Woman at Willagong Creek

by Hart, Jessica

  ‘But I kept getting glimpses of a different Olivia from the one I was nervous of. I saw the way you were with David, the way you battled with the dust every day. The more I saw of you, the more I loved you, and I thought that perhaps I could try. That’s why I bought you the nightdress. I was going to make my big move that night, but when I came in, you were reading Tim’s letter and suddenly it seemed as if you were still in love with him. I felt as if I’d been kicked in the stomach!’

  ‘I don’t think I was ever really in love with Tim,’ Olivia said reflectively, running her hand over Guy’s arm. ‘I thought you resented me for not being the kind of wife you needed at Willagong Creek.’

  Guy tilted her face up to his. ‘You’re not the right kind of wife,’ he said. ‘I needed a strong, practical wife, not a girl who wears high heels and faints at the sight of blood, but when you’d gone nothing seemed worth doing any more. The ringers all sat around remembering your cooking, and looking at me as if I was some kind of tyrant for driving you away. When I went down to the creek, it wasn’t peaceful any more, it was just empty. I kept expecting to see you, painting your nails or shaking back your hair or wrinkling up your nose in that fastidious little way you have. Then I’d remember that you’d gone, and that you weren’t coming back. That’s when I realised I didn’t need a suitable wife at all. I needed you.’ He bent his head to kiss her again.

  ‘To think I was so jealous of Robyn!’ Olivia sighed happily.

  ‘It’s nothing to how I felt seeing you with James Hungerford at the rodeo! You seemed so pleased to see him, and I thought he was reminding you of everything you’d been missing about your old life. I was convinced you wished you’d never asked me to make love to you.’

  ‘I would never wish that, Guy,’ Olivia said, her mouth curved in a reminiscent smile. ‘And now that I know that you love me I’ll be able to ask you again and again!’

  Guy’s smile sent shivers of pure desire down her spine. ‘Think I can’t ask for myself?’

  ‘Well,’ she said virtuously, ‘I’ve had to do all the asking so far!’

  ‘Yes, you have.’ His face was serious as he took her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. ‘It’s my turn to ask now. Will you marry me, Olivia?’

  ‘We’re already married,’ she pointed out.

  ‘We’re married for the wrong reasons, and we’re only married for three years. I’m asking you to marry me because you love me. This time there’ll be no let-out clauses when David goes to school. I’m asking you to marry me for ever. Will you?’

  Olivia’s eyes were shining as she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said simply, and pulled his head down to hers for a kiss which told him more than words could ever do.

  ‘Now that we’re properly married, I should take you on a proper honeymoon,’ Guy said later. ‘David’s longing to see you again - he missed you almost as much as I did - but he’ll be all right with my mother for another few days.’ He brushed the hair away from Olivia’s face with tender fingers. ‘Well? Where would you like to go?’

  She thought. They could go out to the Barrier Reef again, or down to one of the cities - Sydney, or Adelaide perhaps. Or Bali. There were plenty of exotic, sophisticated places she would like.

  And there was a rough, ramshackle, sunburnt place under the huge outback sky, where the gums were silhouetted against the light and the silence settled on a dusty homestead. A place where there were no luxuries, none of the comforts she had used to think so essential, only a small boy and a lean, brown man with a slow smile.

  ‘I’d like to go to Willagong Creek,’ she said.

  What are you going to read next?

  There are four more books in the Jessica Hart Vintage Collection -

  read on to find out all about them!

  About the Jessica Hart Vintage Collection

  The Jessica Hart Vintage Collection features five of Jessica’s early novels, now available for the first time in e-reader format, with personal introductions by Jessica.

  If you enjoyed Woman at Willagong Creek, rediscover more of your old favourites or meet new friends on Amazon and treat yourself to a feast of romance and adventure - from the green of the English countryside to the heat of the Australian outback.

  So hang out the ‘do not disturb’ sign, turn off that phone, curl up somewhere comfy - and escape into a warm, witty and wonderful world of romance … the world of Jessica Hart.

  You can find out more about the series, and how the books came to be written, at www.jessicahart.co.uk

  Join Jessica’s mailing list for news and information direct to your mailbox - just drop her an email at jessica@jessicahart.co.uk

  And you can follow Jessica:

  on Facebook

  on Twitter @JessicaHartXX

  or through her website: www.jessicahart.co.uk

  Visit Jessica's Amazon page

  Other titles now available as Vintage Collection e-books are:

  A Sweeter Prejudice

  Sweet, old fashioned Abby is horrified when movie star Nick comes roaring into the calm Cotswolds village of Stynch Magna. Nick is ridiculously handsome, irresistibly charming … and American … everything Abby has learnt through hard experience to distrust. But he’s also not a man who gives up easily, and he’s not about to be beaten by Abby’s prejudice. Can she resist the overwhelming excitement and passion he brings to her peaceful existence? You can find out at:

  For amazon.com readers: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CF136Y4

  For UK readers: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00CF136Y4

  Defiant Love

  Gussie cares passionately about the Northumberland countryside and clashes with developer Hunter Scott over his construction plans. When Hunter offers her a job as an environmental consultant on the project, Gussie is thrown. Can she make a difference working on the inside of the development? What will it be like working side by side with Hunter? And can her principles stand up to an even more powerful emotion - her growing feelings for Hunter? You can find out at:

  For amazon.com readers: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CF134IW

  For UK readers: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00CF134IW

  The Trouble with Love

  Scatty photographer Poppy joins Dr Keir Traherne’s expedition saving the West African rain forest. He thinks she’ll be nothing but a distraction, and pretty soon she’s proving him right - her luggage goes missing at the airport and things go downhill from there. But Poppy is warm and funny, as well as accident-prone, and soon she’s distracting Keir and stirring his emotions in more ways than one ... Find out what happens next at:

  For amazon.com readers: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CF13E9G

  For UK readers: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00CF13E9G

  Legally Binding

  Ten years ago, Jane was far too sensible to run away with local rebel Lyall. But now he’s back, and the bad boy is all grown up. Lyall is a successful businessman who holds the keys to the future of her family business and this time he’s going to make sure he specifies the terms … but has he really changed? And will Jane risk her heart again?

  Whetted your appetite? Now read the first chapter of Legally Binding!

  Chapter One

  There was a storm on the way.

  ‘About time,’ muttered Jane to herself, glancing at the black clouds boiling up in the distance as she snipped off another spray of roses. The gardens were bone-dry, and everyone had been on edge for days now, waiting for the oppressive heat to break. It hadn’t made the interminable wait for news about the contract any easier. A big storm to clear the air was just what they all needed.

  Thunder grumbled behind the rolling wolds, but Jane wasn’t inclined to hurry. It still sounded some way away, and she didn’t often get the chance to escape like this. It was very hot, and in the eerie pre-storm stillness the fragrance of the roses smothering the old stone wall somehow intensified. Jane loved these times, alone in the neglected garden, with only the empty manor house for company. She could clear her m
ind of all her worries about Kit and the business and what would happen if they didn’t get the contract to restore the manor, and submerge herself in the beauty of the garden instead, dreaming impossible dreams of what might have been if Miss Partridge hadn’t moved out of the manor.

  If her father hadn’t died.

  If Kit were different.

  If she had gone with Lyall all those years ago.

  Jane clamped down on the thought. She didn’t allow herself to think about Lyall, and if anyone had asked she would have said that she never did. It was only at times like this when she was alone or tired or off guard that the memories would uncurl dangerously inside her and the feel of him tingled still over her skin.

  Lyall … would she never be rid of him? Jane shook herself irritably and stepped round a clump of lupins to cut some Belle de Crécy. They were Miss Partridge’s favourites, and she buried her nose in the deep pink roses to banish unwelcome memories in their rich, spicy scent.

  ‘Hello, Jane.’

  Jane froze, her face still bent over the roses. The voice behind her sounded so like Lyall’s that she had the uncanny feeling that her thoughts had conjured him out of the past, and she had to tell herself sternly not to be ridiculous. The edgy pre-storm atmosphere was simply making her imagine things. It had been ten years since she had heard that deep, lazily good-humoured voice, nine years since she had stopped hoping ever to hear it again and started trying to forget.

  ‘Jane?’

  Very slowly, Jane lifted her head from the roses. It’s not Lyall, she reassured herself, and turned, only to squeeze her eyes shut against the dizzying sensation of plummeting through time, through ten long, empty years.

  Lyall Harding, the man who had swept into her life, turning everything upside down, the man who had taught her about laughter and about love, the man whose smile had haunted her dreams ever since he had walked away that grey September day ten years ago. How could he be standing on the worn brick path looking exactly the same?

  Half convinced that her mind was playing tricks on her for some reason, Jane opened her eyes cautiously, but he was still there, still looking exactly the same. The same amusement glinting in the navy blue eyes, the same mobile mouth, the same air of suppressed energy.

  Lyall smiled the same devastating smile. ‘Remember me?’ he said.

  Remember him? How could she forget her first lover, her only lover? How many times had she wished that she could? Jane felt jarred, disorientated, ricocheting helplessly between panic, fury and despair at the wild, irresistible joy that surged through her in spite of all those years of telling herself that she didn’t care and didn’t remember and wouldn’t want to see him even if he did come back.

  ‘Hello, Lyall,’ she croaked, hating herself for sounding in her turn exactly like the breathless teenager she had been ten years ago.

  ‘So you do remember!’ The mockery that had always so unsettled her gleamed in his eyes. ‘I was beginning to think you were going to ignore me completely.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ said Jane in what must have been the understatement of the century. She was still clutching the secateurs in one hand and the trug full of roses in the other, and her grey eyes were wide and very wary.

  ‘I recognised you straight away,’ he said, and gestured up to the terrace behind him. ‘You were standing there, bending your head to smell the roses, and your eyes were closed. It was just as I remembered you,’ he added in a curious voice. ‘You haven’t changed at all.’

  Jane took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was no longer a susceptible teenager. She was sensible, practical Jane Makepeace who had learnt her lesson about Lyall’s charm a long time ago.

  ‘Yes, I have,’ she said, relieved to hear how steady her voice sounded. ‘I’ve changed a lot. I’m not nineteen any longer.’

  ‘It doesn’t show,’ he assured her. ‘Your hair’s still the colour of smooth, dark honey, your eyes are still the clearest grey – and you still put up your prickles when you’re caught unawares.’

  Prickles instantly alert, Jane eyed him resentfully. Lyall had always had such a vivid, unsettling presence that no one ever noticed that he wasn’t nearly as handsome as he seemed at first. His face was too lean, his nose too big, but it was the air of reckless charm that people remembered, she thought. She should know. She had been trying to forget it for ten years. ‘It doesn’t sound as if you’ve changed either,’ she said tartly. ‘Still the same old line!’

  Lyall looked back at her. ‘It worked before,’ he reminded her.

  It had. Treacherous colour crept up Jane’s throat and stained her cheeks as she remembered how completely she had succumbed to his charm before. She had always hated her obstinately straight, silky hair but Lyall used to love it – or say that he did, she remembered bitterly. He would spread it out and watch it shine in the light as it slid through his fingers.

  The blue eyes watching her gleamed with sardonic amusement. She was standing in the middle of the border, surrounded by flowers, holding the trug in front of her in an unconsciously defensive gesture while the afternoon sun, slanting between the dark clouds, spun a golden haze around her. Jane tried very hard to look cool and unconcerned by his survey, but she had the disconcerting feeling that he knew exactly what she was thinking about, just as he had always done in the past.

  ‘Aren’t you going to come out of there?’ he asked.

  Jane didn’t want to come out. She didn’t want to stand next to him and remember how it felt to touch him. She wanted to stay right where she was among the roses, protected by their thorns, but Lyall would know that too, of course.

  She told herself not to be pathetic. She was twenty-nine, not an impressionable teenager, and Lyall was just an old acquaintance who meant nothing to her any more. Tilting her chin unconsciously, she edged between the iceberg roses and a gorgeous clump of peonies that were past their best, and stretched over a mass of wild geraniums so wide that she nearly lost her balance and would have fallen if Lyall hadn’t reached out and caught her by the arm to steady her as she landed on the grass.

  At the touch of his hand against her bare skin, Jane’s stomach disappeared beneath an avalanche of memories: those same hands sliding up her arms, pulling her towards him, gentling down her spine. The feel of his body, the touch of his lips, the warmth of his smile …

  She caught her breath and jerked her arm from Lyall’s grasp. Not daring to look at him, certain that her memories were written all over her face, she bent her head over the trug, resettling the flowers with unsteady fingers.

  Lyall meant nothing to her now, remember?

  Steeling herself, Jane looked up. His eyes were as blue and as dark as ever, but instead of the laughter she remembered they held an expression she had never seen before. Gone was the glinting mockery, and in its place was something harder, something fixed and almost fierce that dried the breath in her throat and set her heart knocking painfully against her ribs.

  He had changed. She could see that now that she was close to him. There was a steely solidity about him now, a toughness that she didn’t remember, and new lines starred beneath his eyes. She didn’t remember that ruthless look to his mouth, either, she realised. It was as if the wild recklessness and carefree independence that had been so much a part of him had focused itself into a harder, more daunting quality of power and authority.

  Unprepared for the transformation, Jane stared, only to see that strange expression dissolve and the mouth which had suddenly seemed so inflexible curl up at one corner, and she took a hurried step back, furious with herself. She was supposed to be keeping her dignity and treating him like a stranger, not gazing into his eyes as if she had been waiting for him for ten years.

  Scarlet-cheeked, she took a firm grip on her trug and on herself. ‘I didn’t think we’d ever see you again,’ she said as coolly as she could.

  ‘Life’s full of surprises, isn’t it?’ A disconcerting smile lurked at the back of the blue eyes and Jane fought
the instinctive urge to respond. She had succumbed to Lyall’s smile too often in the past, and look where it got her!

  ‘Not always nice ones,’ she pointed out in an attempt to sound quelling, but she might as well have spared her breath.

  ‘You don’t sound very pleased to see me, Jane!’ said Lyall, without appearing unduly concerned.

  ‘Did you think I would be?’ she retorted with a challenging look.

  Lyall considered the matter. ‘Why not? We had some good times together, didn’t we?’

  Jane had tried so hard to forget those times. ‘It’s the bad times I remember,’ she said bleakly.

  ‘I don’t remember any bad times,’ he said.

  ‘You must have a very selective memory,’ said Jane, beginning to walk back to the terrace. ‘Or have you forgotten how we parted all those years ago?’

  ‘No, I haven’t forgotten.’ Without appearing to hurry, Lyall kept up with her easily. ‘But that was different. I was thinking about the times we spent together, not the time we spent apart. Don’t you ever remember them?’

  Oh, how she remembered! She remembered everything: the exhilaration bubbling along her veins, the shivery joy of being with him, the feeling of being drenched in sunlight. ‘I try not to,’ she said.

  ‘Why not?’

  Jane’s lips tightened. That was typical Lyall. He could never let anything go. She remembered how easily he used to be able to tie her up in knots with his arguments until he had somehow proved that she was wrong and she was utterly confused about what she thought. Now he wanted her to admit that her happiness with him had been so intense that she couldn’t bear to remember it. Well, she wasn’t going to! Stopping short, she swung round to face him. ‘What are you doing here, Lyall?’ she demanded.