“What are they gonna do?” Conner whispered as the lead turtle stopped a couple of metres from the treeline. Soft sand glistened in the darkness as large flippers scooped and flung a shower of grains over its shell.

I waited for Galloway to mention mating (had the children had the sex talk before the crash?) but he paused.

Scratching his beard, he frowned. “Um, how much do you guys know about the miracle of life?”

“Miracle of life?” Conner snorted. “Come on. I’m thirteen. I know what fucking is—”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Galloway slapped his hand over the boy’s mouth. He narrowed his eyes at Pippa. “I don’t think we need such talk in front of ladies, do you?”

Conner pulled away, his smile cocky that he knew something Pip might not.

The little girl blinked in confusion, never taking her eyes off the line-up of hole-digging turtles. “What are they doing? What’s fucking?”

Conner snorted.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath while Conner poked his sister with a smug smile. “They’re making babies, Pip.”

“Babies?” Her eyes popped. “How?” Her angelic face swivelled to face Galloway. “Tell me.”

Galloway chuckled. “Oh, hell no.” Pointing in my direction, he added, “You’re up, Stel. Girls stick with girls...remember?”

I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Pippa hugged her kitten. “Mummy told me that daddy somehow put me in her stomach, but I didn’t understand how.” She pointed at the closest turtle. “Is that how it happens? By digging a hole?”

I struggled not to smile or laugh inappropriately at the thought of telling her exactly what men and women do. If we never got off this island, she would never experience the heartbreak of first love or the pain and incredible pleasure of losing her virginity.

Unless she turns all Blue Lagoon and fancies her brother.

I shuddered at how gross that would be.

I remembered my teenage years with crystal clarity because it’d been a time of insanely epic highs and violently depressing lows. My ex had been bad news, but it’d taken me too long to figure that out.

Draping my hair over my shoulder, I said, “Turtles are different. They lay eggs—like chickens. Unlike chickens and the eggs we eat, if a male chicken is affectionate with a female, the eggs turn into baby chicks.”

“Okay...” She didn’t tear her gaze from the ever-expanding nest the turtle made. I sighed in relief; glad she didn’t delve into what ‘being affectionate’ entailed.

There was time for that. Time for me to come up with a better sex lesson than the one my mum gave me.

She’d petrified me by teaching how to put a slippery condom on a banana. My eleven-year-old fingers fumbled, and I’d ended up with lube and a rogue condom flying into my eye.

Pushing away the recollection, I carried on. “If memory serves, turtles return to land once a year to lay and then leave the eggs to fend for themselves.”

“So...they’re making lots of babies?”

“Technically, yes.”

Pippa’s eyes widened. “You mean...we’ll have turtle babies?” Her teeth shone in the gloom. “When? When will they be born?”

“Technically, they won’t be born. They’ll hatch.”

“Okay, hatch. When?”

I looked at Galloway. “Any idea?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Nope.”

I didn’t have a clue. I had no idea what the gestation period was for a turtle egg.

Pippa waved her question away in favour of a much more important one. “Can I keep one—when it hatches? I want one as a pet.”

I laughed. “I don’t think a wild animal would appreciate being kept for your enjoyment.”

She pouted. “But I’d feed it and bath it and take it for walks.”

Conner ruffled her hair. “Turtles don’t walk, Pip.”

“Do too.” She pointed at the sand spray as the hard-shelled creature continued to flap deeper and deeper into the beach. “It walked here from the sea, didn’t it?”

Conner crossed his arms. “I’d hardly call that walking.”

“I do.”

His forehead furrowed, preparing to tease. “All right...what do they eat?”

Pippa paused, beseeching my help.

“Don’t look at me. Seaweed?”

Galloway cleared his throat. “I think, depending on the breed, squid and fish, anemones, shrimp...anything they can find in the reef.”

Pippa’s shoulders fell. “We can barely catch those for us. I guess fishing for a turtle would be hard.”

Something broke inside me. I hated to see her crash from such a happy place. I whispered in her ear, “We might not be able to train a wild animal to be a pet, but if we make it comfortable and protected, it might hang around on its own accord.”

She sucked in a breath. “Really?”

“We can try.”

She bounced on the spot. “Oh, yes. Please. I want to try.”

I knew I shouldn’t, but I indulged in the whim. I missed my cat. I missed having something to cuddle and stroke.

You’ll have Galloway soon enough.

Galloway’s lips quirked, almost as if he’d followed my train of thought. We shared a look—laden with lust and attraction.

My cheeks heated as I dropped my gaze.