Snowy River Man

by Lizzy Chandler

  ‘One of the locals reckons he saw Nick round there not that long ago,’ the officer said. ‘Has Nick been down here to your knowledge?’

  ‘He comes with me fly fishing sometimes, but we haven’t done that in ages. The nanny we had a while ago used to bring him down to paddle on hot days. But she left months ago.’ He’d been too busy with the sheep shearing and fence building, carting feed and lambing, to get around to advertising for another. Nick had seemed to cope.

  ‘Do you think he could’ve wandered here from the showground?’ the officer asked.

  ‘Possibly. But he’d know better than to come down at the lake without an adult present. Not when he can’t swim.’

  Fisher raised his eyebrows, then scratched his jaw. ‘Has anyone been giving you trouble lately? Any reason someone might want to get at you through the boy?’

  ‘He’s lost, Rob,’ he growled. ‘Not kidnapped.’

  ‘You can still answer my question.’ The officer eyed him squarely, obviously unwilling to let the idea go.

  Jack grimaced. Sure, he had enemies. Neighbouring graziers who resented his attempts over the years to buy up surrounding land and make Yarrangobilla the place it once had been, before Ted Harrington had run it into the ground. Radical environmentalists who objected to his development plans for revitalising the area, the new tourist development project he’d been devising. But what coward would want to get to him through his kid? No one he knew.

  Then there was Katrina.

  ‘What about Murray Tom?’ the officer asked. ‘That’s Yarrangobilla land he’s squatting on, isn’t it? He’s hardly got cause to thank your family.’

  ‘Forget it.’ Jack refused to take the idea seriously. ‘If Murray Tom knew where Nick was, he’d be the first to let me know. He never blamed anyone for his accident. Anyway, that was years ago.’

  ‘Fair enough. But I have to consider all angles,’ Fisher said.

  Jack frowned. Fisher was just doing his job. But he was way off track about the old man. Murray Tom had camped on Yarrangobilla land since he used to work alongside Jack’s father, who had managed the station for Ted Harrington. No one had ever accused him of squatting. Once the best horse handler in the district, he’d tried to save Jack’s mother, Ellen, from being trampled by a brumby. The horse had kicked out at him, hitting him square in the face, the injury blinding him. Jack had only been in primary school at the time, but he’d never forgotten the old man’s bravery, even though his mother hadn’t survived.

  Now old Tom lived in a fishing hut on the lake, occasionally extending the hospitality to a few drinking mates. Every now and then he came up to the homestead for a yarn. He was harmless, Jack was sure of it.

  ‘Murray Tom risked his life trying to save my mother, Rob. There’s no way he’d do anything to harm my son.’

  * * *

  The moan had come from the mineshaft. A child’s moan.

  With an effort, Katrina dragged herself closer to the hole, leaned over and stared into the darkness.

  ‘Hello?’ Her voice echoed in the dusty chamber. A shiver of recognition struck her. This was the shadowy tower of her dreams. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a shape, huddled on a ledge, more than a metre below, barely visible in the filtered light.

  ‘Nick?’ she called out, her heartbeat picking up pace. She hadn’t found him, had she? ‘Is that you?’

  The child whimpered again, then called up in a hoarse voice, ‘I’m down here.’

  Closing her eyes, she felt a wave of gratitude. It was him. And he was conscious. He was going to be okay. But how on earth had he come all this way from the showground? Had he fallen in the hole? She grabbed a tussock of grass in her fist and leaned further over the opening. The boy’s face was staring up at her. So tiny and vulnerable. She tried to reach down but clumps of earth fell from the edge. She pulled back, frustration replacing her relief.

  She had found Jack’s son. But how the hell was she going to get him out?

  * * *

  Jack scanned the lake shore, one hand massaging the back of his neck. The past half-hour’s search had come up with nothing. He felt buggered, but he couldn’t go home. Not while there was still a chance of Nick being found.

  The fact that nothing beside the backpack had showed up was a good thing, he told himself. Nick had always been fascinated with what lay beneath the surface of the lake; the petrified branches of drowned trees reaching up through the icy depths. A place of mystery for an adventurous six-year-old. But it was way too dangerous to play there alone.

  Behind him, horse’s hooves thudded on the shale shore. Jack turned. Steve Millar, one of the young rouseabouts who worked on Yarrangobilla, brought his mount to a halt and jumped off.

  ‘That filly you took out this morning, Jack. She’s turned up back at the homestead, on her own. Wayne’s been trying to reach you on the radio. The woman, the psychic, she’s still out there somewhere.’ The rouseabout hesitated. ‘Wayne said to tell you, the saddle was loose.’

  ‘You think the filly threw her?’

  ‘Looks like it. She was pretty lathered up.’

  ‘That’s all I need.’ Katrina. In the bush. Alone. Possibly injured. He should never have left her. ‘Did you check over at the silos?’

  ‘I’ve just come from there. That was the first place Wayne said to look. No sign of her.’

  Jack frowned, guilt clawing his guts. He should have insisted she come with him to the lake. She’d seemed a decent enough rider.

  ‘Thanks, Steve. I’ll take care of it.’ It would mean taking the rescue helicopter away from the search. Frustration lit a fuse inside him. Why in hell had Katrina turned up now?

  * * *

  ‘Are you hurt, sweetheart?’ Katrina shouted down. ‘Are you bleeding?’

  ‘I want my daddy.’

  Jack! She had found his son and had no way of getting word to him.

  ‘Nick, my name’s Katrina. I’m…I’m a friend of your daddy’s.’

  ‘I’m thirsty, Katina.’ Her heart contracted at the way he shortened her name. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘Of course, you do. First we have to get you up out of there. I’ll have to go and look —’

  ‘Don’t leave me!’

  The boy’s cry tore at her heart. How long had he been down there? Hours? Had he been down there the whole time? She couldn’t leave him. Yet she had no radio, no way of alerting the rescue team.

  ‘I want my daddy,’ he sobbed.

  ‘I know, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.’

  Earth bounced down the walls, echoing down the shaft. Something shifted below.

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘It’s wobbly,’ he cried.

  Straining her eyes, she tried to make out what he was sitting on. To her horror, she saw it wasn’t a proper ledge. He was perched on a wooden beam that formed the tunnel’s frame. Earth had broken away above, leaving a cavity where he sat huddled. But below, little by little, the wall was caving in. The wooden support was coming away from the wall. Perhaps he’d moved when he heard her, making it worse.

  ‘Sit very still,’ she said, feeling sick in the stomach. ‘Can you do that for me?’

  He whimpered as more earth fell away.

  Katrina looked around. She had to do something quick. But what? Even if he managed to stand on the beam, she doubted she could reach him. Anyway, it was too dangerous.

  A feeling of utter uselessness swept over her. Why had she found him, if she had no way of helping him? What kind of universe would guide her here just as he was about to fall?

  ‘I’m going to see if I can find something to throw down to you,’ she said, keeping her voice level. ‘A rope or something. Do you understand? I won’t leave you.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ She swallowed over a lump in her throat.

  Sliding back from the hole, she stretched and gingerly tested her ankle. Instantly, the throbbing increased. But it took her weight. Nothing
was broken. Hobbling, she scoured the surrounding grass. If she could find something, a rope or a chain, she might be able to throw it down and pull him out. Or, at least, hold on to him till help arrived.

  If help arrived.

  Would the Palomino go back to the station? Even if it did, would Jack abandon his search at the lake to come looking for her? It seemed unlikely. Her best chance was to get Nick out and try to walk back to the homestead together.

  Nothing in the nearby bushland looked remotely useful. The mine evidently hadn’t been used in years. Any rope must have rotted long ago. She tried to think. If only she had something to lower down to him.

  Another thud of falling earth sounded from the shaft.

  ‘Daddy!’

  Katrina broke out in a sweat. Time was running out.

  She looked down at her mud-stained jodhpurs. They might be long enough to reach. It was worth a try. She pulled off the trousers, testing the fabric at the joins for strength. It was made of stretchy material, but seemed robust enough to hold a child’s weight.

  Leaning over the shaft, she called out, ‘Nick, I’m going to throw you down one end of my jodhpurs and I want you to grab it and hold on tight, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  She lay on the mud-hardened earth by the shaft, the rough grass spiking into her skin, her chest butting against the wooden beam. Curling a fist round one end of the jodhpurs, she tossed down the other leg and crept forward, hoping the edge stayed stable, and that she would have the strength to hold his weight.

  The makeshift ‘rope’ hung a few feet above the boy’s head.

  ‘Can you grab hold of that, sweetheart?’

  The boy raised his arm but the trouser leg swung above his outstretched fingers.

  ‘Can’t reach.’

  Katrina stripped out of her sweater. A cool breeze was streaming off the high mountains, giving her bare skin goosebumps. She tied an arm around one leg of the jodhpurs and secured the knot tight. Lying outstretched on the earth once again, she tossed the length down the shaft.

  This time she felt a tug. ‘Got it.’

  Yes! She curled a length twice round her hand. More earth fell from the edge and echoed down the shaft.

  ‘Hold on tight with both hands,’ she called, her heart in her mouth.

  ‘Okay,’ came the tiny voice.

  ‘When I say go, I want you to put one foot up on the wall while I pull. Can you do that for me? Like you’re…’

  ‘Like climbing the rope to the cubby house?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Katrina smiled, a bittersweet ache forming in her chest. The kid had loads of spirit. ‘Okay, go! Start climbing.’ Anchoring herself against the wooden beam, she felt his tug and held on as his weight began to drag.

  A pulsating throb sounded from the sky.

  She looked up as a cloud of dust and grit swept into her eyes, blinding her. She kept hold of the makeshift rope, the boy’s weight pulling on her until she thought her arms would pop out of their sockets. She heard a crashing sound and the boy cried out.

  ‘Katina!’

  The beam was giving way.

  * * *

  Head bent, Jack raced beneath the still-whirling blades of the helicopter to where he’d spotted Katrina.

  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Half naked, she was lying next to a deep hole in the ground, arms outstretched as she hung onto a rope of some kind. Her face was red with effort, the muscles of her arms straining. Only when he got closer did he understand.

  ‘My God, Nick!’ He glimpsed his son’s dark curly head below.

  ‘Help me,’ Katrina groaned. ‘It’s giving way.’

  He grabbed the boy’s arm and pulled him up. The three of them, Nick, Jack and Katrina, landed together in a tangled heap.

  ‘Daddy!’ The boy threw his tiny arms round his neck.

  ‘You’re alive, little buddy,’ he said, his cheek against his son’s. Only then would he allow himself to feel how incredibly precious his son was to him. For over twenty-four hours he’d barely existed, too scared to think what might have happened to his son. Now Nick was here. Alive. Okay.

  ‘K-Katina found me.’ Nick pulled away, giving a dusty smile.

  ‘Did she?’ Jack’s gaze shifted. He took in the sight of the woman to whom he owed his son’s life.

  Katrina had rolled onto her back, one knee in the air, her ribcage heaving as she gulped in air. Her naked stomach and legs were grazed and filthy, her dark hair a wild, tangled mass. A primal urge of sexual attraction surged through him.

  Maybe it was because he’d come so close to losing Nick. Maybe he’d caught a glimpse of his own mortality. Whatever the reason, lust surged through him with a power like he’d never known before. The sudden, hot desire went way beyond what he’d felt for Katrina that first time. And that had been bad enough.

  She looked so alive, so vital. Miraculously, she had found Nick, had risked her life to save him, by the looks of it. It was a debt he could never hope to repay. If they’d been alone, he could imagine making love to her there and then. He’d been kidding himself to think he had ever got over her.

  But he resented her all the more for that.

  Chapter 4

  Katrina was the first to climb out of the helicopter as soon as they landed, leaving Jack at his son’s side. During the short flight, she’d managed to untangle the sweater and jodhpurs and get dressed again. One of the paramedics had bandaged her ankle. Now when she put weight on it, she winced.

  ‘Remember,’ the paramedic shouted over the still whirring blades, ‘rest, ice, compression and elevation. That should prevent any swelling.’

  She shouted back her thanks and barely made it to the ground before the barrage began.

  ‘Katrina, this way! Katrina!’ Reporters and photographers waved to get her attention. Camera lights flashed. ‘How’s the boy, Katrina? How did you find him?’

  At first she said nothing, only smiled. It wasn’t her place to brief the media. But when they persisted and wouldn’t let her through, she said, ‘I’m sure Mr Fairley will want to make a statement when he can.’

  As if on cue, Jack emerged from the helicopter, his blonde hair touched by the setting sun. Cuddled up against his chest, arms wrapped round his sun-browned neck, was his son, now drowsy with sleep. Or exhaustion.

  ‘Jack! Jack!’ The throng swung toward him. ‘How is Nick? How does it feel to have him back?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ he said. ‘The paramedics say he’ll be fine. But I’ll have our local GP look over him once we get up to the house. I’ll be able to give you a better idea later.’

  ‘What’s it like to have a psychic find your son?’

  ‘There was nothing psychic involved.’ Jack glanced at Katrina, as if daring her to contradict him. ‘Ms Delaney had me looking over at the silos. Another area entirely.’

  ‘Is that true, Katrina? So how did you find him?’

  She pulled her shoulders back, stung by Jack’s quickness to dismiss her gift. She had dreamed of the mineshaft. It was only when she described it to Jack that he’d suggested the silo. Still, she didn’t want to make a big deal of it in front of the media.

  ‘That’s partly true, but —’

  ‘Ms Delaney’s horse threw her,’ Jack cut her off. ‘The fact that she ended up anywhere near the mineshaft was an accident. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get Nick up to the house.’ He turned to Katrina and added in a low voice, ‘Let’s keep the drama to a minimum, okay? For Nick’s sake. If that ankle’s hurting, stay here and I’ll send someone down to help you.’

  * * *

  Jack pushed his way through the media throng, ignoring all further entreaties for comment. The reporters slid by in a blur of faces, a nuisance he could do without. He crossed the dry grass of the makeshift helicopter landing pad, carrying his son close to his chest.

  He was dead tired, but he didn’t want anyone to take Nick from him. He knew Nick was safe, but he had that irrational uneasy feeling that something bad co
uld still happen, that some danger could erupt out of nowhere and take him away.

  As he neared the homestead, Wayne and Gwen appeared on the veranda.

  ‘Jack!’ Ann-Marie’s mother cried. ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘He’s fine. Considering.’ He turned to his cousin. ‘Katrina’s sprained her ankle. Could you take her a cane? There’s an old one of Ted’s in the hall. She’s down by the helicopter.’

  ‘How did she find him?’ his cousin asked.

  ‘The horse headed that way by accident.’

  ‘Lucky accident.’

  Jack trudged up the stairs, not wanting to speculate. Once they were inside, his son woke up and found his voice.

  ‘Daddy!’

  ‘Hello, sunshine. Well, didn’t you give us all a scare? How come you wandered off, little man? Daddy was worried about you.’

  ‘I saw a big koala at the showground.’

  ‘Did you try to follow him?’

  ‘It was a she. I wanted to go home. Then I got lost and it got dark and I fell down a hole. I yelled and yelled. Then Katina came and she said to hold on tight till you came.’

  Jack took in the basics. No kidnap, no abduction, nobody meaning his son harm. He trudged up the stairs. The hallway leading to Nick’s bedroom seemed impossibly long, and his son was growing heavier by the minute. His arms ached. Just a few more steps.

  He nudged the bedroom door open with his boot and carried Nick across to the bed. Blinking through tears of tiredness and relief, he pulled back the cover, then tucked it over his son. A rainbow pattern curled him into its folds. Nick’s eyelids drooped.

  He was safe…thanks to Katrina.

  Like a crack in an ice flow, thoughts of Katrina forced him to a cold clarity. What was he going to do with her?

  He heard a rap on the door.

  It opened to reveal Doctor Tan, the local GP whose practice included both Western and herbal medicine, a once radical innovation in their small rural community. Tan’s waiting room was filled with toys and books and all the local children loved him, Nick included.

  Jack stepped aside to make way for him.

  After a thorough examination, the doctor backed up the opinion of the paramedic who’d tended to Nick on the helicopter.