Ross's Girl

by Jane Corrie

  Vicky had only just got back to the kitchen when Ross came in. His first glance went to the kitchen table and seeing that his place had not yet been laid, frowned. 'Late in getting here, were you?' he asked pithily.

  `I've been here since eight o'clock!' Vicky exclaimed indignantly. 'And you were supposed to be here at nine,' she added crossly, as she began to dish up the now rather over-cooked breakfast and put it down in front of him with a firm thump, then found the cutlery and put that beside him, then went over to the dresser and put two slices of bread in the toaster. She might have known something would go wrong, she thought angrily.

  It took her a minute to realise that Ross had not exactly fallen on his plate the way a hungry man was expected to, and glancing back at him, she saw that he was making experimental jabs with his fork at the eggs. 'What did you cook them in—rubber solution?' he asked, adding sarcastically, 'I haven't seen bacon like that since my schooldays when we were out on the bush trail. Is that toast I can smell burning?' he asked, adding insult to injury, and

  making Vicky want to scream at him, but she would take him up on that later, she thought darkly. Right now she had to scrape the charred remains out of the toaster. Mrs George had told her to watch the toaster, it was apt to burn the bread as it had a faulty switch.

  It was Ross who finally got his own breakfast, and to Vicky's chagrin, wouldn't even allow her to make the coffee, throwing away the over-stewed liquid and making a fresh pot. 'Just,' he said grimly, 'look after Mrs George. She can afford indigestion, I'm too busy!'

  An affronted Vicky left him to it, and went to get her orders from Mrs George. There had to be something she could do, she thought scathingly, and if Ross had wanted a cook, then he should have sent for Mary, not her!

  Only after Ross had gone did Vicky venture downstairs again. Mrs George had given her a list of light duties to perform. The heavy work was carried out by two of the station wives who took turns in helping out.

  Mrs George had also given her a menu for lunch around twelve-thirty, the time Ross would usually put in another appearance, but when Vicky got back to the kitchen it was evident that he had provided himself with sandwiches, not, she thought darkly, prepared to take a chance on what she had to offer.

  Well, that was fine by her, she thought airily, and she only hoped that he would keep the practice up! All she would have to worry about then was

  the evening meal and she had all day to prepare it. Perhaps she might surprise him with a passable offering!

  Mary rang shortly after she had taken Mrs George her mid-morning cup of coffee and was just settling down to have hers. 'Pete Noonan rang,' Mary said. 'I told him you were at Jarra. He said, "Okay" and rang off. You're not going to tangle with him, are you, Vicky?' she asked, sounding worried. 'You know what he's like. He's a regular flirt, and Ross wouldn't like it.'

  Vicky muttered something under her breath about Ross lumping it, and at Mary's 'What was that?' replied calmly, 'Don't worry, Mary, I'm not stupid.'

  `I know you're not,' Mary said slowly, 'but he's jealous of Ross. Most of them are,' and left the rest unfinished, but Vicky knew what she meant.

  `You mean it's not my fatal attraction that's caused his apparent lapse from sanity, don't you?' she queried sweetly.

  Mary chuckled. 'Since you put it like that,' she said, highly amused, 'that's just what I did mean, although I might have known you wouldn't be taken in. How are you getting on?' she asked, suddenly changing the subject.

  `Ross asked if I'd fried the eggs in rubber solution,' Vicky replied, and at Mary's howl of laughter continued in a dignified voice, 'It's not my fault if he's fifteen minutes late, is it? I think he's beginning to come to the same conclusion as me!' she added meaningly, knowing that Mary would know what she was referring to.

  `Oh, dear,' gasped Mary, recovering from her amusement. 'Look, how about if I pop up this afternoon? Jake could bring me. I could prepare a dinner for you. It's Mrs George I'm thinking of,' she added, making matters worse for Vicky.

  `Mrs George, according to Ross, can afford indigestion,' Vicky replied coldly, 'and I've found the tin-opener, thank you.'

  `Are you sure?' Mary persisted. 'It's no trouble for me.'

  `If you come, I'm the one who's in trouble,' Vicky replied. 'I did offer your services to Ross and got my head bitten off for my trouble—no, you stay put. I like things as they are.'

  Ross put in an appearance shortly after Mary had rung off. 'I've a meeting here tonight,' he told Vicky, and at her scowl at the thought of having to prepare food for them, added sarcastically, 'Don't worry, they're coming after dinner. I suppose there will be dinner?' he asked silkily.

  Vicky did not reply but just stood glaring at him. There was a lot she could say, but she knew who would have the last word! To think that once she was supposed to marry him! The very idea was not only ludicrous, it was mind-boggling!

  `Have a word with Mrs George,' he went on blandly. 'She'll tell you what to get ready for the meeting. She's a good cook, too,' he added maddeningly, 'you couldn't get a better training.'

  Vicky didn't see why he had to bring that up again. 'We can't all be good cooks,' she replied

  furiously, 'and I've a feeling my talents lie in other directions!'

  `After this morning's showing, I'm inclined to agree with you,' Ross remarked smoothly, but there was a trace of amusement in his eyes that annoyed Vicky more than a lecture would have done. 'Mrs George usually prepares some canapes,' he added, 'but you can put some biscuits and cheese out if you can't manage anything more fancy. Anyway, have a word with her. There'll be six of us, all told.'

  To Vicky's immense relief he turned to go, but as he got to the door he turned back to her. 'Watch out for Pete Noonan,' he said casually. 'If he starts hanging around, tell me. I'll soon settle his hash,' he added meaningly.

  Vicky felt a surge of fury at this autocratic order. `Thank you,' she replied angrily, 'but that's my business.'

  Ross's blue eyes narrowed, and he walked slowly back into the room. 'So he has pestered you,' he said softly.

  Vicky drew in a deep breath. 'That's your interpretation,' she said angrily, 'and it's not mine. It's nothing to do with you.'

  `Do you know what kind of a man Pete Noonan is?' Ross shouted at her.

  Vicky felt an overwhelming urge to grin, her fury dispelled at Ross's loss of temper, and turned her face away, carefully studying the black and white tiled floor at her feet. 'You mean he's a ladies' man, don't you?' she said slowly, hoping that her

  amusement did not show in her voice, but she did not allow for Ross's almost uncanny way of knowing her every mood.

  `Think it's funny, do you?' he asked harshly, 'or are you looking for a little experience? If it's experience, then you've sure got the right man. If you think he's fallen for you, then you'd better think again. He's out to have a go at me, and that's all there is to it. It's so damned obvious a child could see through his tactics, and so will everyone else. If you want to make a fool of yourself, then go ahead, but don't expect any sympathy from me when he gets tired of the game,' he told her savagely.

  Vicky was feeling savage herself. She knew she was not a beauty, but why did everyone have to underline the fact? Was she so unattractive that no man would look at her for any other reason than the one he had just outlined? Even if it was the truth, she hadn't needed telling.

  `Of course I know he hasn't fallen for me,' she said coldly. 'I'm not that dumb—and yes, I'd guessed there was more to it, but girls like me don't very often get a chance of flirting with a good-looking man, do they?' she asked sweetly. 'I'm quite looking forward to it,' she added grimly. `Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I won't come crying on your shoulder when it's all over,' she tacked on airily, in spite of the fury that was welling up inside her.

  `I don't believe you know what flirting means,' Ross said caustically, 'and I'm damn sure you're in

  for a shock. I guess it's up to me to enlighten you,' and he pulled the unsuspecting Vicky i
nto his arms, clamping her slight body to his hard one, reminding her of the last time he had made a grab at her.

  Vicky had not been in the mood then, and she certainly was not in the mood for another demonstration now, and she struggled furiously to free herself. 'What do you think you're doing?' she got out breathlessly.

  Ross ignored her furious attempts to break free from him and his hard blue eyes roamed over her flushed countenance. 'He'll hold you tight—like this,' he said softly, 'only I don't suppose he'll expect to meet with any opposition, he's not used to it,' he murmured in a silky voice. 'Not that that would deter him. In fact it will probably spur him on. Some men like a challenge.'

  Vicky felt his arms tighten around her, and knew a sense of panic. In some indefinable way she knew he was not referring to Pete Noonan but to himself, and was thoroughly enjoying frightening her, only she was not going to show him that she was frightened, she thought, but her thudding heart belied her bravado. All she had to remember was that this was Ross, the man she had known all her life, and who was now amusing himself at her expense.

  `He'll then steal a kiss,' Ross went on remorselessly, and at Vicky's deliberate action to avoid his lips, he placed his hand under her chin and made her look up at him. It was like being caught in .a vice, she thought, for there was no escape. Then he swiftly kissed her. 'Of course, there's an art in

  kissing,' he said softly against her lips, and gently teased the corners of her soft mouth, tracing their outline with slow deliberation.

  Vicky felt shivers go down her back. This was nothing like the swift, almost impersonal kiss he had given her back at Dale's Creek a few days ago, and she was ashamed to admit that she liked it, and she had a nasty feeling that soon she wouldn't want him to stop.

  Her feelings were so unexpected that for a moment she was off her guard and her stiff body relaxed gently against him.

  `That's better,' said Ross in a low voice, pulling her even closer to him. 'Now let me kiss you properly.'

  Vicky felt mesmerised. She didn't know what was happening to her, she only knew that when Ross had teased the corners of her lips she had wanted a real kiss. She lifted her face to him, her large brown eyes fixed on his firm lips, and as they descended on hers, her bones turned to jelly, and her arms slid round his neck in an entirely abandoned action as she went deeper into the whirlpool of emotion, not caring about the future but only living for this moment in time.

  When Ross ended the kiss, he stood looking down at her brightly flushed features and eyes that had a stunned expression in them, his eyes narrowed. 'I think that's enough for a start,' he said harshly. 'Proves my point, though, doesn't it? You could no more handle a petting session than fly a jet. A man like Noonan would know that in

  five seconds flat,' he added savagely. 'I only hope you keep some sense of values,' he flung back at her, before he stamped out of the homestead.

  Vicky stood transfixed. She felt as if she had been slapped hard in the face. She had made the most colossal fool of herself—correction, Ross Janson had made a fool of her—and she had just stood by and let him do it!

  Bright tears of frustration clouded her eyes. How she hated him! If Pete Noonan was a ladies' man, he had a long way to go before he measured up to the sort of performance she had just been subjected to!

  Her soft lips twisted ironically; he had said that he was no ladies' man! She had certainly learned a hard lesson, but she had learned something else. There was more to Ross Janson than met the eye!

  She thought of Ella. No wonder she was still single. If Ross had 'played' with her, as he had with Vicky, it was small wonder that she had not looked at any other man!

  A wave of sympathy for Ella washed over her, and a further surge of hatred of Ross. He hadn't been able to resist giving her what he termed as a lesson, and thoroughly enjoying himself at the same time. Thank heaven she didn't love him, she thought gratefully—but she might well have done, she thought musingly, and what havoc he would have been able to play in her life.

  She nodded her head thoughtfully. Yes, she was glad she had come to Jarra. She had to find out some time that the man she had once thought of as

  a kindly kind of brother was capable of being cruel.

  He knew she was inexperienced, and there were other ways of preparing her for a wolf's advances, other than a physical demonstration like the one he had just given her, and if she were not very careful he would follow it up, given half a chance, but she did not intend to place herself at his mercy again.

  She frowned as the thought suddenly struck her that there wouldn't be much she could do about it if he had set his mind on educating her in this line.

  When she recalled the way he had grabbed her at Dale's Creek that day, when he had still been of the opinion that they should marry, a cold shiver went up her back. Yes, he was capable of weakening her resistance if he set his mind to it, she thought wretchedly.

  He had not shown her any consideration then either, but used her as a piece of merchandise that he owned and could do what he liked with.

  She also recalled what he had said to her that same evening, too. How he had held off making advances to her before as he felt she was not ready for them, and his harsh condemnation of her when he had said he wanted a helpmeet, not a stupid chit of a girl for a wife—or words to that affect, she thought, and shook her head slowly. That was just as well, she told herself. This stupid chit of a girl is not so stupid. She had his measure for one thing, and a strong sense of preservation for another!

  It was going to be this preservation that would save her pride, that ought by now to be in tatters, bullied as she was by someone she used to look up to.

  She felt a sense of indignation that her father had been so keen on the match that he had not thought to give the matter any serious consideration, but then he had not seen the other side of Ross. He only knew him as a friend and the son of a man he had liked and respected for years.

  That, thought Vicky wearily, was all very well, but hardly a good enough reason for putting his daughter in the firing line, amalgamation or no amalgamation!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IF Vicky had given way to her feelings at that time, she would have walked out of Jarra, but there was Mrs George to consider, and she had more sense than to give in to what would have been a childish impulse on her part.

  She had let Ross get the better of her emotions, and whatever else she did, she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how wretched he had made her feel.

  That she was vulnerable had been proved beyond question, but only because she was inexperienced, she argued silently with herself. It looked as if she

  was a slow developer, and that was what Ross had thought, and why he had not pushed the question of marriage even though she was nineteen, almost twenty, she thought miserably.

  Taking a deep breath, she straightened her slim shoulders and shook off an almost uncontrollable urge to weep her heart out. She didn't know why she felt so weak and so disturbed. Something had happened to her while Ross was kissing her, and as yet she had not been able to clarify the feeling. That she had enjoyed the sensation of the kiss she could not deny. She hadn't wanted the kiss to end and had wanted it to go on. A lovely soporific feeling stole over her at the memory, and a slight flush stained her cheeks.

  If that was flirting, then she liked it! She felt better for coming to this conclusion. It was nothing to get upset about: There was so much she did not know and, up until now, had not wanted to know. Now, however, things were different, and if Pete Noonan did ring and wanted to take her out, she would accept the invitation. She would not get a better chance to get her own back on Ross, she decided.

  When she delivered Ross's message to Mrs George about the meeting that evening, she was given directions as to how to set the drinks tray out and to make sure that there was enough whisky and beer in the cabinet, and if not, where the stocks were kept. As for the canapes, Mrs George had given a lift of her bushy eyebrows. 'We haven't had can
apes for ages,' she said. 'Most of the men

  prefer cheese and biscuits, they're too busy discussing whatever project they've got on hand to bother with any fancy concoction.'

  Her eyes looked amused as she looked at Vicky. `I think Ross is having a little game with you,' she said. 'He probably wants to see what kind of a show you'll put on,' she added musingly. 'Canapes are a left-over from Mrs Janson's time. She was very keen on them. I used to go to endless trouble preparing them for parties, they're a bit fiddly,' she confided, with a smile.

  Vicky wished she had known all this before and could have asked Ross why he had suddenly decided to give his guests canapes. However, it proved again that he was amusing himself at her expense, and she very nearly asked Mrs George to tell her how to make the canapes, but thought better of it. She was not out to please him in any way, and he would be really amused if she tried and failed.

  The dinner was the next item on the agenda, and Mrs George provided Vicky with a menu that did not entail too much preparation—a steak and kidney pie, already made by Mrs George a few days earlier, which had only to be taken out of the deep freeze a few hours before cooking. There were plenty of fresh vegetables to be had, or failing that, the freezer was well stocked with whatever Vicky fancied to add to the menu. The same went for the sweet, and Vicky could choose from a number of fruit pies in the freezer, although Mrs George suggested an apple pie as Ross was particularly fond

  of her home-baked ones, and would eat it either hot or cold, with or without embellishment—which was just as well, Vicky thought dryly, for that was how he was getting it.

  As there was a meeting that evening, dinner would be half an hour earlier, Mrs George said. The meeting usually started around seven, so she advised Vicky to have the dinner ready by six o'clock.

  The insistent ringing of the telephone sent Vicky