The Rouseabout Girl

by Gloria Bevan

  On this occasion Mervyn left the tray and turned away with a few words tossed over his shoulder. ‘See you up at the house, Lanie.’ Small wonder he wasn’t disposed to linger, she thought, seeing that Jard had shown no particular pleasure in his company. How annoying could a man get?

  She straightened her back and began to pour out the tea, then, cup in hand, she dropped down to seat herself on a filled wool bale. Amazingly, she reflected, Jard didn’t appear to be at all weary. But then he wouldn’t be tired, he was supremely fit, anyone could see it. He would need to be in order to carry out his duties on the station. For something to say she asked, ‘How long do you think we’ll take to get through the lot?’

  He threw her a quizzical glance. ‘Want to chicken out?’

  ‘No!’ she protested with such vehemence that he gazed at her in surprise, then raised his brows.

  ‘Okay, okay, I was only asking.’ After a minute he ran on, ‘We had sixty-five sheep all told and we’ve saved time with your not having to take the car up to the house for smokos. Another couple of hours should do it. Then you can run your straw broom over the floor and call it a day.’

  He was certainly a tiger for work, she reflected a short while later as he got to his feet purposefully. ‘All set to get going again?’

  ‘Right!’ She stacked the cups and plates on the tray, then turned away to pick up her broom. As she eyed the piles of separated fleeces lying on the sorting table she comforted herself with the thought that at least she could see something for her hours of gruelling toil in the enervating heat of the shed.

  Presently she was once more bending over the table, laboriously sorting the fleeces into separate piles, unconscious of the hours flying by.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  In his soft rubber sandals, she hadn’t heard him approach, and now he was at her side, towering above her, leaning over her shoulder as he fingered a pile of fleeces. His nearness sent her senses spinning. What was it about him, she wondered wildly, that affected her so? It wasn’t as if she even liked the man, anything but! The thought spurred her to pull herself back to sanity.

  ‘I’m not exactly speedy!’ She glanced upwards and under the impact of his gaze the tingling awareness was pulsing through her veins. ‘If this is the clean pile for carpet wool,’ she chattered wildly, scarcely aware of what she was saying, ‘I’ll never again think carpets are expensive ... all this work!’

  ‘You’re doing fine.’ He was still running his fingers through the fleeces.

  Ridiculous how the few words of praise sent the warmth surging through her. ‘Not a bad team in the shearing shed—’ He was having a joke at her expense, throwing off at her lack of expertise of course, he always was. And yet—

  A swift upward glance gave her the answer, for she surprised a look, almost a tenderness that made her heart plunge. His slow words seemed to her to be measured out in heartbeats. ‘You and me.’

  She wrenched her spinning senses back to his vibrant tones. ‘I’d give you a job in the shed as rouseabout any time!’ His tone was entirely matter-of-fact. She must have imagined the look of tenderness in his gaze.

  She had no idea how much later it was when Jard stood upright, wiping his wet brow with a handkerchief. ‘Right, that’s it! Want to come and see this one take off?’

  ‘Love to.’ She went with him as he released the freshly shorn sheep from the pen. Lanie laughed, watching the animal leap high in the air and land on the grass below. ‘At least he’ll feel a lot more comfortable now. Imagine wearing a woolly coat in this heat!’

  ‘Feeling it, are you?’

  Just for a moment, she thought, he had evidently forgotten who she really was. Right now she was only his rouseabout. ‘A bit,’ she admitted, ‘but a cool shower and some clean clothes will soon put me right.’

  Jard baled the wool while she swept up the last fragments of fleece from the floor and soon they were moving out of the doors together. To all appearances, she mused, they were just a man and a girl who had completed satisfactorily a job they had done together. Togetherness, her mouth curved wryly at the thought, was scarcely the word she would use when describing the relationship that existed between the boss and herself. At least, not if he had any say in the matter. With her it was different—She caught herself up sharply. Now where in the world could that errant thought have come from?

  Outside in the dazzling sunlight, the surf was pounding in on the glittering black sands and rugged bays stretched away in the distance in a mist of surf-spray. Jard flung open the door of the dust-smeared car and she slid inside, throwing back her head to feel on her flushed face the touch of the salty fresh breeze. He took the wheel, spinning the car around on ground where sand mingled with springy grass, then they were taking the worn track running beside the beach and turning up sheep-threaded slopes. As they sped towards the homestead, Lanie felt an odd contentment. Probably, she told herself sceptically, it was due to having stopped work in the blistering heat of the iron-roofed shed. It couldn’t be anything to do with being here with Jard. Still, she conceded dreamily, he had an attractive voice, a ‘dark brown voice’, and there were rare occasions when he actually seemed to approve of her. Like that moment in the shed—or had she merely imagined the softened expression in his gaze? She wrenched her mind back to the vibrant tones. The last girl we had working in the shed happened to be one of a shearing gang. She was rouseabout too, a very ambitious girl, Beverley.’

  ‘Ambitious?’

  ‘She had hopes of being one of the few women shearers in the country, and the only way she could get in any practice with the shears was to have a learner’s lesson before afternoon shearing started.’

  ‘You mean she had no midday break?’ Lanie marvelled. ‘No lunch hour either? My goodness, she must have been keen to learn how to shear!’

  Jard grinned, sending her a sideways glance as they moved up the sandy track. ‘Not for you, I take it?’

  ‘Definitely not!’ She pulled a face. ‘I’d have had enough of the shed by lunchtime to need a break!’

  But if you were there with me, just the two of us alone in the shed, I’d stay there all day long. I wouldn’t mind the heat and the dust and the hard, hard work. The thought came unbidden and she thrust it aside.

  When they reached the house she went straight to her own room, thankful for the bathroom at her disposal. The shower of warm water followed by fluffy towels, and perfumed talc dispelled the dirt and dust and perspiration of the hours spent in the shed. A little later, clad in fresh undergarments, she thrust a white T-shirt over her head, pulled on newly-laundered denim jeans and combed into place the waves of springy, damp hair.

  In the sun-splashed lounge room, Mervyn was waiting for her.

  ‘Wow-ee!’ He got to his feet, eyeing her appreciatively. ‘I’ve got to be on my way, but I had to see you before I took off, something important that I wanted to ask you about, at least it’s important to me!’ His gaze took in Lanie’s round, dimpled face. ‘Where’s the rouseabout girl now?’

  She laughed. ‘It wasn’t too bad. I don’t even feel tired—well, not all that much.’

  ‘You don’t look it—!’ Unexpectedly he leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the tip of her blunt little nose. ‘Your fault, you look good enough to eat!’

  She mocked lightly, ‘Wet hair and all?’

  He put out a hand to lift a long damp strand falling past her shoulders. ‘I like your hair this way,’ he said softly.

  For something to say, she asked, ‘Have you come far to bring the sheep over here?’

  ‘Not too far.’ His warm gaze lingered on Lanie’s young face. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this trip for anything!’ His dark eyes said: Now that I’ve met you. ‘It’s not every day of the week that you come across a girl who's a—’

  ‘City rouseabout,’ she put in laughingly. ‘Come on now, admit it. Wasn’t that what you were going to say?’

  ‘Not exactly. If they all look like you—’ His words trailed into sile
nce and she realised that Jard had come into the room. Freshly showered, his dark blond hair as damp as her own red-gold locks, he had changed levis for green corduroy slacks and a short-sleeved cream knit shirt replaced the black bush shirt he had worn in the shed. There was a magic about him, she mused, so that just seeing him come into the room made life all at once seem more exciting. With an effort she wrenched her mind back to Mervyn. ‘I wasn’t very expert at the job,’ she admitted. ‘Next time I’ll be quicker with the broom and sorting out the fleeces.'

  At that moment she glanced up to meet Jard’s smile. It was a reluctant, twisted sort of smile, she realised, but still... He said, ‘You were okay, Lanie, got along fine!’ Faint praise. She couldn’t understand the joy that was singing along her nerves or why she was feeling this sudden happiness, as if she were treading on air. Jard had moved to the cocktail cabinet and releasing the tab of a can of chilled beer, he poured a glass and handed it to Mervyn. ‘How about you, Lanie? A chilled orange juice? You’ve earned it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She took the glass he offered her, then flicked him a challenging glance from under her eyelashes. ‘Tell me, what have you got lined up for me in the way of work tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ He straddled a chair and eyed her enquiringly and once again she had difficulty in meeting his deep, compelling gaze. ‘What would you like to do?’ What would she like? The words were so un-Jard-like that once again she wondered if he were thinking of her as just the rouseabout girl, any rouseabout girl. Before he could revert to his usual disapproving attitude she answered promptly, ‘Riding for me! If you’ve got anything offering in that line I’d love it!’

  ‘How about taking a ride over the paddocks and checking if the creeks in the gully aren’t too dry? Can do?’

  ‘Oh yes, that would be fine!’

  ‘What’s all this?’ Mervyn’s pleasant face wore an expression of astonishment. ‘I got the idea you were a townie born and bred, Lanie?’

  ‘She’s a good rider.’ Could this really be Jard’s voice she was hearing? The next moment he spoiled it all by sending her a quizzical glance. ‘Even if she does have to bale out on the odd occasion!’

  ‘That was because of the bush fire you started up on the hill,’ she protested hotly.

  ‘True, true.’ He appeared to have lost interest in her riding prowess. ‘I’ll get one of the boys to saddle up one of the station hacks in the morning,’ he murmured. It was as easy as that. Lanie couldn’t believe her luck.

  Jard took a draught of beer, then eyed Mervyn speculatively. ‘How are things in the big city?’

  ‘Much the same as usual. You know something?’ Thoughtfully Mervyn studied his glass. ‘I’ve been kicking an idea around for quite a while now. I’ve half a mind to give the city life away and take my chances on a farm job. Uncle Ned’s put it to me that if I get myself some training in sheep farming, he’ll put me on here to manage the place for him. Today, for instance, I could have shorn those sheep instead of giving you the job.’

  Jard’s voice was ironic. ‘There’s a bit more to it than that. If you’re really interested in this way of life, it might pay you to join up with a shearing gang for a couple of seasons and get the know-how—’

  Lanie sipped her chilled drink. ‘If you can survive a week in the shearing shed,’ she told him laughingly, ‘you can endure anything!’

  ‘That’s the crunch,’ Mervyn’s tone was thoughtful, ‘but I’m coming around to thinking it could be worthwhile.’

  Something tugged at her mind. ‘What was it,’ she asked curiously, ‘that you wanted to tell me?’

  ‘Oh, that’ he shot an uneasy glance towards Jard. Was Mervyn hoping that the other man would leave the room and he could speak with her in private? If so, she mused wryly, Mervyn was going to be out of luck, for Jard, staring out of the window, showed no indication of moving away. Standing tall and erect, he was gazing out over sheep-threaded slopes. She thought he looked indomitable and very much the master of his vast domain. ‘Thing is,’ Mervyn dropped hit voice, ‘one of the neighbours is putting on a dance in the woolshed tomorrow night. There’ll be quite a crowd turning up, from what I hear on the grapevine.’

  Suddenly Lanie wasn’t feeling the least bit weary any more. She glanced up at him eagerly, ‘sounds like fun!’ His grin was wide and heart-warming, as if, she thought in some surprise, it really mattered to him whether or not a strange girl accompanied him to a back-country dance to be held in a farmer’s woolshed. ‘Just as well,’ she teased, ‘that I cleaned myself up a bit today or I might not have been asked to go along with you!’

  ‘You looked great to me,’ his tone softened, ‘even with fleece in your hair and bare feet—’ He broke off, and she became aware that he too had caught the mocking twist to Jard’s lips. Clearly a little rattled by Jard’s satirical gaze, he ran on quickly, ‘They don’t get into gear until after nine. I’ve been there before, so I know the ropes. How about if I pick you up at eight? It’s a fair step over there as the crow flies or the uncle’s Land Rover bumps along the hill tracks.’

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ Lanie thought that Jard's tight expression was anything but apologetic, ‘but Lanie’ll be coming along with the rest of the party from here.’ Disappointment was written all over Mervyn’s downcast face. ‘But I thought—’

  ‘It’s all taken care of!’ Jard’s peremptory tones cut him short. ‘There are quite a few going from here.’ He tossed off his drink. ‘The new stockman can’t wait to take his guitar along to the woolshed hop and the girls in the cottages have threatened their husbands that they’ll leave home if they don’t get taken along tomorrow night. Around here,’ he tossed the words towards Lanie—‘social life isn’t what you’d call hectic, and those two girls are determined they’re not going to miss out on the fun!’

  ‘Actually I wanted—’ Mervyn’s effort to maintain his side of the argument was neatly sidestepped by Jard. ‘Like I said, that’s the way things work out around here.’ He was as cool and authoritative and maddening, Lanie thought vexedly, as only he knew how to be. She could have told Mervyn that he was wasting his time in attempting to go against Jard’s wishes, that when it was a matter concerning a member of his staff, Jard held the reins firmly in control. Didn’t she know it! was feeling as resentful of the boss’s overbearing attitude as Mervyn obviously was, and she made a mental vow that she would have it out with Jard at her first opportunity, but not while Mervyn was here.

  Evidently, however, Mervyn hadn’t yet given up the argument. He said firmly, ‘Anyway, I’ll come over and get you, Lanie.’

  Before she could make an answer Jard’s satirical tones cut in. ‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you.’ And somehow she felt that he meant business. ‘I’ll give you a hand to get those ewes back in the truck!’

  Lanie glared at him. Weil, really! Of all the nerve! What right had he to interfere in Mervyn’s arrangements, she thought vexedly. It was none of Jard’s business and she would tell him so too when he came back from seeing Mervyn off in the truck. All at once she became aware of Mervyn’s low tones. ‘Goodbye, Lanie, see you tomorrow night.’ Catching Jard’s eye, he added resignedly, ‘At the woolshed.’ He lifted his hand in a gesture of farewell and because she knew that Jard was watching, she put on her brightest smile and blew him a kiss.

  She watched from the window as the two men loaded the stock into the truck and when Jard returned to the room, she flung around to face him, eyes glinting with anger. ‘Why,’ she demanded, ‘did you stop Mervyn from coming to collect me to go to that dance?’ A sudden thought spun through her mind. ‘You don’t mind my going there, do you?’

  ‘Mind?’ He bent on her his cold forbidding stare. ‘Why should I mind? Since you’re asking, I would have imagined that Sandy could put you right on that one.’

  ‘Sandy?’ Bewilderment clouded her gaze. ‘What has he got to—’

  ‘Forget it!’ He stopped her with his hard tone. ‘Put it this way, all I’m doing is helping your young man t
o save his petrol.’

  ‘He’s not my young man!’ she returned fiercely.

  ‘Well then, it doesn’t matter, does it?’ he suggested with deceptive gentleness. ‘Just get one thing straight—I’ll be taking you to that show tomorrow night.’

  She eyed him incredulously. ‘You will?’

  ‘Why not? When anyone in the district puts on a woolshed dance, everyone for miles around is welcome there, and that includes Mum, Dad and the kids.’ So don’t get any mistaken notions into your head about my having any personal feelings in the matter. Is that what you’re trying to get through to me, boss?

  Sticking to her guns in spite of everything, she said doggedly, ‘But he was coming to pick me up.’ Somehow now that she had put the thought into words, it seemed a trivial matter to be arguing about. Nevertheless...

  ‘No need.’ He simply wiped the suggestion. ‘He’d have been wasting his time and his petrol!’

  So, Lanie thought resentfully, he had succeeded in defeating her just as he had talked Mervyn into accepting his orders. The master of Rangimarie had spoken, she thought ruefully, and taking in the hard unyielding lines of his face, she didn’t see how she could alter the arrangements. She said coldly, ‘I really don't mind about going to the dance. I mean, please don’t put yourself out on my account.’

  ‘No trouble.’ For a timeless moment his gaze meshed in hers and once again those twin flames kindled in his eyes. With an effort she wrenched her glance aside and brought her mind back to his dispassionate tones. ‘I was going along anyway.’

  Humiliation washed over her, and with it came a hot tide of anger. Never ever, she told herself with heightened colour, had she hated anyone as she hated this man! ‘Please, please,’ she offered up a prayer, ‘let him ask me to dance with him, just once would do, so that I can turn him down flat

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Next day she awoke early and soon she was strolling out into the early morning air, fresh with the salty tang of the sea. All around her she was aware of colour and life and movement. How anyone could find station life lonely, she mused, was something she would never understand.