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From behind her camera, the lens picked up everything, as Romy gasped at the rippling watery surface—the video’s view just perfect.

The prehistoric beast was beautiful. With her large claws gripping the grey mud, her cold eyes were full of wrath. But the maternal instinct in that hiss made Romy’s skin break into goosebumps. It was amazing.

‘C’mon Romy.’ Stone grabbed her arm, forcefully dragging her back to the bank.

‘Hey! I haven’t finished filming. I want to see the other crocodile.’

‘Sure. If you stay there any longer, you’ll get that close-up from the inside . Or you’ll see plenty more later. Where it’s safe.’

Left with no choice, she splashed through the ankle-deep water, then scrambled up the muddy bank to join Julian, dabbing at the sweat on his skinny moustache. Unlike Romy and Stone, there wasn’t a skerrick of mud on Julian.

Stone took her hand and dragged her to the tree line, where the sun bored down on them. Dead grass crunched under their boots in the parched field where black soil cracked open like scales on a snake.

Romy’s camera lapped up the primitive yet pristine landscape. ‘And this area is?’

‘A flood plain. Next wet season, it’ll be under water again.

’ Stone’s stride was strong in faded jeans that hugged his body as he pushed effortlessly through the dried weeds, using his spear like a powerful mage’s staff.

His lower legs were splattered with mud, and so were his sturdy crocodile leather boots.

‘Are we going now?’ Romy wanted to stay and keep filming.

Stone barely nodded as he hoisted the small blue cooler’s strap higher up his shoulder, heading for his helicopter parked in the field—or flood plain.

‘But I’d like to get more of that…’ She peered back to the thick green canopy that was such a startling contrast to this barren open field that was part of the Australian savannahs. ‘What do you call that area where you collected those crocodile eggs from?’

‘A monsoonal thicket.’

‘You should go back and film more footage of that crocodile, Romy. We don’t have enough,’ demanded Julian, trying to skip through the weeds.

‘It’s not safe now. Not when there are two crocs hanging out, and I will not mess with big daddy—except in extreme circumstances. And this situation doesn’t even warrant a dent on my danger radar.’ Stone, the crocodile wrangler, seemed adamant as he cleared a path to his helicopter.

Romy itched to retrace their steps to the crocodile’s nest and explore more of the fascinating Northern Territory outback with its sunburnt soils, towering escarpments, and big sky, with a wilderness unlike anything she’d seen.

‘Don’t listen to him, Romy. Just go.’ Julian pointed back to the river. But his tone was rude, as if talking to a child.

Stone’s boots stopped crunching over the dead weeds.

‘Lemme guess, you’re the type to watch TV with no volume.

So let me give you my form of subtitles…

’ Stone tipped his well-worn trucker’s cap, its brim shaped just right to block the sun from his eyes.

‘We are dealing with man-eating monsters. The wild crypt keepers and allies to the reaper.’

With her camera still strapped to the gimbal, Romy zoomed in, hoping the microphone picked up Stone’s speech.

‘They will tear you down in the blink of an eye and crush your head like chomping on a crunchy marshmallow. That’s if you’re lucky enough for them to get your head first, so you only suffer a nanosecond of extreme pain.

When, normally, the grumpy little swamp goblins will rip you apart or drown you because they like the fight. ’

‘Bull.’ Julian jutted out his chin.

‘If they can take down a fully grown water buffalo—who’ll fight like buggery to survive—you bet a croc will take you down and not even blink. And, as I’m head clown of this little outback circus we’ve got going on here, I’m saying it’s time to go.’

Julian’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat. ‘I want more footage.’

‘You can get more. Just not here. Leave the lady be with her nest. She’s a mother who needs to feel her babies are safe. And having us nearby will not do her stress levels any good.’

Romy didn’t even think of that, but it made perfect sense. ‘That’s so nice.’

‘Look, I’ll fly low over the river on the way back to the pub. If we time it right, we’ll make it back for the mid-morning happy hour.’ Stone started walking again.

Romy followed his sturdy stride, her camera zooming in on that amazing denim butt of his. ‘Will we see more crocodiles?’

‘You’ll find lots of swamp puppies who’ll eagerly roll over in the river for your B-roll.’

‘ We had a deal! ’ Julian’s screech sent a flock of hidden emerald-green doves to scatter from the underbrush.

Stone gently put the boxy cooler down and coldly glared at Julian. ‘Wisdom must really struggle to catch up to you. Or are you just two sandwiches shy of a picnic?’

Romy bit on her lip to stop her laugh, but she never stopped filming.

Julian scurried behind Romy. ‘Tell him, Romy. We hired him so we can film my documentary!’

‘I’m siding with Stone about us leaving.’ She understood it was for the crocodile’s wellbeing, not theirs.

‘As the producer, I’m paying for all of this.’ Julian waved at the vast scenery. ‘Remember, we’re on a deadline.’

‘It’s impossible to film a documentary in one day, Julian.’ Over the top of her camera, Romy arched an eyebrow at the man producing this gig. ‘Documentaries take weeks, some take years depending on your goals.’

‘I have a ten-day deadline to have this documentary filmed, edited, and submitted if I’m to get my grant. We have little time. And he’s—’

‘You mean me?’ Stone tapped on his chest. ‘The full-time sweetheart, and part-time crocodile wrangler who can hear everything you’re saying.’

Again, Romy pressed her lips together to stop her laugh.

‘I’ll give you the worst review—’

‘On what?’ Stone casually shrugged off Julian’s rant. ‘I don’t have a website for you to leave a review. Remember, you found me in the pub.’

Julian defiantly raised his nose in the air, his voice pitchy. ‘Are you saying you don’t have a tour operator’s licence?’

‘I do.’ Stone glared at Julian. ‘Now I remember why I rarely use it.’

‘Do you have a licence for hunting crocodile eggs?’

‘Mate, it sits with the rest of the licences I keep in the Weet-Bix box on the kitchen counter back home.’

This time Romy couldn’t stop the giggle, ignoring Julian’s frown.

But the sly cheeky wink from the deeply tanned crocodile wrangler made her heart do cartwheels. Her camera lens just couldn’t get enough of this guy.

‘I want more drama,’ demanded Julian.

‘Well, hell, I’d consider this a bit of drama, wouldn’t you, mate?’

‘Action.’

‘How about I slip you into some rope and swing you over a crocodile nest like bait? How’s that for some drama?’

‘I paid you!’

‘You paid me to show you how we find crocodile eggs in the wild. We did that.’ Stone pointed back to the river.

‘In the sling!’

‘Normally we would, but the government has put a ban on the slings, because someone got hurt.’ Stone wiped hard over his mouth as if tasting something bitter. ‘You’ve got your shots of the eggs being collected. You’ve seen how and where, so now I’ve got to drop these babies off.’

Romy stepped in closer, her face hidden behind her camera. ‘Can I see the eggs, please?’

‘Sure.’ Stone lifted the cooler’s lid, gently brushed off some soil he’d scooped out of the nest, to reveal a layer of eggs that were not much larger than duck eggs, lying in a bed of dirt.

‘You buried them?’

‘Mimics their nest, so they don’t realise the difference.

’ He winced up at the sun. ‘Unless you want them to roast like a rotisserie chicken, I can’t expose them to the sun for too long.

They like being warm and dark.’ Stone re-covered them with the soil, then padded it over with a thick towel before putting the lid on the cooler.

He then securely strapped it into the helicopter behind the pilot’s seat, like it was a baby carrier.

With her camera, Romy slowly panned across the scenery as Stone prepared the helicopter sitting in an expansive flood plain in the middle of the remote outback. It was an incredible shot.

To think, only yesterday she’d left Sydney, where it was cold and rainy, and today, here she was enjoying a mild summer’s day without a cloud in the sky. ‘Where do you take the eggs from here?’

‘To the crocodile farm. They’ll incubate them and add them to their cold stock quotas.’

‘Why don’t they breed them in those crocodile pens, or nests or whatever you call it?’ Julian demanded. ‘You wouldn’t have to do this then.’

‘Crocodiles don’t lay eggs well in captivity.’

‘So you have to pinch them?’

‘Look, I’ll only take up to thirty at a time, when the mother can lay over a hundred eggs. And she had an easy sixty-plus in that nest.’ Stone pointed to a wall of dry grasses that blocked their view of the river, that was at least a three-metre drop from the bank.

‘You could have taken more eggs,’ grumbled Julian, ‘while we took more shots to give us a full 360-degree filming opportunity of the nest and the digging process.’

‘Some egg collectors may clean out those nests, but I don’t.’

‘Why not? What makes you so different?’ Julian wrinkled his nose as if smelling something rotten.

‘Everyone has their own techniques, mate. As this is my land, I want her to come back and lay here again next year. She’s only just matured enough to start breeding.’

All of it was fascinating. Even better when this crocodile wrangler—who also piloted his own helicopter—was an expert on these creatures, all while looking smoking hot on camera. In her world, men like this didn’t exist.

As he checked over his chopper, Stone’s hat brim shaded his face just enough to define the lines and angles of his handsome features, that came with that well-built body. Any wonder her camera drank him up, it had her heart rate dancing.