The craggy mountain range behind the house was distant yet close enough to see the fissures and valleys in the purple-coloured haze. The house seemed set into the small hill, not just simply standing on it. Probably because it was made of what looked like mortar-joined, hand-picked red stone. As they drew closer, he could see that the brown trunks of timber verandah posts held up a never-ending story of corrugated-iron roof like the one in The House That Jack Built – it had new rooms and extensions added haphazardly until it sprawled like a gnarled hand with a few stubby fingers poking out. The patch of sparse greener grass under the surrounding trees and a roundel of roses sat it in an oasis among the saltbush like a rustic prize.

As they drove closer, red-earth tracks disappeared left and right towards other scattered buildings and stands of low trees. Another line of trees veered off at a tangent and Zac realised the homestead looked down on a watercourse. He wondered if it was the Finke River, but he didn’t ask. He’d detected a shift in Ava’s mood, a crease between her eyes, a quieter, almost absent tone, and he wondered what sobering subject held her thoughts.

He’d pestered her with questions for most of the way because she intrigued him, and every answer opened another line of thought for him. His mind kept bouncing back to that game of ‘imagine’ about Weipa, which had been a hoot. He hadn’t been so engaged with conversation on a drive for years, and he still wasn’t sure what made them get on so well.

Perhaps it was her matter-of-fact answers, or the dry humour, or the understated tenacity of her family in times of hardship. Or, on a less noble level, the visceral sexual awareness between them that shimmered so much he felt like he was smoking hot and ready to ignite. Her strength, determination and sheer will were certainly unique in his world.

That wasn’t a reason to push him into a relationship with a woman so far disconnected from his world, but it wasn’t something he could ignore either.

They passed another of the natty FARM STAY signs he’d seen at the main gate, the shiny, metal, scaled-down, three-dimensional homestead board mounted on a post, about a metre across and complete with miniature working windmills and an arrow pointing the way to the house. The metal house models made his mouth twitch because they were clever, and he remembered them from the website he’d visited. He wondered where they’d purchased them, or whether they’d made them. Knowing what he did about Ava’s family, the latter wouldn’t surprise him.