this around an airfield. A lot of pilots are tinkerers, playing with their planes and doing up old cars—the two go together. It’s fortunate for me as there’s an old man out there who loves this vehicle, so although it looks as if it’s coming apart at the seams, he keeps it in good running order for me.’
‘And are you a tinkering pilot?’ Clancy asked.
‘Definitely not. I have no idea what goes on inside any engine, although I had to learn enough about the plane to be able to see anything that was obviously wrong with it. But we’ve a good mechanic in Carnock and I have it serviced down here every year. I just wanted to be able to get about, and in the bush a small plane’s the answer.’
The conversation lagged, and although the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, Clancy felt obliged to break it.
Or it may have been because she liked Mac’s voice, the rich chocolate of it, that she asked, ‘And your involvement with Angel Flight?’
‘Ah,’ Mac said, ‘that’s one great charity. Very few overheads, most of the work done by volunteers, and it’s one thing that is of real benefit to country people all over Australia. You know about it?’
He turned towards her and Clancy smiled, glad she could answer honestly.
‘I’ve supported it as a charity for years and I’m a registered “earth angel”, but only as a hospital visitor. Having a full-time job and not having a car means I can’t do hospital transfers, but when people have to stay down for any length of time, I’m put in touch with them.’
‘So we have something in common apart from Hester,’ Mac said, and when he smiled she knew the flutters were Mac-generated, although the name Carnock still gave her a thrill when she whispered it in her mind.
Thrills—flutters—what was happening to calm, sensible, in-control Willow Cloud Clancy? The girl who’d fled the drifting, laid-back, disorganised life of the commune to build a normal, stable life for herself—planned and controlled to the last detail …
This time she let the silence linger, her head too busy puzzling over her reactions to Mac to be bothered with small talk.
But no amount of thinking came up with any reason why this particular man, of all the men she’d met in recent years, should affect her with flutters.
Surely it had to be more than a quick, bold grin and twinkling eyes and a piratical beard and tousled black hair …
Was she having second thoughts? Mac wondered. Would she get to Archerfield, take one look at his little plane, and grab a taxi to take her back to the security of her tiny apartment and her ordered life?
He knew enough about her childhood in the hippie commune—Hester’s agent had been far more thorough than he’d let on—to guess she needed order in her life and some measure of control over it, but surely she could find order of a different kind in Carnock.
It was a thought that made him think again—did he want her living in Carnock?
The answer came immediately—a positive response. At least, he amended to himself, until he’d had a chance to get to know her, and maybe understand the attraction he felt towards her.
Once understood it would be easy to counter—
That thought stopped as abruptly as he stopped the car at the lights at Rocklea.
‘Archerfield’s just up the road,’ he said, to break his train of thought more than the silence.
‘I can see planes already,’ his passenger said, and the soft, husky voice feathered up his spine, suggesting the attraction might grow instead of lessening …
Far better if she didn’t stay!
Once airborne it was easier. He could pretend flying the little gem of a plane was a complex procedure. But even pretending, he couldn’t miss the cries of delight from his passenger, who pointed out every dam and paddock and small hill as they flew towards the great range that ran down the east coast of Australia.
Enchantment shone in her face, and her delight was so open and enthusiastic that Mac found himself forgetting his pretence about the complexities of flying and joining in, naming the places they flew over, deviating off route to show her deep, uninhabited valleys in the ranges, and fields of sunflowers—faces up to the sun and so to them—ranging across the downs.
Turning north towards Carnock, he pointed out the small beginnings of the river that had caused much of the flooding the previous year.
‘But it’s barely a creek,’ Clancy protested, and Mac explained how the ground had been waterlogged from previous rain, and the little stream already breaking its banks in places before the deluge that caused the flood had hit the town.
‘Is there still visible damage in the town?’ she asked, and he hesitated.
‘If you’d known the town, then you’d see a difference. Some places that were washed away will never be rebuilt, but it’s the invisible damage that I worry about.’
‘The people?’ she asked quietly, and he nodded.
‘There’s far too much of a “she’ll be right, mate” attitude in the country,’ he said. ‘People—men and women but particularly the men—hide their emotions in case it’s seen as a weakness.’
‘At least that’s never a problem where I come from,’ she responded. ‘The nights I’ve fallen asleep listening to a litany of someone’s revelations of their deep inner angst. But I can understand people would be scarred by the experience of the floods. Even seeing the news coverage had me in tears.’
‘Carnock was lucky in that there was no loss of life, although we all thought Mike was gone. He leapt into the water when a big ball floated past—the dog’s a sucker for a ball. But he arrived back home five days later. Wet and bedraggled and absolutely starving, but still as bold as ever.’
Clancy turned to pat the dog, who was lying behind the two front seats. The image of a wet, bedraggled Mike had slunk into her heart and for all she told herself she couldn’t get too attached to this dog, she had a bad feeling she’d be unable to resist.
Could she get enough rent for her apartment to lease a house in the suburbs—somewhere on the train line so she wouldn’t need a car? With a good yard, of course—
A jangling noise erupted through the small cabin.
‘Is that your mobile?’ she asked Mac, and knew the answer when she saw him fish it out of his pocket.
‘Mac!’ he said, while Clancy marvelled that right up here in the air the man still had mobile coverage.
Although now Mac’s end of the conversation snagged her attention.
‘How long ago? Is it just his ankle? Did he hit his head at all? Land on his back? Can he move his toes and fingers? Jess, Jess, stop crying. I’ll be there in half an hour, maybe less. Your strip’s clear? No cattle in that paddock? Okay, just make him comfortable and come down to the strip to meet me. Yes, I can take you into town. Now stop crying, take deep breaths, think of the baby, make yourself a cup of tea, then drive down to meet us.’
‘Problem?’ Clancy asked.
‘Fellow on a property some distance from town. He’s come off his motorbike, but apparently only injured his ankle. They ride around on those darned things with sandals on, would you believe, and never wear helmets. It’s a wonder more farmers aren’t injured.’
Was that all he was going to tell her?
Not that she needed to know more, but she’d sensed Mac had more to say.
A long sigh confirmed her guess.
‘Rod’s wife, Jess, is eight months pregnant. She’s a city girl and although she’s adapted well to country life, something like this will have thrown her.’
Not knowing what to say, Clancy waited.