Sorry was a word Raymond had never found it easy to say. Even after he'd hurt her.
'You haven't even said whether the offer's still open,' she muttered.
'Haven't I?' He laughed softly, so close to her that his breath fanned her hot cheek. 'Yes, Alison, the job is yours if you want it.'
'I do. Thank you.'
'But I wonder—have you had time to discuss this with your boyfriend?'
Alison was beginning to regret that she hadn't been honest with him from the start, yet she didn't see how she could back down now without making a fool of herself.
'I believe in making my own decisions,' she said.
Clint's eyes glinted. 'A modern relationship.'
'Yes, it is.'
'He doesn't mind, then?'
'Should he?' she asked abruptly.
'That's something only you can answer.' There was a look in his face that she could not define.
Alison pushed back her chair. 'I'm going to need some information, Mr Demaine. When exactly does camp start? And what is the best way of getting there?'
'I was just coming to that. How soon would you be free to leave here, Alison?'
'As soon as I'm needed.'
'How does tomorrow sound?'
Her head jerked up. 'Tomorrow?' she echoed.
'Camp doesn't start till the beginning of the week, but you'd be doing me a real favour if you could travel down with me tomorrow. I just had word yesterday that the girl who takes care of the administrative side of things is going to be delayed a day or two, and I could do with some help setting things up.'
'Tomorrow...' Alison said again, slowly.
'I'd pay you for the extra days, of course. It's short notice, Alison, I know, but do you think you could possibly manage it?'
She stared at Clint, unaware that he wondered at the sudden light in her huge green eyes. He couldn't know that by going with him tomorrow, she would be getting away from the small village before the razzmatazz engagement party Edna's father was throwing for the young couple. Away from the hurt and the humiliation—for Alison had fully intended going to the party—of having to watch Raymond and Edna publicly pledge their newfound love for each other.
As for her own father, Alison knew he would not mind her leaving the stables at such short notice, for Dad would be glad she was taking the first step towards an independent life of which he thoroughly approved. It wasn't even as if he would have to manage on his own. Lynn was always willing to help, as was Rob, a boy from the village, who grabbed every chance he could to work with the horses.
Clint was looking at her. 'Well, Alison, do you think you could make it?'
'Yes,' she said at last, 'I think I can.'
CHAPTER TWO
'DID I get you up too early?'
Alison turned from the window to smile at the extraordinarily attractive man at her side. 'Not at all.'
'Family didn't curse at being dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour to say goodbye?''
She laughed. 'Mom and Dad are up with the birds every morning. We're a farming family; the stables are just part of what we do.'
The first time I've heard her laugh, Clint thought. And then, I wish I could see her eyes. I wonder whether the sadness goes when she laughs.
'We've something in common,' he observed. 'I grew up on a farm too.'
Alison stared at him. 'Really, Mr Demaine?' Somehow she hadn't expected that.
'Yes, really. A sheep farm. And don't you think it's time you started calling me Clint? Things are pretty informal at Bushveld.'
'Clint...' The name had a strange kind of feel on her tongue.
'Have you always lived out in the country, Alison?' he asked.
'Always. It's the only life I know, and I love it.'
'The boyfriend's not of farming stock, I take it?'
Wary suddenly, Alison looked at him. 'Why do you ask?'
to'Just drawing conclusions. I noticed he wasn't around to say goodbye to you.' It was said lightly enough.
Alison curled her nails into her palms. 'That's because Raymond and I...' She stopped.
Though she had decided she would tell him the truth, now she hesitated. Alison was not a girl given to lying, but yesterday, when she could have told Clint about Raymond, she had chosen not to do so. And today, perhaps, there was an advantage in continuing with the deception. She knew next to nothing about Clint Demaine. If he had any ideas about sex—and what man didn't try to make the most of whatever might be available?—then it was as well if he thought that she was off limits.
'Because we said our goodbyes last night.' Her voice was stiff.
'I see.'
'A private goodbye.'
'The best kind.' His face was turned forward to the road, so that Alison could not see his eyes.
'The very best kind,' she agreed firmly.
The Porsche had devoured another couple of miles when Clint threw out his next question.
'Are you engaged?'
'No...'
'Will you be?'
Talk about putting her on the spot!
After a moment, she said, 'Does it matter?'
'Something in your voice says, "and make of that what you will",' commented Clint.
'Yes, that's right,' she agreed.
'Which is what I have in mind.'
The outrageousness of the remark had her swinging round to him. Just for a second he took his eyes from the road, and she saw that they gleamed—a most unholy gleam.
Alison was suddenly intensely aware of Clint Demaine. The confines of the car dictated that she could only sit so far from him. Clint's legs, taut and tanned, his broad shoulders, his arms with their constant play of ligament and muscle, were just inches from her. She could not have said quite why, but the man had an inherent sexuality that made her nerve-ends feel raw.
Turning her head away from him, she said brightly, 'I really know very little about Bushveld Camp.'
'You do know that it's an adventure camp for children?'
He sounded amused that she had changed the subject, but she didn't care. 'I know that there's riding...'
'There's swimming too—canoeing, hiking, tennis, outdoor survival techniques.'
'Sounds like fun.'
'Yes, it's fun. Many of the kids come back year after year.'
'What happens if a family can't afford your fees?' she asked.
'That happens, of course, but no child has ever been turned away because of financial problems.'
She glanced at him, allowing herself to respect him for that.
'Do you live at Bushveld all year?' she queried.
'On and off during the camping weeks, and now and then when I want a break. Not as much as I'd like to, unfortunately, I'm afraid—my hotels keep me busy most of the year.' 'Hotels?' she exclaimed in surprise. 'You don't mean* the Demaine chain?'
'You know them?'
'Of course! At least,' she amended, 'I know about them.'
The Demaine hotels were a buTgeoning chain of luxury hotels, each one known for its high standards of comfort and efficiency. Wherever they were situated in the country, tourists came flocking.
'Do you actually own them?' she asked.
Clint laughed. 'Yes, I do. And I wish you wouldn't look so awed, Alison.'
'You can't fault me for that.' She looked at him with new interest. 'I don't understand, Mr Demaine—with all those hotels, where does the camp fit in?'
'It's the thing I love,' he explained. 'When I was a youngster, my happiest times were spent with my three brothers out-of-doors.'
'And so now you're giving other young people a similar opportunity?'
'Something like that,' he agreed.
'That's wonderful!'
'Thank you.' He paused a moment before asking, 'Is there anything else you'd like to know about the camp?'
Alison was caught by something in his tone. 'Do you mind me asking questions?'
'Not at all. In fact, I'd be very pleased if I thought you were really interested.'
'You think I'm not?'
'I think,' Clint said smoothly, 'that you try very hard to turn the subject away from yourself.'
She dug her nails deeper into her palms. 'That's absurd!' she muttered.
'Is it?'
'Yes, of course.'
'Then why are you so uptight whenever I mention your boyfriend?'
'Look, Mr Demaine, I don't want to talk about him...'
'Clint. And you're uptight again now. Every time I mention your boyfriend there's a kind of leave-that- subject-alone in your manner.'
'I'm a private person, Mr Demaine,' she said stiffly.
'Clint,' he insisted.
'Clint,' she complied in a choked voice.
'Private—and not very happy?'
Alison's head jerked up. Was he deliberately trying to hurt her? But the look in eyes that turned momentarily to meet hers was not malicious.
'I'm very happy,' she told him. 'Why shouldn't I be?'
'That's something you might tell me.'
'Even if I wasn't...happy...and I am!...that wouldn't concern you. You're just my employer.'
Only my employer.
'Anything that affects the well-being of my staff is my concern,' he said softly.
'Well, I am happy.' She made her voice as bright as she could. 'I wish you'd believe me.'
'I might if you'd relax.'
'I'm relaxed... Clint. And I really wish you wouldn't go on with this.'
Alison was shocked when he put his hand on her leg. Tight muscles jumped as liquid fire ran up her thigh to her groin. Recoiling, she pushed his hand away.
'Why did you do that?' she snapped furiously. In that moment he was not her employer; he was just a man—a dangerously attractive man—who was beginning to get. to her.
He laughed softly. 'Just proving to you that you're not relaxed at all.'
'What you just did could be taken as sexual harassment,' she said angrily.
'You know it wasn't.'
'1 wonder!'
'You don't need to wonder. I wasn't out to offend you, Alison.'
'I don't go in for touching, Mr Demaine. You might as well know that,' she said firmly.
'You must lead a lonely existence,' he drawled. But she noticed that this time he let pass the formal use of his name.
'I'm not lonely,' she said stiffly. 'It's just that nobody touches me without my permission.'
'The exception being the boyfriend?'
When was the last time Raymond had touched her? Kissed her?
Firmly, she said, 'Exactly.'
For almost an hour after that there was silence—a charged kind of silence which began to get intensely on Alison's nerves after a while. She began to wonder how ori earth she would get through the hours till they reached the camp.
Arid then, several miles further on, they saw the first placards advertising a country fair, and Clint asked, 'Would you like to look around?'
'Love to!' Just the idea of getting out of the car for a while spelled relief.
When Clint had nosed the Porsche between dusty jeeps and caravans, they made their way into the fairground.
Music blared through loudspeakers. There were crowds of people. Farmers, with floppy hats on their heads and veldskoene on their feet, inspected the livestock with practised eyes. Their wives, in jeans and checked shirts or light cotton dresses, engaged in animated conversation with friends they had not seen since the last get- together. Children swarmed everywhere.
'Will you know people here?' asked Clint, as they made their way between the rows of stalls.
'Maybe,' said Alison, 'though I shouldn't think so. I don't see any faces I recognise. We had a fair much closer to home about two months ago.'
'Did you have any part in it?'
'Did I! My sister Lynn and I sold six dozen jars of the best fig jam you ever tasted. And Mom won second prize for her chocolate cake.'
He laughed, the vital laugh that was beginning to sound familiar. 'Sounds as if you had a good time!'
She hadn't known about Raymond's two-timing then.
'A wonderful time.' She looked up at Clint. 'If I live till I'm a hundred, I'll never get tired of country fairs— the smells and the sounds and the people, the excitement. I love it all!'
'I can see that,' he smiled.
'Why are you smiling?' she asked, a little uncertainly.
'Because you're showing me a new side of yourself, Alison—vibrant, alive. I like you this way.'
Gold flecks warmed his eyes when he smiled, and his lips lifted in a way that was disturbingly sensuous. Alison stiffened as she tried to ignore his attractiveness.
Clint was saying, 'Do you know, it's ridiculous, but I can't remember the last time I was at a fair myself. You'll have to be my guide.' He cupped her elbow in his hand. His hand felt so big, the palm rough against her- skin, the fingers folding over on to her arm. 'Lead on, fair damsel. I want to see it all.'
It was impossible to resist him when he was in this mood. Amazingly, she found herself laughing as they began to move through the crowd.
At a baked goods stall they stopped, and Clint bought some melktert which they broke in half and shared. When they'd finished it, they stopped again, this time to buy some konfyt. The sticky confection, made of glazed watermelon, was more difficult to break. Politely, Alison said she didn't really want any, but Clint would have none of that, and he insisted on holding it to her mouth until she bit off a piece. She was laughing again when he wanted her to have more, convinced that she would burst if she did.
Eventually they found themselves at the livestock, but they looked only casually at the cattle before moving on to the horses.
Leaning their arms on the whitewashed wood railing, they watched the horses being walked around a big paddock. Alison was all alertness now, inspecting horse after horse with the eye of one who did not mean to let too much time pass before she began buying some horses of her own.
'Look at that one.' She gestured towards a high- stepping horse. 'Isn't he super?'
'Certainly is,' Clint agreed, only to say a moment later, 'But look at that roan, Alison. See it, coming up on the right? Now there's a beauty if ever I saw one.'
Alison narrowed her eyes as she focused on the horse that was just coming up alongside them, step sure yet graceful, head proud and lovely, dark coat gleaming in the sun.
'Magnificent!' she said, «wed. And then, with astonished respect, 'You understand horses, Clint.'
'I like to think I do.'
'That's one of the loveliest horses I've ever seen.' As Alison turned to Clint, her new-found respect led her to confide in him without thinking. 'The money I make at Bushveld Camp could never be enough to buy that horse. But I'm going to put it into a special account and keep it there till I have enough to buy one just like it.'
'Good lord!' exclaimed Clint.
'You don't approve?'
'I'm amazed, that's all.'
Alison laughed up at him, enjoying his confusion. 'Why?' she asked.
'I thought you might have your earnings earmarked for other things—trousseau, honeymoon, things like that.'
She managed to keep the smile on her face. 'And all the time I wanted it for a horse.'
'Mind telling me why?' His voice was unaccountably soft.
'I'm going to be starting my own stables.'
The surprised expression in Clint's eyes deepened. 'How does the boyfriend feel about that?'
'I told you,' her voice was light, 'I make my own decisions.'
After a moment, he said, 'So you're after acquiring your own stables?'
'That's right. As soon as I have enough money. I've worked with Dad for years, but I've always dreamed of a place of my own. I'll board horses for people whocan't put them up themselves, and I'll give lessons. 1 want to organise gymkhanas, and...' She stopped.
When she went on, it was in a different tone. 'Why are you looking at me like that, Clint?'
'You intrigue me,' he told her.
'I
thought perhaps I was boring you.'
'Do you know, Alison,' dark brown eyes held her green ones, defying them to move from his, 'I've a feeling you have a great many qualities, most of which I've yet to discover. But boringness could never be one of them.'
'Thank heavens for that!' She laughed up at him, then turned her eyes back to the horses, but not before Clint had seen that her cheeks were flushed with pleasure at the compliment.
But a moment later the compliment was forgotten. A nervous horse was coming their way, head jerking, gait skittish, when Alison spotted a little boy climbing the slats of the paddock fence. Little more than a toddler, three years old at most, he got to the top of the fence, balancing unsteadily as he waved his hands at the horse.
'Careful!' shouted Alison in alarm.
She lunged for the child, meaning to pull him back, when he overbalanced, falling headlong into the paddock, directly into the path of the horse.
Alison was levering herself frantically over the fence when strong hands pulled her back, and in a second Clint had vaulted into the paddock. He snatched the child from ~ the ground just as the front hooves of the horse were about to smash down on it. And then he was back at the fence, passing the little boy across to Alison It had all happened so quickly that the horse's owner had not had time to control his rearing steed. From start to finish, the incident had lasted less than a minute.
Only now did reaction set in. The horse's owner, badly startled, and obviously thinking Clint and Alison were negligent parents, was cursing all three of them. The child, cradled in Alison's arms, began to cry. And then the mother rushed up, white and shaken, and took the child from Alison's arms.
'Thank you—oh, thank you!' She was crying as she turned to Clint. 'I just turned my head for a moment, and Bobby here ran away. I should have known better.'
'No harm done,' Clint said kindly.
'It's all my fault!' Tears streaming down her face, the woman hugged the child to her.
Alison touched her arm. 'These things happen. Look, you've had an awful shock. Why don't you go and get yourself a cup of tea? You might feel better then.'
'I'll go and find my husband first.' The woman turned to Clint. 'I don't know how to thank you.'
'You've thanked me already.' Clint ruffled the little boy's hair. 'Take it easy next time, cowboy.'
No Greater Joy Page 2
