Dear Reader,

The Australian Outback has an untamed beauty, a sense of loneliness and more than a hint of danger. When my heroine Lily was stranded in the Outback, and her only hope of rescue was Daniel Renton—a scowling, unfriendly, reclusive cattleman—she was justifiably scared. Her terror might have shot off the scale if she’d known that Daniel was only recently out of prison.

I love it when my muse throws up a situation like that—a bubbly, warmhearted, innocent heroine and a dark, powerful and dangerous man who has lost his ability to love. In this story I loved the promise of emotional risk and the knowledge that both Daniel and Lily had a difficult journey ahead before they reached a happy outcome.

Happy reading, and best wishes from Down Under!

Barbara

“I was selfish, Lily. I kissed you yesterday for all the wrong reasons.

“You drive me wild,” he continued softly. “The way you fix your hair fascinates me. The warmth in your eyes touches me, deep inside. There’s so much joy and beauty in you, Lily, and I—I wanted some of it for myself.” His voice cracked and he had to take a deep breath. “I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry.”

“Daniel—” Her own throat was so tight her voice emerged as a croak. “For heaven’s sake, don’t be sorry.” She swallowed and blinked. “I’m flattered—really flattered.”

He turned to her. His face was in shadow, but she could see the glittering brightness in his eyes. She reached for his hands and felt them tremble at her touch. “And if you still feel that way, I’d really like you to kiss me again.”

Claiming the Cattleman’s Heart
Barbara Hannay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical north Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy. Visit Barbara at www.barbarahannay.com

In the Heart of the Outback…

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

DANIEL RENTON dived into the cool, glassy water of the Star River. His naked body slid down, down through the dark green silence till he reached the feathery grasses on the sandy river-bottom. Then with a short, swift kick he arced up again and saw, high above, the cloudless blue of the sky and the tapering trail of smoky green gum leaves.

He broke the surface and struck out for the opposite bank, revelling in the cool, clean water rushing over his skin, between his bare thighs, between his fingers and toes, washing every inch of him. Cleansing.

Cleansing.

If only…

Daniel swam powerfully, almost savagely, as he had every day since he’d returned a fortnight ago to Ironbark, his Outback Queensland cattle property. But he always demanded more from the sleepy river than it could possibly give him.

Oh, the water rid him of the sweat and the dust and grime he’d acquired during a hot morning’s work repairing fences, but it couldn’t rid him of the rottenness that lived inside him. He doubted anything could free him from that.

He might be out of jail at last, but the emotional taint of his shameful months of captivity clung to him with a tenacity that no amount of bathing could banish.

Flipping onto his back, Daniel floated. The river was slow and he hardly drifted at all. It was always so wonderfully quiet here.

The birds had retreated into midday silence and the treetops stood perfectly still. The river was as peaceful and silent as an empty church, and Daniel tried to relax, deliberately blanking out the heartbreak and anger and pain that hunkered deep inside him. If only the darkness could float away.

He loosened the muscles in his shoulders, in his arms and legs. He closed his eyes.

‘Hello! Excuse me!’

The voice, coming out of the silence, startled him. Splashing upright, Daniel trod water and looked back to the far bank. Against a backdrop of green and golden wattle, a figure in a floppy straw sunhat waved arms wildly, trying to catch his attention.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ a female voice called.

Daniel groaned. And glared at her. Who on earth could she be? Hardly anyone in the district knew he’d come home.

Still treading water, he shaded his eyes. The young woman was standing at the very edge of the water, leaning as far out as she dared and peering at him. Beneath her big floppy sunhat she wore a sleeveless white T-shirt that left her midriff bare and blue floral shorts and sandals. A woven straw bag hung from her shoulder.

A tourist. Not a local.

He didn’t welcome any intrusion, but at least a stranger would be easier to deal with than someone who knew him. A local would be suspicious or curious, and Daniel wasn’t ready to deal with either reaction.

‘What are you doing on my property?’ he growled.

‘Car trouble, I’m afraid.’

Great. A city chick with car trouble. He released a deep, weary sigh.

A million years ago he might have considered a young woman with a broken-down vehicle a pleasant diversion. But his days of trying to impress women were long gone. These days he just wanted—no, he needed—to be left alone.

A year and a half on a prison farm tended to do that to a man. It robbed him of do-good urges. It had almost robbed Daniel of the will to get out of bed in the morning. What was the point in trying?

‘I’m sorry, but can you help me?’

She was leaning so far out over the water she looked as if she was about to dive in and swim to him.

‘Hang on!’ It was a bark rather than a reply. This was a cattle property, not a bloody service station. But he struck out, swimming towards her in an easy freestyle. When he neared the shallows he stopped and stood in hip-deep water, his feet sinking into the weedy bottom.

The stranger on the riverbank was well disguised by her huge straw hat, but he caught a glimpse of light-coloured hair tied back or tucked up somehow. Apart from the snug fit of her blue floral shorts, she had a schoolmarmish air about her. Serious and anxious.

And yet…He could feel her studying him with frank interest. Her mouth flowered into an open pink O as she took in details of his bare torso.

‘What’s the problem?’ he asked.

She gulped, and said a little breathlessly, ‘I—I’m afraid I’ve r-run out of fuel.’

Immediately a bright blush flooded her neck and cheeks.

‘I know it was stupid of me, and I’m so sorry to trouble you, but I don’t know what to do.’ Her hands flapped in a gesture of helplessness. ‘I tried to ring the only person I know around here, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone home, even though they were expecting me. I managed to coast down the side of the mountain, but then my car conked out at the bottom. I saw your gate and your mail box and so I turned in here, and your ute was on the track back there, and I—’

‘Whoa,’ cried Daniel. ‘I get the picture. You want enough fuel to get you into town.’

Her face broke into an amazing smile. ‘Yes.’ She beamed at him as if he’d offered to fly her straight to Sydney in a Lear jet. ‘If you could spare some fuel that would be wonderful.’ Her warm smile lingered as she stood there. ‘You’re—you’re—very—kind.’

Kind? A jaded half-laugh broke from him. It had been too long since anyone had called Daniel Renton kind—especially a young woman—and it had been even longer since a woman had stared at him with such obvious interest.

She continued to stand there, looking at him.

‘We’ll both be embarrassed if you don’t turn your back while I get out of the water,’ he said dryly.

‘Turn my back? Oh. Oh…You’re naked. Sorry.’

However, she didn’t sound especially sorry, and she took her time turning, holding the brim of her hat close to her head with both hands.

‘You’re safe enough now,’ she called, and her voice was warm with the hint of yet another smile. ‘My hat makes great blinkers, and I promise I won’t look till you say so.’

Mildly surprised that she’d stood her ground rather than make a nervous dash for the nearest patch of thick scrub, Daniel left the water quickly and hauled on his jeans without any attempt to dry himself.

‘All clear,’ he said gruffly.

She let go of the hat-brim and turned back to him, pink and smiling again—or perhaps still pink and smiling—and she watched with continued interest as he shook his head from side to side and flicked water droplets from his thick dark hair.

‘I’m sorry. I’m being a nuisance.’

He shrugged. ‘I was just taking a break. But I don’t have a lot of time.’

Reaching down for his blue cotton shirt, he retrieved his watch from the front pocket and checked the time before slipping the watch onto his wrist. It was lunchtime and his stomach was rumbling.

‘Where’s your car?’

‘Out on the road.’

‘Not in the middle of the road?’

‘No. I’m silly, but not totally brainless. I managed to push it well off the road. It’s under a tree. I guess it’s about five-hundred metres from your front gate.’

‘What sort of vehicle?’

‘A Corolla.’

‘So you need petrol?’ He bit off a curse.

‘Well…yes. I told you I’ve run out.’

Daniel grimaced.

‘Is that a problem?’

‘I only use diesel.’

‘Oh.’ Two neat white teeth worried her lower lip.

‘I guess I’ll have to give you a lift into Gidgee Springs.’ He knew he should have said this more graciously, but a trip into the nearest township would mean exposing himself to the questioning glances of prying locals.

‘I don’t want to put you to that much bother,’ she said, obviously sensing his reluctance. ‘If you have a telephone book I could ring a service station in Gidgee Springs. They should be able to send a can of petrol out here.’

‘On a Sunday? You’ve got to be joking.’ Daniel let out a hoot of laughter. ‘I’ll give you a lift, but you’ll have to wait. I’m going to grab a bite to eat first.’

‘By all means. Yes, you must have your lunch.’

After pulling on elastic-sided riding boots and shrugging into his shirt, he began to make his way through the scrub to the track where he’d left the ute, doing up shirt buttons as he went. The woman, ducking branches heavy with golden wattle, hurried to keep up.

‘By the way, my name’s Lily,’ she said to his back. ‘Lily Halliday.’

‘Daniel,’ he offered grouchily over his shoulder.

‘Daniel Renton?’

‘Yes.’ He stopped, suddenly wary, and sent her a swift, searching frown. ‘How did you know my name?’

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘It’s painted on your letterbox. “D Renton. Ironbark Station”.’

Of course.

He sighed as he continued walking. He might have been released from prison, but he was still constantly on edge and alert. Always defensive. He’d forgotten how to relax, how to trust. Simple details of freedom could catch him out. His name painted on his letterbox. A trip into town for groceries. A stranger’s friendly smile. He wondered if he would ever again accept such ordinary, everyday normality as his right.

They reached his rusty old ute, parked in the shade of an ancient camphor laurel tree. He stepped towards the passenger door, intending to open it for Lily, but she clearly didn’t expect anything so gentlemanly from him, and rushed forward.

‘No need to wait on me.’ Without further ceremony, she yanked the door open and jumped into the passenger seat.

By the time Daniel ambled round to the driver’s door, Lily had removed her hat. And, as he settled behind the wheel, she slipped off the blue elastic band that tied back her hair and shook it free.

Her hair was heavy and silky, the pale colour of new hemp rope. It tumbled in waves over her shoulders like rippling water, and with a complete lack of self-consciousness she began to sift strands of it through her fingers. Finally, she lifted the full weight of it from the back of her neck, exposing damp little curls stuck to her warm pink skin. Then she re-twisted her hair into a loose knot and slipped the band back into place.

During the entire process Daniel watched, transfixed.

Eventually, Lily glanced sideways and realised he was staring at her. Their gazes met. And froze. They both held their breaths.

Something happened.

Something in Lily’s misty blue-grey eyes reached deep into the darkness inside Daniel and tugged. He felt an almost shocking sense of connection. It was completely unexpected.

Damn.

Lily gulped.

Oh, man.

Oh…man…It was crazy, actually, the way she was reacting to Daniel Renton. She’d made quite a fool of herself on the riverbank by gaping at his bare shoulders and chest. Such a silly reaction from a girl who’d grown up in the Sugar Bay hippie community, where skinny-dipping was an almost everyday occurrence.

Then again, how could she not be impressed? The tapering line from Daniel’s broad shoulders to his flat stomach and lean hips would have made Michelangelo’s David look like a mere boy.

And now, within the confines of his truck’s cabin, mere inches from his face—from his blue eyes, deep-set and wary beneath strong dark brows, his jaw made extra rugged by a day or two’s growth of beard—she felt distinctly breathless. She’d never met a man who was quite so devastatingly, so uncompromisingly…

Male.

Daniel Renton was masculinity distilled. And, to be honest, he was just a little dangerous-looking. So tense and guarded. Suspicious, almost. Fine shivers scampered down Lily’s spine. Why would he look at her that way—as if she was a threat to him, as if he had something to hide?

Good grief, was she crazy to be jumping into a vehicle with a stranger? She’d been so desperate to get fuel she’d grabbed the chance, but had she been a tad reckless? Perhaps she should leap out of this truck right now and take her chances back out on the road.

Or was she overreacting? Perhaps Daniel’s wariness was the natural reserve of a man who lived in the remote Outback.

She wrapped her arms over her bare midriff, but it wasn’t her exposed middle he was looking at. He seemed preoccupied with her face, but she couldn’t think why. Hers was a very ordinary face—a little too round, inclined to freckle, with eyes a nondescript shade. Seconds earlier he’d been looking at her hair—almost as if he’d never seen long, wavy hair before. Again, there was nothing remarkable about her hair. A very ordinary colour. Sandy—neither blonde nor brown.

Daniel lifted his hand and Lily jumped. For one breathless moment she thought he was actually going to touch her hair, and she felt a flash of fear. And then she felt something else that startled her, deep in the pit of her stomach—a shiver of shameless interest. What would it be like to be touched by this man?

But then he seemed to come to his senses, and his hand slammed back onto the steering wheel.

Lily let out her breath, and the muscles in Daniel’s throat moved as if he was having difficulty swallowing.

Frowning fiercely, he jerked his gaze to the front. He seemed suddenly unhappy, and Lily felt unhappy too. None of this would have happened if she’d stopped for petrol in that last little town she’d so gaily flashed through a couple of hours ago. At the time she’d been singing ‘Hit the Road, Jack’ at the top of her voice. Now she cringed to think she’d been so naive, so foolishly confident that there would be more little towns, more places to fill up with petrol long before she reached Gidgee Springs.

Her thoughts flew to Fern, her mother. I’m sorry, Mum. I’ve stuffed up.

She grimaced when she remembered the pain in Fern’s eyes as she’d waved her off this morning, smiling bravely. She would do anything to keep her mother out of a wheelchair, which was why she was on this journey. Her plan was to meet Audrey Halliday, her father’s widow—the woman Marcus Halliday had married after he’d abandoned Fern—and to shamelessly beg Audrey for money for the operation Fern needed.

But now Lily’s mission of mercy was in jeopardy. Totally. Unless this strange and taciturn man was prepared to help her.

While she was lost in her anxious thoughts, Daniel started the ute suddenly, and it lurched down the rough bush track at such a reckless speed that Lily had no time to fasten her seatbelt.

Toppling sideways, she fell against his hard shoulder. She tried to support herself, and her hand landed on his thigh, her splayed fingers gripping the denim of his jeans.

Beneath the thin and faded fabric, still damp from his recent swim, iron-hard muscles bunched at her touch.

‘Sorry,’ she squeaked, snatching her hand away.

He growled something incomprehensible and Lily didn’t respond. Her heart was pounding unmercifully and, with more dignity than was necessary, she eased herself back into her seat and pulled the seatbelt across her and into place. Daniel drove more slowly, keeping his eyes on the narrow track. And Lily decided she had no choice but to trust him.

Their journey was rough going. Long grass grew between the wheel ruts, scraping the underbelly of the ute, and she recognised overgrown weeds—lantana bushes and Chinee apple—running wild along the edges, almost taking over the track in places.

As Daniel swerved to dodge another huge clump of lantana, she said, ‘This property is wonderfully wild.’

‘It hasn’t always been like this.’ He muttered this defensively. ‘I—I’ve been away.’

‘Travelling?’

He shrugged and continued to stare straight ahead through the windscreen. ‘Not really. Just—just working somewhere else.’

‘So have I,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve been working in Sri Lanka.’

He sent a quick sideways glance her way.

‘It was an amazing experience,’ she said. ‘I loved it. I spent twelve months doing voluntary work in a village on the coast.’

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to comment, or to tell her what he’d been doing, but he kept staring morosely ahead.

‘When I came back,’ she went on, needing to fill the uncomfortable silence, ‘I couldn’t settle into my old life in Sydney. The party-party-party scene just didn’t cut it for me any more, so I went back to Sugar Bay to stay with my mother.’

‘Sugar Bay? That’s where all the hippies squatted years ago, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she said, but she sensed an underlying cynicism in Daniel’s question, so she didn’t elaborate. She certainly didn’t want to tell him what had happened when she’d gone home—her devastating discovery that her mother was almost completely crippled and in dire need of surgery.

Fern had kept silent for too long. She hadn’t wanted to tell Lily how badly her condition had deteriorated, had worried that Lily would come hurrying back from Sri Lanka too soon. Dear, silly woman.

The worst of it was that Fern had no health insurance and no money for the necessary operation, and the public hospital waiting list was up to two years long. Lily, unfortunately, had no money either, because she’d poured almost all her savings into the Sri Lankan village.

Fern had no choice but to wait in the long queue for the public health system, but by then she would be bedridden. She needed the operation now, which was why Lily felt compelled to face up to the woman who’d inherited every cent of her father’s considerable wealth.

Lily sighed again. She could never think of Marcus Halliday without feeling the sharp, painful stab of his personal rejection. She’d carried the scar since she was five years old. Too long.

Daniel drove on in silence, and Lily realised the track was curving back towards the mountain range, which meant he was taking her further and further away from the road and into the wilderness. She felt uneasy again. Where was he taking her? Where was his house?

She had no idea if he lived with a family or alone. Good grief. Her imagination kicked in, throwing up dreadful possibilities. How on earth could she escape if Daniel was dangerous? If only there had been someone at home when she’d tried to telephone Audrey. Where was Audrey? She should have been expecting her call.

On the edge of full fledged panic, Lily squeaked, ‘How far are we going?’

‘Almost there,’ Daniel muttered, and the track forked suddenly. He took a turn to the right, the track broke out of the scrub and two long, sun-drenched paddocks stretched before them. At the far end of the paddocks, against a majestic backdrop of heavily forested green mountains, a white homestead with a faded red ripple-iron roof and deep verandas sprawled in the sunshine like a sleepy dog.

Lily was buoyed on a wave of instant relief.

Tall, ancient palm trees surrounded the homestead, making it look cool, despite the shimmering noonday heat. To the right of the house, tumbledown machinery sheds were shaded by an enormous spreading cassia tree covered in massive, romantic pink blossoms.

‘Is that your house?’

He grunted yes.

‘It’s lovely.’

She meant it. Daniel’s house might not be grand or manicured, but there was something very appealing about it. She loved the way its long red roof reached protectively over the deep, shady verandas, and the way the green mountains stood on guard behind it. The circle of palms and the lovely pink cassia tree added a touch of romance. Undeniable charm. It was a setting an artist might feel an urge to paint.

Again she thought of her father. Marcus Halliday had made his fame and fortune bringing scenes like this to life on canvas.

Her lips pulled into a wry smile. Was it because of Marcus or in spite of him that the sight of Daniel’s home tugged at her heartstrings? Whatever the reason, she felt charmed by the house and surprised, after her many misgivings, that she felt instantly at home.

‘You must have been very happy to come back from your travels to such a lovely place,’ she said.

Dark colour stained Daniel’s cheekbones, and he cleared his throat. ‘The house might look good from a distance, but it’s run-down like the rest of the property.’

‘So you’ve been away for quite some time?’

He didn’t reply. Obviously he had no intention of telling her anything about himself, but she wished he would. She’d feel so much more at ease if he was more outgoing. But, then again, why should he bother? It wasn’t as if they were starting a friendship. Soon he would be dropping her into Gidgee Springs and they would never see each other again.

‘The herd’s been away on agistment.’

She realised that Daniel’s focus was somewhere else entirely. He was studying the cattle in the paddock to his right.

‘I only got this lot back last week.’ Slowing the ute, he steered with one hand and leaned an elbow out of the window. He frowned as he fixed his attention on one particular cow with a noticeably swollen abdomen and udder. She was standing apart from the herd and looked rather uncomfortable, with her back arched and her tail raised. He brought the ute to a standstill, and Lily looked at the animal with sudden fascination.

‘I need to quickly check that heifer.’

‘Is she pregnant?’

‘She’s in labour. I’ve been keeping an eye on her this morning.’ His thoughtful frown deepened. ‘Usually there’s no need to intervene, but she’s young and this is her first calf.’

Without another word, he shoved the door open and strode to the fence, pushed the top strand of the barbed wire down with one hand, and swung his long legs easily over it.

Watching him, Lily let a sigh of relief drift from her lips. Surely a man who cared about a cow in labour couldn’t be dangerous? She decided she might be safe with him after all, and her mouth twitched into a smile. How nice it would be if Daniel was as trustworthy as he was hot-looking.

He returned quite quickly.

‘I think she’s OK,’ he said as he restarted the motor. ‘But it’s a bit hard to tell—the early stages are dragging on a bit.’

The truck rattled along the last part of the track leading up to the house. As Daniel turned off the motor, he said, ‘I’m afraid it’ll have to be bread and cheese for lunch.’

‘Oh, I don’t expect you to feed me.’

He frowned. ‘Why not? Have you already eaten?’

‘No.’

He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘Then come on. I’m going to eat, and you may as well have something. It won’t be anything flash, of course.’

‘Thank you.’ Lily offered Daniel her warmest smile. But perhaps it was a mistake, because he seemed to freeze, and he stared back at her with such a fierce look that she felt her smile fade.

Three or four seconds passed, and then he said less gruffly, ‘I can’t treat you like a trespasser.’

Without warning, he smiled.

And, oh, what a difference it made.

Lily wanted to stare and stare.

CHAPTER TWO

THEY crossed the stretch of grass to the house and Lily saw that Daniel was right. The homestead certainly showed signs of neglect.

The long front veranda was unswept and littered with leaves. Dirty pieces of straw and old, yellowed newspapers were piled in corners. The white weatherboard walls were coated with grimy cobwebs and the windows were smeared with dust. Dried mud nests made by hornets clustered around the dark green windowsills, and long strings of grey cobwebs hung from the deep eaves.

Daniel sent Lily a grimly cautious glance. ‘I did warn you. This is no showplace up close.’

She waved away his apology. ‘I’ve seen it all before.’

He almost smiled again as he pushed the screen door open. ‘At least the kitchen’s habitable.’

And indeed it was.

It was large and clean, old-fashioned and homely, with a scrubbed pine table dominating the centre of the room and a big, open-shelved pine dresser on the opposite wall, filled with happy-looking blue and yellow china.

Actually, it was almost too neat. Where, Lily wondered, was the usual kitchen clutter? The feeding bowls for pets? The ubiquitous calendar on the wall with significant dates circled or scrawled over? And where were the old notes or receipts stuck to the fridge by funky magnets?

Of course, if Daniel had been away for some time, he wouldn’t have had the chance to acquire pets or to gather much clutter.

‘Do you live alone?’

‘Yes.’

Was it her imagination, or had she seen a flash of pain in his face?

He turned quickly to the sink, squirted some lemon detergent and washed his hands. Over his shoulder, he nodded to a door. ‘Bathroom’s through there if you’d like a wash.’

‘Thanks.’

The bathroom was plain but clean—with fluffy lime-green towels and a cheery sunflower stuck in a green wine bottle and set on the windowsill. From her experience of bachelors, the flower was an unexpected touch. Lily stared at it, wondering…

As she stepped back into the hallway she noticed that the doors to all other rooms, except one—Daniel’s bedroom, she guessed—were firmly shut. Thick trails of grey dust drifted from beneath the closed doors.

Obviously he’d fixed up just enough space for his immediate needs.

She couldn’t help feeling curious about him, about where he had been and whether he had a family—a girlfriend—even a wife somewhere. Why had this house and his large property been allowed to get so run down while he was away? Ironbark Station would be worth a stack of money if it was a fully functioning cattle station.

And, now that Daniel was back here, why didn’t he have help to fix it up?

No doubt about it, he was a man of mystery. Under other circumstances she might have felt compelled to try to solve his mystery, but right now her focus was her mother’s health, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be deflected from that. Besides, if and when Daniel Renton wanted anyone’s help, all he had to do was ask for it. And, when he did, Lily Halliday would be the last person he’d turn to.

Unfortunately.

Over lunch, conversation was limited to ‘Pass the bread, please’ and ‘Do you have milk with your tea?’—and Lily grew uncomfortable again.

She had always prided herself on being open and friendly and easy to talk to, and she found Daniel’s reluctance to open up disturbing. It seemed odd to her that he would go to the trouble of offering to help her, even share a meal with her, and yet remain so reserved and secretive.

Her harmless question about whether he lived alone seemed to have silenced him.

It was odd. It didn’t feel right. People in the Outback were famous for going out of their way to be friendly, weren’t they?

She started thinking again about all the closed doors only a few steps down the hallway. What was hidden behind them?

‘How anxious are you to get to Gidgee Springs?’

Lily jumped and looked up at him, to see his attractive blue eyes on her.

‘Sorry. I was daydreaming. What did you say?’

‘I was wondering if you’re in a hurry to get to Gidgee Springs.’

‘Why—um—why do you ask?’

‘I’m concerned about the young heifer,’ he said. ‘I’d like to hang around a bit longer. Just to make sure she’s OK.’

Lily lifted her hands, palms open. ‘Don’t let me stand in the way of a safe delivery. I’m keen to get to Gidgee Springs, but as long as I can collect my car in daylight it should be fine.’

‘I promise to get you to town well before dark.’ He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, and almost smiled at her. ‘Thanks for understanding.’

‘That’s OK. Thanks for your help.’

Jerking his head in the direction of the paddock, he said, ‘I’ll head off, then. You’re welcome to stay here at the house.’

‘No, thanks,’ Lily said quickly. Somehow she didn’t fancy being left alone with all those closed doors. ‘I’ll come with you. I’ve never seen a calf being born.’

‘You might not enjoy it.’

‘I’m not squeamish.’

He stared at her for a moment or two, and Lily could feel his blue eyes piercing her, taking her measure, trying to decide if she would be in the way. At last he said, ‘Come on, then.’

As she followed him, she remembered the succession of pregnant women who’d visited her mother in their tiny cottage in Sugar Bay.

Lily had been a child at the time, but, as far back as she could remember, the women had come, all looking alike in floating tie-dyed cheesecloth maternity dresses. And they’d always sent for Fern’s help when it was time for their babies to be born. Usually Lily had been taken to stay at a friend’s house, but occasionally she’d been allowed to play in another room in the house where the births took place.

She had grown up assuming that all babies arrived surrounded by the smells of scented candles, incense, and soothing massage oils, and accompanied by the gentle sounds of warm baths running, soft flute music and quietly issued instructions about breathing.

Of course, she knew better now. But Fern had helped dozens of women to have beautiful home-birth experiences, and they’d always shown their gratitude by bringing gifts—fresh eggs, fruit, vegetables and herbs, homemade jams or soaps and woven shawls.

Now it was Fern who needed their help, but her friends were an itinerant lot, and nearly all of them had drifted away from Sugar Bay.

The heifer was lying down by the time they reached her. Daniel retrieved a length of binder twine from the back of the ute. Lily wondered what it was for, but she didn’t ask.

At the fence, he paused and held down two rungs of barbed wire with his boot, then offered a hand to help her over. Her legs were only just long enough for her to clamber over the fence without scratching her bare thighs, and she wished she was wearing jeans.

It didn’t help that Daniel seemed rather distracted by her shorts. She felt a little flustered as she landed on the other side, and she had to grip his hand tightly to keep her balance. And then her hat fell off.

With an easy swoop of one long arm, Daniel retrieved it, and at first she thought he was going to pop it casually on her head. But she should have known there was nothing casual about Daniel Renton.

He hesitated, and then handed the hat to her rather formally. But his smile was so unexpectedly shy and enchanting that she wondered why there weren’t a dozen or more females buzzing about his property, offering to clean his house and to clear his lantana, or to fix him something more substantial for lunch than bread and cheese.

However, his smile vanished just as quickly as it had come, and he turned his attention to the labouring heifer.

The poor thing’s sides were inflated as if she was holding her breath, and two little black hooves protruded from her rear end.

Making soothing noises, Daniel examined her with gentle hands, murmuring something Lily couldn’t quite catch, before he began to tie the twine around the protruding hooves.

‘It’s just as I thought,’ he said. ‘The calf’s a bit big for her,’

Lily winced, thinking of the pain. ‘Poor darling.’

‘I think she’ll be OK with a little help.’

To Lily’s surprise, he planted his booted foot on the heifer’s hindquarter, gained leverage, and then began to pull down on the twine, easing first one little hoof and then the other.

The air was very still and hot out in the middle of the paddock, and Lily was grateful for her shady hat. The rest of the cattle were some distance away, grazing quietly, and all Lily could hear was an occasional chomp as they chewed at tufts of grass. And then the heifer bellowed sharply.

Lily watched the muscles in Daniel’s forearms stand out as he hauled on the rope. She found herself holding her breath as she watched him strain, until at last the calf’s gangly legs emerged. And then its head.

The little wet calf had a dark-red face like its mother, but there was a white blaze on its forehead. It looked so sweet. And then it blinked. Goodness, it was still in the process of being born, and it had actually blinked its cute brown eyes. Unexpected emotion choked Lily.

‘That’s a good, brave girl.’ Daniel’s voice was deep and calm as he spoke to the heifer while he hauled again on the twine, and the calf’s shoulders inched forward. After several more firm tugs, the shoulders were cleared.

Again Lily held her breath, but it was only seconds later that the rest of the calf’s body slipped out, and an involuntary cheer burst from her. Daniel sent her a quick, relieved grin and she had to swipe at unexpected tears.

‘Oh, wow. Well done,’ she said between sniffles. She stared at the newborn form. It was lying very still. Actually, the calf’s eyes were closed now, and its chest wasn’t rising.

Oh, no. A few minutes ago it had blinked so sweetly. How awful if it hadn’t made it after all.

‘It’s not breathing,’ she whispered.

Without a word, Daniel knelt beside the inert body. He broke off a piece of dried grass and calmly tickled the calf’s nose with it. Lily couldn’t help thinking how nice his hands looked—workman’s hands, strong and callused, yet long-fingered and gentle. Hands that fostered life.

The calf gave a little snort and then another. Finally it lifted its head, and Lily gave a cry of delight. The new mother struggled to her feet and began to lick her offspring.

Still kneeling, Daniel looked up at Lily, his face alight, and she could see how very happy he was—almost as if he wasn’t used to having things go so well for him. A breeze played with his dark hair. Lily swiped at her eyes and laughed.

‘That was wonderful.’

She watched the skin around his blue eyes crease as he smiled at her, and he was still smiling as he rose lightly to his feet. Lily smiled back at him, and they stood there. They went on smiling foolishly at each other for a long, breathless stretch of time.

Daniel’s eyes actually shimmered, and Lily’s heart began to jump. She felt a thrilling, silent connection hum between them. Warmth. A special kind of happiness. And something far deeper.

But then he said, ‘We’d better get you on the road again.’

Welcome to Gidgee Springs.

One-hundred metres from the weathered sign, Daniel pulled to the side of the road and left the motor running. This was it. As far as he was prepared to go.

He didn’t look at Lily, but he was aware of her surprise that he had not taken her right into town. He could sense it in the way she stiffened and turned to him.

‘That’s Gidgee Springs,’ he said, nodding ahead towards the straggle of houses on the outskirts of the tiny Outback town.

‘So I see,’ she said, but she made no move to undo her seatbelt.

Daniel grimaced and drew a deep breath that emerged as a sigh. ‘I’d rather drop you off here than right in the centre of town.’

She didn’t answer, but when he glanced her way he could see her confusion.

‘Believe me, it’s better this way.’

She sat very still, staring at him, her lovely eyes puzzled. She opened her mouth to say something and then thought better of it.

Daniel swallowed, and ran a restless hand around the steering wheel.

Again Lily looked as if she was about to comment, but she paused, as if she was thinking carefully before she spoke. ‘You don’t want people to see me with you?’

Daniel covered his embarrassment with anger. ‘Look—I’ve done what you asked. It’s only a short walk to the garage and you can get your petrol.’

His bad manners ate at him, but they were necessary. No way was he going to explain to Lily exactly why he was being so unfriendly. He knew it would make perfect sense to her if he drove her all the way to Jim Blaine’s service station, waited while she got her petrol, and then drove her back out to her abandoned car. He had to go back that way anyway. He knew that. She knew that.

But what she didn’t know, what she couldn’t anticipate, was the way people would look at her if they saw her with him. He had no idea what had brought her to Gidgee Springs, but he was damned sure that her time there would be much more pleasant if she arrived without him.

‘Jim will help you find someone who’ll give you lift back out to your car. There’ll be plenty of people happy to help.’

‘I’m sure there will,’ she said in a low voice. ‘There have to be some friendly people around here somewhere.’

He could see puzzled disappointment written all over her, even though she was trying to hide how she felt. Well, too bad. This wasn’t the first time he’d disappointed a woman.

With a sharp little tilt of her chin, Lily unclipped her seatbelt and pushed the door open. Her hat and handbag were on her lap, and she slipped the straps of the bag over her shoulder and picked up the hat.

Then she took a deep breath and looked at him, her face fashioned into a tight, polite smile. ‘Thank you for lunch and for the lift. It—it was nice to meet you.’

His answer was a brief, bleak nod.

Her eyes flashed with an unnerving brightness, and with another spiky lift of her chin she stepped out of the ute and closed the door behind her.

She stood next to the car, and he had a clearly framed view through the passenger window of her blue floral shorts, hugging her cute behind, and above them the neat, slender curve of lightly tanned skin at her waist.

Clenching his teeth, he revved the car to send a clear message that he wanted to be on his way. Lily took the hint. With sunglasses and floppy hat in place, and her shoulders defiantly squared, she marched away from him. Her sandals crunched the gravel at the edge of the road and a gust of wind forced her to hang onto her hat. But she didn’t look back.

Good.

Daniel shoved the ute into gear and executed an abrupt U-turn, sending out a spurt of gravel in the process. He wouldn’t allow himself a single glance in the rear-view mirror. Another glimpse of Lily and he might weaken and head straight back to her, spluttering apologies.

For all sorts of reasons he mustn’t do that. He needed to put plenty of distance between himself and Lily Halliday.

To Lily’s surprise, it was a friendly young police sergeant who volunteered to drive her back to her abandoned car.

‘Who gave you a lift into town?’ he asked as they sped back over the bitumen.

‘Daniel Renton.’

As Lily said this she hoped he didn’t hear the quiver in her voice—a legacy of her lingering confusion about the man in question.

The policeman’s eyebrows shot high. ‘Daniel? Really?’

Deep down, Lily had guessed that her answer would surprise him.

‘I wish I’d seen him,’ he said. ‘I heard he was back. I would have liked to say hello.’

He seemed genuinely disappointed that he hadn’t caught up with Daniel.

‘He was in a terrible hurry to get away,’ she said tightly.

The police sergeant nodded, but didn’t comment, and for several minutes he drove on in silence. Lily felt absurdly annoyed. What was the mystery surrounding Daniel Renton? Why was it such a conversation-stopper?

She turned to stare out at the passing rush of dry paddocks and gum trees, and gnawed at her lip. Perhaps it was just as well they weren’t going to talk about Daniel. She’d experienced a ridiculous cocktail of emotions in the short time she’d been with him—intrigue, fear, sympathy—and an impossible attraction.

Daniel Renton was dangerously distracting. She hadn’t experienced such a compelling reaction to a man since Josh.

Josh. Oh, help. She was hit by an instant flash-flood of emotion, piercing, sweet and excruciating. Josh Bridges was the blond, suntanned, beach-boy hero of her youth. With him, she’d experienced youthful infatuation at its most poignant and painful.

She’d invested far too many years in Josh, too much tender love and too many fragile dreams. Then, just as her father had done when she was five, Josh had abandoned her.

These days she kept her heart safely under lock and key.

Besides, she couldn’t afford to be distracted by men. Right now, her mother depended on her. She was on a mission. Just as soon as she got her car going and was back in Gidgee Springs, she would try Audrey Halliday’s number again, and she wouldn’t give up till she got through to her.

But the annoying thing was that, no matter how hard she tried to divert her thoughts, Lily still felt an overwhelming need to talk about Daniel—especially to someone who knew him.

‘Daniel told me he’s been away and that he’s only come back recently,’ she said. ‘I don’t know where he’s been, but I’m sure of one thing—he wasn’t having fun.’

‘You’re dead right about that.’

‘I could sense this…’ She paused, and the sergeant looked at her expectantly.

‘Go on,’ he said. ‘What did you think of him?’

‘It’s hard to pin down,’ she admitted. ‘But he seemed vulnerable somehow. And I thought there seemed to be an—an awful sadness in him.’

Lily drew a sharp breath, stunned to hear what she’d said. But, yes. Sadness. That was what it was. She hadn’t been able to identify the exact feeling while she’d been with Daniel, but now she knew what had bothered her about him. Sadness. Deep, dark sadness.

The policeman was watching her with a shrewd, searching look, and then, without warning, his eyes twinkled. ‘So Daniel brought out your mothering instincts, did he?’

‘No.’

A second later, she regretted her hasty reply. Her denial had been an automatic defence, because she hated to be teased. But it wasn’t the truth. And, for some reason she couldn’t quite name, she felt that Daniel deserved the truth.

‘I take that back,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not sure that mothering’s the right word. But he did make me feel—he did awaken my—er—sympathy.’

He frowned then, and his jaw seemed to lock into a jutting grimace as he stared thoughtfully ahead through the windscreen. Lily wondered what she’d said to make him look so serious.

Eventually his face relaxed and he turned to her, and she had the distinct impression that he’d made some kind of decision.

‘Daniel deserves some well-directed sympathy,’ he said.

She remembered the way she’d behaved when Daniel had dropped her off on the outskirts of Gidgee Springs. He hadn’t offered any real explanation as to why he couldn’t accompany her any further, and she’d been short with him, almost rude, and now she felt guilty. She felt impossibly curious, too.

‘Why?’ she asked, suddenly impatient to get to the bottom of this. ‘What happened to him?’

CHAPTER THREE

THE sunset that evening set the distant hills on fire.

Daniel watched the blaze of red and orange from his front steps, where he sat, beer in hand, trying to absorb some of the twilight’s peacefulness. He watched a flock of white cockatoos set out across the darkening sky with slow, heavy flaps of their chunky wings. And as the shadows lengthened he saw kangaroos and pretty-faced wallabies emerge from the scrub to graze in the long home paddock.

And he tried to forget about Lily.

By now she should have collected her car, and she’d be safely installed in the Gidgee Springs pub. Tomorrow she’d probably be on her way. Out of the district.

Just as well. He had enough to deal with without being sidetracked by a passing female.

Of course he knew why he felt sidetracked by Lily, why he couldn’t get her out of his head. She was the first woman he’d been alone with in a long time. A very long time.

That explained why he was obsessed by memories of her hands fixing her hair. It was the only reason he was still thinking about her blue floral shorts. And her bare legs. The soft, touchable skin at her waist. And her eyes—the muted blue-grey of the sky when it was reflected in the Star River.

He let out a long, frustrated sigh. The fact that his mind clung to these details was proof of nothing—except the sad truth that he was a thirst-crazed man, emerging at last from the desert, and Lily Halliday had been his tempting oasis. That and that alone was why her smile haunted him, and why he couldn’t forget the way she’d looked at him with uncomplicated directness, making his heart leap.

But he was going to forget her. Now.

In prison he’d taught himself how to forget. It had been the only way to save himself from going mad. He’d learned to blank certain mind-crazing images from his thoughts.

And now he blanked out Lily.

He concentrated on the darkening sky. Night fell quickly in the tropics, and already there was only a thin river of ruddy gold clinging to the horizon. Above it the sky was deepening from light blue, through turquoise and purple, to navy. And in his head Daniel named each colour, and imagined each hue blanking out a little more of Lily.

The blue…got rid of her legs. Turquoise, and her shorts were gone. Yes, yes, they were gone, damn it. It was good to be free of them. No regrets.

Purple—goodbye, midriff. Navy blanketed her eyes.

Almost.

He concentrated harder on the navy, willing the sweet, questioning look in Lily’s eyes to disappear. At last. Mission accomplished.

Black took care of her hair…

And she was…gone.

He took a good long breath of warm summer’s-night air and let it out slowly, savouring the relief of seeing nothing but sky. The stars had already popped brightly into place, and a thin crescent of new moon was peeking through the silhouetted branches of a huge gum tree.

The sky was huge and clear—and so was the land. It was good to be surrounded by all this space, by the country he loved. Ironbark. His country. If he worked hard enough, if he exhausted himself day after day, perhaps in time he would find his way back to the peace he craved.

He lifted the beer to his lips, realised it was finished, and considered fetching another from the fridge. But before he moved his attention was caught by lights bobbing through the darkness. Car headlights coming his way.

Cursing harshly, he leapt to his feet. He didn’t want a visitor, but it was too late to turn out his house lights and try to pretend that he wasn’t home. The car was moving quickly, its lights dipping and reappearing as the rough track wound through the scrub. His hand gripped a veranda post as he watched its approach.

There was a good chance, of course, that the caller was a friend. Daniel still had quite a few friends in the district, and they’d kept in touch. He supposed he wouldn’t really mind if one or two of them wanted to visit. But he had enemies, too. And he was less certain of their identities.

The car was quite close now, and he could just make out its profile. Most people from around these parts drove trucks or four-wheel drives, but this was a small sedan.

Squinting against the glare of the headlights, he began to descend the short flight of timber steps and wished he could see the driver.

And then, as the car zipped up the last of the track to the house, he recognised its make. A Corolla. A white Corolla.

A slim bare arm waved from the driver’s window.

Daniel’s heart began a drumroll.

‘Hi, there,’ Lily called to him as she jumped out of the car.

Her hair was no longer bunched in a knot, but hung loose to ripple about her shoulders in pale waves that took on the colour of moonlight. She’d changed into skin-tight blue jeans, and a black knit top with a scooped neckline. She looked fabulous—so fabulous Daniel felt his throat constrict and his mouth go dry.

Stunned, he stared at her. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to thank you for your help this afternoon.’ She flipped him a dazzling grin, and then turned quickly to open the rear door of her car. ‘And I’ve brought you some supplies.’

Too surprised to think about manners, he said, ‘I don’t need supplies. I’ve got what I want.’

‘Daniel, you’ve got bread and cheese. And tea.’ She walked towards him with her arms full of shopping bags.

‘I like bread and cheese and tea. Besides, I’ve got beef. There’s a piece of beef in the oven right now.’

She thrust a bottle of red wine into his hand. ‘And here’s something fruity and mellow to wash it down.’

Tightness in his chest made breathing difficult. What the hell did she think she was doing? ‘This is crazy, Lily. You shouldn’t be here.’

She dismissed his protest with another stunning smile, breezed past him and up the steps. From the veranda, she called, ‘I told you. This is my way of saying thank you for rescuing me today.’

‘But I don’t need thanks. I don’t want to be thanked.’ With one leap, he was up the stairs and hurrying after her as she sailed into his kitchen and dumped grocery bags on the kitchen table.

‘Don’t look so scared, Daniel.’

Ignoring his protests, she carried a punnet of strawberries and a tub of rum-and-raisin ice-cream to his fridge. In two long strides he was across the kitchen, blocking her access.

‘Just hold it right there,’ he growled.

A soft gasp escaped her, and for the first time she faltered. She looked away, pressing her lips together. Then she took a quick breath, and when she looked at him again her expression was gentle and serious.

Daniel forgot to breathe. She was standing so close in front of him he could see the fine, clear perfection of her skin, the healthy and sensuous deep pink of her lips. The rosy scent of her perfume teased him.

‘Don’t panic, Daniel,’ she said gently. ‘I’m not here to stay. I don’t want to invade your privacy.’

‘Then you should go now.’

‘Sure.’ She sighed softly. ‘Sergeant Drayton warned me you’d be difficult.’

‘Heath?’ He frowned at her. ‘Heath Drayton? You’ve been talking to him?’

She nodded. ‘He was the one who gave me a lift back to my car.’

His chest squeezed tighter. If Lily had been talking to Heath, there was a chance she’d been told everything—the whole sorry business. He felt himself gulping for air. This made less sense than ever. If Lily knew all about him, why was she here?

And then light dawned.

She was sorry for him.

She was overflowing with do-good urges, and she’d rushed back to Ironbark to bring him provisions in the same way she’d rushed off to Sri Lanka to help villages there. Daniel’s shoulders sagged and he let his weight fall back against the refrigerator door. ‘You want to turn me into a charity.’

She looked mortified, and turned bright red. ‘No.’

‘Admit it, Lily. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? It can’t be anything else.’ The last thing he needed was charity. From her. From anyone.

‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s just my way of saying thanks. I left you in a bit of a huff at Gidgee Springs.’

She sighed again, more loudly this time. ‘Look, my hand is turning blue from holding this ice-cream. Can I get it into your freezer?’

His smileless gaze flicked to her hand. Her fingers were indeed mottled and purple. Without comment, he stepped to one side and Lily hastily opened the door to the freezer section, dumped the ice-cream and then deposited the strawberries in the refrigerator. As she slammed the door shut, she rubbed her cold hands on her jeans and her shimmering eyes confronted him again.

Her smile was tight, less certain. ‘You can relax, Daniel. I’ll get out of your hair now.’

Turning away from him, she gathered her dignity in the same way she had this afternoon when he’d dumped her on the side of the road, and she walked back across his kitchen with her head high.

In the doorway, she paused and looked back at him. ‘There was just one thing I wanted to ask you.’

He swallowed, trying to loosen the lump in his throat. ‘What’s that?’

‘There’s a rest area about two kilometres back. Just off the main road. Is it safe to camp there?’

He’d been braced for questions about his time in prison, and was caught out by the unexpectedness of her query. ‘Why would you want to camp there?’ He frowned. ‘It’s only a picnic table and a rubbish bin. There’s a pub in Gidgee Springs, you know.’

‘The pub’s completely booked out.’ She pulled a face. ‘I guess I should have checked before I came, but I couldn’t imagine an Outback pub being full to capacity. I mean, Gidgee Springs isn’t exactly a tourist attraction. But, just my luck, there’s a big rodeo in town this weekend.’

‘Yeah, of course. I’d forgotten. It’s always on this time of year. People come from everywhere.’

‘So I thought I’d try the rest area. I can sleep in my car. I’ll be quite comfortable. It should be OK, shouldn’t it?’

Daniel scratched nervously at the back his neck. A pretty young thing like her, alone in the scrub with no proper camping gear. It didn’t seem right.

‘It won’t be the first time I’ve roughed it,’ she said. ‘When I first went to Sri Lanka our accommodation was very primitive.’

He shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t camp out in the bush on your own.’

‘I wouldn’t be completely on my own.’ Daniel frowned, and she explained, ‘I’ve got a dog.’

‘A dog?’ He stared at her blankly. ‘Don’t tell me you left a dog in your car all the time it was stuck out on the road?’

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Of course not. Heavens, Daniel, you’re determined to have a poor opinion of me, aren’t you?’

He shrugged. ‘What else am I to think? You didn’t have time to acquire a dog while you were in Gidgee Springs.’

Lily grinned at him. ‘Of course I did. She’s in the car now. Why don’t you come and meet her?’

Without waiting for Daniel’s response, she turned and headed back along the veranda and down the front steps to her car.

Scratching his head, Daniel cast a helpless glance at the grocery bags sitting on his kitchen table and then, reluctant but curious, followed her outside. At the bottom of the steps, he paused.

Lily had opened the rear door of her car and was bending inside, making coaxing noises. And then a skinny dog emerged. A kelpie cross, by the look of it.

‘She’s a stray,’ Lily explained. ‘She’s been hanging about the pub for the last week, and the receptionist was in the process of calling the shire council to impound the poor darling. I acted on the spur of the moment and said I’d take her.’

The dog was looking up at Daniel with scared, almost pleading brown eyes. By contrast Lily, with her thumbs hooked through the belt-loops of her jeans, watched him from beneath lowered lashes.

‘I have to admit, I thought she might suit you,’ she admitted rather shyly.

‘Me?’

He looked at the dog again, paying closer attention. Her thin sides were concave, and he could see that she was trembling. Her nose quivered nervously, and as she looked at him she made a soft, plaintive, pitiful sound, somewhere between a whine and a yap. Daniel felt his resistance crumble.

How had Lily guessed his fatal weakness?

How could she know that he’d be a total push-over, unable to resist this cowed and anxious, skinny mutt of a dog with huge, pathetic eyes?

‘You were so good with the cow and her calf this afternoon,’ she said, with a defensive shrug of one shoulder. ‘And you don’t have a dog. You’re a cattleman. You should have a dog, shouldn’t you?’ Speaking quickly, like a telemarketer, she hurried to add, ‘This one’s very sweet, even though she’s timid. But there’s absolutely no pressure, Daniel. I thought you might like her, but if you don’t want her I’ll keep her. As I said, she can be my guard dog while I’m camping, and—’

Daniel held up a hand to silence her. ‘You can’t camp out there.’

‘Oh?’

She looked suddenly worried, and he knew he had no choice. She’d brought him food to thank him for helping her, when in fact his assistance had been minimal and begrudging. She’d apologised for walking off in a huff, when she’d had every right to after he’d so ungallantly abandoned her on the edge of town. She’d brought him a dog, for heaven’s sake.

How could he kick her off his property again and leave her to camp out on the edge of the road? If he was half-decent, he’d apologise for his behaviour.

‘I can give you a bed here,’ he said.

‘Really?’ Lily stood very still, looking at him with a wide-eyed yet careful expression.

Remembering that she’d been talking to Heath Drayton, he felt suddenly embarrassed and dropped his gaze. ‘If you’ll risk a camp-bed in my kitchen, that is.’ And then, ‘This is the only habitable space. The rest of the house is still a mess.’

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