Page 11 of Wings Above the Mallee

‘Taylor?’ Amelia said.

Heath busied himself with putting the rifle behind the kitchen dresser, then pulling out one of the packets of biscuits he’d bought for Charlee’s visit.

‘Not my area of expertise,’ Taylor said, fiddling with her necklace. ‘But my friend Roni will know. I mentioned her in some of my emails, Amelia, she’s the one with a farm animal rescue. She’ll be happy to take him on. And she’ll have sheep colostrum on hand—I’d say you need to get that into this little one fairly urgently. Plus her husband, Matt, is the local vet, so if she can’t help, he’ll be able to.’

Amelia nodded, but Heath saw her grip on the animal tighten. He was right: animal hoarder. All the signs were there.

Well, one sign, anyway.

But if the fact that she was flying around with two animals and had already picked up a third inside half an hour was any indication, her house would be cluttered with pets and their refuse, and her conversation limited to concern about their welfare and cuteness. As she’d already proven.

‘I think just keep him warm for now,’ Taylor said. ‘And we’ll swing past Roni’s on the way into Settlers.’

Amelia popped the two top buttons of her black sweater and tucked the lamb, no bigger than a pup, inside the fabric. ‘So it’s your livestock I’m stealing, Sean?’ She shot a reproachful look at Heath, as though he shouldn’t have let her take the lamb. Like she’d given him a choice.

‘Sure, look, it’s grand,’ Sean said as he placed steaming mugs on the table. ‘Besides, I’m fairly certain he’s happy right now.’ He tilted his head toward the lamb.

Heath grimaced. The flash of neon pink bra beneath Amelia’s jumper had been surprising, but he was entirely able to ignore it. His dad, not so much. Put two attractive women in the room and Sean was incapable of reining in either his tendency to flirt or to hit the Irish slang hard.

‘I’ve heard around the traps that the doc ended up here because of love,’ Sean said as he took a seat.

‘Good old town gossip,’ the doctor said with an eye-roll, though she didn’t seem annoyed. No doubt she was accustomed to the way everyone’s private life was rehashed in a small town.

‘But what is it that brings you to our little corner of the world, Amelia? You said contract work. Ag spraying?’ Sean continued.

Amelia crossed her arms over the lamb inside her jumper and gave what almost seemed a sad laugh. ‘Hardly. I’m doing a few hours a week temping for a solicitor in the old council office in Settlers Bridge.’

About what Heath would expect. Just enough work to barely feed her menagerie.

‘Though in the downtime, I’ll probably look into upskilling my recreational pilot’s licence to commercial.’

Lucky he hadn’t opened his mouth to share his thoughts.

Taylor chuckled. ‘Don’t let anyone from the CWA hear you have time on your hands. You’ll be working on your needlepoint before the week’s out.’

‘Not really my scene.’ Amelia grinned with a very obvious false ruefulness and held up one hand, which he was surprised to note bore the faint white tracery of innumerable minor scars. It wasn’t the hand of a woman who spent all day inan office with ten cats on her lap. ‘A friend suggested there could be good business in taking whale watch tours, though, and the coast is a nice hour’s flight from here.’

‘You could take tours over the open range safari park at Monarto, too,’ Sean suggested.

Amelia shook her head. ‘Have you ever been up? It’s hard enough distinguishing topography like hills. Anything smaller than a giraffe is basically invisible, and even they are one-dimensional. Unless you fly at a height that the zoo’s really not going to like.’

‘It’d be restricted airspace, wouldn’t it?’

God knows why his father had to ask, better he just let the conversation die.

Amelia’s ponytail swung as she shook her head. ‘No, unrestricted to forty-five hundred feet. But there’s a “polite understanding” that we don’t fly too low.’

‘You don’t need the work though, do you?’ Taylor asked. Maybe she also was worried how Amelia’s menagerie would get fed.

‘Just keeping busy.’ Amelia’s tone was suddenly curt. She looked down, fussing with the lamb as though it required her attention.

Despite the worn-out old blind, headlights strobed the wall with all the menace of wartime searchlights, and Heath realised he’d been momentarily sucked into the conversation.

‘Charlee,’ Heath said, looking at Sean, knowing his word sounded like a prayer, a plea. A hope that this time things would go right.

‘Aye.’ The laughter had dropped from Sean’s face and that made Heath feel worse. If his father and daughter had been able to act like nothing had changed, like he hadn’t become a monster, perhaps he could have pretended himself.

‘We’ll get out of your way, then,’ Taylor said, standing. Amelia followed suit.

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