‘And there could be wild cattle, there could be dingoes, heaven alone knows what,’ she said with a delicious little shiver of anticipation of adventure.
His eyebrows shot up, then he laughed down at her. ‘You’re a real character—you’re actually looking forward to it.’
‘I was never one for sitting around! Perhaps we should have gone today,’ she added seriously.
‘No. It’ll have done us the world of good to have a lay day after all the trauma of yesterday. But an early night’ll be a good idea. Should we put it to the vote?’
‘Aye aye, skipper—I vote yes.’
‘OK. We’ll get to work before the light runs out so we can leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning.’
It was just that, barely light, when they set off the next morning.
They’d finished all their preparations the afternoon before and spent a companionable night. Holly was at least buoyed up by the prospect of some action rather than sitting around waiting for what might not come. The more she thought about the vast, empty terrain surrounding them, the more she realized it could be like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Brett used the axe to make two long poles from tree branches and, using a variety of clothes, they constructed a light but sturdy sled for carrying stuff. Holly wrought two back-packs out of long-sleeved shirts.
Between them they smoothed an area of sand in the middle of the creek bed, helped by its dampness, and in big letters they wrote walked upstream, with several arrows pointing in the direction they would take. Then they lined the scores the letters had made in the sand with small rocks to make them more lasting and visible.
Brett also wrote a note and left it in the plane. He pointed out that the heavy shower of earlier had been a blessing for another reason, apart from allowing them to clean up a bit—it would also provide rock pools of fresh water along the way.
Not surprisingly—after a light supper of sardines on biscuits, and half a tube each of condensed milk for energy plus one cup of water each—they had little trouble falling asleep. Even the cold hadn’t bothered Holly as much as it had the night before. Being curled up in Brett’s arms gave her a lovely feeling of security.
She did wonder, briefly, where all the passion that had consumed them last night had gone, and concluded that either she had touched a nerve he hadn’t wanted to be touched although he’d been perfectly normal during the day—or the physical exertion they’d expended had simply worn them out too much even to think of it.
She was to discover soon enough that being tired was no guard against anything…
It was a long, arduous day.
They walked in the cool of the morning, they slept beneath some leafy cover through the midday heat and they walked again in the afternoon.
It was fairly easy going, as far as sand could be easy, and they encountered no rocks they had to climb over.
They did see some pools of water and a couple of times they saw freshwater crocodiles slither into them.
She marvelled at Brett’s strength and tirelessness as he towed the sled with a belt around his waist, as well as carrying a backpack.
As for herself, she sang songs to keep herself going when she would have loved to lie down and die. And she thought a lot as she trudged along, thoughts she’d never entertained before, about mortality and how, when you least expected it, swiftly, you could be snuffed out. It was delayed reaction to the plane crash, probably, but nonetheless to be taken seriously. It was about seizing the day or, instead of looking for perfection in every thing you undertook, letting the way life panned out have some say in the matter.
Brett took a lot of the credit for keeping her going. Every now and then he made her stop and he massaged her shoulders and back, or he told her jokes to make her laugh. He’d insisted on adding her backpack to the sled when she was battling.
Fortunately they both had hats in their luggage and Holly had a tube of factor thirty-plus sunscreen with which they’d liberally anointed themselves. This proved to be a mixed blessing, causing the sand to stick to them.
But there were some marvels to observe along the way: some black cockatoos with red tail feathers sailed overhead, with their signature lazy flight and far-away calls. They also saw a huge flock of pink-and-grey galahs and a family of rock wallabies.
Otherwise, the hot, still bush all around them was untenanted, even by wild cattle. Again they heard plane engines a couple of times but, the same as the day before, the planes were nowhere near enough to see them.
Then, just as they were about to call it a day, they got a wonderful surprise: the river bed wound round a corner and opened into a lagoon, a lovely body of water full of reeds, water lilies and bird life and edged with spiky, fruit-laden pandanus palms.
‘Is it a mirage?’ Holly gasped.
Brett took her hand. ‘No, it’s real.’
‘Thank heavens! But is it full of crocodiles?’
‘We’ll see. Look.’ He pointed. ‘There’s a little bay and a rock ledge with a beach above it. There’s even a bit of a shelter. Good spot to spend the night.’
Holly burst into tears, but also into speech. ‘These are tears of joy,’ she wept, and laughed at the same time. ‘This is just so—so beautiful!’
He hugged her. ‘I know. I know. Incidentally, you’ve been fantastic.’
The shelter was rough-hewn out of logs, closed on three sides with a bark roof. There was evidence of occupation, a burnt ring of sand within a circle of rocks outside, and a couple of empty cans that had obviously been used to boil water over a fire.
‘We can’t be too far away from somewhere!’ Holly enthused as she slipped her backpack off with a sigh of relief. Then she sat down, and took her boots off and wiggled her toes with another huge sigh, this time pure pleasure.
‘No,’ Brett agreed as he cast around, looking at the ground inside and outside the shelter. ‘But there’s no sign of—Ah, yes, there is.’ He squatted down and outlined something in the sand with his fingers. ‘A hoof print. Who ever uses this place comes by horse.’
‘A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!’ Holly carolled. ‘Or a camel. Or a donkey!’
Brett laughed.
‘So who do you think uses it?’ she enquired.
‘A boundary rider—a mustering team, maybe.’ He stood up. ‘Whoever, we could be closer to the homestead than I thought.’
‘That is music to my ears. Now, if only I wasn’t covered in a repulsive mixture of sweat, sand and sunscreen, I’d be happy.’
‘There’s an easy remedy for that.’ As he spoke Brett pulled off his shirt. ‘I’m going for a swim.’ He stripped off to his boxer shorts again and jogged down to the beach.
‘But…’ Holly temporized, thinking inevitably of crocodiles.
‘This is fresh water,’ he called back to her after he’d scooped a handful up and tasted it. ‘And this,’ he added as he waded in up to his waist, sending a variety of birds flying, ‘is an old Aboriginal remedy for crocs.’ He started to beat the water with his palms. ‘Frightens them off. Come in, Holly. I’m here anyway.’
She hesitated only a moment longer, then started shedding her clothes down to her underwear. Today she was wearing a denim-blue bra and matching briefs. She went into the water at a run in case her courage gave out to find it was divine, cool and refreshing, cleansing, incredibly therapeutic.
They played around in it for over half an hour then came out to the chilly air; it was close to sunset.
‘Use whatever you can to dry off properly,’ he recommended. ‘We can always dry clothes tomorrow in the sun.’ They’d only brought one change of clothes each.
‘What if it rains again?’
‘I doubt it will.’ He towelled himself vigorously with a T-shirt and looked around. ‘You know what they say—red sky at night, shepherd’s delight.’
‘Oh.’ She looked around; the feathery clouds in the sky, a bit like a huge ostrich-feather fan or a group of foxtails, turned to orange as
she watched.
‘Anyway, I’m going to build a fire, so we can dry things beside it as well as keep warm. But get dressed and warm in the meantime.’ He hung his shirt on a nail in the shelter wall and pulled on jeans and his second T-shirt. He was just about to turn away when he kicked his toe on something sharp protruding from the sandy floor.
He knelt down and, using his long fingers, unearthed a metal box. It wasn’t locked, and what it contained made him say with absolute reverence, ‘Holy mackerel! Look at this.’
Holly was now dressed in a pair of long cotton trousers and her long-sleeved blue blouse. She bent down and looked over his shoulder. ‘Oh my,’ she breathed. ‘Coffee! Tea! And a plate and a cup. I could kill for a cup of tea or coffee; don’t mind which. But what’s the other thing?’ She frowned.
‘This.’ He lifted the red plastic spool out of the box. ‘Is like gold. It’s a fishing reel, complete with lure.’ He showed her the curved silvery metal plate with a three-pronged hook on it. ‘And sinker. I wondered if there’d be fish in the lagoon; there usually are.’ He stood up. ‘I was thinking I could kill for a beef steak, but a grilled fish would do nicely. All right, I’m going to collect firewood, you’re going to fish.’
‘Uno problemo—I have never used one of those things.’
‘I’ll show you how. Just watch.’ He walked to the rocky ledge above the lagoon and unwound about a metre of the fishing line from the reel with the lure on the end. Holding the reel facing outward in one hand, he swung the lure on the line round several times then released it towards the water. The fishing line on the reel sang out as it followed suit, and she heard the lure plop into the water.
‘Now what?’ she asked keenly.
‘Hold the line—you can put the reel down—and when you feel a tug on the line give it a jerk and pull the line in. Try.’ He wound the line back onto the reel and handed it to her.
It took Holly several goes—the first time she hooked the lure into a tree—but finally she got it right and was left in charge in the last of the daylight as Brett went to collect firewood.
Her ecstatic shout when she felt the first tug on the line and pulled in a fish set all the water birds squawking in protest. Getting it off the line was her next test. Brett had to show her how to wrap one of her socks around the fish so she could hold it with one hand and wiggle the hook out of its mouth with the other. By the time he’d collected a big pile of wood and was setting the fire, she’d caught six very edible fish.
Brett had a go but caught none.
The first thing they did when the fire was going was boil water in one of the tins and make a cup of coffee, which they shared. Then, using a grid he’d found under one of the rocks around the fire area, Brett grilled the fish, which he’d cleaned with his penknife.
They shared the plate and ate the fish with their fingers.
‘I don’t know why,’ Holly said, ‘But this is the best fish I’ve ever tasted.’
‘Could be a couple of reasons.’ He glanced at her in the light of the blazing fire, but she didn’t see the wicked little glint in his eye. ‘After two days of ham and sardines on biscuits, anything would taste good.’
Holly pouted. ‘That’s one, what’s the other?’
‘I’m a good, inventive cook.’
‘All you did was put them on a grid.’
‘That’s not all,’ he countered. ‘I had that part of the fire going to perfection so it wouldn’t burn them, dry them out or leave them raw.’
‘But I caught them!’
‘So that makes them very superior fish?’
‘Yes,’ she said with hauteur, then giggled. ‘You wouldn’t be a little miffed because you didn’t catch any?’
He looked offended. ‘No. What makes you say that?’
She shrugged, still smiling. ‘Just that I can’t help feeling very proud of the achievement.’ She paused and sobered. ‘If I wasn’t so worried about my mother, I’d really be enjoying all this.’
‘We may be able to end her suspense sooner than we thought—end everyone’s.’
‘I hope so,’ Holly said fervently. ‘And she is an eternal optimist.’
She was sitting with her knees drawn up and her arms around them. He was stretched on the sand with his head on his elbow. Because of the fire they were not rugged up to the nines, and Holly had arranged the V sheet in the shelter for them to lie on, with the one blanket they’d brought covering them.
Brett thought to himself, as he watched her in her light trousers and blue shirt, with her bare feet and the fire gilding her riotous hair, that she had never looked more desirable.
Was it because she’d coped so well? he wondered. Had that added to his attraction to her? But was he going to be able to overcome her wariness? She might tell him she couldn’t keep her hands off him, but he knew that deep down she was still wary, still burnt by her previous experience.
And he thought about his wariness—about the discovery he’d made about himself that he hated and feared, and made him wonder if he was a fit mate for any woman.
It was, of course, the thing Holly had sensed in him, the thing she couldn’t put her finger on—the thing he had never wanted to admit to himself. But what was between them wasn’t the same thing that had happened to him before, was it?
This was a powerful attraction, yes, but it was also affection. Yes, it was sweet, but it was also sane and sensible because she would fit into his lifestyle so completely…
Then he realized she was returning his regard, her deep-blue eyes very serious, as were the young, lovely curves of her face.
A slight frown came to his face, because he had no idea what she was thinking. Was she thinking about her mother? He got the feeling she was not.
‘Holly?’
She looked around, as if unwilling for him to see what was in her eyes. She looked at the fire, at the darkened lagoon beyond, at the moon rising above them and the pale smoke of the fire wreathing against the dark blue of the sky. ‘I think I’m running out of steam,’ she said at last. ‘I feel terribly weary.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ he said after a moment, and stood up. ‘Come to bed. But have a cup of water first; I don’t want you to dehydrate.’
‘Are you coming to bed?’ she asked.
‘Shortly. I’m going to get more wood so we can keep the fire going as long as possible. Goodnight.’ He held his hand out to her.
She took it and got to her feet. ‘I—Thank you.’ ‘What for?’
‘All you’ve done today, and tonight. The swim, the fish, the fire; that’s all been magic.’
He frowned. ‘You’re not afraid we won’t get out of this, are you?’
She shrugged. ‘No. What will be, will be.’
He stared down at her intently for a moment then kissed her lightly. ‘Sweet dreams, Holly Harding.’ He turned away.
Holly woke from a deep, dreamless sleep at two o’clock. There was just enough light from the glowing embers of the fire for her to see her watch, but her movement woke Brett. She was resting in his arms.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he mumbled.
It was nowhere near as cold as it had been the two previous nights, even though the fire had died down. The heat of it must be trapped within the shelter, she thought.
She went still as Brett pulled her closer into his arms and his mouth rested on her cheek. Her senses started to stir, started to clamour for his touch, for his kiss. But had he gone back to sleep?
Her lips parted and his mouth covered hers; no, he hadn’t. But he hesitated, and Holly suddenly knew she couldn’t bear it if he withdrew.
She put her hand on his cheek and arched her body against him, and found herself kissing his strong, tanned throat. He made a husky sound and then his hands moved on her body and she rejoiced inwardly, knowing they were claimed by the same need and desire.
Once again they fumbled with their clothes as best they could, but the rhythm of rapture made light wor
k of it. She put her arms above her head and let his hands travel all the way down her, then gasped as they came back to her breasts.
She lay quietly, quivering in his arms, and allowed him to tantalize her almost unbearably as those fingers sought her most secret places. Then she wound her arms around him and kissed him as if her life depended on it.
He accepted the invitation to claim her completely in a way that brought them both intense and exquisite pleasure.
They were still moving to that pleasure as they slowly came back to earth, then they separated at last but stayed within each other’s arms.
‘We didn’t say a word,’ he murmured, and kissed her.
‘It didn’t seem necessary,’ she answered. ‘Did it?’
‘No, but—’ He broke off and lifted a hand to stroke her hair.
‘I wanted to say something earlier,’ she told him. ‘When we were sitting by the fire—I wanted to say I didn’t think I could do it.’
He raised his head and frowned down at her. ‘Holly…’
‘No.’ She touched her fingers to his lips. ‘Let me finish. I wanted to say I didn’t think I could lie on this V-sheet without wanting to be held, kissed and made love to.’
He sat up abruptly.
‘Not after everything,’ she went on. ‘Because you were incredible—not only in all you did today, but in the way you kept me going.’
‘Holly…’
She broke in again. ‘I’m just happy to be with you tonight. It—it just seemed to be so fitting and right for the moment, and sometimes I think you need to live for the moment. But you don’t have to worry about the future.’
He sank back beside her and pulled her into his arms again. ‘I’m not worried about it. I’m looking forward to it. When will you marry me?’
Chapter Eight
The Socialite and the Cattle King Page 11
