by Ford, Holly
‘No,’ Jim said shortly. ‘I have to get out. I know that. I just don’t want to sell to a bunch of faceless corporate vets and then get an offer I like better.’
‘Grandpa…’ Lennie chose her words carefully. ‘You’re a small rural practice. Kimpton isn’t for everyone.’ And the truth was, he and Paul were two old-fashioned vets in direct competition with an ever-expanding regional group that had the money for all the new toys. ‘It could be a long time before you get another offer.’
‘It could be never, you mean.’
Lennie didn’t disagree.
Jim shot her a look. ‘Kimpton is for some people.’
She nodded, running her foot along Pesh’s fur.
Her grandfather watched her. ‘So how did you like your first week?’
‘It was good,’ Lennie said truthfully. ‘Interesting.’
‘Challenging enough for you?’
‘Yes.’ It had been, at times. Coming up with a treatment plan for Peg Solomon had certainly required all her internal medicine skills. But for better or worse—better, Lennie told herself—she’d had to leave it to Barbara to run through the plan with whoever had arrived from Broken Creek to pick Peg up. ‘I had an emergency orthopaedic surgery this afternoon,’ Lennie told Jim, allowing a little pride to creep into her voice. ‘Sixteen-week-old Italian greyhound fractured both his forelegs jumping off the back of a tractor. Radius and ulna.’
‘You had to pin them?’
‘Yeah, it was pretty tricky going.’ Thankfully both she and Fellini the puppy had survived. ‘We got there, though. Krystal did a great job.’
‘We’ll get you out in the field next week,’ Jim said. ‘Start meeting the farm clients. Get some fresh air.’
‘Grandpa, we talked about that. I know you love the production animal work, but—’
‘You used to love it too, Dak.’ He gave her a slightly hurt look. ‘Remember?’
He was right. There’d been a time, a long time, when she’d dreamed of becoming a large-animal vet just like Jim. She’d been eight years old when she’d told him she wanted to work for him, and she’d left Kimpton for vet school still thinking it was true.
‘It’s not just about dollars,’ Jim said.
‘I know.’ Not entirely, maybe. But it was about economics. It had to be. ‘The production stuff really isn’t my bag anymore.’ Lennie shook her head. ‘Besides, it’s been so long I wouldn’t even know what I was doing out there.’
‘It’ll come back to you,’ Jim said. ‘Trust me, Dak. You need some practice, that’s all.’
Seven
Through the kitchen window, Lennie watched the sky above the garden lighten. She’d never thought of herself as much of a morning person. The dawn dash around the dog park in Sydney with Pesh had been an effort of will and a badge of devotion. But here, once she’d actually wrenched herself out of bed, she was starting to enjoy their first-light stroll around Jim’s paddocks. It felt like a privilege to be out there watching the world wake up, having it all to themselves for a moment.
Okay, so it didn’t come with a Deli Rouge flat white. But—Lennie flicked the jug on—she was happy with the trade. Enjoy it while it lasts, she told herself. The light was coming later every morning, the turning year whittling it away minute by minute. Before too much longer, she wouldn’t just be getting up in the dark, she’d be leaving for work in it too. Lennie shivered a little, anticipating the cold. She was looking forward to wearing real winter clothes. Frost on the fences. Snow on the hills.
She looked over at Pesh, who was lying like a big white rug in front of the porch door, waiting for it to open. Lennie had been worried Pesh might miss the hurly-burly socialisation of the dog park, but she seemed pretty happy with just Alice and the neighbour’s lambs for company. Lennie smiled. The truth was, she was pretty happy herself. Sure, she missed Del, she missed Sam. But wherever you lived in the world, you had to miss someone. All the people she loved were never going to be in one place.
The two closest to her should be, though. Her eyes falling on the empty crystal vase that still decorated the windowsill, Lennie’s good mood faded slightly. Leaning on the bench while she waited for the jug to boil, she scanned the message that had arrived during the night from Julia in San Diego.
How was Jim? Lennie blew out her cheeks. Her grandfather was just dandy. Unless she tried to talk to him about Lois again, in which case he snapped shut like a clam. Jim was…Jim was the way he’d always been, only more so. Brisker. More driven. A man on a mission. Lennie had no idea what it might be. She sighed. Did he know what it was himself?
Still in denial, she tapped into her phone.
‘You’re up.’ Jim breezed into the kitchen. ‘Good.’
Halfway through her reply to Julia, Lennie paused. Her grandfather looked like he’d been awake for hours. Had he slept at all?
‘You’re going to have to head up to Broken Creek Station today,’ Jim said. ‘You need to be at the air club at eight-thirty.’
‘I need to do what?’ Lennie gave him her full attention.
‘My back’s gone out.’ He put a hand to his spine.
‘When, now?’ She moved to his elbow. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I tweaked it yesterday,’ he said brusquely. ‘It’s seized up overnight.’
‘Did you see a doctor?’ Lennie ran her eyes over him, studying his posture. She’d gone out with Krystal and Barb after work last night, and she hadn’t seen Jim since breakfast yesterday. She frowned. He didn’t look like a man in excruciating pain. Then again, her grandfather was a pretty stoic guy.
‘I am a doctor,’ Jim said.
Lennie rolled her eyes. What was he planning to do, squirt some Metacam over his cornflakes?
‘It’s a lumbar sprain,’ he went on dismissively. ‘A couple of anti-inflammatories and I’ll be fine. I just need to go easy on it for a while, that’s all. You’ll have to take the testing at Broken Creek.’
‘Me,’ Lennie said, over the thudding of the hammer that had started up in her chest. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. Mitch wasn’t going to be there. There were a thousand and one places to be on a farm that size. He was probably working somewhere else by now anyway.
And the woman who’d answered his phone…? Would she be somewhere else too?
Maybe the two of them had worked through whatever problems they’d been having. Maybe it was all sorted out. Lennie hoped so. She did. It was what she should hope. That Mitch was happy. That he was where he wanted to be.
‘Don’t worry,’ Jim said. ‘You’ll be fine.’
With a superhuman effort, Lennie dragged her attention back to what ought to be more important. ‘What are they testing for?’
‘Brucella ovis,’ her grandfather told her serenely.
Oh, no way. He wanted her to test a ram flock for a sexually transmitted disease?
‘Grandpa, no.’ Lennie shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t be competent. Get Paul to go.’
‘Paul’s got surgery all morning.’
‘I haven’t seen a ram’s scrotum for ten years. I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘The end without the horns,’ Jim said. ‘You can’t miss it.’
She closed her eyes. Bloody hell.
‘Lumps and lesions,’ Jim said. ‘You find any, you take a blood sample. It isn’t rocket science.’
‘Can you at least come with me?’ she pleaded. ‘Talk me through the handling part?’
‘No can do, I’m afraid. The heli can only take one.’
‘Heli,’ Lennie repeated, ‘as in copter?’
‘It’s cheaper for them than paying us to drive out.’ Moving across the kitchen with suspicious ease, her grandfather picked up the jug and filled the waiting coffee plunger. ‘They’re a good crew at Broken Creek. They’ll look after you.’ He glanced out at the rose-tinted sky. ‘It’s a beautiful morning to be in the mountains.’
•
Driving into the air club an hour and a half later, Lennie felt her s
ense of adventure returning. Jim was right. This was a hell of a start to the day. There wasn’t much she’d rather be doing right now than taking a flight into the high country—if only she could forget about what was waiting for her at the other end.
Having parked the Central Vets truck beside the Mountain Rescue hangar as instructed, Lennie took a deep breath. She could do this. She totally could. Bloody Jim. Had he even hurt his back? Or was this just her grandfather reintroducing her to production animal work the same way he taught dogs to swim? She should have known better than to think she’d gotten away with dodging his attempts to get her out on a farm last week. Jim O’Donnell never gave up.
As promised, a helicopter was waiting for her to the side of the main pad. Actually, ‘helicopter’ seemed a strong word. The thing was tiny. Conscious that she was taking up time, and therefore money, Lennie gathered her testing kit from the back of the ute and made her way across the grass. As she neared the flimsy contraption its tail signage declared to be a Robinson R22, a guy appeared from the open hangar behind it. They both stopped short, staring at each other.
‘Mitch.’ The name jolted out of Lennie’s mouth. She’d done such a great job of convincing herself she wouldn’t see him today that finding him in front of her now defied all logic. As did the quiver of pleasure it brought to her spine. He was wearing an ancient brown jersey pulled over a tatty rugby shirt and a more than usually work-stained pair of jeans, but still, he looked good. Very good. The expression of horror mounting on his face, however, was doing nothing for her ego.
‘Where’s Jim?’ he demanded.
‘He’s injured his back,’ Lennie managed. The full meaning of Mitch’s presence here, the proprietary way he’d been approaching her ride, was beginning to sink in. The thing only had two seats. He was going to fly it? ‘Jim can’t make it.’
‘What about Paul?’
‘He’s in surgery.’ She ran her eyes over the helicopter again. ‘I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.’
Mitch turned away, his hand rising to the back of his neck. A gesture Lennie remembered. Together with the force in his step, it was making her progressively more uncomfortable. Okay, so he hadn’t been expecting her—she hadn’t been expecting him either—but what was the problem here?
‘So, you’re a helicopter pilot, huh?’ It wasn’t the most acute observation Lennie had ever made, but she felt a need to say it out loud. That way, it had to be true.
‘Yeah,’ Mitch said shortly. Turning back, he paused. ‘What did you think I did?’
‘I…I don’t know.’ She felt herself blushing. ‘Odd jobs, I guess. General ag work around the place.’
‘That’s pretty much it.’ He was looking past her, as if he was still hoping another vet might climb out of the truck. ‘Just from a few metres up, that’s all.’ His voice was sharp, his body language as clear as a stop sign.
Lennie frowned, matching the expression etched across his forehead. They’d parted on friendly enough terms, hadn’t they, that afternoon he’d come to the house? So what had changed? Maybe he didn’t trust a woman vet to do ag work. She drew herself up a little straighter. Whatever it was, too bad—they were stuck with each other now.
Seeing Mitch’s attention shift, Lennie turned as a Mountain Rescue ute pulled up beside them.
‘You good to cover that Saturday shift?’ the woman at the wheel inquired.
‘Yeah,’ Mitch told her. ‘I talked to Carr last night. We’re sorted.’
‘Cheers,’ the woman said. ‘Hopefully I won’t see you then.’
‘Likewise,’ Mitch replied, a half smile flitting across his face.
‘Well,’ Lennie said, taking advantage of the drop in tension as the woman drove off, ‘I guess I’m ready when you are.’ She inspected the helicopter’s sardine-can lid of a door, searching for a handle. ‘Shall I get in?’ She glanced back at Mitch.
He stared at her, his forehead knotting again, a desperate look in his eyes. He reminded her of a hawk standing fast on a piece of road kill as the cars bore down, determined not to rise. Clearly he did not want to fly her to Broken Creek, and she was getting the distinct impression he had more on his mind than the health and safety of the station’s ram flock. Was he worried about her meeting the voice on the phone? Well, to tell the honest truth, Lennie wasn’t looking forward to that one herself. But they both had jobs to do. And not a lot of time.
Abruptly, Mitch seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. With a glance at his watch, then one at the sky, he slid back the pin that served for a handle and held open the door. Cautiously, Lennie climbed into the narrow space. God, the thing was agricultural, alright. Whatever comforts the interior might once have possessed had been stripped back to little but bare, mud-spattered metal. Various bloodstains—some large—decorated what upholstery remained, and there was an axe attached to the base of her seat.
Lennie watched nervously as Mitch, his door still open, started pumping switches. There seemed to be something intrinsically wrong with an aircraft having an ignition key. She’d been in ski lifts that looked more high tech than this thing did. Mitch turned the key. Jesus. It sounded like an old tractor coming to life. Surely, surely—Lennie gritted her teeth as the helicopter began to vibrate—that was too big an engine for something this size. It felt like it was about to shake itself to bits. And all those yellow lamps lit up on the dash, was that a good thing or a bad thing?
Lennie tensed in surprise as Mitch reached behind her. Oh…a headset. Brusquely, he handed it to her. For an uncomfortable moment, his eyes raked across her body, lingering on her thighs. It took her a second to work out he was checking her door and her seatbelt. As she adjusted the headset over her ears, the world became suddenly quiet again. She twisted her neck to look at Mitch, hoping to see how to position her mic, but his head was turned away, studying the paddock behind them. Jammed shoulder to shoulder with him in the two-person cabin—if that was even the word—Lennie watched the dry grass around the helipad angle below the skids as the helicopter rose. Oh god, they were really doing this.
Mitch still hadn’t spoken. As they climbed effortlessly into the clear blue sky and the streets of Kimpton began to recede, Lennie tried to calm her nerves. She could see he knew what he was doing. These little helicopters were just as safe, just as reliable as the big ones. The reason you heard about them going down such a lot, she reminded herself, was because there were so many of them. The view. She should concentrate on the view. It was lovely. All those hillsides. Those steep, hard, rocky hillsides.
‘You don’t like flying.’ Mitch’s voice, arriving directly into her ear through the headset, made her jump.
‘No, I…’ Lennie made an effort to unclench her fingers from the specimen box on her lap. ‘I usually do.’ Airbuses, 767s, they were totally fine. ‘It’s just…well, what I’m flying in is usually a bit bigger than this.’
‘Yeah.’ He was sounding more relaxed than he had on the ground. ‘I know what you mean. It took me a while to get used to flying something this size again myself.’
The dryness of his tone put the pieces together for her at last. ‘You flew for the air force,’ she realised.
Mitch didn’t contradict her.
‘That’s what you were doing in Afghanistan?’ she continued, thinking out loud. ‘You were a pilot?’
‘I was a pilot.’
Lennie paused, sorting through and dismissing a hundred questions she had no right to ask. ‘What was it like?’ she tried, cautiously.
‘Dusty.’
Okay, then. Time to go back to being silent.
They raised a small dust cloud themselves as the helicopter lowered into the paddock a short distance from Broken Creek’s sheep yards. Mitch shut the engine down, the shadows of the rotor slowing as he pulled some device behind his head. Watching the cloud settle, Lennie hung up her headset. Beside her, Mitch didn’t move, his hands resting on his knees, his head slightly bowed in a moment of something she didn’t want to disturb. Thankful
ness, maybe. Whatever it was, he looked miles away.
Through the glass bubble around her, Lennie took her first ground-level look at the windswept inner reaches of Broken Creek Station. Above the woolshed, beyond the encircling fortress of bone-dry hills, the mountains that stained the edges of her grandparents’ view seemed close enough to touch, the gritty blue ice of last winter clear to see on their high faces. No willows marked the course of Broken Creek River here, just a low, twisted canopy of scrub gnawing out a life from the shale of the ancient moraine. It was a raw place, overwhelmingly brown with tussock, grey with rock. Like touching down in an alternate universe where everything was bigger, tougher, stronger. Lennie stared in awe. What a world to be able to call your own. Suddenly the Kimpton Valley seemed almost pathetically tame.
Mitch threw open his door. Lennie scanned the passenger side, amused at how odd it felt to let herself out of an aircraft. What did she want, a cabin attendant? Mitch, pocketing his sunglasses as he rounded the helicopter’s nose, took the dilemma out of her hands, holding the thin door against the breeze while she clambered out into the brisk morning air.
‘You hit traffic?’ a voice called.
Mitch’s face broke into an unguarded grin. Lennie, watching him, felt the corners of her own mouth rise. Now that was a sight to see. Like the weight of the world lifting. If you were the one responsible for that…well, you’d feel like you’d done something with your day.
‘The motorway was backed up to junction five,’ he told the woman standing behind them.
Swallowing a pang of envy, Lennie turned reluctantly to meet the reason for Mitch’s smile. ‘Hi.’ Clutching the specimen box to her chest, Lennie held out her free hand. ‘I’m Lennie O’Donnell. Sorry. Jim couldn’t make it today.’
‘Tess Drummond.’ The woman smiling back at her had the glow of the Kimpton Hills on a summer morning, longlimbed and golden skinned, her thick caramel-blonde hair twisted into a heavy plait on her left shoulder. ‘Thanks for coming.’