by Alison Kelly
Alessandra coughed violently as a mouthful of coffee wedged in her throat; by the time she’d regained her composure her eyes were watering.
‘Are you OK?’ Lisa enquired, patting her gently on the back.
‘Lisa, warn me when you are going to ask totally unexpected questions like that.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Your father is thirty-eight. I’m not sure whether there is a male equivalent to menopause, but even so I’d say Bart was a little young for it.’
‘Well, he’s sure acting weird. Saturday night he caught Todd and me kissing on the porch and didn’t say a word. Not even when I went inside.’
‘Glass-house syndrome,’ Alessandra muttered.
‘What?’
‘Nothing, Lisa. He’s probably realised that you’re old enough to make your own decisions and smart enough to make the right ones. I really do think you should tell him you’re using contraception.’
‘No way! The fact that I’m taking the Pill will automatically translate that I’m sleeping with Todd in Dad’s mind,’ Lisa said fervently.
‘Well, it’s up to you, but I think you’re wrong.’
Lisa’s face said she doubted this. Although tempted to pursue the issue, Alessandra decided that it was wiser to wait a while. There were other things of which Lisa should be made aware.
‘Did the doctor explain everything about what taking the Pill implies, about what it does and what it doesn’t do?’
‘She told me that I’m not protected for the first month, so alternative precautions should be taken. And that I must be sure to read the instructions carefully and follow them to the letter,’ Lisa said.
‘Good. You do realise that these days you have to worry about more than just pregnancy if you’re sexually active, don’t you?’ Alessandra asked and waited for Lisa’s nod before continuing. ‘There are also a couple of curve balls that nature can throw you that will negate the Pill.’
‘Such as?’
‘We’ll talk about it on the way home. Finish your coffee and let’s hit the frog and toad.’
‘Frog and toad?’
‘Sometimes I think you Yanks have no imagination! Let’s hit the road. Rhyming slang. I’ll teach you some on the way so you can dazzle your friends and confuse your father!’
Lisa laughed. ‘I don’t think I could be as good as you are at it.’
‘Bull. Rhyming slang is easy.’
‘No, I meant at confusing Dad!’
The rain continued to bucket down and Alessandra leaned even lower over Pewter’s neck. Jim had said that if the weather turned sour to make for the derelict shack and sit out the worst of it there.
Unfortunately, Alessandra suspected that by the time she reached it ‘the worst of it’ would be over. She was drenched, although as much from perspiration as from the driving rain, for even though the all-weather coat protected her from neck to ankle against the rain the January heat didn’t make for comfort. Neither did the dozens of cuts she had on her hands.
Since lunch she and Dunc, one of the younger hands, had been mending the extreme northern fences and they’d all but finished when Dunc had slashed his hand on the rusty wire. If she’d been smart, Alessandra observed in retrospect, she’d have headed back with Dunc and probably missed the storm. She would have if she didn’t feel as if Bart Cameron was just waiting for her to slack off on her work so he could justify firing her. Even so, she’d been stupid to try and finish the fencing alone when Jim had predicted a storm. His forecasting was nearly always spot on the money. She just hoped to God his directions would turn out the same way! How much further could the damn shack be?
As if her thoughts had conjured it up, the dim watery outline of a cabin appeared on her left.
‘I reckon an ark might be more appropriate, eh, Pewter?’ she commented to the bedraggled horse as she tied his reins to an upright supporting a weathered porch, before entering the dilapidated main building.
The Waldorf it ain’t! she thought, casting her eyes around the single room that was the entire cabin. A battered bunk with what the world’s greatest optimist might have called a mattress, a lop-sided table and three battered chairs were the room’s focal points, since all they had to compete with were a fireplace, blackened by what seemed like a century of soot, and a small doorless cupboard housing a couple of aged cups and a billy can. A layer of dust coated everything, then, because it had nowhere else to settle, it hung in the air. Alessandra told herself not to be ungrateful—-at least it was a shelter of sorts. Turning, she went out and unsaddled her horse, then quietly surveyed the sky in all directions. The rain showed no sign of easing. Swearing under her breath, she carried her saddle back inside.
Two hours later there was still no break in the thick grey sky and Alessandra figured she had two choices. The first was to stay put until morning, an idea that had her hungry stomach growling in protest, the second being to start for home before it got too dark and hope she wasn’t drowned on the way.
After riding for ten minutes she pondered the wisdom of opting for drowning over starvation, when discomfort and fatigue were fast overpowering her need for food. Again she cursed her stubborn pride that had made finishing the fence such a goddamn important issue. Bart Cameron would get just as much mileage out of her arriving back with pneumonia as he would have if she’d left the fence half done. Even more! She could just see his face…She could just see his face!
Oh, great! Why was it the ground never opened up when you wanted it to? She reined to a halt and waited silently as he pulled alongside her.
‘Didn’t Jim tell you to wait in the old squatters’ shack?’
‘I didn’t think he meant indefinitely,’ Alessandra replied, annoyed by the enormous sense of relief she felt at his unexpected appearance. For several moments they sat astride their mounts in consistent drizzling rain, assessing one another, before a clap of thunder spurred Bart to life.
‘Come on,’ he muttered tersely, moving his horse past hers. ‘Let’s get back to the cabin; sitting in the rain only makes your earlier actions seem less stupid.’
‘Nobody asked you to come up here,’ she retorted to his back as Pewter followed him.
‘Ha! That’s what you think!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Jim was ready to send out a rescue team bigger than anything they saw in the San Francisco earthquake, and both Marilyn and Lisa would have lynched me if I’d left you out here alone.’
‘Marilyn?’ Alessandra motioned Pewter into a quicker stride and drew alongside Bart.
‘Yeah. My big sister’s dropped in for a surprise visit all the way from California!’
‘Ripper!’ she exclaimed. ‘I really enjoyed the time I spent with her in LA. She’s a great lady, your sister.’
Bart looked down into the radiant face half shadowed by a battered hat with water dripping from its wide brim. Her smile was such a contrast to her bedraggled appearance that he couldn’t suppress one of his own.
‘I seem to be surrounded by them lately.’
Alessandra felt her heart lurch. His words implied that he thought her a great lady too, but all too quickly his mouth thinned as if he was regretting his remark.
Alessandra again felt cold, and not because she was wet.
Bart was all business when they reached the shack and it was only quick reflexes which allowed Alessandra to catch the large plastic carrier-bag Bart tossed to her.
‘Dry clothes for you. Lisa packed them.’
‘Thanks.’
‘There’s some coffee in the Thermos, compliments of Marilyn. Pour some while I see if I can get this fire started.’
Usually Bart’s tersely issued commands would have drawn Alessandra’s sarcasm, but she was too grateful for his presence and the promise of something hot to drink.
‘I couldn’t find any matches earlier, so you can forget the fire idea.’
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she heard the sound of a match being struck.
‘Were you a Boy
Scout or something?’ she teased, handing him a steaming cup of coffee as he sat on his heels encouraging the small flame in the fireplace to bigger things.
‘It’s common sense to carry matches out here,’ he said, taking the cup of coffee she held to him. ‘Thanks. My God, your hands!’
She looked down at the mass of scratches and dried blood covering both sides of her hands. They looked ugly, but at least the stinging had stopped…well, almost.
‘Dammit, Alessandra, why weren’t you wearing gloves?’ he demanded when she pulled away from him.
She wondered, if she’d been wearing a pair now, whether they’d have lessened the wattage of the electrical charge his touch had sent through her body.
‘I lost them the other day. I was going to buy new ones when I went into town this week. It’s no big deal, just a few scratches. Besides, Dunc had gloves on and he fared a lot worse than me.’
‘You should have borrowed a pair. God knows there are plenty on the ranch.’
‘I prefer to work without gloves than wear a pair ten times too big. If you don’t watch that fire you’re going to lose it,’ she warned, successfully moving the conversation from herself.
Standing behind him allowed her the luxury of watching the way his muscular frame tested the soft chambray of his shirt. His physique was magnificent and she wanted to ease her hands over every square centimetre of it. It wasn’t fair that she should feel so strongly attracted to a man who held such a low opinion of her.
She’d never considered herself to be God’s gift to men and disapproval had never bothered her before. If someone didn’t like her as they found her it was their problem, not hers. But suddenly Bart Cameron’s approval was what she sought most in the world—after Bart Cameron himself!
‘Dry yourself off and get changed; I’ll wait on the porch.’
His words startled her out of her reverie.
‘What about you?’
‘I’m fine. When you’re through I’ll dry out in front of the fire. If we’re lucky, by the time we’ve finished eating the weather should have cleared enough for us to make tracks for home.’
‘And if we aren’t lucky?’ she questioned with a sly glance towards the one and only bunk in the cabin.
‘I’ve got a sleeping-bag and a blanket.’
‘Oh.’
‘Alessandra, don’t look for trouble. Just hurry up and dry off,’ he ordered, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER SIX
BART sat with his right foot resting on his thigh, switching his focus from his coffee-cup to the fire and back again. Apart from offering to bathe her hands, he’d not spoken a word since he’d come back inside fifteen minutes earlier. Alessandra had had enough.
‘Is the silent treatment your way of punishing me because you had to come rescue me, or what?’
He moved his eyes to her face and couldn’t quite manage to suppress a grin.
‘Actually I was curious to see how long you could go without exercising your vocal cords.’ He made a production of checking his watch. ‘Thirteen minutes, twenty seconds. Is that a record?’
‘Very funny! I’ll have you know I can go for hours without talking…when I’m asleep.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Bart asked.
‘Very.’
Bart saw the momentary far-away look in her eyes and wondered about the smile her thoughts had obviously prompted. Its soft warmth made him want to know its cause.
‘What’s so amusing?’ he asked, but she laughed and shook her head, dismissing the importance of her reflections. ‘Tell me…’
‘My older brothers used to talk in their sleep regularly. You wouldn’t believe some of the things they would say! When I was about twelve years old I used to slip into their rooms with a tape recorder in the hope of securing a juicy bit of info with which to blackmail them.’
‘Nice kid.’
‘Hey,’ she said innocently, ‘what are sisters for?’
‘Did you ever get anything…juicy?’
She laughed then nodded and Bart found himself unable to look away from the bright blue of her delighted eyes.
‘What?’
‘Now, Bart, what kind of self-respecting blackmailer would reveal a secret she’d been well reimbursed for keeping, um?’
He raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘The kind who would offer the information to a higher bidder.’ She looked momentarily stunned and just a tad guilty. He pounced on her reaction.
‘Ah! So you did play both ends against the middle!’
‘Well, maybe once or twice,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘But I was just a kid.’
‘What if they’d tried the same thing on you?’
Alessandra gave a triumphant smirk, ‘No way. I never talk in my sleep. My folks always used to tease the boys about it, but never me. Can you believe that all five of them used to indulge in dreamtime ravings? Perhaps it’s a hereditary trait with men in my family,’ she suggested thoughtfully.
‘Living with you, it’s more likely they never got a chance to get a word in while they were awake.’
She poked out her tongue. ‘That was their standard excuse.’
‘Well, I’d certainly buy it!’ Bart teased. ‘Tell me about your family. Do you get on with them?’
His question surprised her.
‘Of course I do. Why would you ask that?’
‘It’s just I can’t imagine why anyone would choose to leave their family and travel the world alone.’ Bart saw a flicker of pain flash across her pretty pixie-like face, and it caused such a raw ache in his guts that he decided he didn’t ever want to see it again. ‘Look, let’s change the subject.’
‘No. Really, the subject isn’t taboo. I adore my family and I’m conceited enough to believe they love me too. It’s just that I didn’t turn out quite the way they expected.’
‘Ah. They weren’t expecting a rebel,’ Bart commented, causing her to laugh.
‘I was always a bit wild, and growing up with five older brothers made me both spoilt and a tomboy. As for being a rebel, well, every one of the MacKellar kids fell into that category at some stage. Ask my mum; you wouldn’t believe some of the stunts my brothers used to pull!’ She shrugged as if unable to find the words to continue, but then did so. ‘I guess the only difference between my brothers and me is that they went on to lead basically conformist-type lives, while I became what my father calls a terminal gypsy.’
‘Why?’ He saw that his question, although the natural one, seemed to leave Alessandra floundering for an answer.
‘Why not?’ she countered, giving a shrug and a smile that seemed to lack her usual commitment to trying to stop his heart. He felt she was deliberately avoiding stating her reasons, but before he could pursue them she had moved the conversation onward.
‘Despite the fact I travel so much, we’re a very close family.’ She smiled. ‘And though I’d never admit it to them, at times I miss my brothers’ well intentioned advice.’
‘Why do I have this feeling most of what they say would be ignored anyway?’ he teased.
‘I can’t imagine,’ Alessandra responded with theatrical innocence.
‘Which brother is married to Marilyn’s friend?’
‘Greg. He and Lacey are utterly devoted to each other. Greg’s an ex-pro Rugby League player, which is football-—’ Alessandra began to explain.
‘I know. It’s a great game!’
‘Really? Even Yanks who’ve heard of the game aren’t usually interested. How come you are?’
‘When my uncle was serving in Korea, his platoon challenged an Australian one to a game of American football and beat them. So the Aussies wanted a rematch, but it had to be Rugby League. My uncle told me all about it,’ Bart explained. ‘About a million times!’ he added fondly.
‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘So who won?’ she demanded.
‘Would you believe me if I said we did?’
‘Not in a million years.’
&
nbsp; ‘Uncle Phil reckoned it was the toughest game of football he’d ever come across and that the Aussies whipped their tails.’
‘Naturally,’ Alessandra said haughtily, then smiled.
It wasn’t a false smile or a planned smile, it was a smile that always seemed to bubble out when he was least expecting it. As usual Bart had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and make love to her until he died from exhaustion. Instead he encouraged her to continue talking. As usual Alessandra didn’t need much encouragement. It didn’t take her long to finish telling him about the rest of her brothers, and before he knew it she was asking him questions he didn’t want to answer. Although why he couldn’t say.
‘Tell me about Lisa’s mother. What was she like?’
Bart stood and moved to the fire, as if he felt he needed to distance himself from her presence. The action hurt Alessandra more than she wanted to admit. Evidently, he still felt enormous pain remembering his wife. He had obviously loved her a great deal, and Alessandra was disgusted with herself for feeling the stirrings of jealousy towards the deceased woman. His voice was tight and subdued when finally he spoke.
‘Kathleen was even more beautiful than Lisa. She had that clear white skin that was almost translucent and the most enormous almond-shaped eyes. Her eyes had a brightness that meant if you didn’t know her you’d have sworn she was high on drugs. They’d light up the moment she woke and stay that way until she went to sleep. Even when she was sad or ill her eyes never seemed to loose their vividness.’ Bart’s lips eased into a gentle smile. ‘Kath was fifteen when I first met her, at a cousin’s wedding. She was wearing a floor-length dress of the softest fabric I’d ever seen…I can’t remember what she called it, but there were layers and layers of the stuff in the palest pink I’d ever seen…’ He paused, aware that Alessandra had muttered something. ‘What?’
‘Chiffon. It sounds like chiffon.’
He shrugged. ‘I can’t remember. But I do know that up until then I’d never imagined a girl could be so beautiful. Or so, so elegant and feminine. I was walking twenty feet tall when it became apparent that she thought I was OK too.’