Page 7

But another part of me knows that if I don’t do this now, I never will.

Maybe I will find my way back.

And maybe, if I do, Dimitry will still want me.

But for now, I have to go home.

Whatever “home” means, after six years.

I turn and walk down the hallway and into the lift, not daring to look over my shoulder.

Two hours later, I’m on a flight to Perth, Australia.

2

Abby

Leetham, Western Australia

Three months later

“Give us a couple of cans, would you, love?”

“Sure.” I slip two beers into foam coolers and slide them over the bar. It’s forty-five degrees outside, which is over a hundred Fahrenheit. Inside the Leetham Exchange it’s much cooler, dim and air conditioned. Given that the population for the entire district is less than four hundred, however, it’s little surprise that there are fewer than ten people currently drinking here.

It’s a far cry from the long, brutal shifts back in Malaga, when I’d run hard for fifteen hours with barely a break, serving fussy tourists. The most challenging drink I get asked for here is a rum and coke, and even then, it’s usually served in a premixed can.

“Hey.” The guy who ordered the cans gives me a curiouslook from beneath a sweat-stained, battered felt hat. “Aren’t you the Chalmers’ girl?”

“Abby. Yep.” I force a smile. I know the guy’s face from childhood, though I couldn’t tell you what he does. Something to do with cattle, like everyone else around here.

“Yeah, right.” He nods with the satisfaction of someone who is happy to have put a name to a face. “Haven’t seen you around for while, hey?”

Not for the best part of a decade, mate, no, you haven’t.

“No.” I suppress a smile. “Not for a while.”

“But you’re back now.”

I nod as if he’s asked an actual question.

“Bet Pete and Suze are happy to have their girl back, hey?”

Oh, I wouldn’t bet on that at all, if I were you.

My parents weren’t known for their smiles before I left. If anything, my prolonged absence has only managed to turn their expressions permanently grim. I can’t tell if the grimness is reserved for me or if it’s a general thing.

I never could.

Which is one of the reasons I left in the first place.

Beer can guy nods again, in answer to his own question. “Well, you won’t be single out here for long, not with legs like that.” He lifts his hat and scratches his hair, sending a shower of red dirt onto the bar. “We’re all pretty desperate round this joint, love.” Lifting his can, he grins and wanders off.

Whoever is writing Australian rural romance has definitely never spent time in rural Australia.

Because if they had, and definitely if they’d spent any time in outback Western Australia, they’d be more inclined to dystopian horror than romance of any kind whatsoever.

Beer can guy aside, there are a couple of gray nomads, their huge camper vans parked out front, stretching the one beer their daily budget allows and savoring the free air con while they can get it. A small cluster of backpackers, in fromone of the outlying stations on their day off and equally happy about the air con, are playing pool in the corner. They’ll buy a cheap carton of boxed wine soon and take it down to the river, where they’ll get great Instagram shots of themselves swimming with the freshwater crocodiles.