by Valerie Parv
The warm fish melted on her tongue along with most of her indignation. “It’s true. I get far more out of the time I spend with Lauren than she gets from me. She’s so full of life, sweet and trusting. Everybody’s her friend until proven otherwise. Sometimes I wish I could be more like her.”
“Unlike Lauren, you have the wisdom to know it isn’t safe to trust too readily,” he pointed out. “I’ll bet her sweet nature sometimes gets her into difficulties.”
She felt her eyes shadow. “When she was a teenager, a man tried to entice her to go to his house to see his puppies. Luckily, she was waiting for me and I arrived as she was about to go with the man, in time to put a stop to it. I reported the incident, but he wasn’t caught. Lauren was furious with me. I had to take her to see some puppies at a local pet shop before she’d speak to me again.”
Blake finished his roll and dusted crumbs off his hands. “Still, she was luckier than you.”
Unease nagged at her. “In what way?”
“She had you. Who was there for you when you were kidnapped?”
“Lauren will always have me,” she said, not wanting to admit that her anger over the incident might be related to her own abduction.
He didn’t push. “You’re a kind person, Jo.”
“Anyone would have done the same.”
“And you don’t take well to hearing compliments about yourself.”
“Maybe I recognize a line when I hear one.”
“Telling you you’re kind is hardly a line.” His hand came up and touched the side of her face. “If I tell you how beautiful you look first thing in the morning, with your hair all mussed and your eyes clouded from sleep, would that be a line?”
Striving to ignore the wisps of sensation curling through her, she darted her tongue out to moisten her lips. “I don’t know. Would it?”
His palm cupped her cheek. “It would be the truth.”
“Oh.”
Blake liked the note of surprise he heard in her voice. She really had no idea how beautiful she was, he thought. Sometime, somewhere, her confidence in herself had been undermined, and he’d like to get his hands on the culprit. So many times in his life people had tried to do that to him and never succeeded because he had made up his mind not to let them touch the essence of who he was. He hated the thought that someone might have violated her in any way.
“Even so,” he went on, “my opinion doesn’t matter a darn.”
She looked startled, a little wounded, but he pressed on. “The only opinion you need to take into account about you is yours.”
Her smile blossomed, making him hunger to taste her again. Patience, he schooled himself. Until she came to him, heart completely open and body willing, he couldn’t possess her and keep peace with himself. All the same, it took a mighty effort to lift his hand away.
He couldn’t resist letting his fingers trail down her face. She tilted her head a little and nuzzled his hand, making his stomach muscles tighten. Inwardly, he cursed himself for being so blasted noble, but he knew with her he had no choice. She affected him in ways he couldn’t begin to count, and he didn’t want to do anything to drive her away from him.
With seeming reluctance, she moved away. “You’re very hard to get mad at.”
He pretended to be offended. “Why would you want to?”
“Because one minute you’re listing my shortcomings, and the next you’re making me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“Have you considered both might be the truth?”
Her breath gushed out. “I certainly know I have shortcomings.”
“Very few, and mostly the result of misguided good intentions,” he said. “I get the feeling you have a bigger problem dealing with the other part.”
She tossed the dregs of her coffee into the fire. “Now that is a line.”
Over the hiss and spatter of the moisture on the hot coals, he said, “Only if you take it as one. It isn’t meant to be. You are beautiful.”
How was she supposed to respond to a man who confused her as completely as Blake did? Sparks of reaction danced through Jo although she tried to ignore them. “You could try keeping your opinions to yourself,” she suggested.
“Ah, but that would take all the fun out of this adventure.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“I was.”
The simple statement cut right to the core of her fear. He wasn’t playing with her when he called her beautiful, and it wasn’t a line. He truly believed what he was saying. But she wasn’t beautiful or kind, or any of the other noble things he attributed to her. She felt uncomfortable imagining herself having to live up to his expectations.
“Isn’t it time we started for the cave?” she asked.
“If you’ve had enough to eat.”
On safer ground, she nodded. “More than enough. I think barramundi has become my favorite fish. Not that I’ll ever taste it like this again.”
He piled dirt over the coals to suffocate them and prevent any chance of escaping sparks causing a bushfire. “Unless you come back to the Kimberley, then I’ll catch and cook a barramundi for you anytime you want.”
She stood up and stretched. “This assignment is a one-off. I don’t see myself making a career of being Jo Francis, outback reporter.”
“Or you could stay.”
Her breath shallowed. Looking down at his broad shoulders and tousled hair as he worked on the fire, she felt a longing so strong it was like a hunger. No place she had ever visited had worked such magic on her. And no man. All the more reason to put as much distance between them as she could. “I don’t think so,” she said.
If he heard the note of finality in her voice, he didn’t react. “The fire’s safe to leave. We can go now.”
Since she wasn’t an experienced bush walker, he had proposed taking the Jeep part of the way and then hiking the last few miles through Cotton Tree Gorge to where the Uru cave was located. The day was already hot with the promise of becoming hotter and steamier, so she accepted without demur. Before they left camp, he had telephoned Andy Wandarra and arranged to have the Jeep moved to the road below the Uru cave so it would be waiting for them at the end of the hike.
All through the jolting drive over rugged cattle tracks, his words echoed through her mind. You could stay. It was impossible, of course. She had her career, her friendship with Lauren, her whole life in Perth. Yet as they approached the canyon where storm-fed torrents had gouged out crevices and undermined giant cliffs, the magic of the Kimberley did its level best to seduce her.
She couldn’t deny that the man at her side was part of the plot. He infuriated and attracted her in about equal parts. She disliked the way he delved into her psyche and disliked even more that he seemed able to see into her soul. But the attraction was strong, too. Stronger than the dislike? She hoped not, or she was in real trouble.
Nothing to be done about it now, she told herself, and made an effort to focus on the changing landscape around her. Blake pointed out one of the world’s most primitive plants, a member of the cycad family he told her, adding that it had grown in this location since the time of the dinosaurs.
She should be taking notes for her next article, but found herself content to feast her eyes on the craggy outcrops clothed in paperbarks and bloodwood, bottlebrush and she-oaks. A gently diffused light hung over the countryside and their passage was noted with disinterest by kangaroos, wallabies, eagles, a dingo, and even a few wild donkeys and a buffalo that Blake said would have wandered west from the Northern Territory. Clouds of parakeets, budgerigars, finches and larger, graceful brolgas and jabirus clustered around the water-courses.
Whoever called this land barren was out of his mind, she thought. She had never before seen a place so teeming with natural life.
When Blake steered the Jeep into the shelter of a tree and cut the motor, the sudden silence seemed deafening. “This is where we get off.”
Ahead lay a wide, picturesque valley. �
�Cotton Tree Gorge?”
He nodded, reaching for the day packs they’d prepared before going to sleep the night before. Each pack contained sufficient water and food to see them through the hike. Looking at the creek cascading through the gorge, she couldn’t imagine them running short of water. Unless crocodiles were a problem here, too.
“Only in the lower reaches of the gorge. Higher up, they’re the Johnstone River variety, more commonly known as freshwater crocodiles, and generally harmless to humans,” he explained when she voiced the comment. “You can recognize them by their long, narrow snouts.”
She swung her pack onto her back. “I’m still dealing with the ‘generally harmless’ part.”
He adjusted his own pack. “Freshwater crocs are fine as long as you give them plenty of room. I’ve swum with dozens of them and never come to any harm.”
“So the Johnstone River crocodiles live in freshwater, and the salties, the ones that eat you, live in salt water, right?” That should simplify matters, she thought.
He shook his head. “Sorry, no. The term saltie is a misnomer. Both types can live in fresh, brackish or salt water, so it’s wise to be cautious until you know a body of water is safe to swim in.”
“I’ll stick to dry land to be certain,” she decided. “I suppose that means the beach is out of the question?”
“They’re a saltie’s favorite hangout. Dozens are removed from the harbors around the northern Australian coastline every year by people like me.”
“Why am I not surprised? Tell me again why you love this place?”
His smile widened. “Look around you.”
She did and felt the peace of the valley enveloping her. There might be dangers, but not if you were careful. And the rewards in beauty were beyond price. How was she to do justice to the Kimberley in her writing when she could barely wrap her mind around its wonders? Millions of years had gone into shaping the spectacular landscape. How could mere words ever capture such grandeur?
“Cotton Tree Gorge is also a misnomer,” Blake explained as they set off. “It’s actually a main gorge with a series of side gorges branching off it. Easy to get lost. You need to watch your step.”
“I believe you.” They had only started the climb and already the footing was tricky. The track snaked upwards between ever-narrowing stone walls. In places they had to clamber over giant boulders to penetrate the upper reaches.
When they had gone about three miles by her estimation, Blake led them into yet another branching chasm. “Careful of the fallen logs,” he warned, holding out his hand to help her over an obstacle.
His grip felt warm and sure. She welcomed the assistance, but wished he didn’t have the power to unbalance her with every touch. Needing to focus her thoughts on something other than her inner turmoil, she asked, “Can you drive into the gorge?”
“There’s a rough access road from the other end that goes as far as the Uru cave. It’s where I asked Andy to have the Jeep waiting for us.”
“So we’re doing this the hard way?”
“It’s also the most spectacular way.”
She couldn’t disagree. And she had wanted the experience of hiking through the bush to write about. Did she also want the experience of seeing it with Blake? Her knees went weak and it was just as well he had hold of her hand, or she might have slipped between the boulders. She was so confused. Part of her wanted to be anywhere but where he was, while the more insistent part was blissfully happy. She didn’t have any idea how she would handle leaving him when the time came.
“We’ve come far enough. Time for a lunch break,” he said.
“I’m fine to go on.”
“You slipped and almost fell.”
“The heat is getting to me a little.” No sense telling him he had contributed to her near miss.
He led her to a rock overhang, festooned with thickets of vine, and slid the pack off her shoulders, letting it drop to the ground. When his hands lingered for a few seconds on her upper arms, she had to struggle to keep her breathing even. Was he going to kiss her again? Did she want him to? The answer must have been transparent in her gaze because he bent his head and brushed her lips with his own.
She held still, afraid to respond in case she couldn’t stop. She saw something similar reflected in his gaze, because he gathered in a deep breath and stepped back. I won’t always back away, she read in his expression, and knew that the time was very near when he wouldn’t. When she wouldn’t want him to.
He was leaving the choice and the timing up to her.
Blake shouldered out of his own pack and rummaged in it. “We’re all out of lobster and caviar. Will cheese, crackers and fruit bars do?”
“I’m hungry enough to try anything,” she said, only aware of how he might take her words after they’d left her mouth.
She saw his eyebrows lift but he said nothing as he passed a package to her. She willed herself not to react to the momentary contact and covered her awkwardness by reaching for a bottle of water. The droplets spilled down her chin as she drank. “This bush walking is thirsty work.”
Her composure was almost shattered anew when he skimmed her lower lip with a finger, wiping away the moisture. “You’re in good shape for a desk jockey,” he commented.
She settled herself on a convenient rock ledge, resting her back against the sun-warmed stone wall. “The magazine has a private gym, and I belong to a walking group. Nothing as challenging as this though. What about you?”
“Wrangling crocodiles keeps me fit enough.”
Thinking of the monster that had leaped out of the creek and grabbed Nigel’s canteen, she asked, “Don’t you ever get scared?”
“Only a fool isn’t scared of such a dangerous reptile.”
And he was no fool. “What got you started working with crocodiles?”
He stopped eating. “What is this, an interview by stealth?”
“If I’d wanted our conversation on the record, I’d say so.” Her tone reminded him he wasn’t the only one who lived by a code of ethics.
He got the message. “Bad habit of mine, sorry. Nothing good ever came of delving too much into my past.”
Forgiveness came quickly. Perhaps too quickly. “You’ve never wondered about your family?”
“Sure I have. I wonder whose genes I carry, what I might pass on if I have children. But it’s pointless losing sleep over something I can’t change. The police would have found anything there was to find thirty years ago.”
How would it feel to have a total blank where your personal history should be? Jo’s grandparents were among her favorite people in the world. Her grandfather on her mother’s side was a retired doctor, still active in his local community. On her father’s side, they were farmers who swore they’d leave their land feet first. Jo was sure they meant it. Visiting them and hearing their stories made her feel connected to her past. She couldn’t imagine not having that sense of personal history.
“Right after I decided that animals were smarter than people,” Blake said, recapturing her attention.
“Excuse me?”
“You asked what got me interested in crocodiles. Seeing how fascinated I was with animals, Des encouraged me to study zoology. It turned out that my namesake, Bob Stirton, had captured a rogue crocodile on Diamond Downs some years ago, while he was still establishing his wildlife reserve. Des introduced me to him, and I was able to work with Bob’s big cats while I completed my degree.”
Memory came rushing back. “Tiger Mountain, I know it. A few months ago, I did a story on their conservation program for the magazine. What did Stirton think of you borrowing his name?”
“I don’t know if he was flattered that I’d modeled myself on him, or hoped that the tigers would get this upstart out of his way. Either way, he let me work alongside him. He was still involved with crocodiles and took me along on some of his expeditions to relocate problem reptiles. After the first trip, I was hooked. When a run-down animal park came up for sale near Hall
s Creek, I bought it in partnership with Tom and we set up Sawtooth Park. He’s a silent partner these days.”
“I’m sure Shara’s glad he is,” she said.
Blake nodded. “It takes a unique woman to tolerate a man disappearing into the wild every so often, knowing he might not come back in one piece.”
A shudder gripped her. “Is that why you’ve never married?”
“That and the lack of a suitable candidate,” he said. “You must have heard that eligible women are in short supply in the Kimberley?”
She had a feeling his single state had more to do with his first reason than the second. He was right. Jo knew it wouldn’t be easy living with the risks he took every day, trusting his experience and skill to bring him safely back to her.
Now where had that thought come from? She wasn’t planning on waiting at home for him or any man. She had crocodiles of her own to hunt, not the reptile kind, but goals that were every bit as challenging. “Maybe you should let me interview you,” she suggested, not sure how lightly. “You’d have eligible women beating your door down.”
“One woman would be quite enough,” he said, his gaze warm on her.
Oh, no, he’d better not start seeing her in the role, she told herself. And if he did, it was no concern of hers.
She snapped a cracker in half and sandwiched a piece of cheese, biting into it while she thought. She might be seriously considering making love with him. Her insides jittered at the very notion. She did hope to have a family one day, but her plans didn’t include settling down for a long time.
Finishing her meal, she gathered up the debris and replaced it in her pack, then climbed to her feet. When he started to join her, she gestured for him to stay where he was. “I’m going to take some pictures. I’d like you in the shots. Don’t worry, your face won’t be visible. I need a human figure to give an idea of the immensity of this place.”
“Don’t wander out of sight. And watch out for snakes.”
She grimaced. “Did you have to mention snakes?”
“They won’t bother you if you tread heavily. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
