by Diana Palmer
“I didn’t used to do a lot of bloody things,” he grated. He studied her soft face irritatedly. “Nothing like a woman to drive a man to drink!”
“My, we are in a bad temper, aren’t we?” she provoked.
He glared down at her through narrowed eyes. “Why won’t you come picnicking?”
“Because I hate you!” she threw back.
“Oh, Priscilla...!” Ronald George called gaily.
“You’re getting on my quince, parcel post!” John shouted down the hall.
“I say, old man, I never touched your quince! And what’s that about a package...?” Ronald called back.
John took a deep breath. “You’re annoying me, newcomer,” he translated.
“One might have said so, mightn’t one?” Ronald reacted as he started back up the hall.
“Oh, bloody hell!” John growled. He gave Priss one last glare and stomped off down the corridor.
“Good day, Mr. Ster...oof!”
There was a hard thud, and Priss ran out into the hall to find Ronald George sitting in the middle of the floor looking stunned.
“Whatever happened?” she gasped. She helped him up and watched him dust himself off.
“Big fellow, isn’t he?” Ronald noted with a groggy smile. “I didn’t get out of the way fast enough apparently. How about that coffee?”
She escorted him into the teachers’ lounge with a thoughtful stare toward the exit, where John had disappeared.
If she’d expected John to give up about the picnic, she had a surprise in store. He drove up unexpectedly after supper Friday night at her parents’ home.
“John,” Adam greeted him, “come in and join us. We were just watching the international news.”
“Would you like some coffee, John?” Renée offered, smiling as she put aside her crocheting and got to her feet.
Priss sat nervously curled up in her big armchair, dressed in faded too-tight jeans and a shrunken red T-shirt with no bra underneath. Her feet were bare, and John glanced at her with a slow smile. She could have thrown the television at him.
“I’d love a cup, thanks, Renée. How are things, Adam?”
Her father motioned John to the armchair next to Priss’s and sat down himself across the room.
“Going very well. I, uh, hear you and Ronald George had a confrontation a couple days ago,” Adam remarked with a grin.
John looked irritated. “Damned fool walked out in front of me. I had things on my mind,” he added, glancing toward Priss.
“Nice man, George,” Adam murmured with a wry glance at Priss. “Excellent teacher. We’re lucky to get him.” He put down his coffee cup. “How about a game of chess?”
“Haven’t time tonight; worst luck,” John told him. “I came to ask Priscilla to go picnicking with the twins and me tomorrow.”
Priss bit her lower lip. So that was his game. He couldn’t get her to go on his own, so he was going to enlist her parents’ aid!
“I told you—” she began.
“Good,” Adam said firmly. “She could use some free time; she’s worked like a Trojan ever since she’s been back.”
“But—” she continued.
“How true,” Renée concurred, smiling when John took the silver tray from her and put it on the coffee table. “Here’s yours, John,” she said, serving him. “Priss, I brought one for you, too.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Priss said. “There’s just—” she tried again.
“My thoughts exactly,” John butted in. He crossed his long legs and grinned at Priss. “The change of scenery will do you good.”
“I had planned—” she began once more.
“And she had nothing to do tomorrow, anyway,” Renée added quickly. “We’ll put together a picnic basket here, so you won’t have to go to the trouble, John.”
“Just so,” Adam added, beaming at her. “She’ll enjoy it.”
Priss sighed wearily and gave up. But her eyes told John Sterling exactly what she thought of him.
“Darling, this might be a good time to go over the budget, since Priss is here to talk to John. You don’t mind, John, do you?” Renée added, grinning. “We’ll only be thirty minutes or so. Come on, Adam,” she prodded to her husband, dragging him out of his chair by the arm. “We’ll just sit in the kitchen and work on it.”
Priss’s father was trying to say something, but he was unceremoniously bundled out of the room before he could get it out.
John caught her eyes and held them as he sipped his coffee. “Go ahead. Let it out. You look mad as hell.”
“Oh, no,” she grumbled. “Everything’s apples!”
He smiled slowly. “You sound like a native already.”
“And don’t butter me up,” she added. “I don’t want to go on your damned picnic!”
“The boys will be disappointed. I told them you would.”
“Why? You might have asked me first!”
“Listen.” He set down his cup and leaned forward, his hairy forearms crossed over his knees. “All I want is conversation. Just to talk. The twins would make anything else between us impossible, so what are you afraid of?”
“I won’t get involved with you,” she said firmly. “Not physically or otherwise.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Did I ask you to?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I’m lonely,” he said simply. “I could use someone to talk to. A friend, if you like.”
“You want us to be friends?” she asked incredulously. “After what’s happened...?”
“I don’t want us to be enemies,” he replied, and his voice was like black velvet. “Do you?”
She stared down at her curled-up legs. “No, I guess not.”
“Then, suppose we try getting along for short stretches?”
She looked up with all her unvoiced fears in her eyes.
“I won’t touch you, Priscilla,” he assured her gently. “You’ve nothing to fear from me physically. I won’t even try to hold hands.”
“That’s comforting,” she reflected, dropping her eyes.
“I thought you might feel that way. As I said, the boys will protect you from me.” He lifted his cup again and sat back. “If you really want to be protected,” he added with a maddening smile.
She felt her face going hot and kept it down so he wouldn’t see the wild color in her cheeks. “I got carried away before.”
“So did I, love,” he confided quietly, and his deeply tanned face was suddenly grave. “We were good together, that way, from the very first time we kissed.”
“Dragging up the past won’t help things,” she declared stubbornly.
“I do realize that,” he agreed. He sipped his coffee. “I’ve spent five years trying to put it all out of my mind. I haven’t been quite successful.” His eyes caught her. “And I don’t think you have, either.”
“I’m working on it,” she echoed with a cool smile.
“With that pommy?” he grumbled.
“Ronald George is a nice man,” she tossed back.
His nostrils flared as he tried to control his temper. He set the coffee cup down carefully and got to his feet. “I’d better go before I lose my temper again.”
“Perhaps you’d better,” she countered sweetly.
He glowered at her. “The boys and I will pick you up about eight.”
“I’ll be ready.” She got up as well, finding herself all too close to him. She could feel the warmth of his large body; smell the clean scent of it mingled with his spicy cologne.
“Even in old clothes you’re quite something, Priscilla Johnson,” he said softly.
She looked up and noticed that he was blatantly staring at her. She crossed her arms over her breasts.
> “Stop that,” she grumbled.
“Does it bother you, remembering?” he quietly mocked.
The color in her cheeks blazed. She turned away toward the hall and quickly opened the front door for him.
“I’m being evicted, I see,” he lamented. He paused in the doorway, grinning wickedly. “Tell your parents I said good night.” His eyes dropped down again, and he chuckled softly at her irritated movement.
“That’s all over,” she reminded him coldly.
He studied her flushed face. “I’ve built my station back up from bankruptcy,” he began quietly. “I’ve literally made something from nothing. I don’t have a lot of money. Not yet. But I have one hell of a lot of drive. What I want, I get. So watch out, little sheila.”
She swallowed down a lump in her throat. “Don’t try to make me into that kind of woman, John,” she warned unsteadily.
He frowned slightly. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“There are plenty of women who give out—”
“I don’t want you that way,” he declared.
“Then...what?” she faltered.
He touched her cheek with the tips of his lean fingers, brushing it softly. “Be my friend, Priscilla.”
It was all she could do not to catch that large hand and press her mouth against it. But she had to be strong: he was a past master at this game, and she wasn’t adept enough.
“Friendship is all I can give you now,” she responded.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, then went back up to meet her gaze. “Good night, love.” He turned and walked away without another word.
Why did he have to use that endearment, she wailed silently, and bring back all the bittersweet memories along with it?
“Has John gone already?” Adam asked as he and Renée reentered the living room minutes later.
“He had things to do,” Priss explained. She looked from one of her speculating parents to the other. “It’s only going to be friendship,” she attested firmly. “I can’t take any more rejection from him.”
“Of course, dear,” Renée said gently. She bent and kissed her daughter on the forehead. “How about some more coffee?”
“I’d love a cup. I’ll help you,” Priss volunteered.
Renée scrutinized Adam, who winked. She was glowing as she followed her daughter into the kitchen.
Chapter Ten
They spread the picnic cloth under a coolabah tree beside a water hole in the stream. Or, as John put it, a billabong.
“Do you know the original words to ‘Waltzing Matilda’?” he queried her with a grin. “‘Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong, under the shade of a coolabah tree...’”
“I’d forgotten!” she exclaimed.
“The words were written by one of our best poets—Banjo Paterson,” he continued, helping her unpack the wicker hamper.
“I have one of his books,” Priss volunteered. “He was very good. I liked the poem about Clancy, too...”
“‘Clancy of the Overflow.’” Gerry chuckled, nudging his brother. “Remember, Dad read it to us once.”
“Didn’t Clancy turn up in ‘The Man from Snowy River,’ too?” Priss asked John. “I saw the movie and loved it!”
“So did I. Yes, that was Clancy.” He searched her eyes slowly. “Australia gets into your blood, doesn’t it?”
“It’s a big spectacular country,” she agreed, dropping her eyes to his blue patterned shirt. “Much like America—especially in its history, its pioneer days.”
“Yes, I suppose so. We had our desperadoes, too, like Ned Kelly.”
“Can me and Gerry go swimming?” Bobby asked John.
“Sure, take your clothes off and help yourselves, if you aren’t ready for your food yet,” John told them.
“Bonzer!” Gerry grinned.
The boys stripped down to their swimming trunks and dived into the water.
“Is it safe here?” Priss asked.
“For whom, the boys or you?” he murmured dryly.
She moved restlessly, tugging up the shoulder of the pale blue peasant dress she was wearing. “The boys, of course.”
“I didn’t expect you to wear a dress,” he stated. He was stretched out across from her in the grass, and her eyes helplessly followed the long powerful lines of his body from legs to narrow hips to broad chest straining against his partially unbuttoned shirt. She could see the darker blond hair on his chest, and she tingled with unwanted memories.
“My jeans were all in the wash,” she muttered. That was true enough. Her mother had smiled gaily when she’d told Priss there weren’t any clean jeans. “Thanks to my mom,” she added darkly.
“Her middle name must be Cupid,” he said dryly.
“She doesn’t know you like I do,” she returned icily.
“That’s true enough.” He toyed with the handle of the wicker hamper. “There aren’t many women who do know me the way you do,” he added, lifting his eyes to catch hers.
“Only a few hundred, I’m sure,” she snapped.
He shook his head. “Only a handful, if you’re interested,” he said seriously. “I never had time for full-fledged affairs. The station always came first.”
“Can’t we talk about something else?” she asked miserably. The thought of him with other women, particularly Janie Weeks, was unbearable. Once again she wondered why he had never married the other woman.
“Why are you still a virgin?”
The question knocked her sideways. She stared at him with a mind gone blessedly blank.
“Yes, I know I keep harping on it. But it disturbs me. Did I damage you emotionally, is that it?” he persisted with narrowed, intent eyes. “Or couldn’t you feel it with anyone else?”
“You said we were going to be friends!” she burst out.
He shrugged irritably. “Yes, my oath, I did. But I’d still like to know why.”
“It’s past history. As for my lack of experience,” she added, “I never liked the idea of being promiscuous. Since most modern men have an opposite attitude, and word gets around, I didn’t date very often. Does that answer your question?”
“I can see it all,” he nodded, and smiled gently. “Miss Iceberg. Only you were never that with me. You were warm and soft and giving, and you aroused me as no other woman ever had.”
“Only because I was innocent,” she said, looking away. “Would you like some fried chicken and potato salad?”
“Because you were you,” he corrected. “I’m sorry for what I did to you in the stable. Sorry that I made something distasteful out of it. I had this wild idea that you’d been around,” he added slowly. “But once I started, when I realized that you still wanted me—”
“I don’t—!” she began.
He reached out and caught her hand. Holding her eyes, he drew her fingers down over her own breast where the hard tip was visible against the soft fabric of her dress.
“You don’t what?” he demanded quietly.
She jerked her hand from under his, horrified when, instead of falling away, his fingers landed gently on her breast. She pulled away from him, her eyes wide and accusing.
“As you yourself said,” she shot at him, “it’s a purely physical reaction. A residue from a dead relationship. Friendship is all I have left to give you.”
He dropped his hand to the tablecloth and sifted through the box of plastic forks. “You don’t want something a little more physical than that?”
“I don’t want an affair,” she stated calmly.
He smiled faintly. “Neither do I, oddly enough.” He looked up. “Especially not with a virgin.”
“Stop making me sound like a dinosaur.”
“You’re a lovely dinosaur,” he remarked, running his eyes over
her flushed face framed by its halo of softly curling blonde hair. “Does he turn you on?”
She blinked at the lightning change of subject. “He?”
“That pommy.”
“You mean Ronald?” She smiled slowly. “He’s very nice.”
His face grew cold. “He’s young.”
“So am I,” she reminded him.
He rolled over onto his back, with his arms under his head, and stared up at the sky. “Ten years my junior,” he murmured. “It was a hell of a difference five years ago. Almost different generations, Priss.”
“Yes.”
He turned his head sideways and studied her bent head. “I kept up with you.” He surprised her. “Through your parents.”
“They knew?” she accused.
“I had to have their cooperation,” he said. “I couldn’t risk having them tell you the truth, so I swore them to silence.” He nodded as her eyes mirrored her surprise.
“You knew me very well, didn’t you?” she mocked bitterly.
“Well enough.” He observed her. “Someday I’ll tell you all of it. But in the meantime try to remember that I spared you some bitter times and some hard memories, will you?”
“And an empty marriage,” she added.
He frowned. “What?”
“You said it was all desire on your part, didn’t you?” she shot at him coolly. “We’d have been in divorce court as soon as the newness wore off.”
He sat up. “Maybe it’s time we talked about that—”
“Hey, Uncle John, there’s a wombat over here! Can we have it?” Gerry called suddenly.
“No!” he shot back. And, knowing the twins, he got quickly to his feet. “I’d better have a look,” he told Priss. “They’ll be using it for a volleyball next.”
She watched him walk away. He was the most masculine-looking man she’d ever seen. Muscular and graceful and sensuous. His fair hair caught the sun and gleamed like silver, and when he grinned at the boys, his face became young again, the face she’d loved as a teenager.
She still did love it, if the truth were known. But she couldn’t be drawn into an affair with John. It would kill her.
Once the wombat was herded off and the boys had dried themselves, the four of them sat down to their picnic feast. Afterward the boys went back to swim some more, and Priss and John stretched out full-length on the picnic cloth and closed their eyes.
