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‘If the shoe fits,’ he muttered, knowing it wasn’t this woman’s fault. He was always going to be in a bad mood today. It was one of the reasons he’d chosen to get out on the land days ago, to leave the homestead and drop off the face of the earth for a while. He hadn’t wanted anyone to offer sympathy, hadn’t wanted to see the headlines remarking on the first anniversary of mogul Hunt Carrigan’s sudden death.

‘I’m serious,’ she said as they drew closer. ‘The water’s really high.’

‘It’s fine,’ he said, but his voice was curt, his thoughts not without concern of his own. Because the water had risen even faster than he’d expected.

She fidgeted with her fingers in her lap as he approached the flooding, dropping the ute down a gear before hitting it. It wasn’t fast-flowing, but even Tate held his breath as the car trudged through the brown water, worried at any point that the tyres might lose traction and they’d need to get the hell out.

He could feel the shift in the weight of the car, the way it seemed lighter, and sweat beaded his brow, but he kept going, until the wheels became grippier, and then they were through, across on the other side.

She expelled a long, loud breath, turned to face him, and smiled with relief, her eyes crinkling at the corners, her teeth white, a dimple in one cheek. He stared at her for a beat too long, wishing he weren’t noticing so much about her. Wishing he weren’t seeing her natural beauty and the hint of cleavage revealed by her very wet dress.

‘Oh, thank God,’ she said, shakily. ‘I seriously thought we were done for.’

‘That makes two of us.’

‘You’re kidding? You seemed so calm.’

He glanced at her. ‘Both things can be true at once.’

Her lips tweaked downwards. ‘True, I suppose.’ She turned her attention to the horizon, and he was glad. The feeling of her curious gaze on him had made it hard to focus and, right now, he needed to think straight.

The sky cracked open once more, blades of light splitting it into a dozen pieces.

She jumped, let out a little high-pitched noise, then grimaced as she turned to face him. ‘Sorry. I’m not used to this.’

He nodded once, suddenly wishing their paths hadn’t crossed. He didn’t need the complication of a damsel in distress, no matter how beautiful.

‘Where are we going?’

He wished there were another option. He wished there were somewhere he could take her other than his home. But at this point, it would be living with a death wish to be outside longer than absolutely necessary. The homestead was the closest building from here—just a few more kilometres.

‘To my place.’ His tone showed how unimpressed he was with that whole idea.

He glanced at her, saw the way she was considering that. ‘I don’t suppose there’s an alternative?’

At least she felt the same way he did. ‘Not unless we’re back to wanting to drown in the flood.’

She shivered. ‘Not today, thanks.’

‘Wise choice.’ Then, as he carefully turned the car off the main road, to the long, straight drive that led up the hill towards his property, he said, ‘Don’t worry. You’re safe.’

* * *

‘I’m Sarah, by the way,’ she said, as he expertly steered the car through rain that was falling so hard it made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. It was the middle of the day, but the sky was so dark it was almost black and, even in the car, the air had a heavy, rain-clogged smell that reminded her of afternoons spent playing board games with her mother. Only, this was different. The rain was heavier than she’d ever known, the thunder louder. It felt like more than just rain; this seemed truly elemental, as though an ancient, powerful deity was throwing the storm at them.

He tossed her another of those slightly mocking glances. She’d known the man less than fifteen minutes, but she was already becoming used to his derisive, cynical mannerisms. It didn’t bother her, though. Not so much as it fascinated her. She’d spent the last three weeks in the Australian Outback and had fallen in love with its rugged, unforgiving beauty. This was real…and raw. Out here, what you saw was what you got, and this man? Well, he was just the embodiment of that. Tough, unforgiving, strong, and virile.

Virile?

The word came to her almost out of nowhere, and she quickly rejected it. Not because it wasn’t true, but because she had absolutely no business noticing anything about the man who’d come to her rescue. Like the depth of his tan, which spoke of a life lived out on the land, or the size of his hands, which looked as though they could easily span her waist, or the fact he didn’t wear a wedding ring on his hand, or the way his well-worn jeans were hugging his powerful thighs and impressive…

She cut off her thoughts, quickly dragging her attention back to his face, to realise, with absolute mortification, that he was tilting a glance at her at the exact same moment, that he’d undoubtedly caught her staring at him there.

Eep.

She squeezed her eyes shut when she was looking away from him, wishing that she were anywhere but here, in the cab of a truck with a man who looked like the Australian version of G.I. Joe, all buff and outdoorsy.

‘Tate.’