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  ‘Well, mum’s always been there for me, and although she hasn’t always agreed with what I’ve done, she’s tried to understand why I’ve done them. She certainly understood why I was so down in the dumps after Elaine died. We were going to get married after we came back from overseas, and that meant Mum would get her grandchildren. So, no daughter-in-law, no grandchildren.’

  A sympathetic look came into Julie’s eyes. ‘You never told me anything about Elaine, other than you lost her. Was it so bad an experience that you don’t want to talk about her?’

  ‘It was altogether too bad an experience. The whole thing seemed so unfair. We’d planned on doing so much together—’ He broke off.

  Julie laid a hand on his arm. ‘It’s all right, I understand. You don’t have to say anything more.’

  ‘No, it’s been years. I can talk about her now.’ Baxter cleared his throat. ‘We met in our last year at high school and hit it off straight away. We were both going to study journalism, and we had great plans to head overseas after graduation. I’d get a chef’s position in Paris or London, and we’d explore Europe.’

  Julie squeezed his arm and he gave her a grateful half-smile.

  ‘I was into gymnastics and martial arts, and Elaine was very outdoorsy. She used to run with me. But then . . .’ He swallowed. ‘In our second year at uni, she started having trouble keeping up with me. I told her to get a check-up, but unbeknown to me, she’d already had some tests. She didn’t want to tell me what they revealed.’

  ‘Cancer.’

  Baxter nodded. ‘Leukaemia. It was pretty severe and she went downhill fast. Nothing did any good. When she died, I felt the world had come to an end. All our dreams were gone. I was going to chuck university—but Mum, good old Mum, said that was the last thing Elaine would have wanted me to do.’

  Julie gave his arm one last squeeze, then slid her hand away. Its warmth lingered.

  For some reason, Baxter wanted to keep talking about Elaine, even though it was painful. ‘The thing was, Elaine was a mate. We did almost everything together and had long talks. Of course I found her attractive—she was a beautiful blonde girl with a great smile. But she stood out from all the others. There was nothing small about her.’

  Julie was the same, Baxter thought, as he looked at the woman beside him. She wasn’t so much like Elaine, but she stood out just as Elaine had.

  Then he realised he’d been staring at her without saying anything, maybe for a little too long. He quickly glanced away.

  ‘It sounds like Elaine had a great attitude to life,’ Julie said.

  ‘She did. I was lucky to meet her, even though we weren’t together very long. She sort of set the standard for a girlfriend. That’s about the size of it, Julie.’

  ‘Thank you. I can see you don’t like talking about it, even now.’

  ‘I wouldn’t talk about it to just anyone.’

  They sipped their juice without taking their gaze from the river.

  Eventually Julie put her glass down on the little table beside her chair. ‘Greg, I want to thank you, belatedly, for what you did for me. No, don’t stop me. I was really uptight when I went to you. I was ready to take on every man in sight. You were very kind and never tried anything. Other fellows did try. It’s the price a woman pays for having looks and a decent figure, and I thought martial arts was the answer.’

  ‘You certainly seemed very troubled.’

  ‘I was.’ Her expression smoothed out, and she had a faraway look in her eyes.

  He hoped she’d tell him more, especially after all he’d just said about Elaine.

  She focused back on him. ‘What really bugs me,’ she said, ‘is that so many people won’t accept that a man and a woman can just be friends. If I keep coming out here, everyone will say we’re having an affair. But I’d like to go out fishing with you on a regular basis—just as a friend.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘Would you?’ asked a stunned Baxter.

  This was the first time Julie had reached out to him in any way. The longer he thought about it, the more stunned he was.

  ‘Yes, I would,’ she said. ‘When I needed a man I could trust—I mean, apart from my dad—you were there for me, and I don’t think you’ve changed.’

  ‘But look, Julie, as much as I respect you for the dedication you showed as my student, and as much as I admire what you’ve achieved professionally, the basic fact remains that . . .’ He didn’t know how to put it delicately.

  Her eyebrows lifted. ‘You’re still attracted to me?’

  He laughed in relief. ‘Of course I am.’

  But Julie wasn’t laughing. ‘It always gets back to sex.’

  ‘It’s not as bad as you think. I can’t help how I feel—if men didn’t feel that way about women, the world would come to a halt—but you can come fishing with me any time you want. I won’t promise not to look, but I’ll never lay a finger on you, or say anything to make you uncomfortable.’

  She considered this.

  ‘It’ll be the same as when you were my student,’ Baxter added, ‘except this time you’re the expert.’

  ‘All right, I see what you mean.’

  ‘You’d have to give me the green light before I’d start anything,’ he said with a smile, and finally she smiled back.

  Julie was definitely reaching out to him, he reckoned—not for sex, obviously, but for something she hadn’t experienced since the death of her father. She wanted a mate.

  He saw that her eyes were on him, but she didn’t speak.

  ‘I thought about you quite a lot, Julie,’ he confessed. ‘I reckoned you could do almost anything if you set your mind to it. To be honest, I was shocked to find you back here. Not that Moondilla isn’t a lovely place to live, but not for the Julie Rankin I knew.’

  ‘I told you why I came back,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Sure you did. Your people needed you and you came.’ He leaned a bit closer and spoke more gently. ‘And maybe, just maybe, the anger burned out, and being close to your people was more important than your ambition.’

  ‘True enough.’ That faraway look was creeping back into her eyes.

  ‘Well,’ he said, giving her a reassuring grin, ‘I’m very pleased you’re here—because I need all the help with fishing I can get.’

  The mood lightened. Julie smiled and got to her feet, picking up their glasses. ‘I’m not the best, but I do know a fair bit about it.’

  ‘I’m just a rank amateur who could use some expert help. I’ve gained most of my knowledge from books and magazines.’

  ‘If I can catch ’em, you can certainly cook ’em,’ Julie said and laughed. ‘I’ll have to be going, Greg—I’m due back at the clinic. Thanks for the lovely lunch. And be careful with that arm!’

  He put on a mock-solemn expression. ‘Yes, Dr Rankin, I’ll try to.’

  As she was walking to the front door, Julie bent down to give Chief a scratch behind the ears.

  ‘Almost forgot to ask,’ Baxter said, ‘is there a vet in Moondilla? Chief’s due for a parvo and distemper.’

  ‘A vet. Yes, there’s a vet. She’s young, attractive and . . . well, unmarried.’

  Baxter chuckled. ‘For goodness sakes, Julie. Don’t tell me you’re in league with my mother, trying to push me into marriage?’

  They both laughed.

  ‘Is she also a good vet?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep. Sarah Morrison is the lady for you. I have a meal with her occasionally and we compare notes. Now we’ll have you to discuss.’ She gave him a cheeky grin. ‘I reckon you’ll like Sarah.’

  ‘The important thing is whether Chief likes her. He’s a very discriminating dog where humans are concerned.’

  Baxter watched as the German Shepherd nuzzled Julie’s hand while staring up at her with adoration in his big dark eyes. Then Julie ruffled the thick hair around his neck and he made a soft sound of contentment.

  ‘You’re a lovely dog,’ she told Chief. ‘Just the kind of dog every Gre
g Baxter should have, except that there is only one Greg Baxter.’ She shot Baxter a grin and brushed dog hair from her slacks as she stood up. ‘See you again before too long—and I’ll bring some bait with me.’

  •

  ‘Ah, well, Chief,’ Baxter said, when Julie had left, ‘we’d better go to the vet. She’ll give you a needle in the neck, which you won’t like, but I don’t want to lose you.’

  He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed the German Shepherd’s whole body drooped at the mention of the word ‘vet’.

  Two blessedly uneventful days passed before Baxter drove a reluctant Chief to his appointment. Sarah Morrison was indeed a lovely young woman, and she handled the dog with great care and professionalism. But Chief clearly wasn’t on quite the same high as he’d been around Julie. Neither was Baxter.

  ‘That’s a great spot by the river you’ve got there, Mr Baxter,’ Sarah said with a friendly smile. ‘I was over there a couple of times. Old Harry gave me a flathead once.’ Her lips quirked. ‘Julie told me you cooked her a great fish lunch.’

  What hadn’t Julie told her, Baxter wondered.

  ‘Yes, it’s a terrific spot,’ he said. ‘Too good really. It lures one away from the desk.’ He hooked Chief’s leash on—the dog was still casting him black looks of betrayal—and led him to the door. ‘I’d better push off. Nice to have met you, Dr Morrison.’

  ‘I hope you’ll call me Sarah the next time we meet,’ she said, and smiled in a way that let him know she was interested in seeing more of him.

  ‘And I’m Greg,’ he said, smiling too. But he didn’t ask her out for a coffee.

  •

  Later that day, sitting on his verandah, Baxter reviewed the positives of the past week, trying to keep the negatives at bay.

  His circle of Moondilla acquaintances had increased by three—two of them female. His mother would be over the moon if he told her that he’d met up with Julie again. Not to mention a young female vet who might be interested in him.

  But while entertaining Sarah would be pleasant, it wasn’t the ideal route to book authorship. Women could be relied upon to waylay one’s best intentions. Besides, they weren’t allowed for in his budget. Sarah was more affluent than him, and she wouldn’t expect him to be a cheapskate.

  Of course, his mother didn’t understand his reluctance to start a relationship. Though she’d written half a dozen books, they were cookbooks. She simply compiled a whack of recipes and then employed a top photographer. The formula was the same whether the recipes originated in Australia, Asia or anywhere else.

  A novel was an entirely different proposition. A novel was tough. A great many people wrote novels, but only a fraction were actually published. It was a long, hard grind, and Baxter couldn’t afford to mess around with women. Well, unless she was a very special woman, one who stood out.

  He decided to think about something else.

  His mind drifted to the drug problem. The only good side was that a drug bust in Moondilla could form the basis for another book. There was this fellow Franco Campanelli, who sounded like a creep if ever there was a creep—he’d make a colourful character. The Mr Big of the drug scene. Baxter didn’t want to just write about him, though. He wanted to take him on.

  CHAPTER NINE

  In the expectation that he’d at least have Julie Rankin to entertain, Baxter decided he needed some extra refreshments. Although reluctant to spend a lot of money, he thought he should pick up some wine, in case Julie preferred it to orange juice. The Family Hotel stocked a decent selection. So Baxter drove into town one Saturday morning, bought his groceries and then went to the hotel.

  On his passage through the back saloon, his eyes lit upon a very attractive blonde woman, probably in her early thirties. She appeared to have a lot of class: she certainly stood out from everyone else in the hotel. He paused, watching her. She was, next to Julie Rankin, the most stand-out woman he’d seen in Moondilla.

  She was in the company of a dark-haired man who might have been a good stamp of a fellow in his younger days. But he’d clearly imbibed more booze than was good for him; his face was flushed and a very loud argument was in progress. The blonde woman wanted to leave the hotel and her bloke didn’t.

  ‘Ya not going, ya bitch,’ he said heatedly, grabbing her by the arm. ‘I know why you want to leave. That Eytie bastard is back and he wants you to run one of his dirty parties.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Jack.’

  ‘Don’t call me stupid, ya stupid bitch!’

  Jack . . . Jack Drew? Baxter wondered. It seemed almost certain, meaning the woman was probably his wife, Liz.

  She was struggling to pull away from him. ‘I can’t stand Campanelli,’ she hissed, ‘so you needn’t think I’d have anything to do with him, let alone go out on his yacht.’

  ‘More lies, Liz!’ Drew roared.

  ‘You’ve had too much to drink, and I’m not staying here to be insulted.’

  ‘You bloody well are staying if I say so.’ And with that he gave her a backhander across one cheek.

  It must have carried a fair amount of force because Liz stumbled and almost fell at Baxter’s feet. He stooped to help her up, before sitting her down at an adjacent table. She was clutching her face and sobbing.

  There were several people, mostly male, drinking in the saloon as well as at the bar, but not one of them—not even the big bartender—moved to intercede on Liz’s behalf. Baxter glanced around at them and shook his head in disbelief.

  He walked back to where Drew was standing and looked him up and down. ‘That was a gutless, mongrel thing to do. What kind of a man are you to hit a woman?’

  Drew’s face flushed a deeper red as his sodden brain registered these remarks. There was absolute silence in the saloon, and Baxter realised that the other drinkers—those gutless bastards—were waiting for the fireworks to begin. Drunk or sober, Jack Drew had probably ruled the roost around here for years.

  ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ the boozy ex-pug shouted.

  ‘A fellow who thinks that any man who hits a woman is a low creep and a complete mongrel. Not a man at all, just a grub,’ Baxter said coolly.

  ‘Interferin’ bastard. I’ll give you interference.’ Drew rolled up his sleeves. ‘You want to step outside?’

  Baxter laughed in his face. ‘You couldn’t walk that far. You’re too drunk to walk straight, let alone fight.’

  ‘I’ll give you walk,’ Drew said, swaying closer to Baxter.

  Drunk though he was, Drew still knew how to throw a punch. It was obviously second nature to him, and a hook can do a lot of damage. If delivered properly, it can break a man’s jaw, not to mention put him to sleep.

  Baxter harnessed the momentum of the hook with a sharp blow to Drew’s extended arm, turning the ex-pug halfway around. Then Baxter delivered two massive hits, leaving Drew out cold on the carpet.

  A collective gasp rose up from the room as Baxter straightened his clothes.

  Liz was still stooped on the chair, her face swelling. The bartender had at least handed her some ice wrapped in a tea towel.

  Baxter crouched down in front of her. ‘You want to get out of here?’

  She nodded, then smiled as best she could. Tears were streaming down her face, so he handed her a wad of napkins from the bar. Once she’d dried her eyes, he held his arm out for her to take and steered her outside. ‘Your husband won’t be in a fit state to drive you anywhere for quite a while,’ he said. ‘I can take you home.’

  ‘That’s very sweet of you, but I’m fine. Our car’s just over there.’

  She started walking across the hotel courtyard and he stayed by her side. He honestly didn’t think she was up to driving—her right eye was swollen shut, and at the very least she’d be pretty uncomfortable without the ice she was pressing to her face.

  ‘I’ll be happier to know you’re home safely,’ he said.

  But Liz’s attention was suddenly elsewhere. ‘Oh, Christ,’ she muttered.

&
nbsp; He glanced around. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘It’s coming towards us. That big fellow and his sidekick.’

  ‘HEY YOU,’ a huge voice boomed across the hotel courtyard. ‘What are you doing with that woman?’

  ‘Keep walking,’ Baxter said softly. ‘Take no notice of him. Is it Campanelli?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Campanelli.’ Liz was shaking.

  Baxter opened the car door for her, and then turned around and took in the two men behind him. Campanelli was very stout with a slightly reddish complexion; he looked like an Italian tenor beginning to put on weight. He was dressed in an ill-fitting but expensive suit. His companion was a thickset thug with ginger hair and mean eyes.

  ‘Are you a relation of this lady?’ Baxter asked Campanelli.

  ‘No, but what are you doing with her?’ the man retorted arrogantly.

  ‘It’s none of your business what I’m doing with her, but as she and her husband aren’t in a fit state to drive, I’m taking the lady home. That satisfy you?’

  ‘The hell it does.’

  Baxter straightened to his full height and glared down at Campanelli. ‘I’ve answered your question and my advice is for you to waddle off home, Fatso. If you stay here, you’ll find yourself in a heap of trouble.’

  ‘Skeeter,’ Campanelli said harshly, looking at his goon, ‘feed this clown a knuckle sandwich.’

  Skeeter rushed forward and threw a roundhouse punch that missed Baxter by a metre or so. As the goon prepared to throw another, Baxter gave him a terrific blow that virtually lifted him off his feet, then dumped him on the ground.

  ‘Are you hard of hearing, Campanelli?’ Baxter asked calmly. ‘I told you to waddle off home. You’ve got no business here.’

  Wide-eyed, Campanelli looked at his man on the ground. Then he lunged at Baxter. Keeping his cool, Baxter stepped to one side, slapping Campanelli on one side of the face, then the other—very substantial slaps that flipped the big man around.

  ‘Get going, Fatso,’ Baxter said, and kicked him in the backside.

  This threw Campanelli off balance, and he fell facedown on the ground.