Irresistible Attraction
Alison Kelly
Opposites attract!Bart Cameron believed that women should be ladies at all times… . But Alessandra had other ideas! So when they met it was inevitable that sparks would fly - and they did. Although Bart and Alessandra were total opposites, they couldn't keep their hands off each other!Their love affair was hot and passionate, but Bart seemed determined to avoid commitment at all costs. After all, Alessandra wasn't strictly his type; his ladylike neighbor, on the other hand, was closer to Bart's ideal woman. If only Alessandra wasn't so gorgeously irresistible!A wonderful debut novel from a talented new author. Fun, flirty and full of romance!
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u3930fced-f8d0-5f1a-8cdc-a98da9cb6f09)
Excerpt (#u7c3f8f64-43ca-5759-8beb-85be95112645)
About the Author (#uf4ce3ba5-a359-59b5-bc72-935f200a4593)
Title Page (#u168bc196-de1a-5792-be20-8bf8415f86b0)
Dedication (#ufe4b93d2-9602-5333-b4ec-360a133fb950)
Chapter One (#u2b1e5009-da3b-5d81-a8f8-52ba2a231415)
Chapter Two (#u61584416-c32a-5daa-9b4a-24bc92da20e7)
Chapter Three (#uf99732cb-91d9-5e5a-8b7c-6b1aae2abe28)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Nice body.”
“Yes,” Bart agreed. “He’s my best stallion.”
“I didn’t mean the horse,” Alessandra replied honestly, smiling at the man’s surprised look. “You’re in good shape. Do you work out regularly?”
He climbed over the fence to stand six inches above her five foot six.
“If you mean in a gyin, then no. I reckon I get enough exercise working this place,” Bart told her.
Alessandra smiled. “I reckon you must at that!”
ALISON KELLY,
a self-confessed sports junkie, plays netball, volleyball and touch football, and lives in Australia’s Hunter Valley. She has three children and the type of husband women tell their daughters doesn’t exist in real life! He’s not only a better cook than Alison, but he isn’t afraid of vacuum cleaners, washing machines or supermarkets. Which is just as well, otherwise this book would have been written by a starving woman in a pigsty!
Look out for YESTERDAY’S BRIDE by Alison Kelly in August (#1903), as part of our From Here to Paternity series.
Alison Kelly has a warm, witty writing style you’ll
love! Bubbly heroines, gorgeous laid-back
heroes…romances brimming over with sex appeal!
Irresistible Attraction
Alison Kelly
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Neville, my hero in all ways for always
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_8775ae30-d83c-55fa-87ab-8930e9f8ce1f)
BART CAMERON looked up from the task of grooming his favourite stallion as a pick-up was brought to a dustflurrying halt. He’d heard it long before it came into view, and reason told him it was the woman his sister Marilyn had talked him into hiring as a bookkeeper for the summer. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of having to play host to a tourist for twelve weeks, but Bart had never been able to refuse his older sister’s artful cajoling. He knew it was time to start trying, though, the instant the woman opened the vehicle’s door!
He watched in silence as a slim peroxide-blonde moved towards him. Long, shapely legs stretched from what a vivid imagination might call shorts and a snug yellow T-shirt did nothing to conceal the wearer’s delicate curves, nor the fact she was braless. He judged her age at around twenty-five. If this woman was as hard up for work as Marilyn had led him to believe, then it was only because Hugh Heffner’s talent scouts didn’t know she was in the country!
‘Gidday! Can you tell me where to find Bart Cameron?’
‘I’m Bart Cameron, ma’am. You must be Marilyn’s friend, Alexandra.’
‘Alessandra,’ she corrected.
‘Sorry, ma’am.’
‘Don’t worry about it; I’ve spent half my bloody life trying to teach people how to pronounce my name!’ She laughed. ‘But drop the “ma’am”, uh? It’s positively matronly! Hell, I’m only twenty-eight!’
Her voice was reminiscent of Katherine Hepburn’s, if you could ignore the harsh language and broad accent.
‘Alessandra. Unusual name.’
‘After five boys my dad wanted something really feminine.’ She gave a deep, throaty laugh. ‘Unfortunately he got me!’
‘I’m nearly finished here,’ Bart said, indicating the horse and silently deciding that her father must be darned hard to please. ‘If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes until I’m through, I’ll help you take your stuff into the house.’
‘No rush,’ Alessandra assured him, grasping the post and rail fence surrounding the corral and pushing against it as she stretched first one leg then the other behind her. Her actions drew a puzzled look from Bart Cameron.
‘Just getting a few kinks out,’ she explained. ‘Drove without stopping for the last four hours.’
He nodded and returned his attention to the horse.
Alessandra immediately hoped she’d have a chance to ride while she was here. She loved horses almost as much as she hated office work, but, she rationalised, she had to eat. Before Bart Cameron had agreed to employ her as a bookkeeper things had looked financially grim. After twelve months backpacking round the USA she’d returned to Australia penniless.
Bart’s silence as he continued grooming the stallion gave Alessandra the opportunity of assessing the man and comparing it to what Marilyn had already told her about him. She knew he’d been widowed eighteen years earlier and since had devoted himself to raising his daughter Lisa and building up his ranch in Texas. Four months ago he’d purchased this cattle station on the Queensland-New South Wales border as an experimental extension of his American ranching operation. Marilyn had said he was thirty-eight. Alessandra decided he looked nearer his mid-forties, his weathered appearance no doubt attributed to spending so much time outdoors in the harsh climate. He wasn’t good-looking in the conventional sense of the word—in fact she wasn’t sure she could stretch charity far enough to describe him as ruggedly handsome—but he had an honest, strong face that people would trust. His body was another matter altogether, she decided; worn denim and chambray more than hinting at male physical perfection hidden beneath. A one-time aerobics instructor, Alessandra recognised quality when she saw it; Bart Cameron’s body was definitely top quality! He gave the stallion a final pat then turned quickly, catching her appreciative expression.
‘Nice body,’ she said, unable to suppress a sheepish grin at being caught.
‘Yes,’ Bart agreed. ‘He’s my best stallion.’
‘I didn’t mean the horse,’ she replied honestly, smiling at the man’s surprised look. ‘You’re in good shape. Do you work out regularly?’
He climbed over the fence to stand six inches above her five feet six.
‘If you mean in a gym, then no. I reckon I get enough exercise working this place,’ he told her.
Alessandra smiled. ‘I reckon you must at that!’
Bart pulled his stetson lower on to his forehead as they walked to where she’d stopped the pick-up at the foot of the porch steps. This didn’t seem like any bookkeeper he’d ever known! What he needed was someone to handle the financial side of things for twelve weeks, not a house guest! He had enough problems right now with Lisa, without having to ride shot-gun on the accounts as well.
‘Have you had much experience with accounts work before?’
‘On and off. I’ve worked on several occasions for my brother’s building firm and I also did a stint with a film company in Greece. I’ve done both computer and manual processing, so I don’t anticipate any difficulties here.’
‘Good, because I can’t spare the time to give you anything more than a basic explanation of how things operate; you’ll be on your own with the books. This all the luggage you got?’ he asked, holding a battered leather suitcase.
‘That and this,’ she replied, pulling a small backpack from the front seat. ‘When you’ve done as much travelling as I have you learn to pack economically. ‘Struth, it’s hot!’
Bart made no response to her observation of the climate. He wasn’t one to waste his breath making irrelevant comments or endorsing accurate ones. The woman seemed to have no such reservation.
‘You’re obviously used to this heat. At least it’s dry heat and not that oppressive humidity you get up FNQ! Is that exhausting!’
As they reached the top of the porch stairs, Alessandra became aware of the close scrutiny of the man next to her.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘FNQ?’ he enquired in a slow drawl, accompanied by a look that suggested he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the translation.
Alessandra laughed.
‘Far North Queensland. FNQ. Sounds like an obscene way of saying “Get lost”, doesn’t it?’
She turned, catching the smile her reaction had caused, and was stunned by the transformation in his face. Strong white teeth were exposed from behind the previous thin line of his mouth, and deep grooves appeared at the sides. The fine lines spreading from the corners of his eyes, no doubt created by years of squinting against the sun, suddenly became laughter lines, lending a boy-like roguishness to his face. When he smiles, she thought, he is almost more than conventionally good-looking!
She accepted his offer of a cold drink and sat quietly in the air-conditioned comfort of the kitchen as he busied himself at the refrigerator.
All the mod cons were evident and in sparkling condition. Grey Formica benching and cedar cupboards ran the length of three walls, separated by a strategically placed stove, refrigerator, microwave and the largest domestic freezer she had ever seen! Soft grey walls complemented the black slate floor.
‘Here you are.’
She turned in response to the rich Texas drawl.
‘Uh…thanks.’ She barely restrained a sigh as she accepted a glass of what was obviously lemonade and watched him pull the top off a can of beer. Oh, well, she’d suffered lemonade before and it hadn’t killed her… Mind you, it wasn’t likely to kill her thirst, either!
Leaning against the bench, Bart watched her take a tentative sip from the glass. He wondered what whim had possessed her to bleach her hair to stark white, or for that matter why she wore it so short. It was completely straight and cut into a bob that ended an inch below her ears with a fine fringe just tipping her eyebrows. The hair, along with the elfin chin and fine, turned-up nose, created a pixie-like look that seemed in total conflict with the sensual blue eyes, rimmed by bluetipped lashes.
As the father of a teenage daughter, he was only too familiar with the use of mascara and kohl, but he’d never struck anyone who used blue! Why would anyone want to have blue eyelashes?
‘You’re staring, Bart.’
The truth in her words startled him back to reality.
‘Sorry, I just noticed you weren’t really enjoying that drink.’
‘Well, it’s pretty damned hard to enjoy a lemonade when you’re watching someone drink a frosty-cold beer!’ she responded cheekily.
‘Oh!’ Bart felt chastised. He hadn’t thought to offer beer, since none of the women he knew drank it. ‘Would you prefer a beer?’
She grinned. ‘Can a duck swim?’
‘Sorry, I’m not used to women drinking beer. Here.’
Alessandra smiled at the speed with which he put a can on the table.
‘I’ll get you another glass…’
‘Don’t bother, a can will do me.’
She was already lifting the beer can to her mouth and a hot spark of sensation shot through him as she took two long swallows. He wondered how watching a woman do something as unladylike as guzzling beer from a can could be physically stimulating.
‘Ahh!’ She gave a blissful smile. ‘Now that felt good enough to call orgasmic!’
Bart sent her a startled look, wondering whether some cosmic force was putting them on to the same wavelength. The notion didn’t bear thinking about!
‘I have to get back to work. I’ll show you your room, since I’m sure you’ll want to rest.’
‘What I’m hanging out for is a swim. Although I’ll settle for a shower.’
‘I’m afraid the swim will have to wait till Lisa can show you a safe spot in the stream.’ At the dejected look on her face he only just stopped himself from offering to take her there himself. He didn’t have time to pander to the whims of someone who was here to work for him. ‘Dinner is at seven-thirty. We don’t usually dress for it unless we have guests.’
‘Righto! I’ll remember. Dinner in the nude at seven-thirty.’
Bart gave a wry smile as he desperately pushed away mental images of himself trying to eat a meal while a naked Alessandra MacKellar sat opposite. Already he felt the effects of heartburn.
‘Listen, will you do me a favour?’ she asked.
‘If I can,’ he said tentatively, picking up her bag to take upstairs.
‘Smile more often,’ she said. ‘You have one helluva sexy smile, Bart Cameron!’
Bart was sure he was the only thirty-eight-year-old man ever to blush!
More tired than she’d realised, Alessandra awoke to find she had only twenty minutes until dinner. She felt sure Bart Cameron’s don’t-dress-for-dinner rule wasn’t flexible enough to allow her the luxury of arriving at the table in a satin and lace camisole. Time to unpack.
Packing and unpacking wasn’t difficult for Alessandra; in fact she could manage to make herself at home in a new place in a little over ten minutes. Rolling from the bed, she lifted her suitcase on to it and proceeded to do just that.
Her meagre wardrobe consisted mainly of jeans and trousers which she teamed with either brightly coloured T-shirts or sweatshirts, as climate dictated. There were two hand-embroidered calf-length skirts she’d bartered for in Israel and a length of colourful hand-painted silk, purchased last year in Hong Kong, should she need something more dressy. Alessandra had never been one to get overly hung up on fashion, probably due to growing up with a tribe of brothers, and her only concessions to feminine vanity were expensive underwear and a collection of gold and silver jewellery, which she’d gathered from various parts of the world over the last nine years.
The last items she pulled from her case were three brass-framed photographs, which she set on the dressing-table. One was of a smiling middle-aged couple against a backdrop of ocean. She had taken the snap four years ago when, following her father’s retirement from his plumbing business, her parents had moved to the north coast of New South Wales.
The second photograph was of her five brothers— Greg, Drew, Scott, Brad and Matt. Scott and Matt were both single while the other three were married with seven children between them. The remaining snap was of the children and their mothers.
Bart waited for her as she descended the stairs.
‘Settled in?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ She gave him a wide smile. ‘It never takes me long.’
‘Good. Lisa has dinner ready, so we better get in there.’ He stood aside to allow her to pass, hoping she didn’t have a sensitive stomach—his daughter’s cooking was definitely an acquired taste!
‘Wow! I love your hair!’
‘Thanks!’ Alessandra smiled pleasantly at the teenage girl, who hadn’t waited for a formal introduction.
‘Is it bleached?’
‘Lisa!’
‘Only by the sun,’ Alessandra replied, ignoring Bart’s apologetic expression at what he considered rudeness on his daughter’s part.
‘I wish I was a blonde!’ Lisa Cameron sighed, pushing savagely at her waist-length dark hair.
‘I dyed mine black once when I was thirteen,’ Alessandra confessed, and laughed at the teenager’s horrified expression. ‘My parents’ facial reaction was pretty much similar to yours now!’
‘Dad would kill me if I changed mine!’ she said with more than a trace of resentment.
‘You’ve got that right,’ Bart Cameron stated.
‘Why?’ Alessandra asked, causing both heads to swing in her direction. ‘It’s her hair.’
‘That’s what I keep telling him!’ Lisa said.
Bart sent a controlled glare across to his most recent employee.
‘Lisa is only seventeen years old,’ he replied, as if that explained everything.
‘Nearly eighteen!’ his daughter responded.
‘With luck you might make it.’
The tone of the exchange between father and daughter told Alessandra she had walked into a struggle of awakening independence versus old-fashioned discipline. The atmosphere wouldn’t be dull around here, that was for sure, even if the cutlery was. Cripes! How was a person expected to cut steak with a blunt knife? She diverted her plan of attack to the creamed potatoes, only to wish she hadn’t as the half-cooked vegetable caused her to gag.
‘You OK?’ Bart Cameron enquired, and Alessandra wasn’t sure whether she imagined the hint of humour she saw in his eyes.
‘Eh, sure! A bit just went down the wrong way,’ she lied, now suspecting that the inability to cut the steak lay in its cooking and not the knife. ‘Do you kill your own meat?’ she asked, in an effort to forestall having to take another mouthful.
‘Usually. The Rough Rivers Brand has the reputation of producing some of the finest beef cattle on either side of the Pacific.’
Alessandra tried to look impressed, while wishing that it hadn’t lost quite so much of its reputation on the way to her plate!
‘We have beef for dinner every night when the housekeeper is on vacation. It’s the only thing Lisa feels confident about cooking.’
God help us if she ever tries to tackle anything else! Alessandra prayed silently as she managed to sever another piece of meat and insult her taste-buds with it.
From then on conversation was limited to enquiries about the health of Marilyn and her family, and Alessandra explained how she had met Bart’s sister in California and become firm friends with the older woman and her husband and children. It was Marilyn, knowing that Alessandra was planning to return to Australia for the summer, who had suggested that she apply for the job at Rough Rivers.
When Bart began to talk to Alessandra about the ranch’s accounting system, Lisa announced she had a date and excused herself from the table in the wake of a paternal instruction to be home before midnight.
Through it all Alessandra continued to try and force herself to eat; finally she gave in and pushed the plate aside. She looked across the table to find her employer leaning back in his chair watching her. His gaze caused a pool of warm liquid to settle in her lower abdomen.
‘Well, that was certainly…filling,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t eat another bite.’
‘Not many people would,’ Bart replied drily. ‘Lisa isn’t exactly overly talented in the kitchen.’
His humour was no longer only hinted at, but bursting out in a smile so dazzling that Alessandra felt almost giddy.
‘Now there’s an understatement! May I ask what perverse pleasure you get out of watching visitors choke on raw vegetables and charred steak?’ she asked, having no intention of making polite noises about how it wasn’t that bad.
‘I figure it’s about time Lisa learnt to cook…’
‘At what cost? A manslaughter charge?’
‘She’ll get better with practice,’ Bart stated.
‘It would be healthier for everyone if she got better with instruction! Besides, cooking isn’t absolutely essential to a woman’s armoury these days. Wouldn’t you be better off hiring a replacement while your regular housekeeper is away?’
‘Lisa wouldn’t make any effort at all then. Can you cook?’ he asked.
‘No. But I’m sure as hell better than your daughter! Which isn’t to say I’m prepared to take over the task, if that’s what you have in mind.’
‘It wasn’t,’ he assured her, standing and commencing to clear the plates from the table. ‘Would you care for dessert?’
‘Only if it comes out of a tin.’
‘What about frozen pecan pie and ice-cream? I’ll even defrost the pie first,’ he promised. ‘Though I’m not sure Lisa would.’
Alessandra wondered whether he would use the microwave or simply conserve power by directing his denim-blue eyes on it; for a man who wasn’t good-looking he certainly had some powerful extras!
‘Suddenly I’m starving again! And as a dedicated, card-carrying member of the women’s movement I feel obligated to enjoy having a man cook for me!’
By mutual consent they ate their dessert in the kitchen.
‘What made you decide to become a rancher? Marilyn told me you both grew up in Dallas.’
‘Even as a kid I always preferred country life over the city. My uncle used to let me spend every vacation on his ranch, working for him. When I was old enough to quit school I did and moved out there for good. When my uncle died he left the ranch to me. Twelve months ago I decided to take a chance and began looking around for an Australian property.’ He shrugged. ‘So here I am.’
‘You don’t regret it?’ she queried, sensing the conversation would end there if she didn’t.
‘Why should I? Do I look as though I have regrets?’ he returned, holding her vivid blue gaze. Not because he wanted to, but because it was hard not to be drawn into the peacock-blue depths of her eyes.
‘No. But few people can claim to have no regrets about their lives.’
‘Do you have regrets?’
Alessandra grinned. ‘No! Not for the last nine years, at any rate. I can honestly say I’ve done everything I have ever wanted to do so far with my life, and I can’t see that changing in the future. Mind you, other people have spent a great deal of time regretting things on my behalf! My girlfriends, boyfriends, lovers, brothers, parents…’
Realising this woman needed very little encouragement to talk, Bart made no comment as he began to stack the dishwasher.
‘Boy! Have my parents spent some time regretting some of the things I’ve done. Like the time I was arrested for assaulting a police officer…’
Bart swung around, not certain he’d heard her correctly.
‘For what?’
‘For assaulting a police officer,’ she repeated calmly.
‘You see, I was taking part in a protest at White Bar, in Sydney, about the shipping of yellow cake…uranium,’ she qualified, ‘when the guy I was with was suddenly hit by a copper. I mean, Rick—that was the guy’s name— wasn’t doing anything worse than casting aspersions on the copper’s bloodlines when—whammo!’
She swung a clenched fist at an imaginary figure and winced.
‘The boys in blue suddenly wanted to exercise their fists on Rick’s face! Well, hell, what was I supposed to do? Stand back and not even try to help him? Don’t say yes, because that’s exactly what the judge thought too. But I was lucky, I only got fined a couple of hundred bucks. Even though it was the second time I’d been picked up by the cops.’
‘The second time?’ Bart wondered just what sort of woman his sister had sent him!
‘Yeah, but I got off with a caution the first time. That was for kicking the door on a car after it had run over my dog. They bought the plea of shock that Dad’s solicitor thought up.’ She smiled smugly. ‘In actual fact I was mad as hell and if my brother hadn’t grabbed me I’d have kicked more than the car door!’
‘Umn—how long ago did all this happen?’ He hoped she wasn’t about to say, ‘Only last month.’
‘I was fifteen when my dog was killed and nineteen the second time. Don’t worry, I’m not a hardened crim. I’m not about to slit your throat in the night and take off with the family silver!’ she teased.
If this woman claimed she had no regrets about her life to date, one thing was certain—she wasn’t hard to please! He poured two cups of coffee and carried them back to the table. Already Alessandra was into a heartfelt monologue on why uranium shouldn’t even be mined, let alone used for the production of nuclear weapons. He would kill Marilyn for inflicting this on him! Not only was he at the mercy of the emotions of an increasingly difficult seventeen-year-old daughter, he now had to contend with a radical feminist who would probably talk underwater with a mouthful of marbles! Suddenly he could claim one very real regret—he regretted that, on top of everything else, Alessandra MacKeller had to be sexy into the bargain!
Without a doubt this was going to be the longest summer he’d ever had to endure!
Two days later, Alessandra entered the kitchen to find the teenage Lisa eating breakfast. Except for presenting herself at dinnertime, along with her usual unappetising excuses for meals, the girl had made herself scarce.
‘Good morning. Can I get you some breakfast?’
Alessandra gave a wry smile and leant against the refrigerator.
‘Do I look that desperate to eat?’ she asked the young brunette.
‘Pardon?’
‘Lisa, you may have your old man fooled, but don’t try and come the raw prawn with me,’ Alessandra told her.
‘Come the…raw prawn? I don’t understand…’
Alessandra poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove before seating herself at the table.
‘It’s an Aussie expression that means, “don’t insult my intelligence”. I know a con job when I see one.’
‘I don’t know what——’ Lisa began.
‘No one cooks as badly as you do without putting in a lot of effort! Even a person with absolutely no comprehension of electric appliances would show gradual improvement. Unless, of course, they were deliberately trying to sabotage the food. Your efforts are too consistently bad to be genuine.’
Alessandra watched the guilt rise in a tide of red from the girl’s neck. Her hunch was right.
‘Look, kid, I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but if you have the idea that your father is suddenly going to give in and hire another cook, forget it. I already suggested that and he wasn’t buying.’
‘He wouldn’t! Daddy thinks just because my mother was a terrific cook I have to be too. I never even knew my mother! But between him and Grandma I feel like I’m a clone or something!’ Lisa pushed her plate aside and propped her chin on her hands.
Alessandra noted that the dark brown depths of her eyes, although sparkling with rebellion, also hinted at confusion.
‘Every vacation for as long as I can remember I’ve been pushed into learning something that my mother learned as a girl and excelled at.’ Lisa sent an assessing look at the older woman, as if trying to gauge the wisdom in discussing family matters with a stranger. Alessandra said nothing and finally the teenager continued. ‘It started with ballet at four and has covered just about everything from music and art to equine sports! Their latest programme is an all-girls college! Well, I’m not going!’ she said, flicking a waist-length plait over her shoulder. ‘No matter what, I’m not going.’
Alessandra let out a soft sigh; her sympathies were definitely with Lisa. She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee as she gauged the prudence of stepping into something which clearly had nothing to do with her. Yet the memory of a long-time friend demanded she do just that. She finished her coffee and pushed the mug across to Lisa.
‘Pour us both another,’ she said, giving the girl a smile of understanding, ‘and tell me what you want to do.’
‘I haven’t time. I have to meet someone.’
‘Oh. Well, perhaps another time.’ Alessandra smiled. ‘I have to get cracking on the accounts at any rate.’
‘I told Dad I’d show you a safe swimming hole later today. What time do you want to go?’
Alessandra sensed Lisa’s edginess, but made no reference to it.
‘Any time this arvo is fine with me,’ she replied easily.
‘Ah…?’
‘Any time this afternoon. I can see I’m going to have to remember that we’re dealing with a language problem here!’
Lisa nodded. ‘I’ll be back about lunchtime.’
Alone, Alessandra finished her coffee. Bart Cameron would be back later to see how she was progressing with the accounts. For some reason her body churned with anticipation.
Alessandra spent the best part of nearly two hours cursing Bart Cameron’s bookkeeper, as she tried to interpret the accounting procedures used in the various cash ledgers. No one could accuse the absent Edith Wilcox of being either neat or methodical! In an effort to clear her mind of the jumble of figures whizzing about, Alessandra shook her head vigorously.
‘Having problems?’
Startled, she turned quickly to see Bart Cameron standing in the doorway of the tiny office. His presence seemed to reduce the room’s size. She decided to credit her accelerated heart-rate to his silent unexpected appearance rather than his inherent masculinity. It was wiser.
‘You surprised me. I don’t like people creeping up on me.’
‘I didn’t “creep”, but I am sorry if I startled you. You were so busy talking to yourself you obviously didn’t hear me call out as I came into the house.’
‘I wasn’t talking to myself.’ Alessandra smiled, matching his amusement. ‘I was pouring out verbal criticisms of Mrs Wilcox’s handwriting, as you no doubt heard.’
Bart nodded. ‘I came in about the time you reached the decision that as an accountant she was, “About as useful as teats on a bull”!’
‘It’s true.’
‘I’ll take your word for it. I’ve never been able to make out her scribbling well enough to judge. Fortunately for me my auditors can.’
‘They were probably employed as code breakers during World War II or have studied ancient hieroglyphics in Egypt.’
Trying to keep her gaze from wandering over his body, Alessandra focused on the black stetson he twirled on his finger.
Where the crown met the brim, beneath a small braid of leather, she could see the tell-tale stain of what was probably years of perspiration. Illogically, that rather than the time spent poring over the ranch’s financial records convinced her of Bart Cameron’s dedication to hard work. Blisters and sweat were something that this man knew intimately. She wondered if there was a woman alive who knew him equally intimately. If so, she envied her. ‘Struth! Where had that thought sprung from?
‘You look hot. Why don’t you join me for a cold drink before we carry on any further?’ Bart suggested, noting her flushed face.
‘Hot’! ‘Carry on’! Alessandra almost choked as he said the words. The man had no idea how well he could read minds!
‘Good idea!’ Alessandra endorsed, moving to the doorway as if she were dying of thirst.
Bart sensed her unease and knew he had caused it. While it was true he considered Alessandra MacKellar to be more than just a little rough around the edges, he had hoped his feelings weren’t obvious, having no desire to hurt her. Sighing softly, he followed her to the kitchen, determined to ignore the tantalising swing of her hips.
‘It’s almost lunchtime. I can fix us a couple of sandwiches, if you like,’ Alessandra offered.
Bart surveyed the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. Generally he didn’t eat until about one, but the idea of sharing a meal with someone appealed.
‘OK. If it’s no bother.’
‘I’m not Lisa; I think I can handle a couple of sandwiches,’ she said drily.
‘I don’t suppose you’d consider a trade?’ Bart asked wryly as he pulled assorted jars and containers from the refrigerator.
Alessandra eyed him cautiously.
‘Such as?’
‘I’ll make lunch if you make dinner.’
‘I thought dinner was Lisa’s chore.’
‘It’s the “chore” of anyone who has to try and eat her cooking!’
‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘So you’ll do it?’ He looked up eagerly, sensing unspoken agreement in her tone.
‘On two conditions,’ Alessandra said, grinning at his raised eyebrows. ‘Firstly, Lisa will continue to cook the evening meal, but under my guidance. I think you’ll be quite surprised at the improvement…’
‘If there’s an improvement it’ll be gratitude not surprise I’ll be feeling! And the second condition?’
‘That you’ll allow me to work as a jillaroo.’
‘A what?’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_9e524bab-a26d-5385-8b53-20f6901d1917)
‘A JILLAROO. Female version of a jackaroo. You know, a stockman…a cowhand, or whatever you Yanks call it!’
‘No way! I haven’t time to baby-sit some woman while she plays at being a cowgirl. This isn’t a dude ranch, Alessandra. You’re here to do the accounts, not have a holiday at my expense.’
‘Listen, mate! For a start, I haven’t needed a babysitter for twenty years! Nor am I under any illusions as to just how hard it is to run a cattle station…I’ve done it more than once before! Heck, I’ve mustered everything from stray lambs in Victoria to brahmin bulls in the Northern Territory!’
Bart watched enthralled as fiery sparks lit the blue depths of her eyes. He noted the defiant jut of her chin and the steely conviction of her own belief in her abilities. His silent appraisal seemed to spur her on.
‘I’m not asking to be treated like a tourist, Bart. I’m an experienced rider and used to working with cattle. At the very most the accounts will only take me about five hours a week to keep up to date…’
‘There’s also the payroll,’ he reminded her. ‘That involves driving into town to the bank and back again. A three-hour excursion in itself. Plus tallying up each hand’s earnings for the week——’
‘All right, take out one day for organising the wages,’ Alessandra conceded. ‘But that still leaves me with six days of empty hours on my hands. I’ll go mad with boredom! Besides, I want to earn my keep; I hate feeling like a free-loader.’
Bart leaned back against the bench, folding his arms across his chest. She swallowed hard at the sight of his shirt straining against his muscular frame, shocked by the tide of sexual awareness he generated in her. No man had ever made such an instant impact on her senses.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘Tomorrow I’ll check out your riding ability…’
She nodded. ‘That’s fair enough.’
‘Providing,’ he added with a half-grin, ‘that I’m not suffering the effects of tonight’s dinner!’
‘Thanks for not letting on to Daddy about me deliberately ruining his meals,’ Lisa said shyly.
Alessandra swam a few strokes further from the edge of the river before answering.
‘Since you’re so desperate to prove yourself an adult in his eyes, my telling him would only have had the opposite effect. Childish spite isn’t a means by which to prove maturity.’
The pretty brunette dragged herself out of the water and draped herself in a towel.
‘Nor is promiscuity,’ Alessandra added knowingly.
‘Uh?’ The younger girl’s face was a mixture of surprise and guilt.
Alessandra couldn’t help the small smile of sympathy that crossed her face. She made her way to the bank in an easy breast-stroke motion.
‘I know a love bite when I see one, Lisa. Or a hickey, as you say.’ Instinctively the girl’s hand reached to her neck. ‘It’s a bit late for that.’
Lisa’s eyes became shiny with tears and Alessandra felt a wave of pity at the obviously confused teenager. Why was it that in every generation the teen years were always the most difficult?
‘Are you going to tell my father?’
‘Heck, no! The potential for blackmail would be destroyed then!’ At the girl’s shocked expression Alessandra ceased teasing. ‘Hey, I’m joking! Mind you, as a kid I wasn’t so generous. I used to blackmail my older brothers and their girlfriends unmercifully! It was very profitable too, I might add. I scored new roller skates on one occasion from Scott and a surf-board from Brad on another—that was for keeping quiet about him throwing a party when he was supposed to be baby-sitting me.’
Alessandra smiled at the memory. She’d been a real terror as a kid and not much better as a teenager. She suspected some of her antics would send Lisa into shock and her strait-laced father into cardiac arrest! Slanting a look at the hesitant girl who stood a few feet away unsure whether to stay or leave, Alessandra had a feeling that Lisa’s rebellious streak sprang from desperation rather than temperament.
‘I won’t tell your Dad, Lisa,’ she assured her softly and saw relief flood the girl’s face. ‘Are you serious about this guy?’
‘I don’t know. I think so. I mean, Todd’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met.’
‘What does your father think of him?’
Lisa gave a bitter laugh and shrugged her shoulders.
‘He doesn’t approve of him, but I don’t care what he thinks. It has nothing to do with him.’
Alessandra finished towelling herself off and pulled her T-shirt on over the maillot she wore.
‘Well, if dinner is to be ready on time, we’d better get a move on back to the house.’ She handed the younger girl her clothes. ‘I’ve got a deal with your old man that I’ll oversee your cooking if he agrees to let me work with the hands around the ranch.’
‘You’re kidding! Daddy has agreed to let you work with the cattle?’
‘Once I prove I can tell one end of a horse from the other. What’s so surprising about that?’
‘My father firmly believes, “Ladies do not belong around cowhands, corrals or bars! Nor do they smoke, swear or drink beer!” And that has been quoted to me from the time I was in the cradle!’ Lisa said.
Alessandra struggled to contain a grin. She could just imagine Bart Cameron saying the words.
‘Lucky for me I don’t smoke. Uh, Lisa?’
Bart Cameron entered the house to the sound of uncontrollable laughter coming from the kitchen. Lisa? Heck, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her without a surly look on her face, let alone heard her laugh.
‘Of course the guy could hardly believe the fact that little old pint-sized me had tossed him over my shoulder and sat him on his ars——’
‘Good evening, ladies.’
Both Lisa and Alessandra swung around at the heavy tone of the male voice. Alessandra noted the sudden change in Lisa’s expression.
‘I was just telling Lisa about the time a guy tried to pick me up on a train.’
‘Yes. I heard the rather graphic description,’ Bart said curtly. His tone made the younger girl cringe. ‘Do I have time for a quick shower before dinner, Lisa?’
‘Umm…’ The girl looked at Alessandra for an answer.
‘Sure, but quick is the operative word. Another ten minutes and I won’t guarantee that the chicken won’t be ruined!’
Bart seemed about to say something, but changed his mind and merely nodded before leaving the room.
‘Well he can certainly kill a party just by his presence!’ Alessandra remarked.
‘He’s in a bad mood,’ Lisa confided. ‘I can tell.’
‘That’s a relief, I’d hate to think he was that bloody unpleasant every evening after work! Set the table, would you, Lisa?’
A phone call interrupted the meal almost as soon as the three sat down to the table. It was for Bart, and with obvious reluctance he pushed his plate of spicy chicken aside and went to take the call. Lisa and Alessandra enjoyed a light-hearted conversation which, although it never rested on one subject for long, revealed a lot about the younger girl to Alessandra, parts of it touching a wound she’d thought long healed.
‘Sorry about that,’ Bart said, returning to the dining-room just as the others were finishing the last of their meals. ‘Business that couldn’t wait. Don’t feel you have to keep me company while I eat,’ he said with more generosity than he felt. He loathed eating his evening meal alone. It reminded him all too much of the lonely time immediately after Kathleen’s death, before Lisa had been old enough to sit alongside the table in a highchair.
He looked across at his child’s classically beautiful face and was again reminded of her mother. Kathleen had been barely four months older than Lisa was now when she’d died. For years he’d feared his daughter might have inherited not only her mother’s beauty but also the asthma which claimed her young life. Fortunately Lisa had been spared that.
Alessandra was sensitive to the awkward silence drenching the atmosphere and wondered if anyone else noticed. Bart didn’t appear interested in generating any small talk, and Lisa, although looking uncomfortable, seemed reluctant to move. Suspecting the teenager was anxious to discuss something with her father, Alessandra politely excused herself. Taking an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, she let herself out into the warm night air.
She located a log, beneath a huge tree of indeterminable age, and sat down in the night’s dark peace. Propping her elbows on her knees, she cradled her chin, looking out in the direction of the legendary Black Stump. In the blackness, all she saw was a network of twinkling lights stretching for miles. Whoever had written the song about the stars in Texas being big and bright had missed out on the magic of sitting beneath Australia’s Southern Cross. Here the stars were bigger and brighter than anywhere in the world, including the heart of Texas!
But she frowned even as the famous tune played in her head. Actually, she was in danger of taking a particular Texan too much to heart. With no encouragement from him at all, she was more than a little interested in Mr Bart Cameron.
There was something about the man that stirred up the three years of dust which had settled on her sensuality. He, of course, didn’t appear to be even remotely attracted to her, and she had to admit this was understandable, considering they had next to nothing in common. So why did he hold such an attraction for her?
Bart Cameron was staid and conservative to the point of being almost boring. She, on the other hand, was what her brothers described as a ‘radical extrovert, who bordered on fruitcake’! So why was she so drawn to the cowboy? Maybe it was the flashes of loneliness she caught glimpses of from time to time, but, if that was the case, then surely what she was feeling hinged on pity? No, Bart Cameron created a lot of different feelings within her, but pity definitely wasn’t one of them!
Just roll with the punches and see what happens, she told herself.
After all, she wasn’t the type for coy games when it came to the opposite sex; five brothers had taught her that men preferred women who were honest about their feelings, and subtlety definitely wasn’t one of her strong points.
Rising, she took a healthy bite of the apple she’d been absently polishing against the leg of her jeans, and ambled off in the direction of the corrals: Eventually her feet led her into the stables.
Only four horses were housed in the building—the stallion she’d seen Bart grooming and three others. She was instantly drawn to a magnificently proportioned chestnut.
‘Well, aren’t you a beauty, fella?’ she whispered, reaching a steady hand towards him. The animal whinnied aggressively, taking a step backwards.
‘Easy, mate. I’m not going to hurt you.’ She edged nearer, aware of the uneasy brightness in the animal’s eyes. ‘Steady, boy…You’re a beautiful fella, aren’t you…hey?’ Again the horse loudly protested her presence. It was as he turned sideways that Alessandra noticed he’d been gelded.
‘No wonder you’re angry. What sort of stupid moron wouldn’t want to use you for stud purposes? Well, don’t you worry, handsome…this is one female who thinks you’re perfect just the way you are…’
The muscular horse raised himself on to his hind legs, exhaled a hysterical snicker, and lunged at the gate that separated them. In the blink of an eye she was forced savagely against the wall on the opposite side of the long narrow building and shaken by the forearms.
‘Are you completely stupid?’ Bart demanded to know.
‘I will be if you keep pounding me into the bloody wall!’
The vibrations stopped; the verbal insults didn’t.
‘You must be the most idiotic woman I’ve ever met! Redskin is a maniac! You could have been killed!’
‘So what are you trying to do—finish the job? Let go of my arms before I lose all circulation to my hands! Thank you!’ she said, stunned by the effect his closeness was having on her.
He took a step back, casting a quick glance at the still restless horse before steering her by the arm away from the front of the stall.
‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you OK?’
She shook her head.
‘What’s the matter?’ His voice held alarm. Her eyes seemed even brighter than usual and her face was slightly flushed.
‘My heart is pounding a million miles an hour.’
‘It’s probably due to the fright you got when Redskin reared,’ he said, trying to keep his gaze from moving to her breast to check her timing.
‘No. It’s entirely your fault.’
‘Look…’ He ran a weary hand through his hair and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Alessandra, but all I was thinking about was getting you clear of the gate in case the brute crashed over it and struck you with a hoof. I acted on instinct. I’m sorry if I scared you.’
Alessandra considered what sort of a reaction she might get if she were to reach up, put her arms around his neck and kiss him. She could always plead delayed shock as an excuse if he objected to her actions.
Half an hour earlier she hadn’t been convinced that Bart Cameron was ‘her type’; suddenly she knew that no other man would ever come close to affecting her the way he did! Her shortness of breath wasn’t the result of Redskin’s antics; it was due entirely to Bart Cameron’s closeness and overwhelming masculinity. Yet it was more than simply his physical presence that was making her heart expand and crowd her lungs. It was the gentleness of his concern. Yep! Here was the man for her, and all she had to do was let him in on her discovery. But a fullfrontal attack somehow didn’t seem the right approach. She needed to be subtle!.
‘You didn’t scare me, Bart.’
‘But you said——’
‘I said you were responsible for my increased pulse-rate. I never said you scared me.’
‘What…?’
‘Night, Bart; see you in the morning!’
Turning quickly, she hurried across to the house, leaving the stunned man still standing in the stables. As she reached the kitchen she allowed herself a little chuckle.
‘That’s about as subtle as you can get, Alessandra MacKellar!’
Bart was tired and irritable from a fitful night’s sleep. He wasn’t in the mood for Lisa’s sulking, nor Alessandra’s dry wit and inane chatter. He poured a cup of coffee and took it outside into the early morning sunshine.
He couldn’t think of one reason why the Lord would see fit to inflict the torment of the last two days on him. The events of last night alone were enough to age a man twenty years! What with Lisa announcing that she didn’t want to go back to the States to go to college and threatening to leave home, then to walk out to the barn and find Redskin all set to trample a sassy-mouthed Aussie…! Hell!
The easy solution was to ship Lisa off to her grandmother in Houston and then to tell Alessandra that he didn’t require her services as a bookkeeper.
Ha! His mother-in-law would like nothing better than for him to admit he couldn’t handle his own daughter! She’d been telling him so for nearly eighteen years. He wasn’t about to prove her right now.
The Australian was another matter. She and Lisa seemed to get on like a house on fire and he had to admit his daughter’s cooking had improved two hundred per cent under the older woman’s guidance. What bothered him was that, while the girl’s cooking was taking a turn for the better, in the few days Alessandra had been here Lisa’s language had definitely taken a downward slide.
Last night, during the argument they’d had, Lisa’s use of expletives would have made a marine cringe! There was also the matter of Alessandra ‘coming on’ to him. Well, at least that was what he assumed she had been doing. It didn’t seem all that logical, sitting here in the harsh light of day. After all, he was much too old for her, and with her looks she could have her pick of almost any man she wanted. Bart wondered why the idea depressed him, because she certainly wasn’t his type.
Sure, she was sexy as all get out, but sex appeal went only so far; at some point femininity had to make a stand. He suspected that Alessandra equated femininity with rabies—to be avoided at all costs!
He drained the last of his coffee from the cup and headed back to the house. He wouldn’t fire her…yet, but he sure as hell was going to have a few words to say about her language!
‘Get a load of this!’
A shrill wolf whistle drew Bart’s attention from the task of saddling his horse, and instinctively he knew who was attracting the appreciative whistles of his men, even before he looked up and saw Alessandra striding across towards them.
‘Man, wouldn’t I like the job of pouring her into them jeans every morning!’
‘It’s all yours Jim, s’long as I get the pleasure of peeling ‘em off her every night!’ came the laughing reply.
‘Knock if off, fellas,’ Bart warned, unusually irritated by their comments. ‘The lady’s working here for the summer and I don’t want any trouble. Got it?’
‘Hey, boss, they were only foolin’ ‘round,’ Jim, the foreman Bart had brought with him from Texas, replied.
‘And I’m just telling them the facts,’ Bart said.
‘Gidday!’ Alessandra beamed, letting her welcome include them all. She received a mixture of responses and greetings, from everyone except Bart, who simply inclined his head and ran his eyes over her from head to foot. As a means of ignoring him she made a point of introducing herself to each of the men.
‘When you’re through socialising…’ Bart said.
Alessandra wondered what had put him into such a foul mood. The men returned to their work and she moved to where Bart stood holding a saddled bay mare.
‘You didn’t have to saddle her; I could have done it myself.’
‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘Yours is over there.’ He pointed to a corral that held three horses. ‘The grey. This isn’t pony club, Alessandra. You catch him, you saddle him, and then we’ll see if you can ride him.’
Alessandra drew herself up to her full five feet six and gave him a hard glare.
‘Easy!’ she said, swinging away from him.
‘Probably,’ he agreed. ‘The hard part will be trying to mount him in those jeans. I imagine sitting must be difficult.’
‘Enjoying the view?’ she asked sweetly, deliberately swishing her bottom, but not turning around.
Bart would have bitten off his tongue before admitting that he was finding it almost impossible to keep his eyes off her. Yet it was the truth. Alessandra MacKellar was making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Not about her anyway!
Alessandra didn’t expect to have the slightest bit of trouble catching the gelding and putting the bridle on him. She’d spent a great deal of time with horses. Over the years she’d gained valuable experience with many different breeds, having worked as a strapper with thoroughbred racehorses in Australia, Britain, Ireland and New Zealand; while the time she’d already spent on outback cattle stations in Australia had instilled a great respect and admiration for the hard-working, well trained stock horses used on the properties. She’d even had a couple of seasons of barrel racing on the rodeo circuit.
She genuinely loved horses, which perhaps was why the animals seemed to trust her almost instinctively. Of course that lunatic Redskin had been an exception! Bart admitted he was crazy, so why keep him? she wondered, knowing all too well the risks of hanging on to a psycho horse. Well, she’d worry about that later; right now she had to prove her horsemanship to a tall, lanky hunk with a medieval view as to how a woman should behave.
Bart watched as she approached the horses with a respectful caution. He was too far away to hear the words, but he could see by the movement of her mouth that she was talking to them. He recalled the softly soothing tones he’d heard her using the previous night on Redskin. Did she use that same seductive tone when making love to a man? An electric current shot down his spine at the thought. Irritated, he clamped his hat further on to his head.
‘Move your butt, Alessandra! I haven’t got all day, you know!’ he shouted. His angry tone sent the grey skittering out of Alessandra’s reach, and she swore loudly. ‘Charming language for a lady!’
Alessandra took another couple of minutes to secure the bridle to the grey and lead him back to where Bart sat perched on the fence.
‘What’s his name?’ she demanded, deciding she wasn’t going to wear his bad mood with a smile for a moment longer.
‘Pewter,’ he answered, lifting an expensive, hand-made saddle from the fence and handing it to her.
She took it without a word and inspected it with interest.
‘Checking for burrs?’ he queried smugly.
‘Actually I was thinking that the thing has so much padding and is so deep that a person would have more chance of falling out of an armchair! An Australian stockman wouldn’t use one of these as a matter of pride!’
Bart let the remark go unchallenged. It would have served her right if he’d given her one of the old worn saddles! He refused to dwell on the reason why he hadn’t. He watched her go about putting the object in question on the horse. She was careful to fold the stirrup straps across the saddle before easing it on to the grey.
Silently he applauded her. It was a good habit to get into, as with a skittish horse the sudden impact of the irons swinging down and hitting it could often cause it to rear or bolt. Again she was sweet talking the animal as she tightened the girth. From the corner of his eye he noticed the men had stopped work and were watching her. He said nothing.
‘OK, Pewter, darling, let’s check the stirrups for length,’ she said.
Taking hold of the reins in such a way that the horse was unable to turn his head and take a nibble on her derrière, she used her free hand to turn the stirrup iron towards her and in a fluid motion swung herself into the saddle.
‘The advantages of stretch denim,’ Bart murmured, and received a bored look in response.
She stood in the irons for a moment before dismounting. She lengthened one of the stirrups two notches, then walked around the horse and repeated the action with the other.
‘Those stirrups are too long,’ he told her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she replied sweetly. ‘I thought you were riding the bay.’
‘I am.’
‘Then, since I’m riding this horse, I’ll saddle him so I’m comfortable!’ she retorted, remounting. This time she barely cleared the saddle by two inches when she stood in the irons.
Dammit! How could something as sweet and gentlelooking as she was be so darn stubborn? As for that hat she was wearing, it looked as if it had been stomped by a mule! The wide brim dipped down over her face, but, instead of being the smooth oval shape of a stetson, it was squared off and the crown lower, in keeping with those favoured by the Australian stockmen who worked for him. Around the band was a chain-like decoration, which on closer scrutiny proved to be a series of old ring pulls from beer cans linked together. If anyone ever accused Alessandra of dressing to make an impression, they could only mean a bad one!
‘Is there something in particular you’re looking for or are you merely trying to commit my face to memory?’ she asked.
‘Lisa could have lent you a hat, if you’d asked.’
‘If I’d needed one I would have.’ She touched a hand to the item in question. ‘But this is my lucky hat. I take it everywhere I go.’
‘It shows.’
His unexpected grin made her go weak, and Alessandra was sure if she’d been sitting in any saddle other than the one she was in she’d have ended up in the dirt on her backside!
‘Mind if I walk him round a bit just to get the feel of him and the saddle?’
She could hardly credit that the squeaked request had come from her. In an effort to restore some calm to her body she took a deep steadying breath and motioned the horse into action.
It was ridiculous that she could affect him in this way, Bart told himself silently, still experiencing the warm stirring in his loins that the sight of her breasts straining against her shirt ignited. It wasn’t as if he was starved for female companionship. Up until a few months ago he’d been involved in a lengthy and very physical relationship with a lawyer in Dallas. Bree had been everything that Alessandra wasn’t. Elegant, sophisticated, highly successful in her career, but first and foremost a lady. Their relationship had ended when Bree took a job in New York, and Bart bought the Australian property, with no regrets on either side. The approach of his foreman drew him from his reflections.
‘She’s got good hands,’ Jim observed.
‘Yeah.’
‘Rides mostly with her upper legs, though. Looks easy in the saddle.’
‘She’s got a good seat.’
‘Me an’ the boys noticed that even before we saw her ride!’ Jim chuckled.
‘Hard to miss,’ Bart conceded with a grin. ‘She wants to work with the stock.’
‘Ah…’ The cowhand was non-committal.
‘Would you work with her?’ Bart asked, not taking his eyes from Alessandra, who was now cantering the horse.
‘Is she any good?’
‘That’s what we’re about to find out,’ Bart replied, pushing himself away from the fence he’d been leaning against. ‘Alessandra! We’re going to ride up to the Kilto paddock and see how well you can cut cattle. You ready?’
‘Sure.’
‘Jim, grab your horse and come with me. You might as well be in on this, since you’re the one who’ll have to answer to me for any mistakes she makes,’ Bart told the cowboy.
‘Hey, Jim!’ Alessandra called to the departing man. ‘Your job will be a breeze! I don’t make mistakes!’ She couldn’t stifle the laughter that Bart’s thin-mouthed expression created.
The only conversation was between Bart and his foreman and it centred around the movement of stock and the mending of fences. Alessandra rode behind them, admiring the view. She was glad to be back among the familiar eucalyptus and wattle landscape of Australia.
It took them almost fifteen minutes to reach their destination, a gently sloping hill about seventy yards above a herd of grazing cattle.
The scent and sound of the cattle filled Alessandra with nostalgia. She closed her eyes, threw back her head, and took a deep breath.
‘You OK?’
Bart’s voice came from beside her. She kept her eyes closed.
‘Wonderful. In fact I feel almost orgasmic!’
‘It must be the saddle!’ he snapped.
Alessandra opened her eyes and looked at him. The late afternoon sun was conspiring with the brim of his hat to camouflage most of his face, but from the set of his mouth she could tell he wasn’t in the mood for any back chat. Which was as good a reason as any to give him some!
‘If it’s the saddle, them I have only you to thank!’
Bart moved his mount closer and with one arm reached over and pulled her face to within an inch of his.
He muttered something which Alessandra didn’t quite catch and then took her mouth in a hard kiss. ‘Onslaught’ was probably a better word, she thought, because as a kiss it fell a long way short of tender. Yet there was no denying the feel of his arms around her was enough to bubble her blood, or that the male roughness of his face against her own made her feel incredibly feminine. She offered no resistance and opened her lips eagerly to the demands of his probing tongue, yet before her brain could shift gears, from surprise to response, he released her.
She said nothing and, judging by the expression on Bart’s face, he was in shock, but Jim’s voice from among the cattle brought him out of it. He waved a hand towards the man, indicating he’d heard him, then eased his horse away from Alessandra’s.
That shouldn’t have happened, but maybe now you’ll realise your smart-aleck attitude is going to get you into a lot of trouble. Jim will tell you what steers he wants cut out of the herd; get to it.’
Alessandra hid a smile and was halfway down to where the cattle grazed before she stopped and turned in the saddle. Bart was still where she’d left him, and she knew it was because it gave him a good vantage-point to watch her work.
‘Hey, boss!’ she called, and got his attention. ‘You taste great!’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_409f7d69-a9a3-587d-8352-dd847f536c63)
ALESSANDRA didn’t wait for a response; she flung her heels into the big grey beneath her and galloped into the herd of white-faced cattle. She’d well and truly shown him her hand, but this wasn’t the time to consider her next course of action; right now it was time to prove she could muster and cut cattle as well as anyone!
‘Let’s get ‘em, Pewter!’
Alessandra knew she was making quick work of the task she’d been set, but a lot of the credit had to go to the gelding beneath her. It was as if he could anticipate her every move. Time and time again his sure-footedness amazed her; it seemed he was capable of changing direction on a dime.
When all the nominated cattle were separated from the main bunch she eased herself back in the saddle and gave an exhausted sigh. Taking off her hat, she turned her head on to her shoulder to wipe the perspiration from her brow on the sleeves of her T-shirt. It made little difference, since that too was damp with sweat.
‘That was pretty fair ridin’, little lady! Where’d you learn to work cattle like that?’ Jim wanted to know.
Alessandra was naturally pleased by the praise, but she felt even more pleasure as she noted the warmth in the smile that Bart sent her. Yes, she thought, if there’s one thing in life I really want to experience it’s Bart Cameron’s lovemaking! She waited a moment for her heart to stop flipping before she answered.
‘I’ve mustered cattle and sheep in just about every state and territory of Australia, and a person really can’t help picking up a knowledge of the business if they spend enough time in the saddle. Still, I’d have to say that I learnt more from an old Aborigine stockman I met in Queensland than from everyone else put together.’
‘Well, you’re as good as any man I’ve ever seen!’ Jim said, then looked at his boss and qualified the statement by adding, ‘’Fer your age!’
Alessandra laughed.
‘We’d best be heading back,’ Bart said, ‘otherwise Lisa may have already cooked dinner. As from tomorrow, Jim, you’ve got a new hand.’
‘That mean she’ll be bunking down with the rest of us?’ Jim asked. He was answered by a droll look from Bart. ‘Just a thought,’ he muttered.
Bart entered the kitchen just as Alessandra and Lisa were finishing washing up the pots and pans.
‘When you’re free, Alessandra, I’d like a word with you. I’ll be in the office.’ He turned to leave, then stopped. ‘By the way, dinner was very nice, Lisa.’
‘It was only the left-overs from last night,’ the girl replied, puzzled.
‘I know, but last night I never got a chance to compliment you. I was side-tracked by a discussion about your future education, if you recall.’
‘I’m not changing my mind, Daddy,’ the girl said, but with little conviction, Alessandra thought.
‘Neither am I,’ Bart stated. Without another word he left the room.
Lisa slumped into the closest chair. ‘He simply will not listen to anything I say! I don’t want to go to some fancy girls’ college. In fact I don’t want to go to college, period!’
‘And he has other ideas?’
‘Oh, both he and Grandma are full of them!’
Alessandra moved to the table and sat down.
‘I thought your grandparents were dead.’
‘Oh, not Daddy’s mother. Grandma Weaver—my mother’s mother. She’s alive and well and living in Houston,’ Lisa explained.
‘I see. So your father and grandmother are quite close?’
Lisa sent her a horrified look.
‘Close? Are you kidding? They drive each other crazy! The only thing they have in common is a desire to make me into a carbon copy of my mother—Grandma so that I can become the stunningly popular débutante that she’d always wanted my mother to be, and Daddy so that he can prove to Grandma that the courts did the right thing in granting him custody of me, instead of her!’
‘You mean your grandmother fought your father for custody of you?’ Lisa nodded. ‘No wonder they dislike each other,’ Alessandra mused.
‘The thing is I’m sick of being piggy in the middle. Oh, Mac! What am I going to do?’
‘Tough question. I agree you’re entitled to make your own decisions, but you have to be sure those decisions are based on long, solid consideration,’ Alessandra advised gently.
‘Did you go to college?’ Lisa asked.
‘Yes, but I dropped out after only a year.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, lots of reasons. Look, Lisa…’ She paused to give herself time to decide how best to end this conversation without lying and without going into details about Jenni’s death.
‘An awful lot of things happened during my first year of university. Things that made me question the values and goals I’d been raised to respect. When I stood back and looked at them I realised that they weren’t all they were cracked up to be.’
‘Do you regret not finishing college now?’ the girl asked.
Alessandra was tempted to lie, but she didn’t. She lifted her head and looked squarely into Lisa’s brown eyes.
‘No.’
‘You wanted to see me…’
Bart looked up from his work and saw a snowy-haired, blue-eyed pixie peeking around the door. God, she was beautiful! He shoved the thought aside.
‘Yes. Sit down.’
Alessandra moved into the room and sat down on the chair across from Bart. She ran a hand through the short silkiness of her hair and questioned the apprehensive flutter of butterflies in the pit of her stomach.
Bart’s face was unreadable, his mouth thinned in an unsmiling, non-committal line, his blue eyes thoughtful and wrinkled at the corners.
‘I’ll come straight to the point. I have no argument with your abilities as a bookkeeper. Edith’s accounting methods aren’t based on any recognised systems, but, judging from what I’ve seen of your efforts so far, you aren’t having any difficulty interpreting them.’
Alessandra shrugged. ‘I never expected to, once I became accustomed to her handwriting.’
‘I was also more than impressed by the ability you showed with the cattle today…’
‘Pewter is a very well drilled horse. Thank you for not giving me a dud. I’d have really had to pull out more effort then!’
Bart didn’t crack even the hint of a smile at her pseudomodesty. Boy! Was his liver twisted about something? she thought.
‘I never use a marked deck,’ Bart told her coldly. ‘Which is why I wanted to see you.’
Alessandra gave an exaggerated groan and rolled her eyes. ‘This sounds serious.’
‘I’m surprised you can recognise the fact,’ he said drily. ‘You seem to treat everything as one huge joke. You have a smart answer for everything.’
‘I work at it. Counteracts the dumb-blonde image that being cursed with this colour hair sadly attracts!’ she replied cheekily.
Bart was silent for several minutes. She knew he was doing it to prove a point, so she didn’t satisfy him by commenting. Heck, she could cheerfully sit here all night looking at him! He apparently wasn’t so keen on a duel of silence and surrendered first.
‘I have agreed to let you work with Jim. You certainly seem capable enough and he has no objections at the moment. Today’s Tuesday, on Thursday you’ll be required to do the wages, so that gives you tomorrow and Friday to prove your worth as a cowhand. You’ll answer only to Jim and take orders only from him or, naturally, myself. I’ll have him give me a report on your progress on Saturday. Is that understood?’
Cripes! she thought; he was certainly playing the role of cattle baron to the hilt.
‘Sure. That sounds fair enough. Is that all?’
Bart looked uncomfortable and began fidgeting with a pen on the desk before decisively putting it aside and folding his arms across his chest.
‘No. There are two more things I want to get clear between us.’
The butterflies in her stomach turned into 747s at the hard tone in his voice.
‘Firstly, while I’m grateful for the help and friendship you are providing to Lisa, I would appreciate it if you could refrain from swearing and using some of your more…shall we say “colourful” expressions in her presence. I won’t tolerate it from my men and I see no reason why I should allow you to be the exception simply because you’re female. Obviously you have adopted this sort of language as a result of your less than ladylike lifestyle. I realise breaking the habit is going to be difficult for you, but I insist you make the effort.’
Alessandra amazed herself just by managing to sit still, let alone keep her mouth shut! Swear? God, could she really give him an earful now! The gall of the man to assume he knew anything but the sketchiest outline of her background! Ooohhh! What she wouldn’t like to do with the paperweight sitting on his desk!
‘Fine.’ She spoke through clenched teeth. ‘You mentioned two other points. The second is…?’
Bart cleared his throat. He’d been prepared to let that remain unsaid, since her obviously smouldering reaction to his last words made the idea seem ridiculous. Not only that, he wasn’t sure whether there was any real justification for what he intended to say. After all, it was he who had instigated the only physical sexual by-play between them.
Given her irreverent, teasing way of speaking, her remark about him ‘tasting great’ was probably nothing more than a throw-away line and not intended as the provocative encouragement he’d imagined.
‘Well?’ she prodded.
‘Look, if I’m out of line here…’ He stopped and swallowed hard. ‘The truth is, I hope you didn’t take that kiss earlier today the wrong way.’
‘The wrong way?’ she queried with a deliberately vague inflexion in her voice. Boy, was she going to make him squirm!
‘Yes…you know, as if I was coming on to you or something. Because I wasn’t.’
‘Look, if you’re worried about me screaming sexual harassment…’
‘Eh…no. I’m not concerned about that…Look, what I’m trying to say is it won’t happen again. Our relationship is strictly a business one.’
‘Forget it; I have!’ Alessandra said, standing and giving an overly bright smile. ‘On my scale of one to ten it barely rated a one point five…’
‘A one point five…’
‘And that was only for the element of surprise! Was there anything else?’ she asked, still smiling like a store mannequin.
Bart shook his head.
‘Righto, then. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight…boss.’
She forced herself to walk calmly from the room, gently closing the door behind her, while mentally she was describing Bart Cameron with every expletive she had ever heard and in the language of every country she had ever lived in.
Strictly business! Strictly business! Oooohh! She was so angry! With him, with herself, with just about everything!
She punched her pillow. It was typical, of course! She had a lot of luck, it was just all bad! It was over seven years since she’d been interested-—really interested—in a man, and it had to be one who found her about as appealing as a case of the measles. Not only that, he’d all but said that he found her coarse and foul-mouthed. Sure, she tended to use the odd colourful adjective from time to time, but nothing which would cause even a raised eyebrow from a fellow Australian, and she had never used that word! Well…maybe once or twice…but never aloud.
As for the kiss, even though it had been the stuff of sky-rockets and rainbows, why make such a big deal out of it? She closed her eyes and willed sleep to claim her. Ha! Her head was filled with images of a thin-mouthed cowboy with eyes the colour of faded denim.
She rolled on to her side and stared out at the bright, full moon, trying to rationalise just what attracted her to Bart Cameron. He certainly wasn’t the drop-deadhandsome type that caused women to swoon as they passed him in the street, although his body would invite a second look. She had to admit she found him sexy, yet in all honesty she couldn’t put her finger on why. Perhaps it was simply her body protesting the last seven years of celibacy. She smiled in the darkness. The effects of sexual withdrawal? Not likely! While she’d surrendered her virginity at eighteen, she’d never been one to indulge in physical relationships simply for the sake of it. Two lovers in ten years wasn’t exactly life in the fast lane.
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.
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