by Alison Kelly
Yet she knew that she’d find no hardship in having Bart Cameron as number three. Except for the fact that he had declared himself a non-starter! Well, at least I haven’t made a fool of myself, she thought. From here on in she’d keep things as businesslike as he, but she hadn’t been the one who’d initiated the kiss!
Over the next two weeks Alessandra settled into the routine of Rough Rivers without any major problems. Jim was impressed with both her initiative and her ability to follow orders, and told her so. The other hands were equally friendly when they found she was as capable as any man in the execution of her job. Each Thursday morning, Jim drove her into the bank where she cashed the salary cheque and then dropped her back at the house so that she could make up the pay envelopes for the men. She had suggested that it would make more sense to pay the men by cheque, since it would eliminate the need for someone to escort her to the bank.
‘The boys like to get cash. Saves them the time of goin’ to the bank before hitting the bar,’ Jim told her.
Still, Alessandra conceded, if it weren’t for the weekly trip into town she’d probably have gone stir crazy. At least it gave her the opportunity to stock up on the reading material that she devoured in copious quantities in an effort to keep Bart Cameron out of sight and out of mind. Actually she saw little of him, except at dinner and weekends, when she was careful to act coolly civil and guard her tongue.
Their arrangement regarding sharing the office worked to keep them out of one another’s way. It was hers on Thursdays, Saturday mornings and if necessary Monday nights; at all other times Bart had access to it. Alessandra knew he spent most of his time in there keeping detailed records of his breeding plans, but although fascinated by the scale of his artificial insemination programme, she would have bitten off her tongue before questioning him about it. He’d probably accuse her of being sexually suggestive!
Lisa provided some company for her at the weekends, although it was usually limited to just a few hours, since the younger girl was rarely at home. Evidently although Bart didn’t entirely approve of his daughter’s relationship with Todd he was prepared to tolerate it as long as she was in by midnight.
‘Say, Mac!’
Alessandra turned in the saddle and saw Jim riding towards her. She hoped he didn’t want her to work tomorrow morning; she was exhausted. The hands were rostered to work every other Saturday, although they often helped one another out by swapping turns.
‘What’s up?’ she asked as he reined alongside her.
‘Well, I…that is, me an’ a few of the boys thought…’
She was puzzled by the man’s uncharacteristic shyness.
‘Thought what, Jim?’
‘Well, me an’ the boys thought you might like to join us for a drink in town tonight. It ain’t nowhere fancy, but, well, you don’t seem to go out much an——’
‘Apart from my weekly trips to the bank I haven’t been out at all,’ she replied, before turning a bright smile on the cowboy and adding, ‘Thanks, I’d love to go!’
‘You would?’
She laughed. ‘It’s the best offer I’ve had in ages! What do I wear?’
‘Huh?’
‘How dressed up should I get?’
‘Ah.’ He seemed to relax. ‘Well, like I said, it ain’t fancy—just a beer at the pub—but we usually tuck into some Chinese next door.’
‘I get the picture. Where and when should I meet you?’ she asked.
‘Oh, we’ll pick you up at the house ‘bout seven. That OK with you?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll be ready.’ He turned to leave. ‘Oh, and Jim, thank you. I haven’t exactly been inundated with social invitations; I appreciate it.’
Thirty minutes later Alessandra darted up the steps of the house, two at a time. Lisa was beginning dinner preparations, while Bart sat at the table drinking a can of beer.
‘Gidday!’ Her greeting included them both.
‘How does steak and steamed vegetables sound?’ Lisa asked.
‘Fine,’ she replied, pouring herself a glass of iced water. ‘But don’t bother cooking any for me. I’m going out.’
‘You are?’ Father and daughter spoke in stereo.
‘Don’t sound so stunned.’
‘I’m not. It’s just that you don’t usually go out at night…’ Lisa replied. ‘At least you haven’t since you’ve been here.’
‘That’s because no one asked me.’
Bart wondered who had done so now. It could only be one of his men, but which one? He took a sip of his beer. Any one of them, he thought. They all think she’s the best thing since the Dallas Cowgirls!
‘Well, I’d better get a move on or I’ll be late,’ Alessandra said, finishing her drink and turning to leave the room. At the door she stopped as a thought occurred to her. ‘Oh, can I borrow a key from one of you? I don’t have one.’
‘I’ll probably be up when you get back. I have a lot of work to do,’ Bart said.
She was about to remind him that she wasn’t Lisa and she had no intention of reporting to him when she came home, but something stopped her—the pure bitchy pleasure the idea of dragging him out of bed in the early hours of the morning inspired. She shrugged and left the room without a word. Even if she got home early, Alessandra was determined that she’d wait until she was sure Bart Cameron was in bed before she hammered on the door to be let in!
Bart dropped his fork when Alessandra walked into the dining-room forty-five minutes later. Fresh blue jeans hugged her body as if they’d been painted on and her feet were covered by new boots that reached to mid calf. The soft white blouse she wore moulded itself intimately to her every curve and its deep V neck would tempt the eyes of any male over the age of ten and still breathing!
‘You look great,’ Lisa exclaimed. ‘You’ll have to fight the guys off with a baseball bat!’
Bart was fairly certain that, dressed as she was, Alessandra wouldn’t be safe if she armed herself with an automatic assault rifle.
‘Doesn’t she look great, Dad?’
He looked Alessandra squarely in the eye and wanted to tell her she wasn’t going anywhere dressed like that unless it was with him, but at the last minute his brain kicked in over his libido.
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘Don’t overdo the flattery, Bart.’
Feeling a heel, he hurried to make amends as a car horn blasted outside. ‘It’s just I prefer dresses to jeans…’
‘And I bet you look terrific in them too,’ Alessandra said, giving him a patronising pat on the head and sending Lisa erupting into a fit of giggles. ‘Well, I’m off.’ She wiggled her fingers and headed for the door.
‘Hey, who’s your date?’ Lisa called.
‘Dates!’ She winked. ‘As in plural. A girl can’t put her eggs all in one basket!’
Bart grunted an unintelligible response and forced his attention back to his meal. God, he hated steamed vegetables!
The television no longer held his interest and Bart checked his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes; Lisa should have been home over an hour ago. His anxious thoughts were interrupted by the noise of a vehicle stopping too rapidly on the gravel drive, as its occupant leant on the horn. He was already striding to the door when Alessandra’s voice called his name with urgency.
‘Bart! Bart!’
He cannoned into her at the top of the porch steps.
‘What the hell’s the matter?’
‘I need you to help me get the guys——’ she jerked a thumb over her shoulder towards the four-wheel-drive behind her ‘—down to the bunkhouse.’
‘You’re drunk!’
‘Rubbish! I drank Coke all night! They——’ again she motioned at the car ‘—are drunk.’
‘Well, you smell like a brewery!’
‘So would you if you’d had umpteen dozen glasses of beer spilt over you. Those guys spill nearly as much as they swallow,’ she replied calmly.
They were standing toe to toe, and Alessandra couldn�
�t help thinking how wonderful this man smelled, after being stuck in the confines of the pick-up truck, with three drunks. Come to think of it, even when he was slick with sweat and wrestling a contrary calf Bart Cameron managed to smell wonderful to her. For a splitsecond she was certain he was going to kiss her again; instead he stepped away from her with what was clearly disgust.
‘I don’t suppose you happened to see Lisa in town?’ he asked, running a weary hand around the back of his neck.
Alessandra shook her head. ‘Isn’t she home yet?’
‘No, she isn’t!’ Bart said with irritation. ‘And when she gets here she’s going to wish she wasn’t!’
‘Calm down, Bart, I’m sure there’s a very good explanation why she’s late.’
‘An “explanation” can be supplied over the phone.’
‘Maybe she wasn’t near a phone?’
‘She was going to her girlfriend’s, not Mars! The Austins have several phones.’
‘Perhaps the car broke down on the way home…’
‘Look, I’m not in the mood to stand here listening to you trying out hackneyed excuses for her. I have to get your drinking buddies to bed!’
Alessandra ignored his snide comment and proceeded to follow him down the stairs to the truck.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he asked.
‘Coming to help you.’
‘Forget it! I have the feeling it would be like having ten people working against me.’ Bart climbed in behind the steering-wheel and repositioned the slumped body of one of his men, giving himself more room. He stuck his head out of the window as the engine came to life.
‘I’ll be about twenty minutes. If Lisa gets in before I come back, tell her I want to see her before she goes to bed. That is if you can stay awake that long. You look like hell!’
The vehicle moved off before she could get out a reply, so she vented her anger by stomping into the house, slamming the kitchen door behind her.
Less than five minutes later she opened it to the missing teenager.
Lisa’s face was green. If it weren’t for the efforts of the tall blonde holding her up Alessandra had no doubts that Lisa would have slumped to the floor. It was this fact that prompted her to pull a chair from the table and angle it behind the girl’s knees. With a total absence of grace Lisa sat down.
‘She’s had a bit too much to drink…’ the blonde said.
Alessandra swore softly.
‘I’m Angela Austin.’
‘Alessandra MacKellar. How did this happen?’
‘I guess someone must have spiked the punch.’
‘What with? Ether?’ Alessandra muttered, not buying the clichéd excuse, since as a teenager she’d used it on one or two occasions herself. She ran a weary hand across her brow.
‘Think her Dad will be mad?’ The blonde’s voice was anxious.
‘Heck, no! He’s too busy being furious over the fact that she’s a little over an hour late!’ She sighed. ‘Look, Angela, thanks for bringing her home. I’ll take over from here. With any luck I can have her in bed before her father gets back.’
The blonde, looking relieved at the mention of Bart’s absence, said a hasty goodbye and hurried to her car.
Alessandra figured she had about ten minutes at the most before Bart arrived back on the scene. She lifted Lisa’s face to her.
‘Lisa! Lisa, wake up.’
‘Uh? Hi, Alessannnda.’ The girl offered a weak smile with the slurred welcome. ‘I fink I’m a bit dunk…’
‘There’s a lot of that going around tonight. Now listen to me, Lisa,’ she said with urgency. ‘Your father will be madder than a cut snake if he comes back and sees you like this.’
‘He’ll be angry, uh?’ Lisa muttered.
‘Homicidal would be closer to the mark,’ Alessandra replied. ‘So listen to me. I want you to stand up and I’ll help you get upstairs. OK?’ The girl’s head rolled as she tried to nod. ‘Good. Let’s move.’
Although shorter than Lisa, Alessandra was surprisingly strong for her size. Speaking in a soft, encouraging tone, she offered both verbal and physical support as the younger girl staggered and stumbled her way up the wooden staircase. At the top she halted only long enough to gain a firmer hold on the teenager before manoeuvring her into the bedroom. Lisa gave an elated squeak as she spied the bed and in two drunken strides flung herself diagonally across her quilt.
The idea of Bart finding his daughter in such a state didn’t bear thinking about. Moving quickly, she began to undress the practically unconscious girl.
‘Kiddo, you’re going to wish you were dead in the morning!’
When Lisa was safely tucked into bed, Alessandra went to the bathroom and returned with a cool damp cloth. Gently she wiped the young girl’s face and neck. An ironic smile tugged at her mouth as she recalled her brother Scott doing the same thing for her after her first serious bout of experimental drinking.
She also remembered all too vividly what had happened during the night, and as the thought occurred to her she dashed back to the bathroom and returned with a plastic bowl.
‘Lisa.’ She shook the girl gently. ‘Lisa…’ She received a groaned response. ‘If you feel sick during the night, use this. OK? Do you hear me? Lisa, if you want to throw up use this bowl beside the bed.’
Again the only answer was a half muttered, half growled groan. Sighing, Alessandra stood up and turned on the bedside lamp.
‘Lisa.’
Alessandra jumped at the sound of Bart Cameron’s voice from the door.
‘Sshh,’ she instructed. ‘You’ll wake her; she isn’t feeling well.’
‘Oh? What’s wrong?’
Alessandra shrugged. ‘Probably a virus or something.’ She turned off the overhead light in the hope of discouraging him from moving further into the room and getting close enough to smell the alcohol on Lisa. He stepped back into the hall as she bodily blocked his passage and pulled the door shut behind her.
‘A virus?’ he mused and moved forward again forcing Alessandra back against the door.
‘Well…I mean, it might be…I’m not a doctor, so I’m only guessing.’ His nearness was causing the most chaotic disruption to her breathing. ‘Ah, did you get the guys settled OK?’
‘I simply tossed each one on to his bed and left.’
‘Can’t do anything more than let them sleep it off.’ She endorsed his actions.
‘Really? I thought you were an advocate of the dampsponge treatment?’
‘The damp…?’ Realisation that Bart had witnessed her treatment of Lisa suddenly dawned. She swallowed hard.
‘Where was she?’ he demanded, still not making any movement away from her. Only inches separated their bodies.
‘The Austins. Angela brought her home.’
‘She wasn’t at the Austins; I phoned them earlier. So don’t lie to me. Where was she?’
‘I have no bloody idea! And don’t ever call me a liar again, Bart Cameron! You said she was going to the Austins, she came home with Angela Austin, so therefore I assumed she spent the evening there!’
She pushed him aside and headed towards her room with angry steps. It was the disappointment in his next words that made her turn around.
‘How drunk was she, Alessandra?’
His face was shadowed with hurt and his blue eyes begged for her to deny Lisa’s true condition. She couldn’t do it, but nor could she bring herself to say ‘paralytic’.
‘She’ll know about it in the morning.’
‘She certainly will.’
His ominous tone chilled the room.
Sunday mornings were Alessandra’s passion. She never rose before eleven and even if she woke earlier she would indulge herself by reading until then. Usually. Today she was consumed by restless energy, that, given the fact she hadn’t got to bed until after two, should not have been present. Nine-thirty. She wondered if Lisa had surfaced yet. The poor kid was going to wish she’d never been born. Not only would she have to en
dure what would probably feel like the worst hangover this side of the Black Stump, but she was going to cop an earful from her father as well. Alessandra sighed loudly.
She’d been fortunate to have five older brothers who, by the time she’d reached her teenage years, had managed to ‘break in’ her parents, so that their reactions to her own youthful acts of rebellion, while not always reasonable in her own young eyes, were far more tolerant than those of her girlfriends’ parents. Lisa had no one to run interference for her or to make her actions seem typical. From his daughter Bart Cameron demanded perfection with a capital ‘P’. Alessandra suspected that until recently he had got it and that was what made the girl’s sudden waywardness so much harder to accept.
Why was it people always expected so much more than their offspring were willing to give or even capable of giving?
Jenni’s parents had been the ones who had first awakened her to this sad truth, but she’d seen many other cases since. Some realised their mistake in time; others, like Jenni’s parents, never did. Not wishing to dwell on a subject that caused her pain, Alessandra got up and went to have a shower.
‘Man, but she’s somethin’ else!’ Jim enthused, holding his coffee-mug as if it were a life-support system.
Bart suspected it was, given the redness of his foreman’s eyes.
‘She even insisted on buying a round like everyone else. A “shout” she called it, not a round, but when was the last time you ever met a woman who didn’t expect men to pay fer everything?’
‘Reckon I might ask her to the rodeo dance,’ one of the younger Australian stockmen enthused.
‘How do you know I haven’t already asked her?’ another demanded.
‘Don’t matter one way or another,’ came the calm response. ‘She ain’t blind, so I reckon she ain’t likely to say yes to you.’
It seemed all the men were full of admiration for Rough Rivers’ newest employee and for the past fifteen minutes had been conducting a meeting of the Alessandra MacKellar Fan Club!
