“As long as you remember our bargain.”

Natasha continued. “This trip is strictly business. I’m here to paint and you’re here to drive and protect me from crocodiles. Over dinner we stick to talking about our trip. Or the weather. Anything but—” Even to say the words was likely to inflame the situation.

But Tom said them anyway. “Anything but us.” He looked down at her. “So it’s not so much hate…but fear,” he murmured.

“Fear? You think I’m afraid of you? You must be mad!”

“Maybe not afraid of me…no,” he conceded. “More…afraid that you might still have some feelings. Feelings you don’t want to have.”

“Feelings? For you?” She turned on him then. “I’ll tell you what I feel. Nothing. Understand? Any feelings I had for you, Tom, died long ago.” Her chest heaved, her breath coming in furious gulps.

She moaned inwardly. Why was she getting so steamed up if she felt nothing?

Elizabeth Duke was born in Adelaide, South Australia, but has lived in Melbourne all her married life. She trained as a librarian and has worked in many different types of libraries, but she was always secretly writing. Her first published book was a children’s novel, after which she successfully tried her hand at romance writing. She has since given up her work as a librarian to write romance full-time. When she isn’t writing or reading, she loves to travel with her husband, John, either within Australia or overseas, gathering inspiration and background material for future romances. She and John have a married son and daughter, who now have children of their own.

The Outback Affair
Elizabeth Duke

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Heather and Jan, two talented artists who have painted, camped and fished at Kakadu. With many thanks.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

NATASHA was putting the finishing touches to her oil painting of Ayers Rock when her father poked his head round the door of her studio. ‘There’s someone to see you, Nat.’

Something in his tone brought her head up sharply. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Tom Scanlon.’

She dropped her paintbrush. Heat rushed to her face, then receded, leaving an icy, numbing coldness. She felt as if her lifeblood were draining out of her. It was eighteen months since she’d last seen or heard of her ex-fiancé, and she’d thought he was out of her life for good.

With an effort she unlocked her parched lips. ‘Send him away. I don’t want to see him.’

‘But he’s—’

‘Tell him I’m busy. I can’t come.’ How dare Tom Scanlon come back into her life, after what he did to her? How dare he show up here, without warning, and expect her to welcome him with open arms? ‘Better still, tell him I don’t want to see him. Now or ever.’

‘If you don’t come, Nat, he’s likely to barge in here himself. He seems very determined to see you.’

‘And I’m just as determined not to see him.’

But underneath her cold resolve her stomach was churning; her nerves fraying. Why had Tom Scanlon come back to visit her after the callous way he’d walked out on her, just two weeks after he’d proposed marriage and sworn undying love? Why was he so determined to see her? To find out if she’d managed to survive without him?

‘If you don’t speak to him now, love, you’ll be looking over your shoulder every time you go out. If you don’t want to see him again, Nat, you tell him.’

She sighed, clenching her teeth. ‘Right. I’ll do that. Send him in, Charlie. I’ll give him one minute.’ Since she and her father had become business partners a year ago—together they owned an art gallery and framing business—she’d fallen into the habit of calling him ‘Charlie’ rather than ‘Dad.’ She trembled to think what she would have done without her father in the past year and a half. He’d kept her busy, kept her spirits up, given her a reason for going on…and not looking back.

And now here he was, calmly thrusting Tom Scanlon back into her life!

‘Give him a chance, Nat,’ Charlie appealed to her. ‘At least listen to him. He seems a changed man. There’s something…’ At her glowering glance, he shrugged. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll send him in.’ He swung on his heel.

But before he reached the door, a tall figure filled the doorway.

‘Hullo, Natasha.’

The room tilted. She blinked, her heart turning over. She had to grip her easel for support.

He looked so different from the way he’d looked eighteen months ago. He’d always been a large man, tall and massive shouldered, with a solid, powerful build—perhaps verging on overweight back then. Now he looked—she swallowed—he looked fantastic…leaner, fitter, and healthier than she’d ever seen him before. He must be thirty-six by now, but he looked younger.

Had his new girlfriend done that for him?

Her eyes turned to silver ice. It was a mistake, agreeing to see him—even if only to order him out of her life. It was stirring up all kind of sensations—sensations she’d thought buried for all time.

Her father was edging away. ‘I’ll leave you two to—’

‘No need to go, Dad!’ Her voice was sharp, and unnaturally high. The betraying ‘Dad’ had slipped out. ‘Mr. Scanlon won’t be staying.’

Her eyes raked coldly over her unwanted visitor. She narrowed her gaze, a tremor quivering through her.

This wasn’t the Tom Scanlon she’d known and fallen in love with. This was a stranger—a cleanshaven stranger with a brand-new look, a brand-new vitality. Where was the ruffianly beard and the untamed mane of long brown hair that had curled over his collar and tumbled over his brow? Where were the washed-out jeans and the bush shirt with the rolled-up sleeves? Where were the dusty old boots, the knockabout slouch hat?

And where was the constant cigarette in his hand?

He was wearing pale moleskins, leather shoes and a neat pale grey shirt—admittedly without a tie. That would really be something—to see Tom Scanlon in a tie. The shirt had a trendy Neru collar, with the top button left undone. But only the top button—not slashed open as so often in the past, uncaringly showing an expanse of bronzed, muscular chest.

His hair, though still curly, still wild—nothing could completely tame those unruly curls—now barely reached the top of his collar. It was neatly brushed back from his deeply tanned face, although a wayward lock was already slipping forward over his brow.

She swallowed, gathering her strength. ‘Well…Tom Scanlon.’ Her tone was as withering as she could make it. ‘The man who decided marriage wasn’t for him.’ Or had his new girlfriend changed his mind?

‘Tash—’

Tash. Her heart twisted, bitterness coiling through her. Tom was the only one who’d ever called her that. It had been a special name…once. Now she couldn’t bear to hear it.

‘Don’t you dare call me that!’ She balled her hands into white-knuckled fists, her eyes spitting fire. ‘I can’t believe you have the nerve to come back and face me—as if nothing ever happened.’ Just when I was beginning to get over you…beginning to think I could survive without you.

His chest expanded in a deep indrawn breath that hissed out through his teeth. ‘A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since then, Ta—Natasha.’

There was to be no apology then, no begging for forgiveness. No…that wouldn’t be Tom Scanlon’s style. Water under the bridge…that was all the past eighteen months had been to him. She tilted her chin, the blue of her eyes turning to cold, glinting silver. No matter what it took, she wasn’t going to show him how much he’d hurt her.

‘Yes, one moves on,’ she agreed coolly.

She didn’t ask what he’d been doing with himself. He and his new love. Or if he was still in Sydney. Or what kind of work he’d taken on since tossing in his job as a helicopter pilot. Knowing Tom, he could turn his hand to just about anything. Before he’d become a pilot, he’d worked as a jackaroo, a horse-breaker, a dynamiter, a roof tiler, and heaven knew what else, but he’d never, as far as she knew, worked in a city office. He’d always preferred the outback, the wide open spaces. Freedom…

Had his new girlfriend tamed him enough to put him behind a desk? He had some accounting qualifications, he’d told her once, which would come in handy, he’d said, when he owned his own cattle station—his long-time dream.

A pipedream. A beautiful, remote pipedream.

She composed her face into a stony mask, to cover a surge of bitterness. Everything about Tom Scanlon had been a pipedream. Pie in the sky. Ambitious daydreams. Nothing he did or said or promised had been real. When you find the love of your life, you want to seize her with both hands and never let her go, he’d told her on the night he’d proposed.

Her heart wrenched at the thought of the love they’d shared; the laughter and the long talks about everything under the sun. Although their busy lives had kept them apart for much of their whirlwind two-month courtship, they’d been as close as any two people could be…or so she’d thought.

It had never struck her for a second that anything could ever come between them….

‘A lot can happen in a year and a half,’ Tom mused aloud. His eyes searched hers—or tried to. She snapped her gaze away before they could delve too deeply. ‘I didn’t just go off and forget you, Tash. I’ve been concerned about you.’

Concerned? How gullible did he think she was?

When she made no comment he didn’t pursue it. ‘I flew into Brisbane this morning,’ he said conversationally. ‘I wanted to see how you were doing. How your paintings were going. How life has been…treating you.’

And to find out if she was still pining for him; still heartbroken at losing him? Or if she’d managed to crawl out of her misery yet and find someone else…the way he had?

Ice clawed at her heart. Perhaps he would feel less guilty if she had taken up with another man, the way he’d taken up with—and presumably found happiness with—another woman. Or was he hoping she hadn’t found anyone else? No doubt he’d get a the perverse satisfaction of assuming he was irreplaceable.

‘Well, as you can see, I’m fine.’ He didn’t need to know any more than that. He didn’t deserve to know. Let him stew. Let him wonder all he liked.

‘That’s good. I’m glad. You look great, Tash.’ She felt his eyes rake over her, as hers had flicked over him a moment ago. It was such a searing scrutiny that she felt suddenly exposed and raw, as if his hot gaze was stripping her bare.

It made her feel self-conscious, uncomfortably aware of her paint-spattered smock, the frayed shorts underneath, the paint splodges on her bare legs and feet. Her own untidy mane of layered honey-blond hair was caught back in a black scrunchie, but long wisps had come loose and were trailing over her flushed cheeks and down her bare neck. And she had an uneasy feeling, as his piercing blue eyes came to rest on her face, that she had a dob of paint on the tip of her nose.

‘I can do without the flattery, thanks,’ she snapped, but her voice was lamentably unsteady. ‘And I told you to stop calling me Tash!’ Knowing what a sorry mess she must look made it even harder to accept his glib compliment. She wondered what the new woman in his life looked like…the irresistible siren who’d ‘swept him off his feet’, as he’d put it when he’d called her from Sydney to break off their engagement eighteen months ago.

The thought of his shock betrayal galvanised her into action. She tossed back her head, her gaze coldly scathing, showing none of the churning havoc behind, none of the harrowing emotions she’d buried for the past eighteen months and could now feel quivering to life again.

‘Well, you’ve seen me now,’ she scraped out. ‘You’ve seen that I haven’t slit my wrists or fallen in a heap. Now you’ll have to excuse me, I’m busy. Charlie, would you see Tom out?’ She had to get rid of her treacherous ex-fiancé before he realised what the sight of him was doing to her.

Her father sighed, and turned to Tom. ‘Sorry, mate, it’s a bad time. Nat’s busy. Come on, I’ll see you out.’

Mate? A bad time? Natasha glowered at her father. Traitor, she thought bitterly. Charlie had always liked Tom. Despite Tom’s wild, rough-diamond looks and adventurous, freewheeling lifestyle, he’d taken to Tom like a house on fire, succumbing to the same irresistible macho charm that had demolished her own defences. Her father couldn’t understand why they’d broken up so suddenly, when they’d appeared to be so crazy about each other.

She’d felt too hurt and humiliated to tell Charlie that Tom had fallen for another woman, and in the weeks and months that had followed their break-up she’d refused to mention Tom at all. She’d simply told her father what Tom had told her before she’d forced him into admitting he’d met someone else…that he’d decided he wasn’t cut out for marriage after all and had wanted his freedom.

Tom began to leave, then paused, his gaze flicking to the painting on her easel. ‘You’ve captured it perfectly,’ he murmured. ‘The spectacular colours at sunset…the clouds…the shadows. It’s just as I remember it that evening.’

That evening…Her heart missed a beat. The reminder that he’d been with her the first time she’d watched the sun set over Ayers Rock brought bittersweet memories flooding back, sending deep tremors through her.

She’d been on a painting trip to the Red Centre, and Tom had been the helicopter pilot who’d flown her to Ayers Rock from Alice Springs. They’d clicked immediately, and for the next blissful two months they’d tried to see each other whenever they could. She’d been so sure they were soul mates, that they’d been meant for each other—two free spirits who’d answered a need in each other, who both wanted the same things…or so she’d thought.

But the dream had shattered when Tom had flown down to Sydney, telling her only that he had ‘something to see to.’ Within a week he’d phoned to tell her it was over and he’d met someone else.

‘Is it for sale?’

Her head snapped back. He wanted to buy it? Did he have any idea what her paintings were worth these days? Her traditional Australian landscapes had really taken off in the past couple of years. They were in demand all over Australia. Even the Prime Minister had commissioned one, for Parliament House in Canberra. Her prices had soared as a result. Soared way out of Tom Scanlon’s pocket…assuming he was still saving every cent he could scrape together to buy a cattle station one day. She couldn’t imagine he’d have the spare cash to splash out on luxuries like original oil paintings.

Unless he’d abandoned his long-time dream since taking up with his Sydney siren. I need new challenges…a change of scene, he’d told her back then. He’d already tossed in his job as a helicopter pilot, as if determined to cut his ties to the outback he’d always loved. She supposed it was possible he’d used his hard-earned savings to buy a swanky new city home for his new love and himself. A home he was now adorning with equally swanky paintings.

She dragged in a ragged breath. Where was the new woman in his life? Had Tom brought her here to Brisbane with him? Did his girlfriend have any idea he was making house calls on his ex-fiancée?

The questions were on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed the urge to voice them aloud. She didn’t want to show Tom that she was interested in his life any more. She wasn’t!

‘It’s not for sale,’ she said curtly. She’d done similar paintings of the Rock at sunset for an exhibition she’d held a few months ago, and they’d been snapped up immediately—every single one. She’d regretted seeing the last one go, and on an impulse had decided to paint another one to keep for herself. She wasn’t sure quite why. She didn’t even have a spare wall to hang it on. The gallery next door and the family apartment upstairs were already bursting at the seams.

She shifted restlessly. Maybe she wouldn’t keep the painting after all. It would be too much of a reminder of a time she wanted to forget. She’d been mad to even consider keeping it and she’d have no trouble selling it. She could paint this scene over and over and sell every last one, no trouble at all.

But if she did put this one up for sale, she certainly wasn’t going to sell it to Tom Scanlon. No way. It would be too humiliating, knowing he’d be sharing this once special scene, this once special evening, this one special moment in time, with the woman who’d replaced her.

‘That’s too bad.’ Tom shrugged in a way that made her lips tighten. He was probably already regretting making the rash offer. He would hardly want to be reminded of that intoxicatingly romantic evening either.

Her eyes appealed to her father, and Charlie, with a rueful grimace, ushered Tom out at last. She averted her gaze, afraid that her eyes might reveal a yearning behind their steely coldness, a yearning she couldn’t believe she could feel, after what he’d done to her.

Thank heaven she and her father were going away tomorrow on a two-week painting trip. There’d be no chance of running into Tom again, assuming he was staying in Brisbane for a few more days. More likely he’d be rushing back to Sydney on the first available flight—back to the more welcoming arms of the woman he’d preferred to her.

She couldn’t settle down to work after he’d gone. She moved to the window and stood for timeless minutes staring out into the city street, trembling from the disturbing encounter. Unresolved questions swirled through her mind. Maybe it had been a mistake not asking Tom about the new woman in his life, and whether he’d found a city job and settled down in Sydney for good—or whether he’d been drawn back to his beloved outback. With her curiosity satisfied, she could have put him out of her mind, and out of her life, once and for all.

But it would have been unbearably painful to hear about his new love from Tom’s own lips…to have to endure him extolling the virtues of the woman he hadn’t been able to resist…‘I didn’t mean it to happen, Tash,’ he’d said. ‘It hit me like a bolt out of the blue.’

It made her wonder if he had ever felt that way about her. A bitter glint lit her eyes. He’d certainly fooled her into thinking he had. ‘I’ve found my soul mate in you, Tash…You and I were meant for each other…I never believed I could love as much…’

But it still hadn’t been enough. It had only taken a week in Sydney to—

She stiffened in disbelief. Tom Scanlon had appeared in her line of sight. He’d just emerged from the gallery and framing shop next door! She couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t left earlier, as she’d assumed. He’d been with her father in the gallery all this time!

Her eyes sparked with anger. How dare he hang around her father after she’d ordered him to go! How dare he soft-soap Charlie, after he’d failed to melt her!

If Charlie’s been talking to Tom Scanlon about me, I’ll kill him, she vowed. Whirling round, she marched out of her studio and burst into the art gallery next door. She found her father working on a frame in the back room.

‘What did you say to Tom Scanlon after he left me?’ she blazed. ‘Why did he stay so long? You know I didn’t want him here. He’s out of my life now and I want him to stay out. Anyway, he’s probably m-married by now to somebody else.’

‘Married? What on earth makes you think that, love? Tom wanted to be free, you told me. He’d hardly rush off and marry someone else.’

‘It’s easier for a man to tell a girl he’s not cut out for marriage and wants his freedom,’ Natasha sneered, ‘than to admit he wants to be free to play around with other women!’ No need to tell her father that Tom had already found someone else before he’d broken off their engagement. She didn’t want Charlie to start feeling sorry for her all over again.

‘Well? Why did he stay for so long?’ she pressed. ‘What did you talk about?’ She wasn’t quite sure why she had to know.

‘Tom just wanted to have a look around the gallery, that’s all.’ Was Charlie avoiding her eye? He’d bowed his head over the frame he was working on and was frowning heavily, as if in concentration. ‘As a matter of fact, he bought a painting,’ he muttered, almost as an afterthought.

She blinked. So Tom had been serious about buying a painting. ‘Which painting?’ They didn’t only hang her own paintings in the gallery. They displayed the paintings of several promising young Brisbane artists as well. Some of them were very good, yet their prices were still reasonable. Far cheaper than her own.

‘One of yours.’ Her father didn’t look up. ‘The one of the cherry blossom trees in the Botanical Gardens.’

Her jaw dropped. Why on earth would Tom Scanlon want to buy that particular painting? They’d once strolled arm in arm through the Gardens, admiring the spring blossom. They’d even kissed under those very same trees! Why in the world would he want to be reminded of it? It had been hard enough for her to go back to the Gardens last spring and paint there!

The painting for sale in the gallery had been one of her smaller works, a delicate watercolour, priced more reasonably than her larger oil paintings. Perhaps it had been the only painting of hers within Tom’s means. But why buy one of her paintings at all?

Maybe because it was pretty, and he’d wanted a romantic coming-home gift for his lover back in Sydney. But would Tom be that insensitive—to give his girlfriend a sentimental painting done by his ex-fiancée?

If he’d told her he had an ex-fiancée.

Her brow darkened. Nothing Tom Scanlon did made sense any more. He was no longer the man she’d known…or thought she’d known. Not that she cared what he did any more, or why he did any of the things he did. He was out of her life now.

‘That’s all? He just wanted to buy a painting? You didn’t talk about anything else?’ Damn it, Natasha, you don’t care, so why ask?

Her father glanced up, his eyes bemused. ‘If you had any questions for him, Nat, you had your chance to ask him face to face. It’s not my business to ask him.’

‘No, of course not.’ Her chin lifted. ‘And don’t be silly, of course I don’t have any questions I’d want to ask Tom Scanlon! I couldn’t get rid of him quick enough—as you saw.’ She realised she was shaking, not just her hands, but her whole body. Just as well she wasn’t still trying to paint!

‘Nat—’ Charlie began, and seemed to hesitate. ‘The very fact that he came back to see you shows that he must still care about you…that he’s been thinking about you,’ he amended, as pained eyes flew to his. ‘He’s had his freedom…eighteen months of it. He most likely has it out of his system by now. If you still care about him yourself—’

‘I don’t!’ she cried, and bit her lip. ‘Dad, you don’t understand.’ She was calling him Dad again, a sign of growing distress. She folded her arms to hide her trembling hands. ‘He hurt me. I’m not going to let him hurt me again. I’m over him now and I don’t ever want to see him again.’

Her father gave her a long searching look. ‘Maybe I know you, Nat, better than you know yourself.’

‘Oh, yes?’ She glared at him indignantly But she could feel her lip wobbling.

‘I think you do care, deep down. And I think he still cares too. Time’s a great healer, Nat.’

‘Dad…’ She heaved a shuddering sigh. ‘Forget it. There’s not going to be a happy ending, so don’t start dreaming of one. It’s not going to happen. What we had once is dead and buried. He killed it. He—’ She flicked her tongue over her lips. She would have to tell him. It was the only way he’d understand. ‘He dumped me for someone else!’

It was out. Finally.

Her father’s head shot up. She flinched at the rush of sympathy in his eyes. But the anger she expected to see wasn’t there…the anger he should have been directing at Tom.

‘Nat…I know it must have hurt you. But some men get cold feet at the thought of marriage, and panic. Maybe Tom just wanted an excuse to get away for a while…to be on his own. Or maybe he just needed some breathing space, and took up with someone else on the rebound—and later came to regret it and realise he’d made a terrible mistake. And now he’s come back to find out if there’s any hope of a second chance.’

‘A second chance? Forget it!’ She shot her father a quick, probing frown. ‘Who says he regrets it?’ she cracked out. ‘Did he say anything about his—his girlfriend to you?’

‘No,’ Charlie admitted. ‘But why would he come all the way here to see you, Nat, and want to buy one of your paintings, if he’s still involved with someone else?’

‘Oh, Dad, you’re so naive. Because he feels guilty. Because his conscience is bothering him. He just wanted to check that I hadn’t fallen into a black hole, so that he could get on with his life without feeling guilty any more. Well, I showed him.’ She tossed her head. ‘I showed him I’m well and truly over him.’ A tremor shook through her. ‘But there was no way I was going to be all chummy and forgiving. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.’

‘No…rightly so,’ Charlie murmured, examining the frame in his hand. ‘I’d better get on with this, Nat…I have to finish it before we leave tomorrow.’

She pursed her lips. He was taking Tom Scanlon’s treachery very lightly. Obviously, her father was prepared to forgive and forget…without even knowing if Tom was still tied up with the woman he’d run away with. It defied belief!

‘I’ve got things to finish this afternoon, too, and I’ve still got to pack,’ she growled. ‘I could have done without this interruption.’ She scowled, still hovering, despite herself. ‘Let’s forget he ever came. All right?’

‘Anything you say, love.’

She shot him a suspicious look. But Charlie’s face was bland. Disturbingly bland.

Well, he could hardly be planning to invite Tom back for a return visit. Tomorrow Charlie was taking her up north on a painting trip. Her first ever trip to Kakadu National Park. She’d agreed to hold an exhibition of her paintings in Sydney in the spring, with Kakadu as her subject.

Kakadu was way up north, near Darwin, at the Top End of Australia. She’d be safe up there. Safe from Tom Scanlon.

Perfectly safe.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN she came into the kitchen the next morning to grab some coffee before the early morning flight to Darwin, Natasha found Aunt Edith, her father’s widowed sister, already there. Edith was going to stay in their flat and look after the gallery and framing business while they were away up north. Since her husband’s death last year, Edith had been helping out in the gallery part-time, and she often popped in to help with the cleaning and cooking, or to join them for a meal.

‘Hi, Aunt Edith.’

‘Good morning, dear.’

There was something about Edith’s usually cheery greeting that alerted Natasha. ‘Is something wrong, Auntie?’ She frowned and glanced round. ‘Where’s Charlie?’ Her father was usually up at the crack of dawn.

‘Oh dear, your father’s come down with the flu, dear. And to make matters even worse, he has gout in his big toe.’

‘Oh, no!’ On the very day they were planning to fly to Darwin! ‘How bad is he? Have you called the doctor?’ Sympathy for her father vied with dismay at what it meant. She’d planned this Kakadu trip so carefully, deliberately choosing this time of year—early May, the start of the dry season, when the grass would still be green and the flowers still blooming. To postpone it, even for a couple of weeks, would upset her carefully-made plans and put her entire working schedule out in the coming months.

Edith grimaced. ‘He wouldn’t let me. He said the doctor would only tell him to stay in bed, and he’s already in bed. Luckily he has tablets for his gout.’ She seemed to hesitate. ‘He demanded his mobile phone so that he could make some phone calls—the last thing he should be doing, the state he’s in.’ She sniffed her disapproval.

‘I’ll go and see him.’ Chewing on her lip, Natasha darted off.

She expected her father to be sitting up in bed, propped up on pillows, or in an armchair with the mobile phone clamped to his ear, but he was lying in bed huddled under the blankets, with only the silvery top of his head showing and a big cage-like mound at the foot of the bed protecting his gouty foot. Her heart sank.

‘Dad…’

He peeked up at her. ‘Sorry, love, I’m sick. Really sick.’ His voice was thin and wavery, his normally lively blue eyes half closed, as if it were an effort to keep them open. ‘But you’re not to worry, I’ve arranged everything. You’re still to catch the plane at nine.’

‘Oh, Dad, how can I go without you? I can’t go camping for two weeks in Kakadu Park on my own! And at this late stage there’s no one else I—’

‘Love, I’ve fixed it, I said,’ Charlie insisted weakly. ‘I’ve contacted a safari tour company—’

‘Dad, I’m not going on one of those organised tours—even if it’s in a four-wheel-drive with only a handful of people. I want to be able to go where I like, when I like, and take as long as I need to get the shots and the sketches I want, and do the painting I want.’

‘You’ll still be able to do all that, love. The tour boss himself is going to take you—personally. I’ve checked him out and he’s thoroughly reliable and highly regarded throughout the Top End. He’ll take you wherever you want to go—and he’ll see to all the food and help you put up your tent and lift any heavy gear for you and protect you from the crocodiles…’ A weak smile flickered.

‘Charlie—’

‘He’ll be waiting at Darwin airport to meet you, love, holding up a sign with your name on it. His name…now what was it? Cannon…something like that. He’ll be wearing an insignia on his shirt and hat in the shape of a magpie goose, he said, with the name Wild-Goose-Chase Tours woven into it.’

‘Wild-Goose-Chase Tours?’

‘Neat name, huh? Attention grabbing. I told him you were a gorgeous blonde and that you’d be wearing a T-shirt with Monet waterlilies front and back. So make sure you’re wearing it.’

‘Oh, Dad.’ She sighed. Sick as he was, Charlie appeared to have thought of everything. Luckily, her Monet shirt was clean. It was a favourite, and she’d already planned to take it with her. She would change into it after she’d finished her coffee. If she decided to go…

‘Dad, you might be better in a couple of days…’

‘I won’t…and don’t come near me! You don’t want to catch it.’ He waved her away with a feeble hand. ‘Even if this rotten gout gets better in a few days, the flu’s bound to develop into a shocking head cold, with an ear infection—it always does with me—and I won’t be able to fly for weeks. But don’t worry, I’ll be fine, love,’ he assured her hastily. ‘Edith will look after me.’

‘Dad—’

‘You don’t have to do a thing, love. I’ve already cancelled the four-wheel-drive we were planning to hire in Darwin. The tour company will provide one, as well as a tent and camping gear and all your food, etc. You just have to turn up. Now off you go and get ready.’

She knew he’d only get upset if she stood around arguing. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ She gave him a rallying smile. Sick as he was, he’d tried his best to put things right for her. The least she could do was sound grateful. ‘I’ll take my mobile phone to Darwin with me so we can keep in touch.’

He grunted. ‘Don’t waste your time making calls back home. You’ll be out of range most of the time anyway. Besides, Edith says she’s taking my phone away.’ He sighed, a wavery sound. ‘Sorry, love…I’m so tired.’

‘Then go to sleep, Dad. And make sure you get Aunt Edith to call the doctor if you feel any worse.’ She gave her father a pat—carefully avoiding the area of his feet. ‘You take good care of yourself, Charlie. Get better soon.’

She couldn’t believe that she was agreeing to go, that her father was actually urging her to go—to go careering off into the Australian wilds with a complete stranger. But if Charlie was happy for his daughter to go off on a two-week camping tour with a tour operator neither of them had met personally, he must be confident that the man was absolutely trustworthy.

This Cannon character, being the boss, and presumably the owner of Wild-Good-Chase Tours, was probably a mature, older man, married most likely, and he should at least be dependable and well experienced in the bush.

Besides, she had to go…people were depending on her. If she didn’t come up with the paintings of Kakadu that she’d promised to produce by early spring, she might never be invited to exhibit in Sydney again! She’d be seen as unreliable, and her reputation in the art world would suffer.

She hurried back to the kitchen to grab a much needed cup of coffee.

As soon as she stepped out of the packed aircraft after the long flight north, the humid warmth in the air, the casual surroundings, and the people milling round the terminal in shorts and skimpy tops, confirmed that she was in Darwin. This was a city where things happened at a slower, easier pace, where people relaxed and enjoyed life.

Where most people relaxed, that was. Unless they were waiting to meet a complete stranger. A stranger who was going to be her close companion for the next two weeks—not in a civilised city with other people around, but alone in the bush, exploring Australia’s largest, wildest and most exciting national park.

She gulped hard, and looked around for a man carrying a sign with her name on it. She could only see two people carrying signs, an elderly man and a young woman, and neither of their signs said Natasha Beale. And they weren’t wearing insignias bearing the name Wild-Goose-Chase Tours.

She wasn’t sure whether to wait, or go ahead and pick up her luggage. Maybe she’d find him there. She could always call the tour company. As the boss he—

Her eyes widened. Her heart crashed against her ribs. A man was heading her way. A tall broad-shouldered man in knee-length khaki shorts, a dark shirt with an insignia on the pocket, and an Akubra hat with a similar badge…in the shape of a magpie goose, with the words Wild-Goose-Chase Tours clearly visible.

The man wasn’t holding a card with her name on it. He didn’t have to. He knew precisely who she was. Just as she knew who he was.

‘Tom Scanlon,’ she breathed in disbelief. With an effort she managed to stop her legs crumbling beneath her. That insignia on his cap…on his shirt…No, it wasn’t possible! She could feel herself plunging into a nightmare. A nightmare her own father must have had a hand in!

Cannon, Charlie had slyly—cunningly—called him. Scanlon…Cannon…how devious.

‘Natasha…how was the flight?’ Tom held out both arms, as if about to grasp her shoulders and give her a welcoming kiss on the cheek—or on the lips!

She jerked back, out of his reach. ‘What in the world do you think you’re up to, Tom Scanlon? What sick game are you playing this time?’

‘No game. I’m answering a call for help,’ he said mildly. ‘Your father’s fallen ill, I was sorry to hear, and can’t travel with you—and he appealed to me to come to your rescue.’

Her eyes flared, then narrowed. ‘He knew you were working up here in Darwin?’ Her head was still spinning. She could barely think.

‘I mentioned it to him yesterday. Did he tell you I bought one of your paintings?’

If he thought he was going to soften her up that way, he was sadly mistaken. ‘If you imagine I’m going anywhere with you, Tom Scanlon—’

‘Look, you’d better pick up your luggage. We can argue on the way. Can I carry something for you?’

She had a tote bag and her camera slung over her shoulder. ‘I can manage, thanks.’ She had to think! She had to get out of this ghastly mess.

‘If you say so.’ He actually had the nerve to take her arm as he steered her away. She shook it off.

‘I’m going back on the next plane,’ she bit out. And when she got home she’d give her father a piece of her mind, sick or not. How dare he hire Tom Scanlon to look after her—and be so underhand about it! The last man on earth she’d ever go on a camping tour with. Go anywhere with.

‘After your father’s gone to all this trouble for you?’ Tom’s eyes, deeply blue against the rich tan of his face, reproached her. ‘Charlie told me he was desperate and didn’t know who else to turn to. It was only natural he’d appeal to me—someone he knows—having learned only yesterday that I run adventure safaris out of Darwin…which I’ve been doing for the past year.’

He had? He couldn’t have stayed long in Sydney…

‘But you didn’t have to volunteer to take me!’

‘Sorry, ma’am, but I was the only operator available at such short notice. And your father was very relieved that you’d have someone you both know to take care of you—someone he can rely on.’

‘Rely on? You?’ She turned scathing eyes to his. When had she ever been able to rely on Tom Scanlon to take care of her? ‘Oh, this is too much!’ she burst out. ‘You’ll have to find someone else to take me—I don’t care where from. I’m not going anywhere with you!’

‘You’d prefer to go with a total stranger?’

‘I thought I was going with a total stranger.’

‘Ah, but your father knew that you weren’t. He knew you’d be safe with me. You will, Natasha,’ Tom assured her seriously. ‘This is a business arrangement, pure and simple. I’m just your driver…your guide…your minder, if you like. I’ll be there to give you a helping hand and generally watch over you. This trip’s obviously important to you. Let’s make the best of it.’

The best of it? How could there be any ‘best’ about it, if he was involved? She inhaled a fraught breath. She could feel a net tightening around her. But she wasn’t going to meekly give in. ‘You can answer some questions before I even think about it!’

‘By all means…but we’d better grab your luggage first. Can you see your bag?’

Luggage was already revolving on the carousel, with people dashing forward to retrieve their bags.

Natasha spied her battered suitcase. It had been on many trips with her, usually around Queensland in her father’s sturdy four-wheel-drive. If they’d had the time to spare they would have driven all the way to Kakadu instead of flying, but it would have added days, or even weeks, to the trip.

And what if her father had fallen ill on the way? It would have been a disaster!

‘It’s that one.’ She dashed forward to snatch it up, but Tom was there before her, lifting the bag with ease. She had to admire his strength. The suitcase held not only heavy boots and all the clothes and toiletries she’d need for two weeks, but a first aid kit, a torch, films and equipment for her camera, her sketching and painting gear, and maps and compasses.

‘Anything else?’ Tom asked.

‘A sleeping bag.’ She’d decided to bring her own. ‘There it is!’

He was there before her again, grabbing the rolled-up sleeping bag and slinging it over his shoulder. ‘That it? Right. My four-wheel-drive’s in the car park. I’ve already stocked up on food and drink. Anything else you want before we head off?’

He was assuming she’d already given in. Had she?

‘I’ll want a tent.’ The answer popped out. If she was going to go anywhere with Tom Scanlon, she intended to have a tent all to herself. A two-man tent for reasonable comfort. Tom could provide his own tent—or sleep under the stars.

‘No problem. I’ve a tent in the car.’

‘I’ll want a tent to myself.’

‘You can have it. I always sleep out—except in the wet season, when I usually bunk down in the back of the four-wheel-drive.’ He swung round, heading for the exit, expecting her to follow.

‘Wait!’ She didn’t move. ‘You said you’d answer some questions first.’

There was one question in particular that she had to know the answer to before she took another step.

‘Sure.’ He paused, turning his head. ‘Fire away.’ His eyes were unreadable under his slouch hat.

‘Did you tell your girlfriend that you intend to go on a camping trip with your ex-fiancée?’ She kept her tone cool, her expression as inscrutable as his. ‘Or is she your wife now?’

It seemed an age before he answered. The answer came with a shrug. ‘That didn’t work out.’ There was no emotion in his voice…no regret, no sadness, no relief—nothing. Just a coolly impassive statement of fact.

If he’d shown some feeling…

Bitterness rose like bile in her stomach. ‘She left you? Or did you leave her? You’re good at that. Leaving the women in your life.’ She could have bitten out her tongue the second the bitter words were out. If he thought she still cared…still reacted to him…still had feelings for him…

I don’t! she told herself, tossing back her head, her eyes turning to glinting ice. ‘Forget it, I’m not interested.’ But under her cool-eyed unconcern, her mind was reeling, her insides churning. So the irresistible femme fatale who’d struck him ‘like a bolt out of the blue’ was no longer in the picture. It hadn’t worked out.

So much for his grand passion.

Her lip twisted. Had he tired of her, the way he’d tired of his fiancée after an engagement of only two weeks? He’d called her the light of his life once! She scowled. Had he suffered cold feet all over again at the thought of settling down? At the thought of marriage?

She flounced past him. She didn’t want to think about it! ‘Well, come on. Since I’ve little choice, let’s go.’

‘No more questions?’ As he caught up with her, in a couple of long strides, his body language appeared more relaxed than it had been a second ago. She’d seen how he’d tensed under her lashing scorn, flinching as she’d taunted him about leaving the women in his life.

‘I haven’t taken up with anyone else, if that’s of any interest,’ he assured her with the glimmer of a smile.

She shot him a look of searing contempt. ‘It isn’t. Your business is yours and mine is mine.’ She kept her tone clipped, her eyes remote. ‘Let’s keep it that way.’ If she was going to go on this camping trip with him, she had to keep it on a strictly business footing or she’d never survive a day with him, let alone two weeks. ‘As you pointed out, this will be purely a business arrangement. Simply that.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

They reached his huge dust-covered four-wheel-drive without any further verbal clashes, sticking to safe subjects such as food, drinks, and other camping needs, all of which Tom had already packed into the vehicle. He appeared to have thought of everything.

‘Have you had lunch?’ he asked as he unlocked the big four-wheel-drive and heaved her suitcase and sleeping bag into a rear seat. With two rows of spare seats behind the two front seats, there was ample storage space.

‘Yes, thank you, I had it on the plane.’

‘Good, then we can head off straightaway. We’ll reach Kakadu Park by late afternoon.’ He waved her in.

As she hauled herself up into the front passenger seat, she noticed an aluminium boat on the roof-rack above. An excited quiver ran through her. Having a boat at her disposal when they reached the Kakadu wetlands would give her far greater flexibility than a tourist boat cruise could ever provide.

But they’d have to be careful! Crocodiles abounded in the Yellow Water Billabong and the Alligator River system.

She smiled at the misnomer. She’d been reading up on Kakadu and knew that the South, West and East Alligator Rivers had been mistakenly named, since there were no alligators in Australia! The original explorer had seen the smaller freshwater crocodiles and mistaken them for the alligators he’d seen in North America. He’d obviously never seen a mighty twenty-foot-long man-eating saltwater crocodile!

‘That’s better,’ Tom commented from the driver’s seat.

Her head swung round. ‘What’s better?’

‘You’re smiling.’ His lip quirked. ‘At least you were,’ he drawled as her smile vanished, her eyes clouding.

‘I’m just keen to get going,’ she said fractiously. ‘I can’t wait to see Kakadu.’ She had to concentrate on that—on her reason for coming on this trip—and put everything else out of her mind!

‘You’re the boss. Like a drink of water before we set off?’ Now that they were out of the comparatively cool terminal, the May sun was scorching, the humidity oppressive. ‘It’s important not to get dehydrated up here. It’ll be even more vital once we hit Kakadu.’

‘Okay. Thanks.’

Tom reached behind him to delve into a battery-operated refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to her. While she was sipping, he grabbed another bottle for himself and gulped down several huge swallows.

‘Ah, that’s good,’ he muttered, wiping a hand across his lips.

Her eyes widened. He’d once been a soft drink addict who always had a can of Coca-Cola or Pepsi in his hand, seldom plain water. Or if not a soft drink, a cold beer. Water’s boring, he’d said, adding with a cheeky grin, like most things that are good for you.

She glanced away, compressing her lips at the memory. He must have found her boring too. He wouldn’t have walked out on her otherwise…

‘Keep your water bottle handy,’ Tom advised, ‘and take a swig as you need it.’ He tucked his own bottle into the gap between the seats.

As they sped east along the Arnhem Highway, Natasha sat tensely, staring straight ahead—not just to avoid Tom’s eye, but because she was keen not to miss a thing, even though it would be another two-and-a-half hours before they reached Kakadu.

With light traffic and no speed limit in the Northern Territory, the big four-wheel-drive barrelled along the excellent bitumen highway. After a while she settled back in her seat, but she didn’t relax. She couldn’t. She was still trembling with anger and shock at the impossible situation she’d found herself in. If Tom had been safely married, or had still been with his girlfriend—still devoted to his girlfriend—she would have known how to treat him. She might even have been able to relax a little, knowing the past was well and truly buried and that she was safe from him.

But he was still free. Still unmarried.

Still the roving-eyed Romeo?

She steeled her heart. If he even thought of making another play for her after what he’d done to her already—if he dared try anything at all—she would push him into the nearest river and leave him to the crocodiles!

As they crossed the Marrakai Plains and the Adelaide River, Tom gave a running commentary, pointing out anything of special interest. Determined not to show any reaction to him, she buried her antagonism—for now—and asked the occasional question, even offering a few coolly interested comments. But as the kilometres rolled by, she couldn’t prevent a sigh slipping from her lips.

‘The bushland along here is pretty monotonous, I’m afraid,’ Tom murmured, noting her sigh and mistaking it for boredom. ‘Everyone finds the long drive to Kakadu a bit tedious. After being in the air all morning and driving all afternoon, I guess you’ll be wanting to crash into bed early tonight.’

Bed! Heat flamed along her cheekbones. She wasn’t ready to spend a night alone in the wilds with Tom Scanlon! She wasn’t ready to camp out in the solitary bush with her ex-fiancé, sharing meals and an intimate camp fire, with no one else within miles, perhaps. She gave a faint shudder. But what choice did she have? She’d committed herself now.

‘How does the idea of a real bed sound?’

Her head whipped round, her eyes wary. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘We have to go to the park headquarters at Jabaru to pick up our permits. How about I book us into the Crocodile Hotel just for tonight? My shout. We can have a good dinner there too. I think you deserve one civilised night before we trundle off into the wilds for two weeks.’

She inhaled a deep breath. It was tempting…if only to put off the inevitable. A comfortable night’s sleep in the privacy of her own room would help to steel herself for the long nights she’d be camping out under the stars with her ex-fiancé—and the long days she’d have him breathing down her neck.

‘Don’t be silly, I wouldn’t let you pay for me,’ she hedged. ‘A night at the Crocodile Hotel, with dinner, would cost you a fortune.’ Tom had never splashed his money around. He’d saved it. At least he had…once. ‘If I did agree to stay there, I’d pay for myself.’ Luckily she’d brought a credit card with her.

‘Let’s find out if they’ve a room available first. Sorry—two rooms,’ Tom corrected as her horrified gaze flew to his. He was swinging the big vehicle off the road as he spoke. ‘I’ll let you stretch your legs and take a close-up look at those giant ant-hills over there while I put a call through. And you’d better have some water—you’re not drinking enough.’ He’d been taking regular swigs from his own bottle, she’d noticed, as they’d been driving along.

She felt his eyes on her as he killed the engine. Glancing round at him as she took a few gulps from her water bottle, she saw a crooked smile on his lips.

‘Very nice,’ Tom murmured, an approving gleam in his deep blue eyes.

Her breath hissed in sharply, her eyes snapping in disbelief. He was staring—staring openly—at the swell of her breasts!

‘Nice?’ she echoed icily. If he was going to start making sleazy comments, she was off! She would hire another four-wheel-drive and another guide—from somewhere. Jabaru, maybe. Any stranger would be preferable to this—this—

‘Your T-shirt,’ Tom said glibly. ‘Very pretty. You like waterlilies?’

Her breath puffed out, her cheeks flaming as her anger deflated. He was admiring her Monet T-shirt!

‘Yes, I…they…they’re beautiful,’ she stammered, feeling a complete fool.

‘That they are.’ His gaze was still on her T-shirt—quite unnecessarily now, she thought, her flush deepening. ‘Well, you’ll see plenty of water lilies on the flood plains,’ he drawled. ‘At Yellow Waters and other billabongs.’

‘Yes…’ she swallowed. ‘I know. I intend to paint them.’

‘I guessed you would.’ He looked amused, damn him. He knew what she’d thought! ‘We’ll take our own boat out, rather than joining one of the tourist boats, and you’ll be able to take all the time you like.’ He pulled out his mobile phone. ‘Well…I’d better make that call.’

It was a relief when his gaze left her burning face.

Grabbing her camera, she stepped out, taking a few hefty gulps of air as she turned away from the vehicle. The heat and humidity were intense but she barely noticed, her artist’s eye captured by the huge rock-hard termite mounds standing like ancient fortresses in the drying grassland beside the road.

‘Wow,’ she whispered. To think that tiny ants had built these giants! They were awesome—worthy of a painting. She took photographs from various angles, then pulled out a small notebook and made a few pencil sketches, with notes.

Tom joined her a few minutes later. ‘We’re booked in,’ he said, and paused, his eyes dancing. ‘So now you can relax.’ The corner of his lip quirked, as if he’d sensed her apprehension and was tickled by it. ‘You’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep.’

‘Great.’ She intended to. ‘Well, are you ready to go? The sooner we’re there, the sooner I can get to—’ she nearly said bed, but prudently avoided the word ‘—to sleep!’

Once back in the car and on their way, she realised she actually did feel more relaxed. Staying overnight at a civilised hotel would be a welcome reprieve.

An extravagant reprieve, she thought with a faint twinge of guilt.

Well…what the heck? What was a little extravagance, once in a while? She’d always wanted to see the famous hotel that was built in the shape of a crocodile.

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