Читать книгу Outback Man Seeks Wife - Margaret Way - Страница 9

WRESTLING with her unsettled feelings, Carrie dressed for the gala dance. Her party dress at least gave her uncomplicated pleasure. It was of white silk chiffon, feminine and floaty. White always married well with the golden tint in her skin, a legacy of that generous dollop of Italian blood. The bodice of her evening dress was perfectly plain, dipping low into the cleft between her breasts and hung from double spaghetti straps. The midcalf swishy skirt was richly embroidered with swirls of tiny seed pearls and silver sequins. She wore her hair hanging loose down her back—the way Scott liked it—but pulled away from her face and secured behind her ears with two beautiful antique hair combs encrusted with dazzling faux jewels. She should have felt on top of the world, instead she felt…apprehensive as though something unpleasant was going to happen or she was going to make a single irreversible mistake. So that’s what meeting up with Clay Cunningham had done for her!

Her mind kept jumping back to the look in Scott’s eyes. The hardness, the jealousy and the defiance. Scott scarcely knew Clay Cunningham. Scott could only have been twelve when Clay’s father had finally packed up and moved his family away, but she could have sworn Scott’s antagonism to Clay Cunningham, perhaps buried deep within him, had re-surfaced with a vengeance. She already knew about Scott’s jealous nature, but usually he kept it under control. Scott actually disliked even his own friends smiling at her let alone attempting a playful flirtation. It was a terrifying thought he might have intuited her spontaneous reaction to the man Clay Cunningham had grown into. She realised, too, with a guilty pang ever since Clay had told her she used to wave to him in the town when she was a little girl, she had been trying very hard to evoke a forgotten memory.

Goodness, what’s the matter with me? she asked her reflection. She was usually very level-headed. She even felt an impulse to start praying the evening would go well. Glancing up at the silver framed wall clock she saw it was almost eight. She really should be on her way. Scott was going to meet her in the foyer It was only a short walk from Dougherty’s pub where she was staying to the new Community Hall. The band had been underway for at least an hour, the infectious toe tapping music spilling out onto the street. The band was good. Her mother had arranged for the musicians to come from Brisbane. She started to sing along a little, trying to lift her spirits.

A final check in the mirror. Turning her head from side to side, she saw the sparkling light of her hair combs, one of innumerable little presents from her mother. Her parents were staying overnight with friends. She had elected to stay with Vince and Katie at the pub, as they always looked after her. The pub was spotlessly clean, the food not fancy, but good. She stayed there overnight when she was working for Paddy at the Bulletin. It was preferable to making the long drive home, then back again the following morning. Victory Downs was over a hundred miles west of the town—no distance in the bush—but she had to multiply that by four when she worked in town as she mostly did, two days in a row.

She had her silver sandalled foot on the second bottom tread of the staircase when Scott, wearing a white dinner jacket, and looking dazzlingly handsome, swung through the front doors.

‘Hiyah, beautiful!’ His blue eyes travelled over her with pride of possession. ‘I am impressed!’

The overhead light glinted on his smooth golden hair and the white of his smile. If they had children—she wanted three, four was okay—they were bound to have golden hair, Carrie thought, holding out her hands to him.

‘There’s not going to be anyone to touch you!’ Scott continued to eye her, appreciatively. She looked as good to eat as a bowl of vanilla ice cream. He’d had a lot of girls over the years but Carrie was unique.

‘You look great yourself!’ she told him, sincerity in her velvety eyes.

‘All for you.’ He’d had a few drinks: now, he badly wanted pull her into his arms. He wanted to race her back upstairs, strip that pretty white dress off her, throw her down on the bed and make violent love to her. Only he was afraid of what might happen. Carrie, by his reckoning, had to be the last virgin over fifteen left on the planet. If that weren’t astonishing enough, she wanted it to remain that way until they were married. Could you beat it! He would never have agreed, only he saw her resolve was very strong. Or maybe she was playing it smart, teasing the living daylights out of him. She was his fiancée yet he had to keep his hands off her. Well, within limits. It was excruciatingly frustrating—more torture—when she filled him with such lust as he had ever known. Not that he had taken a corresponding vow of celibacy. He got release when he wanted it. Most girls were his for the asking including that bitch Natasha Cunningham. He’d had an on and off relationship with her for years. She was mad for him—and he knew it.

But it was innocent little Caroline McNevin he had always wanted. He guessed he had started to want her from when she was a yummy little teenager with budding breasts. He’d confidently thought virginity was a relic of the Dark Ages. He’d been stunned when Carrie told him she wanted to remain a virgin until their wedding night. At first he’d been sure it was a damned ploy to keep him interested, on a knife’s edge. As a ploy it certainly worked, but then he came to realise she was fair dinkum. It was impossible to believe! But, boy, wouldn’t he make up for the long hungry years of deprivation! Their wedding night couldn’t come soon enough.

They had scarcely made it into the packed hall with huge silver-blue disco balls suspended from the ceiling like glittering moons, when Scott’s grip on her arm tightened. Carrie let out a surprised little whimper. ‘Hey, Scott, you’re hurting!’

‘Sorry.’ He shifted his arm to around her waist, hauling her close to him. ‘That bastard has had the nerve to show up,’ he ground out, his eyes quickly finding Clay Cunningham’s rangy figure across the room.

So it wasn’t going to be a happy evening! Carrie’s heart began to thump. She lifted her eyes to Scott’s tight face. ‘Scott, please settle down. We’re here to enjoy ourselves aren’t we? Everybody will be watching. Clay Cunningham has a perfect right to be here. I expect there would be a lot of disappointed girls if he hadn’t shown up. Surely you’re not looking for trouble?’

‘He’d do well to steer clear of me,’ Scott gritted, unable to conceal a flare of jealousy so monstrous it startled even him. He tried to calm himself by sheer will power. So far as he was concerned it was Cunningham versus him! Across the packed hall Cunningham was standing head and shoulders above a group of silly giggling females. One let out a burst of ecstatic laughter, obviously thrilled there was an eligible bachelor in their midst. A man, moreover, who had expressed his desire to find himself a wife. Hadn’t they heard, the little fools, Jimboorie House was falling down? Didn’t they know Jimboorie Station would never be what it was again? Or would any man do? Girls fell in and out of love so fast. They were like kids with some wonderful new toy.

All right, Cunningham was handsome. Scott was honest enough to admit that. All the Cunninghams were. Even Natasha. And Cunningham had that look about him, he recognised, of a fine natural athlete. How had that little weed of a kid who he’d loved slapping around turned into this guy? Scott wasn’t even sure he could take Cunningham in a fight, even though he was a good amateur boxer, a welterweight champion at university. The fact Cunningham had beaten him for the Cup Scott took as a scalding defeat. And he’d been beaten so easily! That was what stunned and humiliated him. He was used to being king pin. To cap it off his fiancée had presented Cunningham with the Cup. He’d watched their eyes, then their hands meet. It had only taken him a second to register the look on Carrie’s face. It had filled him with jealousy and unease.

Cunningham had stirred her interest and attention. That wasn’t going to be allowed to happen. Carrie was his! He owned her. Or near enough. She was wearing his ring.

I mightn’t be able to stop you looking, but don’t touch, you bastard! Scott swung Carrie into his arms, whisking her onto the dance floor. At least the music was great. It filled up the room.

After each bracket of numbers, the crowd clapped their appreciation. One of the band, a sexy looking guy in tight jeans, a red satin shirt and cowboy boots, took over the microphone to a roar of applause and began to sing, launching into the first romantic ballad of the night; one that was currently top of the charts. His voice was so attractive the dancers gave themselves up to it….

Carrie didn’t have the usual succession of dance partners she’d had in the past. Things had changed since she had become engaged to Scott. She realised she was starting to worry that Scott was so possessive. She wasn’t property. She was a woman, a human being. The last thing she wanted was a stormy married life with a control freak for a husband. But then her thoughts turned to how understanding Scott was about her desire to remain a virgin until their marriage. It pleased her that he was so considerate of her wishes. She had never been one to bow to peer pressure so she hadn’t been part of the general sexual experimentation that had attended her university years. She knew some of her fellow students had labelled her a bit of an extremist, but the idea of sex without genuine strong feeling had little appeal for her. It was her body that would be invaded after all. Men came from a different place. Most of them she had found, saw sex as satisfying an appetite like food and drink. At the same time they were notoriously quick to pin cruel labels on their willing female partners. Carrie thought there was not only a moral standard, but a health standard that made fastidiousness matter.

Then again she had to take stock of the fact she had no real conflict with remaining a virgin. There was even the odd moment when she had to consider perhaps she hadn’t met the man who could overturn all her defences? Or maybe her libido wasn’t of the intense sort? Not that Scott hadn’t awakened her romantic desires. He had. She knew about sensual pleasure. But still it had been relatively easy to keep to her vow. Or it had been up until now.

She was momentarily alone. Scott was caught up in settling an argument about some polo match when she heard her name—her full name—spoken.

‘You dance beautifully, Caroline. Will you dance with me?’

He was standing in front of her, looking down at her from his superior height. The corners of his mouth were upturned in a smile. His dark blue eyes held a current of electricity that bathed her in its glow.

She managed to smile back. It felt like taking a risk. A tremble shook her body. The music…the laughter…the voices…oddly started to recede. She knew her lips parted but for the smallest time—maybe a few seconds—no words came out.

‘Caroline?’

The oxygen came back to her brain. ‘Yes of course I will,’ she said, unaware a nerve was pulsing in the hollow of her throat.

His arms came around her. He held her lightly yet his arms enclosed her. Letting him hold her—she knew—vastly increased the risks.

She couldn’t relax. Not there and then. He was, she realised, gifted with sexual radiance and he was using that gift. Consciously or unconsciously? She couldn’t tell.

She tried to distract herself by looking at the sea of happy, excited faces around them.

‘I know, I’m too tall for you.’ Clay’s voice was wry. ‘And I’m not much of a dancer. Never had time to learn.’

‘No, you’re fine.’ Indeed, it seemed to her he moved with natural ease and rhythm.

‘And you’re kind.’ He pulled her in a little closer and she lifted her hand higher on his shoulder. She could feel the strength in it; the warmth of his skin. He wasn’t formally attired like Scott. He wore a beige coloured linen jacket over a black T-shirt and black jeans. A simple outfit, yet on him it looked very sophisticated. He would have absolutely no difficulty finding a wife. In fact, the frenzy had already started. It was her role to watch. Never let it be forgotten she was taken!

She realised she was luxuriating in his clean male scent, redolent of the open air, of fragrant wood smoke. Inhaled, it left her with a feeling akin to a delicious languor. The overhead disco lights dazzled, throwing out blue and silver rays over the swirling crowd, their faces and clothes streaked with light.

For long minutes they danced without speaking, he leading her expertly for all he claimed he couldn’t dance. She was beginning to feel a degree of trepidation at the forces set loose by their physical contact. She didn’t want it. She certainly didn’t need it. She didn’t even understand it. Her reaction wasn’t normal. She couldn’t allow herself to think it was akin to being in a state of thrall!

Be careful with this! A warning voice said.

There was a pressure behind Carrie’s rib cage. Could he incite emotion as easily as he could incite his high mettled horse to victory? She feared that might be the case. It was even possible he could be looking at her as a conquest? Retribution for the way he had been treated? A perverted desire to win over Scott Harper’s fiancée? She saw how he had won the Cup. His was a powerful determination and maybe she was next on his list? Only time would prove her right.

Meanwhile he was making her feel decidedly odd. It was as if she were someone else. She couldn’t allow that. She had to be herself, yet the feel of his arms around her had deep chords resounding within her. His hand on her back could even be playing her like a master musician. What was he really thinking?

‘You look very beautiful,’ he said. His voice, which was resonant and deep, had considerable emotional power.

Carrie took a quick breath, thinking she wasn’t going to give him any help.

‘Harper is a lucky man.’

Now she tilted her head to stare into his eyes. ‘What went wrong between you two? It seems strange—you were both so young when you moved away, yet I sense a history between you and Scott. An animosity that still clings.’

The flash in his eyes was as blue as an acetate flame. ‘Scott Harper used to like to scare me when I was a kid.’

She felt shame on Scott’s behalf. ‘It still matters?’

He shrugged. ‘You saw how your fiancé was. I’m sure he’ll be right with us any moment now. Do you mind that most of the guys here, though they’re dying to dance with you, are keeping their distance?’

That hit home. ‘I do realise,’ she said, more severely than she had intended, ‘but Scott is my fiancé.’

He nodded. ‘A pity’

‘A pity he’s my fiancé?’ Now she was really on the defensive.

‘How do you know I don’t want you for myself?’ He unfolded a slow smile, keeping his tone light.

Hectic colour swept into her cheeks, enhancing her beauty. ‘I’m sorry, Clay, but I’m taken.’

‘Have you set a date for the wedding?’ he asked, with interest.

‘Why aren’t you married?’ she countered, aware something potentially dangerous was smouldering between them.

‘Because I believe a man has to be able to provide for a wife before he embarks on matrimony.’

She realised she was becoming agitated. She had to rein herself in. ‘The rumour around town is you’re looking for a wife. Could that possibly be right?’

His smile was self mocking. ‘You might very well see me on the doorstep of the Bulletin some time soon. I understand you’re Pat Kennedy’s right hand woman. You can help me run an ad. “Bush Bachelor Seeks A Wife!” You could advise me what to say, maybe help me read through what replies come in.’

‘You’re joking!’ She felt an odd anger.

Clay’s blue, blue eyes were alight with what? Devilment? A taunt? He was still holding her lightly but she was starting to feel she couldn’t breathe.

‘I couldn’t be more serious,’ he replied. ‘I want a wife beside me. I want children. I’ve been so flat-out working all my life, I’ve had little time to play the courting game. Besides, eligible young women aren’t all that easy to find. I thought an ad might work. It would certainly speed things up.’

He was obviously waiting for her response.

It came out soft but tart. ‘Why don’t you simply walk up to one of the girls here?’ Carrie challenged him, wishing she was older, taller, more experienced. As it was she was a little afraid of him.

He wasn’t smiling. ‘Forgive me, but it’s hard to see past you.’

That transfixed her. She, so light on her feet, a lovely dancer, missed a step, nearly causing him to tread on her toe. ‘Must I remind you that I’m taken?’ she said as though he had broken a strict rule.

‘So you are!’ His voice was deeply regretful.

What should she do? Walk away? Abandon him on the dance floor? She didn’t want to. At the same time she knew she had to.

Run, run away! Far from temptation!

‘Give yourself plenty of time to make sure it’s going to work.’ He steered her away from a whirling couple.

‘Is that a warning?’ This man was deliberately casting a spell on her. To what end?

‘I don’t see the two of you together,’ he said.

‘How can you possibly judge?’ Despite herself she began to compare him with Scott. It was something she couldn’t control. ‘You don’t know me and you don’t know Scott. We have a fine future ahead of us.’

‘Why, then, the fright in your eyes? If he’s the love of your life?’

There was such a whirring inside her. It was as though some part of her hitherto not properly in working order, suddenly sprang into life. ‘Why are we talking like this, Clay? It’s getting very personal and private.’ Not to say out of order.

‘I told you. I don’t have much time. Besides, I feel I could talk to you far into the night.’

‘You’ve just told me why.’ She pointed out, not without sarcasm. ‘You’re lonely.’

‘It’s possible that’s part of it,’ he agreed smoothly.

Carrie sucked in her breath; waited a moment. ‘I must tell you I wouldn’t have agreed to marry Scott if I didn’t love him.’ Now her voice sounded stilted.

‘As I said, Harper is a very lucky man.’

This was too much. Just too much. She couldn’t play this game if that’s what it was. Dancing with him wasn’t the same as dancing with Scott. Or any other man for that matter. She could feel the blood beating in her throat, in her breasts, in the pit of her stomach. She had never been so breathtakingly conscious of her own flesh.

The same tipsy couple almost careened into them. Clay’s arm tightened around her as he swiftly drew her out of harm’s way.

She knew it was well past the time to break away, but she made the excuse to herself that would only draw attention to them. So change the subject quickly! ‘You’re not planning to leave, then?’

‘Caroline, I’ve just arrived,’ he replied, mock-plaintively.

‘Everyone calls me Carrie.’ She spoke as if to correct him when in reality the sound of her name on his lips was like a bell tolling inside her.

‘I’m not everyone,’ he said quietly. ‘Carrie is pretty. Caroline suits you better.’

‘What if I say I want you to call me Carrie?’

‘All right, Carrie.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll call you Caroline whenever I get the chance.’

It was totally unnerving how dramatically he was getting to her. ‘I used to think when I was little that Jimboorie House was a palace.’

‘So did I.’ Again his glance like blue flame rested on her.

‘You have more than a trace of an English accent. Where did that come from?’

He looked over her blond head. ‘From my mother I guess. She was Anglo-Irish and well spoken—and lovely. My father’s appallingly cruel family had no right to treat her the way they did. They turned all their fury on her because my father abandoned them for her. The accent would have been reinforced by long contact with my late mentor who was English. I became very close to him.’

‘Was he the one who presented you with Lightning Boy?’ She wanted to know all about him.

He nodded. ‘Yes, he was. He handed Lightning Boy over a couple of months before he died.’

She read the grief in his glance. ‘What did you do? Did you work for him?’

‘I was proud to,’ he said briefly, his tone a little curt. ‘My boss and mentor.’

‘Are you going to tell me his name?’

‘No, Caroline.’ He refused her. At the same time his gaze gathered her up.

‘I’m sorry.’ She glanced across the dance floor at all the glowing, happy faces. This would go on into the wee hours. ‘I won’t intrude. I’m just glad you met someone who treated you well.’

‘I can’t recall many others.’ His expression was openly bitter.

‘Are you going to make us all pay for wounding you?’ she asked, thinking he had been hurt a great deal.

He ignored her question. ‘I’d like to take you out to Jimboorie. Would you come?’

Her heart jumped. Agree and there’d be trouble. Big trouble.

‘Look at me,’ he invited quietly. ‘Not away. Would you come, Caroline?’

A back-up singer in the band launched into a romantic number. ‘How do you see me?’ she countered. ‘As someone whose freedom is being curtailed?’

‘Is it?’ He studied her so intently he might have been trying to unmask her.

That put her on her mettle. ‘I’d be delighted to come,’ she said shortly, consoling herself she had been driven to it.

‘Good. I confess I find a woman’s views necessary.’

‘Is it your intention to put in your ad that Jimboorie House is falling down?’ She met his eyes.

‘Certainly. It’s the right thing to do,’ he replied smoothly. ‘But it’s not in the utter state of decay it appears to be from the outside. The best materials were used in its construction. The finest, stoutest timbers. The cedar came from the vast forests of the Bunya Bunya Mountains. The house itself is built of sandstone. There is a tremendous amount of restoration to be done—I can’t deny that—but somehow I’ll get around it.’

‘Perhaps you should say in your ad that you’re looking for an heiress?’ she suggested, bitter-sweet.

‘Now that’s a great idea.’ His face broke into a mocking smile.

Unnoticed by either of them Scott Harper, who had been further detained by two of his father’s friends wanting to know if he thought his team could continue their unbeaten polo season, was quickly canvassing the crowd.

The blood flooded into his face the moment he saw them together. He drew in his breath sharply, catching his bottom lip between strong teeth and drawing blood. How could Carrie possibly do this thing? She knew how he felt about Clay Cunningham. All his childhood antipathy had returned but one hundred times worse. He made his way towards them, threading a path through the dancers, some of them, marking his expression, getting out of his way.

Just look at her, Scott inwardly raged, his jealousy violent and painful. Her beautiful blond head was tipped right back as she stared up into Cunningham’s eyes.

This is wrong, all wrong. Let her go!

His progress was stopped when a woman got him in a surprisingly strong arm-lock. ‘Scotty, you’re not ignoring me are you, darling?’

He swung, catching the hateful expression of malice on Natasha’s face. ‘You can’t let your dewy little fiancée have a bit of fun, can you?’ Her voice dropped so low he could barely hear her. ‘And she is having fun, isn’t she?’

‘Let go, Natasha,’ he rasped. If she’d been a man he would have hit her, so tense was his mood.

‘Sure. One dance and we’ll call it a night.’ She stepped right up to him, a stunning figure in violet banded in silver, putting both hands on his shoulders. ‘Don’t make a fool of me now, Scotty,’ she warned. ‘I’ve kept my mouth shut up to now, but things can change.’

‘You’re a real bitch! You know that?’ he muttered, contempt built into his voice. Nevertheless he retained enough sense to draw her into his arms.

‘You don’t say that when I’m making you happy.’ Natasha, a tall woman, stared with hard challenge into his eyes.

‘I should never have started with you,’ he said.

A shadow fell across her blue eyes. ‘You told me once you were in love with me. I’m still in love with you.’

‘Why don’t you get over it?’ he suggested harshly.

‘Easier said than done, Scotty. Don’t get mad at me. I’m your friend. I’ve loved you far too much and far too long. You’ve made a big mistake getting yourself hitched up to Carrie McNevin. You haven’t got a damned thing in common. And how ridiculous is that virgin bit?’ Her lips curled in a sneer.

‘Shut up,’ Scott hissed violently, in the next minute thankful the dance music had changed to something loud and upbeat. Why had he ever told Natasha about Carrie and himself? He was a thousand times sorry.

‘Watch it!’ she warned, an answering rage in her eyes. ‘You don’t want people to see how jealous you are my cousin is fascinating your beloved little virgin. I have to admit he scrubs up pretty well. That’s the Cunningham in him, of course. Why don’t we sit this out for a while? Or we could go outside?’

‘Forget it,’ he said bluntly.

Her expression was both wounded and affronted. ‘What is it she’s got? I’m beautiful, too. Is it the hunt? The thrill of the chase? Once you’ve had her you won’t want her anymore.’

‘You don’t understand anything,’ Scott said, shaking his head as if to clear it. ‘Carrie appeals to the best part of me. When I’m with her I remember I have a soul.’

That affected Natasha more than the cruellest rebuff. ‘You fool!’ she said.

Scott gave up. In the middle of the dance floor he dropped his arms from around her and walked away, leaving Natasha feeling hollowed out, gutted. Why did she love Scott Harper? It dismayed and humiliated her. She was well aware of his character flaws, which that little innocent Carrie wasn’t. Living through this engagement was a long nightmare. She knew Scott had used her up—she had let him, was still letting him—but damn if he was going to throw her away. Maybe it was about time she had a little talk with darling Carrie even if she risked having her own life torn apart.

Carrie danced twice more with Clay Cunningham. It was driving Scott crazy, but he couldn’t seem to do a damn thing about it. Cunningham set the pace. Other guys lined up to dance with her. He was drinking too much and he knew it. Alcohol was flowing like water from a bubbling fountain. His mind swirled with crazy thoughts.

Get Carrie on her own.

She had denied him for far too long. They were engaged now. It was his right to have her whether with her consent or not. In his experience girls said no all the time when what they really meant was yes, yes, yes! He could have any girl he wanted. Natasha Cunningham. Why did he want Carrie so desperately? There was even a strong chance she didn’t go for sex. That would be a disaster. Sex was as essential for him as breathing air.

It didn’t take him long to come up with an idea. He could tell her he had something for her in the SUV. A little present. Women loved being given presents, though to be honest, Carrie was no gold digger. But couldn’t she feel his pain, his desire? No, she was oblivious to everything except remaining a virgin. Scott’s anger turned ugly, a red mist swirling before his eyes. He remembered the expression on her face as she’d looked up at Cunningham. What was it exactly? Curiosity, a deep interest? More than that. A craving for something she had never had. Scott only knew she had never turned such a gaze on him. His face darkened.

Finally he had her to himself. They crossed the street with Scott holding her firmly by the arm. ‘No, I won’t tell you. It’s a surprise!’ he said in a playful voice he dredged up from somewhere.

She turned to him, puzzled. ‘Why did you leave it in the car, Scott? Is it big?’ She laughed a little although she was uneasy, concerned Scott had had far too much to drink. Not that he was the only one. The whole hall was filled with tipsy people, singing, dancing, chanting, full of high spirits that would last through until dawn. She couldn’t worry about them but she was afraid Scott might make something of a spectacle of himself with his father around. Bradley Harper just wouldn’t understand. Usually Scott held his drink well, but tonight was different. He was slurring his words. He never did that.

It was dark under the shadow of the trees that ringed the town park. The gums were smothered in blossom. There was a lovely lemony scent in the air. A little way in the distance she could see couples strolling arm in arm through the park, their bodies spotlighted by the overhead lighting. Others had moved off to cars either to catch a nap or indulge in a spot of canoodling. The big question was, why didn’t she want Scott to make love to her? Saying he’d had too much to drink wasn’t answer enough. She was going to marry him in three months time. My God, she should be ravenous for his lovemaking. She was so perturbed tears sprang to her eyes.