Desert Flame

by Janine Grey

  Ernest only learnt that Logan had abandoned his family after he received Mairi’s letter, when Fin was well into his teens. Nevertheless, his investment in the mine to help Logan, and his later offer of a home to Logan’s wife and son once he knew of their predicament, spoke well of him.

  Eliza wished she’d known earlier. It might make all the difference to Fin, it might make none, but it was reason enough to give it one last try.

  As she made plans to fly from Tamworth back to Lightning Ridge, from where she would pick up a rental car for the drive to Ruin Flat, Eliza hoped that the third time would be the charm. But how would Fin react to seeing her again?

  *

  If it hadn’t been for the mine, Fin would have actually considered flying to Sydney to apologise to Miss Mayberry – somehow he never thought of her as Eliza – and make contact with the old man. The guy must be getting on. Logan would be sixty by now so presumably Ernest Weaver was in his eighties. If the old bloke wanted to make peace then Fin reckoned he could be man enough to do the same.

  More importantly, for the sake of his mother, he needed a back-up plan. The ladder incident had shaken him up – and it had shaken some sense into him. Mining was an inherently dangerous occupation; do it alone and you trebled the personal risk, maybe more. He had no choice but to continue now he’d sunk everything he had into the mine. But if something happened to him, what would happen to his mother?

  After arriving in Coffs Harbour last night, he’d spent the morning with her, and with Jerry, who barely left her side. Even in the two months since he’d last seen her, she had deteriorated. For an instant, when he first walked into the sunroom where she sat at the nursing home, Fin thought he had seen a spark of recognition in her brown eyes. Then Jerry had come in, full of meaningless bluster and good cheer, as though everything was right as rain. When Fin glanced back at his mother’s face, her expression was once again blank.

  Tree Tops was the best nursing home in the area by a country mile but it cost, and fees would rise as Mairi needed a greater level of care. Her assets were invested sensibly, but in these low interest rate times, the capital was decreasing faster than he’d like. If funds ran out, she would be uprooted again, shunted off to some government home – and that would happen over his dead body.

  The mine might come good, but it might not. Fin might be injured or killed; and the mine was next to worthless unless he found what he was looking for. It all added up to a precarious future for his mother, and however much he hated the thought, he needed to consider all options to improve her security.

  Good old Jerry might be prepared to chip in to help Mairi, but he wasn’t exactly rolling in it. As far as Fin could see, that left Ernest Weaver.

  Leaving the nursing home car park, he spotted Jerry. Fin sighed and pulled in at the kerb.

  He rolled down the passenger window. ‘Give you a lift?’

  ‘Thanks but it’s not far.’

  ‘No worries. Hop in.’

  ‘All right.’ Jerry got in beside him. ‘Thanks, mate.’

  Fin drew out into the traffic, eyes on the road.

  ‘Glad you came to see Mairi,’ Jerry continued. ‘She misses you. I know it’s hard to tell but she does, you know.’

  Fin nodded.

  ‘Did that young lass find you, then? The one from Sydney, something to do with Logan’s family?’

  ‘Yeah, she did.’

  ‘Goodo. You sort everything out, then?’

  Fin smiled. Subtlety had never been Jerry’s strong suit. ‘Working on it.’

  ‘Now, I’m not your dad; I don’t pretend to be, so don’t get it into your head that I’m telling you what to do, all right?’ It must have been a rhetorical question because Jerry just rolled right on. ‘I’m guessing Connie’s family left you some cash. You should use it to look after your mum, forget about messing about in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘I have a job to do there.’ Fin kept his tone neutral.

  ‘Your dad said the same thing when he left you both to go out there. And soon enough he was gone for good. Your mum hasn’t forgotten; it’s all still locked in her head, you know.’

  Fin’s mouth tightened. ‘That’s old news. Ma’s taken care of right now, and I’ll make sure she’s all right, one way or another. That’s good enough for me.’

  Jerry shook his head. At the next lights, he looked at Fin with disappointed eyes. ‘Is it really good enough, Fingal McLeod? Is it really good enough for a lady who sacrificed everything so you could have a decent life?’

  Fin’s fists tightened on the steering wheel but he managed to stay silent as they pulled in to the small apartment block where Jerry lived.

  ‘I’ll be back soon for a visit,’ he promised.

  Jerry looked at him sternly. ‘That mine stole your dad from your mum, broke his spirit so he couldn’t face us anymore. I lost my best mate. You lost your dad. It’s time you grew up and forgot about Ruin Flat. No good ever came from it.’

  Fin gritted his teeth as he waved the guy off, telling himself Jerry meant well. Without Logan around, Jerry had always felt the need to dish out fatherly advice. And that advice almost inevitably went against Fin’s gut instinct.

  Nevertheless, he couldn’t fault Jerry’s concern for Mairi. Her wellbeing had to come first and if something happened to him, Fin needed to know she would be all right. In any case, Fin knew she wouldn’t want him to reject the old guy’s request – and not because of the prospect of money but because it was the right thing to do.

  Two hours into the drive back to Ruin Flat, he knew that, much as he hated taking more time away from the mine, he had no choice. Decision made, Fin wanted to get it done so he could return to the mine. He didn’t mind cities and towns but he’d worked in the outback long enough to know where he belonged. Even as he detoured to Tamworth to get a flight to Sydney, his gaze unerringly turned north towards the home of his heart. Already he yearned for it – the space, the quiet, the infinite sky.

  Dashing through the airport doors, Fin dug out the card Miss Mayberry had given him and tried her number but the line was busy. He cursed under his breath when the call went to voicemail, and he couldn’t work out what to say, so after a couple of seconds of silence, he cancelled the call. Great. Now, she’d think she had a heavy breather!

  His plan was just to get on the first plane with a cheap seat going spare. As always, there were hundreds of people going their own way. He swerved to avoid a toddler rolling on the floor mid-­tantrum before he spotted a Qantas ticket desk and ploughed through a group of business executives. He didn’t see the woman in his blind-spot until they collided side on.

  ‘Shit!’ He swore at the impact. She staggered, and he only managed to keep them both upright by grasping her around the shoulders and letting go of his bag, which dropped on her foot. As the crowd surged around them, they stood marooned, an island of stillness in a sea of movement.

  As he reached to untangle a skein of her silky brown hair curling over his shoulder, he caught the hint of a sea-fresh scent. ‘Sorry. In a bit of a hurry. Did I hurt you?’ He leant down to lift his bag from her foot and looked straight into a pair of clear blue eyes.

  ‘Shit!’ he said again. ‘I mean, hello, Miss Mayberry.’

  *

  Momentarily lost for words, Eliza took a step back. Her gaze skimmed over the crisp checked shirt stretched by his broad shoulders, past that well-defined jaw – today, free of stubble – and up to storm-grey eyes, warmer than she remembered. Without the dust, the scowl, he took her breath away.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ they asked in unison.

  ‘I’m heading to Sydney,’ he said.

  ‘Lightning Ridge,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t give up easily.’

  ‘And meanwhile, you’re both holding up traffic,’ said a red-faced woman wheeling two large suitcases. She glared at them. ‘An airport isn’t the place for making eyes at each other. Why don’t you two book a room?’

  The mortified teenager next to
her muttered, ‘It’s get a room, mother! You are so embarrassing. They probably haven’t seen each other for, like, a hundred years and you just ruined it for them! Let’s get out of here before I die of humiliation.’

  They swept out of sight as Fin ushered Eliza into an unoccupied corner. When she caught his eye a surge of laughter gurgled up and out. She staggered against the wall behind her, feeling tears spring from her eyes.

  ‘Oh – oh, did you see her expression? She was so angry – and so wrong.’

  She looked into his face, which was more relaxed than she’d ever seen it. His mouth curled into a half-smile. Lines crinkled around his eyes, which warmed from stormy to speculative.

  ‘Maybe not so wrong,’ he murmured.

  Someone bumped Fin from behind, pressing him into her. He braced an arm against the wall, surrounding her. Eliza’s laughter stopped, and she suddenly found it hard to breathe.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she stuttered.

  ‘You were flying to Lightning Ridge, presumably to talk to me some more. I was heading for Sydney to find you. We could have passed each other mid-air, but instead . . . we’re here.’

  His words hinted at something, an intent more personal than visiting a long-lost relative.

  ‘To find me?’ she asked, not sure she was hearing right.

  ‘I’ve thought about what you said and reconsidered.’

  Eliza felt satisfaction well inside her. Somehow, despite her inexperience and her belief she’d made an almighty mess of things, she had cleared the first hurdle. Perhaps she could make a go of the business after all and perhaps, more importantly, she could reunite an old man with the only family he had left.

  ‘I was going back to Helton to tell you something you may not know.’ She glanced around at the people rushing in all directions. An airport terminal wasn’t the best environment for this discussion.

  ‘I spoke to Mr Weaver, who told me that when he found out about your mother’s situation, he offered both of you a home. But she never replied to his letter. At least, if she did, Mr Weaver didn’t receive it.’

  ‘We moved a lot,’ he admitted after a moment of silence. ‘It’s all in the past, in any case. I’ve already decided that if he’s mending fences, I can at least knock in a few nails. My mother would like that I made the effort.’

  Eliza felt something inside her soften at his admission, or his proximity: perhaps it was a combination of the two. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, feel the faint brush of his breath on her hair. He was too close, too masculine, too appealing. When she lifted her eyes to his, she saw that awareness reflected back at her. She swallowed and dropped her gaze.

  After another pause, he said softly, ‘I can handle more than one thing at a time – business and pleasure.’

  Eliza felt a throbbing start in her throat. She could smell the scent of warm male, and the citrus tone of his cologne. Somehow, she had to keep things on track. ‘Mr McLeod —’

  ‘Fin.’

  ‘Fin. If you’re serious about meeting Mr Weaver and hearing what he has to say, you should focus on that. I can’t see any good reason for either of us to complicate things.’

  He leant closer still until his mouth brushed her ear.

  ‘Miss Mayberry . . . Eliza . . . What I have in mind is very uncomplicated.’

  CHAPTER 6

  The late-afternoon flight was only three-quarters full, but they were unable to get seats together so Fin sat two rows behind Eliza. It was a prime opportunity to catch up on lost sleep but he found his gaze fixed on the dark head in front of him, waiting for the brief moments when she turned to address a flight attendant or her neighbour.

  She hadn’t responded to his suggestion of an uncomplicated fling for the brief period he was in Sydney, and maybe it was best not to mix business with pleasure. Nevertheless, he suspected it would have been a pleasure to crack Miss Mayberry’s polished façade.

  They disembarked at dusk on a cool Sydney evening. Outside, waiting for a taxi, small puddles covered the ground and the air smelt of rain. It was the first wet weather he’d encountered in weeks, and he smiled.

  ‘What?’ Eliza asked from his side.

  He breathed in the spring-fresh air. ‘Rain. A rare commodity in the north-west this time of year. Well, anytime, really.’

  The evening taxi queue, long and impatient, was also rare in the outback, and one Fin could have done without. Nevertheless, it moved forward steadily. Within fifteen minutes, they were in a cab heading for the city. It seemed to have doubled in size since he’d last been down for that unpleasant final meeting with the MineCorp hierarchy and its lawyers.

  ‘It’s after seven,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t want to call Mr Weaver and suggest we turn up on his doorstep tonight, as much as I’m sure he’d be delighted to meet with you.’

  ‘Dinner, then?’ Having missed lunch, he was starving – and both his appetites would be satisfied with the participation of Miss Mayberry.

  Fin was fully aware his thoughts were moving in a dangerous direction – aware that his decision to come to Sydney wasn’t just about an ageing uncle – but wasn’t it the truth that attraction denied burnt with greater intensity?

  They’d both attempted to do the sensible thing. Nothing. But it wasn’t working. And if he had to be in Sydney, he might as well enjoy it.

  ‘I know . . . somewhere,’ she said.

  ‘Then I’m in your hands.’

  She gave directions to the driver and in less than twenty minutes they were pulling up outside a small bistro that looked exclusive and very expensive. He fingered the card in his wallet, praying he had enough credit.

  When he went to open the door, she hesitated and said, ‘Not here,’ and led him around the corner to a buzzing pizza joint down a laneway. He breathed a sigh of relief, and anticipation. The air was infused with the scent of garlic, rosemary and tomato, teasing the tastebuds. At Ruin Flat, he’d had to forget about good food or the deprivation would have killed him. Fin fully appreciated the opportunity for something appetising.

  He followed Eliza to the back where a table for two was wedged into the corner. When they were settled, he watched her effortlessly catch the eye of the waiter. He sat back and enjoyed the show as she perused the wines with a small frown, conferred with the waiter on the appropriateness of a New Zealand pinot, ordered it and then glanced at Fin with a hint of apology.

  ‘I should have consulted you.’

  He shrugged. ‘Clearly you know your wines. As I said, I’m in your hands.’

  ‘In that case, I’d recommend the tomato, bocconcini and basil pizza, or the lamb and red onion.’

  ‘How about we order one of each and share?’

  ‘Okay,’ she replied as the waiter arrived with their wine. Eliza tasted it and nodded.

  When the waiter had poured the wine and taken their pizza order, she leant forward. ‘I should prepare you for Mr Weaver. He’s very elderly and can be a little vague.’

  ‘I can handle vague.’ This morning he’d handled no response at all from his mother.

  Her blue eyes were sympathetic, as though he’d spoken aloud, and just as she was about to respond, a voice shrieked across the room.

  ‘Elle! It is you!’ A statuesque brunette wearing towering heels wove expertly among the tables, and half-dragged Eliza from her seat into an awkward embrace.

  ‘Felicity,’ Eliza replied. Fin had never seen her appear so uncomfortable, except for perhaps that morning she’d found him showering.

  ‘I know this place is downmarket,’ said Felicity, ‘but I just had to have pizza tonight, and they’re quick. What are you doing here, and with this gorgeous man?’ Her head swivelled towards Fin, and he saw the blatant interest in her dark eyes.

  ‘Fingal McLeod, this is Felicity Westland.’

  Fin stood and nodded, took her red-taloned hand in his. ‘Hi.’

  ‘The pleasure’s all mine,’ she purred, letting go of his hand with obvious reluctance. ‘Well, you are a sne
aky one, Elle. I have to say George will be heartbroken. I think he still had hopes.’ She turned back to Fin. ‘Elle and my brother were practically engaged, you know, until her troubles.’

  A few heads turned their way to stare and a hectic flush climbed along Eliza’s cheekbones as she faced the other woman. Felicity Westland towered over her, hands on hips, appearing to relish the drama. To Fin’s mind, it didn’t look like a fair fight, but he wasn’t writing Eliza off just yet.

  ‘Felicity, you’ve made your point. Let’s just leave it at that,’ Eliza said in a low voice.

  Felicity took a step back. Her hands fluttered in manufactured dismay. ‘OMG, Elle, I didn’t put my foot in my mouth, did I? And after everything you’ve had to endure. I can only imagine the humiliation, you poor thing. No wonder you haven’t been able to bear showing your face recently.’

  ‘Eliza has had business interests to attend to,’ Fin interrupted, standing and angling his body between them. ‘She’s been outback.’

  ‘It’s all right, Fin,’ Eliza murmured to him. ‘You don’t have to get mixed up in this. Felicity, if I hurt George or your family in any way, I’m sincerely sorry. But this isn’t the place. I’m dining with a client.’ Her voice rose with annoyance. ‘Please leave.’

  Felicity’s expression hardened into malice. ‘Oh, you’re doing that kind of work now, are you, darling? No surprises there. I always suspected you weren’t the Little Miss Perfect you pretended to be.’

  Eliza looked as horrified as she did angry, as much at the accusation of pretence or perfection as the insinuation that she had resorted to the escort business. Either way, it was time to bring this to an end. They were the sole focus of the small room, now hushed and expectant. Their waiter stood rooted to the floor, stalled en route to their table with their pizzas, which were getting cold, and Fin was hungry.

  Fin leant in close to the Westland woman, trying not to recoil from the scent of over-sweet perfume and venom. He said quietly, ‘Ms Westland, I don’t know you and I hope I never do. But you do what Eliza says right now and let this drop. Then you turn and walk out of here. And you never, never approach her again. Is that clear?’