Outback Wives Wanted!. Margaret Way

on, have your fun.”

      “You never know! Anyway, you and Simon are wrong for each other.”

      A little wave of sadness swept through her. “Simon is going to be dreadfully hurt.”

      “I know that, and I’m sorry. Simon is my cousin—he’s family. But we both know Simon and Rose are much better suited. Besides, Rebecca will take a completely different view of Rose.”

      Alana gave a brittle laugh. “Rose is a Denby.”

      “So are you. Rebecca is an odd person,” he commented unexpectedly.

      “My mother used to say Rebecca ‘wasn’t quite right.’”

      “And she was being kind. Keep away from Rebecca as much as possible.”

      She turned her head in surprise. “Why do you say that? Anyone would think I was considering moving in.”

      “Well—” Abruptly, Guy broke off what he’d been about to say. He further startled Alana by putting a warning hand on her arm. “Looks like there’s been an accident up ahead. I can spot skid marks, and there’s a gouge in that big tree that looks fresh. A vehicle might have skidded on the gravel, hit the tree, then flipped. We’ll need to take a look.”

      Instantly Alana was riven by dread. Some part of her recognised that she had always been prepared for something like this. Her mother had lost her life not very far from here. Her father had told her he intended driving into town. That meant he would have had to travel this very road. Full-blown panic entered her bloodstream. The beauty of the day gave way to nightmare.

      Guy stopped his car at the top of the rise, a few feet from the towering gum. An area of bark had been gouged out of the trunk, long strips of it lying around the base. Swiftly Guy got out of the car and came round to her. “Stay where you are. I can smell petrol.”

      She responded by trying to get out. “I’m coming too. You can’t stop me.”

      “I can and I will,” Guy said, looking grim and well capable of using force if he had to. “This is a dangerous situation, Alana. Stay put. You’re needed to ring the police and an ambulance.”

      “Just tell me it’s not our car,” she implored, her hopes dimming.

      Guy lifted his hand, then dropped it as if in futility. Despite himself he too was giving in to a peculiar dread. He moved off while Alana sat there, door open, making heartbreaking little keening sounds.

      He was back to her in moments. “It is your car,” he said, a world of regret in his voice. “I can see your father slumped over the wheel. The petrol fumes are strong. I have to get him out of there.”

      “But, Guy, the danger!” She stared up at him, wild-eyed. Could she lose Guy and her father too?

      “I’ll be fine,” he insisted. “Just do what I tell you. Make those calls. There’s no real help you can give. You’ll only be in the way.”

      Urgently he moved down the woody slope. The smell of petrol was worrying him dreadfully. Alan Callaghan could be incinerated—a fate not to be borne. He was either unconscious or dead.

      Guy reached the vehicle, tugging with all his might at the door handle. Finally he got it open. He reached in over Alan Callaghan’s dark head to turn off the ignition, his heart flipping at the moan that issued from the injured man’s throat.

       Thank God!

      Guy withdrew his head for a split second, shouting back to Alana, who was standing at the lip of the slope, staring down at the crash scene. “He’s alive!” But in what condition?

      Blood was running from a wound high up on Alan Callaghan’s temple. Working swiftly, fearing the situation, Guy released the seat belt, then got his arm around the man. There was no way he could leave Alan Callaghan where he was.

      The car could catch fire at any minute. It would explode. Too gruesome a death! One to be avoided at all costs. There was nothing else for it but to carry the semi-conscious man up the slope. To Guy’s immense relief, Alan Callaghan roused himself, then made a definite effort to stand on his own two feet.

      “I’ve got you, Alan!” Guy cried. “We have to get up the slope as quickly as we can.”

      Just as he had done once before, Guy slung his arm around the big man, half pulling, half dragging him up the slope, which mercifully wasn’t steep.

      Oh, Dad—Dad, what’s to become of you? Alana shook her head, her nerves raw. Was this an attempted suicide? Or had her father simply lost control of the vehicle when he’d skidded on the gravel? Going on the strength of the petrol fumes, she was terrified he and Guy wouldn’t make it up the slope until it was too late. And she was in danger herself, standing so close to the lip. But she couldn’t bring herself to move away.

       I can’t face life without these two.

      If anything bad happened now it would break her. There had been so many losses, her spirit would simply call it quits.

      “There’s a rug in the boot,” Guy called to her. “Be quick, Alana. Get it and drape it over the back seat. I’ll put your father there. We can get him to hospital much faster than waiting for the ambulance.”

      Alana ran.

      Less than a few minutes after that, with Guy’s car speeding back towards the town, the Callaghan’s car exploded. It went up in a solid wall of orange flame, with sections of buckled steel flying like missiles through the sulphurous air.