Man Drought (31 page)

The others nodded in agreement, and one said, ‘Yeah, do the searchers need sandwiches or something?’

Imogen pressed her hand against her chest, trying to still the emotion that welled there at the show of support from these genuine ladies. Finally, she found the wherewithal to speak. ‘Good idea.’ She’d been too consumed with worry to think of such things. ‘Jenna, do you think you could ring Guy and see if that would help?’

Jenna nodded and reached for her phone. Imogen looked to Pauli, who’d deserted the kitchen because up till now no one had felt much like eating. ‘I’m on to it,’ Pauli said.

The four remaining participants marched into the kitchen behind Pauli. A smile broke out on Imogen’s face and she followed. It felt good – right – to finally be doing something proactive.

Jenna arrived in the kitchen a few minutes later. ‘Guy said they’ve had to scale the search back till tomorrow.’

‘What? How can they give up until they find him?’

‘Gibson, Guy and Warren aren’t giving up. And Guy said food would be much appreciated. He only hopes he can get Gibson to pause long enough to eat.’

Imogen bit her lower lip. She’d take the food out to Roseglen and force Gibson to eat. Then she’d force him to listen. She understood his anguish, but couldn’t bear the thought of him collapsing from weakness and exhaustion. It would do Charlie no good if Gibson made himself ill, but it was herself she was thinking of now.

She’d already lost one love, and she’d be damned if she was going to lose another.

As Imogen headed out to Roseglen, driving slower than she normally would on the wet, potholed roads, she squinted to try to see through the rain. It had worsened again. She’d switched off the radio in order not to get distracted, but the wind howling outside made quite a majestic tune on its own.

She shuddered to think of Charlie still out there – more than five hours after she’d alerted Gibson that he was missing. Where the hell could he be? Yes, persistence could be Charlie’s middle name, but he couldn’t have walked far in this weather. Could he?

Lost in thought, she almost didn’t see the branch that had fallen across her side of the gravel road. She swerved, hit the brakes and struggled to keep control of the car as she moved across the other side of the road to safety.

She swore loudly, all the while praying,
Please Lord, don’t let anything be coming in the other direction.

Her heart pounded so hard and fast that once she’d crossed back
to the left side of the road, she had to pull over to calm herself. She glanced behind her, but of course any chance of assessing the size of the branch was hindered by the unrelenting rain.

Dammit, she’d have to get out and look. She’d never live with herself if someone came after her and crashed. Sighing, she did a three-point turn so the car was off the road but its headlights shone on the fallen log. Then she hauled her heavy-duty rain jacket off the back seat and tried to wriggle into it before getting out of the car.

Rain that felt more like hail pelted down on her. It was dark and eerily creepy on the road, but Imogen tried not to dwell on the fact that she was alone – surely not even psychopaths would be out on a night like this. Not wanting to spend longer than necessary in the elements, she jogged the few metres to the log and then stopped at the edge of the road to assess it. But even before she stooped down and tried to wrap her hands around one end, she knew it’d be too heavy for her to lift on her own.

She dug into her pocket for her mobile and then realised she’d left it on the bar.
Dammit.

‘Do you want a hand with that, love?’

She startled, almost stumbling on the wet dirt, the shock of company triggering her reflexes even before she recognised the voice. At the realisation, her heart slammed into her chest and she spun on her gumboots, thinking she must have been hallucinating.

But no, Charlie stood only a few metres away, illuminated by the headlights and looking dishevelled but otherwise well, and determined with his offer to help.

‘Where’ve you been?’ she breathed, although she didn’t think he heard her. She wanted to rush forward and hug him, to check him over and take him to her car, but she didn’t want to make a sudden move in case it confused him.

He stepped closer and she saw that he was shivering, his clothes
muddy and dripping wet. ‘You’re lucky you didn’t hit that,’ he said, nodding to the branch and seemingly oblivious to his state.

She blinked, having almost forgotten about the log-across-the-road problem. ‘Charlie. It’s Imogen,’ she said. ‘Do you remember me?’

His brow creased and he stared. She could almost see his brain ticking over as he tried to place her, and then a light went on inside. ‘Yes, yes, of course I do. What are you doing out here at night all by yourself?’

She lifted one brow, still unsure whether he recognised her. ‘I could ask you the same thing, Charlie.’

‘Oh … well … I—-’ He scratched his head, seemingly unable to answer this question and so she interrupted, not wanting him to work himself up into a state.

‘Doesn’t matter.’ She stepped slowly forward and gently slipped her arm through his, joyful to finally have him within reach. ‘I’m on my way to Gibson’s for a bite to eat. I’m sure he’d love you to join us.’

Charlie patted her hand. ‘Now that you mention it, I am a little hungry.’

Slowly, she led him into the car and settled him in the passenger seat. She grabbed a picnic rug from the boot and draped it over his legs before closing the door. The heater in the car was already on full bore but she automatically tried to turn it higher, and then, unable to control her happiness, she leaned over and kissed Charlie on the cheek.

Feeling lighter than she had in days, she turned the car back onto the road towards Roseglen and sent another silent prayer skywards – first, of thanks, and then for her run of luck to continue with Charlie’s grandson.

The lights looked to be on in every room of Gibson’s house when Imogen stopped her car. Two utes – one red and one white, both dirty – were parked out the front but she couldn’t see Gibson’s. She got out and was almost at the passenger door when a figure started running down the path towards them.

‘I’ve got him,’ she called. ‘I’ve found Charlie.’

Within seconds, Guy was at her side, hauling the passenger door open. ‘Thank fuck,’ he said, briefly slumping before springing into action again. ‘How is he?’

‘I’m fine, thank you very much,’ Charlie grumbled, trying to climb out of the car, ‘and I’ll have you know I’m right here, so there’s no need to talk about me like I’m not.’

Guy looked taken aback, but Imogen smirked. She understood why Gibson had been reluctant to broach the subject of seeing a doctor with his grandfather – in Charlie’s times of clarity, he was a force not to be trifled with.

‘So you are,’ Guy said, kneeling down in the dirt. ‘How are
you
feeling?’

‘Bloody cold.’ Charlie’s lips formed a determined pout as if he were trying to work out how the hell he got this way.

Imogen guessed it was going to be a long and emotionally draining night.

‘Well, let’s get you inside to the fire, then.’ Guy tentatively offered his hand and Imogen sighed with relief when Charlie took it. She didn’t want him stubbornly insisting on walking to the house without assistance. He appeared unscathed, but his lips had turned even bluer since she’d found him and those wet clothes must have been heavy, not to mention unhelpful to his body temp.

Charlie let Guy help him out of the car. Imogen shut the door behind them and Charlie plodded, sandwiched between her and Guy, up the garden path. She’d come back for the food once she’d settled him, once she’d seen Gibson.

Warren was coming out of the bathroom and doing up his fly when the three of them entered the house. ‘Holy hell, where’d you find him?’

‘On the side of the road. Where’s Gibson?’ Imogen asked.

‘He’s still out searching,’ Guy replied. ‘Waz, can you get him on the two-way?’

‘Sure.’ Warren headed for the kitchen.

They had to get Charlie out of his wet clothes quick smart, but Imogen didn’t want to embarrass him. She suggested he sit in the armchair in front of the fire. She wasn’t sure you could technically call the seat an ‘armchair’ – it looked like something to look at rather than sit on – but it was the best thing available.

Guy trekked off to find blankets, and Charlie all but collapsed into the chair. Imogen knelt beside him, instinctively picking up his papery hand.
Ice
. She shivered, but didn’t let go. She didn’t quite know what to say to him, scared that in his agitated state he might take it the wrong way. ‘Crazy weather we’re having,’ she decided on eventually. When all else failed, talk about the weather.

‘Hmm.’ Charlie nodded, his chin still stuck out as if he were deep in thought. Then, ‘It’s Elsie’s birthday today.’

‘Oh.’ Imogen’s heart contracted at his use of the present tense. She swallowed and found her voice. ‘Did you get her anything?’

He looked at her as if she were the one with memory issues. ‘She’s dead.’ His words weren’t harsh, but resigned.

Phew!
‘I know,’ she nodded and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, ‘but my husband’s dead too, and I still like to acknowledge the special dates.’

He beamed. ‘Me too. I make a special picnic every year, on her birthday and also on our wedding anniversary. I take it out to the shack and I eat and sit and talk to her. I feel close to her there. Not many people understand.’

‘I do,’ Imogen whispered. ‘I still talk to Jamie’s photos. I run things by him when I’m not sure. It eases the pain.’

Except she’d barely talked to Jamie in weeks. The thought didn’t make her ache with guilt like it once would have. Deep down, she believed Jamie would be pleased she wanted to move on.

Guy came back into the room armed with thick blankets and followed by Warren, who carried a steaming mug.

‘Would you like to take your shirt off?’ she asked Charlie. ‘You’ll warm up once we get the wet clothes off.’

Charlie nodded and let her help him undo the buttons on his faded blue shirt – the farmer’s uniform he still wore, years after moving into town. The moment it was off, Guy wrapped the first blanket around Charlie, draped another blanket over his legs and offered the drink. It smelled suspiciously like Milo with a shot of something more sinister in it. Whatever the drink, Charlie wrapped his hands around the mug and drank, his lips returning to near-normal colour with every sip.

Imogen stayed kneeling next to Charlie while he drank. Her knees were numb and she sweltered by the fire, but she didn’t care. Guy and Warren hung back a bit, and when Charlie finished the Milo, he spoke again.

‘The shack’s damaged.’ His voice cracked on the admission and she saw water in his eyes.

‘I know, Charlie.’ She struggled to keep her own voice level. ‘I heard. But I’m sure it can be rebuilt. Gibson’s pretty good with his hands. And we can help him.’

For the next few minutes, she tried to coax more information from Charlie about when the storm hit the shack, and about where he’d been between then and now. Soon, his lucid facts grew fewer and his eyelids began to droop.

‘Should we let him sleep or keep him awake?’ she asked the others. ‘Hell, should we call an ambulance?’

Guy shook his head. ‘Gibson will be here in a moment. He’ll check him over and decide what to do.’

Imogen nodded, her ears pricking as the front door slammed.

Moments later, Gibson appeared. His tall, rugged physique filled the doorway and sent her heart racing, despite the anxiety on his face and the hellish day she’d had. She wanted to rush over and wrap her arms around him – so pleased was she to see
him
okay.

Instead, she offered him a smile and took comfort in Charlie’s still-cold hand.

Gibson had never been more thankful to see anyone in his life, but he couldn’t seem to move from the doorway. Sheer relief had frozen him to the spot. He took a deep breath, feeling as if he hadn’t done so for hours.

Charlie was alive. And looked surprisingly well for his ordeal. The sight of Imogen at his side, holding his hand like she wouldn’t let go until he begged her, almost broke his heart. How crazy that she’d been the one to find him. He caught her gaze, registered her warm smile, and snapped into action.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered, rushing forward to kneel on the other side of Charlie. He flung his arms around his grandfather’s neck and rested his head in the nook between shoulder and neck. Fighting the tears pushing past his pupils was futile.

Charlie, who’d almost been asleep, stirred in Gibson’s fierce embrace, lifted a hand and gently patted him on the back. ‘There, there, boy. You can’t get rid of me that easily.’

Smiling at Charlie’s tone, but not moving his head, he stared at the wall behind them and thanked the Lord for answering his pleas.

‘We thought we’d let you make the decision about an ambulance,’ Guy said, reminding Gibson that he needed to check Charlie over before getting all sentimental.

He leaned back, ready to stand, and got Charlie’s sharp response loud and clear in his ear. ‘No ambulance, I’m fine.’

Gibson glanced at the time on the clock behind them – almost ten o’clock. Getting Charlie to a hospital could be a blessing in disguise. He’d be able to talk to the doctors and have them assess Charlie properly without him realising what was happening. But the plea in Charlie’s eyes halted such a hasty decision.
Just one night
, he told himself.

‘All right Charlie,’ he said, straightening. ‘Let me look you over, and if I think you’re okay, you can stay here tonight. But you have to promise tomorrow we’ll go to the hospital for a proper check-up.’ He saw Charlie hesitating, so he added, ‘Humour me, Granddad.’

Charlie huffed and rolled his eyes, but eventually agreed.

‘I’ll get my first aid kit.’ Since joining St John as a volunteer, Gibson always made sure he had certain supplies available – one kit in his ute and another in the kitchen.

Guy caught him on his way out. ‘If you’re okay, Warren and I will head back now. I want to go check Jenna is okay and …’ He seemed lost for words.

Gibson understood. Jenna was Guy’s world; there
was
no other reason. Inappropriate or not, he felt the same about Imogen.

The innocent capturer of his heart piped up from her position on the floor. ‘Oh Guy, I totally forgot. There’s a branch across the road where I found Charlie.’ She told them about the danger, and the boys promised to check it out on their way back into town.

It was only when he headed back into the lounge room with the first aid kit that Gibson realised that with Charlie almost asleep and his mates gone, he and Imogen were alone.

She stood as he approached and he thought maybe she’d voice her intention to leave as well, but her words told him the opposite. ‘I’ll give you and Charlie some privacy.’ She lowered her voice and leaned near to him, an alluring aroma of vanilla perfume and wet
clothes teasing him as she spoke. ‘We managed to get his wet shirt off, but—-’

‘I’ll get the rest off, give him a warm bath and put him to bed,’ he interrupted, needing to put some distance between them before he did something they’d both regret. ‘You can go now, if you like.’

She smiled and shook her head. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’