Outback Bridegroom

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“But don’t you make tons of money?”

Christine turned her head in amusement. “Aren’t you the one who said as a family we’ve all got too much? I don’t usually dish out clichés, but money can’t buy love and happiness, kiddo. And that’s what I want for you.”

“I could be happy if you stayed,” Suzanne confided. “But what would you do?” she asked with the greatest interest. “You’ve been so famous. All my girlfriends think you’re gorgeous.”

“I work at it.” Christine smiled. “Genes and a good dose of self-discipline. I’ve been thinking I might become a businesswoman.” She slowed the Jeep as they approached the airstrip. “I have a good head on my shoulders. Kyall wants to teach me the business.”

“Oh, that would be great!” Suzanne’s soft grey eyes were huge. “You’d stay home in Australia?”

“Those are my thoughts, sweetie. I like the idea of being around for you too. And there’s Fiona. I just know you two girls are going to hit if off wonderfully.”

Minutes later Suzanne was waving happily from inside the King Air while Kyall took the opportunity to have a few parting words with his sister.

“Well, there’s a change. Suzy actually looks happy. What did you say?”

“I promised her I’m going to be around for her. She needs family badly. She’s still in terrible pain from losing her parents.”

“Of course she is, poor little mite. But how you’re going to be around for her is the burning question, given your career.”

“You’ve offered me options, brother.” She smiled into his eyes, relishing the fact he was taller. “At this point I might be ready to start another career.”

“Anything that keeps you home suits me. What’s more, you have a very good chance of landing our good friend Mitch.”

“My now-or-never chance,” she said wryly.

“Make the most of it,” Kyall urged.

“I will.” She held up her face for his kiss.

“You two were meant for each other.” Kyall’s eyes were serious. “Say hello for me.”

“Will do.”

Mitch arrived looking like the hero of some Western movie. The one who always got the girl. Irrevocably sunny-natured, with that golden shock of hair, changeable sea-coloured eyes, bold and sparkling against the smooth golden tan, and the irresistible flash of beautiful white teeth.

“Hi!” he called, slamming the door of the open Jeep and sauntering jauntily towards the homestead verandah. He’d promised himself he’d do his level best to be friendly, but he knew he’d have to work hard at it.

“Hi, yourself!” Christine had deliberately posed herself against twin white columns, trying for a touch of humour to break down the expected tensions. After all, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Indeed, it seemed they would never get back onto their old footing. Such was the price of her defection.

“Chris, you break my heart!” he responded pleasantly, sweeping off his cream akubra and holding it on cue to his chest. “You’re so beautiful, so hot, so sexy! Pity I’m not a photographer.” That came out a bit too dryly.

“That’s okay. I did dress up a bit, but not in a huge way. Like the outfit?”

“Love it.” He ambled up onto the verandah as she broke her pose. “Prairie style, is it?” he asked with mock interest.

“Say, that’s knowledgeable.” She stared down at herself. She wore jeans with a very feminine cream cotton and lace blouse, and a fancy turquoise buckled belt around her narrow waist. “How did you know?”

He allowed himself a slight laugh, though the sight of her had sharpened his nerves. “Mum has a magazine with you in it looking like some glorious frontier woman, dressed in long suede skirts and high leather boots, with big wide belts and lots of lace and pretty puffed sleeves. Did they know you can ride like the wind?”

“Didn’t you notice the one of me on the galloping horse?”

“Hell, I must have missed it.” His eyes were sardonic. “I loved the one where you were sitting under a tree strumming a guitar. Nice combination—Victorian blouse, tight sexy jeans and leather boots. But I happen to know you can’t play the guitar.”

“All right, so you can.”

“Multi-talented, that’s me.” He leaned back against a column, still studying her. She was so beautiful. But there was a wall between them he couldn’t get around or over. Nevertheless, he was determined to keep to his promise to be sociable. “Remember that stage I went through of trying to yodel?” he asked.

“I remember the falsetto.” She turned a smiling face to him, her expression soft and dreamy.

“So why did you keep telling me I could have made it big?”

“As a busker.” In fact she’d loved him crooning to her in his smooth melodious voice, her limbs curling up with pleasure. “Mum doesn’t want you to leave until you have morning tea.”

“I hate morning tea.” He mouthed the words.

“Never mind. There are some things a guy’s gotta do. Come inside. It’s all set up in the garden room. It’s abloom at the moment, with some of Mum’s spectacular plants.”

“This I’ve got to see.” He spoke smoothly. It was a good thing she couldn’t hear his pounding heart.

Enid, her fine dark eyes full of bright curiosity, was waiting for them in the double-storeyed light-filled room Ewan McQueen, Christine’s grandfather, had built onto the rear of the main house in the early days of his marriage to Ruth.

It was a striking room, distinguished by such an array of exotic plants one had the feeling of being enclosed in a sub-tropical garden. Palms soared, along with golden canes, banana trees, tree ferns, orchids, bromeliads, all kinds of lilium—white, cream, yellow, orange, shocking pink and purple—waxy, highly scented gardenias, colourful pelargoniums, and every variety of philodendron, some with enormous deeply lobed leaves. Everything was grown in pots, and the temperature of the room was controlled by air-conditioning.

As if that weren’t enough, Mitch thought wryly, a large Victorian wrought-iron central fountain had been installed, presenting the spectacle and sound of abundant water on the desert fringe. The sparkling emerald green surface was the perfect background for a flotilla of luxuriant creamy-white water lilies.

At home with the McQueens! They sure knew how to live. Whether some of them deserved it was another matter. His homestead at Marjimba, though big and pleasing, was no possible match for this. Wunnamurra homestead was regarded as one of the finest in the country, and was a showpiece; its rooms were filled with marvellous antiques, the walls aglow with paintings worth a fortune, Chinese porcelains and jade in cabinets, Oriental screens and rugs. You name it, some collector in the family had acquired it. It had been rumoured at one time that Ruth McQueen had an Egyptian mummy secreted away some place. Ruby Hall, Koomera Crossing’s resident sticky beak, had blabbed it. He believed that as much as he believed pigs could fly.

“Mitchell, dear!” Enid called to him in a cultured voice that always managed to sound patronising to his ears. “It’s so nice of your mother to invite Christine over.”

Poor, problematic Christine, he thought, with ongoing resentment towards Christine’s autocratic mother. His own home had been more of a shelter and a haven to Christine than this mansion had ever been.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Enid rose from behind a long glass-topped table, extending her hand like royalty.

“How are you, Enid?” He took it gallantly. His mother was big on manners.

She seemed to search his face for something. He wasn’t sure what. “Well, I’m doing my best.” She sucked in her cheeks. “I miss Mother terribly, of course, but I can’t let the rest of the family down. I want this to be a peaceful time for Christine whilst she’s here.”

“So how long is that to be?” He half turned, caught Christine’s eye, his expression as sardonic as hers.

“Just until Mum decides to kick me out.” Christine rocked on her boot heels, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

“Christine, the things you say!” Enid looked exasperated. “You know I hate it when you go away.”

Christine smiled broadly. “Gosh, Mum, I’ve never noticed.”

Enid waved a hand at her. “Darling girl, must we air our differences with Mitchell here?”

“He won’t stand up for me.” She shot Mitch a swift, challenging look.

“You can stand up for yourself,” he returned coolly.

“True.”

“I had such high hopes for you two,” Enid went on to reveal. “To my mind you’re perfect husband material, Mitchell.”

“Pity Chris didn’t think so,” he answered carelessly, as though it no longer mattered. “If she had, life would have taken a different turn—wouldn’t it, Chrissy?” He glanced at her with light mockery.

“I expect we’d have six or seven kids by now.”

“I guess so.” He didn’t smile, suddenly busy trying to steer out of the rapids.

“You were just too foolish, Christine.” Enid shook her head in censure.

“So why isn’t anyone desperate to marry you, Mitch?” Christine retaliated, meeting his extraordinary eyes.

“Chrissy, darling, you’re way behind the times,” he drawled. “Some very nice girls indeed are in the running.”

“Annie Oakley out there?”

“There was a time you worked hard at being that, Christine,” Enid reminded her. “The arguments we had, trying to get you to put on a dress. Let alone a bit of make-up. Now you’re plastered with it.”

Christine turned her head towards her mother in mild astonishment. “I wear very little make-up away from the camera, Mum. I’m not wearing much now.”

“In your job, I mean.” Enid clucked. “You could hardly call it a profession. I’ll be so pleased when you’re out of it. We all know the dangers. Now…come sit down, Mitchell, dear. I’m sure there’s something you’ll love here. All freshly baked in your honour. Christine, be a good girl and check if the tea’s ready.”

“Sure. I’ll nip out to the kitchen right now. You keep Mitch entertained.”

“There are just no words to describe my daughter!” Enid gave Mitch a half-pained, half-conspiratorial look, staring after the tall, incredibly elegant Christine as she glided out of the room. “How can we communicate properly when she’s always attempting to take a rise out of me?”

“I’m sure we love her all the same,” Mitch offered smoothly, staring at a beautiful, very showy orchid, its colours a combination of crimson, purple and pink. Wunnamurra had such an orchid right on its doorstep. Its name was Christine.

They had been airborne some twenty minutes when Mitch received the message that a vehicle was overturned on a bush road some forty plane-kilometres north-east of Wunnamurra station. Could he land and take a look at the scene? If there were critically injured people could he relay an immediate message to the Flying Doctor? If the occupants weren’t so bad could he fly them back to Koomera Crossing, where an ambulance and a crew from the Bush Hospital would be waiting?

“Never a dull moment!” Mitch remarked, shooting Christine a keen look. “I’ll drop altitude. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Christine nodded, anxious to do all she could.

They had no difficulty finding the site. On a straight stretch of road the vehicle, a four-wheel drive, had come to grief.

“Thank God the wind is in the right direction,” Mitch remarked, peering down at the rugged red landscape.

“You’re going to attempt to land?” Christine too stared down at the vast plains that shimmered away to the horizon.

Whirlwinds swayed and danced in the distance. The quivering mirage created an enticing chain of cool blue lagoons that many an explorer had trudged towards. Lakes that didn’t exist. Empty and remote, the Never Never wasn’t the best place to break down.

“I’ll circle. See what happens,” Mitch muttered. “If there’s no response from the ground I guess I’ll have to. The road should be just wide enough. At least we’ve got a good long straight stretch.”

“You don’t know the camber of the road,” she pointed out, her tone betraying her edginess.

“You’re not worried, are you?” He frowned, looking to her for a straight answer.

“No, Mitch. I’m as cool as a cucumber. Just like you. Of course I’m worried. There’s certain criteria for landing on a road, even a bush road with not a soul on it. There’s always a risk.”

“Chrissy, darling, spare a thought. I’m the pilot,” he said dryly. “Not you. I don’t estimate a high risk. Leave it to me. I’ve seen the Flying Doctor’s King Air—all five or six million dollars’ worth, and weighing a good five tons—land in the most amazing places. You’re talking skills. I’m not too bad myself.”

A modest understatement. Mitch was a very fine pilot; he had to be. She knew that.

Rule One when travelling in the Outback: wait with your vehicle.

As they circled the site to make any survivors of the accident aware, a woman suddenly lurched up from the scant shade of a stunted, lifeless-looking shrub, her whole body language showing her distress. She lifted both arms above her head to acknowledge them before pointing back to the vehicle, then cantered to one side to indicate the driver was unable to get out.