by Diana Palmer
Her hands absently smoothed her arms, and John watched her with pained eyes.
She took a steadying breath and let it out.
“Well, what do they say about being cruel to be kind?” she avowed. Her eyes searched his craggy face, the dimple in his chin, the new lines in the deeply tanned flesh. “Thanks. I know exactly where I stand now.”
She started back to the car, and he watched her hungrily.
His eyes closed. His fists clenched. “Priss,” he whispered, his deep voice anguished.
But she didn’t hear him. She climbed into her car and drove away without once looking back.
Chapter Nine
It took Priscilla the rest of the day to get herself back together. She put on a good face in front of her parents, but it took all her willpower not to break down.
“Are you all right, darling?” Renée asked Priss when she came home. “Your father told me what happened. I’m sorry we had any part in hurting you. It’s just—”
“It’s all right,” Priss lied, smiling gamely. “I’m okay now.”
Renée hugged her and mumbled something grateful, and later her father accepted Priss’s remark that at last she and John understood each other. She went to bed early, and finally was able to let loose the tears that had been building ever since she’d left the Sterling Run that afternoon.
She was convinced now that John felt nothing for her, never had. What a pity, she told herself bitterly, that she’d kept holding on to old memories.
* * *
She got up bleary-eyed and managed to go through the motions of teaching. But her appearance gave her away.
“Well, I must say, you look like an accident victim,” Ronald George remarked in the corridor as she hurried to class.
She stuck out her tongue at the dark-headed Englishman. “You should see that accident!”
He chuckled, waved, and went on his way.
The twins were well-behaved as they had been the day before, but they looked preoccupied. At the end of the day, Priss asked them why.
“Oh, it’s Uncle John,” Gerry remarked, and Priss’s heart leapt wildly.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“We don’t know,” Bobby said. “He was horrible yesterday. But he hollered real loud when we tried to wake him up this morning, and Daddy said he’d had too many stubbies and was inked.”
“Dinkum,” Gerry added. “He had a black eye, too.”
“In a blue, I’ll wager,” Bobby remarked enthusiastically. “His knuckles was bleeding, too.”
Priss didn’t catch the slip of grammar. She was trying to unravel the tangle of Australian slang. Inked was drunk. A blue was a fight. John had been drinking stubbies—beer—and got drunk and had a fight. She blinked. Was that normal behavior, she wondered, or did it have something to do with their confrontation on Monday? Then she realized she was flattering herself. John hadn’t batted an eye when she left the Run. As if he cared that he’d hurt her...!
“He was as game as Ned Kelly, though, Miss Priscilla,” Gerry put in, mentioning a legendary Australian outlaw, “’cause he got up and went out to help with the sheep-shearing regardless of his head.”
“I hope he’s better,” Priss said noncommittally.
“Who, me?” Ronald George grinned, sticking his head in the door.
She laughed. “No.”
“Have a coffee with me before you go home,” he invited. “I’ll make it.”
“You can make coffee?” she gasped.
He glowered at her and made a fist. “Know thy place, woman!”
“Watch thy step, man,” she returned.
He left, and the twins watched her bright smile suspiciously. She couldn’t know, of course, that they’d make so much out of her laughing repartee with Ronald. But what they did was to go home and tell everyone, including John, that Miss Priscilla was sweet on Mr. George.
“He even made her coffee,” Gerry said over his rice pudding.
“Exciting, innit?” Bobby grinned, running the words together in fine Australian fashion. “Bet they’ll get married!”
John, who’d been listening to this enthusiastic revelation with a grim, unsmiling face that was bruised and cut, put down his fork, ignored his coffee, and left the table. The twins soon excused themselves as well and ran out to watch the shearing.
“What’s wrong with John?” Latrice asked carelessly, wondering at this odd behaviour on her first night back from Bermuda. “He barely touched his meal.”
Randy grimaced. “I told Priss he went bankrupt five years ago,” he sighed. “He all but knocked me about for it, too, I’ll tell you. Then he went out and got drunk and beat up a couple of neighboring stockmen.” He shook his head as he finished his coffee. “Poor old bloke. He thought she felt sorry for him, you see. Because he’s living a deprived life,” he added.
“Well, I can understand that,” Latrice said with a venomous smile. “God knows it isn’t easy, living in deprivation.”
“Steak every night, trips around the world, a new fur every winter, you call that damned deprivation?” he roared.
“Yes, I do!” she shot back. And the subject of John was rapidly replaced by a rundown of problems ending with the twins.
“You’ve got to take them in hand!” Randy shouted.
“Keep bothering me about those boys, and I’ll leave you!” she retorted. She slammed her napkin down and stood up. “I never wanted children in the first place! I won’t be hounded about them!”
“They can’t be allowed to terrorize the school!”
“Then, ship them off to boarding school, for all I care!”
“Some mother you are,” he returned murderously. “Some fine mother!”
She had the grace to look ashamed. And when she turned, the twins were standing there with devastation in their young faces.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Gerry asked his brother with trembling lips. “I told you she hated us!”
“You...you old cow!” Bobby shouted.
They both ran out the door at the same time, leaving their parents standing horrified in the hallway.
“Gerry, Bobby, come back, I didn’t mean it!” Latrice called. She ran to the door, but they were already out of sight. She turned a white face to Randy. “What shall we do?”
Randy turned. “I’ll go get John.”
Priss had walked down to the creek behind her father’s property and was sitting quietly under a big gum tree. She was wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt and sneakers and trying not to remember what had happened the day before.
She hadn’t been able to sit still in the house. The memory of John’s rough ardor was too fresh. She was toying with the idea of going back to Hawaii, of escaping even the threat of his company, when she heard a crashing noise on the other bank.
She looked up, and there were the terrible twins, rushing headlong toward the wide stream. They didn’t even seem to notice her. It was obvious they’d been crying profusely.
“Gerry, Bobby! What’s wrong?” she called, getting to her feet.
“We’re running away from home,” Gerry called back.
They kept coming, right through the stream, hardly pushing to avoid the slick rocks.
“Where will you go?” Priss asked reasonably.
“We’ll go to Brisbane and get jobs delivering papers,” Gerry said matter-of-factly. “And we’ll get a hotel room.”
“With what?”
Gerry reached in his pocket, his tearstained face very proud and mature. “I have five dollars. See?”
She could have cried. They looked so miserable, and she remembered from her own childhood how helpless it felt to be totally dependent on adults, with no rights at all.
She went down on o
ne knee and stared Gerry in the eyes. “Tell me what happened.”
“Mom doesn’t want us,” he whispered brokenly and collapsed in tears.
“Oh, Gerry,” she said gently. She gathered the two of them into her arms and just held them while they cried, and they didn’t even make an effort to pull away. Just a little love, she thought silently. That was all they needed—just a little love and consistent discipline.
A sound brought Priss’s head up. John was standing on the opposite bank.
He was bareheaded for once, his blond-streaked hair shimmering in the dappled sunlight, and his face looked worn and haggard. One eye was black and blue, and there was a cut on his chin.
“We’re up a gum tree,” Gerry moaned as he watched his uncle come across the stream with slow steady strides.
“He’s narked, too,” Bobby said resignedly.
But apparently he wasn’t angry at the boys. He didn’t fuss or accuse. He simply bent down, as Priss had done, and opened his arms. They ran to him.
“Your mother’s sorry,” he said without preamble. “She and your dad had a fight. You caught the tail end. You know, sometimes adults say things without meaning them.”
“If she doesn’t mean them,” Gerry began, “why does she keep saying them, Uncle John?”
John sighed angrily and looked up, meeting Priss’s quiet eyes. She averted hers, because she couldn’t bear the sight of him. Was he thinking of the terrible things they had said to each other in the heat of anger?
“Your mom and dad are having some problems,” John said finally. “They’ll work them out. But until they do, you have to try not to take everything they say to heart.”
“They won’t bust up, will they?” Bobby interrupted, wiping his tears on a grubby sleeve. “Gee, that would be horrible!”
“They won’t bust up,” John said grimly. “Now let’s go back. Your parents are frantic.”
“Okay,” Gerry mumbled reluctantly. He looked over his shoulder at Priss. “See you tomorrow, Miss Priscilla.”
“Me, too,” Bobby seconded. He started across the stream after his brother.
“Wait for me at the Land Rover,” John called to them, his deep voice carrying easily.
Priss started to leave, but he got between her and the path.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. I said some things I didn’t mean. Dammit, Priss, I couldn’t bear your pity.”
She avoided his eyes and backed away from him, a movement that brought his dark brows together.
“As you said yourself at the outset,” she murmured, trying to sound calm, “it’s all behind us now. Will you move out of my way, please?”
He searched for the right words, and couldn’t find them. He ran his fingers through his thick sunbleached hair. “We could...start again,” he suggested.
She stared at his dusty boots. “I don’t want to. Not anymore,” she added, and looked straight up into his eyes. “That makes twice you’ve pushed me away. I won’t bother you again. Not ever. And when I finish out this school year, John, I’m going back to Hawaii.”
His face went pale under his tan. “Hawaii?” he faltered.
She hadn’t really decided that, but she liked the impact it made on him. Good, let him be upset! Why should she suffer alone?
“I loved Hawaii,” she said. “I miss it.”
His eyes searched hers for a long time. “We had a lot going for us,” he tried again.
“What? Desire?” She laughed bitterly and saw him flinch.
“Why are you still a virgin?” he demanded, taking the direct approach. “If you really stopped caring about me, why hasn’t there been a man?”
She held on to her nerve, but it took all the willpower she had. “I’m not that kind of girl, remember?” she asked and turned away.
“Five years is a long time,” he said. “We could get acquainted again.”
“Why bother?” she asked carelessly. “You’ve made it more than obvious that all you need is a body. Mine,” she added venomously, “is not on the market.”
“Priss,” he growled.
“So why don’t you get lost?” she told him. “Go get in another blue or barney or whatever else you call it, but leave me alone, John Sterling. I’m off men for life!”
She edged around him, deliberately avoiding any contact with his hard body, and stormed off toward the house.
He frowned after her. After a moment, with a grimly determined smile, he turned and strode off toward the creek and the Land-Rover beyond.
* * *
The twins announced the next day that their parents had gone off somewhere to straighten themselves out. They were quieter, but she noticed a new confidence in their eyes as they went through the school days. Perhaps they knew now that they were loved, she thought. It made all the difference to children.
She wouldn’t think about the difference it would make to her. She hadn’t one single shred of hope left about John Sterling. If only there were some eligible man she could start dating to show John how little she cared! She even considered Ronald George. But he was hopelessly smitten with Amanda now, and it wouldn’t be fair to use him, anyway.
At the end of the day, she was gathering her things up before leaving when John walked into the classroom. Her eyes widened as he paused silently in the doorway, big and rugged-looking in his tan bush shirt and khaki pants and dingo boots. He had his hat in one hand, and the other worried his blond-streaked hair.
“Yes?” she asked icily.
One corner of his mouth curled. “Declaring war?” he mused.
“You did that for me,” she returned, green eyes flashing.
His dimpled chin lifted, and he smiled softly. “In the hay, you mean?” he questioned.
She flushed and almost dropped the study guide in her hand. She recovered it just in time with a fumble.
“Did you want something in particular? I would like to go home,” she said formally.
“The boys and I are going on a picnic Saturday,” he said. “We’d like you to come with us.”
The invitation caught her off guard. “Why me?” she hedged.
He shrugged. “They like you.”
“And you’ll suffer my company on their behalf, is that it?” she threw back. “I’m busy Saturday, thanks.”
“Why won’t you come, Priscilla?” he taunted. “Are you afraid you might not be able to keep your hands off me?”
She aimed the book at his head, but he held up a hand.
“If you throw it,” he challenged, “I’ll find a newer, more interesting use for that desk behind you.”
His eyes told her what he meant, and she bit her lower lip, half afraid to find out if he was kidding or not. She tucked the book back in the crook of her arm.
“What a pity,” he wondered. “I was looking forward to that.”
“Save your line for some other woman, John Sterling. I’m immune,” she shot back.
“Good. I won’t have to shake you off,” he said carelessly. “Come with us. The fresh air would do you good, and the twins could use a little womanly companionship.”
“No.” She forced herself to say it without flinching or feeling regret. Why was he doing this to her?
His blue eyes searched her green ones for a long quiet moment. “I’ve apologized.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” she continued. “You want me. But I’ve already told you graphically that I’m not available in that way.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, watching her with a faint smile. “Fascinating, isn’t it, how you’ve kept yourself chaste all these years. And there I was, thinking you felt sorry for me....”
“Well, hello,” Ronald George interrupted, stopping by to lean over John’s shoulder. “Nice to see y
ou, Mr. Sterling. How about some coffee, Priscilla?”
“Thank you, that would be lovely, Ronald,” she said, with a sweet smile. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I’ll put it on, love. Good day, Mr. Sterling.”
Ronald went off down the hall, and John’s face grew stormy. His eyes glittered down at Priss.
“What do you see in that pommy?” he demanded.
“Refinement,” she shot right back. “He’d never think of dragging me into a hay stall!”
“Thank God,” he exhaled, putting his hat back on.
“That’s exactly what I say!” she replied. “He’s a gentleman!”
“You never used to fight with me,” he mused. “I like you this way, Priss. You’ve grown into a passionate woman.”
He was making her uncomfortable. She shifted her weight to the other foot. “Look, John, we can’t go back...”
“I don’t want to,” he told her. “I want to go ahead. I want to get to know you all over again.”
“Stop confusing me,” she ground out. “I don’t want this, I don’t want to get involved with you...!”
“Are you coming, Priscilla?” Ronald George called from down the hallway.
“Buckley’s chance, mate!” John called back in his deep drawl.
“Don’t mind him!” Priss interrupted angrily.
“Who’s Buckley?” Ronald asked. “And what chance?”
“My bloody oath, where did the education department dig him up?” John growled. He glared at Priss. “Are you coming Saturday?”
“I told you. No.”
He sighed angrily. “You’re enough to make a man go walkabout.”
“I thought you’d already done that,” she said with a cold smile. “Your eye’s much better. Only yellowish, now, isn’t it?” she added.
He averted his face. “A man’s entitled to an occasional difference of opinion.”
“You didn’t used to fight,” she said.