“I’ll let my mother know what we’re doing.”
She turned her back on both of them and strode inside the house. As well as informing her mother, she needed to go to the bathroom before setting out on another rough trip. A splash of cold water might also help to bring her to her senses.
Her pulse was thrumming in her temples. Her stomach was fluttering with nerves. All at the thought of being alone with Gareth Morgan! It was crazy to feel this way about him. Crazy to let him get to her on any level whatsoever. She had to stop it somehow, or the future was going to consist of a long line of bitter miseries.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alida grudgingly conceded that Gareth drove with instinctive competence over the treacherous terrain that took them to the eastern run. He automatically avoided the red sand dunes where they might have bogged. He skirted potholes and rocks without abusing the steerage or the brakes, and managed to keep a steady pace overall. With his experience of the Outback, it was only to be expected, but Alida was still niggled that he handled the vehicle as well, if not better, than she did.
“You said you wanted to talk to me,” she reminded him after they had travelled for twenty minutes with nothing forthcoming from him and only terse navigational instructions from her.
“I’m thinking about it,” he replied. Which did nothing to ease the thick tension in the cabin.
“It doesn’t seem to be very productive,” Alida sniped, impatient and frustrated with his prolonged silence.
“It’s about time to take a little detour,” he said enigmatically but decisively.
Alida threw him a vexed look, but his eyes were concentrated on picking the best route ahead. Then, contrary to her directions, he swung the Range Rover towards the creek bed to the north of them.
“You’re off track,” she snapped.
“It’s always rather peaceful, looking at water,” he replied in a maddeningly calm voice.
Alida opened her mouth to tell him that this creek bed was a dry one, except when it rained. She promptly shut her mouth again when she realised precisely where he was heading. With unerring judgment Gareth had picked out the one permanent waterhole.
It was where the ghost gums grew the tallest, where there was a profusion of tea-trees, where the deep green vegetation was backed by a freakish rock strata, which ran in great buttresses and giant steps. It was, coincidentally, one of her favourite places on the station.
Gareth brought the Range Rover to a halt well short of the sandy creek bank. He grabbed one of her blankets from the back of the vehicle before coming around to open Alida’s door. She eyed the blanket with heart-pumping suspicion. Did Gareth have more in mind than talking?
“This might take some time,” he said drily. “We can sit in the shade by the water.”
“There are rocks we can sit on,” she informed him just as drily.
A taunting amusement glittered in his eyes. “Not for me, thank you, Alida. But you make your own choice.”
“I intend to,” she warned him.
She consciously kept a comfortable distance between herself and Gareth as they walked to the waterhole. All her instincts were shrieking that this was a dangerous situation and she had to keep her head. When Gareth spread out the blanket she moved aside, leaning her back against the trunk of the largest tree, watching him from under her lashes.
He was not as relaxed as he looked, she decided, despite the graceful economy of his every movement. He had rolled up his shirt sleeves, and the muscles in his forearms were taut as he straightened the blanket. His powerful thighs strained against the cloth of his trousers. She looked away, remembering all too well the feel of those thighs against her own.
The waterhole was about fifteen metres long and seven metres wide. She and her brothers had often swum and played here in the heat of the day, but this was no time for playing. What was about to transpire between Gareth and
She turned her back on both of them and strode inside the house. As well as informing her mother, she needed to go to the bathroom before setting out on another rough trip. A splash of cold water might also help to bring her to her senses.
Her pulse was thrumming in her temples. Her stomach was fluttering with nerves. All at the thought of being alone with Gareth Morgan! It was crazy to feel this way about him. Crazy to let him get to her on any level whatsoever. She had to stop it somehow, or the future was going to consist of a long line of bitter miseries.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alida grudgingly conceded that Gareth drove with instinctive competence over the treacherous terrain that took them to the eastern run. He automatically avoided the red sand dunes where they might have bogged. He skirted potholes and rocks without abusing the steerage or the brakes, and managed to keep a steady pace overall. With his experience of the Outback, it was only to be expected, but Alida was still niggled that he handled the vehicle as well, if not better, than she did.
“You said you wanted to talk to me,” she reminded him after they had travelled for twenty minutes with nothing forthcoming from him and only terse navigational instructions from her.
“I’m thinking about it,” he replied. Which did nothing to ease the thick tension in the cabin.
“It doesn’t seem to be very productive,” Alida sniped, impatient and frustrated with his prolonged silence.
“It’s about time to take a little detour,” he said enigmatically but decisively.
Alida threw him a vexed look, but his eyes were concentrated on picking the best route ahead. Then, contrary to her directions, he swung the Range Rover towards the creek bed to the north of them.
“You’re off track,” she snapped.
“It’s always rather peaceful, looking at water,” he replied in a maddeningly calm voice.
Alida opened her mouth to tell him that this creek bed was a dry one, except when it rained. She promptly shut her mouth again when she realised precisely where he was heading. With unerring judgment Gareth had picked out the one permanent waterhole.
It was where the ghost gums grew the tallest, where there was a profusion of tea-trees, where the deep green vegetation was backed by a freakish rock strata, which ran in great buttresses and giant steps. It was, coincidentally, one of her favourite places on the station.
Gareth brought the Range Rover to a halt well short of the sandy creek bank. He grabbed one of her blankets from the back of the vehicle before coming around to open Alida’s door. She eyed the blanket with heart-pumping suspicion. Did Gareth have more in mind than talking?
“This might take some time,” he said drily. “We can sit in the shade by the water.”
“There are rocks we can sit on,” she informed him just as drily.
A taunting amusement glittered in his eyes. “Not for me, thank you, Alida. But you make your own choice.”
“I intend to,” she warned him.
She consciously kept a comfortable distance between herself and Gareth as they walked to the waterhole. All her instincts were shrieking that this was a dangerous situation and she had to keep her head. When Gareth spread out the blanket she moved aside, leaning her back against the trunk of the largest tree, watching him from under her lashes.
He was not as relaxed as he looked, she decided, despite the graceful economy of his every movement. He had rolled up his shirt sleeves, and the muscles in his forearms were taut as he straightened the blanket. His powerful thighs strained against the cloth of his trousers. She looked away, remembering all too well the feel of those thighs against her own.
The waterhole was about fifteen metres long and seven metres wide. She and her brothers had often swum and played here in the heat of the day, but this was no time for playing. What was about to transpire between Gareth and
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