Outback Bachelor

by Margaret Way

  “Is there a correct way to look at you, Rachelle?” Skye asked mildly. “I’ve always wanted us to be friends but your friendship has never been on offer. Now, I’d like to see Lady Margaret. Keefe has already spoken to her. She’s expecting my visit.”

  “You’re the last person I want as a member of my family,” Rachelle told her vehemently.

  Skye was stopped in her tracks. Could Keefe have possibly taken his sister into his confidence? He could have only been at the homestead thirty minutes at the outside, before going off on station business. He had promised to arrange this visit with his grandmother. “So you must think something is happening?”

  Rachelle didn’t hesitate. “I’m not such a fool I don’t know you and Keefe are joined at the hip. It’s even possible you’re beginning to get the upper hand. What are you seeing Gran about?”

  “I see no reason not to tell you, Rachelle. I want to speak to her about my mother.”

  “There’s been a hell of a lot of mileage in your mother’s story. From all accounts she was a lady, even, would you believe, connected in some way to an aristocratic family, yet she married your father. Another shotgun affair, I suppose.”

  A bolt of molten anger shot through Skye, but she ignored the insult. “That’s why I want to see your grandmother. There are a lot of things still unclear. Excuse me, please, Rachelle. You really need to lighten up for your own sake as much as anyone else’s.”

  Keefe took the Land Rover, driving out of the compound, heading for Yellow Creek where some of the men would be yarding clean skins. He had briefed Jack before he had left. First on the agenda was to clear out the lignum swamps. He had every confidence in Jack to carry out his orders to the letter. He had a lot of respect for Jack. As he drove out of the trees that surrounded Yellow Creek and into the sunlit yarding paddock, his eyes skimmed the busy stockmen, looking for his overseer. No sign of him. One of the men, Whitey, a part aboriginal with a fine head of snow-white curls, was standing over by the truck, having a gash in his arm treated. Obviously Whitey had come too close to a rushing bullock’s horn. Usually the shouts and calls around the yards were cheerful, but this afternoon everyone seemed a bit subdued.

  “Where’s Jack, Whitey?” he called, starting to feel an element of unease. He strode to the truck, fallen bark crunching under his feet. He paused to take a look at the man’s arm. It was a bad gash but Whitey as usual appeared unconcerned. “Your shots are up to date?”

  “Sure, boss. Jack not bin here. Not all mornin’. Jonah checked around. No one has seen ’im. Jonah checked the bungalow, thought mebbe he was sick. Not there neither.”

  “Where’s my brother?” Keefe asked.

  “Him and Bill were pushin’ some cows and calves for a drink. That’d be Kooreena Waters. Bound to find ’im there.”

  “It’s Jack I really want,” said Keefe, swatting near violently at a fly. He was worried. Always a man to rely on his gut feeling, his feelings about Jack McCory and his whereabouts weren’t good. It was unheard of for Jack not to be on the job. Someone must have seen him. Had he left a note at the bungalow? Had one of the nomads that moved freely across the vast station sighted him? He couldn’t have simply gone away. Whatever forces were at play, confidence that all was well was starting to drain out of him.

  With a single steely gesture he brought the men into a circle. “Jack is always on the job, regular as clockwork.”

  “Are you worried about ’im, boss?” Eddie, the leading hand, asked.

  “Yes. By the look of it, so are the rest of you. Jack should be here. I want you all to spread out. We need to find him. We need to think accident. He could be hurt. He could have taken a fall from his horse. Unlikely, but something could have happened. We have to consider an encounter with a snake. Even a blasted camel in heat. Jake, you take the truck. Bill the utility. Head back towards the line of lignum swamps. Jack could be chasing up a few that got away. The rest of you, take the horses. Each man in a different direction. Report to me when you’re done. We need to find Jack.”

  Back at the home compound, Keefe began a systematic search of the bungalow. What was he looking for, a note? Nothing in any obvious place. Skye would have seen it, although she wouldn’t have been in the bungalow long. He had arranged a meeting between Skye and his grandmother the minute he’d arrived back at the house. Skye desperately needed proof of her identity. A DNA test was the only way to go. He couldn’t free his mind of her saying that if any hurt came to Jack he would lose her for ever. People in shock said such things. That was his only comfort.

  Skye had left the front door open. A breeze was sweeping in. Keefe went to close it. Only then did he see the grey envelope that must have flown off the hall table and headed towards the old grandfather clock, where it was stuck between the clock and the wall. For a few moments he stared at it in silence then he walked the few paces to pull the envelope out of its hiding place. It was addressed to him.

  Keefe, promise me you won’t come looking for me. I’m going out into the desert to think.

  Jack.

  Think? Blow your brains out? The note and the unsteadiness of the handwriting was a sure sign Jack was a very disturbed man. What had happened and very recently? He trusted his grandmother absolutely not to summon Jack for a talk. Other than his grandmother and himself, no one else knew of the conclusions they had reached. Jack would be back. He had to believe that. On the other hand, he had no intention of following Jack’s request. He would have the whole station out looking for him. He would alert the nomadic aborigines. They saw everything in their travels. Even in the mind’s eye. He would take up the chopper. He just knew he wasn’t overreacting.

  God, he would have to tell Skye. He checked to see if Jack had taken his rifle.

  He had.

  Both women stared at Keefe in shocked silence. Lady McGovern was the first to speak. “What is it, dear?” He cut a powerful, very daunting figure.

  “I don’t exactly know.” He frowned. “Not yet. We can’t find Jack. He could have had an accident.”

  Skye sprang to her feet, instantly in a panic. “Have you checked everywhere? Spoken to the men?”

  “Need you ask?” He took hold of her arm to steady her. “You’ll want to join the search, I know. So follow me. Don’t worry, Gran.” He turned back to the frail old lady. “We’ll find him.” It was spoken like a foregone conclusion.

  But dead or alive?

  They came on Rachelle tiptoeing down the stairs. “What the devil are you doing?” Keefe called to her, swiftly closing in with Skye in his wake.

  “Something is going on, isn’t it?” Rachelle looked from one to the other. Both looked extremely tense. A dead give-away.

  Keefe stared at his sister, his black brows knotted. Rachelle as a child had always been a great one for hiding behind doors, curtains, sofas anywhere she could overhear private conversations. Could she possibly have been outside their grandmother’s bedroom door the night when they had been having their very private conversation? It didn’t seem likely. Rachelle had been deeply involved in the card game when he had left the room.

  “My father is missing, Rachelle,” Skye burst out raggedly, wanting to push Rachelle out of the way. She didn’t trust her at all. “Keefe has sent out a search party. Would you know anything about his disappearance?’ She did something awful then. She seized Rachelle’s arm in a painful grip.

  “Me?” Rachelle pulled away in shock. “What do you take me for? I have no idea what the men are doing! Not interested either. He could have taken a fall from his horse. Happens all the time. Horses are dreadfully unpredictable creatures, especially when they’re spooked.”

  “You know, don’t you?” Driven by worry, Skye, the taller, went to shake her. “Tell us what you know.”

  “Are you mad? Let go of me!” Rachelle struggled wildly but Skye held on. “Keefe, make her let go of me.”

  Keefe took Skye away, holding her firmly by his side. “We need you to answer one simple question, Rachelle.
The truth, please. Have you spoken to Jack McCory in the last couple of days?”

  “Jack McCory’s a friend of mine?” Rachelle asked acidly, raising her brows heavenwards. “How dare you lay hands on me, Skye McCory. I have no idea what the two of you are getting at.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you,” Keefe rasped. “For a lot of your life you’ve made a habit of eavesdropping, Rachelle.”

  “It’s not a crime, is it?” Rachelle flushed violently with embarrassment.

  “When the Templetons were here and you were enjoying yourselves playing cards, I went upstairs to talk to Gran. Did you follow me?”

  “Follow you?” Rachelle asked cautiously, eyeing first her brother then Skye.

  “Answer the question.” Skye’s voice rose sharply. “Did you overhear what Keefe and your grandmother were saying?”

  Rachelle’s face visibly paled. “I may have been guilty of eavesdropping in the past. In this family it’s the only way you find out anything. But I swear I didn’t follow you upstairs. Ask anyone.”

  “They’ve all gone home.”

  “Scott hasn’t. Ask him.”

  A shudder passed through Skye. “Did Scott go upstairs? Did he leave the room?”

  Rachelle fought the impulse to cry. It wasn’t something she normally did, but the upset was contagious. “I’m sure he didn’t. He watched when he didn’t play.”

  “You’re certain of that?” Keefe questioned. “I mean, you get engrossed in the game. I’ve seen you too many times.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” Rachelle to her horror felt a tear trickle down her cheek. “Everyone hates me.”

  “Rubbish! You go out of your way to be unpleasant. You’ve done your best to upset Skye over the years. But no one hates you, Rachelle. I love you. Be assured of that. I just live in hope you’ll get yourself together. So we can take it you didn’t speak to Jack.”

  “Definitely not!” Rachelle’s dark eyes flashed. “What could I possibly say to him anyway? What could it be that would make Jack McCory disappear?” Slowly she turned to focus on Skye, lifting her hands in a gesture of supplication. “I swear to you, Skye, I would do nothing to upset your father. I’ve just lost my own father. I think about him all the time. Whatever has happened, I could play no part in your father’s disappearance. I beg you to believe me.”

  Skye remained staring into Rachelle’s brimming eyes. At last she said, “I do believe you, Rachelle. I’m very sorry if we’ve upset you. We’re tremendously worried about Dad.”

  “You can’t find him anywhere?” Relieved, Rachelle dashed her tears away with the back of her hand.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “So there are places I can search,” Rachelle offered.

  “Thank you for that.” Skye started to turn away, her mind crowded with fears for her father’s safety.

  “The best thing you can do, Rachelle, is go keep Gran company,” Keefe said. “She’s as distressed as the rest of us. I’m taking the chopper up. I’m confident we’ll find Jack in the desert. But I need to conduct the search before nightfall.”

  “All the luck in the world!” Rachelle called, feeling chastened.

  When they were gone, she lowered her head for a moment, biting her lip and thinking back hard…Had Scott been there all the time? She wasn’t one hundred per cent sure. What was it Keefe and Gran had been discussing? Whatever it was, it had a bearing on Jack McCory’s disappearance. Rachelle began to murmur a little prayer for his safety.

  Please, God, please protect Jack McCory.

  They had two hours before darkness. The men on the ground had searched steadily without finding any trace of the overseer. He let the search go on even though Jack had written he was heading into the desert. He could have been laying down a false trail.

  From the air they looked down on an infinite landscape of savage splendour without sign of human habitation. A man in a moving vehicle would be easily exposed in this trackless wilderness. Without a good supply of water, that man could easily die. Many had lost their lives in the country’s vast interior; great deserts covered almost half the continent. Fiery red sand dunes rose up from the plains, peaking and curling like the waves of the inland sea of pre-history. Between the giant swells the troughs were clothed in the ubiquitous spinifex and thick clumps of hardy grasses, stunted trees of mulga and mallee. There was very little protection from a blazing sun out here. On the gibber plains in the distance, the large boulders, rocks, stones and pebbles glittered like some incredible mosaic. Above them the mirage shimmered in silvery glass whirlpools.

  It was in its way fantastically beautiful—especially to Skye with her photographer’s eye—only she had no mind to admire it. Her father could be dead or dying down there.

  Eyes peeled, they scoured the vast empty expanses, with their dried-up red clay pans and ancient watercourses that appeared like white veins amid the red. They had been flying for approximately thirty minutes when Skye, who had her head turned in the opposite direction to Keefe, tapped him urgently on the shoulder.

  “Down there. Could that be the station Jeep?”

  “If it is, Jack has used dead branches and bleached grasses to screen it from view.” Immediately Keefe brought the chopper down low…They weren’t all that far off being earthbound. Both of them had picked up the image of a vehicle now.

  Feet from landing, the downdraft of the rotor flattened the tall spears of the spinifex grass and churned up a mini-dust-storm. Skye struggled to free herself from her seat. She was so agitated Keefe had to take over. “Try to keep calm, Skye,” he told her. “We need to keep calm, okay?”

  “I’ll try.” She was having difficulty just swallowing. Her heart seemed to be occupying her entire mouth How much of a lie was her life? It didn’t seem to matter now. All that mattered was finding the man she called her father alive. Nothing could destroy the love they had for each other. She was desperate to tell him. How many bereaved families had missed just such a chance to tell their loved ones how greatly they were loved and needed?

  Feet dug into the desert sand, with the red whirlpool slowly abating, Keefe lowered a hand to her shoulder. “I want you to wait here.” He spoke with habitual authority. “Promise me you’ll do that. Wait until I give the signal. You have to trust me, Skye, to know what’s best.”

  “You think he’s killed himself, don’t you?” She could hear the panic and grief in her voice.

  “I think Jack’s got more guts than that,” Keefe clipped off. “Maybe he’s just plain drunk and sleeping it off. Give me a minute and I’ll find out.”

  It was the longest minute of her life.

  I’ll do anything, God. I’ll give up Keefe, the man I love with all my heart, if I have to. I’ll tear out my own heart. Don’t do this to me, Dad!

  What she was offering was self-sacrifice.

  Keefe stepped out of the makeshift shelter, waving his arm in an all-clear. “Right, Skye,” he yelled. “You can come now.”

  Gasping for breath, the heat scorching her neck, she covered the distance as quickly as she had covered any distance in her life, powered by sheer desperation to check on her father’s condition. The loose sand and the unforgiving heat coming off it was making the going tough, but she was tougher. As she reached Keefe, she half stumbled and he caught her up, hauling her into his arms. “Stop tearing yourself to pieces, Skye. I can’t bear it. Jack’s in a bit of a mess, but he’s going to be all right.”

  It was moderate rather than severe dehydration Keefe had diagnosed quite accurately, though that situation could have swiftly changed. It didn’t take long for even a physically fit man to succumb to killer dehydration in the desert. Especially a man who had polished off a bottle of whisky.

  With her head bent low to clear the overhang of branches, Skye entered the shelter. Her father was sitting on the sand, a man at rock bottom. His head and his torso were soaked from the contents of a canvas water bottle Keefe had poured over him. Unlike her, Keefe had had the presence o
f mind to take it out of the chopper and bring it with him.

  “Dad?” Realising she was shouting with relief and gratitude, Skye reined herself in. “Dad, Dad!” Love shone from her face and her voice. “What an awful fright you gave us. Don’t you dare ever do it again. Don’t you dare. You hear me?”

  Jack, conscious but weak and dehydrated, somehow managed a smile. “What are you doing here, love?” His look of desolation was pitiful, yet his blue eyes flickered with sudden light.

  “Where else would I be?” Skye felt the tears roll down her cheeks. The sight of her father so reduced, plus the reek of alcohol, was almost more than she could bear. She threw herself down alongside him, swooped on him, gathering him close and raining kisses on his cheek covered with harsh stubble. “We’ve found you. Now we’re going to take you home. It’s all right, Dad. Everything is going to be all right.”

  “I’ll go get the other water-bottle,” Keefe said, getting up off his haunches to make the return trip to the chopper. He turned away, hiding a face white with fury.

  He knew now what had happened. He just knew who had gone to Jack to fill his ears with black bile. He aimed to take action.

  Even so, payback time never felt so bad.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BACK on Djinjara it wasn’t easy to get Jack to take to his bed. But it was heartening to see that slow, increased water intake, plus a cooling shower, had brought about a positive result.

  “That’s an order, Jack,” Keefe told him firmly, long used to men obeying him. “Stay in bed. I’ve called in Joe McPherson to check you out, just to be on the safe side. You’re BP is a bit low. Probably your body will need days for the cells to plump up again. But you’re looking better.”