‘Sweetheart, you must.’ Her mother hiccupped on a sob. ‘It’s in three weeks. St Barnabas Chapel followed by a grand reception on the Harbour. For you not to be there...’ Another sob. ‘Felicity’s mother will lord it over me. Your father won’t care. Penny, I can’t do it without you.’

How impossible was it to harden your heart? She tried. ‘Mum, I’m happy here.’

There was a moment’s pause. Maybe something in Penny’s voice had got through. ‘Really?’

‘I am,’ she told her. ‘And Samson’s turning into a sheepdog. You should see him.’

‘I thought you were working at a hotel.’

‘This is sheep country.’

‘So you’re meeting the locals?’

‘I...some of them. But Mum, I can’t come to the wedding. I’m so busy I’m even starting to forget what Felicity and Brett did to me.’ She took a deep breath and decided to say it like it was. ‘To be honest, I’m even starting to feel sorry for Felicity. And worried. You should tell Felicity there are a lot nicer men than Brett.’

‘You wanted to marry him.’

‘That was before I knew what a toerag he was. There are still some honourable men in the world.’

She shouldn’t have said it. If there was one thing Louise was good at, it was sussing out gossip and, despite her distress, she could almost feel her mother’s antennae quiver. ‘“Honourable men”,’ she said slowly. There was a loaded pause and then, ‘Penny, have you met one?’

Shut up, Penny, she told herself. Get off the phone fast.

But she wouldn’t lie. Had she met an honourable man? Yes, she had, and the thought was a good one.

‘That’s for me to know and you to guess,’ she told her mother, forcing herself to sound breezy. ‘Goodnight, Mum.’

‘Penny, please come.’

‘I can’t.’

But she lay in bed that night and thought of her mother’s tears. She thought of her mother, isolated at the wedding by her appalling husband and her even more appalling stepdaughter.

How did you rid yourself of the ties of loving?

She should ask Matt.

CHAPTER EIGHT

IN THE NEXT few days, while Matt coped with the tasks that had to be done before the wool was sent for sale, Penny attacked the house.

If anyone had ever told her she’d find joy in a mop and bucket, she’d have told them they were crazy. But cleaning took her mind off her mother’s increasingly distressed phone calls, and this was a challenge worth tackling.

Ever since she’d walked into the house she’d thought of it as something out of a Charles Dickens novel. ‘I feel like I might find Miss Havisham under one of these dust sheets,’ she told Matt as they sat on the veranda that night. ‘How long have they been here?’

‘Donald’s mother was a socialite,’ Matt told her. ‘She ran away when Donald was seven and his dad pretty much closed the house. When Donald sold me the house and contents I left it as it was. I use my bedroom, the den and the kitchen. I’ve no need for anything else.’

‘You’re two male versions of Miss Havisham,’ she told him. ‘Not that I mind. You can gloat over your wool clip while I clean. I’ll even enjoy it.’

‘I would be grateful,’ Matt admitted. ‘If Lily comes...’

‘Is that likely to happen?’

‘Maybe,’ he said slowly. ‘She’s not getting on with Darrilyn’s new partner. Darrilyn’s talking about sending her to school in Australia so it’s not impossible.’ But he sounded like a man who was scarcely allowing himself to hope.

‘Does she know anyone in Australia?’

‘No, and that’s why I’m telling Darrilyn she’d need to come here first. So she knows some sort of base.’

‘Poor kid,’ Penny said, and meant it. She knew all about being a teenage thorn in her socialite parents’ lives and the thought of the unknown Lily was part of her driving force.

‘The sofa in the main sitting room’s so hard it feels like sitting on bricks,’ she told him. ‘Why not replace it with something squishy? Now the flood’s receded you can get it delivered and, with the fire lit, that room would be lovely. It needs a big telly, though, and all the things that go with it. If Lily comes she won’t feel welcome if she has to sit on a horsehair brick. And her bedroom...I’d suggest buying a four-poster bed. Not pink, unless you see her as a pink girl.’

‘I don’t,’ he said faintly. ‘Penny, she probably won’t come.’

‘You know,’ she said diffidently, ‘if I was thirteen and there was conflict at home, my dad sending pictures of the bedroom he’d prepared for me might well make me feel a whole lot better about myself, whether I was allowed to come or not.’

‘Even if they’re never used?’

‘You can afford it,’ she told him bluntly. ‘And Lily sounds like she needs it.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I don’t. I’m guessing. You want to go with my guess or with yours?’

He looked at her for a long moment and then raked his hair. ‘You probably do know more about thirteen-year-old girls than I do.’

‘Hey, I was one once,’ she said cheerfully. ‘If you agree, I’d suggest we go with a theme of antique white. The rooms are so old-fashioned, why don’t we...’

‘We?’

‘Me then,’ she said and grinned. ‘Why don’t I go for white on white? Broderie anglaise, heritage quilting, a deep rug on the floor, some old-fashioned sampler type pictures on the wall...’

‘How do you know what she’d like?’

‘I know what I’d like,’ she told him. ‘If my parents had done something like this for me...’

And then her voice cracked. She heard it but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

‘Still hurting, huh?’ Matt said. They were sitting on the edge of the veranda and he reached out and touched her face. It was a fleeting gesture, but it said, in some deep way, that he understood the distress she still felt whenever she thought of her mother’s pleas. The knowledge was enough to make her toes curl.

She concentrated fiercely on getting them uncurled.

‘I can forget about it here,’ she managed.

‘But you can’t stay here for ever?’

‘No. And Malley’s isn’t an option any more. But neither is staying away, I guess. My sister’s getting married on the seventeenth and Mum’s organising a family dinner on the twelfth. On Dad’s orders. To heal differences, he says, and he expects me to be there. He’ll blame Mum if I’m not.’

‘Surely you won’t go?’ He sounded appalled. That was how she felt but what choice did she have?

‘You see, I love Mum,’ she said simply.

She loved, therefore she did what was expected.

Matt was silent for a while. The night was closing in on them and somehow it felt...almost threatening? Why did this man make her feel so exposed?

‘I guess that’s why I don’t love,’ Matt said at last. ‘I won’t let myself need people and I won’t be needed.’

‘No?’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘What about Lily?’

‘Lily’s different. She’s my kid.’

‘And this is my mum.’

‘And your mum should be protecting you, as I’d protect Lily. Penny, your mum’s an adult. She’s had a lifetime to form her own armour and maybe that’s what you need to do.’

‘That’s cruel.’

‘It is,’ he said gently. ‘But your mother’s made her own choices and maybe it’s time for you to do the same. You only have one life. Will you spend it trying to please your family? Being a doormat?’

‘What’s the alternative? Carrying a bucketload of guilt for the rest of my life?’ She tried to say it lightly but failed.

‘So you’ll go back to your mum.’

‘I might.’ But she knew she would.

‘Maybe your mum could come to you?’

‘What, here?’

‘Maybe not. It’d be a bit of a culture shock—from Sydney to Jindalee.’ She heard Matt’s smile rather than saw it. They hadn’t turned on the veranda lights and the darkness had crept up on their silence. ‘But Penny, if you make yourself a life, set up your catering company, do what you want to do... If your mum wants, then maybe she could choose to help you? Maybe she could live near you, on her own rather than in an unhappy marriage? You could help her on your terms rather than hers.’

‘She’ll never leave.’

‘Then that’s her choice,’ he said gently. ‘But it doesn’t have to be your choice. Attending the wedding should be your line in the sand. Maybe you should do something for yourself instead. Have a weekend in a fabulous resort. I’ll arrange it for you if you like, as a thank you for getting me out of such trouble at shearing. But, no matter what, just say no.’

‘Oh, Matt...’

‘You can do it,’ he growled and he rose and leant down and ran a finger lightly through her curls. The touch made her shiver. ‘If you can keep a mob of shearers happy, you can do anything. I believe in you, Penny Hindmarsh-Firth, so maybe it’s time for you to believe in yourself.’

And then there was another of those silences which fell between them so often. Mostly they felt natural. Mostly they felt good. But this one...

This one seemed loaded.

You can do it. That was what Matt had said.

Do what? What she really wanted?

If she really believed in herself, Penny thought, she’d get up from where she was sitting and she’d kiss this guy senseless. She might even demand he let go of his own ghosts and come to this luxury resort with her.

But she was Penny. Asking for love? She never had. She’d loved and loved and where had that got her?

You can do it.

Yeah, right. Not in a million years.

‘Goodnight, Penny,’ Matt said heavily then, as if he too acknowledged the impossibility of moving on.

‘Goodnight,’ she whispered.

She felt sad. No, she felt desolate, but still she went inside and rang her mother. She said no and she meant it—and, despite the weird feeling of desolation, it felt like a beginning.

* * *

Two days later, the year’s wool clip was finally loaded for market. She saw the slump of Matt’s shoulders as he watched the line of trucks roll off the property. She thought of the work he’d put in, the late nights he’d pulled, the light on in his study until almost dawn.

And suddenly she thought...picnic?

She walked out to meet him in the driveway.

‘Well done,’ she told him.

‘The fleece is great. It feels a whole lot better than taking money from a bauxite mine.’

‘I’ll bet it does,’ she said and then added diffidently, ‘Want to come on a picnic?’

‘What?’ It was as if he hadn’t heard the word before.

‘You haven’t stopped for weeks,’ she told him. ‘Ron and Harv are rested. They can take over anything that needs to be done. Is there anywhere we can go? Somewhere you can’t see a single sheep? Honest, Matt, you must be seeing them in your sleep.’

‘If I fell asleep every time I counted them I’d be in trouble,’ he agreed, smiling faintly. ‘But now I need to get onto drenching.’

‘Matt. One day. Holiday. Picnic.’

And he turned and looked at her. ‘You must be exhausted too.’

‘If it’ll make you agree to a picnic, yes, I am.’

She met his gaze, tilted her chin, almost daring him to refuse.

Finally he seemed to relent. ‘There is somewhere...’ he said doubtfully. ‘But we’d have to take horses. The ground’s undermined by rabbit warrens and the four-wheel drive won’t get in there without damaging the ferns.’

‘And we don’t want that,’ she said, not having a clue what he was talking about but prepared to encourage him. And then she thought about it a bit more and said, less enthusiastically, ‘Horses?’

‘Do you ride?’

‘My mother bought me a pony when I was seven,’ she said, feeling more and more dubious. ‘It was fat and it didn’t go any more than a dozen steps before it needed a nap. So I know which side to get on and I’m not too bad at sitting. Anything else is beyond me. Is there anywhere else we can go?’

‘I have a horse who’ll fit the bill,’ he said cheerfully and her heart sank.

‘Really?’

‘Maisie’s thirty. Sam bought her for me when I was twelve, and I loved her. She and I ruled the land but she has become rather fat. And lazy. But she’ll follow Nugget to the ends of the earth. It’ll be like sitting on a rocking chair.’

But she’d been distracted from the horse.

‘Why do I keep loving your Sam more and more?’ she whispered. ‘He bought the son of his housekeeper a horse?’

‘Yeah, he did,’ Matt told her and his voice softened too. ‘He changed my life.’

‘Would he tell you to go on a picnic?’

‘I guess...maybe.’

‘Then let’s do it,’ she told him. ‘As long as I can borrow one of the living room cushions. How far is it?’

‘It’ll take about an hour.’

‘Two hours there and back?’ She took a deep breath and then looked up at Matt and thought...

‘I’ll take two cushions,’ she told him. ‘Let’s do it.’

* * *

Maisie was a fat old mare, used to spending her days snoozing in the sun and her nights nestled on the straw in Matt’s impressive stables. But she perked right up when Matt put the saddle on her, and when Penny tentatively—very tentatively—clambered aboard, she trotted out into the sunshine and sniffed the wind as if she was looking forward to the day as much as Penny.

Matt’s two dogs raced furiously ahead, wild with excitement, as if they knew the day would be special. Samson, however, had been racing with them since dawn. He was one tired poodle and he now sat in front of Matt, like the figurehead on the bow of an ancient warship. He looked supremely content and, fifteen minutes into the ride, Penny decided she was too.

The old horse was steady and placid. The day was perfect. Matt rode ahead, looking splendid on his beautiful Nugget. There was little for Penny to think about, or do, for Maisie seemed totally content to follow Nugget. And Matt.

As was Penny. ‘I’m with you,’ she muttered to Maisie. ‘Talk about eye candy. Wow...’

‘Sorry?’ Matt turned and waited for her to catch up. ‘I didn’t hear that.’

‘You weren’t meant to. Maisie and I were communing. I think we’re twin souls.’

‘I can see that,’ he said and grinned and the eye candy meter zipped up into the stratosphere. Matt was wearing jeans and riding boots, and an ancient khaki shirt, open at the throat, sleeves rolled above the elbows. He’d raked his hair too often during shearing and the lanolin from the fleeces had made it look more controlled, coarser. Now, though, the last of the lanolin had been washed away. His hair was ruffled in the warm wind. His face looked relaxed. His deep-set eyes were permanently creased 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 told you it was cold,’ he said, a trifle smugly, and the iciness of the water and the sudden sensation of his arm around the bare skin of her waist and the smugness in his tone made her want to retort—but how could a girl retort when she was gasping like a fish out of water?

‘Oh... Oh...’

‘You get used to it if you swim,’ he told her. Dammit, his voice wasn’t even quavering. Was the man immune?

‘This is like those winter plunge ceremonies in the Antarctic,’ she stammered and tried to tug herself up to the ledge.

‘Penny?’

‘Mmm?’ She couldn’t get a handhold.

‘There’s a ledge over there that makes it easy to get out, but if you can bear it then try swimming. The cold eases and there’s something I want to show you.’

Every nerve ending in her body was screaming for her to get out. But something else was cutting in, overriding the cold of the water.

Matt’s arm was around her waist. He’d stripped to his boxers. His body was big and tanned and strong and he was holding her against him.

Was it her imagination or was she warm where she was touching him?

The initial shock was wearing off now—a little. She could breathe again, enough to take in her surroundings.

The pool was magnificent. At one end was a waterfall, not high, maybe head height, but enough to send white water tumbling down over rocks to the pool below. The pool itself was clear and deep, but not so deep that she couldn’t see the sandy bottom. Now that she had her breath back she could see tiny slivers of darting fish.

The canopy of trees had parted a little over the pool, so dappled sunlight was playing on the water. Moss covered the surrounding rocks, and beyond the moss the horses had started grazing. They were obviously appreciating the lush grass in the slice of land where the moss ended and the ferns began.

The scene was idyllic. Enough to make her forget the ice?

Or maybe that was because Matt was beside her. Holding her.

What was a little ice compared to Matt?

‘Sh...show me,’ she managed through chattering teeth and he grinned.

‘Swim first,’ he told her. ‘Half a dozen fast laps to warm up. Can you do that?’

‘Of course. Bossy.’

‘I’m not bossy, I’m wise,’ he told her. ‘Swim or you’ll have to get out. Believe me.’

So she swam. The pool was the length of the pool her parents had in their current mansion. She’d spent a lot of time in that pool since the night Brett and Felicity had made their announcement. Swimming was a way she could block out the world.

But she had no intention of blocking the world now, for Matt swam beside her, matching her stroke for stroke. Maybe he wasn’t too sure of her ability, she thought. Maybe he thought she might drown if he didn’t stick close enough to save her.

Saved by Matt... It was a silly thought but it did something to her insides. The water was still icy but she was warming up, and half of that warming process was Matt. Matt’s body inches from hers. Matt’s presence. Matt...

They turned in unison and then turned again. Four lengths, five...and then six. She reached the end and grasped the ledge. Matt’s arm came around her and held again.

He couldn’t think she was drowning now. He was holding her because...?

‘Game for the next bit?’ he asked and she thought: With your arm around me I’m game for anything.

‘I...yes.’ Her teeth weren’t chattering any more. She couldn’t say she was warm but the iciness had dropped a notch. The water felt amazing. You could drink this water, she thought, and took a tentative mouthful and it tasted wonderful.

‘If the bauxite mine ever fails I can put a bottling factory here and make a mint,’ Matt said smugly.

‘Don’t you dare.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ he told her and he smiled at her again. That smile... It was a caress all by itself.

But he was a man on a mission. He had something to show her.

‘The waterfall,’ he told her. ‘We’re going behind it.’

‘We are?’

‘You can’t see anything from out here,’ he told her. ‘But if you aim to the left of centre, put your head down, hold your breath for thirty seconds and swim right through, you’ll find there’s a cave.’

‘Really?’ She stared at the innocent-looking waterfall. ‘There’s no way I can be trapped?’

He grinned at her note of suspicion. ‘You guessed it. You’ll find forty-seven skeletons in there, the remains of every single maiden I’ve ever enticed into my secret lair.’

And she thought suddenly: How do I know he’s not telling the truth? She’d known him for less than three weeks.

She’d been a fool for Brett. How could she trust her judgement now?

Except this was Matt. And Matt was smiling just a little, teasing.

‘I know you’re lying,’ she told him and he raised a quizzical brow.

‘How?’

‘Because you couldn’t possibly have persuaded forty-seven maidens to jump into this ice.’ And she turned towards the waterfall and swam.

It was a weird feeling, to think of swimming through the wall. Instinct told her to reach the tumbling water and stop. She did for a moment, pausing to tread water, feeling the spray of the falls splash on her face.

But Matt was beside her. She could scarcely see him through the mist but he touched her shoulder. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Straight ahead. Put your head down and swim. It’s narrow—you’ll feel rocks on either side—but you’ll be through in seconds.’

‘I...is it dark in there?’

‘I promise it’s not,’ he told her. ‘It’s safe as houses.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, not a centrally heated house,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s worth it. Penny, trust me?’

Did she trust him? She stared at him for a long moment. His face was blurred behind the mist of the waterfall but she could still see him. He’d ceased smiling. He was waiting for her to come to a decision—and suddenly it was about more than the trust required to swim through a waterfall.

It was about total trust.

It was about taking a step that felt momentous.

He put out a hand and touched her face, making the rivulets of water stream across his hand rather than across her eyes. Her vision cleared and she saw him as he was.

A loner. A man of strength and courage. Matt.

And something shifted inside her. Something she couldn’t name. Something that had never been touched before.

She put out her hand and touched his face back.

‘I trust you,’ she whispered and he smiled but it was a different kind of smile. It was a smile that said he was in the same unchartered territory as she was.

‘Then let’s go,’ he told her. ‘Come on, Penelope Hindmarsh-Firth. Let’s do it.’

And he put his hands on her shoulders and twisted her around so she was facing the waterfall and gave her a slight push forward.

‘Through you go,’ he told her. ‘And know that I’m with you all the way.’

* * *

Okay, it was scary. The first bit did involve trust. The wash of tumbling water as she swam through was almost enough to push her under, and then she felt the rocks on either side.

Matt had said to swim through. Just keep on going.

She wasn’t completely enclosed. She could still surface and breathe if she needed to, though the mist from the falls made that hard. It was a narrow channel through the rocks, and it was getting narrower.

But Matt was behind her. She held her breath and dived like a porpoise.

The rocks on both sides touched her shoulders. She used them to pull herself the last little way.

And emerged...to magic.

It was an underground pool that must feed out somehow into the pool they’d just been in, but at the same level. She could hear the rush of water over her head. The creek must branch, above and below. This pool was roofed, and yet not. There were fissures where the sunlight glimmered through, shafts of golden light making the surface of the underground water glimmer in light and shade.

She could see the canopy of the trees through the fissures, but only glimpses. In a couple of places the water course above was overflowing and spilling down, so rivulets of water splashed the surface of the water in the cavern. Some sort of tiny, pale green creeper was trailing downward, tendril after tendril of soft, lush vine.

And at the edges were flat rock ledges. It was, as Matt had said, totally safe.

It took her breath away.

Sie haben die kostenlose Leseprobe beendet. Möchten Sie mehr lesen?

Zurück 1 ...5 67

Scandalous Secrets

Personen, die nach diesem Buch gesucht haben, mochten auch:

Weitere Bücher von diesem Autor