A Wish and a Wedding

by Margaret Way

  After dinner Philippa had fallen into the habit of playing the piano—which just happened to be a Steinway concert grand—to entertain them. The whole family loved the fact Philippa was so talented, and she had been greatly blessed in that she had miraculously escaped any form of arthritis in her pianist’s hands. Haddo and Tori were well used to her wonderful musicianship, but Chrissy, who had only heard some truly woeful strumming in her short and troubled life, was enthralled. While Philippa played she had a captive audience in Chrissy, who was soaking up her various experiences like a desert claypan soaked up rain.

  At one stage that evening Haddo left the drawing room. Tori gave it a few minutes, then quietly went after him. Man-like, Haddo was totally discounting his injury, but she knew his arm had to be hurting badly. Kerri and Marcy would be arriving in the morning—they stuck together like sisters—so she would get fewer and fewer opportunities to talk to Haddo alone. Despite the lack of encouragement, Marcy still thought she had a chance with Haddo, and Kerri, as her friend, was going to do her best to help Marcy out. Tori wasn’t about to wish Marcy luck. She wanted someone altogether different for Haddo.

  Like who, young lady? It was hard to get away from her inner voice.

  Haddo wasn’t in his study. The library was in darkness. He must have gone upstairs. She debated following, but she still thought she would never get over being so carelessly negligent that day. She wasn’t ignorant of the bush and bush life. She knew as well as anyone how ill-tempered donkeys could be, and she had practically walked right into the pack, upsetting the leader. It had seemed to her that over dinner—she had watched him very closely—Haddo had had a faint pallor beneath his tan, something that made her feel very guilty. She didn’t like to speculate on what might have happened if the donkey had got its jaw around her own slender arm. The reason it hadn’t was Haddo.

  “Haddo?” she called as she walked along the upstairs gallery. If he was in his rooms she wanted to warn him in advance she was coming.

  Not like the last time, dear! The voice volunteered another scathing little comment.

  “Haddo?” She slowed her steps as she approached the bedroom door. It was open, and the lights were on. That did nothing to soothe her nerves. When he suddenly appeared in the open doorway she actually jumped. “You startled me,” she croaked.

  “Now, how could I startle you, Tori?” he asked. “You were looking for me. Here I am. Do you want to come in?” He stood away from the door, the soft, long-sleeved blue shirt he had been wearing at dinner unbuttoned and pulled free of trousers threaded with a belt.

  “You mean I’m allowed?”

  He just smiled—a smile that made every other guy’s look washed out. “Come in, Elf. I was just going to put some of Snowy’s concoction on my arm.”

  “I knew it was hurting,” she said worriedly, her eyes travelling around the large room, with its twelve-foot ceilings. The suite comprised an adjoining dressing room, a bathroom beyond, and a sitting room on the opposite side. There was nothing even mildly rustic about it, given the Outback setting. It was very grand, very comfortable, very masculine, with a big bold aboriginal painting hung above the huge bed she had once managed to negotiate. She had never worn that nightgown again.

  “Just a bit,” he conceded. “Could have been worse. The brute could have taken a piece out of you. Now, that would have been a catastrophe. That particular donkey has been playing up of late. When the muster is over we’ll set it free.”

  As he was speaking he was stripping off his shirt, intending to replace it with a short sleeved tee. For all he knew Snowy’s green ointment could stain.

  Tori stood transfixed, her throat suddenly dry and her heartbeats picking up erratically. God, he had a superb body! She found herself blushing hotly. What the heck was she doing here?

  Ask a silly question, you get a silly answer, dear. You can’t keep away.

  She tried to ignore the taunt. “Can I do that for you?” she offered, watching him pick up a small painted pot of ointment from the bedside table.

  “You’d like to try your hand at playing nurse?” He searched her small, fine boned face, his smile faintly wry. She was wearing a very pretty short dress with a silver, blue and green pattern. As usual, she looked like an exquisite pool nymph. The deep green of the silk exactly matched her tilted eyes. The way she had arranged her long mane fascinated him. She had any number of ways: up, down, plaits, coils, ponytails that fell down the back or to one side. Tonight she had left her hair loose and curly, just the way he liked it. It sprang away from her face, framing it in a rich rosy cloud.

  “Why not a nurse when I’m going to be a schoolmarm?” she parried, advancing several steps across the Persian rug towards him.

  “You’re not nervous about it, are you? You’ll be fine.”

  “Of course!” She threw up her chin. “I’m going to barricade the door so no one can get out. Some kids really hate school. They want to be outside communing with nature. You know they do.”

  “They might get hysterical if you tried to lock them in,” he commented dryly.

  “You know perfectly well I was only joking. Leave it to me. I can handle a bunch of children.” I think. “Chrissy has asked to sit in on some of the classes.”

  “Poor Chrissy.” He sighed. “I guess she missed out on a bunch of stuff. That’s a good idea.”

  “Pip wants to help her as well.”

  “Another good idea,” he replied. “Now, are you going to come over here, or do you intend to work your magic from there?”

  He sounded both casual and mocking, his brilliant blue eyes alight with some sort of devilment. “Shut up, Haddo,” she said sweetly.

  His skin was the colour of polished bronze. There was a fine mat of dark hair on his strongly muscled chest. Talk about a six-pack! She could search the world and she would never find a man she wanted more. His upper left arm, to her shame, was already turning into a spectrum of livid colours—black, blue, yellow, purple.

  “Oh, dear, dear, dear,” she sighed, taking the little pot of ointment from him. “This is all my fault.”

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed, straight-faced.

  “No need to rub it in.”

  “What else can I say?” He relented, and laughed. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, by the way, Tori. Rub it in. Gently, please.”

  “A good thing I don’t want to hurt you,” she said meaningfully.

  “You mean there’s a chance we might start over?”

  “No chance,” she retorted. She took a small amount of the dark green unguent onto her index finger, then began to apply it very tenderly to his badly bruised arm. “This has coloured up very quickly, wouldn’t you say?”

  “It’s doing what Snowy intended it to do,” he answered, thinking that under her ministrations he was bound to lose his phenomenal control. “The ointment brings out the bruising”

  “It smells lovely,” she said, in some surprise, having expected a strong medicinal smell. She lightly sniffed the fragrant substance—what was it? Could it be good for the skin?—then gently eased him down onto the side of the bed with a little pressure on his shoulder. “You can’t tower over me.”

  He put his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. “Unlike the donkey, I don’t bite.”

  “So, tell me, have you changed, then?” she asked crisply, hiding her searing reaction. Why didn’t she just collapse into his lap, like she’d used to when she was a kid?

  “Can’t you tell a changed man when you see one? This has to be the best night of my life, Victoria. You have the most exquisitely gentle fingers.”

  Those same fingers gave a little tremble. “Being nice to me now won’t win me over,” she warned. “I’m treating you like I’d treat any other casualty.”

  “I don’t think so,” he drawled.

  “You’ll just have to believe me.” She continued on for a moment in silence, drenched in sensuality. “I think that does it,” she said briskly. “I’ll just wash the ointm
ent off my hands, if I may? Though it smells lovely—like a mix of wildflowers. I wonder what’s in it?”

  “I’ll ask Snowy to tell you when he gets back. Grab a fresh handtowel off the stack.”

  “Will do.”

  She was back in a moment, watching him shrug into a navy T-shirt that clung to his splendid physique. Michelangelo would have adored him.

  “Feel any better?” she asked expectantly.

  “I don’t deserve you,” he said, pinning her gaze. ‘I’m pretty sure you’ll have to keep doing this.”

  She saw the mischief. Blood came to her cheeks. “Have your fun.”

  “Seriously, sweet, penitent Tori—how I love you this way—I appreciate your concern.”

  “No problem!” she replied, turning on her heel so he wouldn’t see the expression in her eyes. “Are you coming downstairs again?”

  “Sure!” He caught her up at the door, giving her a challenging look. “Do you mind if I give you a thank-you kiss?”

  “We’ve had our last kiss—remember?” She felt duty-bound to remind him.

  “A cousinly kiss is what I mean,” he corrected her, his beautiful smile twisting a little.

  “If you must!” She presented her alabaster cheek, thinking how very difficult it was going to be to discourage such a practice.

  “Oh, I must!” he assured her, his voice deep and dark, and turned her into his arms.

  It was intolerable. And at the same time it was what in her heart of hearts she so fervently longed for. Haddo was the best and the worst of her. A dyed-in-the-wool feminist would have been scandalised.

  “You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she accused him, hostile little sparks flaring in her green eyes.

  They stood inches apart, staring at one another.

  “Yes, of course I am,” he retorted. “And you wouldn’t have me any other way.” He took her wrists and raised them, kissing the delicate inner network of blue veins one after the other.

  She shivered, every nerve leaping beneath the thin sheath of skin. “I’ve never met a man with more ego.”

  His blue eyes glittered. “Come on,” he scoffed. “I’m in a unique position to know what goes on inside that ruby head of yours.”

  “Are you now?” Rebellion hit her bloodstream. Incongruously, it was mixed in with a wildly rampaging excitement. She fixed him with an intense stare. “Okay, so what am I thinking now, Svengali?”

  “You want to open your mouth for me,” he said, in that dark, seductive voice that rocked her to the core.

  As a kiss it was fabulous. Instantaneously marvellously familiar—she hadn’t forgotten the first time—like the meeting of predestined soul-mates and at the same time powerfully and wondrously new. Such kisses were surely the most fantastic gift.

  As a lover he would be flawless. For the last four years she had fantasised about those moments out of time when he had had her in his bed—kissing her, cupping her breast, her nipples on fire, his sex against hers for all their brief coverings. Fleeting heaven! And she had to be neurotic, because she had never recovered.

  People looked at her, read about her, and immediately jumped to the conclusion she couldn’t be a virgin. Not with her lifestyle, her perceived sophistication. In the third millennium too.

  Well, she was. How was that for fidelity, however angst-ridden? Why else would she be letting him do this to her? It was like diving into an unknown crater lake without a second thought. She had sworn she would never again let him see how much she loved him. He couldn’t be getting the message.

  When he stopped kissing her she was breathless, bubbles in her blood. “That’s your little thank-you kiss, is it?” she gasped.

  “You’re nearly twenty-one, aren’t you?”

  “So what happens then?” She eyed him sharply.

  “You’ll have to wait to find out.”

  “You mean we might end up in your bed again?” Her voice dripped sarcasm.

  “You were sixteen, Tori, for God’s sake,” he groaned.

  “Do I have to be twenty-one?”

  “Well, twenty-one’s not that young,” he pointed out bluntly. “A heck of a lot better than sixteen.”

  “Put the whole thing out of your mind,” she said. “I’m not going to be staying long enough. I’m going to take my punishment—for that’s what it is—and then I’m zooming back to Sydney. If your dear old friend Marcy, who’s arriving tomorrow, knew about this, and about the sorts of things you’re saying to me, she’d kick up a big fuss.”

  His answer was to take her face gently between his hands. “Who’s Marcy?” he asked, then dropped another kiss on her small, straight nose.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TORI was fast asleep when a pounding came on her bedroom door.

  Oh, my gosh!

  She turned on her back with a start. This was a big day for her. The most important day of her life if one considered this was the very first job for which she would be paid. The night before she had been full of good intentions—full of confidence, for that matter. There were only about a dozen or so kids she would have in front of her. From a couple of little pre-schoolies to the eldest, Charlie Worangi, who apparently was stuck on Grade Five. In her efforts to impress Haddo—she pretended she didn’t care, but she cared desperately—she had even gone so far as to set the alarm on her bedside clock for seven a.m.

  Seven a.m. had well and truly come and gone. The digital reading was now 8:10. Frantically she tried to kick her legs free of the top sheet that somehow during the night had begun to wind round her like a mummy.

  “Tori?”

  She could have sobbed with frustration. “Go away!” she yelled furiously, finally fighting free of the sheet.

  “I’m coming in.”

  “What for? A quick chat?” Hurriedly she looked about for something non-valuable to pitch. “Try it and I’ll call the police.”

  “I am the police, by the way.” Haddo was standing in the now open doorway, flaunting his signature blazing energy and the Great Outdoors. “Surely you could make an effort on your first day?” he said, making no attempt to disguise his disgust.

  “I set the alarm!” she cried.

  “No!”

  “I did too!” She picked up the small clock and aimed it at him.

  He caught it deftly, not even glancing at it. “School starts at precisely nine o’clock. Tracey was always there well beforehand.”

  “Very commendable,” she said briskly. “Now, are you going to get out of here and let me get dressed?”

  His blue eyes ran all the way over her. She looked absolutely enchanting, his Elf, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “Whatever happened to the fancy nighties?”

  She tugged at the short hem of her girlish pink cotton and white lace number. “I find it very strange you remember that nightie.”

  “It was lovely!” he said. “Though it didn’t give you much cover.” He started to turn away, all dynamic male. “I’ll organise some breakfast for you.”

  “I don’t want breakfast.” She wrapped both her slender arms around her, radiating irritation.

  “As I said, I’ll organise breakfast for you. I don’t want you falling asleep on the kids. Then I’ll take you down to the schoolhouse and introduce you properly. They know who you are, of course, but not as their schoolmarm. It might be an idea to dress the part.”

  “I’ve never had the pleasure of wearing a corset,” she said sharply. “So, how many at the last count?” she asked, busy unwinding her long plait.

  “Wait and see,” he said.

  “What happened to Chrissy?” she exploded. “Couldn’t Chrissy have come to wake me up? I thought she was my friend.”

  “Don’t take it out on Chrissy.” He shrugged. “Chrissy couldn’t come because the last time I saw her she was out riding, about two miles from home. That was around sevenish.”

  “Oh!” Chrissy had taken to Outback life like a brolga to water. “Chrissy is used to waking up early. I’m not. Now, ge
t out of here, Haddo.”

  His sapphire eyes glittered. “Technically, Victoria, I’m your boss.”

  “Sorry!” She didn’t sound in the least sorry. “I’ve known you so long I forget these things. Try again. Could you please get out of here, sir?”

  Haddo and Tori were greeted with big beaming smiles, rippling giggles and clapping hands. It was obvious this was an event. Tori did a rough head-count. Fifteen pairs of eyes were staring back at her. The two of them stood at the front of a large airy classroom, furnished with four long desks to each side of the room, and divided by a wide centre aisle—for me to do the walking, Tori thought, charmed by the reception. Each desk could easily accommodate four to five students, although three sets of four and one of three had spread themselves out at the desks now. Fitted into the wall behind them was a monster blackboard for the teacher to write on. At the centre of the dais was the teacher’s large comfortable desk and chair, with a couple of trays on it and a whole selection of chalks, pens and pencils, whatever. Someone had placed four perfect yellow liliums in a small dark blue ceramic vase.

  The schoolhouse had only one double doorway but several side windows, and looked out onto the main tree-lined driveway up to the home compound, so Tori thought she would know exactly who was coming and going. The small white-painted timber building was protected from the hot desert sun by a broad verandah, and big white ceiling fans whirred overhead. Haddo, who appeared to be idolised by the children, introduced her as “Miss Victoria”.

  “Good morning, Miss Victoria.” Young voices drawled her name in unison.

  “Good morning, children.” Best not call them kids.

  “So far so good,” Haddo murmured a few moments later, giving Tori a quick smile just as Chrissy slipped into the classroom and collapsed at the back desk. “Ah, there you are, Chrissy,” he said.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late.” Chrissy went pink.

  “Barely a minute.” He smiled. Chrissy could come and go as she pleased. Not so Miss Victoria. “Children, this is Miss Chrissy, who will be helping Miss Victoria out and sitting in on the lessons.”