Lene and her mother met inside the house and exchanged a meaningful gaze. "Let me hold her," Lene said quietly.

"She's almost off."

"Let me hold my daughter..." Her tone was firm and hard to read. Joyce wondered exactly what was going on in her mind.

"You're wet and cold..." Lene simply helped herself to Claire and left her mother's arms bereft of the baby she had been clinging to. The surrogate Adilene.

"He deserved it," Joyce said as she stroked her hand over the head of the almost sleeping child.

"Even an animal doesn't deserve to be beaten to death just for being what he is," Lene replied as she clutched Claire to her breast. She noticed the spatters of blood on her cotton pyjamas as the child rested her head where a short time ago she had cradled her father's battered face.

"Have you forgotten what he did to you so soon?" hissed Joyce.

Lene looked sharply across at her own mother. "Did to me? What was so bad about what he did to me? Gave me pleasure? Gave me Claire? Was that so very wrong?"

Joyce held her breath, recognising the dangerous state of mind that Lene was in. "He left you high and dry. He never came back..."

"He came back tonight..."

"He came back for what he thinks is his...not out of love for either of you..."

"He wanted to see his daughter..."

"She is NOT his daughter! She is my daughter and Bob Miller is her father!"

Lene stood up and handed her child back. "She is Joe Egan's daughter. Look at her face. You can say whatever you bloody well please - but nature will out, Mum..." With that, Lene turned and walked up the stairs to her room, disappearing inside. Joyce felt the cold hand of fear grip her. That man had unsettled their world yet again. She whispered a bitter plea for some god of justice to make sure he didn't make it through the storm and that they would be rid of him for once and for all.

Lene stood by the window where so recently she had witnessed the horrific assault on the man she loved. She knew she loved him. She always had. Even if she was never to be his again it would not change that salient fact. In her mind she saw again the vicious and cruel blows that had brought a proud man to his knees, heard the thud of fist and boot on bone and imagined the trickle of his blood that was still oozing through the earth washed away by the rivers of rain. The memory of that moment when her father had crashed the toe of his boot into Egan's genitals still rang through her as did the guttural scream that he had made in response. How could anyone treat a man like that? No one deserves that punishment.

And he had taken it without demur, handing himself over meekly to the execution, seeming oblivious to anything but her and the baby. Balling her fists, she banged her forehead over and over again, her head spinning with the thoughts that were whirling through her mind. What did it all mean? Why had he come back now? Why was his baby so important to him?

Leaving the window, she lay down on her bed, remembering the night when he had lain there with her, his head on the pillow as she had nestled in his naked arms, the silken threads of their lovemaking still binding them to each other even now when their bodies had parted. Curling up into a ball she bit on her knuckles to stop the sob that threatened to shatter the fragile coating she had built around her heart since he had gone and she had accepted that her relationship with him was over. It would never be over for her. And she was beginning to wonder if perhaps she had misjudged him and there had been other reasons for his desertion of her all this time.

Where was he now? Where had they dumped him? Thunder still rampaged through the night sky, deafening roars, echoing the screams she wanted to unleash at the bitterness of her fate. Flashes of brilliant white light lit up her bedroom, a stark and colour-draining spotlight. Rain hammered down as violent as ever. Lene shivered in her wet pyjamas and imagined the cold wet seep through Egan's broken bones. She saw him lying in a pool of blood and rainwater, alone under the fierce anger of the storm and realized that exposed like that a severely injured man would probably not survive the night.

The sudden realization made her jump up. Where she had been possessed by a hopeless lethargy before, now she felt a fierce energy seize her. He might die! Her beautiful man might die there unloved and alone. And then it would be too late for her to tell him or ever give him the chance of seeing their daughter - just once... "Just once, Lene...just once before I go..."

With stark understanding she realized that he had known he would die. Something had brought him to the end and he no longer wanted to live. He had made a decision that, rather than lose everything that he was, he would simply leave this world to those who would take his freedom. Stumbling to her feet, she ripped off the sodden clothes and dressed warmly for the night, found her waterproofs and, with her boots in her hand, tiptoed down the main stairs in the now quiet house.

Letting herself out of the kitchen door, she crept around to the stables and saddled up Lola. Whispering to the horse as she nickered to her mistress, "I know it's a foul night, Lola, but we have to get to Egan. You remember my Egan?" The horse tossed her head as if in reply. Hauling on the heavy stable door, Lene led her out into the rain, closed the door and then scrambled up. They clip clopped out of the yard but she knew the storm would deaden the sound of her departure.

Out on the muddy path she followed the deep tracks of the farm truck that had brought the men back. At the main road she had a moment of panic as she was unsure which direction they had taken but soon she saw the clods of muddy and the skid marks of another vehicle that must have been Egan's ute. It took a left turn. Towards the open country. Slowly she followed, shining a torch on the road surface and flashing it at the dark fields about.

At intervals the lightening gave her a momentary snap shot of the world of water and wind that surrounded her. Lola would shy a little and she would calm her, bending over and whispering in the horse's ear. And so they traveled through the dreadful conditions moving slow but forward as Lene prayed that God would give her a break and she would find him before it was too late.

He answered her prayers. When she was so wet and cold and tired that she thought she herself might be at risk of exposure, she heard the barking of a dog. Not really barking. More an eerie howling, like a death knell, over and over, piercing even the thunderous roar of the storm. Moving off the road in the direction of the noise, she found herself on another farm track clearly pitted with fresh tyre marks and the tread of heavy boots. Up ahead, parked at a haphazard angle, Lene saw the truck and the flash of lightening that illuminated the scene showed her the dog, Corey, growling at her as he watched the approach of the horse.

Lene slipped from the horse's back and continued on foot, holding out her hand and speaking gently. "Steady there, Corey...it's me...Lene...you remember Lene? I won't hurt him...I'm going to help save him....please Corey, trust me..."

The dog bared his teeth and then stopped, listening to her soft voice. She carried on walking towards the open back of the truck. As she reached it, Corey whimpered as if in recognition and bounded forward, licking her outstretched hand and then returning to Egan's side, showing her his prone body.

Climbing into the truck, Lene knelt by him feeling for a pulse. She knew a little first aid, picked up from watching the doctor at the surgery and the nurse who assisted. She found it and, although it was faint, it was still beating. He was deeply unconscious and his body temperature was low. He felt frozen and his face was white, drained of colour except for where the bruises had formed to accentuate the ghostly pallor. Instinctively Lene knew he did not have time to lose.

She tried to shift him, to get him into the cabin of the truck out of the rain but it was impossible. He was too heavy and a dead weight. It was a waste of precious time even to try.  Taking off her waterproof coat, she slipped his arms inside and arranged it back to front to give him some insulation and keep the worst of the water off him. Jumping down, trying to coax Corey to join her in vain, she closed up the back flap and ran to the driver's seat, thankfully finding the keys still in the ignition. Starting up the engine, she then jumped out and ran over to Lola.

."Go! Go home!" she slapped her hard and the horse took the message, trotting off in the direction she had come. Then Lene mounted the driver's seat again and engaged the gear, clumsily manoeuvring the old truck along the potholed track and off onto the road again. There was only one person she could think of who might help her.

Doctor Doyle.

It was a frightful night to be about and Lene found the drive in the unfamiliar ancient truck a nightmare. She crept along at a slow pace, hardly able to see the road ahead, scared to jolt Joe even further, crying and shivering herself. She was drenched to the bone, sodden to the skin, teeth chattering and heart beating like a drum. Every second she wondered if Joe was still alive or had he simply faded away out there in the cold and wet?

But she persevered, talking to herself to give courage to go on until the town loomed ahead, dull lights appearing out of the blackness of the night.

Dr. Doyle lived in a neat little detached home on the outskirts of the town and there she stopped, racing out of the car to run up his path and hammer on the door. Corey resumed his howling as if he understood that help was now at hand.

Lights snapped on upstairs, a curtain parted and then Lene saw the movement on the stairway through the stained glass of the main door. Moments later the doctor, rumpled and sleepy-headed in his pyjamas and dressing gown, appeared at the door. He did not, however, seem surprised. Probably he was used to nighttime interruptions to his sleep, especially in weather like this.

"Lene? Something happened at the farm? Come in, love, you're soaked through. Martha! Get the kettle on and make us all a cuppa!" He steered Lene into the warm hall way and called to his wife who was coming down the stairs, tying the belt of her dressing gown.

"No! We have to hurry! I've got Joe Egan outside in the truck. He's out in the back. I think he's dying..." Lene burst out, the words seeming to form themselves - and only then did she voice her fear. He might not make it through this night.

"What happened?" the doctor threw on a long waterproof and his Akubra, running out towards the truck, Lene close behind. Peering into the back, it only took him moments to assess the seriousness of the case. "We've got to get him to the surgery. Run back in. Tell, Martha to get dry clothes, warm drinks and join us there as soon as she can. You come with me, Lene... he's going to be hard to move..."

Lene let the doctor drive, comforted by his matter-of-fact dealing with the situation. At last there was someone else to take the decisions and make her feel that Egan was safe, even if in her heart of hearts she knew that doctors had that way with them whatever the diagnosis might be. But she still took strength from his strong and silent presence.

"Tell me what happened," she heard the doctor's voice calm, unemotional but firm. Lene swallowed and tried to make her heart slow down. It felt like it would jump right out of her mouth any minute.

"Joe found out about the baby. He got drunk and demanded to see us. He wouldn't leave so they...they..."

"...They beat him half to death and dumped his body?"

Lene nodded. She observed the muscles of the doctor's face twitching with his repressed rage but he did not venture his opinion.

"...It was my fault. I should have let him see Claire..."

"It was not your fault. Your relationship with Joe Egan is between the two of you. Whatever he has done - or not done- it does not give them a right to do this. This is their stupid code. Joe understands it. He is capable of it himself. They're all only a step away from two brumby stallions fighting to be the king of the herd. Men? Sometimes I think I prefer the beasts..." his voice trailed away in disgust.

They were at the surgery by then. He told her to run in, open up and fetch a gurney. The little clinic had a small operating room where, on occasion, he did minor surgery or dealt with casualties who were too in need of help to be sent to the larger hospital at Glenrowan. Struggling with the bunch of keys, her fingers cold as ice, Lene finally got the door open, snapped on lights and pulled the trolley out to the road.

The doctor had eased Egan to the edge of the truck flap and somehow, between the two, they rolled and dragged him to lie slumped on the gurney and then wheeled it into the clinic, the dog trailing in mournfully behind them, his tail firmly between his legs and his head hung low.

As soon as the door was closed, the roar of the storm subsided and a sense of anxious peace stole over Lene. She had done what she could. It was in God's hands now - and those of this good man. She trusted them both enough to put her trust in them and simply be there for Egan, whatever the night was to bring them both.

"Strip him! We have to get him out of these clothes and warm him up. He could die of hypothermia..."

Still on the trolley but now in the operating room at the rear, the two worked on his clothes, soaked and muddied. The doctor handed her a surgical knife and told her to cut off his pants - they had no time for fiddling to undress him. She slit the rough worn cord of his trousers and pulled them away. Egan lay there on his back in only a stained pair of long johns. She winced when she realized that he had wet himself. The doctor patted her back. "He couldn't help it. He's unconscious. He can't control his bladder."

But Lene felt his humiliation acutely as she eased the underpants from him and threw them onto the stained pile in the corner.

His naked body was a stark reminder of what had been visited on him. From his swollen and misshapen face, to the large areas of bruises on his torso, the arm that appeared oddly twisted (and even to her ignorant appraisal, probably broken) and then his legs, cut and bruised,  one knee almost twice the normal size. Blood dripped onto the floor from the many injuries.

But the worst sight, the one that made her gasp, was the sight of his genitals. There the bruising was severe; his testicles swollen and obscene, making even his impressive penis look small and shriveled as it lay there exposed between his legs. "It's a very fragile part of the body, Lene. That's why it's where it is. For protection. Tissue damage and internal bleeding there alone can kill a man."

Doctor Doyle had examined Egan swiftly, running his hands gently but firmly over his entire body before covering him with blankets. He had tutted to himself a few times but gave nothing much away as he worked in his efficient way. Once or twice Egan had moaned as he depressed an area; he wasn't as deeply unconscious as he had first appeared. That fact seemed to please the doctor.

Just then the outer door opened and in came Martha Doyle. She was a trained nurse; it wouldn't be the first time she had been called out in the night to assist her husband. With practised and sure hands, she took a look at the patient, tsked in annoyance at some of his injuries and then began to give Lene orders.

"Don't just stand there, Lene, my girl! Make yourself useful. Wash and dry him, there's so much mud and blood, it's hard for the doctor to see. Then makes sure he's kept warm. I've brought some hot water bottles. Wrap them in sheets and place them around his body, then cover him over with blankets. He's in a bad way but he's young and strong. If he wants to live - he'll live. Talk to him. Make sure he knows you're here. He'll hear you in some part of his brain...."

Lene did as she was told as the doctor and his wife took care of his injuries, rigged up a drip and gave him an injection. Lene did what she could, washing him, embarrassed to be touching him so intimately before others - but she did not waver. Finally she pulled up a stool and sat by his head, picking up his hand and rubbing it between her palms. "Joe? Can you hear me? It's Lene. You're gonna be all right now, Joe. The doc will sort you out. Just fight it, Joe...don't give up...please don't give up..." There was no response. She looked up at Martha who gave her a gentle nod as if to say "You're doing fine, love. Go on..."

"I was wrong, Joe. I should have let you see Claire. That's her name. Your little girl. She's so pretty. She's got a mouth just like yours. She's smart too. She can talk already...well just a bit, but real words! And she is walking - has been since she was ten months. You'd be so proud of her, Joe! When you're better, I promise you can see her...Joe...you've got to get better, you hear me? You have to see her now! You just have to!"

She rambled on and on in the same vein, wondering if there was any chance that he was actually hearing any of this. At first she had felt ashamed before the doctor and his wife but, as she talked, she found she no longer cared who knew. They had all heard the rumours. They might as well hear the truth.

She could not keep the edge of despair from her words. In her head she had caused all this by failing to even have the courage to come out and speak to him herself. He had had a right to know about his child. She should have let him see the baby. And she had watched while he meekly let them nearly kill him, all for the chance of one last glance. "Joe...I'm so sorry....Joe...hang on! Don't leave me. I'll have no one then. They took Claire. She doesn't even call me Mum. You're the only thing I have left...don't go!"

Just then Lene heard Egan groan and stir, making a rasping growl as he tried to speak. The doctor took a dropper and gave him some water to wet his tongue; he had been lying in the rain but his throat was still dry. "Lee...Lee..." He muttered. His attempt at calling her name made her think of little Claire. This is what she called her birth mother.

"Joe? What is it, Joe? I've got you. I'm holding your hand..." She felt a slight pressure on her fingers; he was trying to squeeze her hand. His feeble attempt to form contact with her made her eyes swim with tears. This was her Egan, whose strength had been boundless - and now he was as weak and helpless as a baby himself.

"Lee....Lene?"

"Shush...don't get upset. I'm here..."

His eyes flickered open and he grimaced. Even after the pain killing injection, he was still suffering and speech was difficult through his cracked and swollen lips. "Le..ne...listen...!" he panted and coughed. The cough made him grunt in pain and also retch. They held a bowl out while he vomited; it was mostly liquid streaked with blood. Doctor Doyle looked at his wife sharply in concern. "Lee..." he pushed the cloth aside that she was using to wipe his mouth. "...I got no money...no real money...but... there's the cottage...and I've got four horses...." he broke off into a coughing fit again.

"Don't try to talk. Please just rest!' Lene begged him.

"NO!" he gruffly replied. "Need to talk."

"Let him," Martha whispered. "He's fighting it. He has something he must say. Let him tell you..."

"Joe? What about the horses?"

Egan seemed to rouse himself again just when it seemed he would drift off. "Horses. Sell them. Get a good price. For the baby...s'all I've got. Not much. But she can have everything. Sell the cottage and the land. S'yours. Deeds are in a tin under the floor. Near the fire...under the rug..."

"Oh Joe...we don't need it! But you'll need it. When you get better. Stop talking like that, Joe..."

He gripped her hand hard in a sudden burst of strength. "For the baby! For you! Take it...it's all I can do now...Promise me!" His eyes burned with an unnatural fervour; he was feverish. Lene wondered if he could even see her.

"I promise. But Joe! You're gonna be all right! You just see if you're not! A couple of weeks and you'll be right as rain! Just stop worrying and rest..."

Egan made a strangled sound; it could have been a bitter laugh. "I'm dying, Lene. I won't last the night, love. It hurts so much. My shoulder...it bloody hurts like buggery...no strength left...don't matter much..."

"Stop talking like that! You'll be fine..."

"No, I won't," he interrupted her impatiently. "...And I don't much care.  Better this way, Lene. Better for everyone. Nothing to live for. Everything I touched, I destroyed. Broke my mother's heart. Killed Creamy. Ruined you...I'm no use to man or beast, Lene. You're all better off without me. Easier this way."

Tears coursed down Lene's face. "You're wrong, Joe!  Everyone has something to live for! You're a good man deep down, I know you are....please, Joe...please don't give up!"

His eyes were clearer all of a sudden, as if the fever had abated and given him a chance to speak clearly. He held her hand fiercely. "I should have told you. I did love you. I always loved you. More than anything I ever loved in my life. I meant to come back. But when the horse died...I knew then. I was bad news. Stayed away for your own good. Lene...when I'm gone, sell the cottage and the horses...use the money for the little baby. It's all I can do for her. Find a decent bloke and give yourselves a better life than I ever could. But when she's grown...maybe you could tell her about me? One day?"

His hopeless plea finished Lene off and she choked down the sobs that threatened to consume her. But an idea came to her. "You can't go yet, Joe. You've got to see her before you go. Little Claire. Your daughter. I'll bring her to you as soon as I can but you've got to fight it. Promise me you'll fight it and then you can see her...just once, hey? Isn't that what you wanted? Remember, you asked me at the house?'

His eyes registered the memory. "You'd let me see her?"

"When you're a bit stronger. Can't bring her out tonight. Stay with us, Joe. We need you...fight as hard as you can...please...promise me you will?"

Egan sighed. "My shoulder hurts...I can't..."

"...Promise me!" She shook him slightly and he groaned. 

"I promise...bring her to me, Lene...please...my shoulder...hurts..."

The other two had stepped back to give the couple some privacy but Dr. Doyle heard the comment. "Shoulder? He's complaining about his shoulder? It's his spleen, Martha! We've got to operate!"

Lene looked up. "Spleen?"

"Ruptured. He's bleeding out. He'll bleed to death if we don't remove it..." 

From then on Lene backed off and sat at the side of the room, leaning against the wall and holding Corey to her. There was no question of forcing the old dog out despite the danger of infection. They both watched in silence at the drama unfolding before their eyes.

After administering anaesthesia, Martha bared Egan's chest, shaved it and then sterilized a wide area. Lene held her breath when Dr. Doyle inserted the scalpel and began to cut with steady slice into Egan's flesh. Blood spurted out, far more than would have been expected for such a wound - Martha used a suction pump to draw it off and into a large bottle. This was the haemorrhage that had been caused by the burst spleen, blood pooling in the cavity and threatening to drown him in his own blood. Lene felt her head swim and her stomach turn over as the doctor peeled back the sides of skin and began to probe the interior. She swallowed hard and stuck her nails in her palm to stop herself from fainting.

Minutes later, the doctor removed a soft piece of tissue and dropped it into a dish, returning to the opening to check that the bleeding had stopped. Then he handed over to his wife who deftly sutured the wound. Lene had no idea how much time had passed but she could see the rise and fall of Egan's chest and knew that he was still breathing. He had made it thus far. They bandaged him and set up a blood transfusion

Calling Lene over, the three lifted Egan between them and moved him to the bed, where they dressed him in pyjamas and made him as comfortable as they could. "Up to him now, Lene. We've done what we can for now. Tomorrow I will deal with the rest but for now, we let him sleep and monitor him. If he wants to live, he will. You said the right thing before. He might be under but somewhere inside your words will be making an impact. Mark my words..."

He patted her fondly on the back and carried on attending to his patient. Martha drew her aside. "Let's get these wet clothes off you or we'll have another sick person on our hands." Leading her to a cubicle, she laid out a pile of dry clothes. "They're mine. They will swamp a little skinny thing like you, I know. But at least you'll be warm..."

Lene reached out her hand as Martha turned to leave and touched the older woman's arm. "Don't leave me. I don't want to be alone. You saved him. I saw you both save his life..."

Martha smiled as she helped Lene off with her wet clothes. "He's not out of the woods yet, Lene love. But you gave him something to live for. You said the right words. If anyone saves his life tonight, it will be you."

Lene stripped off and realised that she was not embarrassed in front of this woman whom she hardly knew. The past hours had brought them all close together as they had struggled to save her man. This was no time for false modesty.  "Don't blame my father for what he did, Mrs. Doyle. It wasn't his fault. If it was anyone's fault, it was my fault..." Lene began as she slipped on the baggy pants and thick jumper.

"I don't blame him. And I certainly don't blame you either. Your father behaved as all the men of these parts. The way Joe Egan might behave if he had a reason. They breed men hard in this region. They have to. The work is so hard. The life is so hard. To survive in these parts they have to live by their own law. But this lifestyle is an anachronism. Do you know the meaning of that word, Lene?"

Lene shook her head. 

"It means that they don't fit in with our modern world. Their way of life is dying out. But men like Joe Egan can't fit into the new society. So they withdraw from it. That's why he runs up to the mountains. That's why your father keeps to some old sort of code. They dispense their own law here. Egan knows it too."

"He didn't even defend himself. He just let them beat him to pulp."

"What could he do? He knows the way it works. And it was you he wanted. He didn't care about them.  Lene...I heard what he said. He loves you. And I think you love him too. A man like Joe Egan only gives his heart once. It isn't easy to break the reserves of a man like that. Give him a chance. He'll never let you down again."

Lene smiled sadly but did not offer her a reply. Martha accepted her silence without commenting further.

"I'll get off and catch a few hours' sleep. Donald will stay with him until the morning. You should get off home too..."

"I'm not leaving him!"

Martha nodded. "Then you try and get some sleep here. I'll bring you some breakfast later..."

Egan rallied through that night, although the fever had claimed him by morning. For the following three days, he slipped in and out of unconsciousness, rambling a wild stream of barely understood garble which revolved around a dead horse, Lene and the baby. But he said enough for those close to him to put together something of the torment on his mind. Lene learnt the story of the horse he had wanted so badly and had finally driven to its death. Clearly something in him had snapped after that; in some strange way he seemed to identify the horse with Lene.

Lene spent many hours gentling him as he raged on, wiping down his forehead with a cloth and trying to restrain him from ripping off the bedclothes and causing himself some damage. She carried out a number of intimate tasks for him over the days that followed: changing his bandages, washing him down, trimming his beard, even cleaning him when he soiled himself - which wasn't often for he had eaten and drunk so little for days. But she came to know his body in a way that she never had before, even in the times they had made love.

To Lene, she felt that Egan was her baby in a sense, just as Claire should have been. It might have pained her to see her former lover brought so low but in another way it was a labour of love to nurture him and have him all her own, even if just for a little while. His helplessness struck a chord in her, reached a part of her that nature had unleashed and that her handing over of her daughter to another woman had deprived her of. She surprised herself at how much she gained from the time she nursed him and wondered if perhaps she might consider changing her career - Dr.  Doyle and his wife said as much as they watched her gentle attention.

Each afternoon, Lene would return home to bathe and change and see Claire. No one asked her where she had been. Everyone in the town knew what had happened and the reports of Egan's injuries and his steady recovery were widely known. No doubt her family had also picked up on that. The local police sergeant, Ian Gilroy, had even called to both the house and the surgery, asking questions about what looked like a serious assault and might even be regarded as attempted murder, but nobody gave him any joy of his investigations. It was just an accident the night of the storm - no one was prepared to divulge anymore than that.

What could be gained from charging Bob Miller? How would that help Joe Egan?

Every day, Lene insisted on giving Claire her supper and bath and then singing her to sleep. The similarity to her days spent looking after Egan were not lost on her. But one question ran through her head all the time. What did she do now? How was she to resolve the crazy confusing mess that was her life?

When Claire dropped off, Lene would return to the Doyle's house (where Egan was now staying) and there, on a little cot by his bed, she would spend the night, listening to the sounds of his sleep: the muttered comments and the sighs as he tossed about.

The fever had finally broken and he had sunk into a dead slumber. For several days after that he had spent most of his time asleep, waking groggily, confused and making little sense. The women coaxed him into taking a little sustenance, some broth or bread soaked in and he would swallow a little before sinking back again into the sleep his body needed.

Corey rarely left his place as guardian of the bed. He was either at the foot of the bed ready to defend his feeble master should danger approach or lying by his side on the bed, Egan's good arm slung round him as the pair slept on unaware of how they looked to those who saw them. Two old friends. Corey would open an eye and growl a low warning even to Lene herself. Much as he trusted her, he was still unwilling to fully hand over the care of the man he loved to anyone - especially a human and one who was marked with the Miller scent.

Egan had lost weight and looked gaunt, large shadows framing his eyes even as the bruises began to reduce and fade and his face returned to its normal shape. Each day, the healing was more evident and she knew that his natural vigour would restore him back to full health eventually. And then what? Would he be taken from her again?

The stitches healed. The broken arm was set, the cracked ribs on the mend  - even the hideously swollen testicles which had worried Dr. Doyle who feared that the internal damage might be worse than he feared and Egan could suffer a clot or even a strangulated hernia, all proved unfounded. Egan was still sore and bruised but on the road to recovery nevertheless.

And one day, a week after that fateful stormy night, Egan opened his eyes and was alert for the first time since it had all happened. It was early one morning and Lene was asleep, still curled up on the cot at his side.

Egan watched her for a long time as his brain adjusted to his surroundings until some movement caused Lene to wake, too, and she found herself staring into his steady blue green gaze.

"Joe?"

"Lene?"

His voice was gruff with lack of use - Lene slipped out of bed to pour him some water and help him drink. "Gave us a shock there, Joe Egan!" she whispered as she stroked back his hair.

He smiled softly. "They did me over good and proper, hey, Lene?"

She nodded. "Do you remember it?"

He looked at the ceiling and thought for awhile. "Not much. I remember them starting on me. You were there. I heard you. Then it just goes blurry. Lots of vague pictures. Can't really explain them. How long I been out?"

"A week, off and on."

"Bloody hell!" he gasped out. "I thought I was going to die. I remember thinking: 'This is it, mate'. Wasn't even bothered. Reckon I deserved it."

"You didn't. No one deserves that. No one."

He nodded and closed his eyes. 

"Are you tired? Hungry?" Lene asked him.

"Actually I want to piss. Real bad." He tried to get out of bed but could not even throw back the covers. His broken arm surprised him, as did the shafts of pain that coursed through his body. He groaned. "Give us a hand, Lene. You got a bottle or something?"

Lene grabbed one and hurried over, pulling back the covers and going to untie the drawstrings of his pyjama trousers. He stopped her with his one good hand. "No, love, you don't have to do that..."

"It's okay. I've been looking after you since it happened. I'm not embarrassed!" She thought of the mornings she had coaxed him to urinate in his sleep by running the taps and holding his penis gently. She also thought of the times he had hardened in her hand, an instinctive response. Martha had observed it once and chuckled. "Not much wrong down there then..."

But Egan pushed her hand away this time and took the bottle from her. "Give a man a bit of privacy, Lene. I've got my pride, ya know?" His simple request saddened her. He knew how much of his pride he had sacrificed and yet still clung to the shreds of the man he had once been.  The man he would always be to her. Whatever she had seen. Joe Egan would always be that beautiful wild man who had ridden into town when she was just a girl and stolen her heart away.

Lene rose and went to the window, staring out at the road below as Egan struggled to manage the simple act on his own. She heard his grunts of pain and muttered profanities, the groan when he must have touched his still bruised testicles and then the trickle of water as he managed to relieve himself.  "Lene? You'll have to empty it. I'm sorry to ask you to do it..." he murmured when he was finished. She turned round; he was covered up again but finding it difficult to hold the container. That was sad. Joe Egan had always been so effortlessly strong and now he was weaker than a kitten. It brought a lump again to her throat.

She took the bottle from him and disposed of the contents, rinsed it out and washed her hands. Excusing herself she went downstairs and prepared him some breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, toast and tea and carried it up, with Corey bounding before her. The dog seemed to sense that something significant had happened today.

Placing down the tray on a table in the hallway, Lene opened up the door and in shot the dog. Egan shouted with pleasure when he saw his beloved Corey and by the time she had carried in his food, the dog was bouncing on the bed and barking like a mad thing

"Get off that bed! Martha will kill you!" Lene smiled. 

Egan grimaced as the dog's enthusiastic welcome caused him pain. "Mate!" he commanded in that tone of his and the dog responded, immediately jumping to the floor and sitting at attention as Egan accepted his breakfast, tossing down the bacon strips to the dog who pounced gratefully on them.

Lene fed him off a spoon and he let her, quiet and thoughtful now as she ladled in the fluffy golden egg and broke off bits of the soft toast. He was hungry and wolfed it all down; she knew that was the best sign of all.

"...The baby? Our baby? You gonna bring her to see me?" He suddenly asked.

Lene nodded. "You remembered that?"

"Sure. You said you would..."

"I did. And I will. Now you're on the mend. She's called Claire, by the way..."

"Claire?" He repeated the name softly, rolling it round his tongue. "She a little blondie like you?"

Lene blushed and giggled at his expression, a return to the confident charmer for just an instant. "Her hair's white blonde. She's so fair..."

Egan shook his head in quiet amazement. "Like Creamy? Well, I'll be damned..."

After his breakfast and a few cups of tea, he seemed tired again, falling off quite quickly but now into a natural sleep, breathing deep and snoring. Lene felt a buzz of happiness flood through her. He was fine. It was as if she could now allow herself to breathe for the first time in days. But no sooner had that feeling passed over her than despair struck again. The time for decisions was coming and Lene was still unsure of what she should do or of what Egan would want of her once he was restored to full health again. And then there was Claire...

From then on he progressed quickly, soon becoming a nuisance, complaining about having to lie in bed and insisting on doing things for himself. One afternoon when Lene was not around, Martha gave in and helped him downstairs to sit in her conservatory where she gave him his daily check up. She had had a good look at his dressings and insisted on examining the contusions in his groin. Egan let her ease down his pyjama pants and gently palpate the area while he looked on in annoyance. "You getting off on this, Martha? Seen enough off my bollocks yet?" he observed crudely. She slapped his arm playfully.

"At my age we take what we can get! Suppose you'd prefer that little girl of yours to be doing this? On second thoughts, don't answer that, mate..."

Egan grinned and lay back on the chair. "She'd need two hands if she touched me. There'd suddenly be more of me..." he teased.

Martha chuckled. "Has to be time to send you home when you're making rude jokes. You can be frisky somewhere else!"

He smiled and then looked pensive. Martha realized what would be on his mind. "Where are you going when we discharge you? You can't look after yourself just yet..."

"I'll manage," he said tersely, fastening up his pyjamas, annoyance evident in the way he pulled his lips sharply together.

"Your mother? You should go over to Glenrowan..."

"I said I'll manage."

"Lene's hands are tied. You can't go there to the Miller place..."

"You think I don't bloody know that?" he shouted and then winced at his words. "Look, I'm sorry and all, Martha, but it's none of your damn business. I've managed before and I'll manage again..."

"...If you married her then she could come with you..."

"What is this? You trying to run my bloody life for me? I'm not the marrying kind. And I doubt she'd have me anyway. Not with my track record..."

Martha picked up the discarded dressings and her bowl of water. "Then you're even more stupid than I thought you were. Maybe it's true. Men like you, their brains really are in their balls. Open your eyes, mate. Don't you let her slip through your fingers a second time..!"

"She's better off without me."

"And who decides that? You thought of asking her, Egan? She's got an opinion too, you know?"

With that she left him pondering her words as she chuckled to herself. She'd see these two wed or her name wasn't Martha Doyle.

A few hours later, Lene climbed down from the car and nodded to her mother. Joyce had said little when her daughter had announced her desire to take the little girl to see her father. The sour expression on her face was enough to make it absolutely clear how she felt. But she did not remonstrate with her daughter. Packing up a bag, she had even offered to drive her into town and to wait outside.

"Come in, Mum. You can't wait here."

"I've nothing to say to that bastard."

"Not even 'I'm sorry'? He could have died. You had no right, any of you, to treat him like that." Lene let Claire down gently until she found her feet and, holding her hand, she gave her mother the chance to change her mind. But Joyce just turned her head away.

Letting herself in at the Doyle house that had now become almost her second home, she walked towards the stairs with Claire toddling ahead.

"...He's out here, Lene. In the conservatory," Martha's voice called her back. "And he's driving me demented. Go and keep him company...ah, so this is the little one! What a beautiful child...! Hello, little Claire...! I know someone who's going to simply love you..." She led Lene and Claire through the house and into the conservatory with its view of the garden beyond. Egan was sitting with his back to her, dozing in the sunlight, Corey was lying across his feet.

Picking up Claire, Lene made her way across the floor to stand before him. As the light was cut out by the presence of intruders, both Egan and Corey woke. Egan's long eyelashes fluttered, his eyes opened- and then he saw the two of them

Claire had already noticed the dog and called out to it: "Doggie!" Lene saw Joe's eyes sparkle at the sight of her. 

"What have we got here? I think we got a visitor, Corey! Who's this, then?" he asked with a grin.

Claire heard his deep rumbling voice and looked up. She was a friendly child used to people, especially men, and had no fear of them. Reaching out her hands she leant forward towards him as if she wanted him to pick her up.

"Well, take her then! Claire...this is your Daddy..."

Egan stretched out his arms, clumsy from the cast on his right but he managed to pick her up and sit her on his lap. She scrabbled to a stand to look him in the face, fascinated by his beard and running her fingers through it. Lene saw him flinch as her feet stomped all over his injured groin. She went to take the child back but he shook his head. "Leave her be. No harm done..."

They chummed up straight away. Claire was lively and in a fine mood, chattering in her streams of baby talk while he sat there answering her softly, a dreamy look on his face as he watched her. After a while she wriggled to the floor and chatted to the dog who eyed her up suspiciously but a word of warning from Egan kept him from reacting.

"Lee- Lee, doggie! Woof!" Claire giggled.

"She call you Lee-Lee?" Egan asked surprised. "Why not Mum?"

"I'm not her Mum," Lene replied. "Mum and Dad put their names down when she was born. Legally she's their daughter. I'm just her big sister...."

Egan's eyes flashed with something indefinable. "So Bob Miller's got my daughter now, has he?"

"Leave it, Joe. Leave it! Don't start anything..."

"Who said I was going to start something?" Egan replied, facing her with that stubborn aggression already returning to his face.

"Joe, it's over between us! You know that, don't you? I brought her here because you have the right to meet her - but don't read too much into it. Mum and Dad have been good to me. They are her parents now. I've my life back. You are no longer part of it. Do you understand that?"

She knew she had to say it. It was for the best. Whatever she felt in her heart for this man, it could never work and Claire would be caught in a tug of war between the two sides. Egan was safe and would soon be back on his feet. She had paid her debt to him for her part in his beating. He had met Claire and she had kept her promise.

But this had to be the final act. She suddenly knew that she had to break it off here and now - for good. He must not think that she would allow things to slide back as once they were.

"I don't believe you, Lene. You been here day and night since it happened. You want me. I want you. Everything's different now...." he replied and pulled the little girl back on his knee. "We're a family. Bob Miller isn't calling the shots any more..."

"We are not a family! I came here today to say goodbye and to let you see your daughter. Just once. Before you go - out of our lives forever. You owe me that, Joe Egan. You owe me that much..."

Joe's face registered his disbelief at her rejection. He might have once thought she would be better off without him but her presence these past weeks had brought some clarity to him. He needed her and he thought that she had felt the same. But she was slipping through his fingers again. Just like Creamy, close enough to touch and then gone from his grasp.

"You gonna leave me like this - helpless?"

"Goodbye, Joe. Take care." She lifted her child from his arms and walked towards the door. The little girl looked over her mother's shoulder and waved. "Bye, bye... Daddy..."

Lene almost froze. Why had Claire called him Daddy? Had she remembered her introduction? Or was that just some instinctual understanding of who he really was?

Forcing herself not to look back, Lene hurried out of the room and through the house just as Martha was arriving with a tray of tea and cakes. "I'm sorry...we have to go..." was all Lene said before dashing for the front door and out again into the sunlight.

She opened the back door of the car and got in with the baby. Joyce turned around and saw the tears falling down her face. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Just go home."

"You all right, Lene?"

Lene lay her cheek against the cool glass of the side window as Claire settled back to play with a soft toy. "I'll be all right. One day."

It was a blow to Joe Egan but strangely one that seemed to have the obverse effect on him than other recent traumas. It fired him in a way that nothing had for a very long time. He felt a return to his other self, that hard laconic drover with a determination to win the prize. But this time, he was not fighting for a wild horse. This time the reward was his woman and their child.

But first he needed to regain his strength. After talking it over with Martha and Donald, Joe went back to his mother's place to recuperate. He found a warmer reception than he had anticipated. His mother might not be a talkative woman but she loved him in her own hard way - and what mother is able to resist her own flesh and blood when in need? There he stayed for much of the winter, helping her around the place and even telling her a little about Lene and his daughter, Claire.  His mother told him not to give up. Any woman would be proud to have him. That made Egan smile. He reckoned it was the first compliment she had ever given him in his life.

Once he was back in the saddle again, he rode around daily, building up his stamina. He walked the foothills, swam in the icy streams, lifted weights that he had put together himself, until he felt again the strength return to his body and knew he was ready.

Then he took to watching the Miller place from the cover of the trees and woodland surrounding their property, observed when they came and went, saw Lene driving into work and out and about with his daughter, got to know the routines of the family. The more he watched his girl - he still thought of her as that- the more he fell in love with her. She was beautiful and fearless, confident and strong, his brave Lene who had faced him and walked away, her head held high. But she was wrong about him and about herself, too. A man and woman belonged together - whatever the odds. He would make it work. He would take his family and make them his own.

One spring Sunday, the first real fine weather of the coming season, Egan noticed the family leaving for what he guessed was a day out in the hills. They packed a picnic hamper and rugs and drove up towards the lake. He followed them on his horse, able to keep up with them by taking the faster forest route, unhampered by the winding roads and traffic. When he made it to just above where they were, he hid in the trees, let them settle and made his plan.

Egan had brought Golden with him, saddled up ready. He also had a pack horse loaded with provisions. Tethering this horse, he rode along the edge of the tree cover until he was in easy reach of the family who were lying in the sun. Bob Miller was lighting a fire for a barbecue, as other families were doing round about. The two younger brothers were splashing in the water and Joyce Miller was wading in with the little girl, holding her over the water while she dabbled her feet. Lene was lying reading a book.

Stepping forward, he moved the two horsesforward until he was in shouting distance. "Lene! I've come for you."

At the sound of his deep voice, Lene startled and jumped to her feet. There he was, pretty much as she had first seen him, the day he had ridden past Josie's house and the two young girls had drooled over him. He looked so well, back to his sturdy self, his hair glossy and his beard neat, dressed simply as ever but his clothes marking him out as a virile man. He took her breath away as he sat there leaning on the saddle, smiling. The ache for him that never quite disappeared, that she had sustained through many lonely nights was stoked up again into a passion. Heat stole along her cheeks and down her throat. She felt her body respond to his presence in the way her nipples throbbed and the loose wet gush between her legs.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, Egan, ya bastard? Thought you'd had enough last time..." Bob Miller's voice cut into her dream.

"Come for what's mine. Lene. The baby."

"She doesn't want you. Bugger off..."

"Ask Lene. You want me, Lene? I'm offering. Marry me, Lene. I should have done it years ago. I love you. I want you. I need you...."

"She's not listening to your fancy talk...."

Lene stepped away and picked up the tiny child's shoes and socks her mother had discarded on the rug. Then she helped herself to her daughter's woolen cardigan. With these in her hands she walked over to where her mother stood transfixed, holding the child to her in horror. Joyce Miller had no doubts that she knew what was coming next. Ever since Lene had walked away from this man, she had observed her daughter and seen her unhappiness. It came as no surprise to her that, given the chance, she would rue her earlier decision and make a bid for what she really wanted.

"I'm sorry, Mum. I really am. But she's not your daughter. She's our daughter. I'm going with him, Mum. This time I'm going to give him a chance. He's won the right..."

Joyce let her granddaughter go with a dry sob. She knew she'd lost them both. Bob ran forward as if to stop her; Egan moved, ready to intervene.

"I'm going with him, Dad. You can't stop us. It's too late for that. Let me go. Please, Dad...just let me go...."

Miller was a man who knew when he was beaten. With his shoulders drooping, he took a step back and Lene walked over to Egan. Handing him the little girl, she mounted the second horse and then he handed the child back to her. Throughout it all his face remained impassive, giving no sign that he was affected by the distress of the other couple. Then he tipped his hat and turned his horse, leading Golden behind. Lene looked back and saw her mother crying helplessly and her father stumbling over to her; they held each other up. That is what I want in life, thought Lene. Egan and I holding each other up in the bad times.

Because she knew without a doubt that one day they would come.

It was too late in the day to go up to the High Country so they went over  to the  Doyle's place and threw themselves on their mercy for the night. Martha tutted and Donald raised his eyebrows but they opened their door and let the couple in. "You sleep in separate rooms, you got that? No monkey business in my house, Joe Egan," Martha warned and he grinned sheepishly. He had his old room while Lene and the baby were settled down in the tiny spare room.

Lene heard a knock on the door as she knelt on the floor humming to the little girl unsettled in the unfamiliar cot. The door opened and in walked Egan standing in the light from the hallway. "Come in...help me settle her," Lene said.

He closed the door and the room was reduced again to the dark cocoon. Over by the cot, he stood above them both, staring down. The little girl, disturbed by the light and noise, pulled herself onto her feet and began to reach for him. He bent and picked her up, holding her against his shoulder, running his large calloused palm over the soft fluffy white locks and the small delicate head. Claire clapped her hands on his face and chuckled to herself, her little fingers exploring. He brought his head to hers and kissed the soft peachy down of her pale skin. She shivered at the sensation of his beard and laughed.

"We'll never get her off now!" Lene smiled.

"Ah, she'll drop soon enough..." and he carried the little girl about the darkened room, whispering softly to her, telling her about the brumbies up the mountain and how he would show it all to her. His deep hypnotic voice was like a soporific; even Lene felt herself drifting away at the sound of it, low and rumbling.

Claire fell asleep, her head nodding on her father's broad shoulder. Lene lifted her off and rested her down gently in the cot where she covered her over and they watched her sleep. Egan slipped his arm about her waist and pulled her against him; she let her body meld into his, as lulled by his quiet strength as her daughter had been. They still had many problems to face but Lene knew that here in the shelter of his arms was the foundation that she needed for the future - and she suspected that for him, too, she had become the anchor who was grounding his life that had threatened to spin off into madness.

He nuzzled against her ear, whispering: "No monkey business...that's what Martha said..."

Lene turned and ran her hands over his shoulders, reveling in the brawny muscle beneath her small palms. "And you think she meant it? She was probably just reminding us what we ought to be doing tonight. You going to go all saintly on me now, Joe Egan? Remember, I like you bad...."

His lips spread into a wide grin and his eyes dancing with that devilish charm she had so loved when he had first danced with her. "You making up to me, Lene Miller? You better know what you're doing..." His fingers pulled her hair out of the neat plait she had been wearing and untangled her locks to fall over her shoulders in the golden cloud he loved so much.

She silenced him with a kiss, standing on her tiptoes; he bent down and raised her up in his arms to hold her close and swing her round as their lips met tenderly. Gently placing her down again, he tilted up her chin and murmured against her mouth: "I missed you, little girl..."

"Oh, Joe, I missed you so much!"

With that he kissed her again, his tongue flickering sensuously across the seam of her parted lips to slide inside and play with hers. The sexual signal removed every last trace of awkwardness between them. It was too late for pretending. This man and woman were desperate in their need for the most elemental of acts between them. Nature must out.

He broke away, panting, eyes dark with lust and groaning at the force it took him to part from her. "Got to be careful. Don't want to knock you up again..."

Lene smiled at his crude expression in this moment of tenderness. It was typical of his style of direct talking. "You planned all this so carefully and never even thought to buy a box of rubbers?" she teased, tickling the soft hair of his neat beard, her eyes dancing.

Egan looked momentarily embarrassed. "Wasn't sure you'd be up for it, so soon. Seemed like I shouldn't push you..."

Again his comment amused Lene. "Joe Egan - shame on you! You are turning into a boring old fella! Where's the bloke who tried to take of advantage of a sweet innocent girl on their first date? And I'm not that anymore. I'm a woman, now, Joe, and I know what I want. I want you. Inside me. But be careful....do what you have to do, hey?"

He nodded and let his fingers trail along her cheek and down her throat, undoing the buttons of her pretty sundress and then slipping it from her shoulders. She was wearing a pert little bra and pants in white cotton with a pale pink rose motif. She still seemed pure and virginal to him; he reckoned that she always would.

Lene's fingers moved to undo his shirt and shrug it off his wide shoulders. He toed off his boots. Her hands strayed to the buttons of his fly and she looked up and met his eyes. "Not gonna stop me this time, Joe? Thought a man had his pride?" her voice was a seductive whisper, honey sweet and low.

His reply was gruff and deep, a voice laced with male desire, his fingers fondling the curve of her breast as he answered. "Oh, you're gonna see my pride. Just see what I've got for you, girl..."

She pushed the rough fabric from him and he stepped away, pulling off his underwear and standing naked before her. His body was back to its magnificent self, lightly haired and golden, the scars only serving to make him seem more virile to her now. His cock was hard and upright, no sign now of the brutal marks of the assault on him. She marveled at the amazing strength of the human body - and its spirit too.

Lene unfastened the clasps of her bra and then slipped off her panties. Together they stood in a patch of moonlight, silver light washing them both. Her body looked like ivory. His looked like burnished metal. "Jesus, Lene. You look like a fairy queen. To think I chased that silver devil all over the mountain when I should have been following my silver girl. What kind of fool was I?" His eyes reflected the deep emotion of his words; he was overcome, close to tears and nervous now the moment had come.

Lene stepped closer, running her fingers over his chest, playing with the hair of his chest and then trailing her fingers down to tangle in the thicker scruff below his waist and on down to the coarse thatch of golden brown hair that surrounded his cock. He pulled her against him and rubbed gently against her lower belly, caressing with the damp tip of his penis the softer fairer curls between her legs. "You and me, Lene. Rock and meadow. Hard and soft."

"Man and woman..." she stroked his engorged cock and he shivered with need and desire, trapping it between them as he reached to kiss her again and hold her even closer, her naked buttocks clasped in his rough hands.

They fell to the little single bed and he covered her with his large body as she opened for him, her legs parting and welcoming him in. He slipped down to the floor, to kneel before her, worshipping her, his lips finding every sweet place on her body, rubbing his beard, his nose, his cheek against her, unable to contain his desire to taste and touch and love this woman who was now the talisman that he clung to for his life.

He felt her rise to pleasure, intensified his ministrations on the soft fragrant flesh between her thighs, remembered that this is where his little girl came from and imagined the night she was born, lying down by her side as she laboured and gentling her as he had once gentled a little white filly. His eyes filled at the thought of what he had missed. But no more. He would never lose sight again of what was truly important in life.

As Lene cried his name softly, he gave her his hand to bite to stifle the noise of their passion and then slipped carefully inside her warm wet sheath, still fluttering around him from the orgasm she had just ridden. He closed his eyes and felt the swimming sensation as he thrust deeper and deeper inside, as she held him tight and in that instant he saw the canyon and dived into her. Images from his life passed through his mind as he delved her sweetness and fell further and further. When he knew he could tempt himself no longer, he pulled back, shaking with the effort of withdrawal and almost immediately the friction of that abrupt halt sent him into the shuddering release. His seed pumped out onto her smooth white belly and she held him as he trembled.

Somehow they rolled together on the tiny bed, locked so close they still felt like one person. "When we're up there..." he whispered, pointing to the mountains framed through the open curtain. "There's nobody to hear us. Just the mountains. We'll be just another wild cry in the moonlight..."

Lene snuggled close and dreamed of the future. She was going up the mountain for the summer with Joe Egan and their baby. She was leaving her life and job and family behind to embark on a wild ride with this earthy and difficult man who had stolen her heart away.

She could not wait for tomorrow.

The next morning, they rose early, scarcely past dawn and while Egan tended to the horses, Lene attempted to get Claire ready. "What about your clothes?" Martha had said. "You and the baby only have what you're standing in!"

Lene shrugged. "Egan says he'll pick a few things up at the store when he's down next. I'll manage."

"On one set of clothes? I don't think so. Go home and pack. They won't stop you now. Go alone, Lene. Leave him with the baby and go back. Make your peace. In the end it will be better for all of you."

Following that sensible advice from a wise woman, Lene rode back home a few hours later, Egan and Claire watching from the trees a distance away. Her father stepped out of the barn and stood impassive, watching his only daughter as she rode in framed by sunlight, her long hair whipping around her face. He could see that she was different already. She had lain with a man last night and her languid carriage seemed to sing out her newfound happiness. For the first time Bob Miller saw his daughter as a woman and the part of him that was male could not help but smile. She was bloody gorgeous and what red blooded man wouldn't want to make her his? It was the way of the world.

Joyce came out to join him; he slipped his arm around her neck and held her close. 

"I came for our things. We're going up the mountain for the summer..."

"It's a hard life up there, Lene..."

"Harder still down here without him..."

Bob nodded. "What you planning to do? He got any ideas?"

Lene hunched her shoulders. "We got plans. The whole summer to think about it. We'll be back in the autumn. Then we'll sort things out. But for now, we need to be together. The three of us. Alone. A family."

"How's Claire? Is she missing us?" Joyce asked, tears cracking the edge of her voice; her husband held her tighter.

"She's well. Talks about you. But she calls him Daddy. She knows already...I couldn't have managed without you. You're the best Mum and Dad in the world. But I have my own life to live. My own mistakes to make. Can you understand that?"

"Oh...Lene...." Joyce ran forward and Lene slithered down from the horse and into her mother's arms. 

"We will be back. And we will get married. And have more babies. And one day you might even be glad for a son-in-law like Joe Egan..."

Joyce smoothed back a strand of her daughter's hair. "I already am. In some crazy way, I know there'll be no better man at defending his family. But, he will never be an easy man to live with. Men like him never are...."

"I know. I lived with Bob Miller all my life, Mum!"

Joyce began to laugh through the shining mist of tears. "Go with him, Lene. Look after that little girl. And make sure you don't come back with another baby in your belly. I want to see you walk down that aisle like a virgin, you hear me?"

Lene grinned, hugged her father and the three of them walked into the house to prepare the pack. At the door, Lene looked back and saw on the hill, the glint of metal reflecting off Egan's belt. He was sitting there on the hillside, Claire on his lap, Corey at his heels, watching Lene and her parents.

Lene knew he would keep up that quiet vigil for the rest of their lives.