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too tartly. ‘I’d have thought he’d have been too down-to-earth for someone like Kathryn.’

      Ross shrugged, obviously not seeing anything odd in the relationship at all, and it was Joyce Granger who offered an answer when she was helping Prue to wash up.

      ‘Nat’s always been able to manage Kathryn,’ she said shrewdly. ‘He’s the only one who could. She was a very headstrong girl, but so pretty that her parents spoilt her rotten and let her do whatever she wanted. I think she needs Nat to keep her in line.’

      ‘But if she needs him so much, why would she break off their engagement?’

      ‘Kathryn’s used to Nat looking after her. I think she lost her nerve at the thought that she was going to have to take second place for a while and help him care for Ed’s children, but she’ll be back when she gets used to the idea,’ Joyce added comfortably.

      Prue scrubbed the bottom of a saucepan with unnecessary vigour. ‘What if Nat won’t take her back?’

      ‘Oh, Nat will take her back all right.’ Joyce finished drying a plate and put it on top of the pile. ‘He’ll never love anyone but Kathryn. Those two are meant for each other.’

      Prue was still thinking about this exchange now, as Nat drove along the bumpy track from the airstrip to the homestead. She slid a covert glance at him from under her lashes and had to admit that he didn’t look as if he were broken-hearted. Joyce Granger must be right. If he wasn’t miserable, it was because he was quite confident that Kathryn would come back to him.

      Which meant that her idea wouldn’t work.

      It had come to her when Cleo’s letter had arrived two days ago, a flash of inspiration to solve her problem and Nat’s, but if he were expecting Kathryn back at any minute, it might not work after all…. Prue chewed the edge of her thumb, considering. Perhaps it would be better to stick to being a nanny, and not mention the matter to Nat?

      The homestead was a low, rambling house, sheltered on all sides by deep verandahs. Having been in the outback long enough to appreciate how precious the sight of water could be, Prue was disappointed to find that it wasn’t right by the river that gave the station its name, but when she asked Nat why the homestead wasn’t closer, Nat only laughed.

      ‘You don’t want to be anywhere near the river when it’s in flood,’ he said. ‘My grandfather knew what he was doing when he built the house here.’

      In spite of the lack of a river view, Prue thought it was a wonderful house, cool and shady inside and set in an oasis of green. Bougainvillea scrambled over the front verandah, and a cluster of palms at the back gave the place a tropical, almost exotic feel, although it was clearly a long time since anyone had made gardening a priority.

      Lunch proved to be a barbecue with the stockmen, a polite but taciturn group of men who eyed Prue curiously. She could tell they didn’t think much of her. Every time she opened her mouth, she sounded more brittle and English and out of place, and she was secretly relieved when they disappeared to their own quarters and left her alone with Nat.

      She helped him clear away the lunch dishes, and then Nat sent her out to sit on the back verandah while he made some coffee. She sat, enjoying the green shade and imagining what a restful place to live Mack River must be, with its tangled garden and its worn wooden floors and its air of masculine, faintly shabby comfort.

      The homestead at Cowen Creek was very busy and functional in comparison, Prue couldn’t help thinking. Of course, Ross lived there, and it was exciting just to be in his orbit, but sometimes it was quite exhausting to spend your day on tenterhooks, never knowing if the sound of the screen door meant that he was going to suddenly appear and bracing yourself for the crashing disappointment when someone else appeared instead.

      No, living with Ross couldn’t be said to be restful. But Mack River…Prue ran her hands appreciatively along the arms of the old wicker chair and gazed out at the garden…this was nice. Cool and calm and comfortable. A bit like Nat himself, in fact.

      She smiled at the thought, and Nat, carrying two mugs of coffee, paused just behind the screen door.

      He could see her quite clearly through the fine mesh as she sat and gazed dreamily out at the garden, her mouth curved in a secretive smile. She was wearing jeans and a pale pink shirt, and her unruly brown curls were pushed anyhow behind her ears. Nat thought that she looked relaxed and happy and disturbingly at home on his verandah.

      What was she smiling about so dreamily? Ross, no doubt. Nat remembered the proprietorial way Ross had helped Prue down from the plane, and thought that the Grangers’ son was a lot keener than she had admitted. She was probably planning her return to Cowen Creek already, imagining the scene where Ross swept her into his arms and vowed never to let her go again.

      Nat scowled, and then wondered what he was doing. He ought to be glad for Prue’s sake that Ross was showing more interest in her. Ross was the only reason that she was prepared to go to London and help him bring William and Daisy home. She wasn’t doing it for him, Nat reminded himself. It would be a mistake to forget that.

      Abruptly, he kicked the screen door open and its hinges creaked in protest. The sound made Prue jump, and she turned to see Nat coming towards her with a mug in each hand. His expression was not grim exactly, but somehow remote, and Prue was conscious of a feeling of disappointment. She had thought they had been getting on quite well.

      ‘This is lovely,’ she said politely, gesturing at the garden. If they were going to spend a month together, she had better get used to filling the silence. ‘I’d like to sit here for ever!’

      The thought crossed Nat’s mind that he wouldn’t mind her staying there for ever either, but he quashed it firmly. She was just being polite. The only way she would ever want to stay at Mack River was if Ross could be there too.

      ‘I’m glad you like it,’ he said distantly, and handed her one of the mugs.

      Deliberately choosing the chair separated from hers by a small table, he sat down and leant forward, resting his arms on his knees so that he could cradle his own mug between his hands.

      Somewhat daunted, Prue sipped her coffee and sought around for something else to say. In the end, the best she could manage was to thank him for lunch.

      At least she could see a gleam of amusement in Nat’s eyes as he glanced across at her. ‘I don’t think it will have been up to your standards!’ he said. ‘I’ve got a married man working here, and his wife cooks for us during the week, but, like you, she has a day off on Sunday and we have to look out for ourselves. We’re not very adventurous when it comes to food, as you probably gathered!’

      ‘I enjoyed it,’ said Prue honestly. ‘It’s a real treat to eat anything I haven’t cooked myself now!’

      ‘The Grangers are going to miss you.’ Nat looked back at the palms and tried not to sound too interested. ‘Are they keeping your job open for you?’

      ‘No.’ Prue shook her head. ‘They said they were sorry, but I told them when I arrived that I’d have to go back to London, and they’ve already promised another English girl that she can come and cook. She’s a friend of a friend, I think, and she’s already made arrangements to travel up from Adelaide.’

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