initial respiration rate, systolic blood pressure—she’d taken that herself before Hamish had started the second drip—and pulse, writing times and numbers, wondering about all the unanswered questions at the top of the form.
‘Asleep?’
Hamish’s quiet question preceded him into the light. She stood up, careful not to disturb their patient, and moved a little away.
‘He wasn’t—just closed his eyes to avoid answering me—but I think he’s genuinely asleep now. I’ve just checked him. His pulse is steadier but his systolic blood pressure hasn’t changed as much as I’d have thought it would, considering the fluid we’re giving him. Do you think there could be internal bleeding somewhere?’
‘It’s likely, and though I’ve sutured part of the wound and put a pressure pad on it, I’d say it’s still bleeding.’
‘That’s more than a guess, isn’t it?’ Kate looked up at the man who sounded so concerned. They’d moved out of the lamplight, but a full moon had risen and was shedding soft, silvery light into the gorge.
‘It’s a long story but we’ve time ahead of us. If you dig into the equipment backpack you’ll find a space blanket to wrap around Jack—there should be a couple of inflatable pillows in there as well. Put one under his feet and one behind his head and cover him with the blanket while I get a cuppa going and find something for us to eat.’
‘And then you’ll tell me?’
Hamish smiled, but it was a grim effort.
‘I’ll tell you what I’m guessing.’
Kate cupped her hands around the now empty mug and looked out at the broad leaves of the cabbage palms that filled the gorge. Hamish’s story of a newborn baby found at a rodeo, the dramatic efforts that had saved his life, the finding of his dangerously ill mother, and the fight to save her life, was the stuff of television medicine, while feuding neighbours and heart attacks turned it into soap opera.
Maybe she’d got it wrong.
She turned to Hamish, sitting solidly beside her at the entrance to the cave.
‘So you think Jack is Charles Wetherby’s nephew, sacked from the family property, run by Charles’s brother Philip, for consorting with the Cooper girl, daughter of the Wetherbys’ sworn enemies who live next door. And you’ve put all this together because his wound is bleeding and you think he has von Willebrand’s disease.’
‘Lucky—the baby—has von Willebrand’s disease and it runs through the Wetherby family,’ Hamish said patiently. ‘Originally, back when Lucky was found, Charles had no idea his nephew had been working at Wetherby Downs, because Charles and Philip rarely spoke to each other. But since Jim Cooper was admitted to hospital with a heart attack, Charles has been anxious about the Coopers’ property and that forced him to speak to Philip—’
‘Who told him about Jack and Megan—OK, I get that bit,’ Kate assured him. ‘And the family feud—I can understand that. But if Jack is Charles’s nephew, and Charles and Philip don’t get on, why’s Jack so against going to hospital at Crocodile Creek? It’s a good uncle and bad uncle scenario—like good cop and bad cop. You’d think he’d be happy to be under his good uncle’s care. Family does count, you know.’
Before the words were fully out, she knew they were a mistake. She didn’t need to look at Hamish to know those darned expressive eyebrows of his would be on the rise.
‘Look,’ she told him, wishing she was standing up and a little further away from him but resigned to making the best of things. ‘The story I told Jack—well, that comes under the heading of nurse-patient confidentiality so, please, pretend you never heard it and don’t you dare breathe so much as a word of it to anyone. I went back to work for a week after my mother died, and if one more person had put their arm around me or thrown me a “poor Kate” look, I tell you, I’d have slit their throat with the nearest scalpel. Stuff happens, and you have to move on. I’ve moved on, and that’s it.’
He nodded but didn’t speak. In the end she had to prompt him.
‘So why’s Jack worried about going to Crocodile Creek?’
‘He has a bullet in his leg.’
Kate turned to frown at the man beside her.
‘This is the bush. Out here, from what I’ve heard, people tote guns all the time. They shoot things—wild pigs and water buffalo and snakes. From the evidence of road signs on the drive up, they even shoot road signs. So he shot himself, gun going off as he climbed through a fence—isn’t that what happens? Or maybe Digger shot him by accident.’
‘So where’s Digger now? If he shot Jack by accident, why would he call for help then disappear?’
‘Because he had to be elsewhere. Had to take his cattle to market or organise a rodeo. I’m a city girl, how would I know where he had to be?’
She saw the glimmer of white teeth as Hamish smiled, but the cheerful expression passed quickly.
‘Outback people aren’t like that. They don’t desert their mates. And Jack’s worried about being disinherited for something that’s happened since his uncle sacked him. My guess is he met up with some unsavoury characters—no doubt innocently, he’s a city kid too, remember—and when he realised something was wrong, he tried to leave.’
‘And someone shot him? To stop him leaving? Someone who’s out there? With a gun?’
Kate must have sounded more panicky than she’d realised, for Hamish put a comforting arm around her shoulders and drew her close. It was probably a ‘poor Kate’ kind of hug and she should have been reaching for a scalpel, but the heavy arm was exceedingly comforting so she let it stay there—even snuggled a little closer.
Not a good idea as far as the immunity was concerned. She unsnuggled and thought a little more about Hamish’s hypothesis.
‘What kind of unsavoury characters might you have out here?’
‘Cattle duffers.’
‘Stupid cattle?’
Hamish laughed.
‘Cattle thieves. They steal cattle from properties in the area. These properties are the size of small countries so their boundaries can’t be watched all the time. The duffers keep the cattle somewhere safe—this gorge would be ideal—until they can alter the brands, then truck them to the markets.’
‘So Jack meets these guys who say come and steal some cattle with us and he does?’ She turned to study their sleeping patient for a moment. ‘He doesn’t look that dumb.’
Hamish turned to look as well, bringing his body closer.
‘No, but say he meets a couple of guys at a pub, and their story is that they’re droving a mob of cattle to a railhead. Something like that. Jack joins, thinking they’re OK, then slowly works out there’s something wrong. I’d say he recognised his uncle’s brand on some of the cattle. He tries to leave and the boss, who’s about to reap a good reward for his thievery, tries to stop him.’
‘With a bullet?’
Bother
