Sweat clung to his skin beneath her weight, while the effort kept the chill at bay as the night breeze whispered through the scrub.The first sign of dawn had barely begun to creep across the horizon—just a shift of light ever so slowly lightening like a glowing purple bruise spreading in one corner of the sky.West ahead.East behind them.
Good.Even if they’d been dodging bushes, ant mounds, and ditches, he was still heading in the right direction.The waterhole.
Licking his lips, the coppery dust in the back of his throat was as dry as regret.His shoulders burned, as each step sent fresh protests through his calves and into his spine, while his head still throbbed.
But he wasn’t stopping.
No way in hell was he stopping.
This was pig country.Wild ferals and scrub bulls ruled this land, thanks to a cattle station left to get swallowed by saltbush and time.
And he was unarmed, carrying a woman on his back who was the most precious thing he’d ever carried, and she didn’t even know it.
‘Tell me something, Montrose,’ he rasped.
‘What?’
‘A secret.’
Her chin rested near his shoulder.‘Why?’
‘We’re in the land of secrets,’ he said, shifting her weight with a grunt.‘The place they go to die.’
‘We’re not dying out here, Porter.’
‘I know.Bad word choice.’He huffed.‘Just… I need you to talk.To keep my mind busy.’To not feel the shin splints with each step, or the scratching of her gown’s diamantes rubbing against his back.
Truth was, he didn’t have secrets.What you saw was what you got.Scars and stubborn steps through too many miles.But if this was the road that broke him—he’d still carry her because she was the only thing that mattered.
But her?
She had layers.Entire worlds tucked behind that steady voice and rulebook calm.And maybe, out here, where the world felt ancient and vast, maybe she was ready to finally share something of herself.
‘That pink hat.’
‘What about it?’
‘You made that.’
‘I did.’
‘Do you wear it?’
‘No.’She hesitated, shifting her weight on his back, her arms tightening.
He had to grip her thighs to lift her higher and keep a steady stride.‘Why not?’
‘I made it for a fundraiser.An auction.’
‘You entered it into the auction?’
‘I did.’
He’d seen that pink hat hanging on his wall.Big and monstrously bright.It was the kind of pink that made him reach for his sunnies inside—and that was after coffee.
Hold on…‘Are you saying, Montrose… you made the hatandbought it yourself?’
She gave a low laugh, but it didn’t reach her chest, that was pressed against his back.‘Silly, huh?’
