she rationalised, she had to eat. Before Bart Cameron had agreed to employ her as a bookkeeper things had looked financially grim. After twelve months backpacking round the USA she’d returned to Australia penniless.
Bart’s silence as he continued grooming the stallion gave Alessandra the opportunity of assessing the man and comparing it to what Marilyn had already told her about him. She knew he’d been widowed eighteen years earlier and since had devoted himself to raising his daughter Lisa and building up his ranch in Texas. Four months ago he’d purchased this cattle station on the Queensland-New South Wales border as an experimental extension of his American ranching operation. Marilyn had said he was thirty-eight. Alessandra decided he looked nearer his mid-forties, his weathered appearance no doubt attributed to spending so much time outdoors in the harsh climate. He wasn’t good-looking in the conventional sense of the word—in fact she wasn’t sure she could stretch charity far enough to describe him as ruggedly handsome—but he had an honest, strong face that people would trust. His body was another matter altogether, she decided; worn denim and chambray more than hinting at male physical perfection hidden beneath. A one-time aerobics instructor, Alessandra recognised quality when she saw it; Bart Cameron’s body was definitely top quality! He gave the stallion a final pat then turned quickly, catching her appreciative expression.
‘Nice body,’ she said, unable to suppress a sheepish grin at being caught.
‘Yes,’ Bart agreed. ‘He’s my best stallion.’
‘I didn’t mean the horse,’ she replied honestly, smiling at the man’s surprised look. ‘You’re in good shape. Do you work out regularly?’
He climbed over the fence to stand six inches above her five feet six.
‘If you mean in a gym, then no. I reckon I get enough exercise working this place,’ he told her.
Alessandra smiled. ‘I reckon you must at that!’
Bart pulled his stetson lower on to his forehead as they walked to where she’d stopped the pick-up at the foot of the porch steps. This didn’t seem like any bookkeeper he’d ever known! What he needed was someone to handle the financial side of things for twelve weeks, not a house guest! He had enough problems right now with Lisa, without having to ride shot-gun on the accounts as well.
‘Have you had much experience with accounts work before?’
‘On and off. I’ve worked on several occasions for my brother’s building firm and I also did a stint with a film company in Greece. I’ve done both computer and manual processing, so I don’t anticipate any difficulties here.’
‘Good, because I can’t spare the time to give you anything more than a basic explanation of how things operate; you’ll be on your own with the books. This all the luggage you got?’ he asked, holding a battered leather suitcase.
‘That and this,’ she replied, pulling a small backpack from the front seat. ‘When you’ve done as much travelling as I have you learn to pack economically. ‘Struth, it’s hot!’
Bart made no response to her observation of the climate. He wasn’t one to waste his breath making irrelevant comments or endorsing accurate ones. The woman seemed to have no such reservation.
‘You’re obviously used to this heat. At least it’s dry heat and not that oppressive humidity you get up FNQ! Is that exhausting!’
As they reached the top of the porch stairs, Alessandra became aware of the close scrutiny of the man next to her.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘FNQ?’ he enquired in a slow drawl, accompanied by a look that suggested he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the translation.
Alessandra laughed.
‘Far North Queensland. FNQ. Sounds like an obscene way of saying “Get lost”, doesn’t it?’
She turned, catching the smile her reaction had caused, and was stunned by the transformation in his face. Strong white teeth were exposed from behind the previous thin line of his mouth, and deep grooves appeared at the sides. The fine lines spreading from the corners of his eyes, no doubt created by years of squinting against the sun, suddenly became laughter lines, lending a boy-like roguishness to his face. When he smiles, she thought, he is almost more than conventionally good-looking!
She accepted his offer of a cold drink and sat quietly in the air-conditioned comfort of the kitchen as he busied himself at the refrigerator.
All the mod cons were evident and in sparkling condition. Grey Formica benching and cedar cupboards ran the length of three walls, separated by a strategically placed stove, refrigerator, microwave and the largest domestic freezer she had ever seen! Soft grey walls complemented the black slate floor.
‘Here you are.’
She turned in response to the rich Texas drawl.
‘Uh…thanks.’ She barely restrained a sigh as she accepted a glass of what was obviously lemonade and watched him pull the top off a can of beer. Oh, well, she’d suffered lemonade before and it hadn’t killed her… Mind you, it wasn’t likely to kill her thirst, either!
Leaning against the bench, Bart watched her take a tentative sip from the glass. He wondered what whim had possessed her to bleach her hair to stark white, or for that matter why she wore it so short. It was completely straight and cut into a bob that ended an inch below her ears with a fine fringe just tipping her eyebrows. The hair, along with the elfin chin and fine, turned-up nose, created a pixie-like look that seemed in total conflict with the sensual blue eyes, rimmed by bluetipped lashes.
As the father of a teenage daughter, he was only too familiar with the use of mascara and kohl, but he’d never struck anyone who used blue! Why would anyone want to have blue eyelashes?
‘You’re staring, Bart.’
The truth in her words startled him back to reality.
‘Sorry, I just noticed you weren’t really enjoying that drink.’
‘Well, it’s pretty damned hard to enjoy a lemonade when you’re watching someone drink a frosty-cold beer!’ she responded cheekily.
‘Oh!’ Bart felt chastised. He hadn’t thought to offer beer, since none of the women he knew drank it. ‘Would you prefer a beer?’
She grinned. ‘Can a duck swim?’
‘Sorry, I’m not used to women drinking beer. Here.’
Alessandra smiled at the speed with which he put a can on the table.
‘I’ll get you another glass…’
‘Don’t bother, a can will do me.’
She was already lifting the beer can to her mouth and a hot spark of sensation shot through him as she took two long swallows. He wondered how watching a woman do something as unladylike as guzzling beer from a can could be physically stimulating.
‘Ahh!’ She gave a blissful smile. ‘Now that felt good enough to call orgasmic!’
Bart sent her a startled look, wondering whether some cosmic force was putting them on to the same wavelength. The
