Executive: Expecting Tiny Twins

by Barbara Hannay

‘I’ve never felt her before.’

  ‘She’s punching and kicking now,’ Jack said.

  ‘Is she? Let me have another feel.’ Lizzie pushed her hand under Jack’s and gasped when she felt two sets of tiny, bumping movements. ‘She can’t decide whether she wants to be a boxer or a soccer player,’ she said.

  ‘I wonder who she’ll play for. Italy or Australia?’

  Lizzie grinned happily into the moon-streaked darkness.

  ‘I guess it depends on where you decide to live,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, aware that a sober note had crept into his voice.

  After a bit, the baby quietened and Lizzie yawned and snuggled against him, not wanting to worry about the future.

  It was lovely to lie here with Jack, just the two of them in the silent homestead, surrounded by the quiet outback night. Then she spoiled the peace by picturing Jack in the future, long after she was gone from here, sleeping in this house, in this bed perhaps, with his young, country bride.

  ‘Oh, God, I wish—’

  She cut off the words, horrified that she’d almost spoken her thoughts aloud.

  ‘What?’ Jack said. ‘What do you wish?’

  That I was ten years younger.

  Lizzie shook her head, pressed her lips together to make sure the words couldn’t escape.

  ‘Come on, Lizzie. You tell me your wish, and I’ll tell you mine.’

  So he wished for something, too.

  Lizzie remembered the shiny glitter in his eyes. Had they been tears?

  This conversation was getting risky.

  Sexual attraction was one thing. Sharing intimate wishes and dreams was another matter entirely. When physical intimacy included emotional intimacy, a casual affair became…

  What?

  What was the next step? Love?

  Lizzie sat up abruptly, clutching the sheet over her breasts. ‘The men might get back early. I should go back to my room now.’ ‘Don’t. There’s no need to go yet. They won’t break camp until daybreak, and it’ll take them half a day to travel back here.’ Gently, Jack pulled her down beside him. ‘Sleep here, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘No more talking. Just curl up and sleep.’

  She was actually too tired to argue. Besides, sleeping was safe enough, and, when she considered the inviting curve of Jack’s shoulder, Lizzie knew there was no nicer place to sleep.

  Jack lay awake in the darkness with Lizzie’s curves nestled against him. He could smell her hair, feel the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, and he wished this night might never end. When Lizzie was in his bed she was soft and womanly, and vulnerable and sweet. She was wild. She was his, and his alone.

  In the morning she would retreat. Before the mustering team returned, she would tie her lovely hair into a tight knot and pull on her armour, like a crab shrinking back into its shell.

  If he’d had his way, and if Lizzie had been any other woman, he would have spoken up tonight. He would have told her how he felt, how very much he wanted her, that he was pretty damn sure that he was falling in love with her. Then he would have told her. No, he would have insisted that there was no need to hide their feelings from outsiders.

  Why should they give a damn what anyone else said or thought?

  All very well for him, of course. He wasn’t a federal senator. He’d never faced the press crying scandal because word of a liaison had leaked out. The only newspaper he’d been featured in was the Gidgee Springs freebie. Lizzie had come here in the first place to escape the press, so she had every right to call the tune.

  No point in trying to change her mind…it would only ruin a perfect night.

  Lizzie woke to the sound of a teacup rattling against a saucer. She opened her eyes to see Jack setting a cuppa on the table beside her.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Is that tea? How lovely. What time is it?’

  ‘Half past seven.’

  ‘Goodness, are the men here?’

  ‘No, don’t panic. I told you they won’t be here for ages.’

  She looked up at Jack shyly. He was already showered and dressed. ‘Have you been up long?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I slept very well.’

  ‘I know.’ Jack smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I could hear you, all night long, snoring away.’

  Lizzie stared at him, appalled. ‘I don’t snore.’ Quickly she added, ‘Do I?’

  ‘Like a buzz saw.’ Jack’s right eyebrow hiked skywards. ‘Hasn’t anyone told you?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice was shrill with horror. ‘It—it’s been a while since I—’ She bit her lip. ‘Maybe it’s the pregnancy.’

  It was only then that she saw the mirth twinkling in his eyes.

  ‘Hey,’ she cried. ‘You’re pulling my leg again.’

  ‘Only because you’re so easy to tease.’ He grinned as his hand fastened around her ankle through the bedclothes.

  Lizzie rolled her eyes. Prim-mouthed, she reached for her cup of tea. ‘Thanks for making this,’ she said super-politely.

  ‘Thank you, for last night,’ Jack answered with soft emphasis.

  ‘It was—’ Lizzie discarded words like wonderful, and fabulous. She had to back off now. With the return of the stockmen, it was time to widen the emotional distance between them. She left the sentence dangling, and perhaps it was just as well, because suddenly her throat was choked with emotion.

  Backing off and widening emotional gaps were all very well in theory, but they weren’t very easy to put into practice. She liked Jack so much. Too much, and for all the right reasons.

  Just sitting here, drinking a morning cuppa with him, felt like the nicest possible way to start the day.

  I’m going to have to give him up, cold turkey, she thought, unhappily—before I become hopelessly addicted.

  Jack broke into her thoughts. ‘I should warn you—there’ll be a slap-up dinner tonight for everyone. It’s a tradition on Savannah. At the end of every big muster, we always put on a big dinner at the homestead for the whole team.’

  ‘That’s nice. Would it be best if I ate in my room?’

  He looked surprised. ‘No way. You’re part of the house-hold. You should be there. The guys will want to meet you.’

  She managed a broken smile. It was the end of paradise. Setting down her teacup, she began to tidy her hair.

  It was early afternoon when Jack heard the distant growl of a motor signalling that the mustering team was almost home. He went out onto the veranda, with Cobber at his heels. The dog’s tail wagged and his nose twitched at the first scent of dust stirring on the horizon.

  Together, man and dog watched the familiar cavalcade emerge out of the dust. First came the large mob of horses, then the truck with the gooseneck trailer carrying the stores and the kitchen. These were followed by the tray-back ute and a second trailer loaded with a trio of quad bikes.

  This was the first time in years that Jack hadn’t been part of the muster. For him, the big muster at the end of the wet season was one of the best things about his job. He always enjoyed being out there with the team, on the back of a sure-footed horse, dodging saplings and melon holes as he chased stragglers and cleanskins out of the thick scrub.

  He loved camping out, too, yarning around the campfire at night with the men, sleeping under the stunning canopy of stars. This year, he’d fiercely resented Kate’s request that he stay back at the homestead to play host to the lady senator.

  It just showed that a man never knew the strange twists and turns his life might take. Now the appeal of the cattle muster was nothing compared with the hold Lizzie Green had on him.

  Admittedly, Jack had never been one of those men, like many of his friends, who were totally wedded to the outback life. He knew guys who’d swear that there was no place on earth as good as this wide brown land, but those fellows had never really considered doing anything else. They’d gone away to boarding school for six years or so, and then they’d headed straight bac
k to the bush.

  More than once Jack had thought that he might have been happier, if he’d been like them. Knowing exactly where you belonged in this crazy world had to be a huge bonus. But he’d had his heart set on the Air Force and, once he’d known it was out of his reach, he’d returned to the outback as a second-best option.

  Now he was setting his sights on another goal that was beyond his reach. Was he mad to feel so far gone over a high-flying woman from a different world? He knew deep down that he had little chance of a future with Lizzie, but the crazy thing was—he no longer seemed to have a choice.

  She’d struck fire in his veins, and his life would never be the same again.

  More than that—Jack knew now that it wasn’t only his own happiness at stake. Deep in his bones, he was pretty damn sure he could make Lizzie happy, too. And her baby. Those two mightn’t know it yet, but they needed him, no doubt about it.

  He just had to find the best way to prove it.

  ‘What do you want?’ barked a voice in response to Lizzie’s knock on the kitchen door.

  ‘I was wondering if you’d like a hand.’

  The man at the sink whirled around, and when he saw Lizzie his eyebrows rose high above his spectacles, his jaw dropped, and for a moment he seemed unable to speak.

  She took a step into the kitchen and smiled. ‘You must be Bill,’ she said.

  He nodded, shoved his glasses up his nose with a hand covered in soapsuds, and gave her a shaky smile.

  ‘I’m Lizzie Green. I’m staying here, and Jack said you were putting on a big dinner tonight. I know he’s busy, helping the men with the horses and everything. But I thought, after all the travelling and unpacking you’ve had to do, that you could probably use a spare pair of hands in here.’

  ‘Well, that’s mighty kind of you, miss—er—ma’am.’

  ‘Lizzie,’ she corrected, noting the remnants of his English accent.

  Bill smiled shyly, showing a flash of gold in his front tooth, and he cast an anxious glance at the kitchen table, which was now almost sagging beneath the weight of unloaded camping supplies—half-used sacks of flour and sugar, bags of potatoes, tins of golden syrup, and bottles of sauce.

  ‘So, what can I do?’ Lizzie asked. ‘What are you planning for dinner? I’m a dab hand at peeling potatoes.’

  The cook swallowed his surprise and beamed at her, and she could tell she’d made a new friend.

  The dinner was roast beef with Yorkshire pudding and roast vegetables and it was eaten in the big dining room that was hardly ever used.

  Lizzie found a large white damask tablecloth and napkins in the linen press. They hadn’t been ironed so she attended to that, and she found the good china and cutlery in the sideboard and had fun setting the table. She even went outside into the garden and found a few straggling daisies that made rather a nice centrepiece when combined with sprigs of purple bougainvillea.

  At half past six, the men turned up on the veranda for pre-dinner drinks. They had showered and changed into clean clothes. Their riding boots were polished, and their hair was damp and carefully slicked back. They were all lean, wiry, sunburnt fellows, used to hard, physical work and unpractised in small talk.

  Even so, while at first glance they seemed shy, when Jack introduced Lizzie they weren’t fazed by the fact that she was a senator, and it wasn’t difficult in the least to put them at their ease.

  If she hadn’t been pregnant, she would have had a beer with them. Instead, she accepted a glass of tonic water, and leaned back against a veranda post, asking only a few questions, happy to let the ringers talk about the weather and cattle, and the muster.

  She rather liked the quiet, laconic manner of these men of the bush, and she thought how pleased she was to be gaining this insight into another aspect of Australian life.

  Of course, she couldn’t help noticing how disturbingly attractive Jack was by comparison. In a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt and cream chinos, he was the handsomest man in the group by a country mile. Across the veranda, she caught his eye, and for one heartbeat their gazes held, and she felt her skin grow hot.

  Quickly, she looked down, hoping no one else had noticed her reaction. But she was sure she’d read approval in Jack’s quiet smile, and she felt inordinately happy.

  Jack would never have said as much, but he’d been uncertain about the likely success of the dinner party. The reserved outback men were bound to be a little star-struck about having a lady senator in their midst, and he wasn’t sure if Lizzie would fit in.

  He quickly realised that he shouldn’t have worried. Lizzie put the men at ease straight away. Her clothes were right to start with—slim blue jeans and a dark red sweater with a simple V-neck that showed off the tiny gold cross—and she seemed to know exactly the right questions to ask, showing an interest in the men without being nosy.

  Bill’s enthusiasm for her was an unexpected bonus. The cook told everyone about Lizzie’s help in the kitchen—another surprise for Jack. It seemed that, not only had she taken care of all the vegetables, but she’d helped stow away the provisions from the muster, and she’d got the dining room ready.

  As the wine flowed so did the compliments from the men, corny or otherwise.

  ‘Best peeled spuds I’ve ever tasted.’

  ‘Better watch out, Cookie. You might lose your job.’

  Fortunately, the men were sensitive enough to leave Lizzie’s politics out of the conversation, so all in all the meal was relaxing and enjoyable for everyone.

  It was all smooth sailing until one of the travelling contract musterers, a guy nicknamed Goat, dropped a clanger, out of the blue.

  ‘I’ve seen a story about you,’ he said to Lizzie. ‘Saw it in a magazine down at the ringers’ barracks.’

  ‘Really?’ Lizzie sounded cool enough, but Jack detected a nervous tilt to her smile. ‘Which story was that?’

  ‘Something in an old Blokes Only. I thought it was you and I checked it out before dinner.’

  Jack stiffened, sensing trouble, then he saw the colour drain from Lizzie’s face.

  He forced himself to sound casual. ‘Anything in that old mag is bound to be a lie.’

  ‘Nice photo though,’ Goat said, grinning stupidly. ‘Would you like me to go and get it?’

  ‘No!’ Lizzie looked as if she might cry. ‘I can’t believe there are still copies of that around. It was years ago.’

  ‘That’s the bush for you,’ chimed in Bill, clearly unaware of the undercurrents. ‘People out here hang onto magazines for years, especially Blokes Only.’

  ‘Anyway, it was all good,’ said Goat. ‘That old boyfriend of yours was full of praise. Said you were twelve on a scale of ten. In the sack, that is.’

  ‘Goat!’ Even Jack was surprised by the steely command in his voice. Too bad. He was furious with the idiot. ‘Pull your head in.’

  Every head at the table turned to Jack. No one spoke.

  His hands were tight fists, ready to slam the next mouth that let rip with a stupid comment. ‘Show more respect to our guest,’ he said coldly.

  The men looked sheepish. Goat mumbled apologies.

  Lizzie managed a brave smile. ‘Has Jack told you that he jumped the stockyard gate?’

  Jack’s ears burned as attention turned to him, but he had to admire the skilful way Lizzie had deflected everyone’s interest.

  ‘What’s this, Jack? You didn’t take the round yard gate, did you?’

  ‘With miles to spare,’ Lizzie announced.

  This was greeted by exclamations and cheers and thumping on the table.

  Old Archie, the ringer who’d served the longest on Savannah, was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Jeez, mate, you’re a dark horse. When were you going to tell us?’

  It took a while for the excitement to die down, but then Lizzie excused herself, saying she had to make an international phone call.

  The men didn’t talk about her again, at least, not in Jack’s hearing, but he was pretty damn sure they’d
be gawking at her in Blokes Only just as soon as they got back to their quarters. He couldn’t believe how angry the thought made him.

  Much later, when the men had gone and the house was in darkness, there was still a light showing under Lizzie’s door.

  Jack tapped lightly.

  ‘Who is it?’ she called.

  ‘Me,’ he said simply.

  She came and opened the door just a chink. Her hair was loose to her shoulders and she was wearing a deep rose dressing gown, buttoned to the throat. Blocking the doorway, she stood with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed warily. ‘How can I help you, Jack?’

  ‘I just wanted to apologise for the way that fool carried on at dinner.’

  ‘Thanks, but why should you apologise? It was hardly your fault.’ She looked tired, with smudges of shadow beneath her eyes.

  ‘I feel responsible,’ Jack said. ‘I knew how upset you were.’

  She gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘I’m OK. I’m used to it. The Iron Maiden Senator, remember?’ With a glance down the darkened hallway, she said, ‘Have they all gone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She looked as if she planned to close her door. Jack said, quickly, ‘Who spilled that story? It wasn’t Mitch, was it?’

  ‘No.’ Lizzie closed her eyes, leaned back against the doorjamb. ‘Even Mitch was above that. This time it was Toby.’

  ‘Another boyfriend?’

  She sighed wearily, slowly opened her eyes. ‘Yes, the one I dated after Mitch. The successful banker I thought was serious. We’d been going together for twelve months, and we were unofficially engaged. I’d even started planning our family.’

  A steel band tightened around Jack’s chest. He wished he hadn’t asked. He couldn’t believe how much he hated hearing this, hated to think of Lizzie loving other guys, hated to see the bleak resignation in her eyes. But now she’d started, it seemed she needed to tell him the whole story.

  ‘There’d been warnings,’ she said. ‘Photos of Toby in the press with his arms around lovely models. He laughed it off. Said he’d been set up by the media and, like a fool, I believed him. Then I hardly heard from him for a month. He wasn’t answering my calls. Suddenly the article in Blokes Only turned up. “Behind Closed doors with Senator Green”.’