by Anne Oliver
So it was better, he’d decided, simply not to have relationships. That way he didn’t hurt anyone. And he certainly didn’t want to hurt Ivy.
Angus levered himself up and swung his legs off the bed. He’d slept in only his boxers, and the air conditioning was cool against his skin.
Last night, when Ivy had yanked up his T-shirt, the air conditioning had been shockingly cold against his heated body—for a moment. But he’d immediately forgotten that when he’d been so absorbed in Ivy and the soft skin of her hips, and belly and breasts...
Angus smiled.
So no, he might not have dreamed of Ivy, or tossed and turned all night.
But it couldn’t hurt to think about her now: how she felt, how she’d looked.
The flush to her cheeks, the pink of her lips, how she’d felt so perfect beneath him, even if separated by too many layers of clothes...
The house was silent as Angus walked to the en-suite bathroom for a shower.
He wasn’t usually one to daydream, either.
But for Ivy, it would seem he’d made an exception.
* * *
Ivy woke up to the smell of cooking bacon.
Mmm. Bacon.
Bacon?
Ivy’s eyes popped open. Sun was streaming in through the curtains she’d left open all night, and it was clearly a long time past dawn.
Angus.
She squeezed her eyes shut again.
Angus.
He’d filled her dreams—not for the first time—and he was still here now that she’d woken up.
Not that he could’ve left. It wasn’t as if he could easily flag down a taxi.
But that would’ve been nice, though. To wake up, and for Angus to have magically disappeared.
That way this weekend could’ve been what it was supposed to be. A break. A proper break, not like every other holiday she could remember.
No work. No nothing. Just—herself, and Bullah Bullah Downs.
Perfect.
But that really wasn’t working out, was it?
Nothing was working out right now. Nothing.
Not her supposed holiday, not the contract, and not that kiss.
How had she let that happen?
Ivy noticed she’d brought her fingers to her lips and snatched them away. Why had she done that? To test if they felt different? Bruised? Ravished? Special?
They didn’t, of course. Because nothing had changed, not really.
What was yet another awkward memory between them?
She climbed out of bed and got dressed. It would be hot today—it always was this time of year. She’d planned to head out to one of the gorges at Karijini today, but without a driver that wouldn’t happen. She’d had Martin booked all weekend to come collect her as needed, but she’d been too flustered at the airport to think of only cancelling his initial task of driving her to the homestead.
Instead, she’d organise for the Molyneux jet to fly both Angus and herself home today. It wasn’t as if she’d be able to relax this weekend, even once Angus left.
Besides, it would also give her all of Sunday to work.
Dressed in tailored navy-blue shorts and a cream linen tank-top, she headed for the kitchen.
Angus sat on one of the tall stools at the breakfast bar, a full plate of bacon and eggs piled up in front of him.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, his back to her. ‘I may have already started.’
He twisted on his seat, and then paused as he ran his gaze along her body.
‘You have great legs,’ he said, so matter-of-fact that Ivy blinked. ‘I haven’t seen that much of them before in daylight.’
At this, she blushed.
He grinned, and left his plate to walk to the other side of the bench. The gas cooktop sat in the middle of all that white-speckled granite, a couple of fry pans already in place.
‘How do you like your eggs?’
Ivy still stood, frozen, in the door way. This wasn’t what she had expected. She’d expected silence. Possibly antagonism.
Not this. Not a sexy smile, complete with matching sexy stubble.
He stood comfortably in her kitchen. As if he belonged, and as if he had nowhere else to be.
‘Scrambled,’ she said, eventually, then left the relative safety of the hall to slide onto the stool beside his.
She ate her breakfast almost warily, not at all sure what was going on.
‘What are we doing today?’ he asked, laying his knife and fork together on his now empty plate.
‘I’ll phone my office after breakfast and organise for the jet to come pick us up. With any luck we’ll be home by late afternoon.’
‘Why would you do that?’
Ivy looked up from her eggs, surprised. ‘Because you want to go home, and I can’t justify the cost of the jet flying up tomorrow as well.’
Angus leant against the low backrest of his stool, and crossed his arms. ‘I never said that. I’m happy to stay.’
‘You’re happy to stay?’ Ivy repeated. ‘You mean, you’re happy to remain uninvited in my home with me—a woman you don’t like very much?’
His lips quirked upwards. ‘Oh, I think we both know that isn’t true, Ivy.’
Ivy shook her head as her cheeks heated, ignoring him. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I think it’s best if we both go home. I was silly to fly up anyway. I have so much work to do—’
‘Ivy,’ he said firmly. ‘I meant it last night. I’m going to be a part of our baby’s life, and that does mean being part of yours. Given that, doesn’t it make sense we get to know each other better?’
‘Didn’t we try this before, at the café?’ she said. ‘Besides, we can talk on the plane if you want. Play twenty questions with each other or something.’
‘I’m not getting on a plane today, Ivy. I’m going to drive out to Karijini and explore. I’ve never been to the national park before—it would be crazy not to go this weekend when we’re so close. And I was hoping you’d be my guide.’
His plans were so similar to what Ivy had originally intended, it would’ve been uncanny—if visiting Karijini and mining iron ore weren’t basically the only two things you could do in the Pilbara.
Even so, it was tempting.
A big part of her—the stubborn part—wanted to stick to her guns, and insist she absolutely must fly home to work.
But another part of her—the bit that was tired of arguing, and also just plain tired—couldn’t do it.
She could think of a lot worse things to do today than go swimming in a secluded waterhole amongst plunging gorges two and a half billion years old. And working all afternoon was certainly one of them.
Plus, reluctantly, she had to acknowledge that Angus had a point. If she was stuck dealing with Angus—and she was, now that he wouldn’t sign her contract—maybe it would help to spend more—platonic—time together. Maybe familiarity would even dilute the attraction between them.
She could hope, anyway.
‘We’ll go to Fern Pool,’ she said, ‘but we need to get moving. It’s a decent drive.’
Angus studied her for a long moment, and Ivy liked that she’d clearly surprised him.
Then he smiled, and Ivy found she liked that even better—and couldn’t bring herself to care that that probably wasn’t a good thing.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Angus said. ‘Let’s go.’
* * *
Angus drove them out to Fortescue Falls. The forty-minute drive took them from red gravel to smooth bitumen and back to red gravel again as they approached the car park. October wasn’t the best time of year to come to Karijini, with the unrelenting, impossible heat of summer only weeks away, but it did mean far fewer tourists, with only two other cars parked amongst
the dirt and the surrounding scrub-tufted hills.
But they were lucky—today was perfect: low thirties with a glorious, cloudless blue sky. At a little hut, Ivy paid the small entry fee, then smiled at Angus over her shoulder as she pointed towards the deep red sand track ahead of them. He wore a black T-shirt, knee-length shorts, leather work boots and a backpack slung over his shoulders—and he looked one hundred per cent like the soldier he was, complete with bulging biceps and muscular calves. Ivy didn’t think she’d ever admired a man’s calves before. In fact, until today, she wouldn’t even have thought it possible that they could be attractive.
But, it turned out, they could. Hair and everything.
It wasn’t a long walk to Dales Gorge, less than half a kilometre. Here it was perfectly flat and easy—a stark contrast to the descent ahead of them. Ivy enjoyed the silence as they walked, after Angus had taken her twenty questions dig to heart and they’d talked most of the way here. About nothing particularly important, mostly about the Pilbara and the sights of Karijini Park—which Ivy had appreciated, still feeling a little raw from the night before.
There was just something about this man that had her revealing more than she ever intended.
In more ways than one, actually.
That thought made her smile, and she must have giggled, as Angus went still beside her.
‘What’s the joke?’ he asked.
Ivy forced her lips into a horizontal line, and shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Which was completely the wrong thing to say, as now she’d intrigued him.
‘Oh, really?’ he said, ‘Because—’
‘Why don’t you have a girlfriend?’ Ivy blurted out, cutting him off.
Slightly horrified and with no clue where the question had come from, Ivy charged on ahead, although, given they were almost at the start of the walk down to Fortescue Falls, she really didn’t have very far to go. At the lookout she pointed down into the abrupt one-hundred-metre-deep gash in the landscape.
‘This is Dale Gorge,’ she said. ‘You can see the falls all the way down there.’
Angus, who had easily kept pace beside her, laughed. ‘Yes, I got that.’
Ivy nodded. ‘Of course. Right—so—this way!’
She knew he was still smiling, but decided not to pay any attention. Instead, she thought it was better to focus on her surroundings. It had been a couple of years since she’d been into Karijini. As she took in the vivid red of the ruthless, tiered red-brown cliffs and the rumbling sound of the falls beneath them, it seemed impossible she’d left it so long.
‘I don’t have a girlfriend because of my job,’ Angus said.
Ivy tensed at the words, wanting to wish back her question. She had to walk slowly now. The path was narrow and twisting.
Angus was directly behind her, his boots crunching far more loudly than her sneakers.
‘I’m not a fan of emotional farewells.’
She’d meant to remain silent, hopeful the subject would change, but once again she’d lost control of her mouth. ‘But wouldn’t that be worth it for the equally emotional welcome home?’
‘I’m told I’m not much good at those either,’ Angus said. Ivy sensed his shrug, even though she couldn’t see him. ‘Besides, that’s only if I do come home.’
Ivy slipped on some gravel, and threw her hands out for balance. Instantly Angus’s hands were on her, catching her at the waist before she could fall.
He quickly righted her, but slid his hands away just a little more slowly than was necessary.
‘Thank you,’ Ivy said softly, but was quick to start walking again.
Stupidly, she hadn’t really put a lot of thought into Angus’s career. She’d been caught up in the sexiness of it—the idea of a soldier: the uniform, the weapons, the courage. Not the reality, and certainly not the brutality of war and of death.
Her stomach had plummeted at his casual words: only if I do come home.
For their child, of course. She’d lost her father—not through death but through distance and lack of interest—and that had been difficult enough.
And maybe it had plummeted just a tiny bit for her.
‘How do you do it?’ she asked. ‘How can you risk so much?’
They were about halfway into the gorge now, and the colours of the rocks led the way—changing from orange to red to purple as they descended. To their left, the falls, which had seemed barely more than a trickle from a distance, now revealed their true size. A tourist, clambering along the adjacent rocks, gave some scale to the sprawling, towering year-round falls.
‘Because I love it. The teamwork, the tactics, the challenge. It’s what I’ve wanted to do since I was seventeen, and I’ll do it for as long as I can.’
‘But what about—?’ Ivy began, but didn’t really know how to continue.
‘The bad stuff? You mean like death and destruction? Living under constant threat? Killing people?’ He rattled off his terrible list roughly, and didn’t wait for her to clarify. ‘Of course that isn’t fun. At times it’s awful, actually. Indescribably awful. But then I get to come home.’
If he came home.
‘And then a few months later, go and do it again.’
That was what Ivy couldn’t wrap her head around. To survive war, and then risk it all again.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Sometimes—’ he began, then stopped.
‘Sometimes what?’
They were deep within the gorge now. Down here they walked amongst greenery and paperbarks—an incredible contrast to the parched landscape above.
‘Sometimes I wonder if maybe it should be harder for me to go back.’
There was enough space for Angus to walk beside her, and she looked up at him.
‘What do you mean?’
But he wasn’t looking at her. Instead he lengthened his stride, then looked back over his shoulder. ‘Come on, I’m keen to get to this Fern Pool you were talking about.’
He clearly wasn’t going to answer her question, but still Ivy very nearly repeated it. Besides, wasn’t she just trying to get to know him better? Just as she was supposed to?
But it was something she’d glimpsed, however briefly, that meant she kept on walking in silence. For the first time since she’d met him he’d looked...
Ivy wouldn’t have said vulnerable, because that wasn’t even close to true. But something like that, something she’d never expected to see in Angus Barlow.
Angus had made it to the top of the falls, and he stood there, waiting for her.
He studied her as she approached, his gaze sweeping over her, the motion not all that dissimilar to the water as it rushed across the ancient, angular, straight-edged rocks, tracing the shape and lines of her.
But Ivy forgot to be annoyed or embarrassed by his attention, because she’d just worked it out—worked out what she’d seen.
Just for a moment, the shortest of moments, Angus had looked exposed.
* * *
Fortescue Falls was unusual. When Angus thought of waterfalls, he thought of a sheer pane of water, tumbling from a cliff. But here, the falls surged along a gradual series of steps and benches—like an elegantly curved stairway from amongst the trees down to the clear green pool below.
Ivy was playing tour guide, telling him that the waterfall flowed—miraculously—year round. She pointed out some of the vegetation and talked of local birds and bats. She was nervous, although Angus wasn’t entirely sure why.
One moment she was so, so self-assured, the next self-conscious and talking too quickly, her gaze skittering away.
He didn’t know what to make of her questioning his single status. Part of him liked it—liked that she’d wondered, liked that she’d been so appalled that she’d actually voiced the que
stion. But another part of him—a big part—shied away from even such an oblique reference to a relationship between them. Ivy had been absolutely right to stop them both last night. Another night in bed together was not going to aid the relaxed, shared—and lawyer-free—parenting arrangement he kept telling Ivy he wanted.
Although of course it didn’t mean he had to stop checking her out. She’d stepped away from him now to head down the track to Fern Pool, their true destination today. So of course he took the opportunity to have a good old look at her very nice view from behind.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed Ivy have a pretty thorough look at him at times.
Sex might be unwise. But looking didn’t hurt anyone.
EIGHT
Exactly what a terrible idea this had been only became clear to Ivy when she stepped onto the man-made wooden boardwalk that provided the only access to Fern Pool.
No one else was here, of course. Ivy had been here dozens of time with her family over the years, and not once had they had the pool to themselves. Even out here, more than a five-hour drive from the nearest major regional centre, tourists made sure they got to the Karijini. And they certainly made sure they got to Fern Pool.
Just not today.
Angus dumped his backpack onto the wooden boards, and Ivy looked determinedly across the crystal-clear water as he tugged off his T-shirt. Above them stretched a remarkable fig tree, and, of course, ferns were everywhere. It was lush, it was green, it was wet—everything that the desert-like Pilbara shouldn’t be.
But it was also supposed to be full of tourists—a handful of lily-white British backpackers, a posse of raucous kids up here camping with their parents, or at least a pair of retired grey nomads.
Someone. Anyone.
Because without them, this place—this place with its mirror-flat water; its pair of tumbling waterfalls; its surrounding, towering layers and slabs of rock in reds and browns and purples was just...was just...
Undeniably, terribly and completely...romantic.
Dammit.
‘You coming in?’
Angus stood directly in front of her, so of course she had to look at him. She made an attempt to stare only at his face, but almost immediately failed, her attention sliding rapidly downwards.
