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Stone’s heart fell for Romy in a way it shouldn’t. But she looked so miserable, it made his heart bottom out to roll along the deck, dragging him down with her.

Which wasn’t hard when he’d been in a foul mood, ever since the croc attack at Chook’s place.

He should never have put Romy at risk like that.

Yet, he had no right to tell her what to do. Whether Romy made a film or not was none of his business. There was nothing in it for him, certainly no financial gain—yet lately, he’d been investing a lot of himself in her ideas.

At least she had put the privacy issue to bed. Or had she?

How was Romy going to react once she found out who he was?

It’s why he’d been testing her, hoping to push her away, and dodge this entire conversation. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to just get up and walk away.

‘What’s your excuse?’ Romy glared at him over her wineglass. He’d obviously pushed her buttons. And hard.

‘For what? Eating red meat over white? Drinking this brand of beer instead of another?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘No. I’m not a mind-reader, shortcake.’

Again, she frowned.

‘Careful, the wind will change, and that frown will become permanent. Sorry to tell you this, but your I-hate-Stone scowl is not a good look for you.’

‘Be serious for a second.’ Her stern tone echoed around the garden.

‘Careful, we have some delicate wildlife here.’ Stone pointed his beer at the turtle at his feet.

‘I’m sorry, Finley, it’s just your owner doesn’t play fair. He asks, talks, tells, but when it comes to his own story, he doesn’t share.’

‘I do.’

‘No, you don’t. You’ll tell Finley’s story, the boys’ story, but never your story.’

‘There’s not much to tell.’ Because he liked it being private.

‘But I bet there is…’ She aimed her wineglass at him.

Stone sat back, unsure if she was going to throw it at him or drink it.

‘Fine, if I must…’ She slapped her hand over her heart and said, ‘I swear on my parents’ life—who are the best people on the planet—that I won’t discuss anything with anyone, except Finley and the other house pets, about whatever story you want to share. I can keep secrets.’

‘Did you call your mother?’

‘Yeah. She wants photos of our adventures.’ She grinned behind her glass, only to frown. ‘Stop that.’

‘What? I did nothing.’ It was a struggle to not grin at her cute little frown.

‘You changed the subject.’

‘Did I? I thought we were having a conversation.’

‘ Aw come on! You are so, URGH.’ She squeezed a hand over her mouth as if to hide her scream.

It was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. He couldn’t help but laugh.

Even if she scowled at him, it was adorable.

‘Tell me,’ Romy demanded. ‘How did you become a crocodile wrangler?’

‘I met a bloke in a bar one day.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘True story, shortcake.’ He shrugged, while picking at the beer bottle’s label. ‘I met this crocodile wrangler who’d come to the city for a wedding. Doing a bit of sightseeing, he got lost and decided to sit next to me in this inner-city bar, where I’d been contemplating how boring my life was.’

‘Where?’

‘Sydney.’

‘You’re from the city?’

He nodded. ‘I couldn’t be bothered dragging my arse to work that day and was elbow deep in beer.’

‘You were playing hooky.’

‘It wasn’t the first time.’

‘Did your boss find out?’

‘My dad owned the company. He wouldn’t sack his only son, and heir to all.’

Her jaw dropped.

Stone leaned over and pushed her chin up. ‘If you keep your mouth open like that, you’ll attract the flies.’

Romy said nothing for the longest time, but her eyes told the story, taking in the details of the big house, the large pond, the fully stocked bar, the large wide screen on the outside wall, and the pathway that led to his private heliport that held all his other toys. ‘You’re rich.’

‘That depends on what your definition of rich is. I’m not Rockefeller or Hilton rich.’

‘But you have money.’ She pointed at him.

‘Will you treat me differently, if I say yes to that question?’

‘That’s how people treated you in the past?’ She then melted in the most empathetic way, where the kindness in her eyes made him want to reach over and hold her against his chest—even if she was the one cracking him open to reveal his secrets.

‘That’s why you’re so protective of your privacy, and have no social media accounts.’

‘The locals here take me as I am.’ Would Romy be the same, now that she knew? But he was pretty sure she’d cyberstalk his name later.

So why not beat the social media gossipers with their tell-all tales of fake news about the trust-fund kid. ‘I met Two-stroke in that bar, and we hit it off.’

She screwed her cute nose up. ‘Seriously, that’s his name?’

‘Russ was his name, but he only answered to Two-stroke. As an absolute petrolhead, Two-stroke could fix any motor and became my helicopter mechanic. He had the room next door to yours until he decided to get married.’

‘Sounds like a fun guy.’

‘He was.’ The smile was brief, but the hole in his chest was endless.

‘Was?’

Stone shuffled in his seat. ‘Two-stroke died just over a year ago.’ He took a deep mouthful of his beer, desperate to get rid of the foul taste brought on by the vivid memory of a nightmare.

‘What happened?’

He shook his head. He couldn’t share that with her.

But then her hand rested on his, her eyes focused on him, and he was swimming in a world of trouble.

‘Tell me.’

He was helpless to resist her. ‘A croc got him while we were egg collecting. He had unclipped himself from the sling, despite me telling him not to.’ It had been horrific, watching it all from above—even now it was vivid in his mind’s eye.

The powerful knock-‘em-down wind gusts had swept across the plains, flattening the grasses to expose more than one crocodile.

‘There was a field of them. And Two-stroke was smack in the middle of it. The mother lunged at him and he threw the egg case at her to stop her. I yelled at him to get the clip back on, but it felt like hours before he managed it. As soon as he gave the thumps up, I lifted him out of there. But then the water exploded. A second crocodile—a monster of a thing—launched from the shallows. Not the female. Bigger. Heavier. Two-Stroke was still swinging midair when the croc latched onto his leg.’ Stone clasped his hands over his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

The screams had been horrific. Even now he could hear them.

‘What did you do?’

‘Lifted them both.’

Her hand covered her mouth to hide her gasp.

‘I had to. I couldn’t land there. All of that long grass would’ve bogged up the chopper’s blades, in a swamp full of water, where those crocs would’ve torn him apart, so I had to fly Two-stroke out…

Two-stroke fought hard, but that mongrel croc had his leg.

I thought it would’ve torn off at the hip.

But when I slammed that croc into a tree, he let Two-stroke go. ’

‘What then?’

‘I landed in the nearest flat space and wrapped his leg as much as I could to stop the blood. It was everywhere.’ Stone looked at his hands, forever stained from that day, his clothes soaked through with blood and sweat.

He’d never forget the sharp, metallic scent of blood, mixing with the raw stench of fear and sweat.

He’d done everything he could, tightening the tourniquet to stop the bleeding from Two-stroke’s mauled leg—where shattered bones were barely held together by skin and sinew.

Blood soaked into the passenger seat, pooling on the helicopter’s floor. It was everywhere.

‘Did you take him to the hospital?’

‘As fast I could fly. The engine was screaming from me pushing that throttle so hard, but it still wasn’t fast enough, because we were miles away from anywhere…’

Stone sighed, barely louder than a whisper, the words heavy with pain. ‘Two-stroke died beside me in the cockpit.’ He felt cold, as cold as when he’d felt his best mate’s skin on the longest flight of his life.

‘If only Two-stroke had taken our usual number of eggs… we would’ve been fine. If only he hadn’t unclipped himself.’

‘Chook said that’s dangerous.’

And Stone had seen how dangerous a stunt it was. ‘Two-stroke had wasted precious seconds trying to get his clip back on, for me to pull him free. After all our trips together, he goes and does that.’

‘Why did he unclip himself?’

‘Two-stroke was getting married, and he wanted to give his bride everything. In the end she got nothing. No insurance company covers our job, it’s too risky. But I paid for Two-stroke’s funeral. Helped his family the best I could.’

He exhaled heavily to rake his fingers through his hair. ‘And after the official coroner’s inquiry the Territory Government decided to put a ban on sling work. So, yeah, like you I felt the heat from my peers for making them change their ways on how to collect their crocodile eggs.’

‘That wasn’t your fault.’

‘It was. I should have checked out that area more carefully and been more persistent about Two-stroke hooking back onto the line. But he wouldn’t do it, not until he got the eggs.’ And he’d replayed that awful scene countless times, but it always had the same ending: the death of his best friend.

‘Besides our trip the other day,’ Romy said, ‘have you collected eggs since?’

‘Only alone. And only on this property, to keep the numbers down. Until Finn found me.’

‘Oh, really?’ She shifted in her seat, as if shifting gears to listen.

‘Finn knew my story and asked me to join his team.’ Stone remembered the day the tall guy, covered in tatts, sat beside him at the bar—where he was elbow deep in beer, once again—to offer him a job.

It took Finn a few weeks of conversations, riding out on his Harley, to convince Stone to be part of the Stock Squad. Stone didn’t need to work, yet it felt right to do something good for a change.

‘Didn’t think we’d be hunting down crocodile thieves.’ After chasing their tails all day, they still didn’t have a clue where the thieves were. At least they’d saved some crocodiles today.

‘So, you choose to act like this dick and keep the backpackers around, so you don’t get close to anyone?’

‘What the hell?’ He arched his eyebrows at the pretty little filmmaker. ‘Damn! Who let the ballbuster into this party?’

She held up her glass. ‘Blame the wine.’

‘If you’re a shrink-in-training, don’t waste your time, shortcake.’

‘I’m not. But I observe nature, people, and you…’

‘You mean you observe my denim-covered arse.’

She shrugged as she leaned over close to stare him straight in the eye. ‘But I see you, Stone Kipp.’

No one had said that to him, or looked at him as if they saw everything, when he’d worked so hard to hide the grief, the pain, and the loneliness of losing a friend who was like a brother.

Then, when she leaned in so close, her lips brushing against his to kiss him, it surprised him so much that he didn’t know what to do, except live up to his name, and froze like a stone.