CHAPTER ONE

      ‘THAT’S the Jarndirri out station down there.’

      At the pilot’s words Sapphie Thomas turned from the baby sleeping beside her to stare out of the mail plane’s window. Anna and Lea Curran—her best friends—had grown up on Jarndirri. Sapphie had spent a lot of time there herself. She’d deftly fed that piece of information to Sid, the pilot, earlier. Sapphie didn’t get into small planes with strange men without them knowing she had friends in high places—friends who could come to her aid in a flash if the need arose.

      She stared down at the out station and longing and pain hit her in equal measure. Her chest tightened. ‘You’re not going to land, are you?’

      Her chest tightened even more. She didn’t want Sid to land. She didn’t want to step foot on Jarndirri at the moment. For lots of reasons—not least being the letter she’d received two days ago.

      She pushed that thought away. She didn’t have time to dwell on it. Instead, she thought how a landing might wake Harry, and she didn’t want that. Her twelve-month old nephew, it seemed, hated flying. He hated landings and take-offs. He hated the dust and the heat and the flies. He hated the glare of the sun in its cloudless sky, and hated Sapphie trying to change his nappy in the close confines of the plane. He hated it all—with a capital H—and he had the lungs to prove it. Sapphie had wanted to wail right alongside him.

      She’d wanted to wail because Harry hated her too.

      During the long, hot five hours they’d so far endured on the plane he’d only stopped crying when she’d given him his bottle—most of the contents of which he had then thrown up all over her shirt. Finally, through sheer exhaustion, he’d fallen asleep. She didn’t want him woken for any reason whatsoever. So not landing at Jarndirri would suit her perfectly. She waited for Sid’s answer.

      ‘Nah,’