The Loner's Guarded Heart. Michelle Douglas

them with hilarity and, overhead, white cockatoos screeched, three crows adding their raucous caws. And that wasn’t counting all the other cheeps and peeps and twitters she didn’t recognise in the general riot. Magpies started warbling in a nearby gum tree. For heaven’s sake, what was this place—a bird sanctuary?

      Flashes of red and green passed directly in front of her to settle in a row of nearby grevillias, twittering happily as they supped on red-flowered nectar. Rosellas. Ooh. She loved rosellas.

      Racing back inside, she clicked on the kettle, pulled on her jeans, threw on a shirt then dashed back out to her veranda with a steaming mug of coffee to watch as the world woke up around her.

      OK. So maybe Eagle Reach was at the end of the earth, but she couldn’t deny its beauty. To her left, the row of grevillias, still covered in rosellas, merged into a forest of gums and banksias. To her right, the five other cabins stretched away down the slope. Directly in front of her the hill fell away in gentle folds, the grassy slopes golden in the early-morning sunlight, dazzled with dew.

      She blinked at its brightness, the freshness. Moist earth and sun-warmed grasses and the faint tang of eucalyptus scented the air. She gulped it in greedily.

      In the distance the River Gloucester, lined with river gums and weeping willows, wound its way along the base of the hill to disappear behind a neighbouring slope. Josie knew that if she followed the river she would eventually come to the little township of Martin’s Gully, and then, further along, the larger township of Gloucester itself.

      As one, the rosellas lifted from the bushes and took flight and, just like that, Josie found herself alone again. She swallowed. What would she find to do all day? Especially in light of the resolution she’d made last night.

      She chafed her hands. She’d think of something. She’d stay at Eagle Reach for the whole day if it killed her. She would not drive into either Martin’s Gully or Gloucester. Kent Black would expect her to do exactly that. And for some reason she found herself wanting to smash his expectations.

      She found herself aching for just an ounce of his strength too.

      By eight o’clock Josie wondered again at the sense of such a resolution. She’d breakfasted, tidied the cabin and now…

      Nothing.

      She made another coffee and sat back out on the veranda. She checked her watch. Five past eight. Even if she went to bed disgustingly early she still had at least twelve hours to kill. Her shoulders started to sag and her spine lost its early-morning buoyancy, the greyness of grief descending over her again.

      She shouldn’t have come here. It was too soon for a holiday. Any holiday. She’d buried her father a fortnight ago. She should be at home. She should be with her friends, her family. Maybe, right at this very minute, she could be forging closer bonds with Marty and Frank. Surely that was more important than—

      ‘Good morning!’

      Josie jumped out of her skin. Coffee sloshed over the side of her cup and onto her feet. Kent Black. Her heart hammered, though she told herself it was the effect of her fright. Not the fact that his big, broad body looked superb in a pair of faded jeans and a navy T-shirt that fitted him in a way that highlighted bulging arm muscles.

      ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.’

      He didn’t look the least bit sorry. And if he didn’t mean to startle people he shouldn’t bark out good-mornings like a sergeant major springing a surprise inspection.

      ‘Not a problem.’ She tried to smile. ‘Good morning.’

      He didn’t step any closer, he didn’t come and sit with her on the veranda. She quelled her disappointment and tried to tell herself she didn’t care.

      ‘How’d you sleep?’ The words scraped out of a throat that sounded rusty with disuse.

      ‘Like a top,’ she lied. She decided she’d been rude enough about the amenities—or lack of amenities—last night. She couldn’t start back in on him today. Yesterday at least she could plead the excuse of tiredness. ‘I’m sorry about my lack of enthusiasm last night. It had been a long day and, like you said, the cabin is perfectly adequate.’

      He blinked. His eyes narrowed. Up close she could see they were the most startling shade of blue, almost navy. Still, it didn’t mean she wanted them practically dissecting her.

      ‘How was the wine?’

      A smile spread through her. He could look as unfriendly and unapproachable as he liked, but actions spoke louder than words. Last night, over her first glass of wine, she’d decided Kent Black had a kind heart. He’d just forgotten how to show it, that was all. ‘The wine was lovely.’

      Really lovely. So lovely she’d drunk half the bottle before she’d realised it. Once she had, she’d hastily shoved the rest of the bottle in the tiny bar fridge. Quaffing copious quantities of wine when she was stuck out here all on her own might not be the wisest of ideas.

      ‘It was a really thoughtful gesture. Thank you, Mr Black.’ She waited for him to tell her to call him Kent. She bit back a sigh when he didn’t.

      He touched the brim of his hat in what she took to be a kind of farewell salute and panic spiked through her. She didn’t want to be left all alone again. Not yet.

      Molly nudged Josie’s arm with her nose, forcing her to lift it so she could sidle in close. ‘I, umm…Molly is a lovely dog. Really lovely. I was wrong about her too.’ Ugh, she should be ashamed of such inane babble. ‘I…She spent the night with me.’

      He spun back, hands on hips. ‘I noticed.’

      Oh, dear. She should’ve let him leave. Her fingers curled into Molly’s fur. She didn’t want to give Molly up. ‘I…Do you want me to shoo her home in future?’

      ‘She’s all yours.’

      Relief chugged through her and she swore his eyes softened. Then he turned away again and she knew she must’ve imagined it. ‘Are any of the other cabins booked over the next few weeks?’ She crossed her fingers.

      His impatience, when he turned back, made her want to cringe.

      ‘No.’

      The single syllable rang a death knell through her last forlorn hope. All alone. For a month. ‘Then…what do people do out here?’

      ‘Do?’ One eyebrow lifted. ‘Nothing. That’s the point.’

      Dread fizzed through her. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Surely he’d like a cup of tea. Kind hearts and cups of tea went together and—

      ‘No.’

      She gulped. Couldn’t he have at least added a thank-you to his refusal? She tried to dredge up indignation, but her loneliness overrode it.

      ‘Some of us actually have work to do.’

      Work? ‘What kind of work?’ Could she help? She knew she was grasping at straws, but she couldn’t stop herself. She knew she’d die a thousand deaths when she went back over this conversation later.

      ‘I run cattle on this hill, Ms Peterson.’

      ‘Josie,’ she whispered, a hand fluttering to her throat. ‘Please call me Josie.’

      He pulled the brim of his hat down low over his eyes. ‘Bushwalking.’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘People who come here. They like to bushwalk.’

      ‘Oh. OK.’ She liked walking. She walked on the beach back home. She didn’t know her way around here, though. What if she got lost? Who’d know she was missing? She didn’t trust Kent Black to notice.

      ‘There are some pretty trails through there.’ He pointed at the forest of gums. ‘They lead down to the river.’

      Trails? She brightened. She could follow a path without getting lost.