Andrew thought he heard the click of cameras and immediately stopped chopping. He snatched up his shirt and strode off to put the ax away. He gleamed with perspiration.
Winkler, a large man with a shaved head, had been lounging by the barn, watching him. “We’ll have to enter you in competition, mate,” he said.
Andrew was disgruntled by the tourists, but managed a smile. “I’d be no competition against you guys,” he said, and headed for the house to take a shower. He’d spoken at a breakfast gathering in a nearby township, had a cocktail party to attend late this afternoon in the next shire, then yet another banquet and another speech.
He wasn’t satisfied with his performance lately. He felt stiff, self-conscious, unnatural. It was probably from knowing that he was so different from the professionally beaming and effusive Jacko that he held himself far more in check than usual.
Then he saw a blue truck, familiar to him now, the Fairchild Acres all-purpose vehicle.
He noticed it with only passing interest until he realized who was behind the wheel—Marie Lafayette. He stopped as if paralyzed, then moved to open her door.
“Oh,” she said, looking at him in surprise.
Suddenly he realized he was half-naked and dirty to boot. “Miss Lafayette,” he said with all the chivalry he could muster. “What brings you here?”
She stared up at him with those hypnotic green eyes, her full lips slightly parted. The sun gleamed on her thick golden hair, and he had an almost irresistible urge to stroke its smoothness.
She dressed in the Fairchild standard uniform, dark blue shorts and white blouse, but the no-nonsense cut of her clothes couldn’t hide her neat little figure, the intriguing thrust of her breasts, the smallness of her waist, the curve of her hips. He took in all these details instantly and greedily.
My God, you’re bewitching, he thought. What goes on inside your head? Are you as sure of yourself as you seem? As sunny-natured?
She took a deep breath. “Rennie—my uncle—said that the cook here needed to borrow some soup bowls. Could you point which way to the kitchen?”
“I’ll walk you there,” he offered. “And carry the bowls.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said, her eyes still on his.
“I want to.” There. That was easy. And honest.
She reached into the cab of the truck and picked up a cardboard box. He took it from her and tucked it under his bare arm. “This way,” he said, cocking his head toward the office, but still not looking away from her.
He heard a clicking noise, but it barely registered on his consciousness. “So Louisa let you escape for a while?”
She laughed, a delightful sound. He was sure that sound would be in his dreams tonight.
“Just a while.”
“Can you stay for a cup of coffee, er, tea?”
“Thanks, but I have to get right back.”
“Your uncle says you put in long hours over there. That it’s a killer workload.”
She shrugged philosophically. “I’m still learning my way around the kitchen. And we’re short a person, the chief cook. But I’ll get my schedule under control before long.”
“You’re an organized type?” he asked. He wished he had his shirt back on. It seemed she was trying not to look at his chest.
“I have to be. Don’t you? With all your campaigning?”
“I try. Ah. Here’s the kitchen.”
He called out the cook’s name, but no one answered. “Come on in,” he invited. “I’ll set these on the counter. And tell her you brought them.”
“Thanks,” she said, all chipper pertness. “Well, I suppose I may see you around now and then, after all.”
“Oh, yeah, I suppose,” he said casually. In truth, he wanted to see her far more than “now and then.”
“Thanks again. I’ll find my way back.”
She gave him a lovely smile of goodbye, but he was immediately at her side. “I’m going out. I’ll walk you to your car.”
Her smile faded, as if such treatment wasn’t wanted. She said nothing, only nodded. He strolled beside her toward the truck. “Do you ever get a day off over there?” he asked, again trying to sound casual.
“Tomorrow I do. The staff each gets one day off, but we have different days.”
“What will you do?” he asked, looking out over the lawn so he wouldn’t seem too interested.
“I may catch a bus to Scone or Aberdeen and buy another set of uniforms. I have to keep washing my everyday one and ironing it in the morning.”
He wrestled over whether he should volunteer to drive her. Louisa Fairchild would probably snort fire over such a thing, and he didn’t want to get Marie in—
Suddenly he had her in his arms, hoisting her up so her feet were off the ground, holding her tight, so that she was pressed against his hot, naked chest. He stepped carefully backward.
She stared at him, her mouth a luscious pink O of surprise. “What—” she started to say.
“Snake,” he replied in a low voice. “I’m just backing out of his range.”
She followed his gaze and saw a large brown snake, well camouflaged in the dry grass. It was over a meter long and sluggish with the afternoon heat. It seemed to be heading for shade under a nearby bush.
“I’ll set you on the porch,” Andrew said, still moving backward slowly. “Then get the ax and kill it.”
“Oh, no,” she protested. “It’s quite harmless. A very nice snake, actually.”
He stopped moving. “Nice? It’s nearly four feet long. And you’ve got some of the most poisonous snakes in the world here.”
She laughed. “It’s only a rock python. It’s not venomous, and it’s so docile that it’s called the ‘children’s python.’ People who fancy snakes keep them as pets. Now will you put me down?”
“You’re sure it’s harmless?”
“Certain.” Yet she looked at him with amused admiration. “But you did exactly the right thing. You didn’t know what it was, so you walked off slowly.”
He didn’t want to put her down. He liked having her in his arms, and it felt right that her body was so close to his; it felt wonderfully right. But reluctantly he set her down again. The front of her blouse had damp spots from his sweat, and some wood chips clung to it.
“I got you—uh—kind of grungy,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Winkler, the barn cleaner, still leaning against the wall, guffawed. “Cuddle-wuddle snake,” he snorted. But Marie didn’t seem to hear him, thank God.
“Don’t apologize,” she told Andrew. “You were very gallant.”
He almost blushed. Gallant?
He found they were looking in each other’s eyes again. For a moment, the rest of the world seemed to drop away. He wondered if she felt the same. He said, “I could drive you to Scone tomorrow morning, if you’d like. I have to go over that way.”
She edged away from him a bit. “That’s kind,” she said, smiling, but she looked almost nervous. “But I can go alone. So, no, thank you.”
He wondered if she didn’t want to be with him, or if she feared Louisa Fairchild’s wrath. “If it’s Louisa,” he said, “can she control you on your day off? She doesn’t own you.”
She shook her head, the gold hair swinging slightly. “Right now I’m just trying to keep life simple.”
He didn’t understand what she meant by keeping life simple; he hadn’t proposed anything complex. He sensed a sadness hiding under her chipper facade, and he didn’t understand that, either. Was she thinking of her mother? He wanted to put his hands on her shoulders, look into her eyes again and ask her to tell him her feelings.
But he couldn’t do that, and the scene around them was getting more hectic as the guide started trying to herd the tourists back into the van and on to their next destination, the petting zoo, where they’d coo at the koalas, chuck cockatoos under their chins and hand feed the young kangaroos.
“I really need to go,” Marie said. “And thanks
again for your concern about my safety. You were very quick-witted.” She smiled and showed her dimples, then turned and moved toward the truck.
“Cuddle-wuddle snake,” repeated Winkler, running his hand over his shaven head. Andrew wanted to drag him into the barn and shove that shiny head up to its neck in horse manure.
Marie left quickly, the dust puffing out behind her, then settling back to the scorched and thirsty earth. But her body still tingled from where it had pressed against his.
Her heart banged as if a small, crazed snare drummer had hijacked her chest. She felt dazed, yet excited. Being swept up by Andrew so swiftly, so powerfully, had left her breathless with surprise.
She’d had to grab his bare shoulder to keep her balance, and she remembered the hardness of his muscle, the damp smoothness of his hot skin. He’d held her so tightly that her breasts had flattened against his wide chest, so she could feel the heat and strength of his body.
She’d inhaled his scent, clean sweat and the smell of freshly hewn pine. She was close enough to see just how darkly blue his eyes were, the fine bone structure of his face, and the sweaty, waving tumble of his hair.
She could see every detail of the carved bird that rested on his breastbone. In those moments, physical awareness of him had shot through her so intensely she’d almost gasped.
Now, alone in the truck’s cab, she could still feel the faint moisture of his perspiration on her blouse, smell the piney tang of wood. So this was what Reynard meant when he’d said he’d heard her hormones rattling free at last.
It was a wonderful feeling. And terrifying. Reynard had warned her, and he’d meant it. She didn’t want to have these emotions about any man, especially one as wealthy and influential as Andrew Preston. It was insane to take a fancy to a man whose social status was so much higher than hers. Look at what had happened to Colette—and to thousands of other young women.
Then the rest of the world came crashing back into her consciousness. She’d had another assignment at Lochlain—not just delivering bowls. Louisa Fairchild had ordered her to have Reynard come talk to her tomorrow morning. Marie had forgotten even to look for him.
She pulled over to the side of the road to call him on her cell phone.
“Hello, love,” he said, clearly in a merry mood. “Nice to hear from my girl. What can I do for you?”
“I have a message for you from Miss Fairchild. She wants to talk to you tomorrow morning when you bring the eggs.”
“Oh?” he replied, sounding even more pleased. “And what would she like to talk about?”
“I have no idea. I hope it’s not more silliness about us being—in league with Andrew Preston or something.”
He laughed. “I’ll just chat her up and see what’s on her mind, that’s all.”
They said their goodbyes and Marie drove on.
Mrs. Lipton met her at the kitchen door, saying that Louisa wanted to see her in the library. Marie hastily tied on her bibbed apron to cover her rumpled shirt and ran up the stairs.
Louisa sat at her massive desk, surrounded by sheaves of paper with large print. Several obviously expensive books on Thoroughbred breeding were stacked beside her elbow.
She looked at Marie over the tops of her spectacles. “Hello. I wanted to tell you that I liked your luncheon for the staff better than I liked my usual. How can that be? It’s not right, young woman.”
Marie clasped her hands in front of her. “I’ve noticed from the menus that you don’t vary your diet much. Every Monday you have the same thing, every Tuesday, and so on. Perhaps you were unconsciously growing tired of the repetition.”
Louisa gave a snort of disdain. “I never unconsciously do anything. I am probably the most conscious person you’ll ever meet.”
“I apologize, Miss. I gave you the only reason I could think of.”
“Well, it tasted good. Like the food of my youth. I think for a while, I’d like to try the staff meals. And see what my niece and nephew think of them.”
Shocked, Marie was silent.
Louisa gave her a stare that was almost pitying. “Don’t look so gobsmacked. Did you tell your uncle I wish to speak with him?”
“Yes. When he comes with the eggs, as you asked.”
“And do you wonder why I want to talk to him?”
“That’s between you and my uncle, I’d think.”
Louisa slitted her eyes and patted the sheaf of papers with one gnarled hand. “Do you know what these are?”
Marie shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“They’re the records of my horses. I pore over them every day. The horse business is complex. It takes a great deal of rigorous study and hard work to succeed. Do you know anything of it?”
“No, miss. I’m quite ignorant on the subject.”
“If you’re to stay around here, you’ll need to learn,” Louisa said crisply. She pushed a book toward Marie. “Take that. Study it. I may quiz you when I get back from the U.K.”
Reluctantly Marie took the book and gazed at its cover. It was a thick book, and a heavy one; its title was The History of Australian Horse Breeding. It looked daunting, but Marie told herself she would tackle it with all the determination she had.
But Louisa’s move puzzled her. Did it mean that the old woman wasn’t as hostile as she seemed? Did Louisa want her to stay?
At Lochlain, Reynard bent over the kitchen counter, repairing one of the microwaves. Andrew sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee that he’d made himself. It tasted terrible, but he was tired of tea.
“So my girl brought over the soup bowls, eh?” Reynard asked, “and you saved her from a kiddy snake.”
Andrew wanted to bury his face in his hands. “How was I supposed to know it was harmless? Australia’s full of snakes. It might have been a viper.”
“In Oz here, we got about 140 different snakes, but only ten percent are poisonous. ’Course we do have nine of the most deadly in the world. But some are lovely to look at. The sea krait. The desert death adder. True beauts, those two.”
“How do you know so much about snakes?” Andrew asked grumpily.
“Used to work at a reptile farm farther south. I handled the snakes. Grew rather fond of some of them. But they’re not much at making conversation. So I moved on—and here I am.”
Andrew eyed him dubiously. Reynard always had stories, but were they all true?
He could repair anything, build anything, he could even invent things. But with all his imagination and talent, he seemed more in love with drifting than security. Could he really be related to Marie?
Sometimes it didn’t seem possible.
“You look a bit glum,” Reynard remarked. “Don’t let the kiddy snake embarrass you. Most Yanks would have run like hell. Your reaction was spot-on. You even tried to rescue the damsel. Many a man would’ve worried only about his own skin.”
“The damsel must think I’m an idiot.”
“Naw. She’s not like that. She’s good, sensible, and kind—she truly is. She’d never think ill of a chap trying to do the right thing.”
“You’ve known her all her life?”
“Indeed. I’m even her godfather.”
Andrew finished the last of his coffee. “So you know everything about her?”
“I reckon. But she hasn’t had much of a life. Work and college. College and work. And taking care of her poor mum. Her mum hadn’t been well for years.”
Andrew suspected he should be cautious about what he said to Reynard, but he couldn’t help himself. “She’s really pretty. I mean, I’m surprised she’s still single.”
“Her parents’ union was brief and unhappy,” Reynard replied smoothly. “That affects a girl’s outlook, y’know. Plus, she keeps busy. Hardest little worker you’ll ever meet. Love her as if she was my own. And I appreciate your protecting her. I’d protect her with my life, I swear it. Any man ever trifle with her, hurt her, I’d break his skull with pleasure and bite his brain in two. I’m like an old
lion with one cub, I am.”
Tyler’s housekeeper opened the kitchen door. “Reynard, the cuckoo got stuck outside the clock again. Can you make him go back in? I’m always afraid I’ll break him.”
Reynard smiled engagingly. “With pleasure, love. I’ll put the budgie back in his bunk.”
He turned and winked at Andrew. Then, a slightly lascivious gleam in his eye, he followed the broad-hipped housekeeper.
Andrew stood up and rinsed his cup in the sink. Again he was perplexed. Had Reynard just warned him away from Marie? It sure as hell had sounded like it.
Was Reynard smart enough to sense his attraction to his niece? For an amiable man, he’d spoken with remarkably grim conviction about skull breaking.
And why did the warning make Andrew even more curious about Marie? Didn’t Reynard think Andrew was good enough for her?
Shaking his head, he stood, knowing he had to get ready for the cocktail party.
But he wondered if, in his free time tomorrow morning, he might just see where the bus took Marie. And perhaps run into her….
After he talked to her for half an hour or so, he’d wager that he’d find they had nothing in common, and that his attraction was simple lust, easily controlled. He and she might not even be able to get through a half hour of bland chitchat.
And after that, he’d forget her. The enchantment would be broken, the mystery would vanish. He’d be a free man again, with nothing to distract him from his true work: beating Jacko Bullock.
That night Marie again felt exhausted. She’d stayed late in the kitchen, preparing ahead for Louisa’s meals and the staff’s so she could take her day off with a clear conscience.
Now she lay down and tried reading The History of Australian Horse Breeding. Weary, she began to nod off.
Her thoughts drifted from horses and Louisa to being in Andrew Preston’s arms. She remembered the way he’d held her, tightly, almost possessively. She found herself wanting to press her mouth against his bare chest, just above where the wooden charm rested over his breastbone.
The Secret Heiress Page 8