Australian Affairs: Wed. Barbara Hannay
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the aid of night vision goggles, Joe made his way through a remote Afghan village, moving with the stealth of a panther on the prowl. In every dark alley and around every corner the threat of danger lurked and Joe was on high alert, listening for the slightest movement or sound.
As forward scout, his responsibilities weighed heavily. Five Australian soldiers depended on his skills, trusting that he wouldn’t lead them blindly into an ambush.
As he edged around another corner, a sudden crash shattered the silence. Joe’s night vision vanished. He was plunged into darkness.
Adrenaline exploded in his vitals. How had he lost his goggles? Or—hell—had worse happened? Had he been blinded?
He couldn’t even find his damn rifle.
To add to the confusion, a persistent drumming sounded above and around him.
What the hell had happened?
Even more bizarrely, when Joe stepped forward he felt carpet beneath his feet. His bare feet. What was going on? Where was he?
Panic flared. Had he gone raving mad? Where were his boots? His weapon?
Totally disoriented, he blinked, and at last his vision cleared slightly. He could just make out the dimmest of details, and he seemed to be naked apart from boxer shorts and, yes, his feet were bare and they were definitely sinking into soft carpet.
He had absolutely no idea where the hell he was, or how he’d got there.
Then he heard a small child’s cry and his stomach lurched. As a Commando, in close contact with the enemy, his greatest fear was that he might inadvertently bring harm to Afghan children.
It was still difficult to see as he made his way through the pitch-black night, moving towards the child’s cry, bumping into a bookcase.
A bookcase?
A doorway.
Ahead, down a passage, he saw a faint glow—it illuminated painted tongue-and-groove timber walls. Walls that were strangely familiar.
Karinya.
Hell, yeah. Of course.
A soft oath broke from him. He’d woken from a particularly vivid dream and he was back in North Queensland and, while he couldn’t explain the crashing sound, the crying child was...
Jacko.
His son.
Joe’s heart skidded as he scorched into Jacko’s room. In the glow of a night light, he saw the toddler huddled and frightened on the floor in the wreckage of his cot. Without hesitation, Joe dived and swept the boy into his arms.
Jacko was shaking but, in Joe’s arms, he nestled against his bare chest, a warm ball sobbing, seeking protection and clearly trusting Joe to provide it.
‘Shh.’ Joe pressed his lips to the boy’s soft hair and caught the amazing smell of shampoo, probably baby shampoo. ‘You’re OK. I’ve got you.’
I’m your father.
The boy felt so little and warm in Joe’s arms. And so scared. A fierce wave of emotion came sweeping through Joe—a surge of painful yearning—an urge to protect this warm, precious miniature man, to keep him safe at all costs.
‘I’ve got you, little mate,’ he murmured. ‘You’re OK.’ And then he added in a soft, tentative whisper, ‘I’m your dad. I love you, Jacko.’ The words felt both alien and wonderful. And true.
‘What happened?’ Ellie’s voice demanded from the doorway. ‘I heard a crash.’
Joe turned and saw her in the dimmed light, wearing a white nightdress with tiny straps, her dark hair tumbling in soft waves about her smooth, bare shoulders. She looked beautiful beyond words and Joe’s heart almost stopped.
‘What happened?’ she asked again, coming forward. ‘Is Jacko all right?’
‘I think he’s fine, but he got a bad fright. Looks like his cot’s collapsed.’
Jacko had seen Ellie now and he lurched away from Joe, throwing out his arms and wailing, ‘Mummy!’
Joe tried not to mind that his Great Three Seconds of Fatherhood were over in a blink, or that Jacko, now safely in Ellie’s arms, looked back at him as if he were a stranger.
Ellie was staring at Joe too—staring with wide, almost popping eyes at his bare chest and at the scars on his shoulder. Joe hoped her gaze wouldn’t drop to his shorts or they’d both be embarrassed.
Abruptly, he turned, forcing his attention to the collapsed cot. It was a simple timber construction with panels of railings threaded on a metal rod and screwed into place with wing nuts. Nothing had actually broken. It seemed the thing had simply come apart.
‘Looks like the wing nuts in the corners worked loose,’ he said.
‘Oh, Lord.’ Ellie stepped forward with the boy on her hip. ‘Jacko was playing with those wing nuts the other day. He was trying to undo them, but I didn’t think he had a hope.’
‘Well, I’d say he was successful. He must have strong little fingers.’
Ellie looked at her son in disbelief and then she shook her head and gave a wry smile, her dark eyes suddenly sparkling. Joe so wished she wouldn’t smile like that, not when she was standing so close to him in an almost see-through nightdress.
‘You’re a little monkey, Jacko,’ she told the boy affectionately. Then, more businesslike, she turned to Joe. ‘I guess it shouldn’t be too hard to fix?’
‘Piece of cake.’ He picked up one of the panels. ‘A pair of pliers would be handy. The nuts need to be tight enough to stop him from doing it again.’
Ellie nodded. ‘I think I have a spare pair of pliers in the laundry, but don’t worry about it now. I’ll take Jacko back to my room. He can sleep with me for the rest of the night.’
Lucky Jacko.
From the doorway, she turned and frowned back at Joe. ‘Do you need anything? A hot drink or something to help you get back to sleep?’
She must have seen the expression on his face. She quickly dropped her gaze. ‘I keep forgetting. You’re a tough soldier. You can sleep on a pile of rocks.’
With Jacko in her arms, she hurried away, the white nightdress whispering around her smooth, shapely calves.
Joe knew he wouldn’t be sleeping.
* * *
Jacko settled quickly. He was like a little teddy bear as he snuggled close to Ellie and in no time he was asleep again. She adored her little miracle boy, and she relished this excuse to lie still and hold him, loving the way he nestled close.
Lying in the darkness, she inhaled the scent of his clean hair and listened to the soft rhythm of his breathing.
His perfection constantly amazed her.
But, tonight, it wasn’t long before she was thinking about Joe and, in a matter of moments, she felt a pain in her chest like indigestion, and then her throat was tense and aching, choked.
She kept seeing Joe’s signature on that piece of paper.
And now he was about to head off for the Southern Ocean. Surely, if he wanted adventure, he could have caught wild bulls or rogue crocodiles, or found half a dozen other dangerous activities that were closer to home?
Instead, once again, he was getting as far away from her as possible, risking his life in stormy seas and chasing international poachers, for pity’s sake.
Unhelpfully, Ellie recalled how eye-wateringly amazing Joe had looked just now, standing bare-chested in Jacko’s room. With the little boy in his arms, he’d looked so incredibly strong and muscular and protective.
Man, he was buffed.
He’d