Outback Doctors/Outback Engagement/Outback Marriage/Outback Encounter Page 22

  But was it wise to launch this new-Blythe procedure with someone who was almost family?

  A step-cousin?

  Probably not.

  To distract her mind from these close-to-out-of-control thoughts and her body from its unseemly behaviour, she tracked back through the conversation, and thought about the bus trip instead. She’d never heard of Creamunna until Lileth had headed off in that direction, but she was reasonably sure it was in Queensland.

  And Cal had said it was closer to Brisbane than where they were now.

  But twelve hours by bus?

  The shudder of horror which shook her must have been strong enough for Cal to feel it, for he tucked her closer, and not snuggling became more difficult. OK, so say a bus averages eighty kilometres an hour, multiply that by twelve—

  ‘Are you praying? Is my dancing that bad?’

  Startled by the questions, Blythe glanced up in time to catch the amusement in his grey eyes. It softened them, and implied an intimacy she found physically disturbing.

  ‘Your lips were moving,’ he added, perhaps thinking her silence meant she hadn’t understood his questions.

  She eased a little away from him, rallying all her common sense to her defence.

  ‘I was working out how far Creamunna must be from Brisbane—you know, twelve hours at—’

  ‘About a thousand kilometres,’ he said, and as the music shifted to a slow, dreamy beat, he drew her close again, so the question of how long they had to drive to get to Creamunna, from here in the vastness of the Northern Territory, remained unasked.

  Fighting the insidious effects of physical attraction to the man took all her wits, so that part of the equation remained a mystery. But if they left after the wedding, and one or other of them was driving at all times, then there’d be no opportunity for the new-Blythe stuff to happen.

  Which was probably just as well.

  In an effort to regain some control over her wayward senses, she then danced with any man who asked her, ignoring dire warnings about pins popping from her companion whenever she returned to the table.

  When the bride and groom departed, and guests were free to stay and mingle, Cal loomed up behind Blythe as she stood talking to Brian’s nephew, Paul Reynolds, who was one of a small group of the Bell family friends who’d trekked into the country for the big event.

  ‘I’ll be leaving in half an hour if you want that lift,’ Cal growled. ‘I’ll check on young Marty then call by the shearers’ quarters, and if you’re there you can come. If you’re not I go without you.’

  He strode away, obviously angry about something, before she could reply.

  ‘Charming company he’s going to be!’ she said to Paul. ‘But if he’s bent on leaving soon I’d better find Mum and Brian to say goodbye.’

  Undoing the pins took most of the allotted time, then there was the problem of what to do with the curtain. In the end, Blythe folded it and tucked it into the shoulder-bag she’d carried with her on her journey north and west. She’d see if she could replace it in Brisbane and send a new one back to Grace with an explanation and apology.

  Clad in her jeans and the T-shirt, and wishing this was one of her more adequate moments, she stood outside the small room that had been hers for the past twenty-four hours.

  When the golf buggy approached, she ignored it, looking beyond it for a real car, but it pulled up directly in front of her and, though Cal had changed from his dinner suit into jeans and a checked shirt, there was no mistaking the driver or his order to get in.

  Oh, no! This time her mother had definitely gone too far. She bent so she could see her chauffeur.

  ‘There is no way I am driving across half of Australia in this thing!’ she told him.

  He gave her the incredulous kind of look usually reserved for wondrous animals at the zoo.

  ‘Get in, you stupid woman,’ he roared. ‘Of course you’re not driving across the bloody country in this thing. For a start it’s electric and the battery would die before we reached the front gate.’

  Blythe got in, but she had no intention of swallowing his insults.

  ‘Then how do they get around golf courses, if they’ve got so little power in their batteries?’

  Her triumphant glare had no effect on him whatsoever. He simply started the vehicle and they rolled away.

  ‘It’s about four times as far to our front gate as it is around a golf course,’ he said, waving an acknowledgement to a man who’d opened a gate for them.

  Thus squelched, Blythe folded her hands in her lap and her lips tightly over her teeth so she didn’t say anything else stupid, and took a look around. It had been dusk last night when the mail plane had landed, so she’d managed to get only a vague idea of the layout of the place. Now they were passing cattle yards, and more sheds than she could believe would be necessary. Trucks, motor bikes, utilities and tractors, all manner of machinery seemed to be needed for a business of this size.

  They stopped at another gate, this one closed, and she knew enough country lore to hop out and open it, then wait until Cal drove through, and close it again.

  She contemplated asking where they were going, but Cal’s set lips and grim expression suggested she’d be better keeping quiet. Until she saw where they were heading—the line-up of small planes on the strip were testament to how many people in the outback used air transport to get around.

  ‘We’re flying? You fly?’

  The words stuttered from her lips.

  ‘My plane’s a four-seater—not that much smaller than the mail plane,’ he said, perhaps assuming the idea of flying in a small plane had frightened her.

  ‘But your parents—the girls’ mother—how…?’

  ‘How could I take to the air when my parents had died in a crash?’

  He put it so bluntly, all she could do was nod acknowledgement of her thoughts.

  ‘People whose family members are killed in car accidents still drive, you know. And out here, if you want to get somewhere in less than twenty-four hours, it’s the only way to go.’

  Blythe swallowed her own apprehension about travelling in small planes. If this man, given his history, could do it, then so could she.

  ‘Scared?’

  The question told Blythe she hadn’t quite hidden her fear, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

  ‘Me? Scared? You’ve got to be joking.’

  She was about to launch into an elaborate and totally fictitious tale of her experience in small plane trips when Cal stopped the buggy and climbed out beside a plane not much bigger than the earthbound vehicle.

  Blythe closed her eyes and opened them again, but it hadn’t grown any larger. She comforted herself with the thought that terror would probably provide an effective dampener for the sexual attraction she’d been feeling towards the man and moved, on legs stiff with apprehension, towards the little plane.

  Which Cal proceeded to push away from her, so she had to follow it like someone hurrying after a bus.

  ‘Move it. We’ve only a few hours of light, and though I’m qualified to land in darkness there are no lights on our strip so I want to get home earlier rather than later.’

  She hurried to close the gap between them.

  ‘Put your foot here,’ he said when he’d positioned the craft where he wanted it. He swung open a hatch-like door and indicated an indentation in the outer skin of the plane which was apparently intended as a step. ‘I’ll give you a boost if you can’t pull yourself up.’

  Determined not to need the ‘boost’, she put her foot where he’d indicated and grabbed a hand grip to pull herself into the seat. But she had the wrong foot on the step, and before she could change it, large firm hands clasped her bottom and lifted her, all but flinging her into the seat.

  ‘Well, really!’ she muttered as he slammed the door then walked around the plane to get in beside her.

  But he took no notice of her, simply working his way through what must have been some kind of pre-take-off ritual, ba
rking an order to her about fastening her seat belt, before the little machine moved off up the runway and rose effortlessly into the air.

  Beneath them, the ground dropped away, the house and bungalows grew smaller, and around them the day seemed brighter, though in the west the approaching sunset was starting to paint the sky with vivid colour. But once they’d left the cluster of buildings the vast emptiness of the land beneath them forced her into speech.

  ‘How do you know where you’re going?’ she asked, pitching her voice to get above the engine noise.

  Cal swung a smile her way.

  ‘Sky map,’ he told her, then pointed to an instrument panel. ‘I set the course we’ll fly on these, although even without instruments I’ve flown this route often enough to know every bump and twist in the landscape.’

  There was joy in his voice, clear and unmistakable, and Blythe relaxed, looking around her as she tried to capture a little of what it was Cal felt.

  ‘It seems so impossible—being up here in a tiny capsule of metal and moving through the air at speed.’

  ‘Magic, isn’t it?’

  Again the joy, but this time accompanied by a smile, which reminded her of the attraction she’d hoped fear would keep at bay. But try as she may to recover just a little apprehension, both mind and body refused to play along. In fact, they were revelling in the experience. Well, her mind revelled in the flight, while her body—best she didn’t think about what it was feeling!

  ‘We’re crossing the border about now, back into Queensland. The flight takes less than two hours, so we’ll be home just after sunset.’

  ‘Home? After one year, is it home to you?’

  He glanced her way as if surprised by the question, then checked his instruments again and peered out through his window towards the ground over which they flew.

  ‘Yes, I think it is,’ he said, when she’d begun to think he wasn’t going to answer at all. ‘When I started hospital work during my student years, I really loved anaesthetics. I even considered specialising—you know, big wheel in a big hospital. But not for long.’

  He grinned at her.

  ‘I guess you know the old saying about being able to take the boy out of the country but not being able to take the country out of the boy? I found myself pining for wide open spaces and, much as I loved the work in big hospitals, I hated the city.’

  ‘You could have been a specialist in a big regional town,’ she pointed out, and received another grin. The man was obviously happy, up here in the sky. Or perhaps it was the emptiness over which they flew that was meeting his need for ‘country’.

  ‘Compromise?’ He shook his head. ‘A big regional town—one large enough to have specialists—is just a smaller city. Besides, they are all either along the coast or in the rich farming belt immediately beyond it. They’re in placid green country. I wanted real rural medicine—a place where I felt I was needed, and able to achieve something. And I also wanted this!’

  He waved his hand towards the nothingness beneath them. ‘Red desert country. Spinifex country. Heat and dust and praying for rain, then the lush beauty when it comes, the great renewal after floods.’

  ‘Sounds to me like there’s a wide streak of masochism in your genetic make-up!’ Blythe told him. ‘Or perhaps insanity!’

  But her rudeness failed to dim his obvious happiness, so vital she could feel it in the small space they shared.

  Though she didn’t feel it diminish in any way and was only alerted to trouble when a loud, though not offensive swear word rent the air.

  ‘Look for somewhere flat and treeless. This area has salt pans—they’re a whitish colour, the bottom of lakes formed in floods.’

  Medical training had ensured Blythe could obey orders without question, so she peered out and down, looking ahead and out to her side of the plane.

  A large whitish area stretched away to her left. No dark blobs indicating trees seemed to mar its surface.

  ‘Over there.’ She touched his arm and pointed, then felt a little spurt of pleasure as he turned the plane in that direction.

  The stubby trees on the desert plain around the whitish patch grew bigger as they lost altitude and the sudden silence told her that whatever had happened to cause this emergency landing had killed the engine.

  ‘Lean forward and fold your arms around your knees, holding yourself in as compact a ball as you can,’ Cal ordered.

  ‘What about you?’ she demanded, although she was already obeying him. ‘How do you protect yourself?’

  She twisted her head to see his face, so saw the smile he flashed her.

  ‘Prayer?’

  It was the last thing she remembered before they slammed onto the ground, then jolted unnervingly across a surface rougher than it had looked from above.

  ‘As soon as we stop, unbuckle your harness and get out. Fast!’

  Cal’s voice was tight and strained, but before she could check how he looked, the little plane somersaulted, flipping onto its nose then flopping over onto its back so they were both hanging by their seat belts like bats settling in for their daytime sleep.

  An ominous quiet from her companion made her glance his way, but she wasted no time with questions.

  Get your harness off! The order had been clear. Disorientated though she was, Blythe found the clasp and released it, then dropped head first to the ceiling of the plane. She fumbled for the doorhandle. If Cal was OK he’d be doing the same, and if he wasn’t, the sooner she was out and able to help him, the better.

  The door wouldn’t open, so she twisted until she could brace herself against the seat and slammed her feet into it. The pain in her ankles made her wince, but the effort was effective. The door opened.

  Now she could turn to Cal, who certainly wasn’t doing anything about getting out. Though he did have a pulse, which was reassuring given he was the only person present who knew anything about planes, the bush and how to get help.

  ‘Hang tight,’ she told him. ‘If I can get your door open, it might be easier to manoeuvre you out when I release you from your harness. Sort of drop you straight onto the ground—though preferably not on your head.’

  She slid out herself, clutching her shoulder-bag, which had been on her knee during the flight. Leaking fuel, fire danger—get everyone away from the source of danger. Training in emergency situations brought lists of procedures to mind as Blythe sniffed the air, praying whatever might happen next wouldn’t happen until she had Cal out of the plane.

  His door opened easily, making her wonder if planes might be constructed with accidents in mind.

  ‘Nonsense!’ she told herself, speaking aloud to reassure herself. ‘If doors opened too easily you’d fall out in midair. Anyway, they’re probably called hatches.’

  She studied his position, but she didn’t have the technical skills to work out where and how he’d fall when she released him, so in the end she unsnapped the harness catch and hoped for the best. Though she did put her bag with the folded curtain in it as extra padding where she thought his head was most likely to land.

  His body crumpled limply down onto the plane’s ceiling—did planes have ceilings?—but in such a manner his legs were freed, so they tipped sideways out of the plane and she was able to use them to drag his body on to the ground.

  ‘Not doing much for your concussion, bumping your head around like this,’ she told him apologetically, but as he was still out to it he failed to respond, making Blythe suddenly feel very, very alone.

  He’d had a bag with him—perhaps with some medical equipment in it?

  She clambered in but the bag was entangled in the mesh luggage restraint and she was still too concerned about fire to untangle it. There was a rough bushman’s coat in there as well, and when she tugged at it, it came free. Tough oilskin. If she could roll his body onto it, she could shift him further from the plane, though perhaps if it was going to blow up it would have done so by now.

  The thought of an imminent explosion added panic to
her haste, and she rolled the upper half of Cal’s body onto the jacket then, grasping it by the collar, managed to drag him, slow inch by slow inch, a little further from the plane.

  ‘Now, if I swing your legs around…’

  A low groan disturbed her planning, and she dropped to her knees, embarrassed to think she’d ignored his physical state for so long.

  ‘Cal! Can you hear me? Do you know your name?’

  Stupid damn question when she’d just told him his name!

  ‘Cal!’ she called louder, and heard her own despair echo in the sound.

  He groaned again but didn’t answer.

  With fingers trembling from the realisation of her isolation, she felt his head, found the lump that explained his unconscious state but felt no movement of bone beneath her fingers.

  ‘Not that anything but an X-ray would show up a fracture,’ she muttered to herself.

  ‘Not even then sometimes,’ a voice reminded her, and she looked down to see his eyes open, the steely hued gaze fixed enquiringly on her face.

  ‘I know you, don’t I?’ he added. ‘You’re the wrong bridesmaid.’

  ‘And who are you?’ Blythe asked him, while telling herself the uproar in the region of her heart was caused by relief that he was conscious again, not by the way his eyes had suddenly smiled into hers.

  ‘Checking me out, Doctor?’ The eyes were still smiling as he answered her question with a question. ‘I’m Callum Whitworth, pilot of plane that’s just landed you, safely I hope, in the middle of nowhere.’ The smile became concern. ‘You are all right?’

  Blythe nodded, which was a safer option than speaking, given how unstable the smiling eyes had made her feel.

  ‘Well, I’d better get up from this comfortable bed and see what’s what. I don’t suppose you got the Epirb going?’

  Not knowing what an Epirb was, let alone how to get one going, she stuck to muteness, simply shaking her head.

  But when Cal tried to sit up, then swore and slumped awkwardly back to the ground, she reacted swiftly.

  ‘What is it, where are you hurting? If it’s your back, don’t try to move. Damn! I didn’t even check your spine before I got you out!’