A Wedding In Warragurra. Fiona Lowe

and now stuck to her cheeks, which were bright pink from the heat in the hall. She looked about eighteen. Except for the fine lines around her eyes.

      Lines that life had put there. He recognised them, he had some of his own and many more than he’d had two years ago.

      Did they have anything to do with the standoff he’d witnessed when he’d arrived earlier in the evening? The moment he and Sasha had walked into the hall he’d recognised the vitriol on Hilary Smithton’s face.

      And every protective instinct he possessed had gone into overdrive. The intensity of his response had left him stunned. The only other time he’d experienced such feelings had been when Sasha had been a toddler and a large dog had bared its teeth at her.

      But Kate wasn’t a toddler so this reaction was foolish. Most of him wanted to run a mile. Kate belonged at work. He had no plans to get involved with anyone again. Love was unreliable and he had to protect Sasha.

      He’d kept all their conversations at work firmly centred on work. Hell, he hadn’t even realised she was the Guide leader until Sasha had mentioned it two minutes before they’d arrived. Spending an evening with Kate hadn’t been part of his plan for tonight, but the twist of Hilary’s mouth, and the venom of her words, had made him speak.

      Kate had treated the episode with Hilary as if it hadn’t happened and now, two hours later, he was none the wiser as to the reason for Hilary’s antipathy. The Guide meeting had continued as smoothly as if there had never been a threat to the evening.

      ‘Cup of tea?’ Kate held out a steaming mug.

      ‘In this heat?’ He bit off the words. ‘Are you insane?’

      She smiled, ‘Ah, but it makes you feel cooler.’

      ‘What, after it’s made you twice as hot?’ He eyed the hot drink with distrust.

      ‘That’s right.’ She laughed, a mellow, throaty sound. ‘Are you judging my mother’s logic?’

      He stamped down on the rush of pleasure that streaked through him at the sound of her laugh. ‘Yes, I am.’

      She sank down into a chair, all grace and innate elegance, which was at odds with her current bedraggled look. ‘You’re right, it’s crazy thinking but there’s nothing cool in the fridge and I need a cup of tea.’

      The thought of a cold beer materialised in his head. ‘After sixteen giggling girls and a run-in with Hilary Smithton, you probably need something stronger than that.’

      She flinched as if she’d been struck and her relaxed demeanour vanished. ‘No, I just need to sit down and catch my breath.’ The words came out precise and clipped as she put her mug down by her chair.

      It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about it. And, hell, he didn’t really want to know because asking meant involving himself in her life. He didn’t want to be involved in her life. Getting involved with a woman wasn’t part of the plan, couldn’t be part of the plan. He and Sasha were doing fine on their own.