He narrowed his eyes on the obvious answer. Never trust strange men. Of course. So Bridget Smith was a cautious girl, even on a night like tonight. Well, he’d go along with it if it made her feel safer…
‘But hang on!’ Bridget stopped looking guilty. ‘The friends I was staying with—they’ll probably worry and try to ring me. They wanted me to stay overnight, but I’ve got an early start tomorrow so…’ She looked rueful. ‘They might alert someone when they can’t get me.’
‘OK.’ He shrugged and got to his knees. ‘I’m going out to reconnoitre. If the water’s still rising we may have to move again.’
The water was still rising, but not quite as fast.
‘I think we can relax for a bit,’ he said as he crawled back into the cave. ‘The fact that it’s not rising so fast may mean it’s going to start falling soon.’
Bridget heaved a relieved sigh, but her relief was to be short-lived because there was an almighty crack of sound and something—a tree, they realised moments later—fell down the hillside from above, blocking the entrance to the cave.
She turned convulsively to Adam, her eyes wide and dark with fear. ‘We’re trapped,’ she whispered.
‘Trapped? Me?’ he replied with a ghost of a smile. ‘Don’t you believe it, Mrs Smith.’
‘But all you have is a small axe and a knife!’ she objected.
‘You’d be amazed at what I can do with ’em.’
‘Are you—are you an axeman?’ Bridget asked. ‘Like those wood-chopping men you see at country shows?’
For some reason this question seemed to take him by surprise. Then his wide-eyed look was replaced by one of ironic amusement, and he responded with a question of his own. ‘Do I look like one?’
‘Not really. You look like—well, you could be anything.’ She smiled anxiously. ‘I didn’t mean to be of-fensive—I think I’ll just shut up.’
‘Might be a good idea to save our breath,’ he murmured, ‘for what lies ahead. But, really, you have no need to worry about me. Nor would Mr Smith.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, but there was a question mark in those green eyes. As if she suspected she was being teased.
He waited for her to retaliate, but she dropped her lashes suddenly and folded her hands primly in her lap.
He was tempted to laugh, but reminded himself in time that, despite his assurance to the contrary, they were actually trapped in a cave by a tree at the moment.
An hour later they were free.
An hour during which Adam had used a combination of pure strength, some chopping, some manipulation with his rope, some propping with rocks and the sturdy axe to move the tree.
‘I don’t know how you did it!’ Bridget gasped as the tree rolled away. ‘You’re actually amazing!’
‘Leverage,’ he replied, ‘is what’s amazing. One should always have a good understanding of levers and leverage.’
‘I’ll certainly put that on my list of things to learn—oh!’ He’d swung the torch over the view from the mouth of the cave, and it wasn’t a reassuring sight.
‘Yes,’ he agreed grimly. ‘The water’s still rising. OK, Bridget, we need to get out and up as fast as we can. Put the rope around your waist. That way we’ll stay together. I’ll go first. Ready?’
She nodded.
The next interlude, and Bridget had no idea how long it took, was sheer torture. The land above the cave rose steeply and was strewn with rocks. It was also slippery, but she followed Adam up the hillside doggedly, although at times it was a one step forward, two steps back kind of progress.
At one point she had to stop because of a burning stitch in her side, and she fell over once. Only the rope stopped her from cartwheeling down the incline.
Fortunately they were level with each other, and she caught sight out of the corner of her eye, during the regular sweep of his torch, of a rock he didn’t see. A rock that looked to be teetering dangerously, directly above them. With a high-pitched yell, she cannoned into him, catching him off-balance and pushing him with all her might. They rolled away only inches from where the rock passed on its deadly way down the hillside.
Just as she felt she could go no further, they reached some flat ground, a grassy little plateau, and another sweep of the torch revealed a shed below the hillside, at the far end of it.
‘Oh, thank heavens,’ she breathed, but sank to her knees in utter exhaustion. ‘I just need—a—little break, though. Not long,’ she assured her companion, her voice coming in great gasps.
He came to stand over her and shone the torch down on her. She couldn’t read his expression. She couldn’t actually think straight, she just did as she was told.
‘You hold this,’ he said, and gave her the torch. She took it, and was completely unprepared to be hoisted to her feet and then up into his arms.
‘But—but—what are you doing?’ she stammered as he started to walk. ‘I really—’
‘Shut up, Mrs Smith,’ he recommended. ‘You’ve actually been rather amazing yourself, and you probably saved my life. It’s the least I can do. Would you mind directing the torchlight forward?’
Bridget hastily repositioned the torch so he could see where he was going, and unwittingly began to relax. More than that, she had to admit to herself that it was heaven. His arms felt amazingly strong; she felt amazingly safe. And she had seriously to doubt she could have covered the remaining ground on her own two feet, because she felt as weak as a kitten.
They reached the shed.
‘It’s locked,’ he said as he put her down. ‘But on a night like tonight, and since we’re not here to rob anyone, I don’t suppose they’d mind if we do this.’ And with a single stroke of the axe, pulled from his belt, he broke the padlock.
‘Yes, well.’ Bridget blinked a little dazedly. ‘You’re probably right. And we can always replace things.’
He looked down at her with a faint smile. ‘We can, indeed. After you, ma’am.’
Bridget shuffled into the shed and made a sound of heartfelt approval at what she saw. In fact she discovered herself to be feeling a lot less sandbagged as she looked around.
It was an old shed, and didn’t look particularly solid, but there were bales of straw stacked high against one wall, a double bed against another. There were some paraffin lamps, hanging on hooks, a kettle and a primus stove, some chipped mugs and a tea caddy standing on an upturned tea chest. There were racks of neatly sorted horse gear: headstalls, bridles, saddles and brushes. Three old thin towels hung on a railing, along with two light horse rugs.
There was also a wood-burning stove, with a chimney going through the roof. It was packed with paper and billets of wood.
‘Glory be,’ Adam remarked. He raised his voice against the drumming of rain on the tin roof. ‘In these conditions you could call this place the Numinbah Hilton.’
Bridget chuckled. Then she sobered. ‘Those children—’ she began.
‘Bridget.’ He turned to look down at her. ‘We did our best. It’s a small miracle we weren’t drowned in the process. They will be fine, riding it out somehow. Just hold onto that thought.’
‘But I was wondering—there must be a road to here, and maybe we could go for help.’
‘I