Her hands were trembling as she reached for the coffee pot. Her senses were alive, her pulse was ragged and her body ached for fulfilment, but she knew she must pull herself together before Max returned – for if he suspected for one minute that she was in love with him, he would shy away from her. He was such a solitary man – a troubled man – and burdening him with her feelings would probably put an end to the lovely relationship they shared. And nothing must endanger that.

Having made the coffee and heated up the big pot of porridge he always had standing by the range, Sal washed quickly, found clean underwear and had her emotions under control by the time he came back into the cabin. ‘I thought I’d go down to the river to paint today,’ she said with studied casualness as she sat down at the table.

He concentrated on his porridge. ‘There’s not much to see down there,’ he muttered. ‘River’s all but dried up.’ He spooned some of the porridge into his mouth, his gaze firmly fixed on the bowl. ‘Reckon it might be better if you go back to Morgan’s Reach now the storm has passed over.’

She looked at him from across the table, her heart thudding. ‘Don’t send me away, Max,’ she pleaded softly.

He looked at her then, his expression unreadable. ‘Best you go,’ he replied. ‘With more storms due, things could get rough, and I don’t want a repeat of last night.’

‘But I want to stay,’ she said quickly. ‘I can’t bear the thought of you going through all that on your own, and if I can help, even a little, then—’

‘I don’t need your pity, Sal,’ he said sharply. ‘I just want to be left alone to deal with things the way I know best.’ He gave a deep sigh as he abandoned the cooling porridge. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, ‘but I hate you seeing me like this. Go home, Sal.’

She blinked back her tears. ‘There’s nothing for me in Morgan’s Reach, Max. I want to stay here and look after you the way you’ve always looked after me.’ She reached for his hand, holding it firmly as he tried to pull it away. ‘You know everything about me, Max, but I hardly know anything about you – and I want you to talk to me – to tear down those high barriers you’ve built around yourself and let me in.’

He hung his head, his silver-streaked tawny hair drifting around his face. ‘You’re just a girl. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘I’m forty-two – hardly a girl,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘And I want to understand. Please, Max, let me share whatever it is that troubles you.’