You could send them back for me.’ The words froze Scott in his tracks, his face closing down. It wasn’t the girl’s fault. She didn’t know what memories her words had just unleashed to strike him with an almost physical force. She had just turned an impulse into a stark reality. His return to Coorah Creek was no longer something in his future. It was here and now and he wasn’t really ready for it. That wasn’t a good sign. He struggled for a few seconds to regain an appearance of normality. ‘No truck,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a rope in my car. I’ll tow you in.’ ‘But I don’t know …’ The girl’s voice trailed off, and Scott saw the apprehension in her eyes. You and me both , he thought. ‘Perhaps it would help if I introduced myself. I’m Scott Collins,’ he said. ‘And I promise you I am not an axe murderer or even a car thief.’ That almost wiped the tension from her face. Her lips twitched in the start of a smile. ‘Hi Scott. I’m Katie Brooks.’ She held out her hand and he took it briefly. Like Katie herself, it was small and looked far too delicate for life in the outback. ‘I’ll get the rope.’
Chapter Three
Ed Collins didn’t recognise either of the approaching cars. He squinted against the glare outside his workshop. He’d been Coorah Creek’s only garage and mechanic for more than thirty years. There wasn’t a car within 200 kilometres he hadn’t worked on or filled with petrol. These must be tourists, passing through on their way to Birdsville. He studied the blue car. It was getting on in years. It wasn’t surprising that it was being towed. He hoped the driver wasn’t planning to take it into the desert. People died doing stupid things like that. The car towing it was interesting. It looked like one of those hybrids. He’d read about them. Never seen one though. The Creek wasn’t a place for flash environmentally friendly cars. Workhorses. That’s what the cars out here were. It was too much to hope he’d get his hands on the car, but it would be nice to have a look under the bonnet. If the driver seemed a good bloke and was going to be around for a day or two, maybe he’d get a chance. Ed picked up an old rag and began wiping his hands. The owner of a car like that wasn’t going to want greasy handprints on his shiny new paint. As he tossed the rag aside, Ed looked at his hands. The dirt never really seemed to come off. Not that it mattered. There was no one he wanted to impress. He was a mechanic. Always had been and always would be. Mechanics had dirty hands. People just had to accept that. The lead car angled off the road towards the garage and began to slow. Ed could see the person being towed wasn’t paying attention. He knew what was going to happen next. The Commodore clipped the back of the hybrid, shunting it forward. Both drivers hit the brakes and the cars came to a halt about a metre apart. A girl jumped out of the Commodore. She was young and blonde and pretty. And very distraught. ‘Oh my God. I am so sorry!’ As upset as she was, her English accent was still very pronounced. She bent over to examine the damage to the back of the hybrid. ‘I wasn’t paying attention. It’s all my fault. I’ll pay to get it fixed.’ So, maybe he would get to work on the hybrid after all. Ed stepped towards the open door, but stopped in shock as the driver of the hybrid got out of his car. Eight years is a long time. In eight years, regret can eat at a man’s soul leaving him empty and lonely. In eight years a boy becomes a man. But even after eight years, a father knows his own son. Shocked to his core, Ed took half a step backward to remain hidden in the dim interior of his workshop. His son … Scott … wasn’t paying any attention to the girl. He was studying the outside of the garage. He wouldn’t find anything changed, Ed thought. At least, not the building. ‘I feel just so bad about this,’ the girl was still