Hettie Burbrook was many things—introvert, redhead, pilot, chiropractor, photographer—but something she’d never been called was unprepared. Thanks to her childhood, she always had a Plan B, and usually a Plan C.
It didn’t matter that beyond the front propeller of her Cessna light plane the late afternoon sky had darkened to a stormy grey or that the visibility of the high-country airstrip wasn’t ideal; her landing would be textbook. She’d double-checked the weather, the state of the private landing strip and allowed extra time to perform her pre-flight checks.
Shoulders relaxed, she looked to her right to take in the novelty of the rugged snow-capped peaks. Her usual views, even in winter, were of red dirt, dusty scrub and ribbon-straight gravel roads. Her duffle bag held the only woollen jumper she’d owned for the past three years. Warm clothes weren’t exactly a necessity when treating her outback clients for sore backs and knees.
Just as well her online shopping purchases had arrived before she’d left to fly south. She had enough thermals to keep her cosy in an arctic freeze.
Her lips curved as she studied the pristine blanket of white. High above the world, with only herself for company, was her happy place. Here there was no loss and no expectations she didn’t have a hope of fulfilling. Here she could be who she was, freckles and all. Here she was as free as the far-off eagle who drifted in slow circles within a thermal updraft.
The green flash of the wing tip light refocused her thoughts and brought reality back in a rush. Her smile died. She’d soon be on the ground and the respite flying had provided from the hollow anguish inside would end. It had been a fortnight since her surprise visit home to Woodlea and life had irrevocably changed.
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