Violets in February (7 page)

“I didn't want to be a burden. It made you mad to bring me anyway. And I don't need mollycoddling.” She wrapped her arms tightly across her middle, wishing fervently she hadn't been made to come. She had no idea what God was thinking, leaving her alone with this uncouth man for so long. Although, she had to admit, he did clean up well.

He heaved a sigh. “Don't you come the raw prawn with me. I've seen my fair share of serious injuries and know from personal experience what severe pain's like.” He pulled the cap off the needle with his teeth and spat it inside the truck. “Believe me; I have no intention of mollycoddling anyone, especially you. This is the anti-nausea.” He yanked open the door. “Arm or leg?”

“Arm.” She closed her eyes. Something cold brushed against her arm, followed by the sharp sting of the shot.

“I'll go get the pain meds. Don't move.”

“Can't move,” she whispered.
Please, God, do something, anything. Just get me through the next day. He can't be all bad, but…

Her eyes flung open as another needle pierced her skin. “What was…?” She broke off, instantly woozy. Her vision blurred and her head swam. “What did you—?” Her eyes fluttered closed as bright light surrounded her.

~*~

Jed fastened the seatbelt, and tucked the faded blanket from the back of the Ute around her. He shut the door and strode to the back of the vehicle. He'd never known a woman like her. She could whinge and earbash like a good'un, but at the same time, he was starting to feel sorry for her. She didn't want to be here anymore than he wanted her around.

He fastened the back cover on the Ute and went around to the driver's side. The woman was as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike. And he didn't have time for…

Jed shook his head.

All these women were the same. She'd be just like his succession of foster mothers. He'd never meet her high standards. No matter how hard he tried. OK, she was unlikely to lock him in the dunny without supper, or stub a smoke out on him, but could he take the chance on letting himself become emotionally involved with anyone who believed in a God who allowed kids to suffer?

No.

No, he couldn't.

Not when he was one of those kids.

No matter how much he wanted kids of his own one day. Just a darn shame he'd have to put up with a wife in order to get them.

It had to be this way. He had to be alone. It was safer.

He started the Ute, and set off. Hopefully, he'd go more than half a mile this time before having to stop again. Reaching down, he grabbed the radio. Time to call in. “Hey, Pete, it's Jed. Are you there?”

“Sure am.” Pete's voice crackled over the airwaves. “You on the way back?”

“Not exactly. I have one of the medics with me.”

“Who?”

Jed paused. The airwaves weren't exactly safe, and he didn't want the guerrilla's finding out he had a sheila with him—especially one who couldn't run away. They'd be sitting ducks. He was a pretty good shot, but even he couldn't fight off a whole platoon of armed men. “One of the docs. We're heading to one of the hospitals to pick up some urgent supplies.”

The Ute lurched over the road. The suspension creaked.

“The rains are coming.” Pete sounded worried.

“I know and believe me, mate, if I had a choice, I would not be doing this.” He glanced up at the sky. “I'm hoping we make it before it gets too wet out here.”

“Where are you now?”

“In the Ute,” he snapped. “Roughly thirty miles out from the mission. The best I can do on these back roads is crawl along at a whopping fifteen miles an hour, twenty at the most.”

“Step on it.”

Jed cursed as the Ute hit another rut. “I'm trying, but the roads ain't the best.”

“Radio in every two hours.”

“Will do. Out.” He replaced the mic and turned the music up full blast. His fingers tapped in time to the drums and bass filling the vehicle. He began to hum and ended up singing full belt, forgetting for a while he even had a passenger.

Three hours later, he parked and jumped out for what foster mother number seven called a comfort stop. He headed into the bush, his senses on full alert. Aware of the gun tucked into the back of his pants, he untucked his shirt to cover it.

Back at the Ute, Dr. Boyd was still out of it.

“Long may silence reign.” He pulled a wipe from the pack in the door and rubbed it over his hands. Tucking it into the garbo-bag, he got back in the Ute and started her up.

An hour further down the road, the doctor still hadn't stirred. Was that normal? Reaching over, he shook her. “Time to wake up, doc.”

There was no reaction, not even a murmur.

He slowed to a stop and yanked up the handbrake. He shook her harder. “Dr. Boyd?”

Lucy's head rolled towards him.

Wow. He realized with a jolt how pretty she was. Full lips, long lashes, small nose, with her blonde hair framing her face, loose strands hanging over her cheek.

He reached out, gently pushing the strands back. Her skin was soft and for a moment, he was tempted to kiss her.

Then his senses returned. “Grow up, Jed,” he scolded himself. “She's not sleeping beauty. Kissing her is the most idiotic idea you had in years.” He shook her harder. “Doc, wake up.” He tapped her cheek. “Come on, Lucy, open your eyes.”

Her eyelids fluttered.

He tapped her again, a little harder. “That's it, come on. Wakey, wakey.”

Her eyes slowly opened.

“How ya doing?”

“I don't…” She sat bolt upright, crying out as she knocked her knee on the door.

His hands gently eased her back in the seat. “Take it easy.”

Lucy struggled to focus on him. “Where am I?”

“In my Ute. We're about sixty miles from your place. It's kinda slow going right about now.”

“We should travel by map,” she muttered. “It's quicker.”

Jed frowned. “Map?”

She reached out and drew two
X's
in the dust on the dashboard. “This is where I live. This is the city.” She connected the two marks with a line. “See, there. Much faster.” She rubbed her temples slowly, and pulled a face as she swallowed.

“Here.” He handed her a piece of gum. “It won't compensate for cleaning your teeth, but I don't have a limitless supply of water. It'll freshen your mouth after being sick earlier.”

“Thanks.” She unwrapped the small piece of gum and put it in her mouth. She chewed slowly. “How long was I out?”

“Three and a half, maybe four hours. I was beginning to think I'd killed you.”

“No such luck. What did you give me?”

“No idea. They packed me up a crate of stuff. Got it from the box with the headache pills in. It started with a....” he faltered. “The box it was in was blue.” He pulled the vial and syringe from where he'd tossed them and gave it to her. “That's the one.”

“Morphine?” she asked, her eyes widening. “How much did you give me?”

“Whatever was in the vial, I didn't really take note. I figured they'd have given me the syringes containing the right dosage and so on.” He frowned. Her reaction seemed a little over the top. “Was that wrong?”

Her smile looked forced, even to him. “Just don't do it again. I'm allergic to morphine.”

“Crikey, you're telling me I could have killed ya?”

“Yes, but you didn't.” She tilted her head. “You know, for a man who claims to have very few emotions, you sure look a little worried.”

Jed snorted.

“Seriously, your emotions are showing.”

“Lady,” he muttered. “I really don't care one way or the other.”

“Uh huh.”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “I just don't want to have to explain to your boss, or mine, for that matter, that I managed to kill a poor defenseless sheila.”

“Oy!” She thumped his arm. “Less of the defenseless.”

“Anyway, now you're awake, do you need to get out before we go on? I want to go at least another hour before we eat.”

“I'm fine.”

“OK.” He shoved hard on the accelerator and the Ute lurched off over the road.

Lucy turned to face the window, letting the air blow over her face. “Don't you have any other music?”

“Nope.”

“Why heavy metal?”

He reached out, turning it down a little, so he could hear her without her having to shout. “Why not?”

“Take this one. ‘Knocking on Heaven's Door.' It's about dying.”

“And?” he demanded, glancing at her before returning his gaze to the road. And he used the term road loosely. “‘Sweet Child of Mine' isn't. That's about a woman and hiding in her hair until the storm passes.”

“So you'd hide behind a woman then?”

Jed scowled. “Why do you take every blasted thing I say and twist it?”

“Why do you have to swear every other word?” she demanded.

“Strewth! The point of heavy metal is you take a story or poem that means something, hence the heavy bit, and put it to rock music. I wouldn't expect someone like you to get it.”

She twisted around to glare at him. “Someone like me?”

“Yeah, someone like you. A do-gooder, holy roller…”

The truck hit a rut and she cried out, grasping her knee. “Just look where you're going. And I happen to like and appreciate music. Just not this kind.”

“Well, I forgot to pack one hundred greatest hymns or Cliff Richard, I'm afraid.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Then I shall suffer in silence.”

Jed swore and flipped off the music. “Better?” he demanded. At the same time he wished she didn't look so darn cute when she rolled her eyes and tossed her head. It wasn't making life any easier for him. He wanted to hate her, needed to hate her, but his whole blasted body was conspiring against him here. Never mind where his mind was taking him at the most inopportune moments.

She smiled. “Much better, thank you.”

He shook his head and glared at the road again. Why'd she have to do that? His heart longed for her to do it again.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Any other Simon and Garfunkel tracks you like?”

She frowned. “Simon and—Oh, right. ‘The Sound of Silence.'” She closed her eyes, pressing her fists into them. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it.”

“Your earring.”

His finger traced the stud in his left ear. “What about it?”

“Isn't that…” Her voice faltered. “Doesn't that mean you're—?”

Jed slammed on the brakes. That crossed the line. How dare she question his manhood like that? Anger spilled from him. “Left is right and right is wrong!” he snapped. “I'm as straight as the next bloke. Just because I'm not married and have tattoos and an earring does not mean I'm gay. Why'd you have your ears pierced?”

He took great satisfaction as she blushed and shifted in the seat. “Well?” he demanded.

“My friend had hers done for her birthday when she was sixteen, and I wanted mine done.”

“So if your friend stuck her head in a gas oven, you'd do the same?”

“No.” Indignation filled her eyes and voice. “It's just—”

“Strewth! I'm gonna put you talking utter bulldust down to the fact you're crook and high on pain meds.” Jed turned off the engine and yanked up the handbrake.

“What are you doing?”

“Gonna bung the billy on for a cuppa.”

“You're going to what?”

He sighed, and opened the door. “Boil some water and make a cup of tea, its dinner time. Crikey. Anyone would think you didn't speak a word of English.”

“I speak English, French, and Swahili just fine, thank you. The jargon you come out with is an entirely different kettle of fish.”

He grinned. “Give me a week, and I'll have you talking Strine like an Aussie.”

“Thought I was a Pommy.”

He cocked his finger at her. “Want some tea, then? You're a Pom, must drink gallons of the stuff each day.”

She nodded. “Tea would be good. Want a hand?”

“No, I can manage. You sit there and rest for a few.” He left the truck and surveyed at the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

There was no way he was going to outrun this storm. No matter how much he wanted to.

6

Jed set the water to boil on the small camping stove. This would take longer than he'd hoped.

Five hours on the road and they'd gone a grand total of eighty-five miles. If he'd been able to use the main road he'd have been two-thirds of the way there by now, if not further. Instead, they were just under half way.

He glanced over his shoulder and sighed.

She was still sitting where he'd left her, but then again, she had nowhere else to go. Not unaided anyway.

Pushing to his feet, he strode to the Ute, and tugged open the door. “Let's get you out.”

“I can manage.” Wounded pride oozed from her, tearing from her voice and eyes.

“Righto.” He backed off and spread his arms wide. “Then manage away.”

Lucy swiveled on the seat, trying to get her leg out. She gasped, her pretty face contorting in agony she couldn't hide.

Jed raised an eyebrow, but kept silent.

“OK,” she whispered. “Maybe I can't.”

He gently swung her legs around. “Pass me the crutches.” Taking them from her, he held them steady. “OK, take hold of them, and then when you're ready I'll help you down.”

Lucy gripped the crutches and nodded slowly. “OK.”

Jed put his hands around her waist, smoothly easing her forwards. “You right?”

She nodded, not putting any weight on her left leg. “Thanks. I, uh…I need a few minutes. Alone…”

He nodded. He had no idea how she was going to manage, and he certainly wasn't going to embarrass either of them by helping her. “I'll stay over here, but keep within shouting distance. Don't go too far.”