LITMIR.BIZ

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against the sun, but they were smiling. He looked a man at ease.

      His horse was magnificent. He looked magnificent.

      If I were a Regency heroine I’d be reaching for my smelling salts right now, she thought, and she wanted to tell Maisie because Maisie was watching Nugget with exactly the same look of adoration.

      Wait, was she looking at Matt with adoration? She pulled herself up with a jolt.

      ‘You be careful of those saddlebags,’ she said, fighting for something prosaic to say. ‘I don’t want squashed cream puffs.’

      ‘You packed cream puffs?’ He’d loaded the cartons of food into his saddlebags without question.

      ‘Why wouldn’t I?’ she asked with insouciance.

      ‘Why indeed? I thought picnics were sandwiches and apples.’

      ‘Not in my world. Where are we going?’

      ‘We’re heading for the hills,’ he told her. ‘After this rain I’m betting the place we’re going will be amazing. I hope I’m right.’

      * * *

      This was his favourite place on the entire property. He’d seen it first the day he’d come to inspect the land. Donald had driven him over the paddocks, shown him the house, the shearing sheds, the outbuildings. He’d shown him the sheep and then he’d driven him here. Donald couldn’t make it down the last steep climb. He’d driven him to the top and said, ‘There’s something down there that’s worth a look, boy, if you have the energy to walk down.’

      When he did, he’d known that not only would he buy Jindalee, but Jindalee would be his home.

      This was his refuge. His quiet place. His place for just...being. Over the years, he and Nugget had forged a track through the undergrowth that was secure enough to get right down to the bottom. He led the way now, slowly and surely, with Maisie plodding behind. He glanced back to tell Penny to hold on tight but he didn’t need to. Penny’s knees were tight to the saddle. Her hands gripped the kneepads even though her fingers were still light on the reins. She wouldn’t take her fear out on Maisie. And now...fear or not, her face reflected pure awe.

      The country on this section of the river was so rough, so undermined by underground waterways that no farmer had ever tried to clear it. Now the massive gum trees towered over their heads. The vast, shading canopy meant the understory was an undulating carpet of ferns, a wondrous mat of green that flowed down to the water.

      They weren’t going all the way to the river. The Murray here was wide and wild, a vast expanse of water where the banks would still be covered with debris from the recent floods. This place was better.

      He remembered Donald describing it to him all those years ago.

      ‘There’s a place, boy, where one of the creeks flowing underground sneaks up and burbles up over the rocks,’ Donald had told him. ‘Then it falls and forms a pool bigger’n most swimming pools. You can swim there if you can cope with a bit of cold. It’s the cleanest water on God’s earth, I swear. And then it slithers through a bed of tumbled rocks and disappears back underground. The ground around is covered with moss. A man can lie on that moss and look up through the gums and see the sky. It’s like a slice of heaven.’

      Matt had come and seen and fallen in love, and now, as their horses turned into the final clearing, he saw Penny’s face and knew she saw it exactly the same way.

      ‘Oh,’ she breathed and then fell silent. Awed.

      ‘Not bad, huh?’ he said, trying to bite back pride and then he thought: Why not say it like it is? ‘Best place in the world.’

      ‘Oh, Matt.’ She slipped off Maisie and the horse turned to nibble her ear. Her hand automatically went to scratch Maisie’s nose. She was a natural horsewoman, Matt thought. He could buy another horse and...

      What was he thinking?

      The dogs were heading into the ferns, wild with excitement at the smell of rabbits, of something other than sheep, maybe simply at the day itself.

      Matt pretty much felt the same—although he surely wasn’t thinking of rabbits.

      ‘Can we swim?’ she breathed.

      ‘It’s icy.’

      ‘But there aren’t any...I don’t know...crocodiles?’

      He grinned. ‘No crocodiles.’

      ‘Then I’m in.’

      ‘Did you bring your swimmers?’

      ‘No,’ she said and suddenly she was glaring. ‘I did not because no one told me that swimming was an option.’ She looked again at the waterhole and he saw the moment she made a decision. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you didn’t tell me so you need to face the consequences. My knickers and bra are respectable. You’re sure there isn’t a posse of photographers behind these trees?’

      What sort of world did she live in? ‘I’m sure.’

      ‘Don’t sound so cocky. They’d be onto you if you didn’t have such an ordinary name. You must have kept deliberately under the radar. Matt Fraser? No headlines and I bet you’ve fought hard to keep it that way. As squillionaire owner of Harriday Holdings, you’d be every women’s magazine’s Bachelor of the Year, no sweat.’

      ‘So you didn’t fight?’ he said curiously. ‘To keep under the radar?’

      ‘With my father? I was in front of a camera practically before they cut the cord. And with a name like Hindmarsh-Firth it’s impossible to duck.’

      ‘So change it.’

      ‘Right,’ she said grimly. ‘By deed poll? I don’t think so. I’d be splashed all over the dailies with Family Feud as the headline.’ She shrugged. ‘No matter. It’s all a long way from here and this place is magic. Can I swim?’

      ‘The water’s coming straight up from underground. Cold doesn’t begin to describe it.’

      ‘You swim here?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘But you never bother to pack your bathers when you come here?’ Her smile returned. ‘I get it. Every respectable squillionaire has his own private swimming pool and this is yours. Can I share?’

      ‘If you dare.’

      And she chuckled and tugged her T-shirt off, revealing a sliver of a pink lace bra. ‘Of course I dare,’ she told him. ‘But I’m not doing your naked thing. I happen to be wearing matching knickers and panties—isn’t that lucky? Will you join me?’

      ‘I...yes.’

      ‘Then are your boxers respectable, because we Hindmarsh-Firths have our standards?’

      He grinned. ‘I believe they are—although they’re not pink and they’re not lace.’

      ‘I don’t know what squillionaires are coming to,’ she said, mock serious. ‘But I can slum it. Swimming with a guy in cotton boxers? If I must.’

      And she turned her back on him, kicked off her shoes, tugged off her jeans—to reveal a pair of knickers that were just as scanty as her bra—and dived straight in.

      * * *

      He’d said it was cold, but this wasn’t just cold. This was half a degree above ice. She reached for the rock ledge and gasped and gasped.

      And Matt was beside her.

      He must have dived in almost as soon as she had. She hadn’t noticed him shedding his clothes. She’d been more than a bit embarrassed about the panty-bra thing and had turned her back but now he was beside her.

      His arm came out to support her. Maybe he thought her heart might stop.

      It felt as if it might stop.

      ‘I

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