by Valerie Parv
Who was we? she wondered, but he was gone before she could ask. She’d find out soon enough. For now, all she wanted was to fill that divine tub with tepid water and soak her aches away.
The rest of her gear was standing near her bedroom door when she emerged, pink and glowing from her ablutions. She still felt bone-weary, but less inclined to collapse at any moment. She was towelling her hair dry when there was a knock at her door.
Conscious that she was naked beneath the terry towelling robe she’d found in the bathroom, she eased the door open cautiously. Instead of Bryan, her caller was a stunningly beautiful young woman.
Taller than Jill, she was model-slender with spun gold hair which cascaded to her shoulders. Her hourglass figure reminded Jill of the cover girls hired by her magazine.
‘Yes?’ she queried, feeling at a decided disadvantage.
The woman slid around Jill and into the room. ‘Hello, I’m Christa Bernard. Bryan and I live together.’
It was the last thing Jill had expected to hear. With an almost physical sense of shock, she spun back into the room, clutching the robe around her in an instinctively defensive gesture. ‘You mean you’re Bryan’s housekeeper,’ she managed to amend.
The other woman lowered her eyes. ‘You could put it that way, country morality being what it is.’ Her coquettish smile implied a sisterly sharing of the truth, which for some reason made Jill feel as if her heart had suddenly skipped a beat.
Tiredness and surprise had to explain the reaction, she thought as her thoughts raced chaotically. She could hardly believe that Bryan lived with this stunning-looking woman.
He lived with her.
After preaching to Jill about her supposed lack of morals, how could he have kissed her with such fervour, knowing that Christa waited for him at home?
Distantly she heard herself exchanging pleasantries. Beneath the surface, Jill struggled to make sense of Bryan’s behaviour towards her. What a hypocrite he was, lecturing her about David when he lived his own life as he chose.
It was only when Christa left her to prepare dinner that Jill had time to wonder why his behaviour was any concern of hers.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE fact that Bryan McKinley was living with someone didn’t bother her in the least. Or so Jill tried to tell herself as she slammed a book down so hard that dust rose in a cloud. The motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the French doors. Some journalist she was, not to have uncovered the fact for herself when she researched his background for the column.
She suppressed a sneeze. Didn’t Bryan ever dust his library? It was hard enough wading through these old tomes in search of a brilliant idea, without having to endure a century of accumulated dust as well.
Face it, the books aren’t the problem; Christa Bernard is, she admitted to herself. Against all common sense she had been shaken by Christa’s presence, since Bryan hadn’t so much as hinted at a serious involvement. The thoroughness with which he had kissed Jill had suggested the opposite.
It wasn’t as if Jill cared what he did. He could live with triplets for all it mattered to her. It was more the principle of the thing. Men who were spoken for should keep their hands to themselves.
Typical, she harumphed, tugging another book down from the shelf and flicking through it. Men like David Hockey and Bryan McKinley had no principles. Women were playthings to them. What the lady didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Well, it did hurt, sooner or later. But she had learned her lesson. Christa could have Bryan and she was welcome to him.
Hefting a small black rock which had pride of place on one shelf, she was torn by a sudden urge to hurl it through the nearest window. Hastily replacing the rock, she searched her conscience. She wasn’t protesting too much where Bryan was concerned, was she? It was the shock of discovering he was as bad as David Hockey which made her want to throw things, not any feelings she harboured for the man himself. She refused to accept any other explanation.
‘Ready for some coffee?’
She looked up as Christa came in, balancing a tray. ‘You shouldn’t wait on me. I’m here to work.’
Christa put the tray down and handed Jill a cup, black and strong, the way she preferred it. Homemade Anzac biscuits sat beside it. ‘You are so singleminded about your work. I could never give myself up to a career the way you do.’
‘You work with Bryan,’ Jill reminded her around a mouthful of biscuit. It galled her to admit it, but Christa was a brilliant cook. Her dishes had managed to perk up even Jill’s jaded appetite. Bryan also ate her sumptuous meals with every sign of enjoyment, she noticed.
‘That’s different. In the outback it’s taken for granted that a woman works alongside her man, looking after his house and children, and helping on the land.’
Jill’s mouth twisted ironically. ‘You don’t call that work? You probably put in a longer day than I do at the magazine.’
A glint of triumph lit Christa’s eyes as she snapped her fingers. ‘I knew I’d heard your name before somewhere. You’re that Jill Richter, the one who wrote all those wicked things about Bryan, aren’t you?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Jill admitted. ‘The column was a joke, not meant to get into print. The magazine ran it by accident while I was…while I was away.’
‘He was mad as hell when I showed him my copy,’ Christa said, sounding almost pleased about it. ‘Imagine calling Bryan over-rated as a lover.’
Her wistful smile was meant to convey intimate knowledge of the facts, Jill gathered. Her anger rose, although it was as much at herself as at Bryan.
How could she have wasted a minute imagining herself in his arms? She ought to have known there would be a woman in his life. He should have let her know, she fumed inwardly. Just like David Hockey, he had preferred to indulge his whims, conveniently overlooking the woman waiting for him at home.
‘You’d know better than me,’ she said, managing to sound world weary and uninterested at the same time. ‘As you just observed, my heart is in my work.’
Christa contrived a giggle. ‘So’s mine. I’m glad we understand each other.’
Over Jill’s shoulder, she glanced at the book which lay open on top of the growing pile. ‘Find anything interesting yet?’
Jill shook her head. ‘Nothing which would attract tourists to Bowana so far.’
‘You won’t find anything, either. It’s a dry, dusty cattle town which died long ago but didn’t have the sense to fall over.’
Astonishment darkened Jill’s eyes. ‘I thought you loved it here.’
‘I love the life I can have with Bryan. If only he wasn’t so unyielding, he’d see that he can run his cattle empire from anywhere in the world. He doesn’t need this dreary little town.’
‘Then why is he trying so hard to save it?’
Christa shrugged. ‘That same die-hard streak, I suppose. When the town fails, he’ll have done all that was humanly possible for them.’
When it failed? Christa sounded as if she couldn’t wait for it to happen. Bryan was unlikely to agree. This land was his birthright. His roots were here, his dreaming, as the Aboriginals called it. Didn’t Christa realise that if Bowana died part of Bryan’s spirit would die with it?
Anger flooded through her, so raw and unexpected that she caught her breath. If Christa really loved Bryan, she should support him in his quest, instead of praying for him to fail.
It was none of her business, she told herself fiercely. Steadying her breathing with an effort, she picked up the black rock and used it to gesture to the others displayed around the library. ‘Who’s the rock collector?’
Christa made a face. ‘Not me. They’re Bryan’s old things. When we leave here, I’d like nothing better than to see them left behind.’
When they left here…When they were married, perhaps…Jill supplied the rest, and suppressed a fresh wave of annoyance. How could a marriage succeed when Christa clearly disliked everything which he held dear? She must have other attributes w
hich compensated, Jill thought waspishly.
She had no trouble picturing him as a geologist. He and the land were one. Her hand tightened around the specimen, and some of its power seeped into her fingers. The blue-black colouring was an oddity in a country of blood-red earth, and the texture differed from the other rocks in the collection. Carefully, she returned it to its place. ‘I’d better get back to work.’
Christa waved a hand at the books. ‘I don’t know why you bother. Practically our only claim to fame is the Bowana cattle trail, which used to link up with the Canning stock route.’
‘Bryan explained about the Canning on the way here.’ Jill sounded distracted as an idea leapt into her mind. ‘You had your own branch of the stock route here?’
‘It was only used a handful of times until the 1950s, mostly by the black stockmen. Nothing to get excited about.’
‘Not to you, perhaps. But to city people who’ve never ridden with cattle before, it could be a fantasy come true.’
Why hadn’t she thought of it straight away? Seeing the stock route with Bryan had fired her own imagination, so why not those of tourists who could ride the trail for themselves?
The Aboriginal people would need to be consulted, since the route probably crossed their land. They could share their dreamtime heritage with the visitors. Everyone would benefit. Her eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘It has to be the answer.’
‘Sounds as if you two are on to something,’ Bryan said, joining them in the library.
Involuntarily, Jill’s heartbeat quickened at the sight of him, hot and dusty, but radiating a powerfully masculine aura which set her pulses racing. He had no right to stand there looking so attractive and so infuriatingly unavailable.
Her heart trip-hammered in her chest as his gaze swept from Christa to Jill. ‘What’s going on here?’
Jill opened her mouth to speak, but was forestalled by Christa. ‘I was telling Jill about my idea to reopen the old Bowana stock trail to tourists. I wasn’t sure if I should mention it, since Jill’s the expert here, but she wasn’t getting anywhere, so…’
She let her voice trail off on a note of feminine uncertainty. ‘It has possibilities,’ he confirmed thoughtfully. He ruffled Christa’s hair with a gesture which evoked a savage response in Jill. ‘What’s your professional opinion, Jill?’
Anything Jill said now would sound like sour grapes, she thought grimly. Christa had neatly hijacked her idea without a glimmer of conscience, leaving Jill no option but to agree. ‘Oh, it’s a terrific idea,’ she said, looking pointedly at Christa.
She didn’t even blush. ‘It’s all yours, Jill. Marketing is for you slick city types. But you will make sure they print the right story, won’t you?’
Jill seethed inwardly. In one breath, Christa had imbued her with all the perceived evils of the city and also reminded Bryan of the libellous column.
His expression hardened. ‘Everyone’s entitled to one mistake.’ His frosty tone reminded Jill that she wouldn’t be allowed a second one.
Christa smiled sweetly. ‘Of course. I’m not saying she’d do to Bowana what she did to you, but we can’t be too careful, can we?’
‘You needn’t worry. I have the situation well in hand.’ His eyes were levelled at Jill, but he spoke to Christa. ‘Don’t you have a breeding programme to check on today?’
Christa pouted. ‘If you say so.’
‘I say so.’ He patted her possessively on the rear as she headed for the door with obvious reluctance. ‘Don’t work too hard, Jill,’ she said as she went out.
Jill stood up, her limbs rigid with anger. She’d had about enough of Christa’s veiled comments. ‘Since I’m so unreliable, maybe you two should handle this yourselves.’
Unperturbed, Bryan crossed his arms over his broad chest. ‘Jealous, Jill?’
Her eyes flared. Did he know how she’d been imagining herself in Christa’s place? That every time he touched the other woman Jill’s senses ran riot, although she told herself it was insane? How could he possibly have guessed? ‘Why should I be jealous?’ she asked carefully.
‘Because Christa had the bright idea of. reopening the cattle trail. If it gets you out of here all the sooner, I should think you’d be pleased.’
Jill’s knees weakened. He thought she was jealous of Christa’s idea. How insensitive could he be? ‘Of course I’m not jealous,’ she said dismissively. ‘At work we brainstorm ideas all the time. It’s what you do with the idea that matters. But if I’m to do anything with this idea, I’m going to need your trust and support.’
His lowered lashes veiled his dark eyes, making them unreadable. ‘In the outback, trust is something you earn.’
And she hadn’t earned his. Her spirits sank. How long was she to go on paying for one stupid mistake? At the same time, she acknowledged that the column could never have been published if she hadn’t written it in a fit of childish pique.
Well, if trust had to be earned, she would darned well earn his and make him eat his words about her work being frivolous. ‘Then the sooner I start developing this idea, the better, wouldn’t you say?’
He lifted the books from her hands, set them down, then dusted her palms with his fingers. His touch was light but strangely erotic, as if he had kissed the sensitive skin instead of brushing it with his fingertips. She glanced at her hands, expecting to see some mark, and was mildly surprised to find none.
‘The project can wait until after lunch,’ he insisted. ‘It’s time you saw more of the town than this house.’
He was only taking her out as part of her education, but she couldn’t suppress a thrill of anticipation. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Would you believe the Royal Hotel?’
‘I thought you said it was a dump.’
His eyes sparkled. ‘I told you it wasn’t a fit place for you to stay. The rooms are basic but liveable for the stockmen and ringers who stay there. At lunchtime they serve the best barbecued steaks in the outback.’
A flush swept over her as he took her arm to escort her the short distance down the main street to the Royal Hotel. She told herself it was the afternoon heat which brought the colour rushing to her features. It had nothing to do with the touch of his hand on her bare forearm.
The Royal Hotel was an ageing dowager of a building, the hand-made bricks etched by years of sandstorms blowing in off the desert. Many bricks had initials chipped into them, most eroded with the passage of years. One set of initials was dated 1901.
Inside Jill blinked in the dimness, her eyes gradually adjusting to the shadowy interior of the hotel. A group of men—stockmen, judging by their clothes—propped up the main bar. Bryan was greeted cordially as he escorted her through the room to a room at the back.
She looked around with interest. The room had evidently been built later than the rest of the hotel. There were three walls of brick and a fourth of latticed timber, open to whatever cooling breezes could be coaxed inside. Enormous ceiling fans moved lazily overhead. It was like something out of Casablanca.
‘The barbecue’s over there. You choose your own steaks and Fred cooks them for you.’ He indicated a vast black hotplate on which slabs of meat as big as dinner plates were sizzling.
‘They’re enormous,’ she said with a slight shudder. Her appetite had suffered along with the rest of her health since her illness.
‘You can have a chicken kebab if you prefer,’ he informed her. ‘But I recommend the steak. You need a bit of building up.’
‘Thanks a lot. I worked hard for this shape,’ she defended herself. As a result of the virus, she had lost more weight than was good for her, but it stung to have him point it out. She was sure he didn’t make such patronising remarks to Christa.
He steered her to a corner table and drew out a chair for her. ‘You work too hard. You don’t have to solve all of Bowana’s problems in a day, you know.’
‘I thought that’s what I’m here for.’
He folded his arms across the table an
d leaned closer. ‘In Australia, there’s city time and country time. Here, we work on country time. What isn’t done today will get done tomorrow.’
‘Mañana, mañana,’ she said under her breath.
His fingers clamped around her wrist. ‘Mock all you like, but it’s a healthier lifestyle than yours, I’ll be bound.’
Ironically, he was more right than he knew, but she wasn’t about to admit it. He would only use her vulnerability against her if she gave him the chance.
‘If your lifestyle is so idyllic, why do you need me to attract people to sample it?’ she asked.
Sparks flew from the flinty black eyes. ‘You never miss an opportunity, do you? No wonder it was left to Christa to come up with a workable idea. At least her heart’s in the project.’
He obviously had no idea that Christa was only waiting for her chance to leave Bowana behind for good. There was no point in Jill trying to enlighten him. Christa would simply deny it, and it was obvious whose side he would take. It hadn’t even occurred to him that the idea for the tourist cattle drive might be Jill’s.
The distress which accompanied the thought caught her by surprise. It was crazy. She wasn’t here by choice, so she shouldn’t care if he didn’t give her credit for her idea. Accepting praise from him would be like taking crumbs from his table. Surely she’d rather starve?
‘You must be Jill.’
She started as a huge man loomed over their table and enveloped her hand in both of his. ‘It’s a pleasure to have you here.’
Bryan nodded to the new arrival. ‘G’day, Fred. Jill, this is Fred Gardiner, the licensee of the Royal Hotel. Fred, the lady whose hand you’re about to crush beyond recognition is Jill Richter.’
With a stammered apology, the big man released her hand, and she massaged her fingers unobtrusively. ‘Hello, Fred. I’m pleased to meet you, too.’
He smiled, showing uneven white teeth. ‘This is a great thing you’re doing for us, Jill. I have two teenage boys and my sister has three kids under fifteen. If you can get the tourists to come to Bowana, maybe our kids won’t have to move away to find work when they’re older.’
