As they sipped the coffee he’d made she told him everything that had happened since she had ridden into the ravine to photograph the cave paintings. She paused for a moment then asked, “So what happened to Natalie? She just disappeared. It was eerie.”
“All I know is what Shellie told me. Her horse bolted, she got it under control and when she came back to look for you you’d gone.”
Francey blinked. She couldn’t have heard right, could she? She stared across the top of the steaming mug at him, her expression puzzled. “Gone? I didn’t go anywhere. When I couldn’t see her I remembered what Les said about staying put and came back to where we’d boiled the billy.” She pointed at the fire. “Here.” She frowned and then shook her head. “I don’t understand, I was here all the time.”
Steve looked thoughtful. He smelled a rat, a tall, grey-eyed, platinum blonde rat. But why? What was her motive in leaving Francey alone in the bush? It didn’t make sense. However, he wasn’t going to say anything at this point in time. Natalie was CJ’s stepdaughter and he’d need to be sure of his facts before he came out and accused the woman of arranging this situation. “I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it when we get back to Murrundi,” was all he said.
Francey yawned and stretched her arms above her head as the feeling of exhaustion began to overtake her again. She had to sleep. She wanted to talk to Steve too but that would have to wait. There would be time tomorrow, the rest of her life even, she hoped.
“Why don’t you settle down,” Steve suggested. “Dehydration takes the energy out of a person. You need rest and liquids, in that order I think, though I’m no doctor.” He tucked the sleeping bag around her more tightly, and as desperately as he wanted to he resisted the urge to kiss her.
She yawned again and forgot to cover her mouth. “Steve, you’ve been wonderful. But …” through her sluggishly functioning brain, she thought then asked, “where are you going to sleep?” She had the groundsheet plus the sleeping bag which was draped over and under her.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve roughed it before.” He grinned at her. “On stake-outs, in observation cars, behind clumps of bushes. I’ll bed down close to the fire and be quite warm, I assure you.” He knew that wouldn’t be so, and he’d be lucky to get a wink of sleep, but that didn’t matter. Francey being comfortable mattered more.
“Oh, good …”
Sleep enveloped her in a matter of seconds, and he sat there watching her. The fire played shadows and light on her face, allowing him to study each feature. The slant of her brows, the free spirited hair that framed her face in wild waves, the straight nose that snubbed up at the tip and the delectable curve of her mouth. Especially her mouth. He felt himself getting all hot and bothered just thinking about what he’d like to do with that mouth, with all of her. He growled low in his throat. Maybe he’d better put some more wood on the fire and check the horses.
The night wind rattling the tarp stirred Francey from a deep sleep. As consciousness roused her she shivered, feeling the chill air settling around her neck. The fire’s embers glowed bright enough but she thought she should bank it up so it didn’t go out. She made to rise and shivered again with the cold. What a strange land. Steaming hot, flooding, dry as an oven in summer and chillingly cold in winter. One certainty was that one couldn’t get bored with the sameness of the weather.
“What’s wrong?”
She answered the muffled question. “The fire.”
“I’ll attend to it.” In the near total blackness she sensed rather than saw Steve’s huddled figure reach across and work two more branches into the embers. She watched until they caught and the flames began to burn brightly again. Steve. What would she have done without him? Perished? Possibly. The thought of what might have happened filled her first of all with a confused sense of sadness and then with a rush of joy. She was alive, because of him. And from deep inside her came the need to express, to share that joy with him.
“Steve?”
“Yes?”
“I … I’m cold.” She heard him move close to her and said, “You must be even colder, you’ve no warmth, no blanket.”
“I’m okay. Give me your hands.”
She did and he began to chafe them briskly. She decided that wasn’t what she wanted. “I’m still cold. Perhaps you should come under the sleeping bag too. Don’t the experts say something about two bodies being able to radiate more body heat than one.”
“I’m not sure …”
“Please.”
A current of cold air wafted around her as he disturbed the edges of the sleeping bag and crept close to her. His arms came around her to pull her against his chest. She heard him sigh and could barely see his face, just the outline of his head. A smile played around her lips in the darkness and she became aware of the accelerated beat of her heart and a singing in her veins. Better, but not perfect. She knew of another way to radiate heat. Amazed at her boldness but compelled by feelings she had repressed for so long, she inched her face up to his and kissed him. She heard his surprised gasp but then he kissed her back, quite deliciously. She wriggled closer. Her hands crept under his leather jacket and worked their way up his chest.
“What are you doing?”
Francey chuckled low in her throat. “Trying to get warm. What do you think I’m doing?” She kissed him again.
He took the initiative and deepened the kiss, his tongue playing with hers, probing, merging in a mutual dance with her sweetness while, ostensibly to warm her, his free hand caressed her back and her behind. He manoeuvred her onto her back and she twined her legs around him. Groaning, he found her lips again and they were warm and willing. God, how much could a man take without losing control?
Eventually he drew away from her. “This isn’t a good idea.”
She touched his face with her hand and traced his features, her fingertip tingling at the touch. She wanted him so much and she thought he wanted her too, he’d shown his feelings towards her in many little ways. The sly glances, the odd touch, the husky inflection in his voice. But maybe she’d misinterpreted them. Could she have mistaken compassion in his eyes for desire? Should she back off and keep her pride intact? Then he spoke and his whispering tone dismantled all her doubts.
“Oh, Francey.” His arms tightened noticeably about her. “I’ve dreamed so many times of us being like this. Together. From the first moment I saw you in the Isa I wanted you.” She had haunted his dreams ever since that first meeting. “My darling, I want it to be perfect between us when … You’re tired, you’ve been through an awful ordeal. When you’re stronger …” his voice trailed away into nothingness but hinted at a promise of future joy together.
A shiver of emotion shafted through her. He felt the same way she did! She took hold of his hand and placed it over her left breast. “Feel my heart beating beneath your hand. It’s not tired, it’s lonely.” There was a catch in her voice. “I’ve been lonely for so long Steve, I don’t want to be any more. Make love to me now. Please.”
“But-”
“No buts.” She was silent for a minute, then she laughed incredulously. “The stories Meredith’s told me about policemen’s exploits — I didn’t think you were such shy creatures.”
“Shy! I’ll give you shy.” His hands began to caress her, and then sought and found the buttons to her shirt and deftly undid them, then they moved again to the zipper on her jeans.
“Promise?” she whispered.
“You bet,” he replied enthusiastically.
In the hazy afterglow of their lovemaking, lying naked and entwined and delightfully warm beneath the sleeping bag, Francey smiled a satisfied smile against Steve’s moderately hairy chest. The rhythmic rise and fall told her he had drifted into an exhausted sleep. They had made love twice. The first time had been an urgent coupling to slake their pent-up passion for each other. The second time had been slow, tender, rapturous. Her impulsive nature made her want to tell him that she loved him but it was too soon. Their relati
onship was as yet too new, too precious for words. With a little, impatient movement of her head, she remembered … Years ago Bryan had ignited her passionate nature and he had also almost destroyed it. Steve had renewed her capacity to love. Her lips moved against his warm skin to kiss it softly.
Francey let her hands run over him. It was wonderful to explore his body, feel the contours of his hard muscles, the fitness of him while he wasn’t aware of it. Her hand moved greedily and lower, to the thick, arrowing curls below his navel. She sighed. Touching him awoke a need and she could feel herself pulsing inside with longing and, she chuckled to herself, she had been on a self-imposed starvation diet for years, too many years. She should let him sleep. But … Her hand moved lower to enclose him and stroke and caress until, even in sleep, he hardened.
Gently she rolled on top of him and began to kiss him into wakefulness.
A pre-dawn stillness lay over the land as Steve opened his eyes to greet the morning. Beside him Francey slumbered, cuddled into his chest. He smiled crookedly as memories of last night overtook him. He’d been right about her. She sure had a passionate nature and that he’d been the recipient of all that stored-up emotion made him a very happy man.
He knew now that he’d wanted her from the moment he’d set eyes on her but had subjugated the desire because he didn’t think he had a chance. No wonder she’d dominated his thoughts and his dreams for weeks. It was a brand new day and he had a brand new relationship, one which he hoped would last forever.
Then he remembered his promise to call Murrundi. Gently, so as not to disturb her he disengaged himself, dressed and, shivered against the chill of the cold winter’s morning. Taking his mobile, he swung bareback onto his horse and cantered off out of the ravine to make the call.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CJ, Natalie, Steve, Les, Shellie, Mike and Lucky sat around the mahogany dinner table post-morteming the event of Francey being stranded in the bush. Just after first light Les had picked up Francey and Steve in the helicopter and left Billy Wontow to bring the two horses back. On their return Francey, though protesting she was fine, had been put to bed to await a visit from a Mt Isa doctor.
“What’s this I’m hearing?” CJ growled at Natalie. “You claim you said you and Francey’d gone south-east. Mike and Lucky are pretty sure you told them south-west. Damn it, someone’s stretching the truth here.”
“I’m positive I said south-east,” Natalie confirmed, her grey eyes widening innocently at her stepfather, a ruse she’d tried on him from an early age when it was necessary to get out of a scrape. “I’d been through a harrowing ride and though I was exhausted I don’t think I’d get east and west mixed up.” She fixed her startling, near hypnotic gaze on Mike and batted her eyelids. “Someone got confused, that’s all. It was an innocent mistake, CJ.”
“Which could have cost Francey her life!” Les pointed out. “It may have if Steve hadn’t stumbled upon her,” he added with a grudging nod of approval at the policeman. Inside though, he seethed with jealousy that Steve had come out the hero in this fiasco. Moving his gaze he observed Natalie and noted the pink flush on her neck, a sure sign that she’d orchestrated the situation. He’d grown up with her and knew her moods, her highs and lows, when she was being truthful and when she was lying her head off. Without exposing his opinion by look or expression he couldn’t help but wonder what stupid kind of game she was playing. But then he should be used to it. She was notorious for playing games to suit her own purpose.
He recalled the last time she had taken a dislike to someone: CJ’s secretary before Lisa. She had hounded the woman and made her life such a misery she’d simply packed her bags and walked away. Now, it seemed, her bitchiness, if one could call it that, was active again. The derisive thought came to him that the heir to CJ’s fortune was becoming weirder and weirder.
Mike Hunter scratched his head and flushed. He moved restlessly in the chair, as if he longed to be somewhere else, anywhere else. He played with the Swiss army knife he always carried, twirling it on the table top as he spoke. “Well, CJ, I guess it is possible I didn’t hear right. We were all kind of upset at the time.”
“Bloody stupid.” CJ stared at Mike until his gaze shifted. “I should damned well hand you your walking papers.”
“CJ, don’t,” Natalie appealed, draping her hand over his forearm. “Mike said it was an honest mistake. Everyone makes mistakes.” Her eyebrows rose meaningfully. “Everyone,” she repeated, implying that even he wasn’t infallible. She smiled sweetly at Mike which, from the way he shifted again, added to his sense of embarrassment.
Steve Parrish hadn’t spoken during the discussion and seemed content to just take it all in. As a cop he had a nose for guilty parties and he certainly had his suspicions about Natalie. But, ironically, he admired her ability to worm her way out of it. For her own strange reasons she appeared to have planned the operation, he was sure of it. He thought Les held the same opinion, and that Mike Hunter, who obviously had a crush on the blonde, was prepared to take the blame to get her off the hook with CJ. Fool!
Jesus, what a family. CJ with his bombastic arrogance, Shellie with her drinking problem and Natalie who, in Steve’s opinion, was beginning to appear seriously dysfunctional. When everything had settled down he’d try and talk Francey into moving into town, away from all these peculiar influences.
“Where’s the bloody doctor? Didn’t you tell him it was urgent?” CJ yelled at Shellie, who started in response.
“I did. He’s on his way. His surgery said fifteen to twenty minutes.” Of their own volition her hands came up to fiddle with the buttons of her blouse and then her hair. She stopped suddenly, knowing it annoyed CJ, who at present was annoyed enough for everyone. She hadn’t seen him this put out since Richard’s death. After living under the same roof as him for years she knew that he liked things to run smoothly, and that such a thing could happen — Francey’s life being put in jeopardy — made him very angry. He’d come down with another of his headaches if he wasn’t careful, she thought dismally. God, she hoped not. Then she’d have to nurse and fuss over him until it went away.
An agitation began in her stomach and spread throughout her entire body. She ran her tongue tentatively around the inside of her mouth; it was as dry as the weather. Oh, what she wouldn’t do for a quick nip, for her nerves of course. She glanced slyly at the kitchen doorway. Maybe she could sneak out without anyone noticing. Alison knew she kept whisky in the pantry, in the soy sauce bottle, but she didn’t nag her about it.
“Humphh.” CJ stared Mike and Lucky down, his displeasure showing loud and clear. “Okay you two, back to work. We’ve got a station to run here.”
For big men the two scuttled out of the dining room with extraordinary speed.
Then CJ turned his attention to Natalie. “And you, miss. Let me say this, I’m very disappointed in you. In future, you and Francey don’t go riding again together unless there’s a third party present and a mobile phone in the saddle bags. Understand?”
Disguising her chagrin at his accusatory tone, and sensing that he hadn’t been taken in by her story nor Mike covering for her, her reply was meek. “Yes, CJ, whatever you say.” Then, studiously ignoring everyone else’s gaze she rose from the table and left the room.
CJ had never really liked her. She blinked a rebellious tear back as she went to her room. Even when Richard had been alive he’d favoured his son over her. And CJ was the one who’d insisted she go to boarding school when Richard hadn’t. Oh, yes, CJ had always made his preferences clear, she remembered. And now he was doing it with Francey, the bitch. Well, she still had another card or two to play …
CJ’s sigh sounded more like a growl. He sat back in the chair and stared disconsolately at Steve Parrish. “I don’t know how to thank you, Steve. You’ve done me and Murrundi a great service. I won’t forget it.”
“No need, sir. It’s my job. The main thing is that Francey’s okay.” He looked the older man squarely in the eye
s. “That’s one hell of a woman. She’s got more guts than some men I know.”
The front doorbell rang and Shellie jumped up and murmured the obvious, “That must be the doctor. I’ll take him straight through to Francey.”
On opening the front door of the homestead Shellie got the surprise of her life. She had been expecting Doctor Benjamin Passfield, their usual medico, but instead a familiar and smiling face greeted her. “Barry!” she exclaimed.
“Shellie. Hello. Mabs in the surgery told me you were here.”
Doctor Barry Ryan. Shellie stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to breathe. In front of her stood the man she had fallen in love with so many years ago in Townsville. She could feel her heart racing, her cheeks warming at his inquisitive, friendly gaze. He’d loved her too, so he’d said back then, but he had had an invalid wife and couldn’t leave her. After their affair had been in full bloom for a year she had done the right thing and had left and come to Murrundi. So many thoughts and memories crowded into her head she could hardly think straight.
“Are you going to ask me in?” his smile was genial, his voice gentle.
Somehow she pulled herself together. “Of course, silly me. Do come in, Barry. The patient’s right this way.” He hasn’t changed at all, she thought as she led him to Francey’s room. Same pepper and salt hair, same kindly hazel eyes. The fluttering in her chest spread to her arms and her fingertips. Seeing him again after so long felt strange yet wonderful. Until she remembered Kate. She must ask about his wife, once she plucked up the necessary courage.
Francey was sitting up in bed pretending to read a magazine.
“Here’s the patient.”
Barry beamed at the young woman. “What’s the problem?”
Shellie, trying to hide her nervousness and a peculiar sense of shyness because she was still out of step, filled him in on what had happened.
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