Marriage At a Price

by Miranda Lee

As she hurried out, Courtney popped the box of condoms inside the opaque paper bag containing the deodorant, secretly glad there weren't too many people around to stare at her getting into a red sports car driven

  by a very handsome stranger. Gossip was the bane of country life, and discretion was necessary if you cared what other people thought.

  Till recently, Courtney hadn't given a damn what people thought of her. Other than her mother, that was. But her mother was gone now and the responsibility for Crosswinds lay on her shoulders and hers alone. She had to care what some people thought, whether she liked it or not.

  Jack had climbed out of the car whilst she was gone and was leaning with his back against his door, his arms folded and his ankles crossed. His head was tipped back slightly, his eyes were shut and he was soaking in the last of the afternoon sun. He looked totally relaxed and totally irresistible to Courtney.

  She couldn't stop her eyes running over him in a decidedly lascivious fashion, lingering on the bulge in his jeans. Lord, now that was impressive. Very impressive.

  Her eyes finally lifted to find that his eyelids had done likewise during her highly intimate perusal. 'I see you've been thinking about it,' he drawled. '

  She swallowed, but kept her eyes steady. Don't let him get cocky. Don't let him be sure of you.

  Her small smile was just enough to make him stand up straight, his body language showing a measure of frustration. His lower body too, if she wasn't mistaken.

  'As I said yesterday,' he muttered, yanking open'his car door, and hiding his arousal from her, 'you run a close second in the Superbitch stakes, Courtney Cross.'

  'I never run second in anything,' she retorted, stung by his putting her in the same breath as that calculating cold-blooded cow. 'No crime in a girl looking. But I did warn you, Jack. I don't mix business with pleasure. You should have believed me.'

  'I'm beginning to appreciate that fact.'

  'You can't win them all, you know.'

  'Just get in the car, damn you.'

  'Fine!'

  They climbed in and banged their car doors simultaneously. Courtney threw her package at her feet, sorry that she'd even bothered to buy the darned things now. All that rampant desire she'd been feeling for Jack had well and truly disintegrated with their spat. Which was just as well, since she'd just told the man sex was definitely not on.

  Jack shot out of his parking spot like a spurred quarter-horse, racing up the main street and out of town. When he hit the dirt road his back wheels slewed round, throwing up a cloud of dust which would have covered Lake Eyre.

  'Careful,' Courtney bit out. 'I ended up in a ditch last year driving too fast along this road."

  'Pity you didn't break your beautiful neck in the process.'

  Courtney was torn between feeling offended and complimented. She hadn't had her neck described as beautiful before. Probably because it wasn't, she decided. It was too darned long.

  'Flattery will get you everywhere,' she snapped.

  'Will it, now?'

  His blue eyes glittered harshly as they flicked over her body, encased that day in blue jeans and a red and blue checked flannel shirt. With her hair up in a ponytail and no make-up on, Courtney knew she was as far removed from the glamorous and perfectly groomed Katrina as a woman could be. But Jack was still looking at her with the most corruptingly intense hunger.

  'In that case you have beautiful eyes as well. A beautiful mouth, beautiful legs, beautiful breasts, and, oh, yes, a really beautiful backside. So how far has that got me?' he mocked. 'Through your bedroom door yet? Or do I need to mention your refreshing personality, your feisty spirit, your earthy sensuality and your wicked sense of humour?'

  Courtney couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.

  He grinned also and, thankfully, slowed down to a less neck-risking speed. She really did want to get home in one piece.

  'You lied to me,' he said, but with a smile.

  'About what?'

  'About flattery getting me everywhere. It hasn't made the slightest bit of difference, has it?'

  'No.'

  'And I suppose they aren't condoms in that packet down there, as I was stupidly hoping?'

  'Sorry, just deodorant for me and some headache tablets for Agnes,' she said with a perfectly straight face.

  Tity.'

  "Them's the breaks.'

  "That was your last chance to give in gracefully. From now on it's war, where all sorts of duty tactics will be employed.'

  'Such as?'

  'You don't expect me to telegraph my punches, do you? That's not how the game is played.'

  'War is not a game.'

  'It can be. I played war games a lot as a kid. And I know all the right moves.'

  'I'm sure you do,' she said ruefully.

  "Them kind of moves, too,' he agreed with a devilish waggle of his brows. 'I've had loads of practice.'

  'Start young, did you?'

  'Fourteen, or thereabouts.'

  'Disgusting.'

  'I'll bet you weren't far behind, you little hypocrite. Country girls are notorious for being sexually active young. Something to do with seeing all those animal matings from an early age. Sex holds no mystery.'

  'You're right there. Sex certainly held no mysteries for me, which is why I was twenty before I bothered.'

  He threw her a startled look.

  'It's true. Before then I wouldn't even kiss a boy. If anything, seeing stallions servicing mares all the time made me even more determined not to succumb to such a male-orientated activity. It's not pretty to watch, you know. Or sexy. The mare is tied up and quite often reluctant. But she has no choice. The stallion is brought in and he mounts her whether she likes it or not. Virgin mares whinny with the pain. Others freeze with shock.'

  'But surely not all mares react like that.'

  'No. There are born sluts, even in mares. Or so my mother used to say.'

  Jack frowned. 'Surely you don't think that, do you? That a female is a born slut if she enjoys sex?'

  'Not any more I don't. But I did for a long while. I hated the idea of a man on top of me, forcing part of his body into mine. I couldn't understand how it could be pleasurable, let alone bearable.'

  'But you obviously don't think that now,' he said, still sounding a bit shocked.

  'No. I don't think that now. Thanks to Larry.'

  'Larry,' he repeated thoughtfully. 'Larry who?'

  'Larry Mason. He was a horse-breaker. Specialised in, difficult fillies.'

  'Very funny. Were you in love with him?'

  She laughed. 'Good Lord, no. But he was very attractive in a John Wayne sort of way.'

  'And?'

  'And I fancied him rotten.'

  'And?'

  Suddenly it all came back to her, like a slow-motion movie. She'd gone down to the far feed shed for something and walked in on Larry and one of the stable girls, having sex. Larry had been lying across some bales of straw and the girl had been sitting astride him, totally unaware of her surroundings as she'd risen and fallen on her lover's body, her eyes tightly shut, moaning cries escaping her wide open mouth. She hadn't seen Courtney standing there, frozen but fascinated.

  Larry had, however. He'd even winked at her. She'd watched for a full five minutes before running away.

  She hadn't told anyone what she'd seen, but after that, whenever she'd run into Larry, he'd stare at her and she'd go hot all over. She'd thought about him constantly, had dreamt of him at night: dreamt of sitting astride him as that girl had done. Dreamt of clutching his shoulders and riding him till she too cried out with the kind of orgasm she'd witnessed that afternoon.

  Courtney had read all about orgasms. She just hadn't ever wanted one before.

  But after that she had. With Larry.

  Yet she hadn't dared approach him, fearing her mother might find out. But then she'd heard Larry was leaving the next day, going to work at a stud in South Australia. That had been her chance. And she'd taken it, dredging up the courage to
go to him and tell him what she wanted, even whilst she'd been shaking inside.

  That night it had been her in the far shed with him, not that stable girl. Her being shown how to do what she'd seen, and more. Much more. Larry liked assertive women, as it had turned out. He liked them being on top. He liked being made love to by the female.

  Courtney had liked it too. Because she'd been in control. There'd been no question of male domination. Or of losing her head. The next time she'd met a man she fancied, she'd known exactly what to do. Not that there'd been all that many. Three or four over five years. Hardly a harem.

  'You must have fancied this Larry one hell of a lot,' Jack persisted, 'if he got past all your obvious defences. Either that or he was the best seducer since Casanova. Which was it?'

  Courtney suddenly realised Jack's questions had become very intimate indeed.

  Time to terminate this conversation! 'I fancied him one hell of a lot,' she said. 'Watch this next corner. This is where I ran off the road.'

  Jack's car took the corner as if it was on rails, and in a way it was, the deep, rainworn ruts keeping all four wheels securely within their walls. But when the low-slung bottom of the car scraped the top off the hump of dirt in the middle, Jack groaned.

  'I can see why people have four wheel drives out here,' he grumbled.

  'It'll be better once the council brings in the grader. They do that a couple of times a year.'

  'You should get on their backs to do more. Put some road base down or something. This is appalling.'

  'This is the country, Jack, not the city.'

  'Still...'

  Always sensitive to male criticism, Courtney was now on the alert for more, their arrival at the official entrance

  into Crosswinds making her smother a groan as she suddenly saw it through Jack's eyes.'

  The once proud iron archway, which had the word 'Crosswinds' emblazoned across it, was rusty, as was the cut-out drum sitting on a fence post, which served as their mailbox. Not an auspicious entrance for a property looking for an investor.

  Courtney waited for Jack to make a detrimental comment but he didn't. He just drove through the open gateway without saying a word.

  At least the driveway up to the house was gravel, she thought, and not rutted or potholed. The tall poplars on either side looked impressive, too, though the trees hadn't sprouted their leaves yet. Which was a pity. Their greenery would have distracted from the fences behind, whose greying paint seemed to have disintegrated further in the short time she'd been away.

  Still, the land beyond the peeling fences did look good, the lushly grassed paddocks and green hills beyond presenting a panoramic picture of surface prosperity. Peaceful mares grazed in yards on the left, whilst healthy-looking yearlings frolicked on the right. The various barns and buildings in the distance didn't look as shabby as they would up close.

  Hopefully, Jack's first impressions overall would be good. After all, she'd warned him about the recent lack of money to attend to what were really superficial things. He was the one who'd said it was the quality of the land and stock that mattered.

  Jack continued up the winding driveway at a sedate pace, his head swivelling left and right, his intelligent eyes drinking it all in.

  When his head stopped swivelling and his eyes stared straight ahead, Courtney's own gaze followed.

  Satisfaction filled her soul at the sight that had transfixed him. Her home, perched on the hill at the far end of the driveway, looking magnificent.

  'What a fantastic old house,' Jack said warmly.

  'I'm so glad you think so.'

  She smiled as her eyes moved lovingly over the house's stately grandeur, shown to advantage under the golden rays of the setting sun. The grey iron roof shone, and the white iron-lace balustrades which ran round the upstairs veranda sparkled. Any lack of recent painting certainly didn't show in the flattering afternoon light.

  'My great great-grandfather built it back in 1852, when he first bought the land and started up the stud. He was a merchant from Scotland and quite wealthy. The walls are made out of a local sandstone and all the woodwork is Australian cedar. The lead light panels in the doors and windows were made in Melbourne and transported up by bullock wagons. The marble tiles in the front hallway were shipped out from Devon and the brass light fittings were manufactured somewhere in the north of England.' I can't remember where exactly. He filled the whole house with wonderful European furniture, but unfortunately we only have a few pieces left.'

  "That's a shame.'

  'You can say that again. I wouldn't have come begging to Sydney if I'd still had them. I'd have just auctioned off the damned lot and paid off my debts. But Mum beat me to it. Over the years, every time she wanted to buy a brood mare she couldn't afford, she sold off a piece of furniture and replaced it with a cheap reproduction. As it is, all we have left is an ancient four-poster bed which stayed because it couldn't be moved out of the room without being totally taken apart.'

  'We?' Jack probed. 'I thought you were an only child.'

  'I was. I'm talking about me and Agnes.'

  'The housekeeper?'

  'I shouldn't have called her that. She's much more than a housekeeper. She's another reason why I'll do everything in my power to keep Crosswinds a going concern. She'd be lost if she ever had to move out and find somewhere else to live. The house is her life. And me too, I guess. We have a bit of a love-hate relationship at times, me and Agnes.'

  'How old is she?'

  'I have no idea. She's strangely coy about her age, but she looks about sixty. Sixty-five, maybe. She's one of those thin, wiry .women who's always on the go. Indefatigable, my mother used to call her.'

  'She sounds a character.'

  'She is. And a sweetie underneath her brusque exterior. Tell her you like her cooking and she'll be your slave for life. Ah, there she is, waiting for us on the front veranda. I rang her this morning after you called, to let her know we'd be home in time for dinner.'

  'She looks closer to seventy to me,' Jack said as he swung the car round to the base of the front steps.

  Courtney's eyes narrowed on the slump in Agnes's shoulders and the curve in her back she hadn't noticed before. Jack was right. Agnes was older than she'd thought, and looking it.

  Courtney's heart squeezed tight. Poor old thing. The death of her best friend had really knocked her for six; that and worrying about Crosswinds' debts. Courtney had told her the truth before she'd left to go to Sydney. No one else, however. Just Agnes.

  It had been great to give good news this morning.

  Courtney was out of the car in a flash and up the sandstone steps. 'Hi, there, Aggie!' she said, planting a peck on Agnes's gaunt cheek. No hug. Hugging had never been allowed around Crosswinds. 'You can stop worrying now. I'm back safe and sound.'

  Agnes squared her shoulders, her faded eyes showing a mixture of reluctant fondness and annoyance. 'I gave up worrying about you almost twenty years ago, girlie. Now, why don't you have some decent manners for a change and introduce me to our guest?'

  Courtney turned to find Jack right behind her, carrying her small duffel bag and his much larger suitcase. He was smiling a devilishly charming smile. Damn, but he was almost irresistible when he smiled like that!

  'If we waited for Courtney to find her manners,' he said teasingly, 'we'd be here all night. I'm Jack Falconer, investment broker to the rescue.' He dropped the cases at his feet and stretched out his right'hand. 'And you must be Agnes, the heart and backbone of Crosswinds. Courtney has told me so many wonderful things about you.'

  Agnes beamed whilst Courtney rolled her eyes.

  'Well, isn't it nice to meet a true gentleman for once?' Agnes said. 'But, my, you're a big fellow, aren't you? I think we'll have to put you in the front room with the four-poster.'

  Courtney opened her mouth to protest, because that big old bed had been the focus of her wilder sexual fantasies over the past few years and she didn't want to push her luck. It was going to be h
ard enough resisting Jack without thinking of him lying naked and spread-eagled on top of that burgundy velvet bedspread, feet and hands bound to those four perfectly positioned bedposts.

  But she could hardly say that, could she? And she couldn't think of any other reason why Agnes shouldn't put Jack in that particular guest room.

  When her mouth snapped shut again, Jack gave her a small, strangely triumphant smile, as though he knew what was going on in her head.

  To add insult to injury, Biggs chose that moment to wake and jump down from the swing seat he'd been snoozing in, sauntering over to sniff Jack's hand, totally ignoring Courtney. Jack gave him a scratch behind the ears, whereby the traitorous animal practically drooled.

  'Nice dog,' Jack said.

  'Getting old now,' Agnes said. 'Like we all are.'

  'Not you, Agnes. You're just a spring chicken.'

  It was a corny line but Agnes loved it, brightening up no end. 'I've a good twenty years in me yet, young man,' she told him.

  'What's that delicious smell?' Jack asked, sniffing the air. Biggs sniffed with him.

  'I'm cooking a leg of pork. I hope you like baked dinners.'

  Jack groaned the groan of a true baked dinner devotee. 'Do I like baked dinners? I'd kill for one, but I haven't found anyone who could cook them like my mother. My darling mum's been passed away for a good few years now. But if my memory serves me correctly, her baked pork dinner smelt just like that. What's the secret, Agnes?'

  'It's the sage and onion you cook with it,' Agnes revealed smugly. 'Some people like apple with their pork, but apple's not a patch on sage and onion.'

  'I couldn't agree more. I can't wait to eat it.'

  'Dinner's at six on the dot. But you must be thirsty from your trip. Would you fancy a nice glass of sherry? I always have one around this time of day.'

  Jack grinned at her. 'Agnes, you wicked corrupter, you! Just let me drop these bags in the right rooms and I'll join you in that sherry.'

  'Courtney, you take Jack upstairs and show him where everything is. Oh, and get him some fresh towels out of the linen press. Those big blue bathsheets Hilary bought last Christmas would be best. Jack's going to need something large, by the look of him. I'll go check the dinner and we'll meet up in the front living room in ten minutes or so.'