shoulders, her nerves were way too strained to cope.
‘Gemma Elizabeth Brown,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly.
Her eyes widened at his use of her middle name. She hadn’t even realised he knew it.
‘We agree on the most important thing.’
She could feel the heat of his hands as they held her. Her lungs appeared to be malfunctioning, but Max didn’t notice, he just kept on talking.
‘We agree that Mollie deserves very good care and, on this occasion, I think most definitely, we do have to do something together.’ His eyes flashed as he added, ‘Something parental. You’re right, we’ll probably fight like cats and dogs, but we’ll manage somehow—for Mollie’s sake. On our own, we’d both have major difficulties looking after the poor little kid properly, wouldn’t we?’
She allowed her gaze to meet those deep blue eyes, those disturbing blue eyes, and Gemma felt less sure of her line of argument.
‘Together, we stand a fair chance of success—both for Mollie and our work.’
What he proposed was unthinkable! She couldn’t let this happen. How on earth could she live with Max while he inspected her babysitting skills? She’d be a dithering mess. Holy smoke, he’d be checking up on her every minute of the day and he would soon discover she knew absolutely zero about babies.
Gemma felt as if she’d stepped aside and become a spectator of this discussion. Incredibly, she realised she was nodding, accepting Max’s terms.
If only she could remember exactly when Max had turned their battle to his advantage, but she had loosened her grip on this whole scene. She’d lost sight of her counter-argument.
‘I’ll do my fair share,’ Max added. ‘I’ll give Mollie her tucker or bathe her, or whatever’s necessary. We can work out some sort of roster if you like.’
She passed a dazed hand across her eyes. Never in her wildest dreams had she pictured this rough-riding cattleman in a hands-on relationship with a baby. She tried to visualise him attending to Mollie, but her musings were interrupted by the telephone.
‘Oh, heavens! That’s probably the printers.’ Gemma had almost forgotten her current project and her deadline this afternoon. ‘I have to get some pamphlet designs to them before five o’clock.’ She glared fiercely at Max as she hurried to the phone.
‘Hello, Gemma Brown speaking.’
A woman’s voice reached her. ‘Gemma, Sue Easton from Over the Page. I was wondering…’
The printers were chasing her copy. Gemma reassured the woman that everything was ready and she would be at their office shortly. As she spoke, she heard Mollie begin to cry behind her and she was acutely aware of Max moving quietly in the flat.
Mollie’s wails ceased abruptly and by the time Gemma put the receiver down and turned to face Max again, she was startled to find him perched on the arm of her sofa and jogging the delighted baby on his knee.
He looked very pleased with himself. ‘See? You can’t manage without me, can you? I’ll mind this little possum while you do whatever running around you need to this afternoon.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied uncertainly.
‘And after that,’ he said with confident assurance, ‘we can plan your move to Goodbye Creek. I’ll book into a pub tonight and we can head off first thing in the morning.’
As he continued to favour both Gemma and Mollie with a look of smug satisfaction, the baby’s face turned red and Gemma noticed that she seemed to be concentrating very hard.
‘Oh-oh.’ Max’s confident grin slipped. Cautiously, he lifted Mollie away from his knee.
‘Has she dirtied her nappy?’ asked Gemma.
‘I—I think so.’
At the sight of his sudden dismay, Gemma felt an urge to grin, but she managed to keep a straight face. ‘Thanks so much, Max. It would be great if you could watch Mollie for half an hour or so. I do have several errands to run—especially if I’m moving house. Let me show you where the clean nappies are…’ She rummaged in the pile of things Isobel had left and produced a freshly folded nappy and a container of baby wipes and, with a deadpan expression, handed them to him. ‘These are what you need.’
‘You’re running out on me at a moment like this?’ he asked, clearly horrified. By now he was holding Mollie at arm’s length.
‘I’m sorry,’ Gemma murmured sweetly, ‘but I really do have important deadlines to meet. You’ll be fine.’ She gathered up her designs and her handbag and rushed out her front door.
‘He thinks he’s such a hotshot babysitter, he can manage this one,’ she muttered under her breath.
But she wished she didn’t feel quite so guilty about deserting him.
The next day, when Max piloted their plane over the vast property that made up Goodbye Creek Station, Gemma was stunned by the unexpected flood of homesickness that swept through her. It was five years since she’d been back, but she knew the Jardine family holding almost as well as she knew the township of Goodbye Creek, where her own home had been. Her parents had owned a stock and station agency in the town. They had sold up and moved to the coast about the same time she’d gone away to university.
Now, she and Max were flying back, the plane stacked carefully with the baby’s gear. Max explained that he had a well-equipped study complete with an up-to-the-minute computer and a fax machine, so Gemma only needed to bring her clothes, a box of computer disks and her paperwork.
They’d left Brisbane just as dawn broke and during the five-hour flight Mollie had alternated between napping and waking for little snacks and drinks. Gemma had kept her entertained with picture books and games of ‘This little pig went to market’.
Max had chatted very politely about the weather and the scenery beneath them, but it occurred to Gemma that he was behaving more like a newly introduced acquaintance than someone who had known her for more than twenty years. But now, as heart-wrenchingly familiar red soil plains unfolded below, she felt edgy, knowing that once they landed their shared past could no longer be ignored.
Wriggling forward in her seat, she peered eagerly through the windscreen, wondering why the sight of dry, grassy paddocks and straggly stands of eucalypts should make her feel so soppy and sentimental. Way below, she could recognise the signs of spring merging into summer. Early wet season storms had brought bright green new growth and purple and yellow wild flowers were poking up through the grass.
Max’s flight-path followed the course of the old creek that had given its name to the district and Gemma noted that water was already flowing down its entire length. She could make out the shallow, rocky stretch of rapids and finally the deeper section they called Big Bend.
Fringed by majestic paperbarks, this cool, shady pool had been a favourite spot for childhood picnics. At the age of ten, Gemma had rocketed in a tractor tube right through the rapids as far as the Big Bend. She’d been so proud of herself and Dave had been lavish with his praise.
‘You’re as good as a boy,’ he’d shouted. ‘You made it the whole way without squealing once. Max, isn’t she great?’
But Max, of course, had merely grunted and looked bored.
As they neared the homestead, her sense of nostalgia increased.
‘Nearly home,’ said Max, with a contented little smile, as he worked the controls to increase their angle of descent.
First came the stockyards and the corrugated iron roofs under which hay bales would be stacked to protect them from the rain. Then she could see the smaller, original holding yard, made of old timbers weathered to a silvery grey and built in the rustic post and rail design that had been around since the pioneering days.
Gemma glanced at Mollie dozing in her little safety