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Finley’s tiny claws tapped along the floor tiles, with the hidden wheels barely rumbling beneath his bulky shell. Topped off with the fibreglass fin moulded to his back, the turtle was such a unique sight who effortlessly made Romy smile.

‘What is it, Finley?’ With her camera gear spread across the dining table, Romy stretched, realising she’d been sitting for hours. She followed the cute turtle—with its little shark fin—as it eagerly rolled outside.

A low hum quickly built into a pulsing roar as the helicopter rushed overhead.

Fast enough to make her instinctively duck as she followed Finley to the side gate.

The rhythmic chop of the rotors created a stormy wave of sound that rolled across the flood plain until the helicopter descended somewhere beyond her view.

Kicking herself for not having her camera, she rushed to the viewing deck, where the three crocodiles raised their snouts to the sky in recognition of the mechanical bird.

At least she got to see the summery sunset spread across the outback in a breathtaking show, filling the vast horizon with waves of brazen gold and fiery oranges painted like coloured oils splashed across an artist’s canvas, where the shadows lengthened over the sunburnt red earth.

Even with the sparse, wiry grasses that stretched over the barren plain that was part of Stone’s backyard—the oasis he’d created around his home was nothing short of spectacular.

The side gate opened, and Stone swaggered through. ‘G’day, big fella. You wrestle any mighty crocs today?’ He crouched down to pat Finley like a dog. Then he looked up with his striking hazel eyes on her. ‘Hey.’

She lost her breath, her heart erratically beating. ‘Hey. Hi.’ It squeaked out of her, killing any hopes of acting cool.

‘I brought a salad home from the pub.’ Stone held up a well-used cooler bag, much smaller than the one he used to collect eggs. ‘The local chef knows his stuff. And I’ve got steak, too. Or is this one of your vegetarian days?’ The playful grin highlighted his deeply tanned complexion.

Romy had to remind herself that this situation was purely platonic. She was the backpacker house-sitting a turtle, while wanting to pick his brains over his job.

‘The way I feel, I’d eat a horse right now.’ She hadn’t eaten since breakfast at the roadhouse in the race to catch Stone’s chopper with Julian, which seemed like a lifetime ago. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I took over the dining table. I could clear it for dinner?’

‘All good, feel free to use it as your desk.’ In the large kitchen, Stone grabbed a few plates, opened a stash of plastic tubs of various salads. He pushed them across the bench, gave her a bowl, and then added a fork. ‘I’ll put the barbie on. Dig in. Don’t wait for me.’

‘Thank you.’ She sat on a kitchen stool, dragging the bowl closer, quickly filling it up, to stab her fork into the mix.

The crisp lettuce crunched between bites, the mustard-dressed potato and soft pasta salad melted together, perfectly balanced by the fresh, nutty tabbouleh made with quinoa.

The healthy feast was so unexpected from a guy like Stone.

But then again, he seemed healthy with his toned, muscular physique.

‘I’ll let the barbie heat up before I cook them steaks. Trust me, it’s the steak for kings out here.’ Stone came back to the sink and washed his hands.

‘And why are these steaks so special?’

‘You do realise that this is the heart of cattle country, shortcake?’

‘Oh, right.’ To stop making more of a fool of herself, she took another mouthful of the salad, practically salivating at the flavours that danced across her tongue.

Stone cut up some crusty bread, then pulled the butter from the fridge. ‘I’ve got a fridge full of food. You could have had a food fest with Finley while I was gone. I wouldn’t have minded.’ He pushed over the wooden cutting board, holding the bread and butter, towards her.

‘Thank you.’ She eagerly buttered a slice. ‘By the time I’d showered, and started downloading today’s footage, time flew.’

‘I bet it did.’ He slapped some thick steaks onto a tray, rubbed in some salt and pepper, then a drizzle of oil, rewashed his hands, then carried it out the door like a waiter in a fancy restaurant.

In a few moments, the aroma of sizzling steak had her stomach dancing with hunger. ‘It smells so good.’

‘Who, me? Or the meat.’ Stone chuckled, returning inside. ‘It’s okay, kiddies, she wasn’t talking about fish, today.’ He sprinkled some fish flakes over his humongous fish tank that ran along the entire wall, causing a feeding frenzy.

‘How many fish are in there?’ The chaotic clash of colours, sizes, and shapes was astonishing. And not one of them was a goldfish.

‘They move around too much to count, and they breed and feed in their own little ecosystem.’

‘Do you clean the tank?’

‘Only when necessary. ‘If it’s not broken, why mess with it, I say.’

‘That sounds just like my mantra for work: to observe only and never get involved .’

Stone paused, to narrow his eyes at her, his voice dropping, almost seductively. ‘But I do get involved, shortcake. It’s part of my nature.’

She tried to swallow, and brush it off as just small talk, running her palm up and down her arms to get rid of the prickly sensation. ‘Like how you read over people’s shoulders?’

‘The rest of my team did it too, and I didn’t see you complaining.’

‘How is the investigation going?’

‘Not as good as I’d hoped.’ At the fridge, Stone pulled out a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. He slid a glass across the bench towards Romy, only to pause. ‘You’re not doing any high-flying tonight, are you?’

‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’

‘Not tonight, shortcake. It’s been a big day. And an even bigger one for you, I bet.’

‘I think once I’ve finished eating, I’ll fall into a food coma and sleep like a log.’

‘I’ll be doing the same. So, eat up. I’ve got plenty of other fresh food for you to forage on as well.’

‘Where? Do you have some secret veggie garden or something?’

‘That entire pond area is Finley’s food forest. All the lower greenery is edible. And there’s some fruit trees, bananas, and other goodies growing in that jungle area. Finley doesn’t mind sharing his stash now and again.’

‘Did you plant all that for the turtle?’ This wasn’t some neat orchard or veggie patch. It was a full-blown jungle—wild, tangled, and thriving.

On closer inspection, she spotted certain leafy greens that reminded her of a spinach. There were coconuts, pawpaw, and a big bunch of tiny green bananas hidden behind some other bushes. All packed into an area that was bigger than she’d realised.

‘One of the backpackers was a horticulturist from the Caribbean Islands, he told me they commonly keep food forests over there, it suits the environment or something. So him and his partner planted out a food forest, while they kept Finley company.’

Now it was her turn to keep the turtle happy. Not that she did much, except sit at a dining room table and stare at her laptop’s screen all afternoon. Romy took another mouthful, polishing off her salad bowl in a few mouthfuls.

‘Will you have room for those steaks?’

‘Bring it on.’ She pulled a face. ‘Not exactly the most flattering thing for a female to say, huh?’

‘I like it. Makes you real.’ He winked at her so casually, she tried not to read anything into it. ‘I’ll go flip the steaks. Dig in for seconds while I’m gone.’

Oh, she wanted too, but Stone hadn’t even served up his plate yet.

Maybe, just a little more… Scoffing down a few more mouthfuls, she scooped up her wineglass and headed out to the barbecue. It stood near his outdoor bar, which looked more like a grass hut this time of day, with its colourful party lights reflecting off the water.

Stone put a dish down in front of Finley, murmuring something to the odd-looking turtle. From this angle she could clearly see his rear right leg was missing, and there was a jagged scar across the back of his shell. The poor thing.

‘What’s got you looking so sad, shortcake?’ Stone’s brow ruffled.

‘I was just thinking about Finley losing that leg. Do you know how?’

‘Crocodile.’

‘They eat turtles?’

‘Sure, if they’ve got nothing else to eat. It’d be like a meaty Malteser for those man-eaters.’ At the barbecue, Stone flipped the steaks, the sizzle rising in the balmy evening air.

‘That fin, on the back of his shell, is that for more than just swimming? Finley would have adapted. I’ve seen plenty of wild animals’ cope with a loss of a limb.’ She casually scratched at an itch under her chin.

With hands on hips where his jeans hugged him so well, he gazed down at the turtle happily eating by his boots.

‘The base of the fin filled in the crack of his shell, and it was so he can be easily spotted when underfoot, especially when he was younger, he would have been easy to squish. It’s also there in case Finley falls over, to stop him rolling onto his back. It allows him to rock himself upright.’

‘I get it.’ Why didn’t he just say so the first time she asked?

Scratching her inner elbow, she realised Stone had a habit of only feeding half-stories—sparking her curiosity to know more. He was already proving to be more than she’d first assumed—never acting on just one motive, there was always something deeper meaning behind his actions.

‘Have you decided what you want to make your documentary about?’

She shrugged, wondering if she was getting bitten by something, as she scratched at her wrist. ‘Sort of. But then I remembered you saying how stacks of people come out here to make documentaries, that I’m now struggling to find my unique angle.

’ She leaned against the pole, scratching her other forearm, while watching Stone cook dinner.

‘Even if Julian was a wanker, he had a unique idea.’