The Flyer by Marjorie Jones Page A

women who had thrown off the bonds of domesticity as their only option.
    She glanced away, looking for anything that would provide the means to an entirely different conversation. She didn’t want to explain why she’d become a doctor—how it had been her father’s dream and her mother’s nightmare. Nor did she want to remember the last year of her life. A year that had cost her everything. A year she could never get back.
    She didn’t want to remember Reginald and the horrible choices she’d made.

4
    P aul immediately regretted speaking his mind. Crikey, when would he learn to keep his mouth shut? The exhilarated light in her eyes had vanished, and she now stood with her hands tucked deep inside her pockets.
    With an obviously forced grin, she lifted her face and scanned their remote surroundings. “So, which way is it?”
    If he’d been with any other woman, he would have been thankful for the change in conversation. He’d never been one to require involved relationships with the women with whom he shared his time. Even the one time he’d thought to marry, he’d considered the longevity of his father’s sheep station and the mutually beneficial business arrangement to be gained from a union with a woman who was also a landowner. But while he was with Helen, a part of him wanted to soothe her pain away, to find out what had caused it in the first place. As desperately as his heart itched to find out more, he picked up her bag and hoisted it over his shoulder instead. “This way, love.”
    They hiked into the tree line beside the landing strip. The gathering place lay on the far side of the Fortescue River. Lined on either side with gum trees and long grasses that swayed in the light breeze, the Fortescue offered shelter to more than a few wild creatures Helen would probably want to avoid. He glanced over his shoulder to check her progress through the increasingly moist marshlands on the river’s edge. Her tiny feet, encased in thick black boots, sank into the mud an inch or two, but she kept pace with him. She was tough. He had to give her credit for that.
    When they reached the billabong where he stored a small boat, he stopped. He dropped her bag and turned to face her. “Have you ever seen a croc slide?” he asked.
    “Can’t say that I have. You’re not going to fight one right now, are you?”
    A fresh chuckle tickled the back of his throat. “No. But since you’re standing in one, it seems like the perfect time to point it out.”
    She leapt forward, crashing into his recently healed chest with the force of a wounded rhino. He would have cringed, but any lingering pain from his battle with Bessie was overpowered by the electrifying currents that raced through his gut the minute he came into contact with Helen’s warm, supple frame. She hadn’t bound her breasts this morning. He nearly groaned aloud.
    “Where? Where is it?” She panted the words, unable to catch her breath as she clung to his shoulders.
    “Whoa, there, love. There’s no need for that, is there?” His body argued the point. If she wanted to crawl inside of him, he’d be cracked not to allow it. Still, he hadn’t meant to frighten her, and a part of him embraced the guilt. “A croc slide is only what the lizard leaves behind. There’s no danger here presently.”
    She seemed to relax, the set of her shoulders falling just enough to press the tips of her breasts against his chest. He stifled another groan and brushed a random strand of hair off her full, partially opened mouth. She brought her eyes to his and stared deep into his soul. Dragonflies hovered around the water’s edge, the buzz of their wings lending a kind of primitive music to the curious light in her gaze. Fire broke out in his loins, forcing him to step back.
    She dropped her hands, moving farther away. “That wasn’t very nice.”
    Could have fooled him. He thought it was more than nice. He ran a hand through his hair to clear away the image of her body