breakfast is stuffed.’
‘It’s fine.’ Sally hoped he couldn’t guess how close to tears she was. ‘I like my bacon crispy.’
With a grim-faced shrug Luke silently served up the brittle bacon and rubbery eggs, setting her plate on the table and indicating that she should take the only chair.
‘Thanks.’
He perched on a metal esky, balancing his plate on a solid, jeans-clad thigh, and scowled as he speared a curling piece of bacon. ‘How long since . . . since your husband died?’
‘Two and a half years.’
Surprise flared in his eyes.
‘I know that sounds like a long time,’ she said. ‘I know I have to get over it.’
‘It wouldn’t be easy.’ Luke kept his focus on cutting his food.
Sally tried to explain. ‘I thought – I suppose I assumed that last night was casual.’
‘Yeah, well, obviously it was.’
She knew Luke was trying to sound as if he didn’t care, but his gaze was hard now, even though he countered it with an offhand shrug.
Their conversation lapsed as they finished their food and scraped the inedible bits into the bin.
‘Let me wash up,’ she offered.
He shook his head. ‘Leave the plates in the sink. We need to get cracking.’
‘Oh, yes. Before the visitors arrive?’
‘Yeah.’
She supposed he was relieved to have an excuse to be rid of her quickly and, less than ten minutes later, she was climbing into his ute, once again wearing Kitty’s dress.
Through the windscreen, she looked up at the homestead. It seemed shabbier in the daylight, with peeling paint and broken guttering and a whole section of the verandah railing missing. But the house still had the strong pleasing lines that would respond well to a makeover.
‘You’ll make this place fabulous,’ she told Luke as they drove off.
‘That’s the plan,’ he responded grimly.
Conversation was clearly going to be awkward. She looked out across the paddocks bordered by bushland. ‘Where’s the wrecked plane? Can you see the pieces from here?’
‘Not any more. Those trees are in the way. And it’s only a couple of bits of twisted metal.’
But at least the plane provided an opportunity for a less troubled conversation on the journey into town, so Sally decided to pursue it. ‘Do you know much about the crash? It seems strange that an American plane ended up all the way out here.’
‘Apparently there were stacks of crashes all over North Queensland during the war.’
‘I wonder why. There wasn’t fighting here, was there?’
Luke didn’t respond at first as he steered the ute down the bumpy, rutted track, but then he must have decided it was better to talk than to spend the entire journey in uncomfortable silence.
‘According the story my family tells, the guy who crashed here was flying back from New Guinea.’ He rounded a bend and their last view of the homestead disappeared. ‘There was a big storm, apparently, practically a cyclone, and the Yanks were blown off course. They were running out of fuel, so they took a chance on landing here.’
‘But they crashed.’
‘At least one of them crashed and his plane burned.’
‘And your family rescued the pilot?’
‘I guess. I’m a bit hazy on the details. My grandmother was living here at the time. She was sent out here from Townsville to housekeep for her great-uncle.’
To Sally’s surprise, Luke sent her a quick grin, and it was the relaxed, almost cheeky grin that had been so appealing last night when they met. ‘My mother reckons Gran was sent out here to keep her away from the Americans.’
‘Why? Because the flashy and handsome American airmen might lead her astray?’
‘Something like that.’
‘But instead the Americans came to your grandmother.’
Smiling at the irony, Sally looked down at the dress she was wearing. She wondered about Kitty Mathieson and whether she had ever danced with an American airman.
‘Was there a romance?’ she asked.
‘Doubt it.’ Luke’s hands tightened on the steering
‘It’s fine.’ Sally hoped he couldn’t guess how close to tears she was. ‘I like my bacon crispy.’
With a grim-faced shrug Luke silently served up the brittle bacon and rubbery eggs, setting her plate on the table and indicating that she should take the only chair.
‘Thanks.’
He perched on a metal esky, balancing his plate on a solid, jeans-clad thigh, and scowled as he speared a curling piece of bacon. ‘How long since . . . since your husband died?’
‘Two and a half years.’
Surprise flared in his eyes.
‘I know that sounds like a long time,’ she said. ‘I know I have to get over it.’
‘It wouldn’t be easy.’ Luke kept his focus on cutting his food.
Sally tried to explain. ‘I thought – I suppose I assumed that last night was casual.’
‘Yeah, well, obviously it was.’
She knew Luke was trying to sound as if he didn’t care, but his gaze was hard now, even though he countered it with an offhand shrug.
Their conversation lapsed as they finished their food and scraped the inedible bits into the bin.
‘Let me wash up,’ she offered.
He shook his head. ‘Leave the plates in the sink. We need to get cracking.’
‘Oh, yes. Before the visitors arrive?’
‘Yeah.’
She supposed he was relieved to have an excuse to be rid of her quickly and, less than ten minutes later, she was climbing into his ute, once again wearing Kitty’s dress.
Through the windscreen, she looked up at the homestead. It seemed shabbier in the daylight, with peeling paint and broken guttering and a whole section of the verandah railing missing. But the house still had the strong pleasing lines that would respond well to a makeover.
‘You’ll make this place fabulous,’ she told Luke as they drove off.
‘That’s the plan,’ he responded grimly.
Conversation was clearly going to be awkward. She looked out across the paddocks bordered by bushland. ‘Where’s the wrecked plane? Can you see the pieces from here?’
‘Not any more. Those trees are in the way. And it’s only a couple of bits of twisted metal.’
But at least the plane provided an opportunity for a less troubled conversation on the journey into town, so Sally decided to pursue it. ‘Do you know much about the crash? It seems strange that an American plane ended up all the way out here.’
‘Apparently there were stacks of crashes all over North Queensland during the war.’
‘I wonder why. There wasn’t fighting here, was there?’
Luke didn’t respond at first as he steered the ute down the bumpy, rutted track, but then he must have decided it was better to talk than to spend the entire journey in uncomfortable silence.
‘According the story my family tells, the guy who crashed here was flying back from New Guinea.’ He rounded a bend and their last view of the homestead disappeared. ‘There was a big storm, apparently, practically a cyclone, and the Yanks were blown off course. They were running out of fuel, so they took a chance on landing here.’
‘But they crashed.’
‘At least one of them crashed and his plane burned.’
‘And your family rescued the pilot?’
‘I guess. I’m a bit hazy on the details. My grandmother was living here at the time. She was sent out here from Townsville to housekeep for her great-uncle.’
To Sally’s surprise, Luke sent her a quick grin, and it was the relaxed, almost cheeky grin that had been so appealing last night when they met. ‘My mother reckons Gran was sent out here to keep her away from the Americans.’
‘Why? Because the flashy and handsome American airmen might lead her astray?’
‘Something like that.’
‘But instead the Americans came to your grandmother.’
Smiling at the irony, Sally looked down at the dress she was wearing. She wondered about Kitty Mathieson and whether she had ever danced with an American airman.
‘Was there a romance?’ she asked.
‘Doubt it.’ Luke’s hands tightened on the steering
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