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‘I regularly walk in the countryside,’ she said, a few feet behind him. ‘I manage quite happily, and so far without incident or injury.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘I don’t need a man with a Tarzan complex rescuing me like some helpless damsel in distress. I am no Jane.’
‘Never thought you were.’ He tried desperately not to laugh.
‘Retrieving hapless females from burning buildings might be commonplace for you, but I don’t need help, thank you very much. It’s not necessary for you to mollycoddle me, or…shit.’
He turned at the sound of her expletive, not immediately sure what had happened. She was upright and appeared intact – if you discounted her hair being blown across her face by the wind. ‘What’s wrong?’
She pointed downwards.
His eyes dipped to her feet. Her once pristine white trainers were now buried ankle-deep in mud, and he began laughing, mostly at her disgruntled expression.
Her hands went to her hips. ‘Yeah, not helpful.’
He turned away and continued walking up the mound.
‘Hey, where are you going?’
‘To set up the picnic,’ he called, waving a hand. ‘You don’t need any help, remember? You’re more than capable of…’ He stopped and turned to face her. ‘What was it you said again? You don’t need a man with a Tarzan complex rescuing you like you’re some kind of damsel in distress. Did I get that right?’
‘Fine. I’ll do it myself.’ Another glare. ‘Thanks for nothing,’ she muttered, as she tried to lift a foot from the mud.
Matt allowed the torture to go on a while longer, as he continued up the mound to deposit the rucksack at the top, fully intending to head back down and help her, but not wanting her to know that just yet. He watched her balancing on one foot, trying to extricate herself from the mud. ‘How’s it going down there, Jane? Making any progress?’
‘Quit with the sarcasm,’ she yelled, using her arms to aid her balance. ‘You’ve made your point.’
He jogged down the mound and came to a halt in front of her. ‘Which is?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you seriously going to make me do this?’
He grinned. ‘It seems only fair.’
‘And I thought I’d misjudged you, and that underneath the Neanderthal exterior was a gentleman.’
He folded his arms. ‘That’s your idea of apologising? To call me a Neanderthal?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Actually, I don’t. Do you want my help or not?’
‘No, I don’t want your help.’
He turned to walk off. ‘Fine.’
‘But I accept that on this particular occasion I need it.’
He stopped. Wow, how it must have pained her to admit that.
Supressing a smirk, he turned and approached her. ‘So, just to clarify, you would like my help?’
Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and nodded, angrily pushing her hair away from her face when the wind picked up. ‘Could you please stop enjoying this so much, and just give me your hand. It’s not like I need the bloody marines, I just need something to lean on so I can pull my foot out.’
‘Something? Wow, you sure know how to objectify a bloke.’ He bent forwards, wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her into a fireman’s lift. It was worth it to hear her squeal of indignation.
‘What are you doing!?’ she yelled, the noise sending a huddle of sheep scattering across the moor.
