Michael was wheeling the quadrunner out of the shed when Jemimah joined him. He glanced up at her and, obviously taking in the change of outfit, commented lightly, "You look the business now."

She felt self-conscious appearing yet again in clothes that weren't her own. Compared to the carefully cut dresses and tailored skirts she felt most herself in, the borrowed too-big jeans bloused out from the belt cinching them in at the waist, and the faded chambray shirt over a plain white t-shirt made her feel like she was pretending to be someone else altogether.

At the present moment though, Jemimah thought ruefully, it would be a relief to be anyone but herself.

After Michael had gone outside she had been determined not to continue dwelling on the misery that engulfed her, but it made her hurt inside every time she looked at Michael's bruised face.

She'd promised Nan she'd try to forget everything and just enjoy herself, but now alone with Michael again she couldn't stop herself from apologising to him for the question his dad had asked her.

"Honestly, don't give it a thought, Jemimah," Michael brushed it off as if it were of no consequence whatsoever, and bent his head down as he untied the straps that held a bulky translucent tank of green coloured liquid onto the metal rack on the back of the bike. "It was the right thing to do, to give you an opportunity to speak without me there. At heart Dad's a rational man, facts and evidence are always a lot more powerful than feelings to him. And after what he'd witnessed, you can understand that he couldn't just brush it away without anything more than just taking my word for it."

"But it hurt you," she blurted out, and regretted it instantly.

Michael looked up sharply, as though caught by surprise, and seemed to take measure of her before answering with a nod. "Yes. A little." He shrugged, as though he could simply shrug off the hurt, too. "But it was my thoughtlessness that caused all of this - and put you through so much - I've got no cause to complain. I can respect where Dad’s coming from. And despite all this, I’m pretty sure he still respects me."

"Yes, he does. Truly. After you left, he'd told me he'd been ninety-nine per cent convinced before talking to me on my own but just needed that confirmation."

Her words brought a rush of colour to his uninjured cheek, and he turned to face her, smiling.

"Thanks, Jemimah. That's . . . well, what you've just said, it's nice to hear. Thank you."

A little awkwardly, he looked away and hoisted the container down from the back of the bike. "Jemimah, you know, I still feel like apologising to you a thousand more times - and I do hope you know how very sorry I am - but we promised Nan to put it all behind us. Are you okay with that?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do too. I mean, I feel like keeping apologising. But that's only going to keep bringing it up for you, too." She knew she'd never, ever be able to stop thinking about the hurt she'd caused them all but for Michael's sake she could pretend. "What is that verse? Forgetting what is behind and straining on to what is ahead?"

"Good girl - that's it." He flashed her an approving smile then turned back to the quad. Putting both hands on the handlebars he pushed the bike back and forth vigorously, the sound of liquid sloshing deep inside it.

"Plenty of petrol," he explained, and picked up the container he'd placed on the ground. "Won't be a moment."

He headed for the shed and Jemimah stepped closer to look at the printed warning symbols she'd just noticed on the back of the quadrunner between the seat and the rack the bulky tank had been sitting on. A picture of two people riding the bike was stamped with a prohibitory circle and slash through it and beside it was the symbol of a skull and cross bones. Clearly lettered beneath this ominous warning were the words "Second passenger not OK". She was still staring at in concern when Michael returned.

Following her gaze, he winked and placed a folded picnic rug over the warning notices and patted it invitingly. "All fixed. This is your seat."

When she hesitated, he added, "There's nothing to worry about - I've doubled Angie and Gabi hundreds of times. Have you been on a motorbike before?"

"No. And I’ve got no idea what to do."

"It's simple." Despite everything that had happened that morning, his warm smile still made her feel like she was melting on the inside. "Just hold on tight, and keep your mouth shut!"

The less than chivalrous expression - one she'd have far more expected from Jack Hart than Michael Turnbull - caught her by surprise, but Michael had already climbed onto the bike and started the motor. As soon as the engine was running smoothly, he turned around and held out his hand.

"Come on, I promise you'll enjoy this!" he yelled over the noise of the motor.

Cautiously Jemimah climbed on the back of the quad but with her feet dangling in midair and not wanting to get too close to Michael, she felt anything but secure.

He turned round and pointed down towards her feet. "Brace your feet against the mudguards, here. And put your arms around my waist. When you've had a bit more practice you can hold on to the rack behind you, but to start with I think you’re safer holding on to me."

Glad he couldn't see the heat rushing up into her face, Jemimah hesitantly slipped her arms around his firm waist. The unanticipated intimacy overwhelmed her, and she closed her eyes, almost unable to bear the maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Overlaying the misery of the disastrous morning, and the thrilling dream-come-true sensation of being so very close to Michael, was the guilt that he was in complete ignorance that she felt that way about him. It was like taking advantage of his good nature - she was certain he would never have offered this expedition if he had any idea.

That he didn't have any idea of her foolish crush, she was sure - he was so casual about the whole quadrunner thing and hadn't he just said how he'd done this with his younger sisters countless times? And the way he’d called her a ‘good girl’ when she’d remembered that scripture -- wouldn’t that be just the way he’d respond to one of his young students? Michael clearly considered her as another little sister, and undoubtedly a very troublesome one indeed.

"You ready?" he checked, before starting off at a slow pace.

Jemimah’s eyes snapped open, the movement of the quad bringing her sharply back to reality. Despite her misgivings, she clutched Michael tighter when he gradually increased the speed as they moved along the gravel drive.

"Okay, we're going cross country now," he warned, and he swung the bike off the gravel and into the paddock. The long grass brushed against their thighs as they whipped through the field.

At first the faster speed scared Jemimah, worried that there might be rocks or logs hidden beneath the grass. Soon she realised that Michael was following a fairly smooth, though well covered track and she began to relax and enjoy the experience.

The grass parted around them like the sea around a boat, then closed tightly behind them again leaving the long stems of grass vibrating in their wake. Michael must have noticed that she no longer clung on so desperately, and took the bike up to its top speed.

The sun beat strongly from its apex above, but the speed of the bike created a cooling breeze. Jemimah's hair streamed behind her, the warm breeze tugging at her open overshirt.

The utter exhilaration of this new experience filled all of Jemimah's senses, absorbed all her consciousness and set her momentarily free from her woes. This was the closest she had ever felt to flying - the endless blue sky only an arm’s reach above, and the undulating drifts of pasture waving beneath her.

Straight ahead of them, two birds suddenly flew up from the grass, screeching loudly. As they rose they flew straight towards the bike, veering sharply upwards only at the last moment.

Jemimah involuntarily whooped with relief at the near miss and deeply inhaled the warm, grass scented air. Right as she did so, a swarm of tiny insects hit her face. She spluttered and choked as they filled her mouth and hit the back of her throat.

Michael stopped the bike instantly and leapt off.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," she answered, with raspy voice and watery eyes, "I think I've swallowed them all now."

Michael smiled sympathetically. "I did warn you to keep your mouth shut."

"Oh, I see!" Jemimah laughed, understanding finally dawning. "I didn't realise that you meant it literally - I thought you just meant to hold on and keep quiet."

"Jemimah!" he looked shocked. "You should know I'd never say anything like that to you. Anyway, apart from inhaling the wildlife, how are you enjoying the ride?"

"It’s fantastic! Thank you so much - I'm sorry to have made you stop. I'm ready when you are."

"Good - and if you're having fun I'll take the long way round, okay?"

They headed off again, and soon Jemimah was back under the joyous enchantment of the novel experience. Only a few short months ago, in her quiet and predictable suburban life, this type of adventure would have been inconceivable - yet right now it felt like the most natural thing in the world, flying across endless fields with Michael Turnbull.

It was impossible to stop thinking about how incredibly much she admired him -- despite the horrible situation she’d pitched him into before lunch, he remained toward her the friendliest and most thoughtful man she had ever met. Even though she had no illusions of the nature of his intentions toward her, she couldn't help but bask in the glow of his undivided attention -- tempered as it was by the niggling guilt over the undeserved privilege of this time with him.

All too soon, they were slowing for a gate, and Jemimah quickly hopped off to open it for him to pass through into the neighbouring paddock, and then closed it again.

"Thanks, mate," he teased, as she climbed back on behind him, "I see you've been taught well! You'll impress everyone if you know the country etiquette of opening gates for the driver."

Michael was riding much more slowly now, and they were moving parallel to a windbreak of bushy pines. As they passed through a break in the pines, Jemimah caught her first glimpse of the expansive ostrich enclosures.

Huge dusty yards were enclosed within seven foot high mesh, and within them strutted dozens of giant birds. Michael stopped the quad bike beside the fence, and led the way to a gate but, remembering some long-ago learned fact concerning the deadly power of an ostrich's kick, Jemimah hesitated to follow him inside. When she saw he wasn't entering into the pen with the ostriches, but rather into a meshed walkway running the length of the yard, she quickly caught him up.

As they walked through the mesh corridor, ostriches crowded them from both sides, their eyes glittering as their long necks stretched inquisitively towards them. Although she was sure she must have seen ostriches before, perhaps at a zoo as a child, Jemimah had no recollection of them being this large. They were more like something from a prehistoric dinosaur movie, and when one fluttered out its wings, the immense breadth of the wingspan amazed her.

Michael explained how they were fearless of him and Jemimah because they were well beneath their height, but could be herded much more easily by simply holding something like a broom upright above their heads - making them think you were taller than they were. He demonstrated by stretching his arm straight up and pointing his hand over a nearby ostrich. It quickly ducked back from him, only returning when his hand was back by his side.

Jemimah squealed at a sudden snapping by her left ear, and felt a rush of movement. Leaping forward she realised that she had almost stepped back against the mesh fence, and a handful of curious ostriches had gathered behind her.

Michael chuckled. "They wouldn't hurt you - not with their beaks anyway. They actually have no teeth, and while a peck might surprise you, it certainly wouldn't do you any damage. Their kick, however, is much more dangerous."

Jemimah couldn't help another glance to check the fences really were secure. "Hmm - I remember hearing that somewhere."

"It's okay." He sent her a warm smile. "I won't make you go inside with these guys, but I think you'll enjoy seeing the nursery."

At the far end of the enclosure were some small sheds, and Michael led Jemimah into the first of them: a box-like metal room filled with machinery. She was immediately aware of the warmth and stuffiness of the room.

"This is the incubator room, where all the eggs and new babies are," he explained. "It's kept at a constant temperature and controlled humidity."

Jemimah heard a mechanical whirring and turned to see a row of gigantic eggs being automatically rotated. Michael was in his element explaining the various pieces of equipment to her, and when she asked about his familiarity with the details of the operation he told her that he'd 'babysat' the ostriches over the past several Christmas holidays when the Jones’s had gone away. He then opened a back door which led into a large open-sided shed, with about a dozen small pens staked out in its shade.

In the closest pen, Jemimah saw two young ostriches - only just taller than her knees. Their dark eyes were huge, and their feathered backs looked irresistibly soft and downy. They had wandered over to the corner closest to Jemimah and she turned to Michael. "Can I touch them?"

"Sure, but I doubt they'll let you. Here, I'll help you in." He put his hands around her waist and lifted her easily over the low mesh and climbed inside after her. But no matter how slowly Jemimah approached the pair of birds, they would scamper from her to the furthest point of the pen.

Michael chuckled at her efforts, and tried to quietly herd them in her direction. Eventually he cornered the smaller one, and held it for her to pat. Jemimah was surprised at how wiry and rough the feathers felt, and how strong even such a young ostrich was as it butted its head against her.

"Thank you, that was really incredible," she said as Michael released the youngster and swung Jemimah back out of the pen.

"Ah, but there is still more," he said, like an infomercial salesman, and nodded toward an enclosure in the centre of the shed. Jemimah couldn't see inside it, but she noticed the large heat lamps which hung down low over the pen. She stood beside Michael and looked in, squealing with delight at the half dozen stripy chicks waddling around inside.

Michael reached in and scooped one up in his hand, placing it into Jemimah's cupped palms. It was about the size of a small duck, and although Michael had held it easily in the palm of one of his large hands, Jemimah needed both of hers to support it.

The chick’s eyes were like black ink, and it settled down against her chest. She could feel the tiny body trembling against her.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, stroking the little bird's coarse feathers, "How old is he or she?"

Michael looked for a minute. "About three days at a guess," he said and then, as he carefully lifted it from Jemimah and checked its leg tag, "No, four days actually. It's a little one."

"This is incredible - I had no idea there was anything like this in The Plains. I wonder if there's any possibility I could bring my children over to see this one day?"

"Your children?" The question caught Michael off guard, and then, as understanding came into his eyes, he laughed. "Ah, your class."

She nodded.

He tilted his head toward the door, as though listening and said. "That sounds like Mr Jones is about to join us - you can ask him now. I think he'll probably be fine with the idea."

Jemimah heard the sound of the door, the joy in her heart dissolving back into black misery. For some reason it hadn't even occurred to her they'd be seeing the Jones’s, and there was no way anyone could miss the bruising on Michael's face. She felt ill, not knowing how she could possibly endure the inevitable questions and explanation. Now she knew what it felt like to wish the ground would open up and swallow her.

"G'day young Mikey, thought I'd get to you give me a hand while you're over. I--" his gravelly voice stopped abruptly, only to continue at a higher pitch a moment later. "Crikey - what have you been up to? You been sent home in disgrace? Wondered what you were doin' home."

To Jemimah's surprise, Michael laughed. "No, it was when I got home I fell into disgrace."

"What do you mean?"

Jemimah glanced over her shoulder at the two men, unable to bear the thought of what was coming.

"Well . . . I didn't actually check with my dad if it was okay if I came home for the weekend. Turns out he wasn't too impressed."

Mr Jones looked at him in incredulous silence for a long moment and then burst out laughing. "Nah, go on - what really happened?"

Michael was grinning. "I'm serious. Seems my dad is a shoot first, ask questions later kind of bloke. Lucky for me he wasn't armed, don’t you think?"

Mr Jones was grinning too, thoroughly enjoying the story, but clearly not convinced.

"Nah, not your dad, Mikey. You're gonna have to do a bit better than that to reel me in."

Michael shrugged. "Dad and Nan were out, so I let myself in. Parked my car in a shed, when they arrived home they had no idea I was there. Dad came up from behind me in the house and thought I was an intruder."

Mr Jones' eyebrows rose. "Uh-huh? You've been gone two weeks and he's forgotten what you looked like?"

Jemimah held her breath. Now he'd have to explain it all. She was so tense she wondered if she'd faint again, and realised that that would only draw far more attention to herself. In silent desperation she forced herself to breathe in and out, focusing on the dark liquid eyes of the baby ostriches and willing the waves of dizziness to pass.

"Apparently so." Michael was making it sound so matter of fact, almost inconsequential. "Dad reckons it's all my fault for wearing this shirt he'd never seen before, and having a baseball cap shading my face. And I guess it didn't help that I was carrying an axe . . ."

Mr Jones slapped his legs and gave a cracking shout of laughter that made the little birds scurry to the far corner of the pen.

"Fair dinkum?"

"Near enough, anyway. But you can see why I needed to get out of the house this afternoon."

When Mr Jones was able to stop laughing he clapped Michael on the shoulder. "You're a wag, young Mikey. I don't think I believe any of it." He shot him a sly look, "How's your dad?"

"His hand's going to be a bit stiff tomorrow I reckon," Michael said and then drew the farmer’s attention to Jemimah, who was still standing by the baby pen and wishing herself invisible. "But I'm forgetting my manners, Mr Jones. Have you met Jemimah Parker?"

He seemed to suddenly notice her, and in an old fashioned gesture, swept off his battered hat and extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, young lady. The missus was saying she met you in town a couple of months back. You out visiting the Turnbulls?"

Jemimah nodded as she reached out to meet his outstretched hand, her whole hand swallowed to the wrist in his calloused palm. She felt lightheaded with relief and couldn't believe the ordeal was all over - Michael seemed to have completely satisfied Mr Jones’ natural curiosity about his bruised face - and what he had said was completely true, even if it wasn't the whole story.

"I thought she'd enjoy seeing your birds," Michael covered over her silence. "She didn't want to get too close to the big guys, but she likes the babies here."

The change of subject had given Jemimah a chance to gather her wits. "Yes, they're just gorgeous. I had no idea anything like this existed. Thank you so much for letting Michael bring me over."

Mr Jones beamed with pleasure. "They're cute little fellas at that size, aren't they? Bit of a --" he stopped abruptly with a self-conscious look and appeared to choose a different word, "bit of a handful when they're bigger, though."

He turned to Michael. "Do you mind giving me a hand with one of the boys? He's got a wound that's gotten a bit nasty - I'm trying to get some antibiotic cream on it as often as possible - but it's a far sight easier with two pair o' hands than one."

Jemimah began to relax again as the two men discussed the planned procedure. Despite everything, she quite enjoyed seeing this other side of Michael, deferential but completely at ease with the seasoned farmer he'd probably known all his life. It was amazing how Michael could look so perfectly at home both in a suit and behind a pulpit and in jeans and long sleeved t-shirt in a farmer’s barn. Jemimah felt as though she could never grow tired of learning more about Michael Turnbull.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he turned to catch her eye, a cheerful glint in his. She bit her lip, wishing she could control the blush that rose so easily in his presence.

"If you go back out into the walkway, Jemimah, you can have a ringside seat - by the sound of this bird, this could be pretty entertaining to watch."

"Yep, if Michael doesn't do his part of the job properly, you might be taking him back home with two black eyes," laughed Mr Jones. "This old bird has a nasty reputation as a kicker."