Page 2 of Stockman's Stormcloud

The dry grass crunched under her sandals as her shadow spread across the sunburnt land that begged for rain.

Her touch was so light against his arm. ‘I said I love you, Harry Splint. Today and forever.’

His large hand covered hers as he turned to face her. ‘You mean that?’

‘But we have to stop this. My husband will kill us.’ Sheswallowed tightly, fighting her fears, as she tried to step away, but he wouldn’t let her go. And she didn’t want him to. ‘As much as I love this bag, I can’t keep it.’ Again, she tried to hand it back. ‘What would I tell Jack?’

‘Say it’s from a friend? Or that you entered a contest and won it. You’re always entering competitions, aren’t you?’

‘I can do that.’ As she had no family to write to, her competition responses were the only mail she got.

‘Jack is always telling me off for spending money on stamps.’ Jack was always yelling at her these days, too. He wasn’t the man she’d married.

‘How about you meet me at our special place later? I’ve got your favourite wine, and some chocolate, and we’ll do some dancing, eh?’

She loved those moments, just the two of them under the cloak of darkness to dance under the stars.

‘Thank you for my present, Harry. I do love it, like I love you.’ She gave him a shy smile, but she felt her soul singing those words.

Lord help her, she loved Harry Splint.

‘You know, you saying you love me is the greatest gift a man could ever want. What’ll make it even sweeter is if you agree to marry me.’

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked her.

Yet, this time, as she looked at the precious handbag he’d given her, it had her thinking about it.

It wasn’t just the bag, it was the extraordinary effort he’d made to spoil her. Only Harry did that for her.

She nibbled on her lower lip. The chance for that happy ending seemed romantic. It was like the movie ending ofBreakfast at Tiffany’swhere Holly hugged her stray cat, and her man embraced her in the rain.

Except the current drought had left them with sun-soaked fields on an outback cattle station, and she didn’t own a cat, but she had a good man who loved her, who was offering her a chance to reinvent herself away from the bad man she had married.

‘Harry, I want to show you something.’

She took the passport she had found last night out of her pocket and handed it to him.

‘What do you think this means?’ She troubled her lip with worry. She may have told Harry she loved him, but trusting him with this information was a big step.

Harry studied the passport’s pages, his frown deepening before he handed it back to Penelope with something like wonder in his eyes. ‘I think this means you need to find your marriage certificate.’

One

Present Day

Danger was the name of the game. It’s where the air crackled with heat and tension, as Dex’s muscles coiled like a tightly wound spring. The crowd’s cheers echoed in the night air, as he dodged and weaved away from his opponent’s bare knuckles. In the outback heat, sweat had their bare torsos glistening under the spotlights, created from the large circle of vehicles. Their boots dragged on the paddock’s dusty floor to churn a smoky haze into the air, as Dex’s opponent squared up to take another swing.

A set of knuckles barely grazed Dex’s cheek, which had lost feeling minutes ago.

Dex smirked, the kind of smirk that always upset his opponent. He loved playing mind games with rookies, and he’d been playing this game long enough to unleash a set of sharp snappy jabs and hooks.

Again, the crowd’s cheers reverberated across the empty paddock that made up their arena, with nothing but a sea of stars above.

Dex’s movements were a flurry of controlled chaos. Each punch calculated to perfection. Sweat glistened like teardrops from his hair, but the determination was now etched into every sinew of his body. Fuelled by raw grit, he danced out a furious storm of fists because he fought to win. Always.

As the seconds ticked away, the fight intensified into a ballet of brutality punctuated with grunts and punches. Justthe way the organisers liked it: tease the crowd, while letting the rookie think he had a shot at the title. It was just a cover for one big dangerous game—the type of game Dex enjoyed.

But when the prick kept repeatedly jabbing at his ribs, it ticked Dex off. He unleashed his right-left jab combo and his roundhouse uppercut, clipping his opponent on the jaw to send him keeling over like some backwards Olympic platform diver, to land heavily in the dust, and out cold for the count.

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