Outback Doctors/Outback Engagement/Outback Marriage/Outback Encounter

by Meredith Webber

  He summoned up a smile, though it didn’t improve the pinched whiteness of his features.

  ‘Better to end up a live paraplegic than be burned to death had the plane gone up. You did the right thing. But it’s not my back, it’s my arm—or maybe my shoulder. When we hit, the stick was all but wrenched from my grasp. I guess I held on a bit too tight.’

  Blythe must have looked anxious for he added gently, ‘I’m OK now. Be a good girl and help me into a sitting position. Once there, I’ll soon be on my feet.’

  ‘Which shoulder?’ Blythe asked, not touching him until she knew more.

  ‘Right!’ His voice was tight with pain, but he insisted on moving, so Blythe squatted on his left side, slid her hand under his neck and very cautiously eased him up into a sitting position.

  His face lost its last vestiges of colour during this operation and, fearing he’d faint again, she decided to take charge.

  ‘Tell me where this Epirb thing is and what it looks like. You’ll be more use to this enterprise giving orders than passing out every two minutes.’

  Again he summoned up a smile.

  ‘And to think I took you for a woman who wouldn’t take kindly to orders!’

  She used a glare which had cowed erring junior staff but had no effect at all on Cal, who continued to grin at her as if she was some kind of humorous apparition.

  ‘The Epirb!’ she reminded him.

  ‘It’s a flat red box in the mesh map holder between the seats. I should have set it going before we came down—damn stupid of me not to have considered it, but the clay plan looked deceptively flat and I thought we’d land without incident.’

  He winced as if his anger at himself had hurt his injury, but Blythe was already clambering back into the plane, orienting herself to its position then finding the mesh holder he’d mentioned.

  The flat red contraption was where he’d said it would be, with clear instructions how to activate it.

  She brought it out with her, followed the instructions, then hesitated.

  ‘You don’t have to stand there holding it. Set it down somewhere out of the way. It transmits a signal to tell people where we are. Once the signal is picked up, a search plane will be sent out, but because it’s getting dark no one will reach us in time to get us out tonight, so we need to get a fire going. That way anyone flying over will know we’re OK.’

  No one will get us out tonight…

  Anyone flying over will know we’re OK…

  ‘Don’t you have a radio? Don’t all planes have radios? Couldn’t we just call someone up and tell them where we are? If they know exactly, they could come and get us now.’

  She looked expectantly at her companion, but if she’d expected praise for this suggestion she was disappointed. He was looking more furious than congratulatory!

  ‘Yes, I have a radio—yes, all planes have them, but even if mine was working, no one would get to us tonight. The closest homestead could be a hundred k’s away, and there’s nowhere here for a plane to land, so it will be a helicopter that comes eventually.’

  Blythe knew she should be pleased about the helicopter, but the rest of the explanation defied belief.

  ‘Your radio isn’t working? Isn’t it illegal or something to fly without one?’

  ‘Not exactly illegal and I didn’t discover it wasn’t working until I was due to leave Creamunna yesterday afternoon. Tried to get it going, and in the end I had to fax through my flight plan and phone later to say I’d arrived. It’s why I was late arriving at Mount Spec and missed the dinner.’

  ‘Oh!’

  There really wasn’t much else to say, though she did think of something else and grinned at him.

  ‘Well, at least no one can blame the broken radio on me. I wasn’t even there when it happened.’

  He smiled back, and Blythe had to remind herself of all the reasons it would not be a good idea to get involved, even briefly, with this man.

  ‘You stay here, I’ll scout around for wood.’

  The practical statement helped anchor her back to reality. Cal was struggling to his feet as he spoke but the colour drained from his face before he was fully upright and she reached him just in time to prevent a further collapse.

  ‘Sit down, you stupid man. Let me have a look at your shoulder.’

  He sat, but when she leaned across him to feel his shoulder, he turned away.

  ‘Leave it be,’ he said, and she guessed from the menacing way he spoke it was far more painful than he’d let on. ‘There’s not a darned thing you can do out here.’

  ‘Of course there is,’ she argued automatically. ‘If it’s dislocated I should be able to get it back in place. If you’ve damaged ligaments, I can fashion a sling.’

  ‘So I’ll have my shoulder nicely tied up but we’ll freeze to death without a fire. Concentrate on survival first—anything else can wait.’

  Though she hated to admit it, his words made sense.

  ‘OK, I’ll look for wood.’

  She hoped she sounded braver than she felt, but staying on her own near the plane hadn’t been that great an option, and at least gathering wood would give her something to take her mind off the ‘won’t be rescued tonight’ scenario.

  Darkness was falling fast and she hurried off, picking up sticks, no matter how small, keeping the plane always in sight.

  She brought an armload back then decided there was an easier way. Grabbing the curtain from her handbag, she took it with her, stacking her finds on the material then wrapping the lot and carrying back a bigger bundle.

  ‘Grace’s curtain still being put to good use, I see?’ Cal remarked, when she returned to empty the bundle beside him.

  He’d shifted further from the plane and already had a small fire going.

  ‘How did you do that? Rub two sticks together?’

  He grinned at her, and held up a cigarette lighter.

  ‘Old bushman’s habit—never travel without matches or a lighter that works. I had both in my coat pockets, but had trouble using the matches one-handed.’

  Blythe heard the words, but didn’t really take them in—too busy working out why his sudden smile had made her legs go wonky. Crashing in a plane could make your legs go wonky, but a man’s smile…

  She was still working through this when she saw the scored salt-crusted earth between where he’d been and where he was and realised he’d dragged himself about twenty metres.

  ‘What else is wrong?’ she asked. Guilt over her negligence in not examining him properly made her voice tight and anxious.

  ‘Ankle!’ he said briefly. ‘But one-handed I can’t feel any broken bones, so I’d say it’s just a sprain. Serves me right for flying in these fancy ‘‘going-dancing’’ shoes instead of my trusty boots.’

  ‘I’d better have a look,’ Blythe said, though, considering the effect his grin had had on her knees, the very last thing she wanted to do was examine this man’s body.

  ‘Don’t trust my diagnosis?’ he teased, but when she knelt beside him he put out a hand to keep her away.

  ‘I know what’s wrong and what isn’t,’ he said, so gently he might almost be apologising for something.

  Cal hoped she’d take his word for it. It must be the concussion, or perhaps the brush with death—the isolation? Something had made his body respond to this woman in such an inappropriate manner that to have her touch him would not only be mortifying to him but probably acutely embarrassing to her.

  ‘I know it’s getting dark but with the fire to guide you, do you think you might find more wood? As well as providing a reassuring beacon, we’ll need it for warmth tonight. Don’t go out of sight of it, even momentarily. The plains can be very disorienting.’

  Blythe studied him for a moment, as if trying to read something behind his brusque request. No doubt she’d see how much he hated being reliant on her—on anyone—because he’d never been much good at hiding his frustration, whether with himself or others!

  Then a little smile
touched her lips.

  ‘You, too,’ she said. ‘No more hauling yourself across the ground. I want you right here by this fire when I get back.’

  She stood up, but slowly, and Cal knew she must be feeling pain. Though not as badly damaged as his, her body would have been jolted as they’d landed then flipped over. He had to hand it to her. She mightn’t have been first choice of bridesmaid, but she had guts. He was reasonably certain Lileth’s blood sister would have been having hysterics rather than heading off into the darkness to gather wood.

  ‘Water! You surely carry water in the plane!’

  She returned from an unexpected direction so he had to turn to face her.

  ‘You look like a Valkyrie out of Norse legends—with your firewood clasped to your chest like a shield.’

  ‘Didn’t the Valkyrie choose the dead heroes from battlegrounds to take them to Valhalla?’ she said, loosening the curtain so the wood fell to the ground. ‘You’re not dead yet,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Nor much of a hero,’ he muttered, ‘letting you do all the work.’

  She waved away his protest, moving back towards the plane.

  ‘Water!’ she said, reminding him of her earlier comment. ‘Will I find water somewhere in the plane?’

  Cal felt a quiver of alarm. Knowledge and experience told him that if the plane was going to go up in flames, it would have done so by now, but he was reluctant to let her go close to it again.

  Though he suspected not even an able-bodied man would be able to stop Blythe Jones once she set her mind to something.

  ‘Plastic container strapped down behind the rear seats, and for heaven’s sake be careful in there. If you smell fuel don’t go near it. We’ll survive a night without water.’

  She continued on her way, her shape becoming wraithlike in the gloom as she neared the darker shadow of the plane. He pictured it, seats up above her head, the straps holding down the luggage net almost impossible to reach. If she released the wrong one, would the water drum come crashing down on her head?

  Anxiety tightened his gut and made his shoulder ache even more, and he cursed his feebleness and immobility. Time dragged—she should have been back by now.

  He’d just decided to ignore her orders and haul himself back over to the plane when the crunch of shoes on the salt crust told him she was returning.

  His relief was so overwhelming it veered irrationally towards anger and it was only with great fortitude he refrained from snapping at her.

  ‘I fished around in the other paraphernalia you keep back there, thinking you might have some iron rations, but no such luck. Though I brought your bag back in case you fancy a shave or a change of clothes.’

  ‘As if!’ he muttered, then realised she was teasing when the firelight revealed a wide smile on her face.

  ‘You can use it as a pillow,’ she said. ‘I’ve checked my bag too but, apart from some rather mouldy-looking paracetemol tablets in a torn foil packet, I can’t do much in the way of pain relief. Though if I scrabble around in the bottom of it, I’m almost sure I have a few butterscotch lollies left over from the flight up.’

  Blythe dropped in a smooth—and strangely elegant, given the circumstances—movement to sit cross-legged by the fire, then leaned towards it, using the light to peer into the depths of her shoulder-bag.

  ‘Ha! I thought so. Butterscotch. Here’s one for you and one for me. We can have these now for dinner and I’ll divide up any more we find—breakfast, lunch. Isn’t that the way to do it when people go into survival mode?’

  Cal was still wondering what to say—apart from thanking her for the sweet she’d pressed into his hand—when she spoke again.

  ‘And a cup—well, it’s not exactly a cup but it will do as one. Short of getting you to open your mouth while I poured water into it, I couldn’t work out how you’d manage to drink from the drum with only one workable arm.’

  She waved what looked like a small plastic beaker at him.

  ‘Vitamin container,’ she explained. ‘I found a nearly empty bottle of vitamins in the bag as well. We can eat them when the butterscotch run out.’

  Crossing back to where she’d left the water, she knelt and carefully filled the small receptacle, then passed it to him.

  He felt the tremor in her fingers and realised her spate of cheery conversation could be close to hysteria, but she was coping so bravely he didn’t want to say anything that might crack her fragile façade.

  ‘Well, here’s to us!’ he said, lifting the little cup to salute her. ‘And to the resourcefulness of women everywhere who can produce such succour from the bottom of their handbags!’

  She smiled and blinked, but rallied quickly, holding out her hand for the cup and refilling it, ordering him to drink more.

  ‘Do you want a couple of paracetemol?’ she asked. ‘If you’re in less pain you might manage some sleep.’

  ‘Later,’ he told her, knowing the pain would worsen as shock wore off.

  He looked around their makeshift camp, feeling the chill night air already dropping on them. His head ached, his shoulder caused exquisite pain every time he breathed—though that could be explained by a damaged rib—and his ankle throbbed, so trying to work out the logistics for a night in the bush wasn’t easy.

  ‘I know you’ve no spare clothes, but take whatever you can find in my bag and put it on, over what you’re wearing. I’ll get this coat off and you can have that as well.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ the woman he was trying to help said bluntly. ‘You stay on the coat—it will give your body some protection from the cold seeping up from the ground. We’ll pile the clothes on top of us, and the trusty curtain, of course, and snuggle up.’

  ‘Snuggle up?’

  The words were out before he could stop them, and even in the dim light he caught the scathing glance she sent him.

  ‘It’s not an assault on your manhood, but a survival technique. Body heat will work more effectively together than alone. You must know that.’

  Of course he knew it but he felt a strong reluctance to snuggle up to Blythe. True, his body was behaving itself—for the moment—but there was no guarantee it would remain quiescent.

  Though you’d think the pain he was suffering would be enough to dampen unwanted and unacceptable ardour!

  ‘Of course, I could dig a hole and put you in it, then cover you with ashes. That seems to ring a bell, but perhaps it’s to do with roasting pigs, rather than survival.’

  Cal shook his head and found himself chuckling at the image she’d evoked.

  ‘I think I’d prefer the snuggling—just in case!’ he told her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THOUGH she’d tried to sound quite matter-of-fact about it, Blythe was reluctant to start the snuggling too early, so she settled herself cross-legged by the fire, content to sit a while, looking into the hot red heart of it and watch the flickering patterns of the flames.

  It was probably because she’d—though only momentarily—considered Cal for her new love ’em and leave ’em approach to relationships that the idea of snuggling up to him gave her palpitations.

  What if, when half-asleep, she snuggled too close?

  Gave in to that—again momentary—desire to press against his body.

  Get your mind off sex!

  Think of something else!

  Anything!

  She thought about the accident, but that was worse. Try as she may to remind herself that being disaster-prone was a family joke, not an actual, provable, scientific fact, the thought kept insinuating itself into her mind.

  And once there, it was so all-encompassing, she’d have been better sticking to her original line of contemplation. Though there was no way—absolutely no way—the accident could have had anything to do with her.

  Unless her weight had made a difference—she’d had to give her weight before getting on the mail plane…

  Cal sat not far away, occasionally feeding another piece of wood onto the fire but not offering eith
er conversation or argument. So, in the end, she had to ask—if only to relieve the agony of self-doubt her own thoughts were causing.

  ‘What happened? Up there?’

  He turned towards her, so she could see his features half-shadowed in the firelight—see his lips teasing into the tiniest of smiles.

  ‘I was carrying a harbinger of doom, of course,’ he said, then a real smile flashed across his face. ‘I bet that’s what you were thinking. It’s ridiculous, of course, to allow yourself such fantasies. Things happen, you know, and after they happen it’s easy to connect them to something else and see signs and portents.’

  Blythe felt a flush of pleasure at this reassurance—well, not so much from the reassurance but because he’d bothered to try to make her feel less responsible. But flushes of pleasure didn’t answer the question.

  ‘What things happened in this particular case?’ she persisted.

  The smile had long gone, but now his expression grew more serious and a puzzled frown marred his ruggedly handsome features.

  ‘I really don’t know, but I’d say with the number of planes flying into the station for the wedding, and most of them needing to be refuelled at Mount Spec, the boys have dragged out some old drums of fuel and I’ve picked up some dirt that’s blocked the plane’s fuel lines, or some water that’s leaked into an old drum or collected through condensation.’

  ‘So no fuel getting through to the engine?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Which finished that short and not particularly promising conversation.

  Blythe did a mental scout around other topics, but all the things she really wanted to ask might be considered too personal. She went for professional instead.

  ‘Now we’ve taken care of survival, shall I look at your shoulder and ankle? Perhaps binding your ankle will relieve some of the pain.’

  ‘It doesn’t hurt when I’m just sitting here,’ Cal told her.

  ‘But your shoulder must. I can tell from the way you’re holding your arm. Have you investigated it? Is it the scapula or the clavicle?’

  Cal had investigated it and had heard the crepitation where the broken ends of bone had moved against each other when he’d gingerly fingered his clavicle. A figure-of-eight bandage around his back and shoulders would undoubtedly relieve some of the pain, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, even to himself, he didn’t want Blythe doing it.