Page 53 of Road to Rosalee

‘I beg your pardon. I don’t fart, I poof glitter and stardust.’ Showbags’s attempt at a posh English accent was horrendous. ‘And every time I do, it smells like roses.’

Melody chuckled, as did the rest of the men, including Zai.

‘And there you have it, bright and early, another day of bantering has begun.’ Zai’s gravelly voice brought a smile to Melody’s lips. ‘Good morning, cook,’ he added, way sexier than any other person on the planet could possibly be while saying such a simple statement.

‘Good morning, you. I better get up and start feeding you hungry lot.’ She went to unravel herself from the most protective embrace she’d ever had the pleasure of lying within.

But he trapped her within his arms, pulling her closer. ‘Before you go, tell me. Did you have the best sleep ever?’

His strong, hard body pressed into her, from head to toe. ‘Yes, I actually did.’ She seriously wanted to stay here all day and make sweet, wild, hot love to him.

‘See, I told you so.’

The camp lit up as Slim fired up a gas lantern.

‘Mm-hmm, you sure did.’ She purred from the depths of her contented soul.

‘You might have to try it again, this sleeping out under the stars in a swag, with me, of course.’ He murmured into her hair. ‘It wouldn’t be as much fun otherwise.’

Melody quivered. Zai’s husky whispers so close to her ear were driving her wild, making her ache for him in places she shouldn’t. She had to get up. Now. Before she rolled over and did something really stupid, like kiss him, hot and hungry, or ripped every shred of clothing from his delectable body.

And so she got up, almost bounding from the swag in her haste to curb her insatiable appetite for him. ‘Come on, Tumbles, get this fire going, would you, or I’m not making you any brekkie,’ she said jovially as she passed.

‘Righto boss, on it.’ He jumped up, hitting his head on an overhanging branch. ‘Ouch. Bloody hell, who put that tree there?’

Melody chuckled, shaking her head. ‘Whatever would we do without you around for laughs, Tumbles?’

‘Hey, you got me for that too, Melds,’ Showbags chimed in.

‘That we most certainly do. You pair are as hilarious as each other,’ she called back.

‘Nope, hands down, I’m way funnier,’ Tumbled hollered.

‘Whatever, Tumbles, more like way clumsier.’ Showbags rose from his swag and stretched.

The two men gave each other the bird and laughed.

Walking over to the drum of bore water up on the back of the LandCruiser, Melody opened the tap and filled the wash bucket. Plonking it on the tray, she splashed some of the cold water onto her face, trying to jolt some life, and sense, into her. Her usually bouncy hair was frizzed by the bore water and lack of a good brushing, so she resigned to pulling it into a messy bun – she’d deal with the knots later, when she had some conditioner and a wide-toothed comb.

Feeling somewhat refreshed and awake, she got to work making the men a full Aussie breakfast in the two cast-iron pans Tumbles had thoughtfully set up over the campfire. By the light of a lantern and the flicker of the fire, she stealthily avoided spits from the bacon and sausages as she manned it, tongs at the ready. In place of the billycan Showbags had just boiled and was now twirling like a pro in circles with a wide spin of his arm overhead – she prayed to god the lid didn’t somehow come off and scald him – she hung a pot of eggs in water over the fire. Boiled eggs it would be. Zai got to work beside her, toasting a heap of bread in the wire contraption Slim had apparently built when he’d first started here – it worked an absolute treat. An hour later, they were sitting round the fire, bellies full, pannikins in hand, almost ready to start another day in the saddle.

And that was when Hasselhoof decided to hit her with an absolute sucker punch. ‘So, tell me, Melody, how do you know for sure that your mum wasn’t wrong about Walshee being your old man?’ Arms folded, he twirled a toothpick in his mouth, his beady eyes drilling into her, his bushy brows deeply furrowed. ‘I mean, he’s a wealthy bloke, including being an heir to this place, so you have a lot to gain by being his daughter.’

The atmosphere of the camp went from jovial to serious in an instant.

‘I, um, uhh …’ The shameless question had come out of nowhere, and she found herself momentarily lost for the right words.

‘Because she just does, Hasselhoof.’ Zai’s tone was sharp, direct – as was the cautionary look he was now giving his fellow stockman. ‘Don’t ask questions about things that ain’t any of your goddamn business.’

‘Yeah, righto, Wellstone. Just asking, bloody hell.’ Hasselhoof shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal. ‘I would have asked for a DNA test if some stranger turned up at my door, telling me she was my daughter. I ain’t as trusting as Walshee. But that’s just me.’

‘Geez, Hasselhoof. This isn’t something you should be asking, so lay off, would ya,’ Slim growled.

Showbags and Tumbles looked more sombre than Melody had ever seen them.

Hasselhoof went to retort, but Zai held his hand up. ‘I wouldn’t say another word if I were you.’

Melody hadn’t even stopped to think of such a thing – her mother’s word was one she took wholeheartedly and without a shadow of a doubt. To get a DNA test would be her disrespecting her mother’s word and memory. Anger rose in her chest and tightened her throat. She bit back expletives, instead glaring at Hasselhoof. He actually had the audacity to glare back at her. He may have been the camp grump, but this was personal. Very personal. Choked up by a rush of intense emotions, the sting of tears threatened. She turned her back to them and caught her breath – no way was she crying because of some cold-hearted bushie. Zai’s hand came protectively to her back and stayed there.