if she could ride a horse. Even if she was game to go near it.
‘Do you...do you have a four-wheel drive?’ she asked. ‘Is it possible that a truck or something could get through?’
‘It might,’ he said grudgingly.
She’d been trying to figure a way out, but she thought she saw one. ‘Could you take me on to Malley’s? If you have a truck that can get through we could make it. I could leave my car here and get someone to bring me back to collect it when the water goes down.’
And this is my last chance, she thought desperately, looking into his impassive face. Please.
He gazed at her and she forced herself to meet his gaze calmly, as if her request was totally reasonable—as if asking him to drive for at least four hours over flooded creeks was as minor as hiring a cab.
‘I can pay,’ she added. ‘I mean...I can pay well. Like a good day’s wages...’
‘You have no idea,’ he said and then there was even more silence. Was he considering it?
But finally he shook his head.
‘It’s impossible,’ he told her. ‘I can’t leave the property. I have a team ready to start shearing at dawn and two thousand sheep to be shorn. Nothing’s messing with that.’
‘You could...maybe come back tonight?’
‘In your dreams. The water’s coming up. I could end up trapped at Malley’s Corner with you. I can’t risk sending a couple of my men because I need everyone. So I don’t seem to have a choice and neither do you.’ He sighed. ‘We might as well make the best of it. I’m inviting you home. You and your dog. As long as you don’t get in the way of my shearing team, you’re welcome to stay at Jindalee for as long as the floodwater takes to recede.’
PENNY DROVE, SLOWLY and carefully, along the rutted track. He followed behind on his horse, his dogs trotting beside him, and she was aware of him every inch of the way.
He could be an axe murderer. He was sodden and filthy. His jet-black hair was still dripping and his dark face looked grim.
He’d laughed when he first saw her but now he looked as if he’d just been handed a problem and he didn’t like it.
She didn’t even know his name.
He didn’t know hers, she reminded herself. He was opening his house to her, and all he knew about her was that she was dumb enough to get herself stranded in the middle of nowhere. She could be the axe murderer.
She had knives. She thought fleetingly of her precious set, wrapped carefully in one of her crates. They were always super sharp.
What sort of knives did axe murderers use?
‘They use axes, idiot,’ she said aloud and that was a mistake. The guy on the horse swivelled and stared.
‘Axes?’ he said cautiously, and she thought, He’ll be thinking he has a real fruitcake here.
That was what she felt like. A fruitcake.
‘Sorry. Um...just thinking of what I’d need if... I mean, if I was stuck camping and needed something like wood to light a fire. I’d need an axe.’
‘Right,’ he said, still more cautiously. ‘But you don’t have one?’
‘No.’
‘You seem to have everything else.’
‘I’m going to Malley’s to work. I need stuff.’
‘You’re working at Malley’s?’ He sounded incredulous. ‘That place is a dump.’
‘The owner has plans,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘I’m employed to help.’
‘It could use a bit of interior decorating,’ he agreed. ‘From the ground up.’ His lips suddenly twitched again. ‘And you always carry a teapot?’
‘They might only use tea bags.’
‘You don’t like tea bags?’
‘I drink lapsang souchong and it doesn’t work in tea bags. I love its smoky flavour. Don’t you?’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’ he asked and suddenly he grinned. ‘I’m Matt,’ he told her. ‘Matt Fraser. I’m the owner of Jindalee but I hope you brought your own lapsang souchong with you. Sadly I seem to be short on essentials.’
‘I have a year’s supply,’ she told him and his grin widened.
‘Of course you do. And you are?’
‘Penelope Hindmarsh-Firth.’ He was laughing at her but she could take it, she decided. She should be used to people laughing at her by now. ‘And I’m the owner of one pink car and one white poodle.’
‘And a teapot,’ he reminded her.
‘Thank you. Yes.’ She concentrated on negotiating an extra deep rut in the road.
‘Penelope...’ Matt said as the road levelled again.
‘Penny.’
‘Penny,’ he repeated. ‘Did you say Hindmarsh-Firth?’
And her heart sank. He knows, she thought, but there was no sense denying it.
‘Yes.’
‘Of the Hindmarsh-Firth Corporation?’
‘I don’t work for them.’ Not any more. She said it almost defiantly.
‘But you’re connected.’
‘I might be.’
‘The way I heard it,’ he said slowly, seemingly thinking as he spoke, ‘is that George Hindmarsh, up-and-coming investment banker, married Louise Firth, only daughter of a mining magnate worth billions. Hindmarsh-Firth is now a financial empire that has tentacles worldwide. You’re part of that Hindmarsh-Firth family?’
‘They could be my parents,’ she muttered. ‘But I’m still not part of it.’
‘I see.’
He didn’t, she thought. He couldn’t. He’d have no idea of what it was like growing up in that goldfish bowl, with her father’s ego. He’d have no idea why she’d finally had to run.
‘So if I rang up the newspapers now and said I’ve just pulled a woman called Penelope Hindmarsh-Firth out of a creek, they wouldn’t be interested?’
No! ‘Please don’t,’ she whispered and then repeated it, louder, so she was sure he could hear. She was suddenly very close to tears.
‘I
