Page 5 of Stockman's Stowaway

But when she flung her hair back, he was sucker-punched. All the air left his lungs as if he’d forgotten to breathe, while feeling seriously ill at the same time.

She’d have to be in her late twenties, with windblown knotty hair that brushed her shoulders. Her honey-hazel eyes held a mixture of determination and vulnerability only heightened by the bruising from a whopping black eye, along with the swelling of her bloody nose and split lip.

‘Please tell me I didn’t do that, did I?’ The mortifying thought turned his guts into hot lead.

‘No.’ She hung her head low, brushing her hair forward. Her knuckles were red raw, as if she’d put up a fight.

Charlie hissed in air over his teeth. ‘You alright, girlie?’

‘I…’ With glassy hazel eyes she gave them a meek shrug.

‘Did your house door get ya?’

‘What?’ Cap glared at the old man.

‘That’s what the women would say, back in the day, when their fellas got heavy-handed. I hope you kicked his hiney—’

‘Here, I’ve got an icepack in the first-aid kit.’ Cap dug around behind his seat and pulled out the kit and cracked open an icepack. ‘My brother swears by these for his face. He’s a professional fighter. You?’ Because she looked like she’d just done ten rounds in a boxing ring.

‘I wish. Do you have anything for a headache?’

‘I do.’

She took the icepack with her dirty hands and short nails. They were working hands, and she was dressed in miner’s clothes—a long-sleeved high-viz shirt, blue work pants and steel capped boots.

‘Where are we?’ Holding the icepack to her cheek and split lip, she peered around the deserted road where only the breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees.

‘Near Elsie Creek Station,’ replied Charlie, as Cap dug around in the first-aid kit. ‘Why did you climb in there with them dogs?’

‘I needed to, um…’ Her words became a whisper, ‘get away.’

Cap had guessed that, recognising a stray when he saw one. ‘I’m Cap Riggs, this is Charlie Splint. You are?’ He held out the paracetamol and a bottle of cold water.

‘Mia Dixon’ Her hands trembled as she took the pills, washing them down thirstily.

‘Hi, Mia.’ The poor thing. ‘Do you want me to drive you anywhere? The hospital?’

‘I’m okay.’ She didn’t look okay, bunching up her shirt to hide the splatters of blood.

‘Have you got anywhere you need to be, girlie?’ Charlie asked.

‘I don’t really have a plan.’ She wiped her bloodied nose with the sleeve of her work shirt, which was covered in dirt and dog hair.

Cap held out the roll of toilet paper he’d stashed behind his seat. ‘I don’t have a box of tissues, but this’ll come close.’

She was such a short thing, with a tiny smile, yet her hands trembled, as she took the toilet roll. Her fragile condition was enough to give him ulcers.

‘Well, girlie, this is your lucky day.’ Charlie stepped in closer, wearing a big smile.

‘Oi!’ Cap arched his eyebrows at the insensitive old man.

‘It just so happens I’ve got a couch you can crash on, and a granddaughter near your age. I reckon she’ll take one look at you and become your instant best friend.’

‘Why?’ Mia asked warily.

‘You can ask her when you meet her.’ Charlie opened the passenger door. ‘Come on, girlie. If we get a wriggle on, we’ll get you settled in for dinner. Bree always puts on a good spread.’

‘But…’ Mia hesitated, her thick lashes shading her eyes as she peered up at Cap.

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