AT TEN past six the next morning, dressed in running shorts and an oversized T-shirt, Nicola stepped out of the French windows of her generously proportioned bedroom and onto the veranda. She blinked in the morning sun.

Ten past six? She bit back a whimper. She’d never been a morning person.

Ten past six and it was already getting hellishly warm. It might even be too hot for a run and—

Stop that!

She lifted her chin. She would not sabotage herself before she’d even begun.

Puffing out a breath, she stretched to one side and then the other. She tried to touch her toes. She was here to change. She needed to change. She would change!

She’d exercise if it killed her. She would return to Melbourne better and brighter and smarter.

She gritted her teeth and stretched harder. She’d keep getting up at six a.m. if it killed her too. It gave her a good hour before she needed to make sure her young charges were up and at breakfast, and before the heat of the day settled over the place like a suffocating blanket.

At the thought of Ella and Holly, she couldn’t help but smile. The two little girls were delightful. While they might’ve presented her with the biggest flaw in her maintain-a-dignified-distance plan, she didn’t regret amending that plan to not include them.

Children didn’t pretend to be your friend and then tear the heart out of your chest with treachery and double-dealing.

The bitterness of that thought took her off guard. She brushed a hand across her eyes and straightened. Diane and Brad hadn’t meant to fall in love with each other. They hadn’t meant to hurt her. For heaven’s sake, it had all happened three months ago!

She scraped the hair off her face and pulled it back into a ponytail, concentrating on her breathing until the ache in her chest started to subside.

A lot of people who come out here are running away …

She wasn’t running away. It was just …

Seeing Brad and Diane together had become harder, not easier and she didn’t know why. She only knew she couldn’t spend this Christmas in Melbourne while continuing to maintain her sympathetic, understanding and oh-so-mature façade. She wasn’t up to indulging in the usual jolly Christmas with her friends this year. She was out of jolly.

But she’d find it again. Somehow.

She adjusted her cap as Sammy, Ella and Holly’s eight-month-old Border collie pup, came skidding around the side of the house to race up to her, full of excitement and delight at the sight of her. Children and dogs were the flaw in her plan. He rolled onto his back and she obligingly rubbed his tummy.

‘You want to come for a run, Sammy?’ She straightened and set off down the back steps. He scurried after her. ‘Perhaps you can give me some pointers—’ she sighed ‘—because I don’t think I have ever been for a run in my life.’

He cocked his head to one side and watched her when she halted and planted her hands on her hips. ‘Okay, Sammy, here’s the plan. We’ll jog to the perimeter fence—’ she pointed ‘—and then around to that point there.’ She indicated a second spot. Both spots were well away from outbuildings and cattle yards. ‘Then we’ll make our way back to the homestead.’

Nicola Ann, tell me you are not talking to a dog.

Nicola gritted her teeth and ignored her mother’s imaginary voice.

At least you’re finally going to exercise.

That almost made her turn back.

Sammy jumped up to rest his front paws against her thighs. She patted him. ‘You don’t care if I’m fat or frumpy, do you, Sammy?’ It was one of the reasons she loved dogs … and children. Sammy wagged his tail and it gave her an absurd kind of comfort. ‘Okay, then.’ She hauled in a less-than-enthusiastic breath. ‘Tally-ho.’

She started to jog. Her brand new sports bra was supportive, but not quite as supportive as she’d hoped. Maybe she needed to adjust the straps again. Though, if she tightened them any further she’d cut off the circulation altogether. The bra started to scratch and irritate the sides of her breasts. It hadn’t done that in the fitting room. ‘No pain, no gain,’ she muttered to Sammy. She’d bought an identical sports bra in a size smaller for Month Two when she’d lost some weight. Both bras had been horrendously expensive. When she’d paid for them she’d told herself the expense would provide her with an added incentive to exercise. She’d thought the expense would translate into comfort too. She’d been wrong about that.

By the time she and Sammy reached the fence she was gasping for air. She sagged against a fence post. It took a concerted effort not to sink to the ground. Oh God! She glanced at her watch.

Three minutes?

No!

She shook the watch. She held it to her ear. It ticked away in perfect working order. She swallowed. ‘Okay, Sammy, amended plan,’ she panted. ‘We jog for three minutes, then walk for three minutes.’

She set off again, fighting doubts and discouragement. She’d known this would take time. It wasn’t possible to undo a lifetime of couch-potato-ness in just one day. Besides, she had a lot of chocolate sultanas to shift from her hips and thighs.

To distract herself from bursting lungs and legs that had started to burn, she forced herself to gaze at her surroundings. The quality of the light would’ve stolen her breath if she’d had any to spare. The clear blue of the sky and the sun low in the sky behind her outlined everything in perfect clarity. It enchanted her, even as half her attention had to remain on the path she took to avoid tussocks of grass and rocks that had definite ankle-turning potential.

She glanced at her watch and sighed. ‘Time to jog again, Sammy.’

They set off at a jog, slower this time, and when her lungs started to burn again she reminded herself how much her new trainers had cost—four times what she’d paid for the bras. She was going to get her money’s worth out of them. She could keep running for another—she glanced at her watch—one and three quarter minutes. She glanced down at her feet to admire the way the red dirt had already tarnished the brand-new perfection of her trainers when Sammy chose that moment to leap in front of her in pursuit of a grasshopper. It happened too quickly for her to avoid contact with him, to dance out of the way, to regain her balance or for anything except a full-frontal plough on her stomach through red dirt. When she came to a halt she blinked and spat out the grit that had found its way into her mouth.

Very elegant, Nicola.

True. But she took a few seconds to savour the sweet stillness of her body until Sammy, distracted from his prey by her fall, chose that moment to plaster wet licks all across her face.

‘Sammy, heel!’

Sammy immediately obeyed as a shadow fell across her.

Oh, God! Cade. With a groan she rolled over and sat up. Why did her most undignified and humiliating moments have to occur in full public view?

‘Are you hurt?’

‘No.’

He turned and waved some signal and that was when she saw another two men—workers of Cade’s, she supposed—standing outside the barn. They returned to work. The realisation that so many people had witnessed her pathetic attempt at fitness, not to mention her clumsiness, made her cheeks burn and her hands clench.

‘C’mon.’ Cade held a hand out to her.

Scowling at him and telling him to go away obviously wasn’t an option, so she put her hand in his and let him haul her to her feet. He hitched his head in the direction of the homestead and didn’t release her until she nodded her agreement.

Wiping the dirt from her face and the front of her T-shirt … and her shorts and her knees, she managed to avoid his eye. ‘You don’t need to escort me back.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

His voice shook with laughter. She closed her eyes, more heat scorching her cheeks. She wasn’t sure what was worse—him being aware of her utter mortification or him thinking her cheeks were this red from such a pitiful amount of exercise.