Her Outback Rescuer

She knew it had been a really bad plan to bring Buster, but what choice did she have? Rachel had hugged Buster since she’d come home from hospital. Rachel’s life was hugging her dog and reading her textbooks.

The Ghan had been a dream they’d shared since they were children, to travel through the outback, to see their grandmother’s birthplace, to see the rocks Rachel loved.

It might just haul her out of her misery, Amy had thought, and it was starting to, but ooh, Buster-smuggling could cause complications. Rachel was giggling, but at what price?

‘She won’t go find the conductor,’ Rachel decreed. ‘She won’t leave those appalling children. I’ve met them in the bathroom and they’re awful.’

‘The other guy might.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Buster’s hidden now. He’s safe.’ Rachel looked fondly at Buster, who was peering innocently out from under Amy’s sweater. ‘What a good thing you wore that.’

‘It has its uses. But if anyone searches…’

‘They won’t. And they don’t need to come in here. It’s not like we’re in a classy cabin that has turn downs.’

They weren’t. They’d requested their beds stay up all the time—’as Rachel needs to rest’. No one needed to come near them.

And Rachel was smiling.

Okay, she could live with this.

‘Bed,’ Rachel said. ‘Buster can come under the covers with me. If anyone looks in, we’re fast asleep.’

‘I’d like a shower,’ Amy said doubtfully. ‘But I might wait for a few minutes, just to be sure.’

‘You do that,’ Rachel said and retired to her bunk, Buster with her.

Amy waited for half an hour, holding her breath the whole time.

Nothing.

Rachel and Buster fell asleep.

Okay, they were fine.

She took her towel and pyjamas to the bathroom at the end of the carriage. She showered and washed her hair. She also tried, weirdly, not to think about Hugo. Which was nuts. She had enough to think about without worrying about Hugo Thurston.

She’d seen Rachel smile. She should be happy.

She was happy. She emerged from the bathroom feeling clean and determinedly cheerful.

The conductor was emerging from the second compartment.

‘Miss,’ he said as he saw her, ‘have you seen a dog?’

Miss stopped in her tracks. To say she felt at a disadvantage was an understatement. She was wearing pink satin pyjamas with cream lace trimming, with fluffy pink flip-flops to match. She’d bought Rachel beautiful nightwear when she’d moved from hospital to rehab. Normally Amy slept in a T-shirt and knickers, but on the train, with a shared bathroom, Rachel had decreed they’d share her pretty ones.

So she was respectable—almost—but she didn’t feel respectable. She felt numb with panic. She stared down at her pink-painted toenails in her fluffy pink flip flops and tried to decide what to say.

Had she seen a dog?

‘Urn… no,’ she lied.

‘We’ve had a report there’s a dog in this carriage,’ the man said. ‘I’ve had orders to search.’

‘Ooh,’ Amy managed. ‘Have you searched us?’

‘You’re in?’

‘Compartment Seven.’

‘I’ve done One and Two,’ the guy said grimly. ‘I’ll get to you in a minute.’

‘There’s no need. My sister’s asleep. She’s been ill. Please don’t disturb her.’

‘Orders are to search the whole carriage.’

‘But…’

‘No exceptions.’

‘Okay,’ Amy said faintly. ‘Just search quietly in Seven. Oh, and I might not be there. I have… I have a date.’

It was ten o’clock and Hugo was going stir crazy.

Maudie was exhausted. She’d headed straight to bed after dinner, to her lovely little bedroom just through the sitting room door. Hugo had a similar bedroom. They had their own palatial bathroom. Luxury.

But Hugo didn’t do luxury. He was accustomed to swags on the ground, to sleeping rough. He’d had over a month of soft living since his grandfather’s death had brought him home, and he wasn’t enjoying it any better now than he had at the start.

He was also bored out of his mind, aching to be back with his unit.

He had a television. Who wanted to sit on the Ghan and watch telly?

He had a murder mystery to read but he’d already figured out the murderer. What fun was there in that?

He could go to the lounge car and meet people.

Yeah, right.

Scrabble was the last of an appalling list of alternatives but he found himself organising letters. Trying to remember how to spell absquatulate.

Thinking of a brown-eyed dancer with an appetite for cold steak.

He found himself grinning, and he hauled himself back from the brink with a jerk. If Maudie even suspected what he was thinking…

He was not thinking.

A knock on the door. Yes! Anything to escape this boredom. He flung the door wide, so hard the man behind stepped back in alarm.