Читать книгу Perfect Proposals Collection - Lynne Marshall - Страница 30

THE next morning, Jo awoke to find Rosie sitting on the end of her bed.

‘Good day.’ She struggled up and peered at her bedside clock. It was six-thirty and daylight was just starting to filter through her windows.

‘Hello!’ Rosie said brightly. ‘We always get up at the crack of dawn, I thought I’d let you know.’

‘So I see.’ Jo combed her hair with her fingers.

‘Nanna says you’re going to draw my portrait as well as hers. I’m so excited because I love to draw myself! Would you like to start now?’

‘Now? Uh…’ Jo trailed off.

‘How about I get you a cup of tea? Nanna swears by her first cuppa.’

‘Thank you, that would be lovely.’

Rosie went away and Jo showered swiftly. She was dressed by the time Rosie returned with a tray bearing, not only a cuppa but a glass of milk and two slices of toast.

‘One for you, one for me,’ she said of the toast, ‘and the milk’s for me. Mrs Harper did it for me, grumbling all the while that I had no right to wake you up so early, but since I had, she might as well make you some tea. I told her that inspiration waits for no man, but we might need something to keep the wolf from the door.’

Jo regarded Gavin Hastings’s daughter—and felt her fingers tingle in response to messages her brain was receiving. Rosie Hastings was a character.

Obviously used to a lot of adult company, she was very articulate but often sounded quaintly old-fashioned. She had also put on what looked like her best outfit, a pink, fine-corduroy, long-sleeved dress with a ribbon sash, white tights and she’d tied her long dark hair back in pigtails.

The presentation was slightly flawed—some of her buttons were undone, her sash was twisted and her hair a bit knotted—but she still looked like a little girl from a bygone era.

‘Thank you,’ Jo said gravely. ‘I haven’t had toast soldiers for a while.’

Rosie grinned. ‘How would you like me to pose?’

Jo thought for a bit as she sipped her tea. ‘Tell you what, since you love it, why don’t you do some drawing? I’ll give you some of my paper and you can use this second set of pencils I always carry.’ She pointed to a smaller box on the table.

‘What a great idea,’ Rosie enthused. ‘Now what shall I draw? I know! Dad’s favourite dog had puppies the other day. Let’s see if I can remember them.’ She screwed up her face.

They drew for about half an hour and Rosie chatted all the time.

If she was the light of her father’s life, Gavin was the adored hero of his daughter. Nanna featured as well and obviously was much-loved, but it was Gavin she talked about most. Rosie also indicated that she loved the station life and was very much looking forward to starting school, although she then sighed suddenly and propped her chin on her hands.

‘What is it?’ Jo asked.

‘Well. There’s complications.’ And Rosie embarked on a multi-stranded explanation.

Apparently, her dearest wish was to join the School of Distance Education. Formerly known as the School of the Air, the local headquarters were in Charleville and she was already enrolled in their preschool.

Jo knew something about the School of Distance Education from her flatmate Leanne, who had worked on the project. She knew, for example, that the Home Tutor played a pivotal role. In the case of Kin Can, which had four school-age children not counting Rosie, Case’s wife, Janine, an ex-schoolteacher, filled that role perfectly as well as being a very nice person. Three of the children were hers.

Jo also knew from Leanne what a vital role the school played, not only in educating outback children, but reaching into their isolated lives and bringing them together.

Rosie enlarged on this aspect. Just about every kid in the district she knew was or would be joining the school.

‘I mean,’ she said, ‘I know that one day I’ll have to go away to boarding school, but until then I want to be a part of the school. This is my home,’ she added quaintly.

‘Why not, then?’

‘Nanna likes to spend a lot of time in Brisbane and I nearly always go with her, but I couldn’t do that once I’ve started school, so she suggested I go to a school in Brisbane and we come back to Kin Can for holidays.’

‘That doesn’t appeal to you?’

‘No. Of course, much as I love Nanna, if I had my own mother like every other kid I know, there wouldn’t be a problem! It really is quite a blight on my life, Jo,’ she confided gloomily.

Jo’s pencil paused and remained poised above the paper. ‘You seem to get along rather well with Mrs Harper. Couldn’t she look after you while your nanna’s in Brisbane?’

Gloom was replaced with flashing scorn. ‘They won’t even hear of it! Anyone would think I was a baby.’

‘I see. What does your father say?’

Rosie deepened her voice. “‘We’ve got months to think about it, catfish, and as Gavin Hastings the Fourth, I can be relied on to make the right decision.”’

Jo had to laugh. ‘Catfish?’

‘It’s a joke between us.’ Rosie paused as there was a light knock on the door and it clicked open.

‘Daddy!’ Rosie jumped up and ran over to her father with her drawing. ‘Look at this!’

‘Rosie, what are you doing here at this hour of the morning? That’s nice, but—’ Gavin glanced at the drawing ‘—never again, it’s too early. Morning, Jo! I’m sorry about this. For some reason I slept in myself.’

‘It’s OK,’ Jo said. ‘We have got to know each other a bit.’

Gavin narrowed his gaze on her rather unseeingly, as if searching back through his memory. ‘What,’ he said at last, ‘has she been telling you?’

Jo smiled wryly. ‘That’s just between the two of us.’

Rosie looked approving. ‘I like someone who can keep a secret. Is breakfast ready? I’m starving!’

The morning passed swiftly.

To Jo’s relief, the flying doctor called in, on a clinic run, to check Gavin out.

‘Listen, mate,’ he admonished Gavin as he replaced Jo’s dressing and was told the wound had bled a little, ‘you’ve got to give it time to knit. What on earth were you doing?’

Jo held her breath.

‘I was—rushing my fences,’ Gavin replied, and shot her a wicked look. ‘Speaking figuratively, of course.’

‘Well, stop rushing damn fences, whatever that means. You’re not in the SAS any more.’ The doctor repacked his bag, then looked over at Jo, as if somehow he’d caught the vibes of the moment, and he raised his eyebrows.

‘Uh—this is Joanne Lucas, Tom,’ Gavin introduced. ‘She’s here to do Adele’s portrait. Jo, meet Tom Watson.’

‘Ah! The lady we’ve been hearing about. Good to meet you! I believe you were exceptionally brave in ghastly circumstances.’

‘She was,’ Gavin said before Jo could answer for herself. ‘Therefore, I’m trying to persuade her to marry me.’

Tom laughed. ‘I’d think twice about that if I were you, ma’am. Gavin, here, is renowned for getting his own way. OK, got to fly!’ But he paused suddenly with a swift frown, then shook his head and climbed aboard his plane.

‘How could you do that?’ Jo enquired as they watched the trim RFDS plane taxi down the grassy airstrip.

‘Do what?’

‘Tell him you were thinking of marrying me—as if you didn’t know.’

‘He took it as a joke.’

Jo glinted him a dark little look. ‘Then he stopped to think about it, just as he stopped to think about “rushing fences”.’

Gavin grinned and took her hand. ‘He’s no fool, Tom. And it’s no joke either.’

‘Gavin—’

‘Jo, can I make a suggestion?’

She looked at him warily.

‘How would it be if we took a week or two to think this through? You could size up country life, size up my family—not to mention me—and you could do my mother’s portrait.’

‘I…’

‘Is that so much to ask?’

‘Do you mean—in return for saving my life?’

He gestured. ‘No, of course not. Forget I ever said that. Incidentally, what did Rosie say to you this morning?’

Jo was debating whether to tell him when Rosie and Adele hove into view.

‘All right,’ he said, ‘we’ll leave that for a moment. Will you stay and case the joint?’

She smiled slightly. ‘Gangster talk, Gavin?’

‘It is how we met.’

She gazed at the dusty horizon. ‘If you promise me one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

She looked into his eyes. ‘If the answer is no, you’ll take it.’

‘Done,’ he replied promptly. So promptly Jo was immediately suspicious.

‘Do you mean that?’

‘I am a man of my word.’

She frowned. ‘Can I add a rider?’

‘Let me guess,’ he said gravely. ‘Something to do with no—undue pressure?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed dryly.

‘Jo, if you’re embarrassed about the way you kissed me last night, don’t be. It was enchanting,’ he said simply.

She coloured.

‘It was also as sexy as hell,’ he added, ‘and—’

‘It’s not that I’m embarrassed,’ she broke in a little hastily. ‘It’s obviously a factor to take into account, but—’

‘A major factor,’ he put in, and lifted his hand to trace the outline of her mouth gently.

Jo trembled as she recalled, with breathtaking clarity, the feel of his hands on her breasts and hips. ‘Your mother and daughter are nearly upon us,’ she said with an effort.

He dropped his hand and glanced over his shoulder. ‘OK. You tell me when you feel I’m exerting undue pressure. Is it a deal?’

It occurred to her she should have added all sorts of riders: no further mention of his proposal to others, no public displays of the attraction that existed between them were two that flashed though her mind. But all she had time to say was, ‘Uh…yes.’

‘Good.’ He turned to greet Rosie and Adele.

Two weeks later the time had literally flown as she’d experienced a thorough but very enjoyable induction to the Hastings version of country life. Although, two things had worked in her favour regarding ‘undue pressure’ at least.

Gavin couldn’t be involved in the more active things she did while his arm healed, and she was able to close herself into her room frequently on the pretext of working on his mother’s and his daughter’s portraits.

But he did spend time talking sheep to her. He told her how Kin Can was experimenting with a new concept—electronic tagging of individual sheep.

‘How on earth could that work?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘Electronic tag readers collate information like weight, need for parasite control, et cetera, so you get a much more accurate picture of the sheep’s condition.’

‘Science is amazing, isn’t it?’ She shook her head in wonder. They were leaning against a fence watching a ‘yarding’—sheep being sorted into different pens. The air was dusty and alive with whistles as the dogs worked their magic, and sheep proved their propensity for jumping over imaginary hurdles.

He eyed her. She wore jeans and a blue shirt and the breeze was lifting her hair.

‘You’re—’ He stopped a little ruefully.

She looked a question at him.

‘Er—I was going to make a remark of a personal nature but I could stick to sheep, it’s up to you.’

She smiled fleetingly. ‘Stick to sheep.’

‘I don’t know why I asked since I knew damn well that’s what you would say,’ he grumbled, but good-naturedly, and thought for a moment.

‘All right, you asked for it. Fibre diameter is the key to lightweight comfortable woollen products—’

‘You mean each hair?’

‘I do. The lower the better, and that, amongst other reasons, is why we farm mostly Merino sheep for wool. Staple strength is another factor, so is rainfall, country and so on. The further south you get in the Queensland sheep belt, the lower the fibre diameter in general. Overall there are nine to ten million sheep in Queensland.’

He paused briefly. ‘China is our biggest market for Queensland wool and Australia is the biggest producer in the world of “apparel” wool. An experienced shearer can shear one hundred and twenty to one hundred and forty sheep a day—’

‘What?’

‘It’s true, but you’ve made me lose my train—uh—’

‘Thank you,’ she said gravely. ‘I think that may be enough information to digest for the moment.’

‘Are you sure? There’s a lot more—’

‘Gavin, I’m sure.’

‘Then may I say you’re amazingly attractive, Miss Lucas? That’s all I was going to say in the first place,’ he hastened to assure her.

Jo had to dissolve into laughter.

At other times, she learnt to drive a quad bike. She had some wonderful fun mustering sheep with Case, and getting used to all the whistles, calls and gestures needed to control the dogs.

She glowed when Case told ‘the boss’ she was a natural.

Rosie gave her a guided tour of the shearing shed, displaying remarkable knowledge as well as her love of station life. Rosie rode her own pony and was to be given one of the pups of the new litter as her own dog. The agony of which to choose was causing her a lot of concern.

Jo and Rosie used the pool most days, days that were warming up more and more, and anyway the pool was heated. Rosie was a dog-paddler and quite safe in the pool, but Jo was an accomplished swimmer and, in a couple of days, she had the little girl doing a passable breaststroke much to Rosie’s delight—and her father’s approval.

Her father’s approval didn’t only extend to Rosie’s swimming, it extended to her coach. He had a way of examining Jo’s figure in a halter-neck candy-striped swimming costume that spoke volumes. Especially when she was dripping wet and her nipples were clearly visible beneath the Lycra.

But all he actually said, and only on one occasion, when his daughter was out of earshot, was that legs that went on for ever were now high on his agenda of feminine perfection.

Jo had glinted him an enigmatic little look, and wrapped a towel around her waist so it covered her legs to her knees.

Not, she had to admit to herself, that she was immune from being tantalized by him. Talking of legs, he had a long-legged stride that was so essentially masculine, it fascinated her.

He also had a way of shoving his hand through his hair that indicated he was about to be exasperated and difficult, then a completely wicked little smile that told you he knew it but couldn’t help himself. Everyone, she realized, from his foreman, his housekeeper, his mother, his daughter and herself included, tended to have the wind taken right out of their sails beneath that smile.

He was also incurably, she knew, used to getting his own way, but in one minor tussle she’d had with him, when she’d simply and calmly agreed to disagree with him, he’d looked so surprised for a moment, she’d had to resist a powerful urge to kiss him and tell him to be a good boy.

She’d learnt swiftly that that would not have been a good idea because he’d obviously read her thoughts.

He’d eyed her then, from head to toe, and murmured, ‘Feeling maternal, Jo?’

‘Well—’

‘Believe me, that’s not how I think of you. In fact I often wonder how you like to make love—soberly? Joyfully? Are you practical even in bed? Or generous? Does that lovely body—’ his blue gaze stripped her naked ‘—arch and writhe and—ah!’ He paused and studied the colour flooding her cheeks. ‘Not motherly, then.’

She swung on her heel and marched away from him.

That night, as was happening to her more and more frequently, she couldn’t help fantasizing about making love to Gavin. And it came to her that if just watching the way he walked and being seriously affected by it was any guide, ‘sober’ would probably not be how she would feel in his bed.

She learnt too, also from Gavin, more about the Hastings ‘empire’. Not only did Kin Can produce wool, they bred rams that were sold all over the world, sometimes fetching staggering amounts of money. Then there were two adjacent cattle properties, a horse stud, Gavin’s creation, a cane farm in North Queensland and a long list of commercial enterprises.

‘You obviously don’t believe in having all your eggs in one basket,’ she commented as she studied a blown-up map of Queensland with the Hastings properties etched in a rich, royal blue.

They were in his study, a room she still associated with violence and mayhem, although it had been over three weeks ago.

He shrugged. ‘You can’t really afford to. Drought and flood, but particularly drought, plague this part of the world.’

She frowned. ‘It does flood out here, though.’

‘Oh, yes. In fact I have a feeling in my bones this season could be building up to it, but in general drought is much more common.’

‘Go on,’ she invited.

‘Well, wool also has its ups and downs. Beef prices can be notoriously fickle, although we’re cashing in nowadays. On the other hand, sugar, at the moment, is hard to give away. Which is why I’m toying with the idea of setting up some fish farms on the cane farm.’

‘What about horses?’

‘Yearling prices, well-bred yearlings at least, have sky-rocketed recently and I happen to have a couple of “in vogue” stallions.’

Jo studied him. He was lying back in a black leather swivel chair behind the oak desk looking big but relaxed, and as if all the power vested in him, as represented by the empire on the map in front of him, sat easily with him.

She frowned as she was struck by a sudden thought. ‘Did you have any training to take on all this?’ She gestured towards the map.

He crossed his hands behind his head. ‘I was brought up to it. My father always believed in a very “hands on” approach, and he passed that on to me while I was growing up.’

‘So you never wanted to do anything else?’

He grimaced. ‘Not really.’

‘What about the SAS?’

He lowered his hands and shrugged. ‘It’s a family tradition for sons to do a stint in the Services and I seemed to have the right qualities to get into the SAS, but I never intended to make the army a career. Then my father died—far too young, sadly—and I came back to take over. Been doing it ever since.’ He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Do you have a problem with any of that?’

‘No,’ Jo said hastily.

He smiled. ‘You’re looking at me as if you suspect me of all sorts of vices.’

She shook her head and turned away. ‘Excuse me, Adele has promised me a sitting.’

‘How’s it going?’

‘Fine,’ she said brightly.

‘What did you do with my portrait?’

‘I…I still have it. Why?’

‘Just wondered. OK.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘See you at dinner. I believe we have company.’

Jo groaned. ‘You do an awful lot of entertaining!’

‘I don’t, my mother does.’

‘If I’d known I’d have brought more clothes.’

‘You always look fine to me.’ His gaze drifted down her figure, then moved up to capture her eyes.

‘Thanks,’ she said, and stirred uneasily.

‘Does that come under the heading of “undue pressure”?’ he queried wryly.

‘No. No, you’ve been—apart from a couple of times you’ve been pretty good about that.’ She flinched visibly as she said the words and flinched again as he laughed softly, his eyes alight with devilry, and he got up to come round the desk towards her.

“‘Goodness” had nothing to do with it, not the way you occupy my thoughts, anyway. Great restraint plus the thought of having to explain to Tom why I’d opened up my stitches again is more accurate, Jo.’

‘Oh.’

‘How about you?’

She coloured.

‘No restraint required?’ His blue eyes were perfectly wicked.

‘Some,’ she conceded.

He lifted a hand as if to touch her, then hesitated and dropped it, and her body screamed in frustration, shocking her with the intensity of the arousal just the thought of his hands on her could evoke.

‘Jo?’

She took a step backwards but he followed her, and she wondered dazedly what he would think if he knew that the only portrait going well for her was the one she worked on after everyone had gone to bed. Not Adele, not Rosie, but himself, stripped to the waist and sitting at an old wooden table in a shadowy hut.

The one she worked on from memory as she tried to add up what mattered most to her about Gavin Hastings.

Was that practising restraint? she wondered. Or was that indulging herself in a way she shouldn’t if she decided not to marry him?

‘What is it, Jo? Surely we can talk at the same time as you come to grips with the lifestyle?’

She bit her lip. ‘Of course! Only not right now. Your mother—’

‘Blow my mother.’

‘Gavin, she is waiting for me.’

‘Tonight, then.’ He swore. ‘After this blasted dinner party. Because I get the feeling you’re tying yourself up in unnecessary knots, Jo Lucas. And what is not helping,’ he added grimly, ‘is this ridiculous rider about no undue pressure. What the hell do you think I’m liable to do to you? Seduce you out of your mind?’

A tinge of annoyance seeped into her veins. ‘You wouldn’t succeed. And I should warn you not to get too high-handed with me. I may have—’ She broke off, then continued, ‘I might like some things about you but I will never like that!’

‘Or—you may have fallen in love with me, Josie?’ he said softly. ‘Is that what you were going to say?’

‘Jo—oh, there you are!’ Adele swept into the room. ‘Did I get the time wrong? I was waiting in my sitting room.’

‘I’m just on my way,’ Jo said thankfully.

‘Yes, why don’t you toddle off?’ Gavin Hastings invited dangerously.

‘What’s biting him?’ Adele enquired as she settled herself in a lovely old oak abbot’s chair.

‘I have no idea,’ Jo replied briefly, still simmering with annoyance as she organized herself.

Adele had given much thought to how she should be depicted in her portrait. And she’d come up with almost the exact opposite in the details to her friend Elspeth Morgan.

No jewels other than a black pearl ring, although it was the size of a pigeon egg, on her right hand. No off-the-shoulder colourful evening gown but a charcoal linen dress with a broad white Thai-silk collar. No flowers in the background, just the Jacobean-print upholstery of the chair, and her red hair simply dressed.

‘He’s not always sweetness and light, you know, Jo,’ Adele offered.

‘I had gathered that. Are you comfortable, Mrs Hastings?’

Adele smoothed her skirt. ‘I’m fine.’ But like a dog to a bone, she returned to her son’s ill-humour. ‘Sometimes you need to put your foot down with Gavin. I do.’

Jo had started to draw but her pencil hovered suddenly. Why would Gavin’s mother feel there was any need for Jo to be putting her foot down? Did she know about her son’s intentions?

‘Actually, I’m about to put my foot down myself,’ Adele continued. ‘Over Rosie’s schooling. You do know how much I love Rosie, don’t you, Jo?’

Jo relaxed. ‘Of course.’

‘Do you know how long I’ve been widowed?’

The apparent non sequitur took Jo by surprise, and she shook her head.

‘Twelve years. I was very young when I had Gavin and Sharon,’ Adele said. ‘I’m only fifty-eight now. That’s not very old and I’ve been alone a long time.’

An inkling of where all this was heading hit Jo suddenly. ‘Have you…met someone, Mrs Hastings?’

Adele sat forward eagerly. ‘Yes, I have. Oh, what a relief to say it! And the thing is, we’ve really clicked. He’s a couple of years younger but still of my generation and—he’s asked me to marry him. That’s probably why I’ve been so forgetful lately! I don’t know if I’m on my head or my heels—but he lives in Brisbane, you see.’

‘Ah,’ Jo said, although her pencil had started to fly. ‘Hence the problem with Rosie’s schooling?’

‘Well, I could never abandon Rosie, not after losing her mother like that, but also because I love her so much. But James would be perfectly happy to have her live with us during the school terms. Indeed, he knows that’s the only way he’s going to get me!’

Adele tossed her head and Jo reached for a crayon as everything she’d been so desperately trying to capture about Gavin’s mother, her very spirit, was suddenly all there for her to transmit to paper.

‘Uh—Gavin doesn’t like the idea of Rosie going away to school?’ she suggested.

‘He doesn’t really. Not yet, anyway. Not that he knows why I’m so keen now. And of course I understand his reservations—he adores Rosie. But, well, I could get her into my old school which just happens to be one of the finest. And I would be there for her as I always have in the past.’

‘So you haven’t told Gavin about the man who wants to marry you? Is there any reason not to?’

Adele’s blue eyes flashed. ‘He’s liable to make all sorts of objections.’

‘Why?’

Adele hesitated. ‘To put it bluntly, well, there’s no other way to put it really—I’m a very wealthy woman in my own right, Jo.’

Jo drew in long, flowing strokes, then tiny delicate ones. ‘He’s afraid you could be targeted by a fortune hunter?’

‘Precisely. Anyone would think I came down with the last shower!’

‘Rosie does love it here,’ Jo murmured.

Adele’s shoulders slumped. ‘I know.’

Jo glanced at her keenly.

‘Of course,’ Adele looked indescribably sad for a moment, ‘my dearest wish is for Gavin to find someone himself—and a mother for Rosie. He has so much to offer a girl.’

‘Provided she can put her foot down,’ Jo suggested, and they both laughed.

But as Jo bent her head she didn’t see the completely serious look Adele bestowed on her.

Then Gavin’s mother said, ‘Still, I keep trying. The people I’ve invited for dinner tonight have a gorgeous daughter. She’s been overseas for a few years. Gavin knows her but he might find her somewhat changed and—who knows?’

Jo’s busy fingers stilled at last as she looked up at Adele. ‘You’re trying to matchmake?’

‘Of course. Why shouldn’t I? And Sarah Knightly could be just the one to appeal to him.’

Jo blinked, then looked down again.

If that doesn’t put the cat amongst the pigeons, Adele Hastings thought, I’d be most surprised. Really, why do young people imagine you’re blind and deaf once you reach a certain age? Oh, yes, I’m trying to matchmake, Jo, but it’s you I’m aiming at for Gavin!

Jo thought seriously about making an excuse not to attend the dinner party.

She told herself she had no desire to witness what his mother might consider suitable wife material for Gavin. She told herself that she might think she was in love with him, but there was also an obstinate little streak in her at war with allowing him to get his own way too often.

She went in the end because some crazy little voice prompted her to think that she’d never seen him in the company of what might be termed a suitable wife, and perhaps she should?

When she went to some lengths to mix and match her limited wardrobe so that she was wearing something a bit different, honesty compelled her to admit she was on her mettle. It made her feel a little forlorn, although she couldn’t be sure why.

In the event, she was introduced to Sarah Knightly and her parents wearing slim taupe trousers and an ivory linen tunic-style blouse. She’d washed her hair and left it loose after blow-drying it, so that it rippled and shone in a silky golden cloud.

She rarely wore make-up but tonight she’d applied eye shadow, mascara and lip gloss.

Her first reaction to Sarah Knightly was—oh, great! One of those tiny, delicate girls destined to make me feel overgrown!

Not only that, Sarah was charming, bubbly but surprisingly mature as she reminisced on her years overseas studying water management in drought-and-flood-prone environments—the last thing Jo would have suspected her of. Her parents, also wool growers, were obviously as proud as Punch of their daughter. Their daughter, on the other hand, was not above batting her eyelashes at Gavin.

As one delicious course followed another—pumpkin soup swirled with cream; tiny, tasty whiting fillets; a magnificent leg of ham, glazed and decorated with pineapple rings and cherries, and a mocha soufflé—Jo counted up all the ways Sarah would benefit Gavin Hastings and Kin Can.

They could discuss in detail, for example, artesian basins and their management. They could do the same with dam placement and how to maximize water runoff. Certainly, Sarah could take her place in any society, not only with her looks and style, but her intelligence. What did that leave?

Rosie, Jo thought, and had to acknowledge that the little girl seemed to be on the back roads of her mind a lot. Of course, she also spent a lot of time with Rosie so that would account for it—or did it? Did the fact that she had been motherless herself have anything to do with the growing rapport with, and the affection she felt for, Rosie Hastings?

‘Penny for ’em?’

Jo turned to find Gavin at her side, offering her a liqueur. They’d removed to the garden room for their coffee.

‘I was thinking,’ she said slowly, and took the tiny glass. ‘Thank you—I was thinking that Sarah would make a very suitable wife for you.’ Sarah was outside, inspecting the pool and garden with her parents and Adele.

His gaze was cool as it flickered over her. ‘I see. We’re still at war over something, are we, Jo?’

‘You started it.’

‘No,’ he contradicted. ‘You started it and are waging it in a veil of silence. That was never my intention.’

Jo stared at him.

‘You have to admit you’ve been avoiding me, Jo.’

Had she? Perhaps, but with the intention of taking the long view rather than being overwhelmed by his physical presence?

‘I—’ She thought for a moment. ‘I’m not avoiding some of the issues now, am I?’

He glanced over his shoulder towards the pool, and frowned. ‘You seriously see Sarah as an issue? I don’t want her, Jo. Or any of the “suitable wives” my mother keeps parading in front of me.’

Jo blinked. ‘You know?’

‘Of course I know,’ he said impatiently. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’

‘I could be forgiven for thinking I was a convenient wife, Gavin. Not that I’m taking issue with that as such, but since you are going for suitable, you could find someone more suitable—is what I’m saying.’ She smiled briefly.

‘She got up your nose,’ Gavin stated after a long moment.

Jo grimaced. ‘Petite girls do sometimes. They make me feel like an Amazon.’

‘I tend to feel somewhat clumsy around very petite girls, myself.’

She raised an eyebrow at him.

He smiled, curiously gently. ‘Which is why I like you just the way you are.’

Their gazes locked and her heart started to beat slowly and heavily as something flowed between them that was warm and quite lovely.

Her lips parted but he put his hand over hers. ‘Later, Jo.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed huskily.

But no sooner had the Knightlys left than a call came through with the news that a fire had broken out in one of the staff cottages several miles away from the homestead.

‘You can’t go, Gavin!’ Adele protested. ‘Your arm—’

‘Yes, I can, I must, but only to direct operations.’ He grinned. ‘You know how good I am at that.’

‘Can we help, though? Or, can I help?’ Jo asked.

His gaze softened. ‘Thanks, but there are plenty of hands, it’s direction that might be lacking and it is my responsibility. Go to bed, girls. I’ll see you in the morning.’ He paused. ‘Jo—’

‘It’s OK,’ she murmured.

He hesitated, then turned away.

‘He’s just like his father,’ Adele commented, when he was out of earshot. ‘You know you can rely on him!’

It was a while before Jo went to bed.

Something inside her was spinning again beneath that lovely moment of closeness with Gavin Hastings, and she knew that the time was coming when she would be pressed for a decision. She also knew that she very much wanted to marry him. She might get annoyed with his high-handed ways but the burden of loving him was…

She paused her thoughts and wondered why she saw it as a burden when he could make her feel dizzy with delight. When he was the first man to actually do that for her…

When just knowing him made her spin like a top and crave his company. And when the life on Kin Can appealed not only to her artistic senses, but her practical, get-out-and-do-things nature, not to mention her longing for a real home.

Then there was Rosie. She could honestly say that they’d ‘clicked’. They spent hours drawing together and Rosie showed some genuine talent. Not only that, they laughed together and Jo had become a confidante.

How would Rosie cope with being transplanted from an environment she loved for chunks of the year, and how would she cope with having to share her grandmother with a new husband?

Come to that, what kind of a burden would a six-year-old child put on Adele’s new-found happiness, however much Adele might insist she and Rosie were inseparable?

If nothing else, it added up to a lot of good reasons for Gavin to want to marry her, but something was holding her back—the burden of being the one deeply in love while he was not?

‘In a nutshell, Jo,’ she murmured. ‘All your life you’ve lost the people who meant the most to you. Remember how you felt when you discovered you had a grandmother who’d spent nearly all your life searching for you, but she was gone too? Could this not be a recipe for the same thing if Gavin were to fall wildly, deeply, madly in love again?’

Who is to say he won’t fall madly in love with you, Jo? she asked herself.

Then out of the blue something popped into her mind. Was there any form of protection she could take into a marriage of convenience—that was what it was on his side at least—such as not letting him know how much in love she was with him until, if ever, she was confident he felt the same about her?

But then she couldn’t help wondering how a sort of ‘hedging your bets’ policy would affect a relationship. And how hard it might be not to let him see how he affected her. Obviously, she would have to practise some kind of restraint…

The next day brought a sequence of events that seemed to prove to her it was an excellent idea to hedge her bets.