got up, but stood undecided beside her chair, and it seemed to show in her face.
She saw Brett watching her rather narrowly and wondered what he was thinking. Then she realized, as his dark gaze flicked up and down her figure, that he was thinking of her in a particular context—the awareness that continued to spring up between them—and she felt herself colour; she turned away, biting her lip.
He was the one who solved the problem. He said, ‘I’ve got a few things to do, a few calls to make. Why don’t you look through the albums? It might give you more background material.’
She turned back. ‘Albums?’
He indicated the library area and some thick albums arranged on a teak table. A comfortable armchair stood beside the table and a lamp above it shed light.
‘There are photos going way back; there are visitors’ comments and press cuttings.’
‘Oh, thank you! I will,’ she said eagerly, but didn’t miss the ironic little glance he cast her. In fact, it caused her to bridle as she stared back.
But he only shrugged and drew her attention to a drawer in the table that contained pens and paper, if she wanted to make notes.
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly. Feeling foolish, which didn’t sit well with her, she waved her hands and recommended that he go away and leave her alone.
‘By all means, Miss Harding,’ he said with soft sarcasm. ‘By all means.’
Holly ground her teeth.
An hour later she looked up as he came back into the library area, then put her pen down and stretched.
‘Finished?’ he enquired.
‘No. They’re fascinating—I could go on for hours, but I won’t. Thanks very much.’ She closed the album she’d been working on and stood up. ‘I think bed might be a good idea. I seem to have done an awful lot today,’ she said with evident humour.
‘I’ll walk you to your cabin,’ he murmured.
‘I can walk myself.’ But she paused, feeling recalcitrant and juvenile. What could happen between here and her cabin? ‘OK. Thanks.’
They called goodnight to Sarah, who was watching a DVD, and set off. In the event, there were no snakes, but there was a flying fox. As Brett opened her cabin door and reached in to switch on the light, it swooped down on Holly.
It startled her so much she dropped her torch, gave a yelp and with an almighty shudder sought refuge in Brett’s arms.
The creature flew into the cabin, then straight out again.
‘It’s only a flying fox,’ he said, holding her close, though, and flipping off the light. ‘It was the light.’
‘Only a flying fox!’ she repeated incredulously. ‘Aren’t they responsible for the Lyssa virus or the Hendra virus—or both?’
‘It didn’t actually touch you, Holly.’ He passed a hand over her hair then closed the cabin door.
She shuddered again. ‘Can you imagine it getting caught in my hair? Yuck!’
‘Some people love them.’
‘Not in their hair, I bet they don’t. Look, I’m not keen on them; snakes, spiders, rats and frogs I can manage to stay sane about—flying foxes, not!’
He laughed down at her then bent his head to kiss her.
Holly was taken completely by surprise, but it felt so good, she was immediately riveted and all her fears seemed to melt away.
Then some common sense prevailed and she drew away a little.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ she whispered.
‘We’ve been wanting to do it all day,’ he countered.
‘I…’ She swallowed. ‘The thing is, I’m here to do a job and I really need to concentrate on that. So.’ She managed to look up at him humorously. ‘Thanks for being here, otherwise I could have really freaked out! But now I’ll say goodnight.’
He released her promptly, although with a crooked little smile. ‘All right. Don’t switch the light on until you’re closed in.’ He turned away and left her.
Holly closed herself into the cabin and stood in the dark for a long moment with her hand to her mouth.
The next morning, after breakfast, he had a surprise for her.
She’d greeted him cautiously, but he’d been casual and friendly and they’d eaten breakfast companionably.
Then he recommended that she bring a hat and sunscreen, along with her camera, and meet him at the holding-paddock gate.
When she got there, there were two saddled horses tied to the fence.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t rustle up a camel or a donkey.’
Holly groaned. ‘Thank heavens! But I have to tell you that, although I have ridden horses before, I’m not much of a rider—I usually get led.’
‘No problem.’ He produced a long rein out of his saddle bag and attached it to one of the horses’ bridles. ‘Up you get.’ He put his hands around her waist and lifted her into the saddle.
‘Where are we going?’
He mounted his horse with ease and clicked his tongue. As they set off, he said, ‘We’re putting in a new dam; I want to see the progress. It’s a pleasant ride.’
‘You’re not going to gallop or do anything that’ll contribute to me falling off?’ she queried as she clutched her reins and tried to adjust herself to the motion as they broke into a trot.
‘Nope. Just relax. Are you always this nervous when you’re on a job?’
‘Often with good cause, believe me,’ she said a shade tartly. ‘I’ve even been known to get off and walk, but I do always get there in the end.’
Brett Wyndham grimaced.
‘What?’ she asked with conspicuous hauteur.
He laughed softly. ‘I believe you. You’re a stubborn one, Holly Golightly; that I don’t doubt. OK. Let’s see if we can enjoy this ride.’
An hour later they reached the dam sight, and to Holly’s surprise she had enjoyed the ride. They’d stopped a couple of times, once on a rocky crest that had afforded them a sweeping view of the countryside, and once beside a salt lick.
Both times she’d dismounted and asked a lot of questions. By the time they reached the dam, she was confident enough of her horse not to need the leading rein, and she was genuinely charmed when Brett lit a small fire and boiled the billy he had in his saddle bag. She reached into hers as instructed and withdrew some damper Sarah had baked to go with their tea.
‘A
