Page 18 of Return of the Outback Billionaire

‘She blames herself for bringing Laurence into our lives and not realising how dangerous he was. She went into exile after the kidnapping. My father says she’s too ashamed to show her face here.’

Judah frowned. ‘That’s cracked.’

‘I know. I miss her hugs.’ But he wasn’t here to get the low-down on her dysfunctional family. ‘Have you asked Reid about me joining you guys in the eco-tourism business?’

He nodded.

‘And?’

‘You’re in.’

‘Yes!’

‘But it’s growing as we put together a mission statement and growth goals.’

Say what now? ‘Meaning?’

‘I want to roll Reid’s project into some broader, strategic land preservation plans I have for the area. Buy the Conrad place. See if your father will turn over some of Devil’s Kiss land to the project.’

Mr Moneybags and clever along with it. How many times would she have to shift her take on this man, now that he was home? ‘I’m about to head out and try and get some shots of the storm front coming in. Want to fill me in while I’m doing that?’

He looked towards the darkening sky. ‘You want to be out in that?’

She so did. ‘By my calculations it’s going to break over the eastern channel plain. I aim to be just east of Pike’s river crossing when it does.’

‘And your father’s not here to know if you’ll return. I’ll come.’

A blessing for protective neighbours. ‘I’ll drive.’

Five minutes later they were on their way, heading out in her Land Rover, and she tried not to obsess too much about how good Judah smelled. Some kind of body wash or soap with a hint of woody musk. Expensive. Totally wasted on cattle, but definitely not wasted on her.

‘Can I photograph you today?’ And before he could say no or ask why: ‘From a distance and for dramatic impact and perspective. You against the storm.’ A fitting end to a set of photos that had always been about him, whether he knew it or not. ‘A visual reminder for me that you’re back where you belong and maybe now we can all move on.’

He looked out of the window and didn’t answer, and she didn’t push. He hadn’t said no, and that meant he was thinking about it. If he at some point put himself in her camera’s way she’d have her answer and they wouldn’t need to talk about it ever again.

‘Tell me about this exhibition of yours,’ he said, and she had no problem at all with that request. ‘Twenty of my best photos, printed and framed and about to be hung by professional curators in a light-filled gallery in fancy-pants Sydney. I need one more, and I’m fretting because I don’t have it. The home run. The closer.’

‘And this storm’s going to give it to you?’

‘Maybe.’

Already the sky was darkening to the west, the red dirt beginning to glow with that peculiar Armageddon light. Every contrast more vivid for not being bleached away by a relentless sun. Oncoming clouds, light at the edges and deepest grey in the middle, heavy with the promise of life-giving rain and the not-so-subtle threat of utter carnage.

Best not to get caught out in these fast-moving cloudbursts or they could be bogged for days, but she’d checked the wind direction earlier and figured they’d be able to stay just south of it.

Assuming the wind didn’t change.

She headed off track and they cut across the loose dirt and scrub until she reached a shallow river crossing that the vehicle made short work of. She pulled up on a wave of dirt not long afterwards. From here the ground undulated to the north and west and flattened to the east and, with the right light and the right lens, subtle panorama contrasts could be found.

Set-up only took a few minutes. Tripod and cameras, lenses and light meter and Judah watching in silence, his very fine butt planted on the bonnet of her ride, knees bent and his boot heels hooked over the bottom rung of the bull bar.

‘Storm’s that way,’ he rumbled when she snuck one too many glances in his direction.

‘There’s a food basket in the back if you’re hungry.’ She’d hit the fridge hard after he’d said he would join her. Double brie, quince paste and fancy crackers, she had ’em. Anzacs with wattle seed. Dark chocolate with raisins. Leftover ham sandwiches with real butter and Gert’s magic relish. She had it all. A honeymoon basket, she’d thought with horror as she packed it, and had thrown in a couple of tins of baked beans and a round of salami in case they got stuck and also so that it wouldn’t be a honeymoon basket any more. ‘Drinks are in the esky.’

‘Are you practising for when the lodges are built and you’re bringing city photographers out here?’

‘Yes. That’s what I’m doing.’

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