Chapter 32
Thirty-two
The stars clung stubbornly to the sky. Their reflections scattered across the waterhole’s still surface, shimmering like a second sky trapped beneath the earth.
Porter had set Amara against an old tree, the rough bark biting into her back, but she barely noticed. Unfortunately, thirst clawed at her throat, raw from hours of bulldust. Her tongue felt like sandpaper, as she licked cracked lips.
Honestly, she shouldn’t be this thirsty. Not when Porter had done the heavy work, and in her car was the last time she’d sipped some water—just before she’d nearly drowned in dust.
But the waterhole was, sadly, more mud than water.
Porter crouched by the water’s edge, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sweat darkening the back of his shirt. He dipped his hands into the pool and scooped a handful to sniff before taking a small sip.
‘Can we drink it?’ Her voice came out rougher than she meant.
‘Not from where you are.’ He rinsed his hands, then shook off the drops. ‘It’s a natural spring, but it gets low this time of year. Still fresh enough, if you know where to look.’
She pushed up from the log, ankle twinging as she hobbled closer, not caring that her gown dragged through the dirt or that her hair stuck to her face. She needed water—against her skin, and her throat.
The horizon stayed disturbingly black, still heavy with stars, but the waterhole caught every glint of light, holding onto the night even as the first hints of dawn gathered somewhere far off on the horizon.
It even reflected the sparkles on her gown as if walking among the stars, with her tiara glistening—but it was too dark to see her skin. Good thing, too.
‘Any idea of the time?’
‘Dawn-ish.’ Porter shifted, squinting towards the sky like he could feel the hour creeping up. No watch on his wrist, and his phone was last spotted on the passenger floor of her drowned car.
‘How do you know?’
‘The frogs will go quiet first. Then the birds start, just as the sky starts her changes.’ He nodded towards the horizon, a faint smudge of grey softening the edge. ‘We’ve got maybe an hour or two till sun-up.’
Porter rolled his shoulders, tugging at the shirt that stuck to his back.
He’d carried her for hours, even up the incline that worried her from the slight tremble in his legs, just to bring her to this muddy patch of salvation.
‘So…’ She licked her lips with impatience as he moved to another spot around the waterhole. ‘It’s water, right?’ But was it safe to drink?
‘I just need to find the natural spring. This place is mostly used by wildlife, so keep an eye out for pigs…’
‘Um, yeah.’ No, not yeah. She didn’t care if her gown got dirty or that her ankle screamed with hot lashings of pain, making her sweat and grimace as she clumsily hobbled along the edges to get closer to Porter.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Sticking close to you, until I find a huge stick, like Tilly’s.’
‘Good idea—just not here.’ Again, Porter gently picked her up and carried her over the mud to the far side.
‘I can walk.’
‘I’m saving the dress to sacrifice it to the sun later.’ Porter carried her towards a tall tree, thick with roots that dipped into the pool, where the water seemed clearer.
‘It’s bubbling.’ She pointed at the faint ripples that disturbed the mirror-perfect reflection of the stars.
It wasn’t much—but it was enough, and the air smelled fresher here, cooler.
‘That’s it. The spring.’ Porter set her down gently, then crouched low, using the rocks and roots to steady himself as he leaned in. On his knees, he cupped a handful of water, sniffed, then sipped.
Finally, he gave a small nod, then scooped in again, taking a deeper mouthful. Even splashing some across his face and through his hair.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ she rasped, her throat parched. She pushed up onto her good foot, trying to inch closer.
He caught her, steadying her weight before she could topple. ‘Easy. Small, slow sips. Don’t rush it.’
She scowled, licking cracked lips. ‘Why? Can’t you tell I want to dive face-first into it?’
His grin flickered wide. ‘Believe me, I want to do that, too. But if we dive in, we’ll stir up the mud—and trust me, Montrose, drinking that’ll give you something worse than a hangover.’
He left her to sip slowly, where she eagerly, yet awkwardly cupped at the water with unsteady hands, and brought it to her lips.
The first taste was… odd. Cool against her tongue but heavier than she expected—minerally, like the earth itself clung to it. Not clean or crisp like bottled water, but fresh in a way that felt ancient.
Either way, it was soothing as she swallowed, washing away the bulldust still lodged in her throat. She had to sip some more.
‘Don’t rush it,’ Porter warned again as he unbuttoned his shirt, jumping over the rocks and tree roots, moving further around the waterhole to crouch at its edge. There, he gently laid his shirt across the surface without so much as a ripple, letting the white fabric soak through.
Then he wrung it out over his head, letting the water trickle across his bare torso. Dipped it again, slower this time, then brought it back to her.
Even in the low light, she could see his windswept hair was tangled, but her gaze dragged lower, over lean lines and hard ridges of muscle glistening with sweat and water. Strong, capable—even out here in the rugged wilderness, Porter moved like he belonged—the hunter who knew this land.
She’d never met a man who stirred something so primal inside her, where a soul-deep pull mixed with raw appreciation and bucketloads of warm, gooey gratitude. Few men would’ve carried her across the country in the dark like he had. And from the look in his eyes, he’d keep going until she was safe.
‘Here,’ he said, holding out his wet shirt, freshly wrung dry.
All that remained of his suit was his trousers, which did wicked things to his impressive thighs. And the necktie, loose around his neck, tempting her to tug on it and drag him down for a kiss.
But she couldn’t.
Even if her pulse had picked up, sending a surge of electricity to ripple beneath her skin, as her gaze drifted over his bare chest of muscle and quiet strength.
There was no gloss or polish to Porter. Just the man that was real and unapologetic.
And that rugged, primal appeal of his masculinity had scrambled her brains, while bringing up all those late-night fantasies hidden within her.
The place where she used to keep her dreams. Where her heart and soul had been locked away, but were now rising, like the dawn of a new day, free from the shackles of her past. How did that happen?
‘Use my wet shirt to wash your face.’
‘What about you?’ she croaked.
‘Take it while it’s still white. I’ll only make it worse.
So, ladies first.’ He shared that grin that used to annoy her, the way he’d tilt his head right before he’d tease her.
‘If I had my camera with me, this’d be the perfect shot, Montrose.
’ He held up his hands like a movie director, with his thumbs and fingers framing her.
‘Behave. I look like a train wreck in a ballgown.’
‘You don’t see what I see.’ He gently wiped the dirt from her cheek, and along the curve of her jaw with his damp shirt.
His touch was so incredibly tender, that she was seriously close to passing out from the overwhelming rush of emotions that swamped her. Things she’d never felt with another human before—but did with Porter.
‘You’ve still got your tiara on,’ he murmured.
Their eyes locked.
She didn’t move, but could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
The frogs had gone silent, as her pulse pounded in her ears. One breath closer and she’d kiss him.
A ripple stirred across the water, that was soon followed by a heavy snort.
‘Shh…’ Porter crouched beside her, on full alert, stern and lethal like the hunter he was. And silently pointed.
On the far side of the waterhole, stepping out from the brush like a ghost in a dream, was a large animal.
With its head bowed, it approached the edge of the waterhole, only to pause and look at her.
Amara gasped.
Porter straightened slowly. The tone said it all… ‘I think that belongs to you.’
In the low morning light, she rubbed her eyes to focus on the large beast. It wasn’t a cow, or a buffalo—but definitely a horse. ‘Is it a brumby?’
‘Montrose, look again.’
That wasn’t a brumby, or a stockhorse, not with the build and stance of a pedigree horse, that was definitely worth more than her buried car.
‘It’s him… It’s Tempest.’ Her voice cracked with both joy and disbelief. ‘I thought I’d never see him again.’
Porter helped to steady her away from the water’s edge. ‘You sure it’s him?’
‘I’d know that walk anywhere.’ She knew the stance and the strong profile. After all, she’d studied him for hours every day, when they’d spent that first five days just getting to know each other in Porter’s paddocks, before she’d even put a saddle on his back.
The steel-grey stallion stood at the far edge of the waterhole, wary but not panicked. He looked at them as if waiting. Only to lower his head to drink.
She pushed on Porter’s bare shoulder. ‘Quick. Go catch him.’
‘What, now?’
‘You’re the one with legs that still work. Go catch my horse.’
He looked down at himself. No rope. No bridle. His wet shirt was sitting on a rock, and all he had left was… ‘You want me to lasso a thoroughbred with a necktie?’
‘You’re a Territory cop. Improvise.’ She grinned. The hope and happiness were a potent blend in their dire situation. ‘Besides, he’s gentle—if you go slow.’
Porter muttered something under his breath about wild women and ridiculous animals, then peeled off the tie and wound it between his hands like holding a set of reins.
He approached carefully, with a soft voice and slow steps. ‘Hey, mate. Where did you come from? A pretty boy in the wrong place… just like us.’
Tempest flicked his ears, but didn’t bolt. Porter inched closer—
‘Ooof!’ He’d tripped and fell flat on his face in the mud.
Amara burst into laughter, her voice echoing across the waterhole that had the horse’s ears flickering in recognition.
But poor Porter pushed himself up, coated in mud and swearing.
Only for his expression to change as he dug around in the mud and pulled something free.
He wiped away the caked dirt from some long object.
There was a glint of metal, as he used the edge of the water to wash away the mud. It looked like a rifle.
‘What is it?’
‘Something someone wanted to hide.’ And just like that, the man who’d carried her across the outback, the one she’d trusted with her secrets, was gone—replaced by the lawman underneath.