Christmas at Coorah Creek (Choc Lit) (8 page)

The driver gunned his engine at the vehicle lurched forward. Katie looked about for a seatbelt then gave up. She tried to calm her mind. She had a job to do. She would forget all about the flight and concentrate on her patient. The vehicle hit a pot hole and Katie grabbed the dashboard as she was thrown about in her seat.

‘Sorry,’ the driver said. ‘This track needs grading.’

Katie said nothing, her whole being focused on the job she had to do at the end of her journey – if she survived.

Chapter Eleven

‘I need a word with you, Ed.’

Ed jumped slightly, and banged his knuckles on the engine block. Rubbing his hand, he withdrew from under the car’s bonnet and straightened. Trish Warren was standing in the doorway of the workshop.

‘What can I do for you Trish?’

She came into the workshop. She looked around for somewhere to sit, but obviously rejected all the options. Ed had to admit the place was messy but it
was
a workshop.

‘I came to say it’s high time you joined in the Waifs and Orphans this year. We could use your help setting up. There’s always so much work to do. With the party getting bigger every year, the workload just gets bigger too. And of course you are very welcome at the party.’

Ed sighed. The annual town Christmas party was Trish’s special project. Every year she tried to get him involved and every year she failed. Not that she ever stopped trying. Trish was nothing if not determined.

‘Now Trish,’ he said. ‘We’ve had this conversation before. You know that I don’t care for Christmas.’

‘Rubbish. Everybody loves Christmas. I remember years ago, your house used to be covered with lights. And you hosted a Christmas barbecue too. So don’t tell me you don’t care for Christmas.’

‘Things changed.’ Ed felt the first rumbling of annoyance. Trish knew as well as anyone what had destroyed his Christmas. Perhaps better than anyone, because he was sure her gossiping had only made matters so much worse.

‘They did.’ Trish’s voice softened. ‘But they are changing again Ed. Surely you see that. You don’t want to miss this chance.’

She was right, of course. He didn’t. But he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. A chance was a fragile thing. Easily broken and lost.

He absently picked up a rag to wipe his greasy hands.

‘The party is going to be great this year,’ Trish told him. ‘It’ll serve as a welcome for that new nurse, Katie. And I think Scott is going to stay for it. He’s just extended the booking on his room at the hotel.’

Ed looked up sharply.

‘How long is he staying?’

‘At least a couple more weeks.’

‘He’s probably staying because of that nurse. She’s very pretty and I think they may have something going on.’ His voice betrayed his uncertainty.

‘Oh, they definitely have something going on.’ Trish was obviously pleased to impart that news. ‘But does it really matter why he stays?’

She was right. He studied her face and saw the kindness in her eyes. She was a terrible gossip, but she was smarter than she looked. And she had a heart of gold. Trish and her pub were very much the heart of this community.

      
‘All right.’ Ed gave way as gracefully as he could. ‘What do you need me to do?’

‘There’ll be working party over at the hall in a few days. They’ll need all the help they can get. And you had better show up at the party too or I’ll come and drag you down there myself.’

‘All right.’

Trish nodded, obviously pleased with herself. She started to walk back to the pub, but stopped in the doorway. ‘By the way, you might want to stroll over when you close up. The beef stew is particularly good tonight.’

Ed watched her retreating back and wondered what that was all about. It was almost closing time so he walked outside to lock the petrol bowsers. As he did, he looked across at the pub. Through the open windows he could see a lone figure sat at the bar. Ah. Now he understood. Trish was meddling again.

He went back inside, locking the workshop behind him. Candy met him as he crossed the yard towards the house. She looked at him and whined softly. He patted her.

Maybe Trish had a point. He turned around but changed his mind. It wouldn’t hurt to clean up just a little before he went to the pub.

When should we expect to see you?

The words on Scott’s laptop screen glowed in an almost accusing manner. The e-mail had arrived yesterday, but he still hadn’t answered it.

We will take delivery of the two cars – the Lancia and the Mercedes in mid-January, and would be keen for you to begin work on them immediately to have at least one of them ready for exhibition in the summer.

They meant the English summer of course. To restore either of those cars would take a good six or seven months of hard work.

He looked at the signature and the distinctive logo. As a teenage rev-head with a passion for classic cars, he’d dreamed about working for a place like that. He could still hardly believe that one of the world’s great motor museums wanted him to restore and care for their beautiful machines. When he started his own small restoration workshop in Brisbane five years ago, he’d worked twenty hours a day to build his business. A chance meeting with the owner of that signature had resulted in this dream of a job offer.

He was going, of course. He’d be a fool to pass it up. He’d already sold his workshop. That money would help him establish himself in England and start the new life he’d always wanted. A life far, far away from Coorah Creek. After all, there was nothing to hold him here. No-one to hold him here. Not even many memories. At least, not good memories.

      
Still his fingers hesitated over the laptop keys.

This trip wasn’t going quite the way he had planned.

A few weeks ago, while selling his business and preparing to move to the other side of the world, he had begun thinking about what to take to his new life. And what he was going to leave behind. His few mates had already invited themselves to visit him in England. He’d never really had a serious girlfriend. He was leaving nothing behind – because he had nothing to leave.

His mother was long gone. He didn’t know where she was or even, to be brutally honest, if she was still alive. Sitting there in his workshop, packing up his tools, another thought had struck with the force of a cyclone. At that moment, he also hadn’t known if his father was dead or alive. For the first time in almost a decade, he was overcome with a desire to go back to Coorah Creek. He had to see his father one more time before he shook the Aussie dust from his feet and headed for greener pastures.

He hadn’t expected a rapprochement. There was too much bad blood to be healed. He has just … What?

Now that he was here, he was even less sure.

He hadn’t expected to feel … anything.

Maybe finding Candy still alive had stirred up too many emotions. Made him vulnerable. Or maybe it was the realisation that his father was now a lonely old man. Whatever it was, he found he didn’t hate his father as much as he’d thought. He wasn’t ready to forgive him. But maybe he could let go of his anger.

He had some time. Christmas was a couple of weeks away and he’d already talked to Trish about keeping the hotel room until then. He didn’t need to be in the UK until the second week in January. He could easily move his flight back to the New Year.

He stared out the window, and caught a flash of sunlight. The air ambulance was coming in for a landing. He wondered if Katie was on board. Probably. He wondered how she had managed on this first flight. Perhaps he could drop by her place this evening. After all, he felt a little responsible for her. He’d rescued her twice already. Maybe she’d need rescuing again. Or maybe she’d just want some company. That wouldn’t be a bad thing. Nothing would ever come of it, of course. He didn’t do relationships. Not really. Not only that, Katie had come to Coorah Creek to live. He had come to say goodbye. But until then, they could be friends, couldn’t they.

There was absolutely no reason to think she had anything to do with his reluctance to send the e-mail that he knew he had to send.

Taking a deep breath, he began to type …

I expect to arrive in the UK shortly after New Year. I’ll be in touch as soon as I arrive. I am very much looking forward to starting work on the cars.

He signed off and hit send.

It was probably too soon to go looking for Katie. While he waited, it wouldn’t hurt to do a bit more research on that Lancia. He’d never restored one of those before. He wanted to get it right.

Within minutes he was lost in his favourite place – a world of rare and beautiful classic cars. He was so engrossed in what he was doing, he didn’t hear the heavy footsteps crossing the bar’s polished wooden floor.

‘Now that’s a nice car.’

Ed pulled up a stool next to Scott.

‘It sure is.’

‘Ever since you were a kid, you wanted one of those. You had an old owner’s manual. The ’75 model. Always had your nose in it.’

Neither of them mentioned that the Lancia owner’s manual was one of the things Scott had taken with him the day he turned his back on his father and the town of Coorah Creek. It was now sitting in a box in the boot of his car.

‘I’m surprised you remember.’ Scott had trouble keeping the bitterness out of his voice.

‘I remember a lot more than you think.’

There seemed to be nothing he could say to that.
      

Scott closed that internet window, leaving another displayed. It was the home page for the National Museum of Motoring. The place he would soon be working.

‘Now, there’s a place I always wanted to visit,’ Ed said slowly. ‘All those wonderful European cars. I’ve never even seen a Rolls Royce out here – far less something like an old Aston Martin or a Lotus. I’d love to look under the bonnet of something like that. Just once in my life.’

Scott was startled by the emotion in his father’s voice. A profound sadness. It had never occurred to him that the old man might have such strong regrets.

‘Why didn’t you go there? A holiday or something.’

‘I didn’t want to be gone from here …’

The words fell into the space between them. Surely his father wasn’t still hoping his mother would come back? Or … had his father stayed here all those years hoping Scott would come back?

The silence was becoming a little hard to take. Scott finished closing down his computer. The click as he shut the lid seemed very loud.

‘That car’s done.’ Once again, it was his father taking the lead.

‘Car?’

‘The girl’s.’

‘Oh. I thought you weren’t going to have it ready until tomorrow.’

‘The parts arrived this morning. It didn’t take long then. I thought you might take it back to her.’

That was a surprise. Scott looked at his father and raised an eyebrow.

‘Well,’ Ed said. ‘The two of you seemed … friendly.’

Scott wanted to laugh. After all this time, his father was matchmaking? Maybe he was hoping Scott might hang around if he was involved with Katie. It wasn’t a bad prospect – but he had a job waiting.

‘Don’t you want her to pay for it before she picks it up?’

Ed shook his head slowly. ‘Son, you sure have forgotten a lot about this town. This isn’t the city. We do things differently. She needs the damn car. Take it to her. She can pay me next time she’s passing.’

Scott took the keys his father held out, thinking as he did that his father was right. There were many, many things he had forgotten. And maybe not all of them were bad.

Chapter Twelve

Katie’s knees were shaking so much, she almost fell to the ground as she came down the steps of the aircraft. As her feet touched good solid earth, she heaved a sigh of relief, then heaved again as her stomach lurched. She covered her mouth with her hand, and stepped away from the plane. Just in case. When she had her stomach under control, she turned to see Adam coming out of the plane, a brown bag in his hands. Her humiliation was complete as her boss carried the air sick bag over to the tin shed and deposited it in a big metal drum of rubbish.

‘Don’t feel too bad.’ Jess joined Katie on the tarmac and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘Everybody does that at least once in their lives.’

‘Did you?’ Katie asked.

‘Well, no. But I’m a pilot. We’re not allowed to get air sick.’

And she was a nurse. She wasn’t supposed to get air sick either. Thank goodness there hadn’t been a patient on board. The injured stockman had been treated and left at the station in his wife’s care.
      

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Adam offered as he joined them again. ‘We’ll leave Jess to take care of the plane, and I can take you home. You’ll feel better when you freshen up and have a nice cup of tea.’

The mere thought of putting anything into her stomach almost made her ill again. But the doctor was right. By the time she had returned to her flat, had a shower and donned some fresh clothes, she was feeling better. She boiled the kettle and made some mint tea. Someone had once told her mint tea was good for an upset stomach. It was, but not good enough to give her back her energy, or take away the ache in her back.

She lay back on her sofa and closed her eyes.

She tried to empty her mind, but she couldn’t. Her mind was churning as badly as her stomach had earlier in the day. One thought was pounding into her brain over and over again.

She had made a terrible mistake coming to Coorah Creek. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and squeezed her lids even more tightly to stop them overflowing down her cheeks. She had only been here a few days, but already she hated Coorah Creek! Hated it!

She hated the heat. And the isolation. At night, the silence was so overwhelming it kept her awake. She hated the fact that there were no coffee shops or shops of any sort. And she hated working somewhere without structure or uniforms or rules or all the things that made up a proper hospital.

But most of all she hated flying in the air ambulance!

Her stomach twisted again at the mere thought.