‘Just.’ He laughed. ‘Well this isn’t the Melbourne Cup.’
‘Excellent. Flemington on race day terrified me.’
He frowned at her in confusion. ‘How could a horse race terrify you?’
‘Not the races, the women.’ She really hadn’t meant to say that. ‘Not really the women, just the fashions and the fear of falling on my face.’ In front of my husband. Or father. ‘You know. Of dropping sauce down my dress.’ She’d done both at the one Melbourne Cup she’d attended. And she hadn’t had a drink like the newspaper had suggested. Her husband had been furious. ‘I have this dread of social disasters. I was pretty young then.’
Rex went on. ‘This is a country race meeting. It’s as laidback as we want so you can relax, enjoy yourself. Nobody cares.’
Enjoy herself. Daphne vowed to try to achieve that goal. She thought about the Melbourne Cup experience and mentally tossed it out of the window. ‘Let’s do that.’
They stayed at the Palace Hotel, which was on the main street of Broken Hill and famous for the scenes from the Australian cult movie Priscilla Queen of the Desert. The magnificent murals lined the entry hall, the towering ceiling, and above and beneath the stairs that led to their rooms. Daphne could feel the smile tugging on her lips as she climbed the stairs. The hand-painted murals just kept getting more extravagant.
‘This is different,’ she puffed, as Rex carried their two bags beside her. He wasn’t even breathing heavily on the steep stairs, but she consoled herself with the fact that his legs were longer.
He grinned at her. ‘I know. Can’t help picturing the guy who painted the ceiling lying on his back painting Venus. He’s no Botticelli, but he’s definitely got the touch for grandeur.’
She examined the brochure in her hand. ‘Seeing as how I’m not carrying any luggage, I’ve got a free hand to look at the descriptions,’ she said cheekily. ‘It says his name was Mario but the rest was painted by an Indigenous artist called Gordon Whey. Only took Gordon eight hours to paint the first one in the bar.’
‘Just a little something he whipped up. We might have to sit out on the steps with a drink later and just soak them in.’
Ooh, she’d love that. Loved the idea that Rex had the mental space to devote time to just admiring something that appealed to him. It appealed to her, too. She could easily imagine sitting on an old wooden step surrounded by hand-painted extravagant oil murals, with Rex sipping a glass of beer. Maybe he’d put his arm around her shoulders, and they’d smile and imagine what the artist had been thinking while he painted. Truth be told, it sounded better than the races.
Rex stopped at the top. ‘So this is yours, m’lady.’ The sign read ‘Priscilla Suite’.
‘A suite to myself?’
His eyes twinkled. ‘So it seems.’ He nodded at the room next door. ‘And that’s me.’
She checked the sign on the door and then the brochure in her hand. ‘So I have the room with the murals?’ She could feel the heat in her cheeks as she realised he’d wanted to please her. Make her smile. That he cared enough to give her the best room.
‘It’s an old hotel. We’re doing fun not grand.’
She pushed open the door and gasped. An oil-painted stream cascaded across the wall flanked by gum trees. ‘Truly magnificent.’ She took a peek at him. ‘How long ago did you say you booked this room?’
He shrugged. ‘There was a cancellation.’
He was very sweet. ‘Thank you. I love it.’
He put down her bag and looked mightily pleased with himself. ‘I’m glad. We’re here for two days. Maybe you’d like to unpack and I’ll knock on your door in ten minutes.’
She almost saluted. But he was gone and that was more Billie’s style anyway. She thought of the girls at home and how much she would astonish Billie and Lorna with Rex’s thoughtfulness. Describing it would be like reliving this adventure all over again. She hadn’t had that many adventures she’d wanted to relive.
She reminded herself to enjoy the present moment. The now. Scanning the room, she marvelled again at the huge mural on her wall and allowed the pleasure to soak in. It was dated and delightful. Bless Rex.
They met ten minutes later, decided on a drive, and Rex steered them out past the long line of load from the silver mine that dominated the skyline and out into the undulating sparseness of saltbush and dirt. That part was like home.
Rex pulled over at the Menindee Lookout and she climbed out before she realised he’d intended to open her door. Damn, she’d have to practise that waiting thing.
They stood at the side of the drop-off and stared over the brown land with the green-grey patches of desert foliage and outcrops of rock. She’d seen this so many times from the air but it was just as glorious to see it up close in the three-dimensional reality.
Rex slipped his arm around her waist and edged her back from the steep slope. ‘Daredevil,’ he said mildly and kept his arm there. She guessed it was so she wouldn’t fall, but it didn’t matter why he did it because it felt nice and started a gentle thrum in her knees.
She twisted her neck to peer at his face. He was gazing over the expanse and she could see his strong throat and the faint beginnings of the light-coloured regrowth on his chin. There was something attractive about a man’s regrowth and she’d always had a sneaking admiration of Rex with stubble.
He squeezed her waist as their eyes met. ‘Ready to move on?’
Was there a hidden meaning in that? And if he had put a different layer of question in there . . . Was she ready?
She took a breath. ‘Absolutely. I’m loving this, Rex.’ Two could put a double meaning in a comment.
He squeezed her waist again and steered her towards the car, and this time she waited until he opened her door.
They had a late lunch at Silverton in the original pub that had been christened with more than a dozen names, its walls plastered with newspaper clippings and old signed photographs of movie stars, commercials and photo shoots, all of which were made in the almost deserted mining town. Then they drove back towards Broken Hill and veered into the Living Desert Reserve before the tourist buses arrived at sunset.
This time, when Rex opened her door, he took her hand and kept it cradled in his own as they climbed the path to the top of the hill. She could feel the strength of his fingers, the extra ten beats of her heart, and the heat in her cheeks.
She tried to concentrate on the sculptures that soared from their footings on the red soil and read the plaques explaining each artist’s concept of his creation.
There was a window of time between the people ahead of them leaving and the next arriving, and Rex guided her into a shady spot and stopped.
‘I’d like to kiss you.’
She blinked. Could feel herself heat up and start to panic. No. She wasn’t going to ruin this.
She nodded, but then decided that wasn’t enough. ‘I’d like that,’ she said a touch primly, but the important thing was that she’d said it and she saw him lean closer before she closed her eyes. She should have kept them open a while longer because she waited and nothing happened. When she opened her eyes he was smiling at her.
‘You looked so worried I wasn’t sure I should. How about you kiss me?’
She glared at him and he must have known he’d done the wrong thing because he laughed and pulled her to him and kissed her with a toe-curling thoroughness that made her forget her awkwardness. She slid her hands up and around his neck and pulled him closer. The tang of his aftershave mixed with the warm fresh smell of Rex and the whole gamut was intoxicating.
He was the one who heard the footsteps coming up the path, she certainly didn’t, because he set her away from him with gentle firmness and took her hand again.
‘I knew that would would be worth waiting for,’ he murmured, and drew her along to a wooden seat that looked over the hectares of reserve protecting the natural fauna and flora, and winding between the outcrops. They could see the long walking path they’d missed by drivin
g to the summit.
But her eyes were too full of stars to care much about the view. My Lord, he was good at that kissing business. Who would have thought it?
The hidden talents of a bush pilot.
SEVENTEEN
More people arrived at the sculptures and the first of the buses hissed with the doors opening as the afternoon drew closer to sunset.
Rex leant across and spoke quietly into her ear. ‘Would you like to wait for the sunset?’
No siree. The idea of people setting up picnics around them wasn’t really what she had in mind. What she wanted was to find somewhere quiet and be kissed by Rex again. ‘Not really, unless you want to.’
‘Let’s go then,’ he said and pulled her to her feet, keeping her hand, making her feel relaxed and comfortable and incredibly safe. She could get used to this.
They drove back into town with the long shadows from the afternoon sun behind them. Back at the Palace Hotel Rex suggested they change for dinner, not to hurry, and he’d meet her on the verandah outside their rooms to watch the sunset.
Daphne could feel the trickle of sweat down her back and she’d rubbed off most of her makeup. The idea of standing under a stream of cool water and emerging refreshed was too tempting, so she set out the floaty silver dress and the strappy heels that went with it, and dived into the shower.
Twenty minutes later when she stepped onto the verandah, lightly made up and faintly perfumed, Rex was waiting. He’d changed into light-coloured jeans and an open-necked blue shirt that matched his eyes. Eyes that appreciated her warmly. He looked strong and casual and very relaxed. She wished she had half his composure.
‘You look beautiful,’ he said.
She froze like a rabbit in headlights until she remembered Billie. Sucking in a breath, she forced out a, ‘Thank you, kind sir,’ with as much nonchalance as she could muster. It felt stilted but she’d done it. Accepted a compliment and it hadn’t killed her.
He pulled out the chair at the little wrought-iron table between their rooms, leant into her hair as she sat down and murmured, ‘You smell good, too.’
She sat down with more of a bump than a graceful settle, but he didn’t seem to notice because he was paying attention to the wine. Rex the connoisseur. Hidden talents? She stifled a nervous giggle.
He’d acquired an ice bucket and bottle of expensive sparkling white and she looked longingly at it. That’s what she needed. A settling sip of alcohol.
She raised her brows at the glass he poured for himself. ‘Now that’s a first. I wondered if you even drank,’ she teased.
He shrugged. ‘Not often. My dad was a drover who settled in Mica Ridge and he liked a bender. He was a happy drunk but if I drink – it’s not much. It’s over twenty-four hours until I fly again,’ he said seriously, ‘and this is a special occasion.’ She hugged that comment to herself and stored away a little bit of family history that you never heard from Rex.
He lifted his glass. ‘To us and a good day at the races.’ He grinned at her. ‘But you can have most of it.’
No thanks. Who knew what she’d say if she drank too much? ‘Are you trying to get me sloshed, Rex?’
‘I have an idea that could be entertaining, but no. We’re going to have a good day tomorrow at the races and I don’t want you there with a hangover.’
Lord, she seconded that, and reminded herself to have two glasses, max. That was the thing. With their job they rarely drank because they were so frequently on call. So more than a glass of wine tended to hit her like a hammer.
She looked across the varnished verandah boards to the wrought-iron balcony. The sun had almost disappeared behind the buildings opposite, everything lay bathed in a golden-red glow, and patterns were appearing from the black metal lace on the roof. ‘This is gorgeous.’
‘They said it was a good place in the afternoons.’ He topped up her glass of the effervescent wine and it threatened to foam over the top. ‘Out of practice,’ he murmured.
She felt herself warm at his habit of talking to himself. She hadn’t noticed that before, it wasn’t something he did when flying, but apparently he did so when he was with her. It endeared him to her. So maybe he wasn’t as sure of himself as he seemed and that made her way more relaxed.
They raised the wine and it caught the sun with a suitably romantic sparkle until the tiny non-resonant clunk from cheap glasses made them smile. ‘I’ve had a lovely day, Rex.’
‘Me too.’ He took a sip and put the glass down. Reached across and stroked her cheek with his finger. ‘You looking forward to tomorrow?’ He sat back and studied her with leisure.
She could feel the awareness run down her neck and into her belly. And lower. Looking forward to tomorrow. And perhaps tonight as well. She licked suddenly dry lips. ‘Very much.’
‘So am I.’ He slid a folded newspaper across the table and she picked it up. ‘The form guide.’ He pointed to a race. ‘The Silver City Cup. I’m going for She Flies High.’
Daphne studied the list of names. ‘I think I fancy In With A Chance.’ It had a good ring to it, she thought vaguely.
‘I was hoping you’d go for that one.’ Rex laughed out loud.
Daphne realised what she’d said, took a quick sip from her glass to cover her confusion, and inhaled her wine. The coughing fit lasted for a couple of minutes. By the time she’d recovered Rex had her standing up, leaning her head on his chest, and was patting her back.
‘Does that mean I’m not in with a chance?’
She wiped her streaming eyes. ‘You set me up.’
‘You took the bait beautifully, but I really didn’t want to see you choke.’
‘Of course you did,’ she said. Then she thought of another time with Rex. A tense and desperate flight full of last-minute anxiety. ‘Remember the time I thought that patient was going to choke to death and you got me down on the ground so fast we managed to get a tube in between us just in time.’
He nodded. His face suddenly serious. ‘I remember.’ His voice lowered to a murmer. ‘I’ve lost count of the times I’ve shaken my head and wondered how you managed to get them to the destination without them dying. You’re incredible, Daphne.’
She tried to drop her chin but he wouldn’t let her. He lifted her face with his finger again, refusing to take no for an answer. ‘You are incredible, Daphne.’
Like a child she recited, ‘Thank you, Rex.’
‘Better,’ he said and kissed her nose. Then her eyelids. Her cheeks. Finally her mouth.
He started slowly with a gentle sweep of her lips, his hand cupping the back of her head, and then he applied more pressure against her mouth. She could feel herself melt against him. Melting felt so damn good. Why had she never known about this, she wondered, but then the thought was gone as he teased her lips apart and a whole new dimension opened. She lost all power of thought as the world narrowed to the taste and delicious tangle of their tongues in the age-old dance of seduction.
She was lost for a long time, and the shadows were all gone when finally Rex pulled back. Even she could see his reluctance, and she loosened her death grip on his shoulders and allowed herself to be put away from him. He looked a little dangerous and she found herself smiling up at him. She liked the look and she was feeling a little dangerous herself.
He set his jaw. ‘Where would you like to go for dinner?’ She touched the tension at the side of his mouth. Her turn to tease.
‘Do we have to?’
He blinked. ‘I’ve no idea.’
She raised her brows. ‘Did I show you the mural in my room?’
His eyes darkened again. ‘Briefly.’
She took him by the hand and drew him towards her door. ‘Come and have a better look.’
The next morning Daphne woke with her head on Rex’s chest. He had much more hair on his chest than she expected, but she decided if she counted them then it would come out at the perfect number. She sighed happily and felt his hand stroking her shoulder.
‘Hello,
beautiful,’ he said.
She grinned. ‘Damn, I was just going to say that.’
His chest shook under her and then he shifted and suddenly she was beneath him, her cheeks cradled in his hands, his strong body suspended over her. ‘Good morning.’
‘It seems it is.’ She smiled shyly up at him and he lowered his head towards her. That was all she thought about for a while.
Several hours later Daphne studied herself in the mirror. She didn’t look any different. Well, actually, she glowed.
It wasn’t just the makeup, and the lovely pink crinkle dress, or even the tiny grey fascinator, which she’d pinned with more ease than she expected onto her hair. Her lips were pretty pink with the smudge-free lipstick that Billie had assured her she wouldn’t get on her teeth or Rex’s shirt. She laughed at the fact there was a reasonable chance of that, but maybe Billie had been doubly right.
She looked again. It was her eyes. They seemed brighter, even wicked, definitely more confident and able to meet coiffed women with aplomb. Maybe she had slain that ghost of shyness.
These were not the eyes of a woman who couldn’t hold her own, she assured herself.
She thought about last night, this morning, even playing footsies at breakfast. Life was pretty darn good and she had the sneaking suspicion she was in love, as opposed to in lust, with Rex. Though it would be reasonable to say she was in lust with him, too. Excitement fizzed in her belly and she couldn’t remember ever being this happy.
One more tweak of her hat and she picked up her matching bag and sailed out the door.
Her new lover’s eyes lit up and then darkened when he saw her, and she could feel the blush heating her cheeks. She refused to be embarrassed and twirled in front of him. He slid his hand into hers and pulled her against him gently so he could kiss her. Then stepped back. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t muck up your lipstick?’
‘Billie assures me it’s non-smudge.’
‘God bless Billie, then,’ he said and kissed her thoroughly. Afterwards she stood back and surveyed him, then wiped the tiniest hint of colour off his lips.
The Homestead Girls Page 20