by Alison Kelly
‘I don’t know. I think so. I mean, Todd’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met.’
‘What does your father think of him?’
Lisa gave a bitter laugh and shrugged her shoulders.
‘He doesn’t approve of him, but I don’t care what he thinks. It has nothing to do with him.’
Alessandra finished towelling herself off and pulled her T-shirt on over the maillot she wore.
‘Well, if dinner is to be ready on time, we’d better get a move on back to the house.’ She handed the younger girl her clothes. ‘I’ve got a deal with your old man that I’ll oversee your cooking if he agrees to let me work with the hands around the ranch.’
‘You’re kidding! Daddy has agreed to let you work with the cattle?’
‘Once I prove I can tell one end of a horse from the other. What’s so surprising about that?’
‘My father firmly believes, “Ladies do not belong around cowhands, corrals or bars! Nor do they smoke, swear or drink beer!” And that has been quoted to me from the time I was in the cradle!’ Lisa said.
Alessandra struggled to contain a grin. She could just imagine Bart Cameron saying the words.
‘Lucky for me I don’t smoke. Uh, Lisa?’
Bart Cameron entered the house to the sound of uncontrollable laughter coming from the kitchen. Lisa? Heck, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her without a surly look on her face, let alone heard her laugh.
‘Of course the guy could hardly believe the fact that little old pint-sized me had tossed him over my shoulder and sat him on his ars——’
‘Good evening, ladies.’
Both Lisa and Alessandra swung around at the heavy tone of the male voice. Alessandra noted the sudden change in Lisa’s expression.
‘I was just telling Lisa about the time a guy tried to pick me up on a train.’
‘Yes. I heard the rather graphic description,’ Bart said curtly. His tone made the younger girl cringe. ‘Do I have time for a quick shower before dinner, Lisa?’
‘Umm…’ The girl looked at Alessandra for an answer.
‘Sure, but quick is the operative word. Another ten minutes and I won’t guarantee that the chicken won’t be ruined!’
Bart seemed about to say something, but changed his mind and merely nodded before leaving the room.
‘Well he can certainly kill a party just by his presence!’ Alessandra remarked.
‘He’s in a bad mood,’ Lisa confided. ‘I can tell.’
‘That’s a relief, I’d hate to think he was that bloody unpleasant every evening after work! Set the table, would you, Lisa?’
A phone call interrupted the meal almost as soon as the three sat down to the table. It was for Bart, and with obvious reluctance he pushed his plate of spicy chicken aside and went to take the call. Lisa and Alessandra enjoyed a light-hearted conversation which, although it never rested on one subject for long, revealed a lot about the younger girl to Alessandra, parts of it touching a wound she’d thought long healed.
‘Sorry about that,’ Bart said, returning to the dining-room just as the others were finishing the last of their meals. ‘Business that couldn’t wait. Don’t feel you have to keep me company while I eat,’ he said with more generosity than he felt. He loathed eating his evening meal alone. It reminded him all too much of the lonely time immediately after Kathleen’s death, before Lisa had been old enough to sit alongside the table in a highchair.
He looked across at his child’s classically beautiful face and was again reminded of her mother. Kathleen had been barely four months older than Lisa was now when she’d died. For years he’d feared his daughter might have inherited not only her mother’s beauty but also the asthma which claimed her young life. Fortunately Lisa had been spared that.
Alessandra was sensitive to the awkward silence drenching the atmosphere and wondered if anyone else noticed. Bart didn’t appear interested in generating any small talk, and Lisa, although looking uncomfortable, seemed reluctant to move. Suspecting the teenager was anxious to discuss something with her father, Alessandra politely excused herself. Taking an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, she let herself out into the warm night air.
She located a log, beneath a huge tree of indeterminable age, and sat down in the night’s dark peace. Propping her elbows on her knees, she cradled her chin, looking out in the direction of the legendary Black Stump. In the blackness, all she saw was a network of twinkling lights stretching for miles. Whoever had written the song about the stars in Texas being big and bright had missed out on the magic of sitting beneath Australia’s Southern Cross. Here the stars were bigger and brighter than anywhere in the world, including the heart of Texas!
But she frowned even as the famous tune played in her head. Actually, she was in danger of taking a particular Texan too much to heart. With no encouragement from him at all, she was more than a little interested in Mr Bart Cameron.
There was something about the man that stirred up the three years of dust which had settled on her sensuality. He, of course, didn’t appear to be even remotely attracted to her, and she had to admit this was understandable, considering they had next to nothing in common. So why did he hold such an attraction for her?
Bart Cameron was staid and conservative to the point of being almost boring. She, on the other hand, was what her brothers described as a ‘radical extrovert, who bordered on fruitcake’! So why was she so drawn to the cowboy? Maybe it was the flashes of loneliness she caught glimpses of from time to time, but, if that was the case, then surely what she was feeling hinged on pity? No, Bart Cameron created a lot of different feelings within her, but pity definitely wasn’t one of them!
Just roll with the punches and see what happens, she told herself.
After all, she wasn’t the type for coy games when it came to the opposite sex; five brothers had taught her that men preferred women who were honest about their feelings, and subtlety definitely wasn’t one of her strong points.
Rising, she took a healthy bite of the apple she’d been absently polishing against the leg of her jeans, and ambled off in the direction of the corrals: Eventually her feet led her into the stables.
Only four horses were housed in the building—the stallion she’d seen Bart grooming and three others. She was instantly drawn to a magnificently proportioned chestnut.
‘Well, aren’t you a beauty, fella?’ she whispered, reaching a steady hand towards him. The animal whinnied aggressively, taking a step backwards.
‘Easy, mate. I’m not going to hurt you.’ She edged nearer, aware of the uneasy brightness in the animal’s eyes. ‘Steady, boy…You’re a beautiful fella, aren’t you…hey?’ Again the horse loudly protested her presence. It was as he turned sideways that Alessandra noticed he’d been gelded.
‘No wonder you’re angry. What sort of stupid moron wouldn’t want to use you for stud purposes? Well, don’t you worry, handsome…this is one female who thinks you’re perfect just the way you are…’
The muscular horse raised himself on to his hind legs, exhaled a hysterical snicker, and lunged at the gate that separated them. In the blink of an eye she was forced savagely against the wall on the opposite side of the long narrow building and shaken by the forearms.
‘Are you completely stupid?’ Bart demanded to know.
‘I will be if you keep pounding me into the bloody wall!’
The vibrations stopped; the verbal insults didn’t.
‘You must be the most idiotic woman I’ve ever met! Redskin is a maniac! You could have been killed!’
‘So what are you trying to do—finish the job? Let go of my arms before I lose all circulation to my hands! Thank you!’ she said, stunned by the effect his closeness was having on her.
He took a step back, casting a quick glance at the still restless horse before steering her by the arm away from the front of the stall.
‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you OK?’
She shook her head.
‘What’s the matt
er?’ His voice held alarm. Her eyes seemed even brighter than usual and her face was slightly flushed.
‘My heart is pounding a million miles an hour.’
‘It’s probably due to the fright you got when Redskin reared,’ he said, trying to keep his gaze from moving to her breast to check her timing.
‘No. It’s entirely your fault.’
‘Look…’ He ran a weary hand through his hair and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Alessandra, but all I was thinking about was getting you clear of the gate in case the brute crashed over it and struck you with a hoof. I acted on instinct. I’m sorry if I scared you.’
Alessandra considered what sort of a reaction she might get if she were to reach up, put her arms around his neck and kiss him. She could always plead delayed shock as an excuse if he objected to her actions.
Half an hour earlier she hadn’t been convinced that Bart Cameron was ‘her type’; suddenly she knew that no other man would ever come close to affecting her the way he did! Her shortness of breath wasn’t the result of Redskin’s antics; it was due entirely to Bart Cameron’s closeness and overwhelming masculinity. Yet it was more than simply his physical presence that was making her heart expand and crowd her lungs. It was the gentleness of his concern. Yep! Here was the man for her, and all she had to do was let him in on her discovery. But a fullfrontal attack somehow didn’t seem the right approach. She needed to be subtle!.
‘You didn’t scare me, Bart.’
‘But you said——’
‘I said you were responsible for my increased pulse-rate. I never said you scared me.’
‘What…?’
‘Night, Bart; see you in the morning!’
Turning quickly, she hurried across to the house, leaving the stunned man still standing in the stables. As she reached the kitchen she allowed herself a little chuckle.
‘That’s about as subtle as you can get, Alessandra MacKellar!’
Bart was tired and irritable from a fitful night’s sleep. He wasn’t in the mood for Lisa’s sulking, nor Alessandra’s dry wit and inane chatter. He poured a cup of coffee and took it outside into the early morning sunshine.
He couldn’t think of one reason why the Lord would see fit to inflict the torment of the last two days on him. The events of last night alone were enough to age a man twenty years! What with Lisa announcing that she didn’t want to go back to the States to go to college and threatening to leave home, then to walk out to the barn and find Redskin all set to trample a sassy-mouthed Aussie…! Hell!
The easy solution was to ship Lisa off to her grandmother in Houston and then to tell Alessandra that he didn’t require her services as a bookkeeper.
Ha! His mother-in-law would like nothing better than for him to admit he couldn’t handle his own daughter! She’d been telling him so for nearly eighteen years. He wasn’t about to prove her right now.
The Australian was another matter. She and Lisa seemed to get on like a house on fire and he had to admit his daughter’s cooking had improved two hundred per cent under the older woman’s guidance. What bothered him was that, while the girl’s cooking was taking a turn for the better, in the few days Alessandra had been here Lisa’s language had definitely taken a downward slide.
Last night, during the argument they’d had, Lisa’s use of expletives would have made a marine cringe! There was also the matter of Alessandra ‘coming on’ to him. Well, at least that was what he assumed she had been doing. It didn’t seem all that logical, sitting here in the harsh light of day. After all, he was much too old for her, and with her looks she could have her pick of almost any man she wanted. Bart wondered why the idea depressed him, because she certainly wasn’t his type.
Sure, she was sexy as all get out, but sex appeal went only so far; at some point femininity had to make a stand. He suspected that Alessandra equated femininity with rabies—to be avoided at all costs!
He drained the last of his coffee from the cup and headed back to the house. He wouldn’t fire her…yet, but he sure as hell was going to have a few words to say about her language!
‘Get a load of this!’
A shrill wolf whistle drew Bart’s attention from the task of saddling his horse, and instinctively he knew who was attracting the appreciative whistles of his men, even before he looked up and saw Alessandra striding across towards them.
‘Man, wouldn’t I like the job of pouring her into them jeans every morning!’
‘It’s all yours Jim, s’long as I get the pleasure of peeling ‘em off her every night!’ came the laughing reply.
‘Knock if off, fellas,’ Bart warned, unusually irritated by their comments. ‘The lady’s working here for the summer and I don’t want any trouble. Got it?’
‘Hey, boss, they were only foolin’ ‘round,’ Jim, the foreman Bart had brought with him from Texas, replied.
‘And I’m just telling them the facts,’ Bart said.
‘Gidday!’ Alessandra beamed, letting her welcome include them all. She received a mixture of responses and greetings, from everyone except Bart, who simply inclined his head and ran his eyes over her from head to foot. As a means of ignoring him she made a point of introducing herself to each of the men.
‘When you’re through socialising…’ Bart said.
Alessandra wondered what had put him into such a foul mood. The men returned to their work and she moved to where Bart stood holding a saddled bay mare.
‘You didn’t have to saddle her; I could have done it myself.’
‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘Yours is over there.’ He pointed to a corral that held three horses. ‘The grey. This isn’t pony club, Alessandra. You catch him, you saddle him, and then we’ll see if you can ride him.’
Alessandra drew herself up to her full five feet six and gave him a hard glare.
‘Easy!’ she said, swinging away from him.
‘Probably,’ he agreed. ‘The hard part will be trying to mount him in those jeans. I imagine sitting must be difficult.’
‘Enjoying the view?’ she asked sweetly, deliberately swishing her bottom, but not turning around.
Bart would have bitten off his tongue before admitting that he was finding it almost impossible to keep his eyes off her. Yet it was the truth. Alessandra MacKellar was making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Not about her anyway!
Alessandra didn’t expect to have the slightest bit of trouble catching the gelding and putting the bridle on him. She’d spent a great deal of time with horses. Over the years she’d gained valuable experience with many different breeds, having worked as a strapper with thoroughbred racehorses in Australia, Britain, Ireland and New Zealand; while the time she’d already spent on outback cattle stations in Australia had instilled a great respect and admiration for the hard-working, well trained stock horses used on the properties. She’d even had a couple of seasons of barrel racing on the rodeo circuit.
She genuinely loved horses, which perhaps was why the animals seemed to trust her almost instinctively. Of course that lunatic Redskin had been an exception! Bart admitted he was crazy, so why keep him? she wondered, knowing all too well the risks of hanging on to a psycho horse. Well, she’d worry about that later; right now she had to prove her horsemanship to a tall, lanky hunk with a medieval view as to how a woman should behave.
Bart watched as she approached the horses with a respectful caution. He was too far away to hear the words, but he could see by the movement of her mouth that she was talking to them. He recalled the softly soothing tones he’d heard her using the previous night on Redskin. Did she use that same seductive tone when making love to a man? An electric current shot down his spine at the thought. Irritated, he clamped his hat further on to his head.
‘Move your butt, Alessandra! I haven’t got all day, you know!’ he shouted. His angry tone sent the grey skittering out of Alessandra’s reach, and she swore loudly. ‘Charming language for a lady!’
Alessandra took another couple of minutes to secure the bridle to t
he grey and lead him back to where Bart sat perched on the fence.
‘What’s his name?’ she demanded, deciding she wasn’t going to wear his bad mood with a smile for a moment longer.
‘Pewter,’ he answered, lifting an expensive, hand-made saddle from the fence and handing it to her.
She took it without a word and inspected it with interest.
‘Checking for burrs?’ he queried smugly.
‘Actually I was thinking that the thing has so much padding and is so deep that a person would have more chance of falling out of an armchair! An Australian stockman wouldn’t use one of these as a matter of pride!’
Bart let the remark go unchallenged. It would have served her right if he’d given her one of the old worn saddles! He refused to dwell on the reason why he hadn’t. He watched her go about putting the object in question on the horse. She was careful to fold the stirrup straps across the saddle before easing it on to the grey.
Silently he applauded her. It was a good habit to get into, as with a skittish horse the sudden impact of the irons swinging down and hitting it could often cause it to rear or bolt. Again she was sweet talking the animal as she tightened the girth. From the corner of his eye he noticed the men had stopped work and were watching her. He said nothing.
‘OK, Pewter, darling, let’s check the stirrups for length,’ she said.
Taking hold of the reins in such a way that the horse was unable to turn his head and take a nibble on her derrière, she used her free hand to turn the stirrup iron towards her and in a fluid motion swung herself into the saddle.
‘The advantages of stretch denim,’ Bart murmured, and received a bored look in response.
She stood in the irons for a moment before dismounting. She lengthened one of the stirrups two notches, then walked around the horse and repeated the action with the other.
‘Those stirrups are too long,’ he told her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she replied sweetly. ‘I thought you were riding the bay.’
‘I am.’
‘Then, since I’m riding this horse, I’ll saddle him so I’m comfortable!’ she retorted, remounting. This time she barely cleared the saddle by two inches when she stood in the irons.
