At just after 9:00 a.m. Nat received a text from Owen.

The Eagle has landed at The Farm, you’re good to go. BTW, she’s pretty grouchy at being woken up before 10 and having her phone confiscated.

Nat just bet she was. But getting her daughter away from the media circus while they were still unaware of Olivia’s whereabouts meant it couldn’t be helped.

“You ready?” Isaac asked, one of the hastily packed bags for her and Olivia in his hand.

“I look ridiculous.” She pulled up the hood of her jacket over her head and the black scarf wrapped around the lower part of her face, and slid on her sunglasses.

“I’m sorry, who is wearing Olivia’s pink baseball cap, girlie sunglasses and a bed sheet wrapped around him like some weird-ass Jedi?”

“Um, that would be you.” Nat picked up the second bag and couldn’t help but chuckle.

Isaac’s idea of screwing with the reporters outside was for them to be unrecognisable in any photos taken as Natalie Fisher and Isaac Ngata. And as screwed up as this morning had become, and as much as she dreaded the heart-to-heart she needed to have with Olivia very soon, a tiny ball of warmth enclosed her heart. She wasn’t facing the sharks alone this time.

A flash of a grin poked out under the pink bedazzled sunglasses Nat had stashed from a fancy dress party. “Let’s go. Mum’s making us brunch.”

They slipped out the back door and locked it. Rounding the corner into the driveway, shouts rang out as reporters and cameramen spotted them. They tossed the bags into the truck’s back seat and leaped inside. He reversed down the driveway, slow and steady, refusing to engage with the reporters yelling at them and the one or two bolder reporters knocking on the truck’s windows. Nat kept her gaze fixed on her knees until Isaac announced it was safe.

They drove in silence the rest of the way to the Ngata farm. Isaac kept his bed sheet on as he pulled into the farm entrance and got out to unlock the gate that was used to keep any stray cows contained on the property. The truck rumbled over the metal cattle guards and Isaac got out again to lock the gate. By this time the first of the media vans had pulled into the driveway after them, but if the ‘private property’ notices weren’t enough to deter them, the locked gate barring the road would.

Isaac got back into the truck and they drove along the winding gravel road toward the farmhouse, concealed behind a stand of tall poplar trees. No chance a stray cameraman would get a money shot even with a long lens, not unless he was precariously perched in a helicopter.

“This is why I came home after the accident,” he said quietly as the two-storied, sprawling house came into view. He parked next to Owen’s car and killed the engine. “It’s not Mum and Dad’s first rodeo where the media jackals are involved. We didn’t have a gate until five years ago.”

“The publicity was pretty brutal.”

“Worse for you.” He shrugged off the bed sheet and removed the cap and sunglasses. Then he unclipped his safety belt and leaned over, sliding her hood off her head and tugging down the scarf.

“There you are,” he said. “You’re safe here.”

“We’re an imposition.” She glanced toward the farmhouse. It had been a long, long time since she’d had any interaction with Ariana and Pete Ngata.

“Don’t let my mother hear you say that,” he advised and flung open his door. “Wait there.”

“Why?” she asked, but he’d already raced around to her side of the truck and opened her door.

“Because Ma’s watching from the living room window and if she sees me not acting like a gentleman, she’ll box my ears.”

“I can open my own door.” Nat climbed out and came nose to sexy-smelling collarbone.

“I know. But while you’re with me, you need to cater to my fragile male ego and let me take care of you.”

Before she gave in to the temptation to lick the semicircle of tanned skin exposed by the neckline of his T-shirt, he turned away and opened the truck’s rear door.

“Muuuum!” Her daughter’s voice streaking across the parking area from the Ngata’s front door contained traces of the same helpless fury Olivia had experienced during a terrible-two’s tantrum.

While you’re with me…

Just how long was she planning to be with him—and what would her daughter have to say about it?

Olivia stomped across to meet them, her narrowed gaze switching between Isaac and her mother as if a conspiracy was afoot and Nat was the mastermind behind it.

“What’s going on? Why are we here and why did Owen take my phone away?”

Further questions were written all over her face, but the politeness Nat had instilled in her over the years prevented her from asking them in front of Isaac.

“Nat, why don’t you and Olivia walk around to see the horses, and uh, have a chat?” Isaac suggested. “I’ll go see how brunch is coming along.”

“Good idea.” Nat squeezed Olivia’s arm in what she hoped was a soothing gesture.

“Yeah, whatever,” Olivia said. “Because I’m, like, eight years old and seeing a couple of horses will distract me from the fact that no one will tell me what’s going on.” She shoved her fists into her jacket pockets and stalked ahead of Nat toward the four horses grazing contentedly in a large paddock.

Olivia leaned against the wooden gate that opened into the paddock, her chin jutted out at an angle so much like her dad’s when he’d been in a pissy mood that Nat’s heart rolled over, belly up. She swallowed hard, and came alongside her daughter, just watching the horses munching in silence. One of them, a dark brown with a white stripe down his face boy horse—such was Nat’s limited knowledge of the animals—raised his head, whinnied, and headed toward them at a fast trot.

“I bet he’s expecting a treat,” she said. “We should’ve grabbed a couple of apples from Mrs. Ngata.”

Olivia grunted. “She hugged me and told me to call her Ariana or Auntie, and Isaac’s dad Pete or Uncle, not Mr. and Mrs. Ngata. It feels weird, though. We’re not related.”

Nat kept her mouth stitched shut. Olivia knew from living in Bounty Bay all her life the inclusive culture of Māori whānau. We’re not related was a knee-jerk reaction to what her daughter probably suspected—and it wasn’t a good sign.

The horse slowed to a plodding walk and poked his head over the gate, blowing out his warm breath and flapping his fleshy lips, which gained a flicker of a smile from Olivia.

Her daughter had been smiling the afternoon two police officers had arrived at Natalie’s house with the news of Jackson’s death. Olivia was in her room, playing with those fiddly little doll sets with little pieces that ended up sucked into the vacuum’s maw, happy and innocent and loved by both her parents. Until, in an instant, she was reduced to only one parent who loved her. One parent who then had to try and explain to an eight-year-old how Daddy had been in an accident and hurt so badly that he’d died. That, yes, it was kind of like when Mummy and Olivia had found Skittles the cat on the side of the road after a car must’ve hit him. How Mummy had to dig a hole in the garden because Daddy was away on tour. How they’d both cried as they’d put Skittles in an empty box Olivia had decorated. How they’d always remember how much they loved that tortoiseshell cat, and how much she loved them, even though Olivia wouldn’t be able to snuggle with her under the covers or dress her up in dolls’ clothes anymore.

It had carved a deep and bloody slice out of Nat’s heart that sunny afternoon, and she still remembered in aching detail the moments she’d stood outside Olivia’s bedroom door, knowing that in seconds Nat’s words would change the course of her daughter’s life forever.

Nat sucked in a deep breath of air composed of damp grass and fresh manure. She turned her head toward Olivia, who was crooning an apology to the horse about the lack of apples and stroking his velvety soft nose.

Start with the least inflammatory piece of information. “I had Owen bring you here this morning because our house is surrounded by TV news crews and reporters,” she said.

Olivia’s nose scrunched up. “What? Why?”

Next piece of the unfolding disaster. “There must’ve been a photographer at your game yesterday, and they took a photo of you, me, and Isaac together.” Nat’s fingers tightened on the fence’s rough wooden paling. Knowing her luck, a deep splinter was somewhere in her near future.

“So? He’s my coach and you’ve been helping out the team for ages.” Olivia’s forehead drew together in a V. “Oh. Is it because he hasn’t been involved in rugby since the accident?”

A cowardly part of her wished that if there were any way her daughter wouldn’t catch wind of what the photos and accompanying gossipy speculation were about, Nat’d happily agree and leave it at that. But she’d more chance of winning a spot on the All Blacks’ squad herself than keeping Olivia in the dark with social media the way it was.

“Partly,” Nat said. “But the reporter took another photo at the game, one of me and Isaac smiling at each other. It’s made people speculate about what sort of relationship we have.”

“I don’t get it.” Olivia firmly pushed the horse’s head away from her shoulder and turned to Nat. “Why wouldn’t you be smiling at Isaac—you guys are friends now, right?”

“We are.” Nat’s dry swallow was as loud as distant thunder in her ears. “But we’ve also become a little more than friends since he started coaching.”

“More than friends? Is he, like, your boyfriend now?” Olivia’s voice rose half an octave on the word boyfriend.

Keep it to terms a thirteen-year-old can understand. Even though the average understanding of adult relationships for most teenagers nowadays far exceeded what their parents thought they knew about them.

“Yeah. I guess he is. Are you okay with that?” Nat went to touch Olivia’s shoulder, but the girl took a giant step backward out of her reach.

Olivia’s lower lip trembled as she folded her arms tightly across her chest. “What about Dad?”

Nat’s gut twisted as if it were trying to wring every last drop of blood out of her body. Heat flushed into her face as fight-or-flight hormones rushed through her. Jackson was the one name she’d been hoping to avoid in this conversation.

“Honey, you were the one wanting me to go on a date with your teacher earlier in the year.”

The horse tried to nibble on Olivia’s ponytail and she once again pushed his head away, taking another step away from him. “That’s different,” she said. “Mr. Trotter wouldn’t have reporters outside our house. Nobody would care if he was your boyfriend—Dad wouldn’t care either. He’s just some guy that Dad didn’t even know.”

“I can’t live the rest of my life worried about whether your dad would approve of what men I date. I have been on dates before,” Nat said.

“But you’ve never had a boyfriend before,” Olivia pointed out. “And Isaac isn’t just some random guy, he’s Dad’s best mate.”

“He was Dad’s best mate,” Nat said gently. “And maybe Dad would approve that someone who cared about him, who cares about you, makes me happy.”

Crazy happy, she suddenly realized. The kind of happy that wakes you up each morning and actually has the power to drag you out of bed into the day because you can’t wait to see that person’s smile, hear their voice, feel their skin under your fingertips.

Her daughter’s eyes narrowed into sullen slits. “It’s creepy. He’s creepy. And now everything is ruined because of you and your stupid boyfriend.”

Olivia’s gaze suddenly zipped past Nat to a spot behind her, the girl’s lips pressing together so tightly they appeared bloodless. Nat whipped around.

Isaac stood a couple of feet away from them with an apple.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Richie won’t leave you alone without this. Here.” His face remained stoic as he made a tossing motion with his hand, and then threw the apple underhand to Nat.

She caught it, her cheeks burning from the inside out as she offered it to the horse. Richie plucked the apple from her palm and crunched noisily, a fine cover for the shattering silence of Isaac’s arrival and his unavoidable eavesdropping.

“I’m going back inside,” Olivia announced, and giving Isaac a huge berth, stalked around him and headed in the direction of the house.

Isaac tracked her across the neatly mown lawns that surrounded his parents’ property before turning back to give her a wry, one-raised-eyebrow wince.

“Guess that puts me squarely on her shit list,” he said. “Which means brunch will be fun.”

* * *

For the first time in years, Isaac’s mum canceled Sunday lunch. A news crew had showed up at Kauri Whare trying to get an exclusive interview with Sam, who then locked himself in his workshop and sicced Uncle Manu onto them. Tui was currently sunning herself on a beach somewhere in Rarotonga with her friends, but she’d sent a sympathetic text: Bro—Sam texted me the link. Sorry you’ve been dumped in the, and a poo emoticon.

So the impending late-morning brunch, with only his parents, Nat, and Olivia in attendance, was likely to be every bit as awkward as Isaac dreaded. His parents had greeted Natalie with hugs and kisses when she walked into their house. Ma briefly cupped Nat’s face in her hands, the mysterious empathy Ariana tuned into passing between them. Whether it was for this screwed up situation, or a silent acknowledgement that his mother understood why Nat had kept away from them for so long, Isaac didn’t know. But the moment passed, and Ariana returned to her role as family matriarch, ordering Isaac and his dad to “bring those platters of kai to the table before they get cold.”

The five of them sat at the smaller kitchen dining table, passing around bacon, sausage links, fried eggs, grilled tomato, homemade hash browns, and thick slices of freshly baked rewena sourdough bread.

“Not hungry, Olivia?” His mother eyed up Olivia’s plate as the girl once again rejected an offered platter. “You sure you don’t want a bit of bacon or sausage to go with that egg?”

Olivia poked her fork into the white of the solitary fried egg sitting in the center of her plate like an evil eye. “I’m a vegetarian,” she muttered.

Isaac bit into a slice of his bread slathered with a thick, comforting layer of butter. Chewing would stop him pointing out that Olivia hadn’t been a vegetarian a few days ago when he’d spotted her and her friends wolfing down beef burgers from the local burger joint. Nat’s mouth pinched shut, and she slanted her daughter a warning glance that Olivia pretended to not to see.

“So don’t try to tell me its magical meat that just appears packaged like Mum did when I was a little kid. I’m not stupid. I know when I’m being lied to.” Olivia’s gaze slid sideways to him. “Most of the time.”

Nat set down her fork. “We didn’t lie—”

“You let me think you and Isaac were just friends, but you’re into each other.” Olivia stabbed her fork into the center of the egg yolk and it bled yellow tears. “And now everybody in the world knows you and Isaac are hooking up behind my dad’s back.”

“Olivia.” A rising tide of pink spread up Nat’s neck.

Olivia folded her arms. “What?” She sent her death stare skidding around the table. “Are you gonna send me to my room for time out like a kid? Oh, wait—you can’t. Because I can’t even go to my house because of all the reporters outside. Thanks, Mum.”

Isaac stiffened, his fingers clenching his knife and fork so tightly that the carved bone handles dug into his palms. “If you don’t want to be treated as a kid, then you’ll speak to your mother with the respect she deserves.”

Red spots of color blossomed on Olivia’s cheeks, and her eyes went shiny. “You’re not my dad and you don’t get to tell me what to do just because you’re…”

A kaleidoscope of emotions flickered across Olivia’s face—hurt, embarrassment, confusion, grief.

“Just because you’re screwing my mother,” she finished in high drama.

Three sets of adult eyes and the weight of the world settled on Isaac’s shoulders. What he said in response to Olivia’s outburst could change everything.

“No, I’m not your dad.” Isaac kept his voice even and dipped his head to meet Olivia’s tear-filled gaze. “But I am your coach and someone who has cared about your well-being since you were a baby. Part of caring for someone is speaking up when they’re out of line. You’re out of line, Olivia. You’re hurt and angry finding out about me and your mum this way, and I get that. But as your coach, it’s my job to train you to keep a cool head when you’re on the field, and to have your teammates’ backs when they fumble and drop the ball. Maybe your mum and I dropped the ball. Maybe we should’ve told you that things changed between us, but maybe at this stage it was nobody’s business but ours. How you choose to deal with this change in your life determines what sort of woman you grow into.”

Olivia blinked at him and tears spilled down her cheeks. For a moment he thought she would shove away from the table and storm off, but she turned her face to Nat.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” she said.

Isaac’s mother stood and walked around the table to stand behind Olivia, lightly resting her hands on the girl’s shoulders.

“It’s been a pretty roke morning for you, hasn’t it? Know what makes me feel better when everything goes pear-shaped?” His ma ducked her face down to Olivia’s level. “Rewena bread toasted and loaded up with butter and strawberry jam. How about you go and curl up on the sofa and get cosy with Netflix while I make you some?”

“Okay,” Olivia said.

While his mum got the girl settled in the other room, Isaac, his dad, and Nat exchanged glances.

“Cat’s out of the bag, then.” His dad helped himself to more bacon. He offered the platter to Nat who shook her head.

“Apparently.” Isaac took the offered platter and dumped another couple of forkfuls of bacon on his plate. Need to keep his strength up, as his mother would’ve said. “But the media won’t get any more fuel for the fire from us.”

“They don’t need to,” Nat said. “They’re quite willing to make up whatever will sell copies. My phone number’s unlisted but Vee texted to say that two TV crews have already barged into Bountiful looking for me, and all the major women’s magazines have left voice mail and emails for me via Bountiful’s website.”

His dad’s face crumpled into well-worn groves. “Ah, well, love. The vultures’ll soon find some other carcass to pick clean. Meantime, you’ll stay here with us until the fuss dies down.”

“That’s very kind, but—” Nat began.

“But you shouldn’t have to hide when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Isaac’s mum returned to the kitchen, wearing her maternal going-to-kick-ass-and-take-names battle expression.

“Bunch of bloody gossipmongers,” she added, heading into the kitchen. “Never mind that there’s war raging overseas, or people dying because they can’t afford fancy cancer drugs. No, they’d rather stick their noses into people’s personal lives and flap their lips about that.”

She picked up a wicked-looking bread knife and hacked off two thick slices of bread.

“Watch you don’t lose a finger there, ay?” his dad said.

“I’m just steamed.” His mum dropped the slices into the toaster, hit the button, and glared at the appliance as if her stare was enough to burn the bread to a crisp. “I’d been secretly hoping for years that you two would stop butting heads and see how good you could be together.”

Ah, what? Isaac risked a glance at Nat who looked as shell-shocked as he felt. He glanced up to his mum’s knowing stare switching between them.

“That’s right,” she said. “You both heard me. You’re both broken halves of the same heart, and the only way to mend a heart is with aroha—love.”

Well, that came out of nowhere. His throat suddenly in lockdown, and the mouthful of bacon he chewed tasting like flour paste, Isaac caught Nat’s gaze. Nat’s panicked, wide-eyed WTF gaze.

“I’d better check on Olivia.” Nat’s chair scraped along the floor in her hurry to stand up.

Avoiding eye contact with any of them, she slipped from the room.

His dad chuckled once the kitchen door creaked shut behind her. “Boy, you’ve got a wily one nibbling at your hook. Remains to be seen if you’ve got what it takes to hook her and reel her in.”

“Natalie isn’t a fish, you silly old man,” his mother said. “But of course Isaac’s got what it takes to seal the deal with her—he’s your son, isn’t he? And you landed me, the most beautiful wahine in Bounty Bay.”

“That’s right.” His dad’s face creased into a goofy smile. “I’m a helluva fisherman.”

Thirty-six years of marriage, and Isaac’s parents were still like nauseatingly in love newlyweds. He forced himself to swallow the now cold ball of masticated bacon and followed it with a deep sip of his mother’s wicked strong brew of coffee. God knew he needed the clarity only a shot of high-octane caffeine could provide.

Somehow in these next few days while they could hide from the world, he had to make a decision on the best way to protect Natalie and Olivia. And he was scared shitless that the only way to do that now would be to walk away from them.