Читать книгу Irresistible Attraction - Alison Kelly - Страница 8

‘A JILLAROO. Female version of a jackaroo. You know, a stockman…a cowhand, or whatever you Yanks call it!’

‘No way! I haven’t time to baby-sit some woman while she plays at being a cowgirl. This isn’t a dude ranch, Alessandra. You’re here to do the accounts, not have a holiday at my expense.’

‘Listen, mate! For a start, I haven’t needed a babysitter for twenty years! Nor am I under any illusions as to just how hard it is to run a cattle station…I’ve done it more than once before! Heck, I’ve mustered everything from stray lambs in Victoria to brahmin bulls in the Northern Territory!’

Bart watched enthralled as fiery sparks lit the blue depths of her eyes. He noted the defiant jut of her chin and the steely conviction of her own belief in her abilities. His silent appraisal seemed to spur her on.

‘I’m not asking to be treated like a tourist, Bart. I’m an experienced rider and used to working with cattle. At the very most the accounts will only take me about five hours a week to keep up to date…’

‘There’s also the payroll,’ he reminded her. ‘That involves driving into town to the bank and back again. A three-hour excursion in itself. Plus tallying up each hand’s earnings for the week——’

‘All right, take out one day for organising the wages,’ Alessandra conceded. ‘But that still leaves me with six days of empty hours on my hands. I’ll go mad with boredom! Besides, I want to earn my keep; I hate feeling like a free-loader.’

Bart leaned back against the bench, folding his arms across his chest. She swallowed hard at the sight of his shirt straining against his muscular frame, shocked by the tide of sexual awareness he generated in her. No man had ever made such an instant impact on her senses.

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘Tomorrow I’ll check out your riding ability…’

She nodded. ‘That’s fair enough.’

‘Providing,’ he added with a half-grin, ‘that I’m not suffering the effects of tonight’s dinner!’

‘Thanks for not letting on to Daddy about me deliberately ruining his meals,’ Lisa said shyly.

Alessandra swam a few strokes further from the edge of the river before answering.

‘Since you’re so desperate to prove yourself an adult in his eyes, my telling him would only have had the opposite effect. Childish spite isn’t a means by which to prove maturity.’

The pretty brunette dragged herself out of the water and draped herself in a towel.

‘Nor is promiscuity,’ Alessandra added knowingly.

‘Uh?’ The younger girl’s face was a mixture of surprise and guilt.

Alessandra couldn’t help the small smile of sympathy that crossed her face. She made her way to the bank in an easy breast-stroke motion.

‘I know a love bite when I see one, Lisa. Or a hickey, as you say.’ Instinctively the girl’s hand reached to her neck. ‘It’s a bit late for that.’

Lisa’s eyes became shiny with tears and Alessandra felt a wave of pity at the obviously confused teenager. Why was it that in every generation the teen years were always the most difficult?

‘Are you going to tell my father?’

‘Heck, no! The potential for blackmail would be destroyed then!’ At the girl’s shocked expression Alessandra ceased teasing. ‘Hey, I’m joking! Mind you, as a kid I wasn’t so generous. I used to blackmail my older brothers and their girlfriends unmercifully! It was very profitable too, I might add. I scored new roller skates on one occasion from Scott and a surf-board from Brad on another—that was for keeping quiet about him throwing a party when he was supposed to be baby-sitting me.’

Alessandra smiled at the memory. She’d been a real terror as a kid and not much better as a teenager. She suspected some of her antics would send Lisa into shock and her strait-laced father into cardiac arrest! Slanting a look at the hesitant girl who stood a few feet away unsure whether to stay or leave, Alessandra had a feeling that Lisa’s rebellious streak sprang from desperation rather than temperament.

‘I won’t tell your Dad, Lisa,’ she assured her softly and saw relief flood the girl’s face. ‘Are you serious about this guy?’

‘I don’t know. I think so. I mean, Todd’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met.’

‘What does your father think of him?’

Lisa gave a bitter laugh and shrugged her shoulders.

‘He doesn’t approve of him, but I don’t care what he thinks. It has nothing to do with him.’

Alessandra finished towelling herself off and pulled her T-shirt on over the maillot she wore.

‘Well, if dinner is to be ready on time, we’d better get a move on back to the house.’ She handed the younger girl her clothes. ‘I’ve got a deal with your old man that I’ll oversee your cooking if he agrees to let me work with the hands around the ranch.’

‘You’re kidding! Daddy has agreed to let you work with the cattle?’

‘Once I prove I can tell one end of a horse from the other. What’s so surprising about that?’

‘My father firmly believes, “Ladies do not belong around cowhands, corrals or bars! Nor do they smoke, swear or drink beer!” And that has been quoted to me from the time I was in the cradle!’ Lisa said.

Alessandra struggled to contain a grin. She could just imagine Bart Cameron saying the words.

‘Lucky for me I don’t smoke. Uh, Lisa?’

Bart Cameron entered the house to the sound of uncontrollable laughter coming from the kitchen. Lisa? Heck, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her without a surly look on her face, let alone heard her laugh.

‘Of course the guy could hardly believe the fact that little old pint-sized me had tossed him over my shoulder and sat him on his ars——’

‘Good evening, ladies.’

Both Lisa and Alessandra swung around at the heavy tone of the male voice. Alessandra noted the sudden change in Lisa’s expression.

‘I was just telling Lisa about the time a guy tried to pick me up on a train.’

‘Yes. I heard the rather graphic description,’ Bart said curtly. His tone made the younger girl cringe. ‘Do I have time for a quick shower before dinner, Lisa?’

‘Umm…’ The girl looked at Alessandra for an answer.

‘Sure, but quick is the operative word. Another ten minutes and I won’t guarantee that the chicken won’t be ruined!’

Bart seemed about to say something, but changed his mind and merely nodded before leaving the room.

‘Well he can certainly kill a party just by his presence!’ Alessandra remarked.

‘He’s in a bad mood,’ Lisa confided. ‘I can tell.’

‘That’s a relief, I’d hate to think he was that bloody unpleasant every evening after work! Set the table, would you, Lisa?’

A phone call interrupted the meal almost as soon as the three sat down to the table. It was for Bart, and with obvious reluctance he pushed his plate of spicy chicken aside and went to take the call. Lisa and Alessandra enjoyed a light-hearted conversation which, although it never rested on one subject for long, revealed a lot about the younger girl to Alessandra, parts of it touching a wound she’d thought long healed.

‘Sorry about that,’ Bart said, returning to the dining-room just as the others were finishing the last of their meals. ‘Business that couldn’t wait. Don’t feel you have to keep me company while I eat,’ he said with more generosity than he felt. He loathed eating his evening meal alone. It reminded him all too much of the lonely time immediately after Kathleen’s death, before Lisa had been old enough to sit alongside the table in a highchair.

He looked across at his child’s classically beautiful face and was again reminded of her mother. Kathleen had been barely four months older than Lisa was now when she’d died. For years he’d feared his daughter might have inherited not only her mother’s beauty but also the asthma which claimed her young life. Fortunately Lisa had been spared that.

Alessandra was sensitive to the awkward silence drenching the atmosphere and wondered if anyone else noticed. Bart didn’t appear interested in generating any small talk, and Lisa, although looking uncomfortable, seemed reluctant to move. Suspecting the teenager was anxious to discuss something with her father, Alessandra politely excused herself. Taking an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, she let herself out into the warm night air.

She located a log, beneath a huge tree of indeterminable age, and sat down in the night’s dark peace. Propping her elbows on her knees, she cradled her chin, looking out in the direction of the legendary Black Stump. In the blackness, all she saw was a network of twinkling lights stretching for miles. Whoever had written the song about the stars in Texas being big and bright had missed out on the magic of sitting beneath Australia’s Southern Cross. Here the stars were bigger and brighter than anywhere in the world, including the heart of Texas!

But she frowned even as the famous tune played in her head. Actually, she was in danger of taking a particular Texan too much to heart. With no encouragement from him at all, she was more than a little interested in Mr Bart Cameron.

There was something about the man that stirred up the three years of dust which had settled on her sensuality. He, of course, didn’t appear to be even remotely attracted to her, and she had to admit this was understandable, considering they had next to nothing in common. So why did he hold such an attraction for her?

Bart Cameron was staid and conservative to the point of being almost boring. She, on the other hand, was what her brothers described as a ‘radical extrovert, who bordered on fruitcake’! So why was she so drawn to the cowboy? Maybe it was the flashes of loneliness she caught glimpses of from time to time, but, if that was the case, then surely what she was feeling hinged on pity? No, Bart Cameron created a lot of different feelings within her, but pity definitely wasn’t one of them!

Just roll with the punches and see what happens, she told herself.

After all, she wasn’t the type for coy games when it came to the opposite sex; five brothers had taught her that men preferred women who were honest about their feelings, and subtlety definitely wasn’t one of her strong points.

Rising, she took a healthy bite of the apple she’d been absently polishing against the leg of her jeans, and ambled off in the direction of the corrals: Eventually her feet led her into the stables.

Only four horses were housed in the building—the stallion she’d seen Bart grooming and three others. She was instantly drawn to a magnificently proportioned chestnut.

‘Well, aren’t you a beauty, fella?’ she whispered, reaching a steady hand towards him. The animal whinnied aggressively, taking a step backwards.

‘Easy, mate. I’m not going to hurt you.’ She edged nearer, aware of the uneasy brightness in the animal’s eyes. ‘Steady, boy…You’re a beautiful fella, aren’t you…hey?’ Again the horse loudly protested her presence. It was as he turned sideways that Alessandra noticed he’d been gelded.

‘No wonder you’re angry. What sort of stupid moron wouldn’t want to use you for stud purposes? Well, don’t you worry, handsome…this is one female who thinks you’re perfect just the way you are…’

The muscular horse raised himself on to his hind legs, exhaled a hysterical snicker, and lunged at the gate that separated them. In the blink of an eye she was forced savagely against the wall on the opposite side of the long narrow building and shaken by the forearms.

‘Are you completely stupid?’ Bart demanded to know.

‘I will be if you keep pounding me into the bloody wall!’

The vibrations stopped; the verbal insults didn’t.

‘You must be the most idiotic woman I’ve ever met! Redskin is a maniac! You could have been killed!’

‘So what are you trying to do—finish the job? Let go of my arms before I lose all circulation to my hands! Thank you!’ she said, stunned by the effect his closeness was having on her.

He took a step back, casting a quick glance at the still restless horse before steering her by the arm away from the front of the stall.

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you OK?’

She shook her head.

‘What’s the matter?’ His voice held alarm. Her eyes seemed even brighter than usual and her face was slightly flushed.

‘My heart is pounding a million miles an hour.’

‘It’s probably due to the fright you got when Redskin reared,’ he said, trying to keep his gaze from moving to her breast to check her timing.

‘No. It’s entirely your fault.’

‘Look…’ He ran a weary hand through his hair and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Alessandra, but all I was thinking about was getting you clear of the gate in case the brute crashed over it and struck you with a hoof. I acted on instinct. I’m sorry if I scared you.’

Alessandra considered what sort of a reaction she might get if she were to reach up, put her arms around his neck and kiss him. She could always plead delayed shock as an excuse if he objected to her actions.

Half an hour earlier she hadn’t been convinced that Bart Cameron was ‘her type’; suddenly she knew that no other man would ever come close to affecting her the way he did! Her shortness of breath wasn’t the result of Redskin’s antics; it was due entirely to Bart Cameron’s closeness and overwhelming masculinity. Yet it was more than simply his physical presence that was making her heart expand and crowd her lungs. It was the gentleness of his concern. Yep! Here was the man for her, and all she had to do was let him in on her discovery. But a fullfrontal attack somehow didn’t seem the right approach. She needed to be subtle!.

‘You didn’t scare me, Bart.’

‘But you said——’

‘I said you were responsible for my increased pulse-rate. I never said you scared me.’

‘What…?’

‘Night, Bart; see you in the morning!’

Turning quickly, she hurried across to the house, leaving the stunned man still standing in the stables. As she reached the kitchen she allowed herself a little chuckle.

‘That’s about as subtle as you can get, Alessandra MacKellar!’

Bart was tired and irritable from a fitful night’s sleep. He wasn’t in the mood for Lisa’s sulking, nor Alessandra’s dry wit and inane chatter. He poured a cup of coffee and took it outside into the early morning sunshine.

He couldn’t think of one reason why the Lord would see fit to inflict the torment of the last two days on him. The events of last night alone were enough to age a man twenty years! What with Lisa announcing that she didn’t want to go back to the States to go to college and threatening to leave home, then to walk out to the barn and find Redskin all set to trample a sassy-mouthed Aussie…! Hell!

The easy solution was to ship Lisa off to her grandmother in Houston and then to tell Alessandra that he didn’t require her services as a bookkeeper.

Ha! His mother-in-law would like nothing better than for him to admit he couldn’t handle his own daughter! She’d been telling him so for nearly eighteen years. He wasn’t about to prove her right now.

The Australian was another matter. She and Lisa seemed to get on like a house on fire and he had to admit his daughter’s cooking had improved two hundred per cent under the older woman’s guidance. What bothered him was that, while the girl’s cooking was taking a turn for the better, in the few days Alessandra had been here Lisa’s language had definitely taken a downward slide.

Last night, during the argument they’d had, Lisa’s use of expletives would have made a marine cringe! There was also the matter of Alessandra ‘coming on’ to him. Well, at least that was what he assumed she had been doing. It didn’t seem all that logical, sitting here in the harsh light of day. After all, he was much too old for her, and with her looks she could have her pick of almost any man she wanted. Bart wondered why the idea depressed him, because she certainly wasn’t his type.

Sure, she was sexy as all get out, but sex appeal went only so far; at some point femininity had to make a stand. He suspected that Alessandra equated femininity with rabies—to be avoided at all costs!

He drained the last of his coffee from the cup and headed back to the house. He wouldn’t fire her…yet, but he sure as hell was going to have a few words to say about her language!

‘Get a load of this!’

A shrill wolf whistle drew Bart’s attention from the task of saddling his horse, and instinctively he knew who was attracting the appreciative whistles of his men, even before he looked up and saw Alessandra striding across towards them.

‘Man, wouldn’t I like the job of pouring her into them jeans every morning!’

‘It’s all yours Jim, s’long as I get the pleasure of peeling ‘em off her every night!’ came the laughing reply.

‘Knock if off, fellas,’ Bart warned, unusually irritated by their comments. ‘The lady’s working here for the summer and I don’t want any trouble. Got it?’

‘Hey, boss, they were only foolin’ ‘round,’ Jim, the foreman Bart had brought with him from Texas, replied.

‘And I’m just telling them the facts,’ Bart said.

‘Gidday!’ Alessandra beamed, letting her welcome include them all. She received a mixture of responses and greetings, from everyone except Bart, who simply inclined his head and ran his eyes over her from head to foot. As a means of ignoring him she made a point of introducing herself to each of the men.

‘When you’re through socialising…’ Bart said.

Alessandra wondered what had put him into such a foul mood. The men returned to their work and she moved to where Bart stood holding a saddled bay mare.

‘You didn’t have to saddle her; I could have done it myself.’

‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘Yours is over there.’ He pointed to a corral that held three horses. ‘The grey. This isn’t pony club, Alessandra. You catch him, you saddle him, and then we’ll see if you can ride him.’

Alessandra drew herself up to her full five feet six and gave him a hard glare.

‘Easy!’ she said, swinging away from him.

‘Probably,’ he agreed. ‘The hard part will be trying to mount him in those jeans. I imagine sitting must be difficult.’

‘Enjoying the view?’ she asked sweetly, deliberately swishing her bottom, but not turning around.

Bart would have bitten off his tongue before admitting that he was finding it almost impossible to keep his eyes off her. Yet it was the truth. Alessandra MacKellar was making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Not about her anyway!

Alessandra didn’t expect to have the slightest bit of trouble catching the gelding and putting the bridle on him. She’d spent a great deal of time with horses. Over the years she’d gained valuable experience with many different breeds, having worked as a strapper with thoroughbred racehorses in Australia, Britain, Ireland and New Zealand; while the time she’d already spent on outback cattle stations in Australia had instilled a great respect and admiration for the hard-working, well trained stock horses used on the properties. She’d even had a couple of seasons of barrel racing on the rodeo circuit.

She genuinely loved horses, which perhaps was why the animals seemed to trust her almost instinctively. Of course that lunatic Redskin had been an exception! Bart admitted he was crazy, so why keep him? she wondered, knowing all too well the risks of hanging on to a psycho horse. Well, she’d worry about that later; right now she had to prove her horsemanship to a tall, lanky hunk with a medieval view as to how a woman should behave.

Bart watched as she approached the horses with a respectful caution. He was too far away to hear the words, but he could see by the movement of her mouth that she was talking to them. He recalled the softly soothing tones he’d heard her using the previous night on Redskin. Did she use that same seductive tone when making love to a man? An electric current shot down his spine at the thought. Irritated, he clamped his hat further on to his head.

‘Move your butt, Alessandra! I haven’t got all day, you know!’ he shouted. His angry tone sent the grey skittering out of Alessandra’s reach, and she swore loudly. ‘Charming language for a lady!’

Alessandra took another couple of minutes to secure the bridle to the grey and lead him back to where Bart sat perched on the fence.

‘What’s his name?’ she demanded, deciding she wasn’t going to wear his bad mood with a smile for a moment longer.

‘Pewter,’ he answered, lifting an expensive, hand-made saddle from the fence and handing it to her.

She took it without a word and inspected it with interest.

‘Checking for burrs?’ he queried smugly.

‘Actually I was thinking that the thing has so much padding and is so deep that a person would have more chance of falling out of an armchair! An Australian stockman wouldn’t use one of these as a matter of pride!’

Bart let the remark go unchallenged. It would have served her right if he’d given her one of the old worn saddles! He refused to dwell on the reason why he hadn’t. He watched her go about putting the object in question on the horse. She was careful to fold the stirrup straps across the saddle before easing it on to the grey.

Silently he applauded her. It was a good habit to get into, as with a skittish horse the sudden impact of the irons swinging down and hitting it could often cause it to rear or bolt. Again she was sweet talking the animal as she tightened the girth. From the corner of his eye he noticed the men had stopped work and were watching her. He said nothing.

‘OK, Pewter, darling, let’s check the stirrups for length,’ she said.

Taking hold of the reins in such a way that the horse was unable to turn his head and take a nibble on her derrière, she used her free hand to turn the stirrup iron towards her and in a fluid motion swung herself into the saddle.

‘The advantages of stretch denim,’ Bart murmured, and received a bored look in response.

She stood in the irons for a moment before dismounting. She lengthened one of the stirrups two notches, then walked around the horse and repeated the action with the other.

‘Those stirrups are too long,’ he told her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she replied sweetly. ‘I thought you were riding the bay.’

‘I am.’

‘Then, since I’m riding this horse, I’ll saddle him so I’m comfortable!’ she retorted, remounting. This time she barely cleared the saddle by two inches when she stood in the irons.

Dammit! How could something as sweet and gentlelooking as she was be so darn stubborn? As for that hat she was wearing, it looked as if it had been stomped by a mule! The wide brim dipped down over her face, but, instead of being the smooth oval shape of a stetson, it was squared off and the crown lower, in keeping with those favoured by the Australian stockmen who worked for him. Around the band was a chain-like decoration, which on closer scrutiny proved to be a series of old ring pulls from beer cans linked together. If anyone ever accused Alessandra of dressing to make an impression, they could only mean a bad one!

‘Is there something in particular you’re looking for or are you merely trying to commit my face to memory?’ she asked.

‘Lisa could have lent you a hat, if you’d asked.’

‘If I’d needed one I would have.’ She touched a hand to the item in question. ‘But this is my lucky hat. I take it everywhere I go.’

‘It shows.’

His unexpected grin made her go weak, and Alessandra was sure if she’d been sitting in any saddle other than the one she was in she’d have ended up in the dirt on her backside!

‘Mind if I walk him round a bit just to get the feel of him and the saddle?’

She could hardly credit that the squeaked request had come from her. In an effort to restore some calm to her body she took a deep steadying breath and motioned the horse into action.

It was ridiculous that she could affect him in this way, Bart told himself silently, still experiencing the warm stirring in his loins that the sight of her breasts straining against her shirt ignited. It wasn’t as if he was starved for female companionship. Up until a few months ago he’d been involved in a lengthy and very physical relationship with a lawyer in Dallas. Bree had been everything that Alessandra wasn’t. Elegant, sophisticated, highly successful in her career, but first and foremost a lady. Their relationship had ended when Bree took a job in New York, and Bart bought the Australian property, with no regrets on either side. The approach of his foreman drew him from his reflections.

‘She’s got good hands,’ Jim observed.

‘Yeah.’

‘Rides mostly with her upper legs, though. Looks easy in the saddle.’

‘She’s got a good seat.’

‘Me an’ the boys noticed that even before we saw her ride!’ Jim chuckled.

‘Hard to miss,’ Bart conceded with a grin. ‘She wants to work with the stock.’

‘Ah…’ The cowhand was non-committal.

‘Would you work with her?’ Bart asked, not taking his eyes from Alessandra, who was now cantering the horse.

‘Is she any good?’

‘That’s what we’re about to find out,’ Bart replied, pushing himself away from the fence he’d been leaning against. ‘Alessandra! We’re going to ride up to the Kilto paddock and see how well you can cut cattle. You ready?’

‘Sure.’

‘Jim, grab your horse and come with me. You might as well be in on this, since you’re the one who’ll have to answer to me for any mistakes she makes,’ Bart told the cowboy.

‘Hey, Jim!’ Alessandra called to the departing man. ‘Your job will be a breeze! I don’t make mistakes!’ She couldn’t stifle the laughter that Bart’s thin-mouthed expression created.

The only conversation was between Bart and his foreman and it centred around the movement of stock and the mending of fences. Alessandra rode behind them, admiring the view. She was glad to be back among the familiar eucalyptus and wattle landscape of Australia.

It took them almost fifteen minutes to reach their destination, a gently sloping hill about seventy yards above a herd of grazing cattle.

The scent and sound of the cattle filled Alessandra with nostalgia. She closed her eyes, threw back her head, and took a deep breath.

‘You OK?’

Bart’s voice came from beside her. She kept her eyes closed.

‘Wonderful. In fact I feel almost orgasmic!’

‘It must be the saddle!’ he snapped.

Alessandra opened her eyes and looked at him. The late afternoon sun was conspiring with the brim of his hat to camouflage most of his face, but from the set of his mouth she could tell he wasn’t in the mood for any back chat. Which was as good a reason as any to give him some!

‘If it’s the saddle, them I have only you to thank!’

Bart moved his mount closer and with one arm reached over and pulled her face to within an inch of his.

He muttered something which Alessandra didn’t quite catch and then took her mouth in a hard kiss. ‘Onslaught’ was probably a better word, she thought, because as a kiss it fell a long way short of tender. Yet there was no denying the feel of his arms around her was enough to bubble her blood, or that the male roughness of his face against her own made her feel incredibly feminine. She offered no resistance and opened her lips eagerly to the demands of his probing tongue, yet before her brain could shift gears, from surprise to response, he released her.

She said nothing and, judging by the expression on Bart’s face, he was in shock, but Jim’s voice from among the cattle brought him out of it. He waved a hand towards the man, indicating he’d heard him, then eased his horse away from Alessandra’s.

That shouldn’t have happened, but maybe now you’ll realise your smart-aleck attitude is going to get you into a lot of trouble. Jim will tell you what steers he wants cut out of the herd; get to it.’

Alessandra hid a smile and was halfway down to where the cattle grazed before she stopped and turned in the saddle. Bart was still where she’d left him, and she knew it was because it gave him a good vantage-point to watch her work.

‘Hey, boss!’ she called, and got his attention. ‘You taste great!’