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He spoke as though she hadn’t. ‘But in the time we spent together, you struck me as a smart enough person.’

‘Gee, thanks so much.’

Again, he ignored her. ‘You must know I can’t ignore this.’

Her lips parted. ‘I…why not?’

‘You’re pregnant with my child.’

‘So?’

‘My child,’ he repeated.

‘Ours,’ she corrected, but her voice trembled with emotions, not strength.

‘And how we are going to proceed from this point requires a conversation. Come back to the house with me, Sarah.’

‘Are you asking or telling?’

He stared down at her, feeling as though the walls were closing in on him, but knowing he would fight like hell for this child. Knowing he’d do whatever it took to right the wrongs of his own childhood. ‘This will go more smoothly if I don’t answer that.’ He saw the recognition in the slump of her shoulders. ‘Get in the car. Please,’ he added, because he was aware that she looked to be hanging on by a thread.

* * *

Being back in the living room of his house—the place where something cataclysmic had fired up between them and demanded answering on that final night—was a mistake, but it was, at least, about a thousand degrees cooler in here. The air conditioning was silent and effective, and as she moved to one of the armchairs and perched on the edge of it, she admitted she was much more comfortable than she’d been standing on the side of the road.

She also admitted—but only to herself—that he had a point. They really should discuss this, and that discussion needed to be more than a brief ‘I’m pregnant’ sort of revelation.

He placed a glass of ice-cold water down beside her, the condensation like heaven in the palm of her hand when she reached for it and lifted it to her lips. She sipped quickly, grateful for the refreshment.

Less grateful when Tate Carrigan hooked one of his feet around the leg of a footrest and drew it right in front of her, sitting on it so his big, strong legs were on either side of hers. Again, she was struck by his likeness to ironbark: his strength and implacability, the way he seemed like a man who could weather any storm. A shiver ran the length of her spine, both at the imagery and his proximity.

And he just stared at her, as though by looking at her face he could see the future and understand a path forward.

‘Tell me everything you know.’

Despite the seriousness of their situation, and the aching awareness that had started to gnaw at her gut, a smile twitched on her lips. ‘I thought you might be familiar with the whole “birds and the bees” thing, you know, how it works, but if you need help understanding…’

He was clearly not amused. ‘This isn’t the time to be flippant.’

She compressed her lips. ‘Sorry.’ She lifted her hands. ‘I was just trying to lighten the mood.’

‘Why?’

‘It feels like things will go better if we’re not at DEFCON 1.’

He leaned forward a little, and her breath snagged in her throat, her whole body tensing in instant and powerful response to his proximity. She caught a hint of his fragrance, and her stomach went into gymnastic-somersault mode.

‘Start at the beginning,’ he said. ‘What did you do when you left here?’

She opened her mouth, then closed it, frowning. ‘I can’t see that that’s relevant.’

‘Humour me.’

She shook her head once. ‘I kept travelling around, slowly making my way down to Sydney, then across to Adelaide. I was in the Barossa when I started to suspect something.’

‘Why? What made you suspect?’

‘I went to a beautiful winery for dinner.’ Her voice caught a little, and she blinked away a tear, not wanting to admit that it had been her birthday. That she’d been feeling sorry for herself and missing her mother so badly it had almost killed her. ‘I ordered a steak, and a glass of red wine, and when they arrived, I almost vomited on the table. I couldn’t stand the thought of either. I ate the garlic bread and fries, drank some of the water, and left.’