Outback Baby. Barbara Hannay

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      At the sight of his sudden dismay, Gemma felt an urge to grin, but she managed to keep a straight face. ‘Thanks so much, Max. It would be great if you could watch Mollie for half an hour or so. I do have several errands to run—especially if I’m moving house. Let me show you where the clean nappies are…’ She rummaged in the pile of things Isobel had left and produced a freshly folded nappy and a container of baby wipes and, with a deadpan expression, handed them to him. ‘These are what you need.’

      ‘You’re running out on me at a moment like this?’ he asked, clearly horrified. By now he was holding Mollie at arm’s length.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Gemma murmured sweetly, ‘but I really do have important deadlines to meet. You’ll be fine.’ She gathered up her designs and her handbag and rushed out her front door.

      ‘He thinks he’s such a hotshot babysitter, he can manage this one,’ she muttered under her breath.

      But she wished she didn’t feel quite so guilty about deserting him.

      The next day, when Max piloted their plane over the vast property that made up Goodbye Creek Station, Gemma was stunned by the unexpected flood of homesickness that swept through her. It was five years since she’d been back, but she knew the Jardine family holding almost as well as she knew the township of Goodbye Creek, where her own home had been. Her parents had owned a stock and station agency in the town. They had sold up and moved to the coast about the same time she’d gone away to university.

      Now, she and Max were flying back, the plane stacked carefully with the baby’s gear. Max explained that he had a well-equipped study complete with an up-to-the-minute computer and a fax machine, so Gemma only needed to bring her clothes, a box of computer disks and her paperwork.

      They’d left Brisbane just as dawn broke and during the five-hour flight Mollie had alternated between napping and waking for little snacks and drinks. Gemma had kept her entertained with picture books and games of ‘This little pig went to market’.

      Max had chatted very politely about the weather and the scenery beneath them, but it occurred to Gemma that he was behaving more like a newly introduced acquaintance than someone who had known her for more than twenty years. But now, as heart-wrenchingly familiar red soil plains unfolded below, she felt edgy, knowing that once they landed their shared past could no longer be ignored.

      Wriggling forward in her seat, she peered eagerly through the windscreen, wondering why the sight of dry, grassy paddocks and straggly stands of eucalypts should make her feel so soppy and sentimental. Way below, she could recognise the signs of spring merging into summer. Early wet season storms had brought bright green new growth and purple and yellow wild flowers were poking up through the grass.

      Max’s flight-path followed the course of the old creek that had given its name to the district and Gemma noted that water was already flowing down its entire length. She could make out the shallow, rocky stretch of rapids and finally the deeper section they called Big Bend.

      Fringed by majestic paperbarks, this cool, shady pool had been a favourite spot for childhood picnics. At the age of ten, Gemma had rocketed in a tractor tube right through the rapids as far as the Big Bend. She’d been so proud of herself and Dave had been lavish with his praise.

      ‘You’re as good as a boy,’ he’d shouted. ‘You made it the whole way without squealing once. Max, isn’t she great?’

      But Max, of course, had merely grunted and looked bored.

      As they neared the homestead, her sense of nostalgia increased.

      ‘Nearly home,’ said Max, with a contented little smile, as he worked the controls to increase their angle of descent.

      First came the stockyards and the corrugated iron roofs under which hay bales would be stacked to protect them from the rain. Then she could see the smaller, original holding yard, made of old timbers weathered to a silvery grey and built in the rustic post and rail design that had been around since the pioneering days.

      Gemma glanced at Mollie dozing in her little safety seat beside her. ‘Has Mollie been out here before?’ she asked.

      ‘No,’ admitted Max. ‘This will be the first time she’s set foot on Jardine soil. It’s a significant moment.’ He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. ‘All this is her inheritance.’

      ‘Unless you have children of your own,’ Gemma said softly. ‘I guess then they would all be shareholders.’

      He turned and their eyes met. His blue gaze held a disquieting mixture of uncertainty and bitterness. ‘Yeah,’ he said, and then jerked his head back to the front. ‘There’s always that possibility.’

      They swooped a little lower and the familiar sight of the muddy dam dotted with black ducks and the rusty metal skeleton of the old windmill standing sentry nearby made her feel ridiculously emotional. She blinked her eyes to clear the misted view. In her imagination, she could hear the squeak and clank of the old windmill as it slowly pumped water to the drinking troughs.

      Within seconds she was exclaiming. ‘Max, my goodness! You’ve installed a satellite dish.’

      ‘Got to keep up with technology.’

      Their plane continued its descent and he nodded to their right, past the machinery sheds and workshops. ‘I’ve put in some new windmills, too. That one over there has a solar panel and an electric pump.’

      ‘Is it better than the old one?’ she asked, doubtfully eyeing the shiny modern equipment.

      ‘Too right. Before, it was always a case of no breeze, no water. Now we can get a constant flow if we need it.’

      But the biggest surprise came as they made the final dip towards the airstrip, when Gemma saw the homestead, which for as long as she could remember had been a comfortable but shabby timber home with peeling paint and vine-covered wrap-around verandahs.

      ‘Wow!’ Her breath exhaled slowly as she absorbed the changes. Max’s home was now a showplace. ‘What have you done to the house?’ she asked.

      He was concentrating on making an initial swoop over the strip to clear the ground of horses and birds before attempting a landing. ‘Painted it,’ he muttered tersely as he swung the plane around to double back for the approach.

      Below them, skittish horses cantered out of their way and a flock of cockatoos, feeding on grass seed, lifted their wings to disperse like so many pieces of white paper caught in a wind gust. The plane plunged lower and finally touched down on the gravel runway.

      ‘What a difference,’ Gemma exclaimed, still staring at Max’s house, amazed by the transformation. The homestead’s timber walls were now painted a pretty powder blue, the iron roof was a clean, crisp silver and all the trims and the lattice on the verandahs were gleaming white.

      As they taxied down the short airstrip, Max shot her a cautious glance. ‘You like it?’

      ‘It’s beautiful, Max. I had no idea the old place could look so lovely.’ She was startled to see an unexpected red tinge creep along his cheekbones. ‘Who did the job for you?’

      ‘Did it myself,’ he muttered. ‘During the dry season, of course.’

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