So did the rest of him. The man’s hair was sun-bleached, from dark brown at the roots to almost gold at the tips, and his skin was a deep lined bronze. The harsh contours of his strongly boned face were softened by deep, grey eyes that creased at the corners, maybe in accustomed defence against the sun’s glare. The man’s clothes—his hands, his face—were ingrained by layer upon layer of dust.
He had to be a farmer. The man’s whole appearance labelled him as such. He wore moleskin trousers and a khaki shirt, and in his hand he held a wide Akubra hat. This was an outfit Jenna recognised as almost a uniform among Australian men who worked the land.
Was he a farmer here? It didn’t make sense.
She had to speak. She had to say something.
‘H…hi.’ Not so good. Her voice came out as a squeak, and the man’s eyes widened.
‘Hi, yourself.’ Unlike Jenna’s, the man’s voice was deep, resonant and sure, laced with a broad Australian accent. His eyes were calmly watchful, as if at any minute he expected the apparition in his kitchen to vanish.
Jenna was still holding Karli to the tap. Now Karli finished drinking and pulled away. She lowered her to the ground; Karli stared distrustfully up at the stranger and then shrank against Jenna’s leg.
‘I… Is this your house?’ Jenna managed, holding tight to Karli.
‘It’s my house.’ The man was staring down at Karli as if he was certain he was seeing things. Karli didn’t look at him. She shrank behind Jenna’s legs and stayed there.
Silence. For the life of her, Jenna couldn’t think of what else to say.
Eventually, apparently recovering from the shock of finding strangers in his kitchen, the big man tossed his Akubra onto the table and walked across to the fridge. He opened the door and snagged a beer. Raising his eyebrows quizzically—for heaven’s sake, was the guy laughing?—he lifted the can towards Jenna. ‘I don’t know who on earth you are or how you got here,’ he said, ‘but can I offer you a beer?’
‘N…no. Thank you.’
‘There’s not much else,’ the man told her, pulling the ring from the top of the can and taking a long, long swallow. He didn’t lower the can until he’d almost emptied it. ‘Apart from water,’ he added then. ‘Which you seem to have found all by yourselves.’
Karli ventured a peek at him then from behind Jenna’s legs. Amazingly he gave the little girl a wink—which had her ducking back behind her sister.
‘We did find your water.’ Jenna took a deep breath, searching for composure. She didn’t find it. ‘I’m sorry. I guess…the thing is that we seem to be in a bit of trouble.’
‘You know, I guessed that,’ the man agreed gravely. ‘Either that or you’re a pair of very enthusiastic encyclopaedia salesmen.’ The man smiled at her across his beer, and when he smiled it was all Jenna could do not to gasp. The smile lit his whole face, making him seem years younger. She’d guessed his age at somewhere around forty, but when he smiled she knew he was closer to thirty. And, as well as younger, his smile made him seem incredibly…incredibly…
Male. Gorgeous. Sexy. The adjectives suddenly crowded into her head, and instinctively her hands fell to hold Karli tighter.
She gave herself a sharp mental swipe. She was being ridiculous. She didn’t react to men like this. She didn’t.
So why was this man so…mesmeric?
‘We’re not salesmen,’ she managed, striving for lightness. ‘The doors are a bit far apart out here to do door-to-door selling.’
She had her reward. The laughter deepened behind his eyes at her pathetic attempt at humour.
‘That’s a pity,’ he told her, his smile staying right where it was. He motioned to the pile of newspapers. ‘This is about all I have in the way of reading matter. An encyclopaedia would have its uses.’ Then his smile faded as he searched her eyes. The expression on his face softened, as though he sensed her fear. His gaze dropped again to Karli, peeping out from behind Jenna’s legs, and his expression softened still further.
‘So if you’re not salesmen, maybe you could tell me who you are?’
‘I don’t think…’ Jenna paused, the enormity of trying to explain their situation to this man almost overwhelming her in its degree of difficulty. ‘You won’t believe…’
‘Try me.’
‘But I don’t even know who you are,’ she burst out, and his gorgeous smile came flooding back.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You don’t. You know, I figured since you’re in my kitchen and you came in uninvited, that maybe it was up to you to introduce yourselves first. But maybe I’ve been remiss.’ He hauled his hat from the table and shoved it back on his head, then raised it a few inches in a gesture of salutation. ‘I’m Riley Jackson.’ His dark eyes twinkled down at Karli, who was still clinging as hard as she could cling to Jenna’s leg. ‘Have a seat, ladies. Make yourselves at home.’
Then he readdressed his beer. Duty done.
Jenna stared at him in confusion. She was way out of her depth, she acknowledged. If it weren’t for Karli she’d walk out of here—take her chances on the railway platform.
Who was she kidding? No, she wouldn’t. She had no choice but to keep on talking.
‘I’m Jenna Svenson,’ she told him. ‘This is Karli.’
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Jenna and Karli,’ he said gravely. ‘Welcome to my farm.’
His farm. She stared around her at the layer upon layer of dust. She turned to stare out the cracked and grimed window at the dusty paddocks beyond. ‘This isn’t a working farm?’ she managed. ‘Surely. I mean…you don’t live here?’
‘Don’t you like my décor?’ Riley demanded, as if he were wounded to the core, and she blinked. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s really dusty,’ Karli volunteered and that shocked Jenna, too. For Karli to speak in the presence of a stranger was amazing. ‘You don’t wash your table,’ the little girl said, and there was even a note of reproof in her tone.
‘Hey, I would have dusted if I’d known you were coming.’ Riley smiled straight down at the little girl, with what was almost a conspiratorial grin. ‘I would have got out the best china and made a cake. Or put some more beer in the fridge. Speaking of which.’ He hauled open the fridge to snag another beer and Jenna bit her lip at the sight of it. Her fears had started to recede, but now they resurfaced with a vengeance. They were so alone. He might not be an axe murderer, but if he were to get drunk…
He saw her look. He stood with his hand on the refrigerator door and his eyebrows rose in a query. ‘Does this worry you?’ He raised his beer can.
‘I…no.’
‘It shouldn’t,’ he told her, and went straight to the heart of her fear. ‘It’s low-alcohol beer. I’d have to drink a bathful to get tight. And, lady, even if I was drinking full-strength beer,
