this man looked far from being a fool. There had to be some misunderstanding. She frowned. ‘Didn’t you take the message yourself?’
‘I couldn’t have done,’ he told her abruptly, ‘or I would have known what you’re talking about.’
She tried to ignore the sharpness of his tone. He had had to walk back here with Bertha, and knowing the speed the cow walked it must have taken him ages, so she could make excuses for his shortness of temper. ‘Brian called The Towers this morning and asked if you could look at our tractor. I was under the impression that you had agreed to come over.’
‘I see. Well, perhaps you could put—Bertha?—into a shed, and I’ll take a look at it.’ He began striding towards the tractor. ‘Any idea what the trouble is?’ he shot the question over his shoulder.
Megan came back from settling the cow into her stall. ‘Something to do with the fuel getting through,’ she told him vaguely, no more familiar with the workings of this machine than Brian was. She knew nothing about mechanics; she had tried to learn how to drive once, but much to the relief of her driving-instructor she had given up after a couple of lessons. She had turned out to be one of those people whose personality changed as soon as they got behind the wheel, becoming aggressive and unmanageable.
‘Thanks,’ he taunted her lack of knowledge, ‘that will be a great help.’ He lifted up the side covering of the engine before getting up behind the wheel and attempting to start it. The engine gave a couple of stutters, roared into life, and then stopped. ‘Fuel starvation,’ he muttered as he came back to look inside it.
‘Do you have any idea why?’ asked Megan.
‘Not yet,’ he derided. ‘The fuel not getting through can be due to any number of things.’
‘Oh.’ So he really did know a lot about engines. She watched him as he worked, offering him her handkerchief when he got oil on his hands.
‘No thanks,’ he refused the snowy white square. ‘I can quite easily clean up when I get back.’ He put up a hand to his brow, wiping away the fine film of perspiration that had appeared in the heat of the day.
‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Megan exclaimed. ‘You have oil all over your face,’ she explained at his querying look.
He moved to stand just in front of her. ‘Wipe it off,’ he ordered huskily.
Although made as a request it took the form of a challenge, the nearness of him, the utterly male earthy smell of him making her tremble. He looked down at her from his great height, seeming to know of her reaction to him, to the unhidden warmth of his brown eyes. She stared fixedly at his mouth. He had such a nice mouth, the lower lip fuller than the top, pointing to a latent sensuality. She had never met a man like him before, challenging and infinitely male.
‘Well?’ His gaze on her mouth was almost like a caress.
Megan had heard of men like him, men with the charisma to captivate and hold at a glance. And she was very much afraid she had been more than captivated. ‘Yes?’ she asked breathlessly, unable to look away from the magnetism of his face.
‘The oil,’ he reminded her with amusement.
‘Oh—oh yes,’ she blushed at her stupidity. ‘Could you bend down a little? You’re so tall I can’t reach,’ she explained.
‘Certainly.’ His head bent and he put his mouth against hers, holding her with just the touch of his lips, like a trapped butterfly. He made no effort to touch her in any other way, their bodies only inches apart, but still not touching.
When he finally stepped back Megan stood like one in a trance. She had been kissed before, plenty of times, but not like that, never like that. It had taken her breath away, her strength, her very will. That he was a master at the gentle art of seduction she had no doubt. And he knew exactly what he had done to her—his teasing brown eyes told her so.
‘Well, Megan,’ he said softly, his breath stirring her hair, ‘it appears that you now have oil on your face too.’
‘I do?’ she breathed, completely mesmerised.
‘You do.’ He took the handkerchief out of her hand and gently wiped her cheek. ‘Have dinner with me tonight?’ he asked huskily.
‘I—I beg your pardon?’
‘Have dinner with me,’ he repeated, smoothing back her hair from her face.
‘I—I can’t,’ she refused reluctantly. She wanted to go out with him, very much, but she could hardly leave her mother on her own when she wasn’t well.
He straightened, his hands falling away from her hair, those beautiful brown eyes narrowing. ‘Boy-friend?’
She blinked her bewilderment. ‘Boy—–? Oh no,’ she smiled. ‘My mother, actually.’
‘Your mother?’ He raised dark eyebrows. ‘Aren’t you old enough to choose for yourself who you go out with?’
Megan laughed. ‘Of course I am. That wasn’t what I meant. My mother isn’t feeling well. Just a cold, I think—–’
‘In your expert opinion,’ he cut in mockingly.
She flushed. ‘A year’s training hardly qualifies me for anything.’ Unwittingly her bitterness showed. She had been a good nurse, had enjoyed her work and it had all been taken away from her by Roddy Meyers. If she ever met him again …! But that wasn’t likely to happen, he had already left the hospital on his way home before Megan herself had left. ‘But I think I can diagnose a cold,’ she added dryly.
‘How about later in the week?’
‘Well, I—I don’t know,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I’ll be working up at The Towers this week and—–’
‘You will?’ he frowned darkly.
‘Mm. Mum works in the kitchen, you see. And—well, we need the money. So if I’m working up at the house perhaps we could have lunch together one day. I think Mum usually finishes about one.’
He seemed to withdraw from her, moving to shut the hood of the tractor. ‘Maybe we could,’ he agreed noncommittally. ‘I think your brother will have to get someone out to look at this. I can’t pinpoint the trouble. He can borrow one of The Towers’ tractors until this one is on the go again.’ He turned to leave.
Megan watched him go, a frown on her face. ‘Jeff?’ she called after him, watching as he slowly turned, his hair appearing almost black in the strong sunlight. ‘I can call you Jeff, can’t I?’ she asked uncertainly.
He shrugged. ‘Why not?’
Why not, indeed? From his suddenly cold manner she must have done something to upset him. But what? ‘I wasn’t refusing to go out with you,’ she said hastily. ‘It’s just that it’s a bit awkward this week.’
He nodded. ‘Next week, perhaps.’
‘Or lunch …’ she trailed off as he strode away without turning.
What on earth was the matter with the man? He couldn’t just walk out of her
