Flight to Coorah Creek (17 page)

As the ambulance driver carefully slid the stretcher onto the plane, Adam took Jess to one side.

‘She's got a broken arm and a punctured lung,' he said quietly. ‘We need to get her to Mount Isa pretty fast. She needs a smooth flight, but don't go too high. We need to watch the pressure.'

‘Got it,' she said. ‘Will she be all right?'

Adam nodded.

While Adam turned to collect his bag from the ambulance, Jess quickly climbed aboard the plane. Carrie's stretcher was strapped in and ready for take-off. Jess's heart went out to the girl who was pale with pain and fear.

‘You'll be fine,' Jess said, as she moved forward towards the pilot's seat. ‘Adam is an amazing doctor and he'll take good care of you.'

‘He said the same about you,' the girl whispered back.

‘Are you sure you don't mind?' Ellen asked for the tenth time.

‘Mind? Of course I don't mind. I'm looking forward to it.' The look on Jack's face made her believe he meant every word he said.

‘Well, thanks. You saved my life.' That was a bit of an overstatement but he had certainly saved her some heartache. Her babysitter had set off this morning to the Birdsville Races – and only remembered to tell Ellen about it at the very last minute. Ellen hadn't been able to find another sitter, and that meant she was going to have to call Pete and tell him she wasn't coming to work. It wouldn't have been quite as bad as it might once have been. In just a few short weeks, Ellen had established herself firmly as a fixture on Friday and Saturday nights at the pub. Her cooking had proved so popular that she was no longer afraid of losing her job. But losing a night's wages was a big deal. Despite the job and her new home with Jess, money was still tight and every cent mattered. Then Jack had stepped in with an offer of babysitting.

‘Of course, I will miss my favourite meal of the week.'

Ellen almost blushed as he smiled down at her, his brown eyes twinkling with humour. He was just being kind, she thought, just as he was being kind when he showed up at the pub every Friday night for dinner. And Saturdays, too. She'd overheard some of the regulars comment on his sudden liking for a pub he'd seldom patronised before. One or two had cast speculative looks her way, which she had ignored, just as she'd tried to ignore the little lift in her heart every time Jack walked into the bar.

‘No you won't. Come with me.' She led the way through to the kitchen.

It was the same room that Jack had so carefully repaired just a short time ago – but it wasn't. There were wildflowers in a vase in the centre of the big wooden table. Bright curtains hung over the window and the door of the fridge was decorated with colourful finger paint pictures. In short, the kitchen had become what it was always meant to be – the warm centre of a home. And right now, it smelled great.

‘Beef bourguignon?' Jack asked

‘Yes. It's in the oven. And this time I've been able to make it with all the proper ingredients.'

Jack shook his head. ‘I don't know. It would have to be pretty fine to top that first one you made. I'll never forget how good that tasted.'

Ellen would never forget that first night at The Mineside either; but it wasn't the beef she would remember. It was Jack, quietly slipping into the bar. Jack ordering that first meal. He'd helped her find her feet and then let her take those first few important steps on her own. Would she ever be able to tell him how much that meant to her? How much he …

Ellen felt something contract deep inside her. She wasn't brave enough to look at Jack. Afraid he would see something in her face. Afraid that the light in her eyes would not be reflected in his. Afraid that it would.

For a few very long seconds there was absolute stillness in a small world she shared only with Jack. She could almost hear her heart beating. Could Jack hear it too?

‘Jack!' The high-pitched yell and the sound of running feet forced Ellen to breathe again.

Harry dashed into the room, his face lighting up as he laid eyes on Jack.

‘Hello, Harry,' Jack said, as the boy slid to a stop in front of him.

‘Mum says you're going to stay with us tonight.'

‘That's right I am. Where's your sister?'

‘She's watching TV,' Harry said. ‘Something with girls in it.' The boy's face wrinkled in disgust and Jack chuckled. It was a deep soft sound that curled around Ellen's heart.

‘Well then, she'll miss out on our special treat,' Jack said.

‘Did you bring them?' Harry's face shone even more brightly.

‘I did. There's a box by the door. But you'll have to wait until your mum has left for work,' Jack said.

With an excited squeal, Harry vanished again. Ellen looked at Jack and raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘Uncle Scrooge comics,' Jack explained.

Of course. Harry's fascination with the cartoon tattooed on Jack's arm had led to his discovery of the Disney comics. She'd been able to buy him a couple, but comics were few and far between all the way out here. And she didn't have the money to buy him more. Jack had been generous with his collection. It seemed a strange thing for a grown man to collect comics but watching Jack and Harry together, Ellen had come to be grateful for it. Jack managed to turn each comic into a learning experience for her son. Based on the Duck family adventures, Harry had discovered the Incas, and the Egyptian pyramids. He'd also learned about keeping promises and telling the truth. Ellen knew that most of what her son was learning came not from the comics, but from the man who read them.

‘He'll love that,' she said. ‘It's really good of you to share them with him.'

‘My pleasure.'

Ellen glanced down at her watch. ‘It's getting late. I'd better go.'

‘Here.' Jack was holding out the keys to his ute. ‘Take my car.'

‘No. Jack. You are already helping by looking after the kids. Thanks for the offer, but I can walk.'

‘Yes, you can. But why don't you take the ute.' He lifted her hand, placed his keys into her palm and gently folded her fingers around them. His fingers were strong and rough with hard work, but oh, so gentle. These hands would never hurt her. She looked up into his face and she saw something there. Just a flash in the dark brown eyes that held hers. Just the promise of something so unbearably sweet that she felt a lump in her throat.

‘Jaaaack …' The childish voice was dripping with impatience.

‘You had better go to work … and I had better open that box of comics before Harry explodes.'

Relief and disappointment in equal measure washed over Ellen as he let go of her hand. ‘If you need me …'

‘I know where to find you. Don't worry; the kids are safe with me.'

Yes they were, Ellen thought as she walked out to the dusty white ute sitting in her driveway. The kids were safer with Jack than with their father. And not just the kids. She opened the door and slid into the leather seat, feeling where it had moulded itself to the shape of the man. The cab smelled of dust and engine oil and perhaps a hint of sweat. It smelled of Jack. She slipped the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine leaped into life. How typical of Jack that even a beaten up old ute would purr like a Rolls-Royce in his care. She slipped the vehicle into gear and reversed out of the driveway. As she headed towards the pub, it occurred to her that Jack hadn't given her any instructions about driving his car. He hadn't warned her not to leave the lights on. Or forget the handbrake. He had simply assumed she knew what she was doing. Why must some men always assume the opposite?

When Ellen entered the pub, she was greeted with enthusiasm by the patrons already seated at the bar, quite a few of whom she now knew by name. She fended off queries about what was on that night's menu and made her way through to the kitchen. As she walked through the door, it struck her that this kitchen, just like the one in her new home, was a different place to that of a few weeks ago. Regular cleaning had given the wooden surfaces a dull sheen. Behind the gleaming steel doors, the cold room was overflowing with food. And not just steak and potatoes. Since that first unexpected beef bourguignon, the patrons at the pub had been subjected to an ever-changing menu, featuring items like quiche and couscous and, heaven forbid – spinach. Even a salad or two had slipped onto the menu. Every single dish had vanished amid much acclaim. She still served steak and potatoes – but these days, it usually came with a brandy mushroom sauce rather than tomato ketchup. She wondered what tonight's crowd would think about her prawn risotto. The prawns were frozen of course … but it still should work out all right. She reached for the packet of rice.

The risotto was half done when a voice interrupted her in her work.

‘If you keep that up, I'll have to give you a second job.'

‘Keep what up?' she asked Pete.

‘That singing.'

Ellen blinked in surprise. She hadn't even realised she was singing.

‘You've got such a pretty voice. And you are … well. I mean … You could …' His words trailed off.

Ellen busied herself over her pots, wanting to spare her boss further embarrassment. If she turned around, she knew his face would be flushed as he stammered out the words. She had glimpsed him earlier in the evening, wearing what was obviously a new shirt. She could still see the creases from the packaging. It was the second new shirt he'd worn in the past fortnight. His hair was freshly cut too – and washed. Ellen had a feeling she knew why.

‘Thanks – but no thanks,' she said. ‘I am more than happy with my pots and pans.'

‘Sure. Sure. And you are doing a great job. Really. I'm so glad you came here.'

She had to say something. Slowly Ellen turned around. Pete hovered near the door, as if ready to flee.

‘I'm glad I did too, Pete,' Ellen said gently. ‘I enjoy my job – now go away so I can get on with it.' She smiled to take any sting out of the words.

‘Okay.' He was gone.

Ellen felt a wash of relief. She hoped Pete would understand what she really meant was ‘no thanks'. ‘Please,' she whispered under her breath. Not only did she need this job – she was also starting to enjoy it. She didn't have a lot of experience with working. She had lived with her parents right up until her marriage, helping her father in his small corner store. That hadn't been like a real job at all. When Harry and then Bethany had come along, she'd been more than happy to be a stay at home mum. Until it all went so terribly wrong. But there was much to be said about working to support her kids herself. She liked the feeling of independence. For the first time in many years, she felt as if she had some control over her life. That was such a good feeling.

Ellen was singing again as she carried the last of her risotto into the bar later in the evening. The dish had been a resounding success and she was wondering if perhaps a curry might be a good idea. At the end of the bar, a man wearing a police uniform was waiting for his dinner.

‘That looks great. Thanks,' he said, as she placed the steaming plate in front of him.

‘Enjoy,' she said.

‘This place has changed a bit,' the policeman said, as she turned to go. ‘I guess that's your doing.'

Ellen stopped. ‘I don't understand.'

‘I used to get called down here fairly often on Friday and Saturday night,' he said. ‘When things got a bit rough. Hasn't happened for a while.'

‘Well, surely that's a good thing,' Ellen said.

‘I'm not complaining.' The officer took a mouthful of the food. ‘And I'm not complaining about this either.'

Ellen flashed him a quick smile and headed back to the kitchen. She wasn't sure if the policeman was right. Her presence and her food might have had some effect on the pub's patrons, but she was pretty sure that Jack's presence at his corner table was also a factor. His size and his willingness to step in when someone looked like they were spoiling for a fight had to count for something. She glanced over at the table she had come to think of as his. It was empty. Despite being grateful that he was sitting with her kids, Ellen missed seeing him there. Despite the compliments for her cooking and the success of her new recipe, the evening lacked something.

It was a little later than usual when she left that evening. Pete had lingered to chat to her, getting underfoot as she cleaned the kitchen. He had even offered to help, an offer she had declined with thanks. It didn't take much to figure out that he'd chosen tonight to linger with her – because Jack wasn't waiting outside. Anxious to avoid any awkward moments, Ellen waited until Pete was in the bar sorting glasses before calling her goodbyes and quickly slipping out the back door to where Jack's ute was parked. As she drove off, she caught a glimpse of Pete watching from the lighted window. She hoped he would recognise the ute. She didn't want any awkwardness at work. And she certainly didn't want to get involved with her boss. The easiest way to discourage him was to let him think that she and Jack were …

But they weren't.

Not that she wanted too, of course. She had sworn off men. For life. If her past relationship was anything to go by, she only attracted losers anyway. And Jack was not a loser. Far from it, she thought as she drove home through the dark and empty streets. Jack was anything but a loser. Jack was – well pretty amazing.

She just loved Jack's face. It wasn't handsome, not in the traditional sense, but it said everything about him. It said that he was strong and gentle. It lit up when he was with her kids. He was so good with them. She was beginning to believe that he really did care for Harry and Bethany.

And what about her?

Jack was her friend. There was no doubting that. He'd helped her find a place to live. He'd been there to watch over her that first night in The Mineside. But at the same time, he hadn't taken charge of her life. He was allowing her to be the person she wanted to be. She wasn't that person yet, but she was getting closer.

And when she was that person – what then? What would Jack be to her then? What did she want him to be? The answer to that question lay in the slow soft ache deep inside her body and her soul.

Ellen turned off the road into the driveway that led to the house behind the hospital. That led to her home. She could see the glow of light in the window. Ellen was careful not to slam the door as she got out of the ute. She didn't want to risk waking the kids. She tripped lightly up the stairs, happier than she had been for a long, long time. Too long.

She walked into the living room, and stopped dead in her tracks. Jack was asleep on the big sofa, his feet, clad only in socks, were propped up on the coffee table. Snuggled up against him and even more soundly asleep was her son. Harry's hand rested on a colourful comic that was lying in Jack's lap. Ellen couldn't stop herself. Tears welled up in her eyes. This was all she had ever wanted. Arms stronger than hers to keep her children safe from harm. Hands to hold – not to hurt. If only she had met Jack a long time ago. Things might have been different. But it was too late now. Too late for her. Wasn't it?