have taken a different turn—wouldn't it, Chrissy?” He glanced at her with light mockery.

“I expect we'd have six or seven kids by now.”

“I guess so.” He didn't smile, suddenly busy trying to steer out of the rapids.

“You were just too foolish, Christine.” Enid shook her head in censure.

“So why isn't anyone desperate to marry you, Mitch?” Christine retaliated, meeting his extraordinary eyes.

“Chrissy, darling, you're way behind the times,” he drawled. “Some very nice girls indeed are in the running.”

“Annie Oakley out there?”

“There was a time you worked hard at being that, Christine,” Enid reminded her. “The arguments we had, trying to get you to put on a dress. Let alone a bit of make-up. Now you're plastered with it.”

Christine turned her head towards her mother in mild astonishment. “I wear very little make-
up away from the camera, Mum. I'm not wearing much now.”

“In your job, I mean.” Enid clucked. “You could hardly call it a profession. I'll be so pleased when you're out of it. We all know the dangers. Now…come sit down, Mitchell, dear. I'm sure there's something you'll love here. All freshly baked in your honour. Christine, be a good girl and check if the tea's ready.”

“Sure. I'll nip out to the kitchen right now. You keep Mitch entertained.”

“There are just no words to describe my daughter!” Enid gave Mitch a half-pained, half-conspiratorial look, staring after the tall, incredibly elegant Christine as she glided out of the room. “How can we communicate properly when she's always attempting to take a rise out of me?”

“I'm sure we love her all the same,” Mitch offered smoothly, staring at a beautiful, very showy orchid, its colours a combination of crimson, purple and pink. Wunnamurra had such an orchid right on its doorstep. Its name was Christine.

 

They had been airborne some twenty minutes when Mitch received the message that a vehicle was overturned on a bush road some forty plane-kilometres north-east of Wunnamurra station. Could he land and take a look at the scene? If there were critically injured people could he relay
an immediate message to the Flying Doctor? If the occupants weren't so bad could he fly them back to Koomera Crossing, where an ambulance and a crew from the Bush Hospital would be waiting?

“Never a dull moment!” Mitch remarked, shooting Christine a keen look. “I'll drop altitude. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Christine nodded, anxious to do all she could.

They had no difficulty finding the site. On a straight stretch of road the vehicle, a four-wheel drive, had come to grief.

“Thank God the wind is in the right direction,” Mitch remarked, peering down at the rugged red landscape.

“You're going to attempt to land?” Christine too stared down at the vast plains that shimmered away to the horizon.

Whirlwinds swayed and danced in the distance. The quivering mirage created an enticing chain of cool blue lagoons that many an explorer had trudged towards. Lakes that didn't exist. Empty and remote, the Never Never wasn't the best place to break down.

“I'll circle. See what happens,” Mitch muttered. “If there's no response from the ground I guess I'll have to. The road should be just wide enough. At least we've got a good long straight stretch.”

“You don't know the camber of the road,” she pointed out, her tone betraying her edginess.

“You're not worried, are you?” He frowned, looking to her for a straight answer.

“No, Mitch. I'm as cool as a cucumber. Just like you. Of course I'm worried. There's certain criteria for landing on a road, even a bush road with not a soul on it. There's always a risk.”

“Chrissy, darling, spare a thought. I'm the pilot,” he said dryly. “Not you. I don't estimate a high risk. Leave it to me. I've seen the Flying Doctor's King Air—all five or six million dollars' worth, and weighing a good five tons—land in the most amazing places. You're talking skills. I'm not too bad myself.”

A modest understatement. Mitch was a very fine pilot; he had to be. She knew that.

Rule One when travelling in the Outback: wait with your vehicle.

As they circled the site to make any survivors of the accident aware, a woman suddenly lurched up from the scant shade of a stunted, lifeless-looking shrub, her whole body language showing her distress. She lifted both arms above her head to acknowledge them before pointing back to the vehicle, then cantered to one side to indicate the driver was unable to get out.

“Doesn't look good,” Mitch muttered. “I'm going down. Hold tight. It could be a little rough. Life insurance paid up?”

“Not funny, Mitch.”

“You've lost your sense of humour away from the bush.”

“You might too, if you hit a few potholes,” she warned, responding to the taunt.

“Pray,” he advised.

They were lined up for the bush runway, gear down by this stage. She knew she was a little panicky, and tried desperately to contain it. She wondered what conditions were like on the ground. There were whirlwinds ahead on the sweeping plains. But Mitch knew his job. She'd been very cosseted lately, she told herself wryly, travelling first class in jumbos.

It was a very impressive bit of flying. Without a jolt Mitch landed Marjimba's Beech Baron dead square on the hot and dusty bush road with, as she discovered when they climbed out, less than two feet to spare on either side of the plane's wheels before the verge sheared off into rubble.

“I had no idea you were that good.” Her voice was droll.

“Keep the compliments for later,” he clipped. “Let's assess what we're in for.”

“Right.” She grimaced, uncertain of what they'd find.

They'd barely started to move when panic really did set in. A herd of red kangaroos, up until then camouflaged by the thick mounds of spinifex where they'd been having their naps, suddenly
popped up and began bounding here, there and everywhere on their powerful hind legs, muscular tails curved aloft, acting as balance. They hopped with ease up the slight gradient onto the road, displaying their usual considerable curiosity.

Once, chasing brumbies on motorbikes, she and Kyall had clocked the big male 'roos at sixty kilometres per hour. Presumably this lot had been spooked by the roar of the plane's engines and its astonishing presence on their territory.

“Get behind the vehicle,” Mitch shouted to the woman, at the same time making a strong grab for Christine and hauling her back under the wing.

“Stay there,” he ordered. “Goofy bloody things! God knows what they'll do next.”

If it weren't so serious she would have laughed. She ignored Mitch's order. Head down, she darted behind him to the side of the road, where he bent to pick up a handful of large pebbles.

“Go on, then—pelt them,” he snapped when he saw her.

“Pelt them yourself.” With a rush of adrenalin, Christine took aim.

Neither of them, with all their childhood practice, had ever been known to miss. The whizzing pebbles found their solid targets as they bounded back and forth, but as the stones hit and then clattered to the road the kangaroos showed they weren't all that stupid. They began keeping out of range.

To start with, they could damage the plane, she thought. There were quite a few adult males, standing six feet and weighing around one hundred pounds out there, but the big fella, the leader, had to be at least seven feet tall and considerably heavier. They could surround them. Prevent a take-off. It would have been humorous—their antics
were
entertaining—except kangaroos were highly unpredictable.

To add to the general confusion the elderly woman had entered the fray, yelling her head off and pitching a few pebbles that accidentally hit Mitch.

“To hell with this!” Mitch shouted. “I'm off before I get stoned by the old girl. Hold the fort. I'm going to fire off a few shots.”

He made short work of getting his hands on the .22 rifle inside the plane, firing a few rounds to puncture the air. That put the kangaroos into another spin. It was quite a spectacle to see them bound off in a group for the wide open spaces, following up Big Red, who'd had just about enough of the rain of pebbles and the cracking gunshots.

“Thank God for that!” Mitch said laconically, stroking his chin. “It wouldn't surprise me if the 'roos were the cause of the accident. The driver may have taken fright and careened off the road.”

Which was exactly what had happened, the wiry grey-haired woman told them disgustedly.
She was well into her sixties but with something very spry about her. She had a darkening bruise beneath one of her otherwise bright eyes, but she appeared okay if a little excitable.

“Thank the good Lord you're here,” she said fervently, blessing herself. “He always proves Himself, you know. “'Course, Clarry and I are a couple of the faithful. I'm Gemmima, by the way. Mima to Clarry. How in the world did you land that big plane on this narrow road?”

“As best I could, ma'am.” Mitch gave her a smile. “We'd better take a look at Clarry. That's your husband?”

“He's not me toy boy, love.” Gemmima's voice was full of humour. She started to walk alongside Mitch and Christine as they headed swiftly towards the vehicle.

“He's been slipping in and out of consciousness,” she told them. “Concussed, I'd say, or God forbid he's had a bit of a heart attack. I dunno. He hit his head badly on the windscreen. I climbed out. He couldn't.” She started to wring her hands, making a curious wailing sound. “Poor old Clarry! I told him to wait until the ‘roos left the road, but he decided to make a dash for it.”

“How are you going to get Clarry out?” Christine asked Mitch beneath her breath.

“I don't know yet. Depends what condition he's in. I might have to drag him.”

“Could we right the vehicle? Bounce it? Rock it?”

“I don't know that either.” He looked grim.

“You have no idea?”

“Listen, I'm open to suggestions,” he said testily.

“Okay. Okay.”

“It might be possible,” he mused. “It hasn't canted that much. By the time you throw in your considerable bodyweight…”

“Funny.” They were sparring like in the old days.

When they looked in the vehicle a small gasp broke from Christine's lips. It was obvious that when the accident had happened Clarry had been pitched forward over the steering wheel, cracking his head and face into the windscreen. His forehead looked red raw, a mess of scrapes. He was older than Gemmima by a good few years, or appeared to be—old-timers exploring the Outback, not fully aware there could be an accident just waiting around the bend.

Along this stretch wild camels roamed. They moved in large groups and they too could cause big problems for the unwary tourist, station-bred Christine well knew.

“He's out of it, poor devil,” Mitch said, making a swift examination. As a cattleman on a remote station he'd found it advisable to complete first aid and paramedic courses, simply to be able
to cope with accidents when they happened. Looking after his men was a big responsibility. “Breathing's a bit laboured. His neck looks okay. A bad concussion, I'd say. He was lucky. He's a bit on the frail side. I can't do much for him except get him back to Koomera Crossing ASAP. Less time than the Flying Doctor would take to get here anyway.”

He looked across at Christine's alert face. “Meantime, you get on the radio and relay the message. They need the crew standing by. Tell them concussion, possible heat exhaustion. Head injury, but it doesn't look significant.”

Christine broke into a run and after a minute Gemmima ran after her.

By the time they returned Mitch had performed a minor miracle. He had Clarry lying out on the road, with a rug that must have been in the vehicle spread beneath him.

Gemmima let out a loud whoop. “Gee, that's great! Are yah dreamin', Clarry?” She stared down at the man on the rug.

“No, he's conscious—aren't you, Clarry?” Mitch bent over the man. “Just doing a bit of drifting.”

“What happened?” Clarry suddenly asked, sounding very dazed but coherent.

“We got beat up by a lot of kangaroos.” Gemmima had her husband's trembling hand firmly between hers. “Or the car did. But God's
turned His face to us, Clarry. We've got these angels here.”