But Luke is … warm.Solid.Calm.Which, unfortunately, is doing things to me.
Is crocodile wrestling a kink?
Because suddenly, I’m very into it.And I don’t think it’s the adrenaline talking anymore.
Once Darcy gives the all clear, Luke rises to his feet and pulls me up with him.I’m still shaking.He wraps his arms around me without a word, chest flush against mine.
‘I’m proud of you,’ he murmurs in my ear.
I freeze.
That’s it.Apparently, all it takes is praise from a competent man with boots and rope burns, and I’m done for.Someone call my therapist, I’m about to sign up toFarmer Wants a Wife.
Before I can say anything, the crunch of tyres on dry earth breaks the spell.A ute pulls up, and two guys hop out.
Luke steps away from me, grabbing the rope from Ella like he didn’t just praise me into a hormonal spiral.
Ella walks over, ponytail swaying.‘See?’She grins.‘How fun was that?’
My heart is still trying to escape through my ribs.‘That was the most fucked up thing I’ve ever done.’
She laughs and claps me on the back like our old netball coach.‘Exactly.That’s what makes it so fun.’
‘And why was any ofthatnecessary?’
‘We set traps along this river so that the crocs don’t get too close to the livestock.When one triggers the trap, we get an alert, catch ’em, tag ’em, then relocate.’
Ella’s already winding the rope back up, completely unaware of how easily she’s slipped into this life over the years.
We watch as the croc – still taped and gloriously pissed – gets pulled up the riverbank and onto the back of the truck by four grunting men.Darcy radios back to the main house about relocating the croc and someone chimes back that they’ll re-bait the trap tomorrow.
Then we pile back into the chopper.The hem of my dress is soaked, filthy and possibly irredeemable.I should care.I don’t.
Because I jumped on a motherfucking dinosaur.And I survived.
I sit back, body still buzzing, and let the wind whip across my face like a high-five from the universe.The no-door situation is somehow now a vibe.
When I open my eyes, I catch Luke watching me.
His headset is on, and that slow, almost secret smile curves across his face.The kind of smile you don’t earn by being polite or witty – you earn it by wrestling a crocodile in a dress.
‘What?’I ask, voice crackling through the mic.
He doesn’t look away.Doesn’t blink.
‘Nothing.’
But the smile stays – matching mine.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to be anywhere else but here, straddling a thrill I didn’t ask for.
ELEVEN
We land at the waterfall early afternoon and it’s humid enough that the air feels drinkable.Our helicopter settles on a sandy bank beside the one Abbey, Dax and Lauren flew in on, and I blink at the scene in front of me.The waterfall crashes in sheets of white, cascading into a shimmering pool that sparkles with sunlight and mist.The cliffs echo with laughter as the others plunge into the water.
Ella had assured me – via the headset – that the waterfall is too far from the river for there to be crocodiles.I remain unconvinced.The only comforting proof is that Abbey and the others, bobbing in the water like wine-soaked pool toys, are still alive.So far.
‘You made it!’Abbey yells from her inflatable doughnut, one hand raised in lazy greeting, the other gripping a glass of rosé.‘The water’s so nice,’ she adds, letting her head roll back.
