Читать книгу The Mighty Quinns: Callum - Kate Hoffmann, Kate Hoffmann - Страница 7

GEMMA RACED DOWN THE STAIRS, her face hot, her pulse pounding. She stopped at the bottom, grasping the newel post and drawing a deep breath. Had she just imagined that entire encounter? She’d spent the drive to Kerry Creek mentally undressing the man she’d met on the road, trying to conjure an image of him without his clothes. Was it any wonder that all came back when she met him again?

“No,” she murmured. He had definitely been naked. She had imagined a good body beneath those clothes, but nothing quite as perfect as what she’d seen upstairs. She took a ragged breath, then continued on to the kitchen, desperate to return to the bunkhouse where she could enjoy her embarrassment in solitude.

“Did you find it?” Mary asked as Gemma hurried through the kitchen.

“Yes, thank you,” Gemma called, shoving the screen door open with her free hand.

Some of the ranch hands were coming in for lunch and they watched her with unabashed interest as she passed. She wondered if her face was as red as it felt. It wasn’t like she’d never seen a naked man before. She had—many times. But what had ever possessed her to stare in such a blatant way?

Gemma walked inside the bunkhouse, then slammed the door behind her. Crossing to the bed, she flopped onto it, facedown into the pillow. An image of Cal flashed in her mind again. Oh, God. He had an incredible body, from top to toe, and the all the interesting parts in between. She groaned again. Yes, there, too.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Gemma said as she rolled onto her back. From the moment he’d driven off, she’d regretted not being more aggressive. She had always been the one in control of a relationship. She’d decided when it began and when it ended.

Similarly, she’d decided she wanted the post as senior instructor at University College, and had convinced the entire department that, even at her young age, she was the perfect person for the job. Her article on Irish religious icons made the cover of the university’s history journal, because she’d decided that was where it belonged. And when they’d demanded that she teach during the summer, she’d convinced them that her time would be much better spent doing research for a new book.

But here, she’d seen something she wanted—a man—and she was suddenly afraid to go after him. A summer romance was exactly what she needed, even though it was technically a winter romance here in Australia. It had been months since she’d been with a man. Yet, it didn’t seem quite ethical.

She was here to extract information from Cal. If they had a physical relationship at the same time, wouldn’t she be using her body to further her agenda? Gemma pinched her eyes shut. Wasn’t that what sex was about? Most women had an agenda—first sex, then marriage, a comfortable life, a good future. Her plan was just a wee bit different.

But if he knew what she was here for, then she wouldn’t be deceiving anyone. An emerald worth a half million English pounds wasn’t something he’d just turn over, simply because she said it belonged to her family. And if she found proof of the sale of the stone, then she could demand he return the ill-gotten profits.

The more Gemma became involved in her scheme, the more she realized how complicated things could become. But a few nights of brilliant sex was nothing compared to assuring her identity as a Parnell. She’d wanted Cal Quinn’s body for about three hours. She’d wanted to be a Parnell for years.

Gemma had always been so practical about sex. The physical release was enjoyable but she’d carefully avoided emotional attachments. Though there had been a number of lovers in her life, she’d never been in love. Watching her mother gradually destroy herself over a man she couldn’t have was enough to make Gemma cautious.

A knock sounded on the bunkhouse door and she sat up, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Gemma weighed the chances that Cal was on the other side. How could she face him without thinking about his naked—? She groaned as the knock grew more insistent.

“Come in,” she called.

The door swung open and Mary walked in with a tray. “Hello, there. I’ve brought you some lunch. Just a sandwich and some crisps. And a lovely slice of apple pie.” She set it down on the table near the door. “The boys are having stew, but I thought you’d prefer this. What would you care to drink? We have beer, lemonade and wine. There’s even milk, if you prefer that.”

“Lemonade is fine, thanks. But you don’t have to wait on me. I’ll come in.”

“No, no, I’ll send Cal out with it. You two can meet—again.”

Gemma covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Jaysus, he told you about that?” She shook her head and peeked between her fingers at the housekeeper. “He startled me and I didn’t know what to do or where to look. One isn’t often confronted with a naked man.”

Mary gasped. “Naked? What was he doing driving around in the nuddy?”

“Driving?” She paused, then smiled. “Oh, no. I’m not talking about the first time we met. I’m talking about the second time. Upstairs. He was coming out of the bath and I was—”

“Oh dear,” Mary said, a look of horror on her face. “Oh, I am so sorry. He said he was going up to change his clothes. I just assumed he’d come down and gone outside.” Flustered, the housekeeper began to rearrange the lunch on the table.

“Don’t worry,” Gemma said, crossing the room to stand beside her. “It’s not like I didn’t enjoy the view. He is quite fetching in the nip.”

Mary glanced over at her, then laughed. “I see you’ll fit in just fine around here. Living with all these men takes a certain amount of tolerance. That’s why I think it best you work your way up to meals in the kitchen. Their behavior can be bawdy and their language a little raw.”

“I’m Irish. We invented bawdy,” she said.

“Well, then, we’ll see you at dinner. And I’ll just go get that lemonade.”

Gemma pulled on her cardie and grabbed her sandwich and crisps, following Mary out onto the porch. The winter weather in Queensland was much warmer than winter in Dublin, pleasant enough to eat lunch alfresco. She plopped down on the top step and set her plate beside her. The sandwich was huge—a thick slab of warm ham between two slices of homemade bread. Mary had added mustard, remembering that Gemma had liked it from their lunch the day before.

Gemma had left so early for Bilbarra that she hadn’t bothered with breakfast. Famished, she took a huge bite of the sandwich and sighed. Food tasted so much better here. Maybe it was because someone more competent than herself was doing the cooking.

She heard the screen door slam and Gemma looked up to see Cal striding across the yard, a glass of lemonade in his hand. She chewed furiously and managed to swallow right before he stopped in front of her. “Hi,” she croaked, pasting a bright smile on her face.

“Mary sent this out.”

Gemma took it from his outstretched hand, avoiding his gaze. “Thanks.”

He rocked back on his heels and nodded, his hands shoved in his jean pockets. “Well, enjoy your lunch.”

“Would you care to join me?” Gemma asked. “This sandwich is big enough for the both of us.”

Cal thought about her offer for a long moment, then shrugged. “Sure. But first, I want to apologize for—”

“Oh, no,” Gemma interrupted. “You don’t have to—It was my—I didn’t mind.” She laughed nervously. “I mean, it didn’t bother me. I have seen a man naked before. Several times. More than several. Many.” She winced. “Not that many. Enough.”

“And you’d rather not see any more?”

“No,” she said. “Yes. I’d rather not be surprised by one. But I don’t mind…looking.” Gemma took another bite of her sandwich. She wasn’t having much luck using her mouth to speak. Perhaps she ought to stick to chewing.

“Mary said you wanted to talk to me about our family history.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

She’d expected the question and had a story all worked out. “Because I’m interested in what happened after your ancestors left Ireland. I’m working on a book. On the Quinn family.”

“Why the Quinns?” he asked.

“Because a Quinn is paying me to do the research,” she lied. “Edwin Quinn. He’s a very important man. And he wants to know more about his family.” She held her breath, waiting for him to either question her further or accept the story as it was.

“Why would someone pay to know all that? All those people are dead. That’s the past. Aren’t you more interested in the present?”

“I’m a historian. We’re supposed to be interested in the past,” Gemma explained. “And I think dead people can be very interesting. Did you know your third great-grandfather, Crevan Quinn, came to Australia on a convict ship?”

He nodded. “Most of the early settlers in Australia did. He was a thief. A pickpocket. He served his time and his parole in New South Wales and after that, he was a free man. He came up to Queensland and worked hard, bought some land and started Kerry Creek.” He took a bite of his half of the sandwich. “There’s a painting of him in the front parlor.”

“I’d like to see that,” Gemma said.

“I’ll take you on a tour of the station, if you like. Although there are more interesting things to see than that old painting.”

She looked over at him and noticed that he had a bit of mustard on his lower lip. Without thinking, Gemma reached out and wiped it away with her finger. But then, she wasn’t sure what to do with it. “Mustard,” she murmured.

He took her hand and pulled her finger to his lips, then licked the yellow blob from the tip. It was such a silly thing, but Gemma felt a flood of heat race through her body. She drew a quick breath, desperate to maintain her composure.

Cal didn’t seem to be faring much better. He quickly let loose of her hand. She picked up the lemonade and took a gulp, hoping to break the tension. But the drink was more tart than she expected and it went down the wrong way. The more Gemma coughed, the worse it became and before long, her eyes were watering.

“Are you all right? Are you choking?”

He smoothed his hand over her back, gently patting. But his touch only made her more uncomfortable. She imagined his hands moving to her face, to her breasts, to her—“Oh,” she groaned.

“Here, take another drink,” he said, holding the glass in front of her.

She waved him off, knowing that lemonade was the last thing she needed. Was there a reason she made a fool of herself every time he came near? When she’d finally regained control, she stared up at him through her tears, her gaze fixing on his mouth. He had such a nice mouth, Gemma mused.

And then, as if the humiliation wasn’t enough, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss took him by surprise and he drew back, a startled expression on his face. Had she made a mistake? Had she misread the attraction between them?

Gemma cleared her throat. “Sorry. I have no idea why I did that.” She paused, searching for a plausible excuse. “I wanted to thank you. For everything. Helping me on the road, giving me a place to stay. Talking to me about your family. That’s all.”

“No worries,” he murmured. Cal drew a deep breath, his lips still inches from hers. “So, what about that tour?”

His breath was warm on her mouth and Gemma knew if she leaned forward, it would happen again. And this time, it would be better, because it wouldn’t be a surprise to either one of them. “Now? I’d like to get started on my research if possible. Mary said you have some old family records in your library?”

“Sure. She can show you. We’ll get together later. This evening. After dinner?”

“Mary invited me to join everyone in the kitchen. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

He nodded.

“Then we’ll go after we eat. It’s a date.” Oh, she hadn’t meant to say that. “It’s a plan,” she corrected. “A good plan.”

The sound of an approaching car caught Cal’s attention and he turned to watch a Land Rover drive into the yard. A soft curse slipped from his lips.

“Who is that?” she asked.

“My brother, Brody.” Cal slowly stood as Brody hopped out of the car and ran around to the passenger side. A woman stepped out and Brody walked with her to the back door.

“It looks like he’s brought another guest,” she said. “Is that his girlfriend?”

Cal forced a smile. “I have to go. But I’ll see you later.”

He held out his hand, then drew it back. A handshake didn’t seem right now that they’d kissed, Gemma mused. But what would be a proper way to part? She stood up and pressed her hand to his chest. He stared down at her fingers as she smoothed the faded fabric of his shirt. “I’ll see you later.”

Cal hesitated, before nodding, then jogging down the steps. Gemma rubbed her arms, trying to banish the shiver of excitement she felt. Cal Quinn wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met. She’d always dated older men—at least ten years older. Men who had been sophisticated and highly educated, who spent their days thinking, not doing. Gemma had always assumed she’d been looking for that father figure she’d lacked in her life.

But Cal was nothing at all like her father—or like the men she’d dated. He was young and strong and undeniably sexy. Was she willing to put aside her quest to gain a father for a chance at a different kind of lover, a man who made her heart race and her knees wobble?

Gemma sat back down and picked up her sandwich. “I’ll just have to separate my personal life from my…personal life.” And deal with the consequences later.

CAL OPENED THE SCREEN DOOR and stepped inside the kitchen. The scent of Mary’s pot roast hung in the air and she stood at the stove, making gravy from the pan drippings. He looked at the clock. Dinner began in exactly five minutes. Promptness at meal times was one of the only rules that Mary enforced at the station. But Cal was dirty and sweaty from working all day and he needed time to get cleaned up before he saw Gemma again.

He’d spent the day repairing the gates in the homestead yards where they’d driven the cattle after mustering. Focusing on the task had been difficult—his thoughts had been occupied with Gemma and the kiss they’d shared.

He hadn’t been at all happy with his side of the encounter. The contact had stunned him, causing him to draw away instead of pulling her into his arms. Now, the only way to fix his mistake was to kiss her again. But Cal wasn’t sure whether he ought to take the lead on that or let her make the first move again.

He hung his hat next to the door and rolled up his sleeves. “How long?” he asked.

“Look at the clock, Callum Quinn. Five minutes,” Mary said. “Wash your hands and take a seat.”

“I just thought I’d run up and catch a quick shower. Maybe you could hold off a bit?”

Mary turned, bracing her hands on her ample hips. “You can shower after dinner. The boys will want to eat and if you’re not here when I put the food down, there won’t be anything left.” She turned off the flame on the stove, then pulled the gravy jug from the shelf above the sink. “You look just fine. Don’t worry. You could be covered in mud and you’d still be a beaut.”

“I’m not worried,” Cal said. “What would I be worried about? Do you think I—?”

“Of course not. Sit.”

Cal reluctantly took his place at the head of the table and Mary set a beer in front of him. He took a long drink and then leaned back in his chair. After his surprising lunch with Gemma, he’d gone on to have a very strange day.

Brody had brought home a stray girl he’d found living at the jail and had offered her a job working in the stables. Though Payton Harwell didn’t look as though she’d done a hard day’s work in her life, the stables had been spotless when he walked through a few hours later. Either she was efficient and tireless, or she’d managed to convince one of the jackaroos to help her.

Teague had shown up shortly after Payton’s arrival, staying long enough to chat up both of the ladies. But then a call from Doc Daley had sent him off on an emergency visit in his SUV.

With his competition occupied, Cal was anxious to have Gemma to himself. But he had to get through dinner first. “Maybe I should let Gemma know that dinner’s ready,” he said, shoving his chair back.

“She knows. She spent the afternoon in the library and just went back to the bunkhouse a few minutes ago.” Mary handed him a basket full of sliced bread. “Make yourself useful. Make a pot of coffee.”

The six stockmen that worked Kerry Creek arrived at the back door, a boisterous group ready for a good meal and a few cold beers. “She’s a bit of alright, I’d say,” Skip Thompson said as he walked inside. He tossed his hat at the hooks on the wall, but it fell to the floor.

“That she is,” Jack commented. “I like long hair. And long legs. What do you think, Cal?”

“About what?” Cal filled the filter with ground coffee and closed it, then flipped the switch.

“The Yank or the Irish lass? Which do you fancy?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” he lied.

“Ha!” Davey Thompson cried. “A little slow off the mark there, boss? Jack here has already decided to marry the Irish girl. He wants to get to making babies straight off.”

Cal’s jaw clenched. “I’ll warn you yobbos to mind your manners. You’ll not treat these women like the girls you play with at the Spotted Dog.” A knock sounded on the door and he circled the table, pulling a serviette from out of Jack’s collar. “On your lap,” he muttered. “And no talking with your mouth full. No cursing. Or belching. Or farting.”

He found Gemma waiting on the porch, dressed in a pretty blouse and blue jeans. “There’s no need to knock,” he said as he opened the door for her. She’d tied her hair back in a scarf and as she passed, he fought the temptation to pull it off and let her hair fall free.

It had been a long while since he’d enjoyed the pleasures of a woman’s body and the scent of her was enough to make his blood warm. Now, presented with the perfect female form, he couldn’t decide how to proceed. He placed his hand at the small of her back, steering her toward his end of the table.

Cal forced himself to breathe as the warmth from her body seeped into his fingers. This was crazy. Women may have been a bit scarce lately, but he’d always been able to control his desires. Just touching her was enough to send his senses into overdrive.

“Hello,” she said, smiling at the boys seated at the table. Skip suddenly stood and the rest of the stockmen followed suit in a noisy clamor. “I’m Gemma.”

Cal cleared his throat. He should be making the introductions. After all, she was technically his guest. “Gemma, that’s Skip Thompson, and his younger brother, Davey. This is Jack Danbury. Over there is Mick Fermoy, Eddie Franklin and Pudge Bell. And you know Mary.”

He waved Pudge out of the seat next to his and pulled out the chair for Gemma. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said as she sat down, sending them all a dazzling smile.

The screen door slammed and Brody stepped inside, pulling his gloves off as he crossed the kitchen. He looked around the table at the boys, all still standing uncomfortably, before resting his sights on Gemma. A slow grin spread across his face as he approached.

“I’m Gemma Moynihan,” she said in a lilting Irish accent. “And you must be Brody. I can see the family resemblance.”

“Gemma,” Brody repeated. He glanced over at Cal, an amused expression on his face. Was it that evident, this attraction he had to Gemma? Cal felt as if he had a sign around his neck—I Fancy The Irish Girl. Well, stiff bickies. If Brody could have his fun with Payton Harwell, then Cal would enjoy Gemma’s visit, as well.

“Have you met Payton?” Brody asked, smiling warmly at Gemma.

“Yes, I did,” Gemma said.

“Is she coming in to eat?” he asked.

“I don’t know. She was lying in her bunk when I left. She looked knackered.”

“Maybe I should take her something,” Brody suggested, stepping away from the table. He grabbed a plate and loaded it with beef and potatoes, covering the entire meal with a portion of Mary’s gravy. After fetching a couple beers from the fridge, he headed back out the door.

“Oh, ho,” Mick said with a laugh. “If Brody doesn’t go back to footie, Miss Shelly might give him a job as a waitress. I reckon he’d look real fetching in the apron.”

The boys found the joke hilarious and they all sat back down and began passing around the platters and bowls that Mary set in front of them. Cal held the boiled potatoes out in front of Gemma. “If you want something else, I’m sure Mary could make it for you.”

Gemma met his gaze and for a moment, Cal felt as if he couldn’t move. Her eyes were the most incredible shade of green. And her lips were soft and lush, a perfect bow shape. If they’d been alone, he would have kissed her right then and there.

“This is fine,” she said, smiling. “In Ireland, we love our praities. And I’m so hungry, I’d eat them ten ways.”

She scooped a spoonful onto her plate, then took the bowl from his hands. Her fingers brushed his, but he didn’t pull away. Though it was silly to crave such innocent contact, for now it was as close as he’d get to her.

“So where did you come from in Ireland?” Mick asked.

“Dublin,” she said. “I teach at University College and my mother lives there. Though the Moynihans are originally from County Clare.” She paused. “And my father lives in Belfast.” The last she said so softly that only Cal could hear.

“My grandparents were from Ireland,” Mick commented. “They came here right after they married.”

“So you’re the full quid, eh?” Jack said. Cal shot him a look and Jack shrugged. “She must be smart if she teaches at university.”

“I hated history in school,” Skip said. “Could never remember all those dates.”

“It’s not just about dates,” Gemma said. “It’s about life. What our lives are built upon. My grandfather loved history and I’d stay with him during the summer months. He had a library full of books and I think I must have read them all. I loved the stories of the ancient Irish kings and queens.”

“I sure would have studied harder if my teacher looked like you,” Skip said.

Cal glanced around the table to find each of the stockmen watching Gemma intently. “You’re pretty enough to be a princess,” Pudge said. The rest of the boys agreed and Pudge blushed.

“The Quinns are descended from the ancient kings,” she said, glancing at Cal. “I’ve come here to trace the history of the Australian branch of the Quinn family. I’m hoping I can convince Cal to let me dig up all the family secrets.”

She was teasing him and Cal wasn’t sure how to react. He barely knew her. But he did know one thing about himself—he wasn’t considered a very comical fella. Among the Quinn brothers, Cal was the serious one, the guy everybody could depend upon. Brody and Teague led much more interesting lives and probably had a helluva lot more secrets to tell.

“Do you have any secrets I should know about?” Gemma asked, a coy smile playing at her lips.

“Oh, no,” Davey interrupted. “Cal’s life is an open book.”

“I think you saw all my secrets earlier,” Cal muttered. As soon as he made the comment he wanted to take it back. It was a feeble attempt at humor. It hadn’t been the most proper of introductions and he probably should have just let the memory fade.

He did have a few secrets, though. He hadn’t told anyone about the matchmaking service. And he’d been perving over the genealogist since he’d met her, spending most of the day trying to figure a way he might act upon his desires. That would go over big if he said it out loud.

“I have a secret,” Davey volunteered. “And I’m not mingy about keeping it.”

“Yeah,” Skip said. “Davey’s big secret is that he still sleeps with a teddy bear.”

The rest of the jackaroos burst out laughing and Davey turned five shades of red. “I—I do not.”

“I think that’s nice,” Gemma said. “I have a little monkey that sleeps on my bed. My grandmother gave him to me when I was young. He’s made from one of my grandfather’s socks and he’s still one of my most precious possessions.”