Dark Horse by Honey Brown Page A

would have looked down your nose at me.’
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    ‘My place in Lauriston has been on the market,’ she told him. ‘It sold a week ago. Not really sure where I’ll be after this.’
    ‘I like the mountains.’
    ‘You say that now, you might feel differently if we’re still here in a couple of days.’
    ‘Nah. Touching wood and all that . . .’ He tapped the toe of his boot against the block of timber. ‘But this isn’t bad. Got my whole life to be lying on the couch watching cricket. These are the moments that stay with you forever.’
    ‘That’s one way to look at it.’
    ‘I know it’s different for you. Being a woman and all, and vulnerable.’
    ‘That’s sexist.’
    ‘It didn’t come out like I meant.’
    ‘Before you started whistling Dixie from your log, I wasn’t too far away from thinking it was kind of an all right moment for me too.’
    ‘Then I came along and blew your Zen.’ He grinned with the spoon turned upside down in his mouth.
    Sarah’s moment of muddled attraction toward him had passed. But he brought it all back with his teasing smile. ‘I wouldn’t say I was in a state of Zen.’ She reached for the bottle. She splashed another glug of the whiskey into her cup. ‘I’m just saying I’m not sure I’m going to be overjoyed to see the rescuers either.’
    ‘We’ll pitch in and protest our right to never leave.’
    ‘Not until our demands are met. I want my farm back. And my business. My horses, too. I’ve got quite a list.’
    ‘Sounds like it.’
    ‘What would you ask for?’
    He had to think. ‘Aside from five mill in unmarked bills?’
    ‘Goes without saying. We did agree on a fifty-fifty split, didn’t we?’
    ‘My dog then,’ he said. ‘I want my dog back. That might sound a bit lame against all your demands.’
    ‘Not at all.’
    Heath was thinking of other things to add. ‘That’s it, just my dog.’
    ‘You lost him?’
    ‘He died recently. Old age.’ Heath slowed his eating. ‘It’s like I can’t bear to have a dog now, ’cause I know it hurts too much when they go. It’s kinda like I want one but I don’t want to love it too much.’ He smiled gently. ‘Don’t know how people handle having kids if it frightens me to love a dog.’
    ‘I love Tansy like she’s my daughter. I’m the same, just the idea of something happening to her . . .’ Sarah shook her head.
    ‘They get to you all right.’
    ‘What was your dog’s name?’
    ‘Jasper.’
    ‘What breed was he?’
    ‘Bit of everything. Mostly bloodhound.’
    A gust of wind passed through. It was sudden enough to spook Tansy and strong enough to pick up a piece of cord tied to the roof rack on the caravan. The cord end snaked down and whipped against the van. Tansy bolted into her outside yard, seeking safety in open spaces.
    Heath looked at the loose cord. With that gust the mist was thinning, or it had been slowly dissipating as they spoke, but Sarah only noticed now.
    ‘Fog is gonna shift.’ She checked her watch.
    ‘What time is it?’
    ‘A bit past four-thirty.’
    Heath peered out at the retreating fog. The outlines of the hut and the toilet block were now visible.
    ‘We’ll hear a helicopter,’ Sarah said.
    Another gust swept through the camping ground. Tin on the hut roof rattled, and the loose cord whipped against the van.
    ‘Or it’s going to get too windy for a helicopter,’ she said. ‘I’ve known of a couple of rescues off the mountain. It’s either wind or fog that holds them up. Always one or the other.’
    ‘It’s not so much the wind,’ Heath countered, with the confidence of someone who had firsthand knowledge, ‘it’s the fog. Visibility. They can’t fly in poor visibility. The pad,’ he pointed over his shoulder at the shed back wall, indicating the cleared area beyond the wall of the shed, ‘is one of the most dangerous bush helipads around for that reason – because the fog closes in quick up here.’
    Sarah watched him