Page 9 of Wings Above the Mallee

‘I wasn’t aware we were arguing.’ Heath’s tone made it clear she was unworthy of such discussion.

‘The problem is,’ Sean said, cutting through the awkward silence, ‘when they’re eating well and not mangy, foxes aregleoite. Cute. Like a cross between a cat and a dog.’

His lilting tone, the way he almost caressed the words, stirred something forgotten, deep in Amelia’s belly; perhaps a longing to have a man refer to her as ‘gleoite’.

‘Cute with the scent glands of a ferret,’ Heath added dourly, obliterating any romanticism Amelia had attached to the word.

‘Ah, yes, there is a certain smell,’ Sean agreed.

They moved a few paces down the hill as the sheep’s leisurely perambulation stirred up a haze of red dust in the last of the light. Heath jerked around to stare at the scrub, the tallest branches of the trees already swallowed by blue-black night, although the trunks and hollows glowed with the Midas touch of the sinking sun. ‘That’ll be your ride.’

Amelia looked to Sean for explanation.

‘Lad’s got great hearing,’ Sean said. ‘The doc will be a way off. We’ll meet her at the house.’

‘Could be Charlee,’ Heath said, and Amelia was struck by the odd mix of apprehension and hope in his tone.

‘Could well be, lad,’ Sean said gently. ‘Either way, let’s get that kettle on.’

‘Wait.’ Amelia flinched as she reflexively caught Heath’s arm with her outstretched hand. ‘What’s that?’ The words dried in her throat as a baby’s piteous cry rang threadily from the thicket of eucalypts. Except it couldn’t be. That was her mind playing tricks.

‘Told you: a car,’ Heath said irritably, gesturing at the path ahead. ‘Which will get to the house before us, at this rate.’

Amelia shook her head. ‘Not that.’ She still couldn’t hear the car, anyway. Her attention was focused on the scrub. ‘There. That.’ It did sound like a young child. But it couldn’t be. Not here. Never again.

Sean also cocked his head, gazing in the direction she indicated. ‘Ah.’ The tension in his shoulders eased. ‘That’dbe a wee lamb. Let’s hope the mama hasn’t wandered off to get a drink from the trough, with those foxes—or cats—prowling around.’ Devilment danced in his blue eyes and Amelia suppressed a snort of amusement.

Heath gave an annoyedtskbut altered his direction. ‘Best check.’

As she followed him into the scrub, Amelia noticed that Heath skirted the tussocky grass and rocks rather than step over the obstacles. She idly wondered what caused his limp and whether it was new, but she would never ask and risk inviting reciprocal questions.

The encroaching dusk drew the trees closer together, the occasional silvery shaft gleaming among the twisted pink and grey branches of mallee, the multiple trunks improbably convoluted before eventually clawing skyward from gnarled underground roots. And they whispered, the umbrella of branches leaning toward one another, leaves brushing to share gentle confidences. Despite what it had stolen from her, Amelia always felt the peace of the countryside. It seeped into her pores, somehow unlocking the tight vault of her heart to allow sorrow and memory to ease through her like a balm instead of a poison.

Heath pushed between the trees, then pulled up short. Amelia was so close on his heels that she almost ran into him.

‘Watch out for these,’ he said curtly.

‘Spiny wattle. That stuff will rip you to shreds,’ Sean agreed far too cheerfully.

The rounded shrub was the size of a fridge, and numerous bushes grew in close proximity, forming a druid’s circle to bar their way. Heath edged around them, trying several approaches, before chancing on a well-beaten path they could sidle along. Amelia brushed the deceptive foliage of one bush and immediately jerked back. Sean hadn’t beenexaggerating—what appeared to be narrow, needle-like leaves were actually thorns. Dusty didn’t mind, though: she hopped happily from tree to bush, carolling loudly as though she was enjoying the adventure.

‘That’s the darndest thing,’ Sean said as Dusty briefly alighted on Amelia’s hair. ‘I’ve seen plenty of tame maggies, but never one like this.’

‘She gets a bit ridiculous,’ Amelia agreed as Dusty decided to cling to the front of her sweater, flapping her wings like she was intent on lifting Amelia from the ground.

Heath didn’t bother making polite conversation—or any kind of conversation—as they threaded between the trees, but Sean kept up a running commentary on the types of plants they passed, his obvious fascination almost contagious. ‘Look at this, will you?’ he said, bending down to where a narrow eucalypt had fallen, yet sprouted new growth from the now-horizontal trunk. ‘So resilient, these plants. There’s no messing with them. I wonder if this is edible?’ He pointed to a dinner plate–sized fungus, shaped like a scallop and shaded in ever deepening bands of orange.

‘Don’t,’ Heath grunted, but Amelia thought she heard a glimmer of humour in the single word. Or was it that she didn’t want to believe anyone could be so unrelentingly glum?

‘My turn to make Sunday breakfast, so you’d better watch out,’ Sean replied with a chuckle.

Heath shook his head, not bothering to turn around.

She’d definitely imagined the flash of humour.

‘Stop.’ Heath thrust up a hand as though he was leading a military expedition. They hadn’t heard the wail in the ten minutes since they’d entered the scrub and Amelia was trying not to think what that meant for the lamb’s welfare. Surely its mother would find her way back from the water trough?

Despite his limp, Heath strode forward, hunching his shoulders as he thrust between the prickly bushes. ‘Ah, no.’

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