into work mode. ‘So this is precautionary?’ She glanced at him from the passenger seat and noticed a dark bruise twisting around his throat. It looked nasty. Her muscles tensed. ‘What happened to you?’
His hand automatically rose to the mark, then waved it off. ‘Sporting injury.’
Oh, really? ‘What kind of sport does that to you?’
His attention flicked from the road to her, then back again. ‘Deep caving.’
Romy stared. Exploring the abundant natural pores of the earth in the south-west of Australia was a particularly dangerous pastime. Every now and again the caves took payment in the form of human lives. Her stomach fluttered. ‘You can’t watch the footy like the rest of Australia?’
Clint smiled. ‘I like football. But I love caving. There’s something about the silence. The darkness. Going somewhere virtually no-one else has been.’
The heart-stopping danger. ‘You can stand in the bush and get dark silence.’
‘Not quite the same.’
‘What other questionable pastimes do you have?’
‘I own a good movie collection and I’m learning to love paperback mysteries.’
‘Hmm…and when you’re not escaping into popular culture?’
He stared at the road ahead, holding out.
‘Come on, McLeish. ‘Fess up.’
‘I kite-surf,’ he said finally.
Romy nodded, straight-faced. ‘Challenging.’
‘And I abseil.’
‘Oh, now you’re just showing off. So that’s below ground, terrestrial and marine sports covered. Surely you must base-jump off mountains or something. Bungee?’
His smile broke free. ‘I’ve been known to jump out of helos.’ At her frown he clarified. ‘Military choppers.’
‘Of course you have.’ She shook her head.
‘What?’
‘You’re an adrenaline junkie. I’m struggling to fit the man who likes silence and privacy and classic movies with the man who surfs whales and wrangles wild boar with his bare hands.’
That sinful mouth twitched. ‘Well, not bare hands…’
She laughed but it was hollow, even to her own ears. Clint McLeish missed the rush that came with doing his duty. The risk. Living with death daily. She could only imagine how a body would become accustomed to being hyper-aroused for survival, how hard it must be to kick the habit. ‘How much combat have you seen?’
The relaxed smile died and his hands tightened around the steering wheel. ‘Even if I wanted to talk about it, which I don’t—’ he glanced at her ‘—most everything I saw during my service is confidential. I couldn’t discuss it with you.’
With me. The implication twisted in her gut. The line in the sand got more defined. Clint, boss. Romy, staff. It was just a little too close to a childhood full of alienation in the name of military confidence. ‘Do you jump out of aircrafts and climb into the sphincters of the earth as a way of re-creating your time in the military? Or forgetting it?’
His face grew hard. ‘It’s a hobby, Romy. People have them.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘I have hobbies, but they’re not quite as extreme as yours. Isn’t there anything more…ordinary…that interests you?’
The shadowed bruise on his throat shifted as his Adam’s apple lurched upwards. She’d pushed him too far…
‘I like to cook. Since I came here.’
If he’d said he liked to make candles from earwax, she couldn’t have been more surprised. She gaped at him. ‘Really? What kinds of things?’
He shrugged. ‘Whatever. Cordon bleu. Cajun. Armenian. Anything new.’
Romy looked out the side window, reining in a chuckle she knew would get her in trouble.
‘What? Why stop sharing your thoughts now?’ His sarcasm was barely contained.
‘That’s extreme cooking.’ Her laugh bubbled out. ‘You really suck the marrow out of life, don’t you, McLeish?’
He looked annoyed. ‘I don’t do it to be adventurous.’
‘Why do you do it?’
The silence fell between them like autumn leaves. His eyes blazed. The ute’s old dash clock ticked.
‘Just to feel something.’
She stared at him. A moment ago she’d been envious of the man who lived a no-fear life. Imagining how good that would feel. Now, suddenly, she was responding to the raw awkwardness in his eyes. Clint McLeish and his emotions didn’t spend a lot of time communing, it seemed. She opened her mouth to ask him more.
‘We’re here.’ He pulled the ute off the track near a stand of banksia and marri trees.
The silence of the bush after the conversation in the car was striking. But then Romy heard the raucous, happy grumbling high above. She tilted her head and scanned the thick branches. Once she saw one, more and more came into focus. Enormous black cockatoos with a flame of red on their long sweeping tails, settling in for the night, high in the treetops.
‘Is this where they nest?’
He shook his head. ‘This is where they roost each night. They have nesting sites scattered all over the region, but Far Reach is a favoured site and generations of red-tails will teach their young to return to this gully to feed and roost as soon as they leave the nest.’
She stared all around, thinking about how deep in the property they were, considering how high in the trees the birds were roosting. Anyone who came here with theft on their mind would have some hurdles to overcome. That made her job easier.
‘Thank you for bringing me. This is important for me to see.’
‘These guys are one of the reasons I returned to WildSprings. I consider them my surrogate family. No-one messes with my family.’
She looked at him and believed it. Even removed from his military context there was still something inherently dangerous about the way he moved, the way he assessed everything around him. The way he missed nothing. She wouldn’t want to cross him.
‘Why don’t you have a family of your own?’ The question slipped out before she’d really thought about the ramifications.
He glanced at her. ‘Women and children are a bit thin on the ground around here in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘I’m sure there’d be a few bold contenders in town prepared to put up with your surly stares.’ Was that a smile? Hard to tell—it morphed into a determined frown way too quickly.
‘I
