‘I’m tough.’

‘Yeah, but surely not stupid. Or not that stupid.’ She was lifting cans out and inspecting their labels. Spaghetti. Baked beans. Spaghetti. Baked beans. But at the bottom were a few different labels, tossed in as if the packer hadn’t expected them to be used but had put them in as if to satisfy a conscience. They were cans of interesting things like water chestnuts, snow peas and capsicum. There were a few packets of herbs and spices. A few withered onions lay ignored underneath, and there was also a large packet of rice.

‘Can I use these?’ she asked, and Riley stooped beside her to take a look. His bare chest brushed her arm. He was so close. She edged away and almost toppled over. His hand came out and steadied her-which didn’t steady her in the least.

‘I opened a can of those water chestnut things once,’ he told her as if he was totally unaware of how aware of his closeness she was. ‘I tipped them over spaghetti. They tasted like-’

‘I can imagine how they tasted,’ Jenna said faintly. ‘Why did you pack them if you don’t like them?’

‘I didn’t pack them. Maggie packs for me. I make her put in the beans and spaghetti, but she always shoves in a few of those foreign jobs.’ He grinned and held up his hands as if in surrender. ‘You and Maggie would get along fine. You have a common interest in scurvy. Maggie says at the first sign of bandy legs or bleeding gums I’m to open them and eat them, regardless.’

‘Sensible woman.’ She sorted through the cans some more, still achingly aware of his body. ‘So who’s Maggie? Your wife?’

‘A wife?’ Was she imagining it or was there suddenly a trace of bitterness in his words. ‘No, ma’am. Maggie is…well, Maggie is my resident scurvy defence.’

‘She’s not resident here.’

‘Very acute, Miss Svenson. No, Maggie is not here. This place was my woman-free zone until you and Karli arrived, and I hope it will be again very soon.’