Flight to Coorah Creek (10 page)

Jack saw a series of emotions race across Ellen's face. Relief. Gratitude and something more. Could it be that she was pleased to see him?

‘Hello, Jack. One beef bourguignon coming right up.' In the space of a second, her face changed. A look of friendly determination formed as she turned towards the end of the bar. ‘And for you, Mac, there's always steak and the biggest one I've got has your name on it. All right?'

‘All right.' The tone was grudging.

‘How do you want it cooked?'

‘Burn it!' Mac subsided back into contemplation of his half-empty glass.

‘All right then.' Ellen cast another quick glance at Jack then vanished back into the kitchen.

Jack stepped up to the bar, and nodded to Pete, who set about pouring him a beer.

‘G'day mate,' one of the miners raised his glass in salute from further down the bar.

Jack nodded. He wasn't often in The Mineside, but he knew most of the men here. As well as looking after the air ambulance and the hospital equipment, Jack spent some of his time maintaining machinery at the mine. Occasionally he'd join some of the men as they washed down the dust after a hard day's work. This was where they came. Jack seldom stayed for more than a single beer. For the most part the men were the single mine workers. Or the married ones who didn't want to go home. Jack preferred the company at the Warrens' pub, where families came for a meal out. Or he preferred a night at home, reading and listening to music.

Tonight, he'd felt compelled to come to The Mineside. He knew exactly why.

Jack paid for his beer and moved away from the bar. He wasn't looking for conversation with Pete or the other drinkers. He took a chair at a table with a clear view of the door leading to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Ellen appeared. Her face was damp with sweat from the heat in the kitchen, her hair tucked behind her ears. She didn't notice Jack as she turned towards the end of the bar, and slid the plate onto the stained wood in front of Mac. The big man focused on the blackened steak and huge pile of mash, then looked up at Ellen and grunted something that might have been thanks.

Ellen caught Jack's eye as she headed back to the kitchen. ‘You're next.'

The plate she brought out for him also held a goodly pile of mash. Jack smiled. She'd learned that bit fast. It also held a big serving of some sort of dark, meaty stew. Heads turned as the men caught the rich scent. There were green beans on the plate too, and Jack almost laughed. He would bet no one could remember the last time green vegetables had appeared on a plate in this place.

‘That looks great,' he said. ‘Thank you.'

Ellen almost blushed. She hesitated as if she was going to say something, but was interrupted by a call from the bar.

‘Is that the foreign stuff?'

Jack saw Ellen tense a little at the words. The speaker was behind her, and Jack couldn't see him, but he did see the emotions that played over Ellen's face before she turned to answer the question.

‘Yes – it's the beef,' she said.

‘Well, it smells great! Can I have some?'

Jack could see the speaker now. He was smiling and Jack relaxed.

‘Of course.' Ellen looked around the bar. ‘Anyone else for beef bourguignon?'

A couple of men ordered the beef, and someone else played it safe by asking for a mixed grill. Ellen vanished back into the kitchen.

Jack watched her go, horrified by that flash of fear he'd seen on her face. He had a fair idea that fear had been put there by the same bastard responsible for the bruises on her arm. No one should feel afraid just at the sound of someone's voice. He looked at his own hands spread out on the table in front of him. Big hands. Hard hands. What sort of a man would raise his hands against a woman? Against a woman as beautiful and as kind as Ellen. It just wasn't right.

‘Jack? Is there something wrong? You don't like it?'

Ellen was back, plates of the beef in her hands.

‘No. I was just … No.' Jack picked up his fork and speared a piece of steak. He made quite a show of smothering it in the thick gravy before he ate it. He was determined to say something good about it, even if it tasted like mud.

The meat was so tender it almost melted in his mouth. As for the gravy …

‘This is good,' he said. ‘I mean really, really good.'

Ellen's face lit up as if she'd just won the lottery. Jack thought her blue eyes were suspiciously bright as she set off to deliver the meals to the waiting men. To him, that made them all the more beautiful, and he was absurdly pleased to think he had made her happy.

Friday nights at The Mineside had a pattern. Everyone knew what to expect. Gradually the bar filled. The men drank beer or rum. Most of them got a little drunk. A few got very drunk. Someone who'd had a bad day at work or trouble at home might go just that little too far. Sometimes a punch got thrown. More often, the offender would be dragged out of the bar by his mates, before he got into too much trouble. Tonight was no different.

Jack saw the trouble coming. He knew the man involved. He was called Bluey – a big, ruddy-faced, red-haired man with a temper to match. He'd only been at the mine a few months and lived alone in one of the company's family houses. Jack knew that his wife had taken their daughter and gone back east to her family. It seemed likely that she wasn't coming back. For most of the evening Bluey had sat alone at the end of the bar, throwing back drink after drink. The other men left him alone.

Just before ten o'clock, Ellen was behind the bar, collecting a couple of empty plates. Bluey looked up as she walked past him, as if seeing her for the first time. Ellen noticed.

‘Can I get you something to eat?' she asked pleasantly. ‘The beef bourguignon is all gone, but I could burn you a steak.'

‘I want another beer,' Bluey said, pushing his empty glass forward.

‘Pete can look after that. He's in the cold room, but he'll be back in a second,' Ellen said. ‘I'm closing the kitchen in a few minutes, but I could do you a steak if you're hungry?'

‘I don't want a steak,' Bluey's voice rose. ‘I want another beer, and I want one now.'

Jack was on his feet as Bluey's fist thumped down on the bar. Ellen's face was frozen. She had backed away from Bluey and was pressed into the back of the bar as if she was trying to pass through the solid wall. Jack couldn't cross the bar fast enough.

‘Hey, Bluey,' he said in a calming tone. ‘I think maybe it's time you went home.'

‘What's it to do with you?' Bluey asked, squaring up to Jack and clenching his fist.

‘Nothing, mate. I'm just thinking that Pete threatened to ban you last time you got into a fight.'

‘What if he did?'

‘Well, unless you want to spend your nights at home, you might want to just call it quits tonight.'

Bluey looked down at his empty glass. ‘And maybe I want another drink.'

He picked the glass up and slammed it down on the bar. The glass shattered and glass flew in all directions. A single shard of the glass sliced through Bluey's hand, and blood spattered onto the polished wood.

Jack heard Ellen's startled cry. He wanted to go to her, but he had to do something about Bluey. The man was too drunk to realise what he'd done. He was standing, swaying and staring at the steady stream of blood pouring from his hand.

‘Get me a bar towel,' Jack called to Pete, who had darted back into the bar at the sound of Ellen's cry.

‘Here.' Ellen pressed something into Jack's hand. He barely had time to acknowledge her, as he wrapped the cloth around Bluey's hand.

‘Right, mate. Let's get you to the doc. Where are your car keys?'

Bluey was starting to turn quite pale, and his belligerence had also faded. With his good hand, he fished some keys out of his pocket and handed them to Jack.

Jack looked back as he led Bluey from the bar. Ellen was still standing behind the bar. She looked shaken. He smiled and nodded to her, hoping in some small way that might offer some comfort and encouragement.

Bluey's car was parked next to the pub. Jack carefully manoeuvred his charge into the passenger seat and got behind the wheel. It didn't take them long to get to the hospital. The light on the front veranda was on, as it always was. And the door was unlocked.

‘You here, Doc?' Jack called as he led Bluey inside.

Adam immediately appeared at the door to his office. ‘What's up?'

‘Beer glass.'

Adam nodded and indicated a doorway. Jack helped Bluey onto the exam table and then stepped out to let the doc do his work.

A few minutes later, Adam emerged.

‘How's he doing?'

‘They say God protects drunks and fools,' Adam said, shaking his head. ‘A few centimetres more and he'd have lost some of the use of his hand. As it is, he's got some stitches and he'll be sore for a few days, but he'll be fine.'

‘I can take him home?'

‘Sure. But he's busy throwing up at the moment. You might want to wait a bit.'

‘Sorry to disturb you this late, Doc.'

‘That's what I'm here for,' Adam said. ‘Anyway, I wasn't asleep. I was checking on a new arrival.'

‘Steve's baby?' In a town where everyone knew everyone else, the young couple's pregnancy had set quite a few tongues wagging.

‘Yep. A lovely baby girl.'

‘Well good for him.'

‘Jess helped me deliver her.'

Jack was surprised. Both by what Jessica had done, and by the look on Adam's face as he talked about it. ‘How did Jess do?'

‘She did great,' Adam replied.

Jack waited for him to continue, but he didn't.

‘Jess is good people,' Jack said, just to watch the way the doc's face changed. ‘I'm glad you hired her.'

‘So am I.'

Jack had known Adam since he first flew into the Creek. Everyone liked the doc, but he didn't have a lot of friends. He was a bit of a loner. In fact, Jack was probably the closest thing he had to a friend. Apart from Sister Luke. Jack had never known the doc to have quite that look on his face when he talked about a woman before. In fact, Jack didn't think the doc had ever talked about a woman, other than as a patient. This was interesting.

Beside them the door opened and a pale and shaky Bluey emerged, one hand swathed in bandages.

‘Jack's going to take you home now,' Adam said. ‘Get some sleep and come back in the morning.'

Bluey murmured his thanks and followed Jack to the car.

By the time they had driven the short distance to Bluey's home, the injured man was almost asleep. And maudlin.

‘She left me, you know,' he mumbled, as Jack helped him up the steps. ‘It wasn't my fault. I didn't mean to hit her. She just made me so mad. You know.'

No, Jack thought, he didn't know. Or understand. He never would and Bluey's wife and daughter were probably far better off without him. Anyway, with that injured hand, Bluey wouldn't be hitting anyone for a while. Jack lowered Bluey onto the tattered old sofa and left the car keys by the door.

It didn't take him long to walk back to The Mineside. He stood outside for a few minutes, watching the shapes moving behind the lighted windows. Ellen's first night – and she'd had to face down Bluey. She'd been doing pretty well. He wished he had said something to her before he'd led the drunk away. But what could he have said that would have made it better? Nothing really. He shook his head and walked over to his ute.

The kitchen was probably the cleanest it had been in a long time. Ellen had finished a long evening by scrubbing the stove and the table and benches – the floor too – until they gleamed. As she cleaned, her mind went over and over the evening's events. Jack ordering the beef – and starting a trend that didn't end until the big pot was empty. Mac's grumpiness that had been so totally harmless. He'd even thanked her for the steak. Then there was the other one. The red-head. Jack had stepped in there, too. She, on the other hand, had fled to the kitchen like the coward she was. It took five minutes of hiding there, shaking like a leaf in the wind, before she'd been able to raise the courage to go back out into the bar. The rest of the drinkers acted as if nothing had happened, so she did too. At least on the outside. Inside she was still frightened.

And now she had to walk home.

The bar door swung open with a bang, and Pete appeared.

‘Sorry,' he said, ‘didn't mean to startle you.'

‘That's all right,' she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. ‘I'm done, so I'll head home.'

‘All right. Good job. Here.' He placed a pile of money on the table. ‘Your first night's wages. I hope cash is okay?'

‘Yes. Yes. Of course.' Ellen looked down at the money.

‘Sorry, the guys here aren't big on tipping,' Pete said. ‘But there's a few dollars there.'

‘I'm sure it'll be fine.' Ellen still hadn't moved to take the money.

‘So, I'll see you tomorrow,' Pete said. ‘And after that, if you're certain you want to stay; we can talk about ordering in whatever you need – food wise that is. These guys sure liked that foreign stuff.' Shaking his head, he vanished back into the bar.

Ellen waited until the door was closed, then picked up the money. She counted it, then folded it carefully and put it into her purse. It wasn't a lot of money, but it was money she had earned with her own hard work. It was hers, and no one was going to take it from her. Maybe the evening hadn't been so bad after all.

She left the pub by the kitchen entrance. It wasn't that she was afraid to walk out through the bar, where the last few drinkers were being served. She just didn't want to see anyone. Before she had taken many steps, she realised she wasn't alone. Someone was waiting for her, leaning against a battered white ute.