Nightfall was still nine hours away and the heat meant they’d finished training for the day. ‘What will you do for the rest of the day?’ The thought of him hanging around at a loose end for hours was unsettling.
He shrugged. ‘What do you and Molly normally do during the heat of the day?’
Lately? While Lea’s body adjusted to supporting a new life and the weather was so disgusting? ‘Sleep. Read. Swim.’
He stripped his hat off to wipe sweat from his forehead. Even hat hair and heat glow didn’t diminish his looks, all angles and equine lashes.
‘A swim sounds good,’ he said. ‘Where do you go?’
There were a handful of swimming pools in the district, of the installed kind, but most landowners had access to natural pools that formed at the base of rocky outcrops. The tourists dominated the safe public ones that still had water in them after a long, hot dry season, and crocodiles dominated the rest.
‘Joyce’s Pool at the far edge of Yurraji is spring-fed and runs all year round.’ In the wet season it more than ran, it flooded with rain-wash, and created a spectacular billabong wetland filled with life. But in the dry season it subsided back to being smaller, deep and cold, fed directly from the aquifer.
And it was very, very private.
Lea’s heart sank that she was going to miss her daily swim. And on a sticky scorcher like today too. She sighed. ‘I’ll give you directions.’
‘I don’t want to run you off your swim. We can all go.’ His glance was casual. ‘I’d enjoy seeing Molly swim.’
Right. An afternoon with Reilly Martin at the most secluded and pristine corner of the property—out of the question. Her hormones had been making things quite difficult enough without spending a few hours watching him cavort semi-naked in a natural spring. Even with a pint-sized chaperone.
Reilly raised his voice so Molly could hear him from the porch where she played with her Middleton ponies. ‘What do you say, kiddo? A swim at Joyce’s Pool?’
‘Yeah!’ Molly did her happy dance, no doubt delighted at the prospect of showing her new friend her favourite swimming spot. Or floating spot, in Molly’s case, given her reliance on industrial-strength floatation aids.
Reilly noticed Lea’s reluctance and his lips thinned. ‘Come on, Lea. You couldn’t be in safer company.’
Hurt broiled in her chest. Because he drew the line at hittingon a pregnant woman? Or because he had no interest whatsoever in her, pregnant or otherwise? She gave herself a mental pinch. What did it matter? She shouldn’t care whether he looked at her as a woman or as a brood mare. The man wanted a swim. So did she. So did Molly.
‘Okay. Give me twenty minutes to find a swimsuit.’
To find a swimsuit. Not my swimsuit.
Lovely Lea Curran usually swam naked. Realisation hit Reilly out of nowhere and the unwanted, illicit image struck straight for his groin. Why wouldn’t she? Her own land, her own pool, her own rules, and a five-year-old who wouldn’t know the difference. Only Lea and the wildlife for a hundred-thousand lonely acres.
Never mind that the occasional lost tourist might stumble upon a naked nymph drifting in the water. If they were smart they’d look their fill and then disappear back into the bush with that mental postcard for ever.
Welcome to the Kimberley!
Lea’s hands moved surely on the steering wheel of her beat-up old four-by-four. Other than the air-conditioning, it was stripped back to nothing, a typical north-west working vehicle, and it handled the rocky track like it was on four sturdy legs. Lea wasn’t kidding about the pool being on the far side of her property. They’d set out diagonally across Yurraji a lifetime ago. It was slow, rough going, picking across the brutal terrain. Molly had become increasingly grizzly as the minutes had ticked by, even with the air-con on full.
Joyce’s Pool must be something special to make this journey worth while all season.
That swim was
He shrugged. ‘What do you and Molly normally do during the heat of the day?’
Lately? While Lea’s body adjusted to supporting a new life and the weather was so disgusting? ‘Sleep. Read. Swim.’
He stripped his hat off to wipe sweat from his forehead. Even hat hair and heat glow didn’t diminish his looks, all angles and equine lashes.
‘A swim sounds good,’ he said. ‘Where do you go?’
There were a handful of swimming pools in the district, of the installed kind, but most landowners had access to natural pools that formed at the base of rocky outcrops. The tourists dominated the safe public ones that still had water in them after a long, hot dry season, and crocodiles dominated the rest.
‘Joyce’s Pool at the far edge of Yurraji is spring-fed and runs all year round.’ In the wet season it more than ran, it flooded with rain-wash, and created a spectacular billabong wetland filled with life. But in the dry season it subsided back to being smaller, deep and cold, fed directly from the aquifer.
And it was very, very private.
Lea’s heart sank that she was going to miss her daily swim. And on a sticky scorcher like today too. She sighed. ‘I’ll give you directions.’
‘I don’t want to run you off your swim. We can all go.’ His glance was casual. ‘I’d enjoy seeing Molly swim.’
Right. An afternoon with Reilly Martin at the most secluded and pristine corner of the property—out of the question. Her hormones had been making things quite difficult enough without spending a few hours watching him cavort semi-naked in a natural spring. Even with a pint-sized chaperone.
Reilly raised his voice so Molly could hear him from the porch where she played with her Middleton ponies. ‘What do you say, kiddo? A swim at Joyce’s Pool?’
‘Yeah!’ Molly did her happy dance, no doubt delighted at the prospect of showing her new friend her favourite swimming spot. Or floating spot, in Molly’s case, given her reliance on industrial-strength floatation aids.
Reilly noticed Lea’s reluctance and his lips thinned. ‘Come on, Lea. You couldn’t be in safer company.’
Hurt broiled in her chest. Because he drew the line at hittingon a pregnant woman? Or because he had no interest whatsoever in her, pregnant or otherwise? She gave herself a mental pinch. What did it matter? She shouldn’t care whether he looked at her as a woman or as a brood mare. The man wanted a swim. So did she. So did Molly.
‘Okay. Give me twenty minutes to find a swimsuit.’
To find a swimsuit. Not my swimsuit.
Lovely Lea Curran usually swam naked. Realisation hit Reilly out of nowhere and the unwanted, illicit image struck straight for his groin. Why wouldn’t she? Her own land, her own pool, her own rules, and a five-year-old who wouldn’t know the difference. Only Lea and the wildlife for a hundred-thousand lonely acres.
Never mind that the occasional lost tourist might stumble upon a naked nymph drifting in the water. If they were smart they’d look their fill and then disappear back into the bush with that mental postcard for ever.
Welcome to the Kimberley!
Lea’s hands moved surely on the steering wheel of her beat-up old four-by-four. Other than the air-conditioning, it was stripped back to nothing, a typical north-west working vehicle, and it handled the rocky track like it was on four sturdy legs. Lea wasn’t kidding about the pool being on the far side of her property. They’d set out diagonally across Yurraji a lifetime ago. It was slow, rough going, picking across the brutal terrain. Molly had become increasingly grizzly as the minutes had ticked by, even with the air-con on full.
Joyce’s Pool must be something special to make this journey worth while all season.
That swim was
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