Jo was finding it very difficult to concentrate on her crossword. Breakfast seemed strange without Eliot and Effie sniping affectionately at one another, and as Soapy finished his scrambled eggs and bacon, he studied his wife.

"We'll have to get used to it," he said after swallowing a mouthful of egg. "He'll be gone in a few days, old girl."

Jo didn't react for a moment or two, but then she sighed and put down her pen.

"I know, love. And I know it won't be forever, but he walks in a world I can't even begin to understand and … oh, Soapy, what if he gets hurt?" Her voice finally broke. "What if he can't get home to us, with no-one to take care of him and –"

"Jo … Jo, sweetheart … Eliot has been in situations that even I can't think about and he's survived. He's experienced, one of the toughest men I've ever met, and he's extremely intelligent. He'll be okay, I'm sure. And what makes it easier for him now is knowing we're here if he needs us. Always. And he needs to do this, you know that."

Jo nodded reluctantly.

"Yes … I know." She knuckled tears from her eyes. "But … oh, what's the use? Worrying won't make anything better, will it? So … today. Worming the horses, right? I'll give you a hand."

Soapy regularly treated the horses for parasites with a liquid wormer.

"You sure?" he said quietly.

"God, yes," Jo snapped. "Anything's better than worrying myself silly. Anyway, it's either that or spending the day filling out paperwork for livestock valuations. Blech," she added, scowling.

Soapy grinned.

"Well then, that's decided. C'mon, wife of mine. Let's go worm horses."

Jo looked at him and smiled shakily.

"Why, you old romantic, Soapy Munro. How can a girl resist?"

And putting away her crossword, she went into the house to put on her work boots.

Soapy's grin faded. God, Eliot's departure was going to be tough.

Eliot awoke from a deep sleep, wrapped cosily in his sleeping bag, Gertie snoozing beside him. He could hear her grumbling in her chest, a kind of Gertie-snore, he decided.

He lay there for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the bush and studying the clear, washed-blue of the sky. This was his last morning out here in the wilderness. The last full day he would spend alone here in his beloved outback with Gertie before taking his leave of Wapanjara and its people. His home. His family.

But even as he felt the desolation of leaving this place he loved, there was a new feeling in his heart. Anticipation. He knew now he needed to spread his wings and walk the world as Eliot Spencer, a man alone and in charge of his own destiny and nobody's killing machine.

Well, he thought, it's time to move. Get up, Spencer. The day's a-wastin'.

Crawling out of his sleeping bag and disturbing a sleepily grouchy Gertie in the process, he stretched and studied the little creek nearby. The day was cool yet, but warmth was quickly beginning to creep into the air and he knew it would be hot enough soon to make the day a pleasant one.

There was a chest-deep pool in the creek, the water clear and fresh, so he stripped off, the warming breeze tickling his bare skin, and wandered over to the water, walking slowly into the crystal-clear depths. The water was chilly, and his sucked in his breath as he submerged himself, the cold making his lungs constrict.

He floated and splashed and swam a little, and Gertie stood and honked at him from the edge of the water, but after a while he waded out of the pool, dripping, and sat in the sun to dry off.

Sitting on a rock as the sun warmed and dried him, Eliot ate a breakfast of cold meat and Auntie's delicious wattlewood damper, finished off with a handful of wild passion-fruit. He had found the latter on a bush beside the creek, hidden from the winter weather and still having a few of the fruits left where the birds hadn't found them. The fruit was over-ripe due to being out of season, but still sweet.

As he dressed he checked his healed wounds. The scars on his torso were now pink lines, and the hole in his leg was nothing but a small, knotted mark. His side still pulled at him sometimes. The wound had been deep and the infection had been insidious and, he now realised, would have been lethal had Jo not saved him with her medical skill and her sheer determination not to let him die. A good reminder, he thought, that his life was now his own. With her care and tender heart Jo Munro had made him a free man.

Lacing up his boots, he stood up, tidied up his campsite and settled himself astride Gertie. Turning her southwards, he touched his heels to her shoulders.

"C'mon Gertie," he said. "Let's go home."

Jo and Soapy sat on the veranda after a long, hot, grubby day. Soapy was nursing a bruised shoulder from being head-butted by a recalcitrant horse who found the anthelmintic wormer not to its liking, and Jo was just bone-tired. The crew had headed off to have an impromptu barbecue outside the barn, and although Soapy and Jo would normally join them, Jo was not feeling up to it, she said.

So there they sat, relaxing in one of the warmest days of this late winter, a fresh pot of tea between them. Effie wandered through with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and sat down on Eliot's recliner.

She poured tea, adding milk, and settled back to gaze at the sunset, the sun blazing orange-red as it hovered just above the hills in the distance. None of them spoke.

Charlie was still spending time with his family, and wouldn't be back for another couple of days, so they were on their own.

Effie sighed and sipped her tea. Soapy munched on a cookie, and Jo just brooded.

"Well … I suppose I'd better start dinner," Effie muttered. "It's not going to cook its bloody self."

Heaving herself out of the recliner, she lifted her cup and was about to go back to the kitchen when she squinted, her eyes narrowing against the golden light of the sunset.

"About bloody time!" she said, scowling.

Jo looked up, and following Effie's gaze, she shaded her eyes and looked into the distance. Her face broke into a relieved smile.

A shape, shimmering in the late afternoon haze and silhouetted against the light of the setting sun, strode purposefully towards them from the outback. A hand rose in greeting from the figure on the back of the big camel.

Eliot and Gertie had come home.

Eliot's last three days at Wapanjara went by quickly … far too quickly for Jo. Eliot tidied up his room and packed his meagre belongings. He spent a lot of time with Gertie, showing Charlie, now returned from family duties, how she liked to do things and how to work with her. The young aborigine and the big camel got on famously. Old Moke just stood and dozed and found the whole thing thoroughly boring.

On his last day, Eliot said goodbye to the Wapanjara crew. To them he was simply 'Yank,' no more, no less … the man who had saved their boss and the Missus and the grumpy old bint who cooked for them and whom they all adored. The Yank was a hard worker, and a thoroughly decent bloke all round, they decided. Eliot would be missed.

That night, Effie didn't cook. Instead she sat at the dining table, waited on hand and foot by Eliot, who had decided it was his turn to cook for all of them. He had spent the afternoon preparing food and Effie was turfed out of her kitchen and told to relax. She had done enough for him, Eliot decided.

And, Effie mused as she ate, the cheeky young bugger was a bloody good cook.

Thick, juicy fillets of barramundi fried Oklahoma-style with Eliot's home-made coleslaw and green tomato relish, hushpuppies with scallions, and his momma's pecan pie with ice-cream for dessert. Effie was in heaven.

After dinner, with everyone stuffed to the eyeballs with Eliot's food, they settled down to talk. And talk they did. They spoke of plans for Wapanjara, and Charlie talked about his future with Alice Napangardi.

Soapy told Eliot and Charlie about how he and Jo had met, back when he was a young soldier and she a trainee midwife. Jo then said she had thought Soapy was a cheeky arse and Soapy thought Jo was snooty. It was, both agreed, love at first sight.

Eliot talked about the time he had been on a reconnaissance mission at night in Iraq and had slid down an embankment and straight through the rotten carcase of a dead mule. He hadn't been able to get the stink out of his clothes for weeks, and he had spent a lot of time on his own after that until the stench subsided.

But at long last it was time to sleep. Eliot had washed dishes and tidied up Effie's kitchen, knowing if he didn't she would head-slap him. Hard. With that done, he dried his hands and wandered back to the living room. Soapy sat on the sofa, gazing into the fire. Jo had her head on his shoulder and was almost asleep.

"I, uh … I'm gonna turn in," Eliot said softly. "Got a long couple of days comin' up."

Charlie stood up, stretched and yawned.

"I'm knackered." He said, grinning ruefully at Eliot. "Sleep tight, Yank," he said.

"You too, man," Eliot smiled back. "See you in the mornin'. All of you," he added. And turning, he headed off to his room and shut the door quietly behind him.

Jo lifted her head from Soapy's shoulder and blinked sleepily.

"Tomorrow's going to be awful," she said, and dragging herself to her feet she headed to bed.

Soapy continued to gaze at the fire.

Effie sat with her tea in one of the big old comfortable chairs and sighed, but said nothing.

"Effie … he's going to be alright, isn't he? I mean … we shouldn't worry, right?" Soapy murmured.

Effie snorted.

"He'll be fine, Mister M. Remember the night he arrived? I said he was a tough bastard and that he'd do alright, and he was bloody stuffed then … bleeding all over the place and as sick as a poisoned dingo. He's as fit as a butcher's dog now, and he'll be bonzer." She finagled herself out of the chair and headed off to put her cup in the sink to be washed the next day. But she stopped in the doorway for a moment, and spoke without turning around. "Still, it doesn't stop us worrying about the young mongrel, hey? If he gets himself hurt and turns up here again bleeding on the carpet I'm going to knock him bloody silly," she swore, and then she stumped off to her kitchen. Soapy could have sworn he heard her sniffle.

Soapy sat for a long while, thinking about how their lives had changed. When Eliot left, would life go back to what it was before he had stumbled into their existence, a battered and hurt soul with no hope? Soapy smiled suddenly, his dark eyes warm with laughter. He doubted anything would ever be the same again. And, he knew, he was glad of it.

Stiffly easing himself to his feet, he headed finally to his bed.

The day dawned bright, beautiful, and with the crystal clarity that came with the first hint of spring. The air carried the scent of eucalyptus and the magpies chimed and fluted in the almond stand, much as they had the day Eliot Spencer had emerged from a life-threatening fever and found he still had a future.

Jo passed the open door to Eliot's room, and saw that he had stripped the bed and remade it with fresh sheets and pillowcases, each bed corner folded with military precision and clinical efficiency. The space, Jo realised with a jolt, was now nothing more than a spare room, somewhere for the occasional visitor and nothing more. It was as though Eliot had never been there.

Instead she found his backpacks sitting beside the screen door on the veranda, and his now-repaired Ducati awaiting him in the yard, a newly-bought helmet perched on the seat.

Eliot was nowhere to be seen.

Jo stood for long moments and stared at the two backpacks. It wasn't much, she thought, to show for a life. Eliot, as far as she was aware, had no other belongings. He had been a drifter, someone with no attachments, no responsibilities other than to himself. Now he had Wapajara, and he had people who cared about him … people who loved him for who and what he was. She hoped it was enough, and that he would be well and whole in his new life.

She suddenly heard a rumbling gurgle, and it made her smile, even though her heart was breaking.

Eliot was saying goodbye to Gertie.

"Hey, dumb-ass," Eliot murmured as Gertie wandered over from the mulga tree to see him and get her breakfast carrot, Moke in tow.

Shutting the paddock gate behind him, he was suddenly assailed by Gertie's gentle whiffles as she searched his pockets. Grumbling to herself, complaining about Eliot's tardiness in producing the carrots she knew he had hidden about his person, she flapped her bottom lip and moaned.

"Oh, okay, okay … wait a minute …"

And Eliot pulled two carrots from his pocket, giving one to Moke and the other to Gertie, who inhaled it and chewed with relish.

Eliot scratched Gertie under her chin and smoothed his other hand over her velvet muzzle, and the huge camel began to hum with pleasure. Moke rubbed her head over Eliot's back, hoping for another carrot.

"Well, darlin', today's the day." For some reason Eliot didn't want to acknowledge, his voice suddenly hitched, and Gertie's sharp ears caught the change in tone. "I got places to go, people to see," he continued, and Gertie mumbled at the fingers rubbing her muzzle. Her humming deepened, and Eliot smiled shakily. Damn, he was hating this. "So, you big, hairy bastard, you listen to me. You behave for Charlie, y'hear me? No complainin', no … no whinin' about how hard life is, and don't you give him any crap about not gettin' enough to eat or all that other stuff you bitch about."

Gertie pricked her ears, listening.

Eliot pulled at her lower lip, and Gertie huffed. He only did that when he wanted her to do as she was told with no complaints.

"So, you just do right by him, girl. He's a good guy … he'll look after you, although you'll have to work for a livin', which to be honest isn't a bad idea, you lazy ol' critter."

Gertie snorted indignantly. As if she would complain. She never complained.

"Yes, you damn well do," Eliot insisted, scowling.

Gertie pulled her head free and licked Eliot's face.

"Dammit, Gertie!" he growled, wiping off saliva and goo, and then Gertie pulled out the Big Move, the one that Eliot couldn't resist. She rested her enormous head on Eliot's shoulder, and sighed gently. She just had to tell him she loved him.

Eliot crumbled.

Flinging his arms around Gertie's powerful neck, he buried his face in the wiry curls of her jaw.

She had saved his life. She had given him purpose, and she had given him focus. Gertie was his friend, and she protected him with her solid bulk and loyalty. She had looked out for him when he was hurting inside, and made sure he was safe as he lay bleeding and insensible as the mob of cattle broke around them and when Coetzee had tried to slide a knife into his guts.

God, how he would miss the overwhelming aroma of camel.

They stood quietly for long minutes, Gertie humming quietly and Eliot doing his best to control the pain in his chest.

But, in the end, he had to go. The future beckoned, and life went on.

Pulling away from Gertie's warm, safe presence, he scrubbed his sleeve over his eyes and gave her a final scratch under the chin.

"Gotta go, sweetheart. You be good, and I'll be back. I don't know when, yet, but we'll go bush when I get back, I promise. Look after Moke."

And pulling away, he left the paddock and headed for the house. He did not look back.

Jo, Soapy and Effie were waiting for him. Eliot felt a slight pang of disappointment because there was no sign of Charlie, but, he decided, he would deal with it.

Jo walked forward and stood beside the Ducati, and as Eliot dug the motorbike keys out of his pocket, she smiled up at him and put a hand on his chest. She could feel the beat of his heart against her palm. He bottom lip quivered, but she controlled the emotion of it all and patted his chest.

"Now then, my boy, you be careful, alright? Try not to take any more risks than you absolutely have to, and you know where we are if you need us. Day or night … you call or … or … oh hell, you just come home when you can. Call us and let us know how you are, and for goodness sake, Eliot, take care of yourself!"

Eliot reached around Jo and pulled her to him, hugging her as hard as he dared. This small, slender woman had saved his life when he thought he had nothing worth living for, and he loved her to bits.

"I will, Jo," he murmured into her silvery curls, and he felt the tears dampen his shirt. "Aw hell, don't start cryin' … women and cryin' … jeez …" and Eliot tried not to sniff.

The pair of them stood there for a minute until Jo pulled herself together and let him go. She stood back and studied him. His blue eyes were clear and warm, and he had a healthy tan. He had put on weight and had filled out, his sturdy frame solid and strong. His dark hair was longer now, and would soon be able to be tied back in a ponytail. And the daft bugger was grinning through unshed tears.

"Just go, will you, before I turn into a mushy bloody mess!" Jo grumbled.

Eliot's grin widened.

"Yes ma'am!" he replied.

Effie stumped forward and glared up at the American. Eliot warily waited for her to do something … say something … but all she did was raise her right hand. Eliot tried not to flinch, expecting a gentle head-slap, but instead Effie's pudgy hand suddenly lay against his cheek.

Muddy eyes softened, and the little cook gave Eliot a crumpled smile.

"Listen to me, you young bludger," she rumbled.

Eliot's face became solemn.

"Yeah, Effie." He said respectfully.

"You behave yourself, you hear me? You eat properly, and for goodness sake try to stay out of trouble. Although, knowing you, trouble will bloody well find you, you silly bastard," she added almost as an afterthought.

"Yeah, Effie," Eliot replied.

"And if you so much as get a paper-cut don't come crying to me, you mongrel! I'm tired of mopping up blood and trying to keep your clothes hole free, y'hear?"

"I hear you," Eliot agreed.

Effie scowled.

"Well … that's alright then," she growled quietly. She looked up into Eliot's amused gaze, and nodded. "You be safe, boy. If you need us, we're here. Always." She patted his cheek and dabbled tears from her cheek with her other hand.

Eliot suddenly caught Effie's face in both hands and gave her a smacking kiss on the forehead.

Effie shrieked.

"You cheeky little bugger!" She whacked his chest, and Eliot tried to hug her, which he knew she would detest. "Don't you bloody dare!" she bellowed, but Eliot caught her and gave her a hug and Effie instantly melted.

"I love you too, Eff," Eliot whispered, his voice raspy with emotion.

Effie said something but his shirt muffled her words, although he could have sworn it was something affectionately rude.

When Eliot finally let her go, Effie was red in the face, and Eliot wasn't sure whether she was embarrassed, angry or blushing.

"Get going, Yank," she said, her voice breaking. "Oh, and there's a box of something sweet in your bag."

Eliot brightened.

"Let me guess – lamingtons," he said.

Effie grinned.

"Nah." Her grin softened. "Your mum's pecan pie," she said, and the love in her voice made his heart ache. He would miss Effie dreadfully.

Nodding his thanks, he turned to Soapy, who held out his hand.

"Be careful out there in the world, Eliot," the little pastoralist said. "Be safe, and come home when you can. I've got work for you to do. Fences don't mend themselves, y'know."

Eliot shook Soapy's hand and agreed.

"I'll get to 'em as soon as I can," he said, knowing he would like to do nothing more than spend his time fixing barbed wire fences. But in the meantime, he had other things to do.

Then a thought popped into his head.

"By the way … I've always wanted to ask you something," he said.

Soapy frowned, puzzled.

"What, son?"

Eliot cocked his head and pursed his lips.

"Why the hell are you called Soapy?" he asked.

Jo burst out laughing as Soapy winced.

"It's a long story," he said sheepishly. "But it involved a dare from school pals when I was seven. I tell you, a bar of soap isn't as tasty-looking as it appears," he added, flushing a little.

Eliot snorted, amused.

"But," Soapy continued, "being called Soapy is a helluva lot better than being called Theodore Alphonse Munro Junior, don't you think?"

Eliot's jaw dropped.

"Theodore –"

"-Alphonse, yes, I know," Soapy sighed dramatically. "Those names almost stopped Jo marrying me," he said.

"You didn't like them?" Eliot blinked, studying Jo's face which threatened to redden in embarrassment.

"Nah," Soapy said by way of explanation. "I didn't tell her my proper name until we were in church the day we got married. When she heard the padre read 'em out she could hardly say her vows for laughing."

Jo slipped her arm around Soapy's waist and hugged him.

"I did though, didn't I? Marry you?"

"Yes, old girl, you did. Thank god," Soapy chuckled.

Eliot smiled at them and then took a deep breath and put on his helmet. He had to go. Pulling the Ducati off its kick-bar, he swung astride the big bike and started the engine.

He looked at these three people who meant the world to him.

"Thank you," he said. "For everything."

And putting the bike into gear and releasing the brake, he rode the Ducati out of the yard, past the yards and headed along the road which would take him to the outside world.

The road rose over a low hill, and at the top was a spread of stringybarks spotted here and there with clumps of acacias.

As Eliot rode the Ducati up the hill over the red-dust road, he saw a figure waiting for him.

Charlie Jakkamarra sat quietly on Bomber beside the acacias, and as Eliot slowed the bike and stopped in the middle of the road, the young aborigine rode forward and halted the little gelding beside Eliot.

Taking off his helmet, Eliot smiled up at his friend.

"I thought I might not see you before I left," he said.

"Well, Yank, you thought wrong," Charlie replied, flashing a white grin. "You coming back?"

Eliot nodded.

"Soapy's got work for me to do, so I'd better, huh."

"Too right, mate," Charlie agreed, running a gentle hand down Bomber's rich bay neck. "We'll corroboree when you get back, hey?"

"Strewth, yeah!" Eliot quipped, grinning. Then his face softened. "I'll be seeing you, Charlie Jakkamarra of the Warumungu," he said.

Charlie leaned down and shook Eliot's proffered hand, and they clasped forearms for a second.

"You too, Eliot Spencer of the Aniwaya. Be safe, brother."

"I'll be back for the wedding, kukkaji. And look out for them for me, will ya?"

Charlie touched his fingers to the brim of his stockman's hat in acknowledgement.

"Will do."

And as Eliot put his helmet back on, Charlie backed Bomber out of Eliot's way.

He watched silently as the Ducati carried Eliot away from Wapanjara, and touching Bomber with his heels, Charlie melted back into the bush and was gone.

As Eliot rode away towards the rest of his life, he knew he would return. He would return to Wapanjara, his home, and he would return to his people, and he would work and sweat and be content.

But what he didn't know, not then, was that at some point in the future he would come back to Wapanjara, but this time he would bring the rest of his family with him.

FINIS

Author's note:

Many, many thanks to everyone who has read and commented upon this story. It has been an utter pleasure to read and hear the reactions to it, as it was a bit of a leap of faith to write, with it being a rather strange Eliot-only tale and I wasn't too sure if anyone would like it!

Jo, Soapy, Effie, Charlie – and, of course, dear old gurgly Gertie, will return in GERTIE – THE OUTBACK JOB. And yes, there will be lamingtons, and much, much tea will be drunk.