Chapter Eleven – Hang on Tight
Still irritated at Violet, Emma angrily stomped through the garage with a paint bottle and brush in hand. She glanced around the backyard and found her uncle sitting in a chair with a beer bottle in hand. That unfortunately only aggravated her annoyance at being told what to do and when to do it.
"This is not how we make money, Hurtle!" Emma said as she dropped the paint bottle next to him with a thud and threw the brush on top of it.
He jerked in surprise at her stern voice, straightened his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I was talking to a fellow down the road- towed his car over here. Guess what he said? He said when he travelled around the southern Europe they had siesta," he explained casually.
"Well, this isn't Europe or some vacation paradise, this is Cooper's Crossing. We have two tractors to fix and I've promised delivery first thing tomorrow morning," she countered in a no-nonsense voice.
"Geez," Hurtle drawled. "What's gotten into you?"
"You want to paint or fix an engine?" she asked, ignoring his question.
"I see," he muttered. "You've been talking to Violet. What did she say that got you so riled up?"
"Not much," she let on. "She just told me Sam and I are to get married."
Hurtle shrugged. "Would that be so bad?" he asked carefully.
"No one is going to tell me what to do or when to do it!" she replied angrily.
He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Don't mind me," he said. "It's just that it wasn't that long ago that you cryptically said everything had changed. Since you're still seeing the man I was assuming-"
"We're just friends," Emma said quickly.
"Right," he drawled.
Emma glared at him.
"I'll take the paint," he suggested as he got out of the chair and grabbed the bottle.
OOOOOO
"Lima Mike Sierra calling Victor Charlie Charlie, come in DJ!" a frantic voice yelled over the open frequency.
"This is Victor Charlie Charlie receiving," DJ spoke calmly into the microphone.
"DJ, thank goodness!" the voice returned. "It's Mick. Look mate, we have a bit of an emergency out here. Joanne fell off the horse and-"
The transmission ended abruptly only to be replaced by static.
DJ frowned and tried to adjust the frequency. "Come in Lima Mike Sierra," he called.
Geoff made his way over to him and they shared a worried look.
"Lima Mike Sierra, come in please," DJ tried again.
"Yes, DJ. I'm sorry I had to- she's in a bad way. You have to get over here!" Mick shouted anxiously.
Troubled, Geoff leaned in next to DJ and nodded toward the microphone. The radio operator nodded in return.
"Mick. Its Geoff Standish here. Could you please tell me what her injuries are?"
"I-" he hesitated. "I don't know. She's unconscious, her breathing is shallow. Her arm is- You've got to come!"
Geoff looked at DJ as the young Greek grabbed the nearest chart. "How far out is he?" the doctor asked forebodingly.
"One and a half hour by road," DJ deduced darkly and called the station again. "Stand by for a second Mick. We'll try and get to you soon."
Geoff cast him a curious glance.
"Victor Charlie Charlie calling Mike Echo Bravo, come in Mike Echo Bravo," he said, hoping the man would still be there and pick up.
"Come on Frank," he murmured as he threw a hasty glance at his watch. The flying postman would be just about finished for the day.
"Victor Charlie Charlie this is Mike Echo Bravo," came a rough voice over the line.
DJ let out a relieved breath. "There you are Frank," he said jovially.
"You're in luck DJ I was just about to call it a day. I've enough cookies to last long into tomorrow's flight and a lot of heavy gear to shift," he said.
"Listen Frank, we have an emergency and we need-" DJ began but was cut short.
"I'm not qualified to fly that beast of yours," he protested.
Geoff butted into the discussion. "Frank, its Geoff here. We need your services. I thought maybe I could hitch a ride?"
"Sure, doc. Old Bertha and I can take you onboard but I need to fuel up first and then I need a destination in order to log the flight. Then I must caution you, mate, that I don't know anything about flying ill passengers," he reasoned.
"You need to drop me off at Mick and Joanne. Don't you worry about the rest Frank. We'll sort it out," he assured the old flying postman. "I hope," he added under his breath.
"Go. I'll call Chris over," DJ said seriously.
"Good, Frank. Doc will meet you at the airfield in about ten minutes," DJ said.
"I'll try to be ready, DJ, Mike Echo Bravo out."
Geoff nodded, grabbed his bag and took off.
DJ adjusted the frequency and pressed the call button. "Victor Charlie Charlie calling Lima Mike Sierra. Mick, help is on the way," he said reassuringly.
OOOOOO
Geoff threw a longing glance in the direction of the Nomad and ran up to the small one-propelled aircraft and the white haired man who stood next to it.
"Is she ready?" the doctor asked wrinkling his nose, not at all happy about having to hijack the mail plane.
"As ready as she can be I suppose," he returned calmly and climbed into the cockpit.
Geoff sighed and opened the door on the opposite side of the airplane to climb in. It was with morbid fascination he wondered if the old craft would keep it together during the ride.
Within a minute the airplane climbed into the air at a slow but steady pace.
Seeing the tension and anxiety on the doctor's face Frank couldn't help but to smile reassuringly at him as he levelled out just atop of the trees. "Relax Doctor Standish. She might not look airworthy but she's a very formidable aircraft," he said in amusement.
Geoff watched him gently tap on fuel indicator gauge as it jumped back and forth. "You…you're sure you have enough?" he questioned carefully.
OOOOOO
George Baxter walked into the lobby of a fashionable building downtown of Broken Hill. He glanced around until he spotted what he was after. The broker was situated on the third floor. Satisfied he walked over to the elevator and waited for it to arrive. A man clad in a tailored business suit walked up bedside him to take the same car, they nodded curtly at each other. George pursed his lips unhappily as the man stepped in before him. The well-clad businessman made the politician look cheap in his jacket and chinos. Stealing another glance at the other man George pushed the button to the third floor.
Seconds later he walked out of the elevator and into a fashionable corridor where he was greeted by a well-dressed woman in her fifties.
"Hello, sir. How can I help you?" she asked politely.
"My name is George Baxter. I had an appointment with a Mr. John Bellford," he said.
She beamed at him. "Yes, one moment please. Mr. Bellford is in his office but he's discussing a sensitive matter with another client. Would it be okay to wait here while they finish?" she asked.
He gave her a polite smile as he took off his hat. "Certainly," he said.
"Can I get you anything while you're waiting?" she asked softly. "Coffee, tea?"
"Do you know how long it will take?" he replied. "I have some other meetings to attend to while in town."
"I'm sure it won't be long," she assured him curtly.
"In that case, I'll pass," he answered.
Ten minutes later an irritated George Baxter was shown into an office further down the corridor and presented to the broker.
Mr. Bellford, a man in his early thirties with good looks and blond hair shook his hand politely and motioned for him to sit down while he walked behind his desk to take a seat.
"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Baxter," he said smoothly. "As I recall from your phone call you were interested in a smaller farm neighboring your own near the area of Cooper's Crossing."
"That is correct," he said.
Bellford nodded and smiled as he handed over a folder. "This is everything we've received on the property, complete with tax, amount of livestock, the condition of the house and barn and so on," he said.
George scanned the documents in the folder and nodded.
"As you well know, Mr. Jensen was very specific about not selling the farm to any of his neighbors," he cautioned.
"For the right price I'm sure he would have no problem with that," George returned in self-assurance.
Bellford shrugged. "We have several customers already interested in the property Mr. Baxter. I am curious, what makes you think your offer isn't rejected," he asked.
"Because I'll offer the market value and add five percent. That's more than anyone else would be willing to pay for it and, considering the location, no one else would benefit from owning a small piece of land in the middle of nowhere," he replied.
"The bidding will be a closed session from this office, Mr. Baxter. It will not take place on location," the broker cautioned.
"I understand," he said.
"The biddings will be brought to my attention by phone or courier and I'll keep a dialogue with the interested parties until there is only one remaining top bidder," he explained.
George nodded. "I hope you'll not drag it out," he drawled.
"I assure you, the bidding will be a smooth and quick process," Bellford returned. "Now, if you'll excuse me I have other matters to attend to."
George refrained from a smart retort about being a local politician and a very busy business man, instead he curtly nodded at the man opposite him before he put on his hat, took his portfolio and headed out in the corridor.
"John" Joshua Bellford broke into a cautious grin as Baxter walked out of his office. The Jensen's where almost like a family to him, having taken care of him when he was little. George might not recall the blond young man from the farm because he'd left only a year after the Jensen's had moved to the property outside Cooper's Crossing but Joshua clearly remembered him.
Establishing himself as a star broker he'd quickly gotten lucrative customers and a good reputation. When the couple he'd grown up with had to sell the farm that they loved, complete with all the animals and such, because of the drought and George Baxter's unfriendliness, Joshua had naturally offered to sell the farm for them. He would see to it that if George had to get his hands on the property he would pay well for it.
OOOOOO
To be continued
