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The horses whose paddock Frances had invaded eased themselves out of their corner and raced freely in the sunlight. Jenny pointed out Greytor and Frances studied the mare. She moved easily, with considerable grace, and Frances was pleased. Three other horses were also there, and Jenny pointed out their names. Rupe was evidently riding his at the moment. The other building Jenny pointed out was the woolshed. Ringed by stockyards, it was some distance from the house.

A glance at her watch told her it was lunch time, so they made their way back to the house. As Rupe was still with Ian and not expected for lunch the two found it easy to chat. Jenny explained that she was meant to rest for at least an hour after lunch, so she told Frances where to find saddle and bridle, to do her exploring. Frances was glad to have some time on her own. Expertly she caught and saddled Greytor, talking softly and evenly, rubbing her hands smoothly on the horse’s head, easing to pat her neck, then swinging herself up with considerable style. Greytor stood quietly for a moment, then shot off like a rocket. Evidently she hadn’t been ridden for a little while, so Frances let her go enjoying the mad gallop to the full. Sensing the expert rider on her back, Greytor steadied to a calm canter.

The lush pasture was bordered by a string of Douglas fir trees, then she found a stand of padiata pine. Here and there an odd clump of mixed trees patterned themselves on the soft greens of the pasture. The big grey clopped along, Frances appreciating the rhythm and the beauty around her. She was surprised to see a mob of woolly sheep close to the top paddock. Vaguely she had thought shearing would have been over.

At the gates Greytor sidled in close so she could open them easily, leaning over from the saddle. Without any pressure from her, Greytor turned sharply so she could close it behind her. Frances smiled. Even the horse knew that gates had to be closed! A sloping track led over a slight rise, then twisted itself into two. She followed one path as it led towards the direction she wanted.

Beside the path were irrigation channels. These were one of the main secrets of the productivity of the plains. Fed from the Rakaia river, the channels formed into a series of tiny dams which in turn fed the neighbouring paddocks. The sight of water made her realise how very hot it had become, and she made a note to always wear a hat in future. It was some distance to the river. She stopped to look, her eyes drinking in the beauty of the scene.

As she came closer she could see the silver ribbon braiding and looping itself over a wide area of gravel. Groups of willow lined the banks here and the river bed was broken into thousands of tiny islands, some just piles of stones littered with boulders, other covered in lupin and scrub. The Rakaia looked indolent in the sun, twinkling innocently, splitting itself into strands to seek the easiest path to the sea. Frances moved Greytor under the shade of the willows and swung off. She slipped between the bushes and clambered down a path to the river. Feeling the freshness and isolation of the spot, she breathed deeply. Her only companions were a couple of big gulls, wheeling and screeching overhead. She decided to paddle her feet in one of the streams; the water looked so cool and inviting. On impulse she pulled off her clothes, keeping on only her pants and bra. She giggled to herself, feeling deliciously abandoned, and stepped into the small pool. The iciness of the water struck her forcibly, tingling and refreshing her, and she splashed and sang, rejoicing in the splendid privacy. Then terror struck. Her foot slipped on the stones and suddenly she was vividly made aware of the danger of swimming in such a spot. One leg seemed to be jammed by a stone and a log hidden under the water. She struggled to free herself but seemed only to imprison her foot more.

The cold was seeping into her bones and she became more frightened. Nothing had changed, yet the river no longer seemed innocent. She realised that she would have to see under the water in order to free herself. As she didn’t want to wet her bra she removed it, flinging it higher towards her jeans and blouse. She bent over double in the water and struggled to lift the heavy log. Time and time again she heaved, the exertion keeping her warm. When she realised it was no good she studied the stones which held her on the other side. She smiled grimly. What a nitwit she had been, she thought. They moved easily and with a lurch she was free. She scrambled out and lay exhausted and trembling, not feeling the rough shingle. The sun warmed her gently and she was just about to replace her clothes when she saw a tall muscular figure pick them up, and, self-conscious of her near-nudity, she crossed her arms over her breasts.

'You look like a blue water baby. Here!’ Ian Burnleigh tossed her the jeans, blouse and bra.

Frances sat stiffly, too frozen to move. He muttered an exclamation, stripped his shirt from his back and rubbed her dry The force of his hands warmed her chilled body and she shuddered. She pulled on her bra and blouse. He finished drying her legs and eyed her speculatively.

‘Now, water baby, don’t go playing in the river. It’s far too dangerous for big girls.’ His eyes glinted, mocking her.

Frances nodded dumbly. Somehow she should thank him, but he strode away and she was able to finish changing. To herself she could admit that Ian was a far bigger danger to her than the river. She had been shocked at the effect his touch had produced on her body. She walked slowly back to her horse, reflecting that she had been stupid. Her face had lost some of its pallor, her hazel eyes were deep dark pools. Everything she had ever learnt about swimming in rivers she had ignored, simply because of the heat of the day. To be discovered almost naked had seared her and she felt wretchedly embarrassed at the thought of having to face that cocksure, arrogant male. She climbed into the saddle, mechanically easing herself into Greytor’s stride. Greytor carried her home effortlessly, and by the time she had released her she had regained some of her equilibrium. The sun had dried her hair so she slipped into her bedroom and repaired her make-up. She pulled on a cardigan as she still felt chilled, then squaring her shoulders she went out to the kitchen.

‘Come
and meet the boys,’ said Jennifer gaily. ‘Thaddeus, age ten, my first born, Ivan the Terrible is seven and Greg the Gorgeous is five.’ The three sturdy boys eyes Frances solemnly, then Thad very correctly stepped forward and said, ‘How do you do?’

Ivan the Terrible grinned cheekily and said, 'Gee, you’re real pretty.’

Greg the Gorgeous just smiled. Frances smiled in return and the boys seeing the smile accepted her readily.

‘I’m big now. I go to school on the bus. See, this is my bag and this is my reading book,’ said Greg.

Frances dutifully admired the bag and the book. The boys had just arrived home from school. They drank the cordial their mother had prepared for them and each had a piece of cake. For herself Frances had a cup of coffee, drinking it slowly to appreciate the warmth.

The boys raced away to get into their swimming gear, stopping only for five minutes to chant their homework.

‘What about you, Frances, do you want a swim?’ queried Jennifer.

‘Not really, thanks,’ said Frances. ‘Can I help with tea?’

‘Not tonight! You look very tired, I hope the trip and all the touring hasn’t been too much for you.’

Frances blushed slightly. She didn’t want to explain her earlier escapade and the part Jennifer’s brother had played. She added lightly, ‘I’ll go to bed early tonight. Must have my beauty sleep!’

Lying in bed that night Frances reviewed the day. Already she felt totally at home here with Rupe and Jennifer and the lads. The only worry was Ian, and she turned restlessly in her bed at the thought of him. She remembered the scorn in his eyes when he saw her at the river bed. He was good-looking, she was forced to concede, and he was much taller than herself, so he must be at least six foot one or two. A quiver ran through her as she saw again the details of the muscles in his arms and shoulders and the dark hairs on his chest. He had made his attitude plain enough—that he thought she was a cheap little tart in her nudity. Frances hid herself in the pillow, acknowledging the bad luck that he had seen her in that state. Well, she wasn’t going to let him put her off. This place was a refuge for her, a place where John Brooker wouldn’t find her. She pictured John in his office, but the picture kept being interrupted by a pair of scornful yet cool dark eyes set in a rugged face as craggy as the mountains.

In the morning Rupert took her round the farm. He was a good instructor, patiently showing her how the irrigation was controlled and what crops he was growing. He explained his system of pasture management which involved shifting the sheep frequently. This would be one of her jobs, Frances was told, and she struggled to learn the right names for the paddocks.

The dogs were a delight to her. The pup was her special joy. He was a frisky black ball and appropriately named Scamp. His mother, Fay, was an excellent yard dog and his father was Ian’s constant companion,' a black huntaway which was a good all-rounder. As well, Rupe had an old dog who made up in experience and cunning what he lacked in strength.

That afternoon Rupert had sent her down to the river on the tractor. She enjoyed the experience, gaining more confidence as she went. Jenny had waved her off smilingly. She finished the task Rupe had set, then drove steadily back. It was quite late in the afternoon when she returned and she felt hot and sticky. Frances was glad Jennifer suggested that she join the boys in a swim. She had a neat one-piece as well as her bikini in her drawer and she decided to play it safe and wear the one-piece. Her eyes sparkled as she remembered that scornful look Ian had given her down at the river.

The water was blissfully relaxing and the boys were delighted to include her in their game. Soon Jenny called them for tea.

Over tea Rupe said that the following day they would bring the woolly sheep up to the front paddock. The shearers had been forced to leave that mob the month before when the rest of the, shearing had been done. Rain was still a major bugbear with shearing. The sheep had to be completely dry, and to ensure this they would be kept in the woolshed overnight.

A telephone call earlier had told Rupert that the shearers would probably be with them in two days’ time.

The next day Rupert and Frances bought the woolly sheep up to the front paddock. They didn’t bustle the sheep, just steadily and quietly drove them, much to young Scamp’s disgust. The noon sky was murky with a line of clouds to the south and Rupert told Frances they would shed up early. After lunch Frances prepared the vegetables for tea and made a rice pudding for the boys. She vaguely noticed the build-up of cloud in the distance and was not surprised when Rupe came charging in.

‘We’ll have to shed up now or we’ll be too late. Give Ian a ring and tell him I’ll swing half the mob over to his place. He’ll give me a hand. You can put these into the shed here. The boys will be home in a few minutes, so they’ll help you.’

He charged off and Frances eyed the phone reluctantly. To her joy Jenny came out and she was able to pass on the message. Jenny rang as Frances fled, calling Scamp and Fay to follow.

Frances went first to the woolshed, opening the gates as she did. The yards were well kept, the posts concrete or tanalised wood. She realised that by keeping the mob to the side she could pen up much more quickly. Although she had no experience she remembered what Rupe had told her. The dogs soon had the sheep running up into the shed. Fay was a wonder dog, seeming to be in ten places at once. The two younger boys appeared on the scene: Thad had apparently joined his father. Together, they worked steadily, if noisily. Ivan the Terrible was doing an unconscious imitation of his father and Frances had to work hard to keep her face straight. When the sheep jammed up Ivan sent Fay scampering on to the top of the woolly wall, soon clearing a space. Frances went into the shed to spread the sheep evenly. That took her a long time, but she knew it was important that the sheep were not packed in too tightly. Rupe had explained it to her over lunch. Finally, satisfied, she glanced round the shed. The odour of sheep was distinctive but at this point was unpleasant. The shed was much older than the rest of the buildings on the farm. The building was not large, but it was sufficient to hold six hundred sheep. There were four big pens plus three shearers’ holding pens. The gates were designed to lift up as well as sideways and shedding up Frances had appreciated their design. She was standing now along the shearing floor and could see a press and bins in the background. She was surprised at how dark it had grown and wondered if Rupe had managed to get the other mob penned safely. The boys were anxiously waiting for her to join them and she decided to drive over to help Rupe. Gleefully Ivan ran to get her keys while Greg and she headed to the garage.

It was the first time the boys had been in a Mini and they showed their delight in their questions. As Frances had not the vaguest notion as to where Ian lived Ivan and Greg both gave her a running commentary. She was glad of the distraction as it kept her mind off meeting Ian. Regardless of what she thought, it was obvious that the small boys thought he was Superman, Batman and Spiderman wrapped in one package.

Now they could see the neighbouring stockyards, and Frances drew in her breath at the sight. They seemed a vast network and the woolshed was enormous. She' pulled up neatly and the boys jumped out, running eagerly to join their father. Fay had followed them and raced to Rupe too.

Glancing quickly up at the sky, Frances was aware of the heavy clouds. She joined in with helping push the sheep forward and was rewarded with a quick nod of thanks from Rupe. Lightning flared brightly as they fought to get the rest of the mob under cover. The crashing of thunder echoed in the mountains, followed by the rain. It came in great sheets, relentlessly soaking everything in its path, great plops mixing to instant mud in the dusty yards. Rupert swung the main gate down not wanting the sheep outside to dampen the dry inside. There were about thirty left out and he seemed unconcerned about those few. He asked Fran to shift them into one of the bigger old yards where some grass was growing and the sheep were only too happy to move.