by Nikki Logan
‘The perimeter can wait,’ Rich declared. ‘Just show us the highlights within striking distance by road.’
Us. As if she were some kind of permanent part of the Richard Grundy show.
She trotted along behind Rich as he toured the equipment and sheds closest to the Homestead. Of course, on a property of this scale ‘close’ was relative. Then they piled into a late model Land Cruiser and set off in a plume of red-brown dust to the north. Mila lost herself in the Australian scrub and let time flow over her like water as Rich and Kip discussed the operations of the cattle station. She was yet to actually see a cow.
‘The herds like to range inland this time of year,’ Kip said when she asked. ‘While the eastern dams are full. We’ll see some soon.’
She lost track of time again until the brush of knuckles on her cheek tingled her out of a light doze.
‘Lunchtime,’ Rich murmured.
‘How long have...?’ Lord, how embarrassing.
‘Sorry, there was a lot of shop-talk.’
And she’d only slept fitfully last night. Something to do with being kissed half to death at the marina had left her tossing and turning and, clearly, in need of some decent sleep. Mila scurried to climb out of the comfortable vehicle ahead of him.
‘The missus made you this,’ Kip said, passing Rich a hamper. ‘She wasn’t expecting two of you but she’s probably over-catered so you should be right. Follow the track down that way and you’ll come to Jack’s Vent. A nice spot to eat,’ he told them and then raised Rich’s eyebrows by adding, ‘No crocs.’
‘No crocs...’ Rich murmured as they set off. ‘Good to know.’
His twisted smile did the same to her insides, and she’d grown to relish the pineapple smell when he gave her that particular wry grin. Pineapple—just when she thought she’d had every fruit known to man.
They walked in silence as the track descended and the land around them transformed in a way that spoke of regular water. Less scrub, more trees. Less brown, more colours peppering the green vegetation. Even the surface of the dark water was freckled with oversized lily pads, some flowering with vibrant colour. Out of cracks in the rock, tall reeds grew.
They reached the edge of Jack’s Vent and peered down from the rocky ledge.
Mila glanced around. ‘A waterhole seems out of place here where it’s so dry.’
Though it certainly was a tranquil and beautiful surprise.
‘I’ve seen this on a map,’ Rich murmured. ‘It’s a sinkhole, not a waterhole. A groundwater vent.’
Golden granite ringed the hole except for a narrow stock trail on the far side where Wardoo’s cattle came to drink their fill of the icy, fresh, presumably artesian water, and a flatter patch of rock to their right. It looked like a natural diving platform.
‘Wish I’d brought my snorkelling gear,’ she murmured. ‘I would love to have a look deeper in the vent.’
‘You’re off the clock, remember?’
‘I could do that while you and Kip talk business.’
He gave her his hand to step down onto the rocky platform, which sloped right down to the water’s edge. She moved right down to it and kicked off her shoes.
‘It’s freezing!’ she squealed, dipping a toe in. ‘Gorgeous.’
Rich lowered the hamper and toed off his own boots, then rolled his jeans up to his knees and followed her down to a sitting position. He gingerly sank his feet.
‘There must be twenty sandwiches in here,’ Mila said, looking through the hamper’s contents and passing him a chilled bottle of water to match her own. ‘All different.’
‘I guess they were covering all bases.’
‘Eager to impress, I suppose. This is a big moment for them.’
Rich snorted then turned his gaze out to the water. They ate in companionable silence but Mila felt Rich’s focus drift further and further from her like the lily pads floating on the sinkhole’s surface.
‘For someone sitting in such a beautiful spot, you look pretty unhappy to be here,’ she said when his frown grew too great. Guilt swilled around her like the water at her feet; she had nagged him to bring her. To come at all.
‘Sorry,’ he said, snapping his focus back to the present. ‘Memories.’
She kept her frown light. ‘But you haven’t been here before.’
‘No.’ And that was all he gave her. His next words tipped the conversation back her way. ‘You were the one panting to come today. How’s it living up to your expectations?’
She looked around them. ‘It’s hard to sit somewhere like this and find fault. Wardoo offers the best of both worlds—the richness of the land and the beauty of the coast. I feel very—’
What? What was the quality she felt?
‘Comfortable here,’ she said at last. ‘Maybe it’s some kind of genetic memory doing its thing. Oh!’
He glanced around to see what had caught her eye.
‘I just realised that both our ancestors could have sat right on this spot, separated by centuries. And now here we are again. Maybe that’s why I feel so connected to you.’
Those words slipped out before she thought of the wisdom of them.
Eyes the colour of the sky blazed into her. ‘Do you? Feel connected?’
Sour milk wafted around them but Rich’s nostrils didn’t twitch the way hers wanted to. ‘You don’t?’
He considered her, long and hard. ‘It’s futile but... I do, yes.’
Her breath tightened in a way that made her wonder whether her sandwich was refusing to go down.
‘Futile?’ she half breathed.
‘We have such different goals.’ His eyes dropped away. ‘You’re Saltwater People and I’m...glass-and-chrome people.’
She’d never been more grateful to not fit any particular label. That way anything felt possible.
‘That’s just geography, though. It doesn’t change who we are at heart.’
‘Doesn’t it? I don’t know anyone like you back home. So connected to the land...earth spirit and mermaid all at once. That’s nurture, not nature. You’re as much a product of this environment as those waterlilies. You wouldn’t last five minutes in the city, synaesthesia or not.’
Did he have so little faith in her? ‘You think I wouldn’t adapt?’
‘I think you’d wither, Mila. I think being away from this place would strip the best of you away. Just like staying here would kill me.’
‘You don’t like the Bay?’
Why did that thought hurt so very much?
‘I like it very much but my world isn’t here. I don’t know how long I would be entertained by all the pretty. Not when there’s work to be done.’
Did he count her in with that flippant description? She had no right to expect otherwise, yet she was undeniably tasting the leather of disappointment in the back of her throat.
‘Is that what I’ve been doing? Entertaining you?’
The obvious answer was yes, because she was paid to show him the best of the Marine Park, but they both knew what she was really asking.
‘Mila, that was—’ He glanced away and back so quickly she couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking. ‘No. That wasn’t entertainment. I kissed you because...’
Because why, Rich?
‘It was an impulse. A moment. I couldn’t walk off that marina without knowing whether the attraction was mutual.’
Given she’d clung to him like a remora, he’d certainly got his answer. Heat billowed up under the collar of her Parks uniform.
‘It was,’ she murmured. Then she sighed. ‘It is. I’m awash in candyfloss twenty-four-seven. I’d be sick of it if it didn’t smell—’ and feel ‘—so good.’
‘I’m candyfloss guy?’ he breathed. ‘I was sure I was earwax.’
He’d eased back on one strong arm so he could turn his body fully to her for this delicate conversation. It would be so easy to lean forward and find his lips, repeat the experiment, but...to what end? She would eventually run out of things to show him in Coral Bay and then he’d be gone, back to the city, probably for good, and the kissing would be over. And he was right. She wouldn’t cope in the city. Not long-term.
‘Candyfloss is what I get for...’ attraction ‘...for you.’
If Rich was flattered to get a scent all to himself, he didn’t show it. He studied her and seemed to glance over her shoulder, his head shaking.
‘The timing of this sucks.’
‘Would six months from now make a difference?’
‘Not a good one,’ she thought she heard him mutter.
But he leaned closer, bringing his face within breathing distance, and Mila thought that even though these random kisses confused the heck out of her she could certainly get used to the sensation. Pineapple went quite well with candyfloss, after all. But his lips didn’t meet hers; his right shoulder brushed her left one as he leaned beyond her for a moment. When he straightened, he had a flower in his hand, plucked with some of its stem still attached. The delicate pink blossom fanned out around a thatch of golden-pink stamens. On its underside it was paler and waxier, to help it survive the harsh outback conditions.
‘One of my favourites,’ she said, studying it but not taking it. If she took it he might lean back. ‘Desert rose.’
‘It matches your lips,’ he murmured. ‘The same soft pink.’
She couldn’t help wetting them; it was instinctive. Rich brushed her cheek with the delicate flower, then followed it with his bare knuckles. Somewhere, harps sang out.
‘Pollen,’ he explained before folding her fingers around the blossom’s thick-leaved stem.
But he didn’t move back; he just stayed there, bent close.
‘I need you to know something—’ he began, a shadow in his gaze.
But no, she wasn’t ready to have this amazing day intruded upon by more truths. If it was bad news it could wait. If it wasn’t...it could wait too.
‘Will you still be here tomorrow?’
He took her interruption in his stride. ‘I’m heading back overnight. I have an important meeting at ten a.m.’
Panic welled up like the water in this vent.
Tonight... That was just hours away. A few short hours and he would be gone back to his in-tray, twelve hundred kilometres south of here. After which there were no more reasons for him to return to Coral Bay, unless it was to visit Wardoo, which seemed unlikely given he’d never had the interest before.
And they both knew it.
Mila silenced any more bad news with her fingers on his lips. ‘Tell me later. Let’s just enjoy today.’ Then, when the gathering blue shadows looked as if they weren’t going to be silenced, she added, ‘Please.’
There wasn’t much else to do then than close up the short distance between them again. Mila sucked up some courage and took care of that herself, leaning into the warmth of Rich’s cheek, brushing hers along it, seeking out his mouth.
Their kiss was soft and exploratory, Rich brushing his lips back and forth across hers, relearning their shape. She inhaled his heated scent, clung to the subtle smell of him through the almost overpowering candyfloss and pineapple that made her head light. He tasted like the chutney in Kip’s wife’s sandwiches but she didn’t care. She could eat pickle for the rest of her days and remember this place. This kiss.
This man.
Long after he’d gone.
‘Have dinner with me,’ he breathed. ‘On the Portus. Tonight before I leave.’
Dinner... Was that really what he was asking? Or was he hoping to cap off his northern experience with something more...satisfying? Did she even care? She should... She’d only just begun to get used to the sensations that came with kissing; how could she go from that to something so much more irrevocable in just one evening?
Rich watched her between kisses, his blue eyes peering deeply into hers. He withdrew a little. ‘Your mind is very busy...’
This moment would probably be overwhelming for anyone—even those without a superpower. She’d never felt more...normal.
‘I’m going out on the water this afternoon,’ she said. ‘Come with me. One last visit onto the reef. Then I’ll have dinner with you.’
Because going straight from this to dinner to goodbye just wasn’t an option.
‘Okay,’ he murmured, kissing her softly one last time.
She clung to it, to him, then let him go. In the distance, the Land Cruiser honked politely.
‘Back to work,’ Rich groaned.
Probably just as well. Sitting here on the edge of an ancient sinkhole, older than anything either of them had ever known, it was too easy to pretend that none of it mattered. That real life didn’t matter.
She nodded and watched as he pushed to his feet. When he lowered a strong hand towards her she didn’t hesitate to slide her smaller fingers into his. The first time ever she didn’t give a moment’s thought before touching someone.
Pineapple wafted past her nostrils again.
CHAPTER TEN
‘ARE YOU KIDDING ME?’ Rich gaped at her. ‘How dangerous is this?’
‘It’s got to be done,’ Mila pointed out.
Right. Something about baselines for studying dugong numbers. He understood baselines; he worked with them all the time. But not like this.
‘Why does it have to be done by you?’ he pointed out, pretty reasonably he thought, as he did his part in the equipment chain, loading the small boat.
‘It’s not just me,’ she said, laughing. ‘There’s a whole team of us.’
Yeah, there was. Four big, strong men, experienced in traditional hunting methods. It was the only bit of comfort he got for this whole crazy idea.
‘You hate teams,’ he pointed out in a low voice. She loved working solo. Just Mila and the reef life. A mermaid and her undersea world.
‘I wouldn’t do it every day,’ she conceded. ‘But I’m way too distracted to think about it until it’s over. You don’t have to come...’
Right. If a gentle thing like Mila could get out there and tackle wild creatures he wasn’t about to wuss out. Besides, if anything went wrong he wanted to be there to help make sure she came out of it okay. Finally, those captain-of-the-swim-team skills coming in useful. Though it wasn’t likely she’d be doing this in the comfortable confines of Coral Bay’s shallows.
The team loaded up the fast little inflatable and all five of them got in—Mila and her ranger quarterbacks—then the documentary crew that were capturing the dugong tagging exercise for some local news channel loaded into their own boat and Rich got in with them. Not close enough, maybe, but as close as he was going to get out on the open water. And the documentary crew would make sure they had a good view of the activities—which meant he would have a good view of Mila’s part in it.
I’m just the tagger, she’d said and he’d thought that was a good thing. Until he realised she’d be in the open ocean down the thrashing end of a wild, defensive dugong fitting that tag.
Rich held on as they headed out. The inflatable wasted no time getting well ahead and the film crew did their thing as Rich watched.
‘They’ve spotted a herd,’ the documentary producer called to her crew. ‘Twenty animals.’
Twenty? Rich swore under the engine noise and his gut fisted. Anything could happen in a herd that size.
As soon as they reached the herd, the little inflatable veered left to cut an animal off the periphery and chase it away rather than drive it into the herd and risk scattering them. Or, worse, hurting them. They ran it in a wide arc for ten minutes, wearing it down, preventing it from re-entering the herd and the
n he watched as three of the four wetsuit-clad Rangers got to their feet and balanced there precariously as the fourth veered the inflatable across the big dugong’s wake. Mila held on for her life in the back of the little boat.
‘Get ready!’ the producer called to her two camera operators.
Rich tensed too.
When it happened, it all happened in a blinding flash. The puffed animal came up for a breath, then another, then a third. As soon as they were sure it had a good lungful of air, the first dugong-wrangler leapt over the edge of the inflatable and right onto the dugong’s back. The two others followed suit and, though he couldn’t quite see what was happening in the thrashing water, he did see Mila toss them a couple of foam tubes, which seemed to help keep the hundred-kilogram dugong incredulously afloat while the men kept its nose, flippers and powerful tail somewhat contained.
Then Mila jumped. Right in there, into that surging white-water of death, with the tracking gear in her tiny hands. Rich’s heart hammered almost loud enough to hear over the engine of the documentary boat and he leapt to his feet in protest. Her bright red one-piece flashed now and again above the churning water and kept him oriented on her. The video crew were busy capturing the rest of what was happening, but he had eyes for only one part of that animal—its wildly thrashing back end and Mila where she clung to it, fitting the strap-on tracker to the narrowest point of its thick tail. How that could possibly be the lesser of jobs out there...
She and the dugong both buffeted against the small boat and he realised why they used an inflatable and not a hard shell like the one he was in. Its cushioned impact protected the animal and bounced Mila—equally harm-free—back onto the dugong’s tail and helped keep her where she needed to be to finally affix the tracker.
While he watched, they measured the animal in a few key spots and shouted the results to the inflatable’s skipper, who managed to scrawl it in a notebook while also keeping the boat nice and close.
Then...all of a sudden, it was over. The whole thing took less than three minutes once the first body hit the water. The aggravated dugong dived deep the moment it was released and the churning stopped, the water stilled and the five bodies tumbling around in its turbulence righted themselves and then swam back to the inflatable. The men hauled Mila in after them and they all fell back against the rubber, their chests heaving. One of the neoprene-suited quarterbacks threw up the stomachful of water he’d swallowed in the melee.