Taming Dr Tempest. Meredith Webber

one answered, the young policeman now intent on getting the passengers onto the plane, checking again with the pilots that they were willing to carry Bill Armstrong in spite of the trouble he’d caused.

      ‘As long as he agrees the dog goes in the crate, we’ll take him,’ one of them said, then he turned to Deb. ‘I don’t suppose you could carry a tranquillising dart with you just in case?’

      Deb laughed, but Annabelle suspected the pilot wasn’t joking. No doubt he flew this route often and knew the rough, tough men he carried. Maybe it explained why a small plane on a country route had two pilots.

      People were moving towards the doors leading out onto the tarmac.

      ‘That’s it?’ Nick said to Phil. ‘No one’s going to charge the fellow with assault? And what about our patient? Do we just leave him here, or take him to the hospital or what?’

      ‘I’ll take him up to the hospital when I’ve seen the plane off,’ the young policeman offered, before leaving them to help a couple of volunteers carry the luggage out to the plane.

      Phil and Nick eased the patient off the counter and settled him on a chair behind it, while Deb and Annabelle cleaned up the mess.

      ‘Easier not to charge anyone,’ Phil explained. ‘If they booked someone every time there was a bit of a barney, they’d need a bigger jail and a full-time court sitting out here.’

      He turned to Annabelle and dropped a bunch of keys into her hand.

      ‘I’ve locked the chest. You guys’ll take it back to the car? It’s the old troopie with the bent snorkel, can’t miss it, and Bruce’ll need a run before you head out on the road.’

      He took Deb by the arm and headed for the plane. Annabelle hefted the keys in her hand, knowing they’d have to work out what they were all for—the car, the small hospital at Murrawalla where they’d be stationed, the house they’d share, and all the medical chests that held the necessities of their trade. The house they’d share…

      She was considering this aspect of the two months and wondering why the thought made her feel distinctly uncomfortable when she realised Nick was speaking to her.

      ‘What the hell did he mean when he talked about a troopie with a bent snorkel and who, do you suppose, is Bruce?’

      Annabelle turned to look at him, seeing bloodstains on his white shirt and dark stains smeared across his trousers, indication that the blood had spread, and that he’d definitely need some new clothes.

      ‘The troopie is our vehicle. It’s a Toyota, I think built originally to carry troops, hence the name. It’s one of the most uncomfortable four-wheel drives ever put on the road, but it will go anywhere with a minimum of fuss, which makes it ideal in this country.’

      ‘And the bent snorkel?’

      Annabelle smiled at him.

      ‘I think the bend is accidental but when you see the snorkel you’ll understand. It’s like a snorkel you use when swimming, only a car one that takes the exhaust up over the top of the vehicle so if you’re going through deep water it can’t get into the exhaust pipe and cause the engine to overheat.’

      Nick shook his head.

      ‘After showing that level of ignorance, I hardly dare ask about Bruce.’

      This time Annabelle laughed.

      ‘Bruce, I imagine, is our dog.’ ‘Our dog?’

      ‘Ours for the next two months!’

      ‘I’ve got a dog called Bruce?’

      ‘No, no,’ Annabelle said, laughing so much she could hardly speak. ‘We’ve got a dog called Bruce!’

      ‘Well, you’d better keep him under control,’ Nick grumbled. ‘Because there is no way in this world I’m going to stand around calling out Broo-ooce, or, worse still, Brucie, to any darned dog.’

      He crossed the room to where their fellow passengers were retrieving luggage from a trolley and picked out a new-looking suitcase, then turned towards Annabelle.

      ‘Which is yours?’ he asked, but she was already reaching past him, swinging a battered backpack onto her back then lifting a bulky roll with a strap around it off the trolley.

      ‘Swag,’ she said, no doubt reading the question on his face before he’d even asked it. ‘There’ll be swags in the troopie as part of our equipment but I like to use my own.’

      ‘I thought swags were what swagmen carried during the depression, a kind of bed roll.’

      ‘Exactly,’ Annabelle replied. ‘They’re back in vogue, you know. I doubt there’s a young man anywhere west of the main cities who doesn’t have a swag he can throw in the back of his ute.’

      ‘Not only a foreign place but a foreign language,’ Nick muttered to himself as he followed Annabelle out of the airport building. She appeared to be heading for a large, bulky-looking vehicle, custard yellow under a film of red dust. He studied it, seeking the snorkel, which he finally identified as a black pipe coming up alongside the driver’s side windscreen, this particular snorkel bent crazily forward at the top.

      Annabelle had stopped and was fiddling through the keys, although as he joined her she nodded towards the bent pipe.

      ‘Backed it under a low branch I’d say, wouldn’t you?’

      Nick nodded in turn. He was too bemused by the strangeness—by the hot, dry air, the red dust already coating his shoes, this battered vehicle and an undoubtedly capable nurse—to make a comment on the driving skills of his predecessors.

      Then a question he should have asked earlier occurred to him and he studied the capable nurse.

      ‘How come you know all this country stuff?’ he demanded, and though he expected a teasing smile and some light remark in reply she said nothing, just concentrated on the bunch of keys as if the large one that had ‘Toyota’ written on it hadn’t already been singled out by her nimble fingers.

      She unlocked the doors at the rear of the vehicle and threw her pack and swag into a narrow space between chests of medical equipment, large plastic containers of water and a small, chest-like refrigerator. Nick hoisted his suitcase and set it on top of another chest, then remembered they had to collect the one from the terminal.

      ‘I’ll get it,’ he offered, but Annabelle followed him anyway, knowing it would be easier to carry if they shared the load.

      And as she followed she considered the question she hadn’t answered. How to explain that this was the country of her heart? Or that she’d volunteered not only for the bonus money but so she could come out here to face the past, and hopefully put it behind her, enabling her to move on, strong and confident, towards whatever the future might hold.

      He’d have thought she’d lost her marbles, and the poor man was confused enough as it was.

      She caught up with him and together they carried the chest out of the now-deserted terminal building. Back at the troopie, it was Nick who found where the chest went, behind the driver’s seat and accessible only by tipping the seat forward.

      The success must have gone to his head for next minute he was demanding the keys and settling himself into the driver’s seat, man-confident there wasn’t a vehicle made he couldn’t drive.

      Until he noticed the two gear sticks…

      Annabelle smiled to herself as she climbed into the passenger seat and watched the frown deepen on his face as he tried to work it out.

      ‘Okay,’ he finally admitted, ‘tell me!’

      ‘One’s for the four-wheel drive,’ she said, pointing to the smaller of the two. ‘You put the main one into neutral before engaging four-wheel drive and you have to lock the hubs on the front wheels.’

      His