“Tom Darley? Oi. That you up there with Miss Carmichael? We need to talk to you.”
    She leaned against him. “Who are they?”
    “Journalists.” Tom waved at them. “I heard they were on their way from Melbourne. Mr. Granger said they’ll bunk in the shearing shed.”
    “What?” Ada grabbed his raised hand and halted the greeting. “Why would journalists come here?”
    “The wreck is a big story. The salvage efforts, our recovery. I expect they’re here to interview us.”
    “Interview?” Oh no, they will not. She scrambled to stand. Who knew what the men with the chisels and levers might uncover if they poked around long enough? And now journalists, with their meddling questions and far-reaching newspapers?
    Alarm scuttled into her veins, the loathsome blood-beat she could not ignore. She backed away from the cliff’s edge and pulled Tom to stand between her and the men on the beach. She would not be picked apart the way they combed through the sea drift. That was the life she had left behind.
    “We’ll come up to you,” a cheery voice announced the intentions of the four who now scrambled back the way they’d come.
    But Ada had no mind to wait or welcome. She tore away, only a few skids ahead of everything she’d thought she’d outrun.
    “Ada, wait.” Tom pulled her trembling hand into the crook of his arm, but she set their walking speed and did not let it slacken.
    She had no choice now. Panic drove her flight, but Tom stilled her under a row of peppercorn trees until her breathing softened.
    “Why do you need to hide?” He whispered, as if he’d lifted a precious layer and did not want the unraveling to tear more than she could bear.
    If she matched him in height, she might have been tempted to press her forehead to his. Instead she kept her eyes fixed on the collar of his shirt. “I cannot say.”
    “Don’t break my heart, Ada. A man does not pluck a girl from the sea to watch her drown on dry land.”
    “Tom…” she cradled her elbows, “my story has already cost me all I had. It’s not for you, or journalists or other gossips, and it is most certainly better left where God has buried it. At the bottom of the ocean.”
    Tom frowned. “What story?”
    “One I cannot unhide. I promised not to. And please, don’t ask me again. Not when so many have paid the highest price.” Not when there was still a price to be paid. She would not drag him, of all people, there. Not when life held so much for him still.