by Janet Gover
‘Do it, soldier. Do it now!’
‘No, sir. I will not.’
‘You’re a coward, Mitchell. You make me wanna puke.’
Quinn’s fingers and his were now entwined. It gave him the courage he needed to say the words out loud.
‘I was wrong. I should have done my duty.’
The sound of an engine.
‘He’s gonna get away. Take the shot. Someone take the bloody shot!’
‘Someone else took the shot. He wasn’t a sniper. He wasn’t as good as me. The bullet …’ His throat contracted as if to cut off the words before they could be spoken. ‘The bullet passed through the girl’s body and into the target.’
Screams. A little girl’s screams as she tumbles from her father’s arms.
The smell of blood seeping into the hot desert sand.
‘Oh God. No.’ Quinn’s voice was a whisper.
‘That started a firefight. The worst I’d ever seen. We were pinned down on the roof. They were pinned down in the compound. It lasted a couple of hours. The target and the little girl were lying between us. On the road. It was a shooting alley. Neither side could get near them. He died quickly, but she … she took a long time to die.’
The whine of bullets as they ricochet off the walls.
He could smell the sweat and fear on the men around him.
The stench of cordite.
And above it all, the sounds of a little girl dying just a few meters away.
‘How did you get out?’
Dan’s eyes were fixed on the glorious arc of the sky above them, but he was seeing a very different night sky. A sky lit by tracer rounds.
‘Once it was fully dark, we started to pull back. But they followed us. It was a street to street running battle. Finally reinforcements reached us – but by then more than half the unit had been hit. We were struggling to get the wounded out. Two were dead, including the sergeant.’
There was so much more he could say. He wanted to tell Quinn how he had carried the wounded sergeant to safety. How he provided cover for the medics as they treated his brothers, despite his own wounds. But he wasn’t going to do that. It would sound like he was trying to balance the scales. That his later actions could make up for a child’s death. And they couldn’t. Nothing could.
‘You’re a coward, Mitchell. You make me wanna puke.’
‘I should have faced a court martial … but it was complex. I was an Australian assigned to a US unit. The war had become pretty unpopular at home. It was a time when the US was under fire for some of its actions in the field.’
‘I remember the photos from that prison – of Iraqis being tortured.’
‘Abu Ghraib. That changed a lot of things. I think they didn’t want this incident to hit the headlines. When I was discharged from hospital, I was—’
‘You were wounded?’
He heard the concern in her voice.
‘It wasn’t anything,’ he said. He knew she would disagree. That she would think two bullet wounds in his chest was a big thing. But compared to what others had suffered, it was nothing.
‘I rejoined my Australian unit. I don’t think I left the base again between then and when we were sent home. I knew by the time I got back, I wanted to get out. I think they wanted rid of me as well. I was granted a discharge on medical grounds.’
‘PTSD.’ It was a statement, not a question.
He nodded, knowing she wouldn’t see the movement in the dark. But she didn’t need to. She understood.
He could hear her breathing softly beside him. Feel the warmth of her concern. And friendship. Perhaps something more … things he didn’t deserve. He raised himself into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around his knees, staring out over the park to the dark upon dark outline of the great sandstone monolith. The healing place.
‘It’s a common story. I had trouble fitting back into everyday life. I felt uncomfortable around people. Especially in crowds. Loud noises, even the smell of certain food cooking would send me right back to the rooftop. My family tried to help, but they didn’t understand. The doctors did their thing, but mostly their help came in the form of little white pills. And I didn’t want that. I thought that if I could find a place where I felt comfortable, given enough time I would sort myself out.
‘The first real help came from you, Quinn. When I opened that book of yours and saw your photographs, I knew there was somewhere I could go. Somewhere I could learn to live with myself again. I believed that eventually the nightmares would fade. So I came here. It’s been good. I sleep better now. I still sometimes see …’
A little girl’s face. Dark eyes looking back down the barrel of a rifle.
The smell of blood and the screams. The terrible, terrible screams.
‘As I lay in that hospital bed in Iraq, I swore I would never harm another person. That I would never again look down a sniper scope at any living thing. Then this happened and I realised something.’
He paused. He didn’t want to say the next words. But for the first time in a very long time, he was being totally honest. Not just to another person. But also to himself. He had to say what needed to be said. He could only hope that Quinn would understand.
‘I don’t want to do it. I will do my very best tomorrow to save those horses. But if we can’t … then I will do what has to be done. Because it’s my responsibility. If the only thing I can do is make their deaths clean and as quick and as painless as possible … then that is what I will do.’
He waited for her response. For her to get up and walk away from him and the terrible words he had just spoken.
Quinn sat up. He could feel her close beside him. Then he felt a gentle touch. Her fingers curved over his shoulder.
‘It won’t come to that,’ she said softly.
‘It might.’
‘Then we’ll deal with it. You are a good man, Dan Mitchell. The best. You’ll do the right thing. And I’ll be standing right beside you when you do.’
He turned towards her. Reflected starlight glinted in her eyes as she leaned slowly forward, and her lips touched his.
A soft, sweet touch that wrapped around his tormented soul and felt like cool spring water pouring into the deepest recesses of his heart.
After a few moments, Quinn pulled away, but only a hair’s breadth. Just enough that she could look up at him. Her eyes were beautiful. Such eyes could steal a man’s heart – or heal it.
Dan reached for her and pulled her close, his lips seeking hers with growing strength and desire. She was soft and warm, velvet wrapped around rich dark wood. Strong and beautiful; rich and supple and yielding.
It was like coming home at last.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Quinn could feel the touch of the sun on her skin, a gentle warm caress. It was not the only warmth surrounding her. She lay with her eyes closed, feeling the heat emanating from Dan, where he lay beside her, one arm curved around her ribs. One leg crossed over hers. Holding her tightly even as he slept.
She did not want to move. Or even open her eyes. She wanted nothing to break the spell that had begun on that high starlit rock. With the ancient open plains around them and the breath of the night wind on their bare skin, they had made love as if it was the first time for both of them. The nightmares of the past had been washed away by the touch of flesh on flesh. By warm breath mingling as they kissed. By the open, unfettered joy in their voices as they called each other’s names.
Even now, the purity of it, the pleasure and the honesty of it left Quinn breathless.
Afterwards they had talked well into the night, lying together, their bodies entwined as they watched the million bright stars of the Milky Way circle above them. When the sun had risen just enough to light their way, they had climbed back down and driven back to the camp, to fall asleep together by the low flickering light of their campfire. The fire had died while they slept, but everything else about Quinn and Dan still seemed to glow.
Dan was asleep. She co
uld tell by the deep regular breathing. At last she opened her eyes to study him. Was it her imagination, or were some of the lines etched into his strong face gone? He looked younger. Less worn down by care. Last night she had seen, caressed and kissed the physical scars that he carried from his time at war. Perhaps some of the mental scars had been eased as they lay talking into the night. Quinn still flinched at some of the things he had told her. The terrible things he had seen. But never at the things he had done. Somehow, in the midst of the horror that was war, Dan had never lost himself. He was a truly honourable man who had never stepped over the line, despite the strongest provocation. She admired that more than she could ever say.
Quinn closed her eyes and breathed deep the essence of Dan. The warmth of his skin. The faint smell of sweat. The smell that was uniquely his. Her body glowed with the remembrance of his hands on her skin. How good it felt to be lying here in his arms. Waking up like this was a gift she accepted with pleasure – but it came with pain too, because one day in the not too distant future, she was going to have to walk away from Dan Mitchell.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care. Quite the reverse. Last night, as they lay under stars, she knew that she was a little in love with Dan. More than a little. If you could fall for someone in just a few weeks, then that was what she had done. But she was still going to walk away. Because she had to.
Would it have been easier to leave if they hadn’t spent this night together? Yes, it would. The last few hours had brought her more pleasure and more simple joy than anything else in her life as it now was. She would never forget it. And never stop wanting more. But at the same time she would never regret one moment of it. Except, perhaps, for that small part of her that knew she had brought more pain into Dan’s life. Or she would when she left. And that was something she had never wanted to do. She would hate herself for that, but she couldn’t change who she was. In her own way, her soul was as damaged as his. That small tissue wrapped parcel that she had carried with her these last three years was proof of that. And no man … no matter how honourable … could change what she was.
Dan flexed his muscles slightly in his sleep, pulling her close. Quinn relaxed her body and allowed him to. I’m spooning, she thought to herself, by a campfire in the middle of nowhere. With a man she had known for such a short time. Why then did it feel so very right?
Still mostly asleep, Dan nuzzled the base of her neck. It sent a chill of longing through her and she shivered. In response, Dan’s arms closed even more firmly around her. As they did, Quinn heard the sound of a car engine. Carrie and Justin were returning.
What terrible timing. Clutching her rumpled clothing, she rose quickly to her feet and darted into her tent. Behind her, she heard Dan grunt with surprise as he was rudely awakened by her movement.
Inside her tent, Quinn struggled to bring her errant emotions under control. She reached out to stroke the soft yellow wool of the garment she was knitting, a replica of the tiny jacket that lay in the package in the back of her Hummer. She thought of a little girl with blue eyes like her father. She thought of an empty cot. An empty bed and a silent house. Shattered dreams that still hurt so much it was difficult to draw breath. She did not have the courage to face that again.
Strange that she should be the one to help a wounded man – but was herself beyond help.
Dan’s mind reeled uncertainly for a few moments before dragging him back into reality. He was half asleep, still feeling the warmth of Quinn’s body against his. Still tasting her lips on his. Still finding an unlooked for peace in the feel of her arms around him. He’d returned from his foreign war two years ago. Last night, he’d finally come home.
Dan didn’t believe in miracles. He didn’t expect the past to magically vanish, taking the regrets and the shame and nightmares with it. He had never planned to unburden himself to Quinn, but in doing so, he had lightened his load. In making love to her, he had found a joy he’d thought lost forever. From this point on, his load would be just that little bit less. Just that little bit easier to bear. All because of Quinn.
‘Hey, Dan. It’s almost lunchtime.’
Dan cautiously opened his eyes to see Justin’s boot clad feet appear next to the campfire. ‘What are you doing still asleep? I guess I’d better get the coffee on.’
Justin sounded ridiculously cheerful for a man facing what might be one of the greatest – or worst – days of his life.
Dan sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He glanced across at Quinn’s tent just in time to see her emerge, looking so beautiful he could focus on nothing else.
‘Morning all,’ she said cheerfully.
Dan waited and a few moments later, her eyes turned towards him. She smiled. There was a softness to that smile. A gentleness that he had never seen before. If he had given her that, he was happy.
‘Don’t let that coffee take too long,’ Dan said as he slid from his swag and headed for the water bucket to wash his face.
It felt so normal as he came back to sit by the fire and wait for the coffee to boil. Justin was trying to coax flame from their campfire. Carrie had walked towards the yard where the two stock horses were penned. She was feeding them, stroking their shining necks as she did. And Quinn was making breakfast. She had taken some bread and bacon from the seemingly never-ending supplies that appeared somehow by magic (or by the workings of Trish Warren) in their icebox. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had always been beautiful. But today, it was as if she shone – putting the sun to shame. He wondered if the others could see it. Would they guess what had happened last night? And then he realised he didn’t care. He wanted to say or do something. Touch her hair. Take her hand. Something to reassure himself that last night had been real. He knew it was just his male ego wanting to stake his claim. To proclaim to the world that she was his.
Because deep down, he was afraid that she wasn’t. When they lay in the moonlight last night, Quinn had listened to him talk about his demons, but not once had she talked about herself. In fact, she’d never said much about herself or her family or where she came from. She talked about her work, but not about herself. Dan realised he really knew very little about her – except that he … His mind froze for a second, as if fearing to let the words form, but the thought would not go away. He knew very little about Quinn except for the fact that he could love her. Did love her. He wanted to love her until they grew old together – if only she’d let him.
The fear that struck him then was more powerful than anything he’d felt in the army. No threat of attack or injury was half as devastating as the fear of facing the rest of his life without her.
At that moment, Quinn laughed at something Justin had said. Just the sound of her laughter was enough to lift his spirits. Whatever it takes, he thought to himself. Whatever it takes.
After breakfast, there was really nothing for the four of them to do. Their work would begin late in the afternoon. Quinn pulled out her knitting and settled in the shade of a tree. Dan loved to see her like that. In his mind, he pictured her many years hence. Her hair would be grey. Or maybe she would colour it. There would be lines on her face, but that wouldn’t make it one fraction less beautiful. And her eyes, those amazing tawny eyes would still dance in the firelight and set his heart racing. She would still be beautiful when she was sixty. He imagined her knitting in the living room of some home somewhere, while he read in an armchair opposite. The picture brought a smile to his lips.
And then he remembered. Quinn lived in her car. She refused to be bound to a single place. Would she ever bind herself to a single person? To him?
These disturbing thoughts ran through his mind again and again as they sat there, waiting for the day to pass. For the first time in this wild undertaking, a tension was starting to form in their little group. He guessed that was because there was really nothing more for them to do but wait. So when Carrie suggested he could have another riding lesson just to pass the time, he readily accepted. When he’d agreed to try to capt
ure the brumbies, he hadn’t expected to find himself riding a horse. Even less had he expected to find himself enjoying it. But he did. He liked being around the horse. He liked the feel of the silky coat over the strong muscles of the animal’s neck. He liked the way it explored his hands and face with its nose and lips – and then seemed to readily agree to carry him. It wasn’t a matter of bending the horse to his will, but rather, of becoming partners. He liked that too.
And he liked the way Quinn’s eyes kept lifting from her knitting to watch him as, released from the school ground of the stockyard, he rode past their camp into the gully.
He was so caught up in what he was doing, he didn’t hear the vehicle approaching. None of them did, until a figure suddenly appeared on the edge of their campsite.
‘Is Ranger Mitchell here?’ a curt voice asked.
Dan recognised the tone of the voice. The uniform this man was wearing wasn’t military, but this National Parks department inspector was no less his superior officer than that sergeant in Iraq had been.
‘I’m Dan Mitchell.’ He swung down off the horse.
‘Superintendent Thomas Lawson.’ The man did not offer to shake Dan’s hand.
Of course. He should have recognised the man’s voice. Lawson was shorter than Dan, his dark hair greying at the temples. And while he wore the uniform of the National Parks Service, Lawson looked as if he would be far more comfortable in a nice clean office, with four walls and air-conditioning. He was too soft for the outback. He would be at home with rules and regulations, reports and budgets. Dan suspected he spent very little time in the parks he oversaw.
‘I was expecting you, but didn’t realise you would be coming today.’ Dan bit back the word ‘sir’.
‘So I gather. I was expecting you to be at the ranger station,’ Lawson said. ‘If I hadn’t stopped for directions at the pub, I wouldn’t have found you at all. That garrulous woman gave you away.’ The man took a deep breath and frowned. ‘You were ordered to remove the horses from the park. I did not expect to find you actually riding one. Horse riding is not permitted here. You know that.’