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
