Chapter 1
Darwin, 19 February 1942
Meg Dorset hit the floor with a thud. A terrible roaring filled her ears and her army-issue cot lay on its side across her lower legs. Heat beat at her face. Not the usual summer heat of Darwin; this heat was dry and fierce and--loud. Like the droning of a thousand giant mosquitoes circling her.
Disorientated, she pushed herself to her knees and kicked free from the bed sheet and tangle of mosquito netting. The door to the tiny rear room in the nurses’ accommodation—the room she shared with Vera Grantham—hung askew on its hinges.
Explosions filled the air, banging one after another, and the floor trembled beneath her palms. Or was she trembling? A woman’s scream rose from the floor below and Meg clambered to her feet. She grabbed her tin helmet and slung her first aid kit over her shoulder. Matron had emphasised that they must keep their kit and helmet within reach at all times.
‘Although war has not directly touched our shores, it is not far away. Be prepared at all times, Sisters.’
It looked like Matron had been right about the kit and wrong about the war. Aircraft rumbled high overhead. More explosions shook the hotel and dust rained down. Was the roof coming down?
Shoving her feet into her boots, Meg didn’t stop to tie the laces. She had to get out of the building.
Heated air scorched her skin as she staggered through the doorway into the smoky hallway. At the far end of the hall where a wall had once been, the port was visible, and Meg gasped.
Flames engulfed a naval ship.
Black smoke columned and thickened like a pyre around the smokestack, consuming the ship. Grey smoke filled the gaping hole in the hotel, hiding the death throes of the ship. Coughing, Meg scrunched her watering eyes and covered her mouth and nose with one arm. The other hand flailed for the handrail.
Her hand found the wood, smooth and warm. Blindly feeling for each step, Meg lunged forward and down the stairs. Down and down she staggered, trying not to breathe until she fell through the doors onto the covered veranda. She bent over, hands on her knees and sucked in a deep breath of smoky air. Her body was wracked by coughing and she fell onto a nearby chair. When the fit passed, she sat up, her chest heavy and heaving with the effort of breathing and looked around. Christ save us, it’s Dante’s Inferno.
Soldiers, some bare-chested, formed a bucket line that branched like a snake’s forked tongue where two of them attempted to douse flames rising from the façade of a nearby building.
She bent down and tied her bootlaces, knowing there must be wounded men all over the place. People who needed her help. Where should she go? Thank God the last non-essential civilians had flown out yesterday. As a nursing sister, Meg was one of fewer than a hundred women allowed to remain in Darwin.
She pushed her hair back with shaking hands and turned in a slow half-circle. Thick black smoke poured from a stricken ship. Suddenly a blinding explosion spewed in a gold and black mushroom next to the smokestack.
Dodging debris and soldiers manning the untidy bucket line, she ran towards the carnage, even as common sense screamed at her to run the other way.
Meg reached the bank overlooking a stretch of beach at the waterfront and swallowed, sucking in air and trying to quell the panic rising from her gut and threatening to burst from her throat in a piercing, useless scream.
A skinny private with pimples motioned her over and took her arm and helped her over the steep side.
‘Thanks. Any casualties here?’
‘Over there, Sister.’ He directed her to his right and she hurried across the sand towards a small group of soldiers.
Minor cuts and a possible broken arm by the way one young soldier cradled his elbow against his chest. She headed to him first and kneeled beside him. ‘How did it happen?’ she asked as she examined his arm.
‘Oh my God, look.’ Her roommate, Vera whom she’d last seen when her shift changed over this morning, appeared at her side and pointed. ‘They’ve hit the hospital ship.’
Meg’s fingers dug into the rolled bandage she had just taken out of her kit. ‘It’s clearly marked as a hospital ship. What sort of enemy bombs wounded men and doctors and nurses?’ Her gut clenched and she stood watching, anger and disbelief churning through her.
A soldier with a bandage around his head glanced at her, his expression harsh and dark. ‘That means nothing to the little yellow bastards. I heard they rounded up some nurses and shot them in the islands.’
They shot nurses?
Despite the heat, her skin turned clammy. When she signed up no one had ever mentioned she’d face an enemy that shot nurses. Civilians had no idea such horrific acts happened in war. Surely, Dad would have refused to let her go if he’d had any idea she’d be on the front line? He’d been unhappy about her joining up, but he hadn’t stopped her.
The front line. Where they shoot nurses.
Bile rose in her throat, burning. Frantically, she swallowed it down. She had a job to do, and do it she would. Turning back to the private she bandaged his arm then improvised a sling with another bandage.
As she was tying a knot beside his neck, a ragged cheer rose around her. ‘The Peary is firing on the bastards. Go, Peary!’
A single gun on the small American ship continued to fire at the dive-bombers even as other ships around were taking hits. As they watched, the Peary took a hit, but she kept bravely firing until the end.
‘It’s no use. The Japs are too high for our piddling little guns to reach them. The shells are exploding way below the planes.’ The soldier with the head wound slumped to the ground, his head bowed.
‘Sister? Up here. You’re needed.’ A man’s voice broke through the nightmarish scene and recalled Meg to her duty.
‘Coming.’ Thankful she’d fallen asleep in her uniform after a twenty-hour shift, Meg stumbled back up the bank and across the rubble-strewn street and dropped to her knees beside a young soldier. He writhed in pain, moaning words that were all unintelligible, except for ‘Mum’.
‘I’m here to help you. Try to stay still and let me see what you’ve done.’
One hand gripped her wrist so hard she thought her bone might break. ‘Mum—hurts.’
‘He copped a bit of guttering when it fell. His shoulder’s a mess, Sister.’ The soldier who had called for her help rose with not another word. Picking up three empty buckets, he raced off to refill them.
‘Can you let go of my arm so I can help you?’ Meg looked into the young man’s eyes and forced her clenched teeth to part into a smile—her professional, reassuring smile, the one she pinned in place every day at work at the top end of Australia. ‘I’ll look after you, Private—’ She glanced at the dog tag lying on the private’s chest. ‘Jackson. Look at me. I’m going to check your wound and get you to the hospital, okay?’
He let go of her wrist and gently, she eased him into a sitting position and shuffled around in the dirt until she could see his wound more clearly. The hot jagged metal had cut and burned through his shirt and skin, exposing a sliver of white bone beneath the red mess that had been his shoulder. Her guts heaved, but resolutely, she swallowed and focused only on him. ‘I need to cut away your shirt. Do you have a knife, private?’
‘Yeah.’ His reply was a forced grunt, an exhalation of pain. He pointed with his uninjured arm towards his calf. ‘Dad give it me.’
Meg reached for the calf sheath and withdrew a short but sharp knife and set to work removing the remnant of shirtsleeve. Slicing it, she made a pad of it then dressed the wound with a bandage from her kit. That would hold him until she could get him to the hospital and clean the wound properly. Then she tucked his arm inside the remains of his shirt. No matter how careful she was, each movement elicited a moan. ‘Stay with me, private. We’ll get you some morphine very soon.’
Looking around for someone to help her, Meg began to grasp the extent of the situation. Everyone was battling fires or searching through rubble.
Where the Post Office had once been, smoke rose from a pile of rubble. Wires dangled from telegraph poles. One leaned crazily against the shell of the remains. The front wall was gone, and most of the building lay in untidy piles, but a solitary desk lay on its side surrounded by two walls. As she watched, they gave way and crashed, sending up a cloud of dust. With communication lines down, no one would know what was happening in Darwin. No one would be coming to help them. Panic welled in her gut but giving in to the churning emotion was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not with a wounded soldier depending on her.
‘Looks like it’s just you and me.’ She squatted beside the young private and slung his good arm across her shoulders. ‘Come on, soldier. We need to move out of here and get you to the hospital.’
She exerted gentle pressure to get him on his feet, and he groaned, but she urged him into a shuffling walk, one arm around his waist and the other bracing his injured arm across his chest. Heat surrounded them, flames consumed the ships behind them, and smoke choked them no matter which way they turned. Ash floated in the air like black rain and a sharp pain burned her arm. She shook the ash off, biting back a less than ladylike exclamation. Not that Private Jackson would notice.
His head hung low, but he kept moving beside her. ‘Sister? If I don’t make it—’
‘You’ll make it, private.’
‘Will you see Dad gets my knife—please?’
‘I will, but don’t you go wasting my effort to fix you up.’
He grunted, a sound she took as assent as they staggered along the road, skirting debris and running soldiers. Everywhere was noise and chaos and horror. Sweat ran down her face, but Meg couldn’t risk relaxing her hold on Private Jackson to wipe it off. Black particles settled into the sweat on Jackson’s face. Hers probably looked as black.
‘Get down.’ As she turned, a soldier ran towards her, and the command rang loud and urgent again. ‘Get. Down.’
She glanced up. Lines of bombs were falling out near the edge of town. Lines of bombs from neat formations of planes.
Her breath caught in her throat, but she obeyed the order without question.
Dropping to her knees she dragged the private down with her. The lad passed out and Meg lifted her head. A thunderous roar deafened her as wave after wave of planes flew over the town. Bombs whistled as they fell then cracked and crumped as they exploded.
Dark mosquito shapes. A ragged line of bombs raining on the street ahead of them.
She flung herself over the wounded soldier, shielding him with her body.
Dirt rained on them, and she pressed her face into his good shoulder, one hand instinctively covering her helmet even while she tried to protect his wound.
The patter and thud of chunks of dirt subsided and she raised her head.
The soldier who had told her to get down kneeled in front of her, his hand extended to help her up. ‘Sister, you’ve got to get out of here now.’
Meg looked up. The voice belonged to an Aussie sergeant who reached for her elbow and dragged her to her feet. Blood ran down his cheek from a wound above his right eye.
‘I can’t leave him. He’s badly burnt.’
‘Bring your patient this way.’
‘He’s out cold.’
‘Damn it.’ The sergeant knelt beside the private then hefted him onto his shoulders. ‘They’re loading trucks and evacuating the wounded.’
‘But I am essential. I’m a nurse and—’
‘Move, Sister. They’ll need you. Around the next corner.’
Her ears ringing, Meg moved in response to the commanding tone. ‘I should get him to the hospital . . .’
‘Hospital’s on fire. Do what you can for him once you’re out of here.’ The sergeant’s words bounced raggedly as he jogged towards the corner.
A battered truck with wooden slats along the sides and no roof, was parked near the rear gates of the hospital. Benches filled with wounded servicemen lined both sides.
Examining the crammed vehicle, Meg shook her head. ‘There’s no room on this one.’
‘You’ll fit. We can squeeze you both in.’
Meg looked up at the sound of a familiar voice. Sister Patricia Carey, who had been on the shift that relieved Meg’s three hours earlier, gestured for her to climb aboard. ‘Hurry up, Meg.’ Pat squeezed past the legs of a couple of patients and held out a hand.
Meg grabbed Pat’s hand and scrambled up onto the flat bed, dangling her legs over the tailgate. It was precarious, but there wasn’t another inch of space to shuffle into.
The sergeant put the injured private beside her then shouted to the driver. ‘That’s it. Go.’
Meg eased Private Jackson’s good shoulder and head onto her lap as the truck bounced into a pothole—or was it a bomb hole? He groaned as the truck bumped and ground along the road south. Covering his wound as well as she could, Meg looked back at the city.
Dust spewed up behind the truck, almost obliterating the dirt road. Smoke filled the sky and several thick black columns rose from the harbour. How many ships had been hit? How many sunk? Her heart ached at the thought of the men on those ships. Had any sailors escaped?
Pat slid down against Meg’s back. ‘Okay there? What happened to you?’
‘I’m fine, aside from being tipped out of my bed. The hotel was hit, but I made it downstairs to the street. Someone called me to help this chap. What’s happened, do you know?’
‘Tom said the Japs might try to invade us at the Top End. Looks like he was right.’
‘Tom, your brother?’ The truck lurched around a bend past the road to the racecourse. Dirt spooled out as they headed south, leaving the town behind. The heavy choking smoke thinned.
‘Yes. He’s on the HMAS Kookaburra. I heard there was a wave of planes hit the harbour and the big guns first. ... Once those were out of action, they started bombing the town. My guess is the airport was probably hit, or will be.’
‘The Post Office has gone, and it looked like the telegraph wires are down. No one will know what’s happening up here.’ Meg went quiet. Her head ached, her eyes were gritty, and hunger pangs hit hard. Exhausted after twenty hours on the ward, she’d fallen asleep without eating. But likely she wouldn’t be able to keep any food down. Not after the shock of waking to a world on fire. Her stomach disagreed.
A wooden signpost pointed the way to Mt Isa and Alice Springs, and Brisbane, impossibly far away. The truck slowed with a squeal of brakes and a soldier jumped out from the cab. He knocked the sign names from the post with the butt of his rifle, collected them in his arms and returned to the cab. With a wheezing groan, the truck rolled slowly onwards.
‘Any idea where we’re going?’ They bounced in and out of a depression in the road.
Pat knocked Meg’s shoulder and grimaced. ‘Right now? Frankly, I don’t care so long as it’s as far away from here as we can get.’
‘Thank goodness most of the civilian population were sent away when the government decided to station our armed forces up here.’
Pat said nothing for several moments, but she leaned across Meg’s shoulder and gently checked Private Jackson’s wound. ‘That’s one of the things I like about you, Meg. Even in the direst circumstances, you find something to be grateful for.’ A soldier out of Meg’s sight called, ‘Sister, can you check my mate?’ She squeezed Meg’s shoulder before rising and clambering between soldiers seated on the floor between the narrow benches.
Rocking and bouncing on the back of the truck, Meg felt oddly detached from events. Praying this was just a nightmare brought on by too little sleep, her eyelids lowered, and her head bent. The angle made her neck ache, but she was too tired to lift her head . . .
A hand gripped her shoulder and shook her. ‘Whoa there, Sister, don’t nod off or you’ll fall out and wake up in the middle of the track.’
Blinking and wishing the cheery voice with a hint of an Irish accent hadn’t dragged her from the arms of Morpheus, Meg turned to see who had saved her from tumbling into the road.
A cheeky grin slashed white across a corporal’s dirt-streaked face.
She raised her gaze to a pair of blue eyes, bright beneath a bandage and intense as the summer sky.
‘Thanks for the save.’
‘Can’t let the prettiest nurse this side of the Black Stump get lost, can I.’
From somewhere behind, Pat raised her voice. ‘Corporal Flanagan, I’m not sure whether to tell you off for being cheeky to Sister Dorset, or take umbrage that you ignored me, who’s put up with your shenanigans through all the hours of night and day.’
Flanagan’s grin grew wider. Ah, but you’re the prettiest head nurse, Sister.’
‘And you’re a rascal I should have discharged this morning.’
‘Maybe you’ll be glad to have an able-bodied man around.’
Flanagan’s sling and bandaged head belied his comment, but his cheery, cheeky flirting made the terrible morning bearable. And when he reached awkwardly into his breast pocket and drew out a small open packet of chocolate and offered it to Meg, she was glad he was aboard their transport.
‘I shouldn’t take your rations but thank you.’
‘Sister, I’ll be offended if you turn down my gift. Besides, I got a wonderful night’s sleep thanks to you.’ He winked, making sure she took no offence.
Her stomach growled and her mouth watered at the scent of chocolate currently wafting beneath her nose. Flanagan held it close and gave her a small nod. Reluctantly, but unable to keep from refusing his offer, she took the packet and broke off a single piece, offered a quiet ‘Thanks’ and popped it into her mouth. Closing her eyes, she let the chocolate melt on her tongue.
A swiftly indrawn breath nearby forced her eyes to open.
‘What is it? Danger?’ She scanned the skies over Darwin and the surrounding bush before looking for an explanation from the corporal.
Flanagan’s gaze was fixed on her. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down before he gave her a lop-sided smile. ‘I haven’t seen anyone enjoy chocolate more, Sister.’
‘It’s the most delicious food I’ve ever eaten.’ She held out his precious bar of chocolate. ‘Thanks.’
‘Keep it.’
‘But—’
‘I’m watching my weight.’ He winked, and, in spite of the carnage they’d left behind, Meg’s day brightened.
Darwin, 19 February 1942
Meg Dorset hit the floor with a thud. A terrible roaring filled her ears and her army-issue cot lay on its side across her lower legs. Heat beat at her face. Not the usual summer heat of Darwin; this heat was dry and fierce and--loud. Like the droning of a thousand giant mosquitoes circling her.
Disorientated, she pushed herself to her knees and kicked free from the bed sheet and tangle of mosquito netting. The door to the tiny rear room in the nurses’ accommodation—the room she shared with Vera Grantham—hung askew on its hinges.
Explosions filled the air, banging one after another, and the floor trembled beneath her palms. Or was she trembling? A woman’s scream rose from the floor below and Meg clambered to her feet. She grabbed her tin helmet and slung her first aid kit over her shoulder. Matron had emphasised that they must keep their kit and helmet within reach at all times.
‘Although war has not directly touched our shores, it is not far away. Be prepared at all times, Sisters.’
It looked like Matron had been right about the kit and wrong about the war. Aircraft rumbled high overhead. More explosions shook the hotel and dust rained down. Was the roof coming down?
Shoving her feet into her boots, Meg didn’t stop to tie the laces. She had to get out of the building.
Heated air scorched her skin as she staggered through the doorway into the smoky hallway. At the far end of the hall where a wall had once been, the port was visible, and Meg gasped.
Flames engulfed a naval ship.
Black smoke columned and thickened like a pyre around the smokestack, consuming the ship. Grey smoke filled the gaping hole in the hotel, hiding the death throes of the ship. Coughing, Meg scrunched her watering eyes and covered her mouth and nose with one arm. The other hand flailed for the handrail.
Her hand found the wood, smooth and warm. Blindly feeling for each step, Meg lunged forward and down the stairs. Down and down she staggered, trying not to breathe until she fell through the doors onto the covered veranda. She bent over, hands on her knees and sucked in a deep breath of smoky air. Her body was wracked by coughing and she fell onto a nearby chair. When the fit passed, she sat up, her chest heavy and heaving with the effort of breathing and looked around. Christ save us, it’s Dante’s Inferno.
Soldiers, some bare-chested, formed a bucket line that branched like a snake’s forked tongue where two of them attempted to douse flames rising from the façade of a nearby building.
She bent down and tied her bootlaces, knowing there must be wounded men all over the place. People who needed her help. Where should she go? Thank God the last non-essential civilians had flown out yesterday. As a nursing sister, Meg was one of fewer than a hundred women allowed to remain in Darwin.
She pushed her hair back with shaking hands and turned in a slow half-circle. Thick black smoke poured from a stricken ship. Suddenly a blinding explosion spewed in a gold and black mushroom next to the smokestack.
Dodging debris and soldiers manning the untidy bucket line, she ran towards the carnage, even as common sense screamed at her to run the other way.
Meg reached the bank overlooking a stretch of beach at the waterfront and swallowed, sucking in air and trying to quell the panic rising from her gut and threatening to burst from her throat in a piercing, useless scream.
A skinny private with pimples motioned her over and took her arm and helped her over the steep side.
‘Thanks. Any casualties here?’
‘Over there, Sister.’ He directed her to his right and she hurried across the sand towards a small group of soldiers.
Minor cuts and a possible broken arm by the way one young soldier cradled his elbow against his chest. She headed to him first and kneeled beside him. ‘How did it happen?’ she asked as she examined his arm.
‘Oh my God, look.’ Her roommate, Vera whom she’d last seen when her shift changed over this morning, appeared at her side and pointed. ‘They’ve hit the hospital ship.’
Meg’s fingers dug into the rolled bandage she had just taken out of her kit. ‘It’s clearly marked as a hospital ship. What sort of enemy bombs wounded men and doctors and nurses?’ Her gut clenched and she stood watching, anger and disbelief churning through her.
A soldier with a bandage around his head glanced at her, his expression harsh and dark. ‘That means nothing to the little yellow bastards. I heard they rounded up some nurses and shot them in the islands.’
They shot nurses?
Despite the heat, her skin turned clammy. When she signed up no one had ever mentioned she’d face an enemy that shot nurses. Civilians had no idea such horrific acts happened in war. Surely, Dad would have refused to let her go if he’d had any idea she’d be on the front line? He’d been unhappy about her joining up, but he hadn’t stopped her.
The front line. Where they shoot nurses.
Bile rose in her throat, burning. Frantically, she swallowed it down. She had a job to do, and do it she would. Turning back to the private she bandaged his arm then improvised a sling with another bandage.
As she was tying a knot beside his neck, a ragged cheer rose around her. ‘The Peary is firing on the bastards. Go, Peary!’
A single gun on the small American ship continued to fire at the dive-bombers even as other ships around were taking hits. As they watched, the Peary took a hit, but she kept bravely firing until the end.
‘It’s no use. The Japs are too high for our piddling little guns to reach them. The shells are exploding way below the planes.’ The soldier with the head wound slumped to the ground, his head bowed.
‘Sister? Up here. You’re needed.’ A man’s voice broke through the nightmarish scene and recalled Meg to her duty.
‘Coming.’ Thankful she’d fallen asleep in her uniform after a twenty-hour shift, Meg stumbled back up the bank and across the rubble-strewn street and dropped to her knees beside a young soldier. He writhed in pain, moaning words that were all unintelligible, except for ‘Mum’.
‘I’m here to help you. Try to stay still and let me see what you’ve done.’
One hand gripped her wrist so hard she thought her bone might break. ‘Mum—hurts.’
‘He copped a bit of guttering when it fell. His shoulder’s a mess, Sister.’ The soldier who had called for her help rose with not another word. Picking up three empty buckets, he raced off to refill them.
‘Can you let go of my arm so I can help you?’ Meg looked into the young man’s eyes and forced her clenched teeth to part into a smile—her professional, reassuring smile, the one she pinned in place every day at work at the top end of Australia. ‘I’ll look after you, Private—’ She glanced at the dog tag lying on the private’s chest. ‘Jackson. Look at me. I’m going to check your wound and get you to the hospital, okay?’
He let go of her wrist and gently, she eased him into a sitting position and shuffled around in the dirt until she could see his wound more clearly. The hot jagged metal had cut and burned through his shirt and skin, exposing a sliver of white bone beneath the red mess that had been his shoulder. Her guts heaved, but resolutely, she swallowed and focused only on him. ‘I need to cut away your shirt. Do you have a knife, private?’
‘Yeah.’ His reply was a forced grunt, an exhalation of pain. He pointed with his uninjured arm towards his calf. ‘Dad give it me.’
Meg reached for the calf sheath and withdrew a short but sharp knife and set to work removing the remnant of shirtsleeve. Slicing it, she made a pad of it then dressed the wound with a bandage from her kit. That would hold him until she could get him to the hospital and clean the wound properly. Then she tucked his arm inside the remains of his shirt. No matter how careful she was, each movement elicited a moan. ‘Stay with me, private. We’ll get you some morphine very soon.’
Looking around for someone to help her, Meg began to grasp the extent of the situation. Everyone was battling fires or searching through rubble.
Where the Post Office had once been, smoke rose from a pile of rubble. Wires dangled from telegraph poles. One leaned crazily against the shell of the remains. The front wall was gone, and most of the building lay in untidy piles, but a solitary desk lay on its side surrounded by two walls. As she watched, they gave way and crashed, sending up a cloud of dust. With communication lines down, no one would know what was happening in Darwin. No one would be coming to help them. Panic welled in her gut but giving in to the churning emotion was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not with a wounded soldier depending on her.
‘Looks like it’s just you and me.’ She squatted beside the young private and slung his good arm across her shoulders. ‘Come on, soldier. We need to move out of here and get you to the hospital.’
She exerted gentle pressure to get him on his feet, and he groaned, but she urged him into a shuffling walk, one arm around his waist and the other bracing his injured arm across his chest. Heat surrounded them, flames consumed the ships behind them, and smoke choked them no matter which way they turned. Ash floated in the air like black rain and a sharp pain burned her arm. She shook the ash off, biting back a less than ladylike exclamation. Not that Private Jackson would notice.
His head hung low, but he kept moving beside her. ‘Sister? If I don’t make it—’
‘You’ll make it, private.’
‘Will you see Dad gets my knife—please?’
‘I will, but don’t you go wasting my effort to fix you up.’
He grunted, a sound she took as assent as they staggered along the road, skirting debris and running soldiers. Everywhere was noise and chaos and horror. Sweat ran down her face, but Meg couldn’t risk relaxing her hold on Private Jackson to wipe it off. Black particles settled into the sweat on Jackson’s face. Hers probably looked as black.
‘Get down.’ As she turned, a soldier ran towards her, and the command rang loud and urgent again. ‘Get. Down.’
She glanced up. Lines of bombs were falling out near the edge of town. Lines of bombs from neat formations of planes.
Her breath caught in her throat, but she obeyed the order without question.
Dropping to her knees she dragged the private down with her. The lad passed out and Meg lifted her head. A thunderous roar deafened her as wave after wave of planes flew over the town. Bombs whistled as they fell then cracked and crumped as they exploded.
Dark mosquito shapes. A ragged line of bombs raining on the street ahead of them.
She flung herself over the wounded soldier, shielding him with her body.
Dirt rained on them, and she pressed her face into his good shoulder, one hand instinctively covering her helmet even while she tried to protect his wound.
The patter and thud of chunks of dirt subsided and she raised her head.
The soldier who had told her to get down kneeled in front of her, his hand extended to help her up. ‘Sister, you’ve got to get out of here now.’
Meg looked up. The voice belonged to an Aussie sergeant who reached for her elbow and dragged her to her feet. Blood ran down his cheek from a wound above his right eye.
‘I can’t leave him. He’s badly burnt.’
‘Bring your patient this way.’
‘He’s out cold.’
‘Damn it.’ The sergeant knelt beside the private then hefted him onto his shoulders. ‘They’re loading trucks and evacuating the wounded.’
‘But I am essential. I’m a nurse and—’
‘Move, Sister. They’ll need you. Around the next corner.’
Her ears ringing, Meg moved in response to the commanding tone. ‘I should get him to the hospital . . .’
‘Hospital’s on fire. Do what you can for him once you’re out of here.’ The sergeant’s words bounced raggedly as he jogged towards the corner.
A battered truck with wooden slats along the sides and no roof, was parked near the rear gates of the hospital. Benches filled with wounded servicemen lined both sides.
Examining the crammed vehicle, Meg shook her head. ‘There’s no room on this one.’
‘You’ll fit. We can squeeze you both in.’
Meg looked up at the sound of a familiar voice. Sister Patricia Carey, who had been on the shift that relieved Meg’s three hours earlier, gestured for her to climb aboard. ‘Hurry up, Meg.’ Pat squeezed past the legs of a couple of patients and held out a hand.
Meg grabbed Pat’s hand and scrambled up onto the flat bed, dangling her legs over the tailgate. It was precarious, but there wasn’t another inch of space to shuffle into.
The sergeant put the injured private beside her then shouted to the driver. ‘That’s it. Go.’
Meg eased Private Jackson’s good shoulder and head onto her lap as the truck bounced into a pothole—or was it a bomb hole? He groaned as the truck bumped and ground along the road south. Covering his wound as well as she could, Meg looked back at the city.
Dust spewed up behind the truck, almost obliterating the dirt road. Smoke filled the sky and several thick black columns rose from the harbour. How many ships had been hit? How many sunk? Her heart ached at the thought of the men on those ships. Had any sailors escaped?
Pat slid down against Meg’s back. ‘Okay there? What happened to you?’
‘I’m fine, aside from being tipped out of my bed. The hotel was hit, but I made it downstairs to the street. Someone called me to help this chap. What’s happened, do you know?’
‘Tom said the Japs might try to invade us at the Top End. Looks like he was right.’
‘Tom, your brother?’ The truck lurched around a bend past the road to the racecourse. Dirt spooled out as they headed south, leaving the town behind. The heavy choking smoke thinned.
‘Yes. He’s on the HMAS Kookaburra. I heard there was a wave of planes hit the harbour and the big guns first. ... Once those were out of action, they started bombing the town. My guess is the airport was probably hit, or will be.’
‘The Post Office has gone, and it looked like the telegraph wires are down. No one will know what’s happening up here.’ Meg went quiet. Her head ached, her eyes were gritty, and hunger pangs hit hard. Exhausted after twenty hours on the ward, she’d fallen asleep without eating. But likely she wouldn’t be able to keep any food down. Not after the shock of waking to a world on fire. Her stomach disagreed.
A wooden signpost pointed the way to Mt Isa and Alice Springs, and Brisbane, impossibly far away. The truck slowed with a squeal of brakes and a soldier jumped out from the cab. He knocked the sign names from the post with the butt of his rifle, collected them in his arms and returned to the cab. With a wheezing groan, the truck rolled slowly onwards.
‘Any idea where we’re going?’ They bounced in and out of a depression in the road.
Pat knocked Meg’s shoulder and grimaced. ‘Right now? Frankly, I don’t care so long as it’s as far away from here as we can get.’
‘Thank goodness most of the civilian population were sent away when the government decided to station our armed forces up here.’
Pat said nothing for several moments, but she leaned across Meg’s shoulder and gently checked Private Jackson’s wound. ‘That’s one of the things I like about you, Meg. Even in the direst circumstances, you find something to be grateful for.’ A soldier out of Meg’s sight called, ‘Sister, can you check my mate?’ She squeezed Meg’s shoulder before rising and clambering between soldiers seated on the floor between the narrow benches.
Rocking and bouncing on the back of the truck, Meg felt oddly detached from events. Praying this was just a nightmare brought on by too little sleep, her eyelids lowered, and her head bent. The angle made her neck ache, but she was too tired to lift her head . . .
A hand gripped her shoulder and shook her. ‘Whoa there, Sister, don’t nod off or you’ll fall out and wake up in the middle of the track.’
Blinking and wishing the cheery voice with a hint of an Irish accent hadn’t dragged her from the arms of Morpheus, Meg turned to see who had saved her from tumbling into the road.
A cheeky grin slashed white across a corporal’s dirt-streaked face.
She raised her gaze to a pair of blue eyes, bright beneath a bandage and intense as the summer sky.
‘Thanks for the save.’
‘Can’t let the prettiest nurse this side of the Black Stump get lost, can I.’
From somewhere behind, Pat raised her voice. ‘Corporal Flanagan, I’m not sure whether to tell you off for being cheeky to Sister Dorset, or take umbrage that you ignored me, who’s put up with your shenanigans through all the hours of night and day.’
Flanagan’s grin grew wider. Ah, but you’re the prettiest head nurse, Sister.’
‘And you’re a rascal I should have discharged this morning.’
‘Maybe you’ll be glad to have an able-bodied man around.’
Flanagan’s sling and bandaged head belied his comment, but his cheery, cheeky flirting made the terrible morning bearable. And when he reached awkwardly into his breast pocket and drew out a small open packet of chocolate and offered it to Meg, she was glad he was aboard their transport.
‘I shouldn’t take your rations but thank you.’
‘Sister, I’ll be offended if you turn down my gift. Besides, I got a wonderful night’s sleep thanks to you.’ He winked, making sure she took no offence.
Her stomach growled and her mouth watered at the scent of chocolate currently wafting beneath her nose. Flanagan held it close and gave her a small nod. Reluctantly, but unable to keep from refusing his offer, she took the packet and broke off a single piece, offered a quiet ‘Thanks’ and popped it into her mouth. Closing her eyes, she let the chocolate melt on her tongue.
A swiftly indrawn breath nearby forced her eyes to open.
‘What is it? Danger?’ She scanned the skies over Darwin and the surrounding bush before looking for an explanation from the corporal.
Flanagan’s gaze was fixed on her. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down before he gave her a lop-sided smile. ‘I haven’t seen anyone enjoy chocolate more, Sister.’
‘It’s the most delicious food I’ve ever eaten.’ She held out his precious bar of chocolate. ‘Thanks.’
‘Keep it.’
‘But—’
‘I’m watching my weight.’ He winked, and, in spite of the carnage they’d left behind, Meg’s day brightened.
SECOND CHANCE CAFE (A Short and Sweet novella)
Chapter 1
Julie Aster sat in the middle of Queen’s Park off-leash area and leaned back on her elbows. The park was a sea of shimmering greens, glowing under the early summer sun. Turning her face towards its mid-morning warmth, she closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift. Sending the last box of lying Travis’ abandoned gear to charity closed a chapter in her life, one that her friends encouraged her to put behind her as quickly as possible. Betrayal hurt—big time—but she’d learned her lesson. She wasn’t about to forget it; not when so many lives depended on her.
Her hand reached out to pat Anna, and met empty air. Her German Shepherd never left her side without permission. Unease slithered through her mind like the beginning of a stress headache and Heaven knew she’d had enough of those in the last couple of months. Sitting up, she scanned the immediate area.
Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called, “Anna.” Where have you got to, girl?
Champion novice dog at puppy training school, Anna simply did not wander far from her mistress. Flutters of concern stirred in Julie’s belly and she put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. Piercing and loud, the whistle cut through the joyful shouts of a group of youngsters playing footy on the neighbouring oval.
Movement off to the side caught her eye and two streaks, one golden and the other, black, raced out of dense shade at the edge of the off-leash area, scattering a flock of wood pigeons. Not one but two dogs raced towards her.
A huge black Shepherd, the biggest Julie had seen, followed Anna across the lush green grass. Anna came straight to her and sat on her left, smiling to show she was very pleased with her discovery, or so Julie interpreted her doggie grin. The black dog dropped beside Anna. A metal, bone-shaped identity tag hung from his collar and caught the light as he turned his head towards her.
“Found a friend, did you? Where’s your owner, boy?” Julie presented her closed hand for the dog to smell then hunkered down to pat both Anna and her new friend. “He’s a handsome fellow, isn’t he, Anna? Seems like this park is doggie-dating heaven.”
A shadow fell across them and a deep voice rumbled above their heads. “Bear’s been making friends, I see, and with the best-looking females in the city.”
Tingles of awareness ran down Julie’s spine at the sound of the whisky-smooth voice. Her imagination went into overdrive, creating an image of a man to match such a voice.
Silly, you know you’ll be disappointed.
Wanting to hold onto the image a moment longer, she fiddled with Anna’s collar and patted her dog’s blonde head. Anna’s gentle chocolate-brown eyes looked up into Anna’s, and a pink tongue flicked her nose as she waited, body quivering with anticipation.
“Bear? Suits him.” Steeling herself against inevitable disappointment, her gaze lifted, following the line of a pair of denim-clad legs and Jimmy Barnes T-shirt that showed off a toned and muscled torso, and up to the face of Bear’s owner. Stubbled cheeks, and with light brown hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail, his smile was warm and open. Cinnamon-brown eyes crinkled at the corners.
Belly flutters that had subsided with Anna’s reappearance returned as full-sized butterflies swarming around their favourite plants. Ruggedly handsome in an outdoorsy way, Bear’s owner had a killer smile, and a German Shepherd. And despite the cheesy pick-up line, entries two and three on Julie’s wish list—her pre-Traviswish list—stood before her rolled into one very tall . . . and attractive package.
Add the sexy voice and she was probably drooling as much as Anna.
Julie’s hand tightened on Anna’s collar as she struggled to come up with a witty comment. Her mouth opened and closed while Bear’s owner hunkered down and wrapped an arm over his dog and stroked Anna’s head.
“Your dog is lovely. No wonder Bear was—interested.” His eyebrow rose cheekily as he stood and held out one hand. “Jack Schultz.”
She reached over Anna and shook his hand, surprised to find him towering above her. At five-feet-nine, she often looked guys directly in the eye. “I’m Julie Aster and this is Anna.”
“So, Julie and Anna Aster, can Bear and I interest you in a coffee? I spotted a van somewhere around here yesterday.”
Julie checked her watch. Currently, the coffee cart was manned by one of her volunteer staff and her shift didn’t start for another thirty minutes. “Thanks. That’d be nice. You’re new to town?” Keeping Anna at heel, Julie strolled beside Jack and Bear towards the brightly painted ‘Coffee to go’ sign.
“Yes, just arrived. I’m running the Millhouse Tavern until it sells.” They joined the short line of customers and Bear sat, head turned to Anna. Tongues hanging out, both dogs appeared to be smiling at each other.
Saturday in the park on a glorious summer day was bright with promise. For both of them. Anna had to like any guy Julie brought home and Jack and Bear had been an instant hit if the canine equivalent of sparks zapping between the dogs was any indication.
Another tick on my wish list. At this rate, I’ll have our wedding and honeymoon arranged before we finish coffee.
Travis. Don’t forget what he did to you. The snarky voice in her head wiped the smile off her face and she realised Jack was waiting for her to speak.
“Um . . . I thought the Millhouse owner went bankrupt? I mean—” Jack watched her through half-closed eyes and she bent to fold Anna’s lead under her collar. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“The owner is in financial difficulty but I’ve come in to keep the pub going and try to improve its saleability, that sort of thing.”
“So, are you a receiver?”
“Yeah.” The customers ahead of them moved off with their takeaways and he stepped up to the fold-up table that was their service counter.
Marsha, a senior high school student who volunteered every weekend, greeted them. “Hi, Julie. What can I get for you?” The teenager looked at Julie but her gaze kept flicking to Jack.
“The usual, thanks. Anna too. Ah, Jack, what would you like?”
“Espresso shot and Bear will have what Anna’s having.”
“Right away, sir.” Marsha’s gaze was pinned on Jack as she backed into Doug, another of the shelter’s volunteers who Julie had high hopes of training up to take on more responsibility.
Coffee slopped over Doug’s hand. “Hey, Marsha, babe, watch what you’re doing.” Doug flicked coffee off his hand and swiped a couple of drops from his shirt.
“Sorry, Doug.” Pink-cheeked, Marsha bit her lip and turned away to fill their order.
Marsha’s clumsiness drew the attention of three female customers in the line before the women looked back to Jack. The new arrival was sending out pheromones by the bucketful.
Julie covered a smile and reached down to stroke Anna. “Bear will love our doggie biscuits. We bake special nutritious treats each week and—”
“We? Do you work here too?”
“The coffee cart brings us extra funds, but I manage the centre and the adoption process when we make a match for our rescue animals.”
He grinned and laughter lines crinkled around his eyes. “A match as in what? A dating service for canines?”
Laughter bubbled up and burst from her lips. A sense of humour rated high and Jack had just scored another tick on her wish list. The way her libido was dancing, make that two ticks. His smile was worth an extra tick all on its own.
Whoa, girl. Remember Travis.
“Every few months we have a sort of pet parade and find new owners for as many of our rescue animals as we can.”
“Like those art shows where you ply patrons with plenty of bubbly and get them to part with megabucks?”
“We put on coffee and biscuits before the parade but no bubbly. Responsible pet ownership is important, especially for pets that have been dumped. Full information about each animal is given and we offer short counselling sessions about the care and commitment needed to take on a pet. It’s for life—at least, for the life of the pet.” Julie groaned softly. She’d just morphed into teacher mode and lectured the hottest guy she’d met since . . . forever.
Heat scorched her cheeks. Unable to meet the glazed expression she was sure he would be wearing, she reached down and patted Anna. “Sorry, I get carried away at times.”
“You’re passionate about what you do. Don’t ever apologise for that.”
She looked up. Jack’s eyes weren’t glazed over in boredom but bright with approval. Warmth zinged through her body until she was sure she would self-combust. Interest rarely met her lessons on responsible pet ownership, and Jack’s was special, not solely because appreciation rarely came her way.
“Thanks. It’s great when one of our animals finds a new home.”
“And the ones you can’t find a match for?”
Julie’s smile slipped away. The worst part of rescuing pets was knowing some of them would never find another home. “They’re euthanised after a period of waiting. The coffee van supplements the shortfall in government funding, but you’d be surprised how high costs can run. I just wish—”
“It’s not possible to save every one of them.” Understanding shaded his response and sympathy shone from his eyes.
“No. It’s not.”
Marsha placed their takeaway cups on the counter and added a plastic bowl containing six bone-shaped biscuits.
Jack glanced at her name badge with a smile. “Thanks, Marsha.”
Marsha met his gaze briefly then, with cheeks that grew pinker with each passing second, she muttered, “Enjoy your coffees,” and moved on to the next customer.
Jack stacked the cups and lifted both in one hand while Julie collected the doggie treats. She followed him to a low brick wall that offered seating in front of the derelict park café. Abandoned, she’d considered tendering for it when she’d begun at the centre. Running the animal shelter was a tightrope operation and gambling their small surplus on a risky venture—like her ex-boyfriend, Travis had done—wasn’t in her nature. Lies and more lies to cover up his losses had nearly brought her undone. She had trusted Travis, foolishly agreeing to a joint bank account, and he’d betrayed that trust.
Worse than that had been how close the shelter had come to closing because Travis had ripped off a chunk of the operating funds.
The dogs dropped in front of their humans, noses almost touching.
Jack picked up one of the dog treats and traced the stamped comment in the biscuit. “‘I love my dog.’ Cute.” He offered the biscuit and Bear took it gently.
Julie gave Anna a biscuit. Stereo crunching floated up before Julie turned her attention back to Jack. “We cook several healthy treats but these are Anna’s favourites. Looks like they’re a hit with Bear, too.”
“I must get some to take home with me.”
“Oh, we don’t have a takeaway option.”
Jack tilted his head and pinned her with a searching gaze. “Why not? It would be a great money-spinner. Pre-packaged single item or combos. Haven’t customers asked for them yet?”
“Well—yes. But all our staff are volunteers. We’d have to take on a paid part-time cook and set up a kitchen to achieve that, and I doubt we can afford to.”
“Ever heard the saying, to make money, you have to spend some? Let me put it another way, if I could show you there’s a market for homemade, takeaway dog treats, would you reconsider?” He watched her with an intensity that would usually have made her uncomfortable. Only this time, her brain whirled with possibilities. How many pets could they save if they had more funds?
Jack stood and offered a hand. Without thinking, she took it. He pulled her to her feet and headed for a tree where three older ladies sat chatting while their pets socialised at their feet. As one, the women looked up and checked out the six feet plus of delectable male heading their way.
“Good morning, ladies, lovely day, isn’t it. We’re conducting a little informal survey and wondered if you have a moment to help us out?”
“Sure, hon. What can we help you with?”
“I see your dogs are enjoying some of the coffee cart treats. Would you be interested in purchasing a regular weekly supply if they were available?”
A grey-haired woman who appeared to be the oldest of the three piped up. “I’d put in a standing order. Archie loves his oaties but it’s a long wait for him between visits. At his age, he should be enjoying them every day.”
“Thanks.”
Her companions agreed, as did most of the other dog owners they surveyed. Flutters of excitement filled Julie as she and Jack walked back to their brick perch. Their knees bumped as he sat facing her, and heat trickled through her body. Beneath his charming cinnamon gaze, she read an answering awareness before he turned away.
He began coiling and uncoiling Bear’s lead. “I reckon there’s untapped potential in your coffee cart idea. With proper advertising, takeaway treats could add to your coffers and that’s just for a start. I’ve several other ideas if you’d care to hear them. What do you think?”
Bemused by the unusual turn her morning had taken, Julie shook her head. “You’re like the answer to my prayer. Where did you come from?”
“Camooweal via Longreach,” he deadpanned, and then winked. It was the wink that won her.
“Is this the sort of thing you do when you rescue businesses?”
“Sometimes. Not that yours is in need of rescue. It looks like it’s doing well.”
“But if we can do better—”
“You can save more animals.”
“I’ll run the costs past my accountant.” Anything that would save animals’ lives had to be considered. And gorgeous Jack was like her personal knight in shining armour.
“I can run some numbers for you—if you like?” The light in his eyes suddenly dimmed as though shutters closed and he turned away.
His momentary hesitation brought her down to earth with a jolt. Who in their right mind would open their finances to a stranger? She’d only just met this guy. Seemed the thought had occurred to Jack as well.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to poke my nose into your business. Take it to your accountant.” He reached down to stroke Bear’s head, and their easy banter dried up. He tossed back his espresso and stood. Bear rose and looked up expectantly. “I only meant to give Bear a quick walk before I opened the pub. Better be on my way. I enjoyed meeting you, Julie and Anna Aster.”
“Jack, I— me, too.”
“See you around.” He strode off, Bear by his side.
As Jack left, Marsha approached and plopped down beside Julie.
“Is it my shift already?”
“Yeah. Any idea how long the hottie is staying in town?”
The hottie. Jack’s that all right. Every female in the area had cast covetous glances her way but she had claimed his full attention. Anna and me.
“Probably not long.”
Marsha turned on her phone. “Pity.”
And that thought depressed her too. He was here for the short-term only, until the tavern was back on solid ground. His work would take him away to—to blasted Camooweal or the back of beyond. And that was just as well given her good intentions not to forget the lessons learned from Travis’ betrayal seemed to have blown away on the summer breeze.
But if I had a dollar for every item Jack ticked off my list, I’d keep the centre open for a year!
“Yes, it is a pity.” Julie headed over to the coffee cart to begin her shift. She set Anna’s water bowl out behind the cart, pulled on a fresh apron and then cleaned her hands with sanitiser. Scanning the crowds, her attention snagged on the distant figures of Jack and Bear before they turned and were lost to sight.
Pity.
If Jack Schultz was as honest as he was good-looking, he ticked her wish list boxes with neon-bright, bold ticks.
Blast that list, and blast Travis for taking her optimism and trust and twisting it into something dark and shrivelled. Jack Shultz seemed decent and charming, but she wasn’t about to let him close. Her heart was under lock and key. Once burned, twice shy and all that. If Jack had ideas that could increase profits and offer future stability for the shelter, great. But nothing and no one would put the shelter in danger again.
Including her.
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Chapter 1
Julie Aster sat in the middle of Queen’s Park off-leash area and leaned back on her elbows. The park was a sea of shimmering greens, glowing under the early summer sun. Turning her face towards its mid-morning warmth, she closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift. Sending the last box of lying Travis’ abandoned gear to charity closed a chapter in her life, one that her friends encouraged her to put behind her as quickly as possible. Betrayal hurt—big time—but she’d learned her lesson. She wasn’t about to forget it; not when so many lives depended on her.
Her hand reached out to pat Anna, and met empty air. Her German Shepherd never left her side without permission. Unease slithered through her mind like the beginning of a stress headache and Heaven knew she’d had enough of those in the last couple of months. Sitting up, she scanned the immediate area.
Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called, “Anna.” Where have you got to, girl?
Champion novice dog at puppy training school, Anna simply did not wander far from her mistress. Flutters of concern stirred in Julie’s belly and she put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. Piercing and loud, the whistle cut through the joyful shouts of a group of youngsters playing footy on the neighbouring oval.
Movement off to the side caught her eye and two streaks, one golden and the other, black, raced out of dense shade at the edge of the off-leash area, scattering a flock of wood pigeons. Not one but two dogs raced towards her.
A huge black Shepherd, the biggest Julie had seen, followed Anna across the lush green grass. Anna came straight to her and sat on her left, smiling to show she was very pleased with her discovery, or so Julie interpreted her doggie grin. The black dog dropped beside Anna. A metal, bone-shaped identity tag hung from his collar and caught the light as he turned his head towards her.
“Found a friend, did you? Where’s your owner, boy?” Julie presented her closed hand for the dog to smell then hunkered down to pat both Anna and her new friend. “He’s a handsome fellow, isn’t he, Anna? Seems like this park is doggie-dating heaven.”
A shadow fell across them and a deep voice rumbled above their heads. “Bear’s been making friends, I see, and with the best-looking females in the city.”
Tingles of awareness ran down Julie’s spine at the sound of the whisky-smooth voice. Her imagination went into overdrive, creating an image of a man to match such a voice.
Silly, you know you’ll be disappointed.
Wanting to hold onto the image a moment longer, she fiddled with Anna’s collar and patted her dog’s blonde head. Anna’s gentle chocolate-brown eyes looked up into Anna’s, and a pink tongue flicked her nose as she waited, body quivering with anticipation.
“Bear? Suits him.” Steeling herself against inevitable disappointment, her gaze lifted, following the line of a pair of denim-clad legs and Jimmy Barnes T-shirt that showed off a toned and muscled torso, and up to the face of Bear’s owner. Stubbled cheeks, and with light brown hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail, his smile was warm and open. Cinnamon-brown eyes crinkled at the corners.
Belly flutters that had subsided with Anna’s reappearance returned as full-sized butterflies swarming around their favourite plants. Ruggedly handsome in an outdoorsy way, Bear’s owner had a killer smile, and a German Shepherd. And despite the cheesy pick-up line, entries two and three on Julie’s wish list—her pre-Traviswish list—stood before her rolled into one very tall . . . and attractive package.
Add the sexy voice and she was probably drooling as much as Anna.
Julie’s hand tightened on Anna’s collar as she struggled to come up with a witty comment. Her mouth opened and closed while Bear’s owner hunkered down and wrapped an arm over his dog and stroked Anna’s head.
“Your dog is lovely. No wonder Bear was—interested.” His eyebrow rose cheekily as he stood and held out one hand. “Jack Schultz.”
She reached over Anna and shook his hand, surprised to find him towering above her. At five-feet-nine, she often looked guys directly in the eye. “I’m Julie Aster and this is Anna.”
“So, Julie and Anna Aster, can Bear and I interest you in a coffee? I spotted a van somewhere around here yesterday.”
Julie checked her watch. Currently, the coffee cart was manned by one of her volunteer staff and her shift didn’t start for another thirty minutes. “Thanks. That’d be nice. You’re new to town?” Keeping Anna at heel, Julie strolled beside Jack and Bear towards the brightly painted ‘Coffee to go’ sign.
“Yes, just arrived. I’m running the Millhouse Tavern until it sells.” They joined the short line of customers and Bear sat, head turned to Anna. Tongues hanging out, both dogs appeared to be smiling at each other.
Saturday in the park on a glorious summer day was bright with promise. For both of them. Anna had to like any guy Julie brought home and Jack and Bear had been an instant hit if the canine equivalent of sparks zapping between the dogs was any indication.
Another tick on my wish list. At this rate, I’ll have our wedding and honeymoon arranged before we finish coffee.
Travis. Don’t forget what he did to you. The snarky voice in her head wiped the smile off her face and she realised Jack was waiting for her to speak.
“Um . . . I thought the Millhouse owner went bankrupt? I mean—” Jack watched her through half-closed eyes and she bent to fold Anna’s lead under her collar. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“The owner is in financial difficulty but I’ve come in to keep the pub going and try to improve its saleability, that sort of thing.”
“So, are you a receiver?”
“Yeah.” The customers ahead of them moved off with their takeaways and he stepped up to the fold-up table that was their service counter.
Marsha, a senior high school student who volunteered every weekend, greeted them. “Hi, Julie. What can I get for you?” The teenager looked at Julie but her gaze kept flicking to Jack.
“The usual, thanks. Anna too. Ah, Jack, what would you like?”
“Espresso shot and Bear will have what Anna’s having.”
“Right away, sir.” Marsha’s gaze was pinned on Jack as she backed into Doug, another of the shelter’s volunteers who Julie had high hopes of training up to take on more responsibility.
Coffee slopped over Doug’s hand. “Hey, Marsha, babe, watch what you’re doing.” Doug flicked coffee off his hand and swiped a couple of drops from his shirt.
“Sorry, Doug.” Pink-cheeked, Marsha bit her lip and turned away to fill their order.
Marsha’s clumsiness drew the attention of three female customers in the line before the women looked back to Jack. The new arrival was sending out pheromones by the bucketful.
Julie covered a smile and reached down to stroke Anna. “Bear will love our doggie biscuits. We bake special nutritious treats each week and—”
“We? Do you work here too?”
“The coffee cart brings us extra funds, but I manage the centre and the adoption process when we make a match for our rescue animals.”
He grinned and laughter lines crinkled around his eyes. “A match as in what? A dating service for canines?”
Laughter bubbled up and burst from her lips. A sense of humour rated high and Jack had just scored another tick on her wish list. The way her libido was dancing, make that two ticks. His smile was worth an extra tick all on its own.
Whoa, girl. Remember Travis.
“Every few months we have a sort of pet parade and find new owners for as many of our rescue animals as we can.”
“Like those art shows where you ply patrons with plenty of bubbly and get them to part with megabucks?”
“We put on coffee and biscuits before the parade but no bubbly. Responsible pet ownership is important, especially for pets that have been dumped. Full information about each animal is given and we offer short counselling sessions about the care and commitment needed to take on a pet. It’s for life—at least, for the life of the pet.” Julie groaned softly. She’d just morphed into teacher mode and lectured the hottest guy she’d met since . . . forever.
Heat scorched her cheeks. Unable to meet the glazed expression she was sure he would be wearing, she reached down and patted Anna. “Sorry, I get carried away at times.”
“You’re passionate about what you do. Don’t ever apologise for that.”
She looked up. Jack’s eyes weren’t glazed over in boredom but bright with approval. Warmth zinged through her body until she was sure she would self-combust. Interest rarely met her lessons on responsible pet ownership, and Jack’s was special, not solely because appreciation rarely came her way.
“Thanks. It’s great when one of our animals finds a new home.”
“And the ones you can’t find a match for?”
Julie’s smile slipped away. The worst part of rescuing pets was knowing some of them would never find another home. “They’re euthanised after a period of waiting. The coffee van supplements the shortfall in government funding, but you’d be surprised how high costs can run. I just wish—”
“It’s not possible to save every one of them.” Understanding shaded his response and sympathy shone from his eyes.
“No. It’s not.”
Marsha placed their takeaway cups on the counter and added a plastic bowl containing six bone-shaped biscuits.
Jack glanced at her name badge with a smile. “Thanks, Marsha.”
Marsha met his gaze briefly then, with cheeks that grew pinker with each passing second, she muttered, “Enjoy your coffees,” and moved on to the next customer.
Jack stacked the cups and lifted both in one hand while Julie collected the doggie treats. She followed him to a low brick wall that offered seating in front of the derelict park café. Abandoned, she’d considered tendering for it when she’d begun at the centre. Running the animal shelter was a tightrope operation and gambling their small surplus on a risky venture—like her ex-boyfriend, Travis had done—wasn’t in her nature. Lies and more lies to cover up his losses had nearly brought her undone. She had trusted Travis, foolishly agreeing to a joint bank account, and he’d betrayed that trust.
Worse than that had been how close the shelter had come to closing because Travis had ripped off a chunk of the operating funds.
The dogs dropped in front of their humans, noses almost touching.
Jack picked up one of the dog treats and traced the stamped comment in the biscuit. “‘I love my dog.’ Cute.” He offered the biscuit and Bear took it gently.
Julie gave Anna a biscuit. Stereo crunching floated up before Julie turned her attention back to Jack. “We cook several healthy treats but these are Anna’s favourites. Looks like they’re a hit with Bear, too.”
“I must get some to take home with me.”
“Oh, we don’t have a takeaway option.”
Jack tilted his head and pinned her with a searching gaze. “Why not? It would be a great money-spinner. Pre-packaged single item or combos. Haven’t customers asked for them yet?”
“Well—yes. But all our staff are volunteers. We’d have to take on a paid part-time cook and set up a kitchen to achieve that, and I doubt we can afford to.”
“Ever heard the saying, to make money, you have to spend some? Let me put it another way, if I could show you there’s a market for homemade, takeaway dog treats, would you reconsider?” He watched her with an intensity that would usually have made her uncomfortable. Only this time, her brain whirled with possibilities. How many pets could they save if they had more funds?
Jack stood and offered a hand. Without thinking, she took it. He pulled her to her feet and headed for a tree where three older ladies sat chatting while their pets socialised at their feet. As one, the women looked up and checked out the six feet plus of delectable male heading their way.
“Good morning, ladies, lovely day, isn’t it. We’re conducting a little informal survey and wondered if you have a moment to help us out?”
“Sure, hon. What can we help you with?”
“I see your dogs are enjoying some of the coffee cart treats. Would you be interested in purchasing a regular weekly supply if they were available?”
A grey-haired woman who appeared to be the oldest of the three piped up. “I’d put in a standing order. Archie loves his oaties but it’s a long wait for him between visits. At his age, he should be enjoying them every day.”
“Thanks.”
Her companions agreed, as did most of the other dog owners they surveyed. Flutters of excitement filled Julie as she and Jack walked back to their brick perch. Their knees bumped as he sat facing her, and heat trickled through her body. Beneath his charming cinnamon gaze, she read an answering awareness before he turned away.
He began coiling and uncoiling Bear’s lead. “I reckon there’s untapped potential in your coffee cart idea. With proper advertising, takeaway treats could add to your coffers and that’s just for a start. I’ve several other ideas if you’d care to hear them. What do you think?”
Bemused by the unusual turn her morning had taken, Julie shook her head. “You’re like the answer to my prayer. Where did you come from?”
“Camooweal via Longreach,” he deadpanned, and then winked. It was the wink that won her.
“Is this the sort of thing you do when you rescue businesses?”
“Sometimes. Not that yours is in need of rescue. It looks like it’s doing well.”
“But if we can do better—”
“You can save more animals.”
“I’ll run the costs past my accountant.” Anything that would save animals’ lives had to be considered. And gorgeous Jack was like her personal knight in shining armour.
“I can run some numbers for you—if you like?” The light in his eyes suddenly dimmed as though shutters closed and he turned away.
His momentary hesitation brought her down to earth with a jolt. Who in their right mind would open their finances to a stranger? She’d only just met this guy. Seemed the thought had occurred to Jack as well.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to poke my nose into your business. Take it to your accountant.” He reached down to stroke Bear’s head, and their easy banter dried up. He tossed back his espresso and stood. Bear rose and looked up expectantly. “I only meant to give Bear a quick walk before I opened the pub. Better be on my way. I enjoyed meeting you, Julie and Anna Aster.”
“Jack, I— me, too.”
“See you around.” He strode off, Bear by his side.
As Jack left, Marsha approached and plopped down beside Julie.
“Is it my shift already?”
“Yeah. Any idea how long the hottie is staying in town?”
The hottie. Jack’s that all right. Every female in the area had cast covetous glances her way but she had claimed his full attention. Anna and me.
“Probably not long.”
Marsha turned on her phone. “Pity.”
And that thought depressed her too. He was here for the short-term only, until the tavern was back on solid ground. His work would take him away to—to blasted Camooweal or the back of beyond. And that was just as well given her good intentions not to forget the lessons learned from Travis’ betrayal seemed to have blown away on the summer breeze.
But if I had a dollar for every item Jack ticked off my list, I’d keep the centre open for a year!
“Yes, it is a pity.” Julie headed over to the coffee cart to begin her shift. She set Anna’s water bowl out behind the cart, pulled on a fresh apron and then cleaned her hands with sanitiser. Scanning the crowds, her attention snagged on the distant figures of Jack and Bear before they turned and were lost to sight.
Pity.
If Jack Schultz was as honest as he was good-looking, he ticked her wish list boxes with neon-bright, bold ticks.
Blast that list, and blast Travis for taking her optimism and trust and twisting it into something dark and shrivelled. Jack Shultz seemed decent and charming, but she wasn’t about to let him close. Her heart was under lock and key. Once burned, twice shy and all that. If Jack had ideas that could increase profits and offer future stability for the shelter, great. But nothing and no one would put the shelter in danger again.
Including her.
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Chapter 1
Sydney, two years earlier
“Blue team is in position. Green team, are you set?” Paul Rimmer spoke into the comm unit on his shoulder. Having confirmed his teams were in place around the perimeter of the warehouse and the exclusive brothel owned by the Chan family, he gave the signal. Power shut down, streetlights flicked off and the Rocks area was plunged into darkness. Moments later, a rooftop generator kicked in and lights flickered on within the brothel, his team’s target.
He glanced at his watch. One minute after twenty-three hundred hours.
Breathing slowly, he used his night scope to scan the shadows between the building and the dark rocky upthrust that had given the area its name.
No movement.
More teams awaited his signal to begin a combined multi-pronged raid on the Chan mansion and three sites in Sydney from where the cartel’s illegal businesses operated.
Focused on his entry point, calm descended. He and his partner, Tamsin Westcott, had risked their lives to get information that had led to tonight’s raid. Even Tam’s twin sister had been caught up in their investigation and now, Bureau agents were about to close the net. Determined not to let a single member of the drug cartel escape, Paul checked his watch, and raised his comm unit to give the signal. “On my word . . .” He drew a deep breath. “All teams are go.”
Cordoned off and locked down, the dark streets around the warehouse and brothel exploded with dark-uniformed officers hitting their assigned points of entry.
Paul led his team through the front door. An intimately small reception area was unoccupied, but a security camera began tracking their progress before Paul shot it out. He took the entry into a spacious L-shaped club lounge. Blacked out windows were mostly hidden by heavy red drapes, while several decadently padded couches were set at strategic points around the room. All were angled towards a low dais, which Paul saw as he turned the corner into the long leg of the L.
Two men seated on couches raised their hands. Considering the girls positioned beside and behind one, with a third girl on the floor between the legs of the other man, Paul dismissed them as clients. The third girl looked up at Paul and his team and the only sound in the room was the soft pop-slurp as her lips left her client’s cock.
But they weren’t Paul’s primary target. Leaving the men and girls to be collected by the sweep team, Paul signalled his partner, Grant Perkins. They moved into position on either side of the dais, guns at the ready. A dark-green feather lay on the scuffed and polished floor.
Paul glanced back at the tableau of clients and girls and his gut tightened. The youngest of the three still knelt between her client’s knees, a boa draped around her neck.
The girls servicing the two clients were little more than teenagers, and this dais was apparently a stage for clients to view a parade of women and make their selection. Like a bloody meat mart.
Perkins led the way along a short besser-brick hallway with a single door at the far end. Unpainted and poorly lit, it was clear the hallway was only used by the working girls as a passage from the lounge to the rooms where they plied their trade. According to the building plans the door led to the business side of the brothel; a selection of theme rooms catering to all tastes and wallet sizes.
Gritting his teeth, Paul opened the fire door. Ahead lay a small, tastefully decorated foyer with six heavily carved and painted doors punctuated by another wider hallway that connected back to the lounge. Rich clients were given the royal treatment when they came into this part of the brothel. Upstairs, the Green team would be picking up clients and working girls from the cheaper rooms.
Methodically the two agents separated left and right, each taking a set of doors along one side and working their way through the rooms. Paul disturbed two men attended by a single woman in the first room; the middle room was vacant. In the third room, styled as a dungeon, a client, bound and leather-clad, was being beaten with a riding crop.
Paul turned and signalled to Perkins that he’d take the last room. Information said this was John Chan’s private room, and the last intel report had indicated he had left home for an evening at the brothel.
Moving into position, Paul pushed the door wide and did a sweep around the spacious, high-ceilinged room, finishing with his gun aimed towards a king-sized bed. A young woman sprawled naked and alone on the bed, her dark hair fanned across the pillow—beautiful and unmoving.
Not the reaction Paul expected.
Cautiously he made his way to her side and set his fingers on her neck.
No pulse.
Her wide-open eyes stared sightlessly at the distant ceiling. Partly concealed beneath her shoulder, a ripped plastic bag suggested how she’d died.
Perkins appeared in the doorway. “Anything?” He approached the bed. “Aw, shit.”
Paul gently closed her eyes. “I want Chan in handcuffs before we leave.”
“Sounds kinky, boss.”
Sometimes humour helped them confront the worst of humanity. And then there was now.
Paul gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. “Not now, Perkins.”
Perkins flicked a glance at the dead girl. “You’re right. Sorry.”
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Sydney, two years earlier
“Blue team is in position. Green team, are you set?” Paul Rimmer spoke into the comm unit on his shoulder. Having confirmed his teams were in place around the perimeter of the warehouse and the exclusive brothel owned by the Chan family, he gave the signal. Power shut down, streetlights flicked off and the Rocks area was plunged into darkness. Moments later, a rooftop generator kicked in and lights flickered on within the brothel, his team’s target.
He glanced at his watch. One minute after twenty-three hundred hours.
Breathing slowly, he used his night scope to scan the shadows between the building and the dark rocky upthrust that had given the area its name.
No movement.
More teams awaited his signal to begin a combined multi-pronged raid on the Chan mansion and three sites in Sydney from where the cartel’s illegal businesses operated.
Focused on his entry point, calm descended. He and his partner, Tamsin Westcott, had risked their lives to get information that had led to tonight’s raid. Even Tam’s twin sister had been caught up in their investigation and now, Bureau agents were about to close the net. Determined not to let a single member of the drug cartel escape, Paul checked his watch, and raised his comm unit to give the signal. “On my word . . .” He drew a deep breath. “All teams are go.”
Cordoned off and locked down, the dark streets around the warehouse and brothel exploded with dark-uniformed officers hitting their assigned points of entry.
Paul led his team through the front door. An intimately small reception area was unoccupied, but a security camera began tracking their progress before Paul shot it out. He took the entry into a spacious L-shaped club lounge. Blacked out windows were mostly hidden by heavy red drapes, while several decadently padded couches were set at strategic points around the room. All were angled towards a low dais, which Paul saw as he turned the corner into the long leg of the L.
Two men seated on couches raised their hands. Considering the girls positioned beside and behind one, with a third girl on the floor between the legs of the other man, Paul dismissed them as clients. The third girl looked up at Paul and his team and the only sound in the room was the soft pop-slurp as her lips left her client’s cock.
But they weren’t Paul’s primary target. Leaving the men and girls to be collected by the sweep team, Paul signalled his partner, Grant Perkins. They moved into position on either side of the dais, guns at the ready. A dark-green feather lay on the scuffed and polished floor.
Paul glanced back at the tableau of clients and girls and his gut tightened. The youngest of the three still knelt between her client’s knees, a boa draped around her neck.
The girls servicing the two clients were little more than teenagers, and this dais was apparently a stage for clients to view a parade of women and make their selection. Like a bloody meat mart.
Perkins led the way along a short besser-brick hallway with a single door at the far end. Unpainted and poorly lit, it was clear the hallway was only used by the working girls as a passage from the lounge to the rooms where they plied their trade. According to the building plans the door led to the business side of the brothel; a selection of theme rooms catering to all tastes and wallet sizes.
Gritting his teeth, Paul opened the fire door. Ahead lay a small, tastefully decorated foyer with six heavily carved and painted doors punctuated by another wider hallway that connected back to the lounge. Rich clients were given the royal treatment when they came into this part of the brothel. Upstairs, the Green team would be picking up clients and working girls from the cheaper rooms.
Methodically the two agents separated left and right, each taking a set of doors along one side and working their way through the rooms. Paul disturbed two men attended by a single woman in the first room; the middle room was vacant. In the third room, styled as a dungeon, a client, bound and leather-clad, was being beaten with a riding crop.
Paul turned and signalled to Perkins that he’d take the last room. Information said this was John Chan’s private room, and the last intel report had indicated he had left home for an evening at the brothel.
Moving into position, Paul pushed the door wide and did a sweep around the spacious, high-ceilinged room, finishing with his gun aimed towards a king-sized bed. A young woman sprawled naked and alone on the bed, her dark hair fanned across the pillow—beautiful and unmoving.
Not the reaction Paul expected.
Cautiously he made his way to her side and set his fingers on her neck.
No pulse.
Her wide-open eyes stared sightlessly at the distant ceiling. Partly concealed beneath her shoulder, a ripped plastic bag suggested how she’d died.
Perkins appeared in the doorway. “Anything?” He approached the bed. “Aw, shit.”
Paul gently closed her eyes. “I want Chan in handcuffs before we leave.”
“Sounds kinky, boss.”
Sometimes humour helped them confront the worst of humanity. And then there was now.
Paul gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. “Not now, Perkins.”
Perkins flicked a glance at the dead girl. “You’re right. Sorry.”
Pre-order on Amazon: US store Australia UK store
