‘What I’m hanging out for is a swim. Although I’ll settle for a shower.’
‘I’m afraid the swim will have to wait till Lisa can show you a safe spot in the stream.’ At the dejected look on her face he only just stopped himself from offering to take her there himself. He didn’t have time to pander to the whims of someone who was here to work for him. ‘Dinner is at seven-thirty. We don’t usually dress for it unless we have guests.’
‘Righto! I’ll remember. Dinner in the nude at seven-thirty.’
Bart gave a wry smile as he desperately pushed away mental images of himself trying to eat a meal while a naked Alessandra MacKellar sat opposite. Already he felt the effects of heartburn.
‘Listen, will you do me a favour?’ she asked.
‘If I can,’ he said tentatively, picking up her bag to take upstairs.
‘Smile more often,’ she said. ‘You have one helluva sexy smile, Bart Cameron!’
Bart was sure he was the only thirty-eight-year-old man ever to blush!
More tired than she’d realised, Alessandra awoke to find she had only twenty minutes until dinner. She felt sure Bart Cameron’s don’t-dress-for-dinner rule wasn’t flexible enough to allow her the luxury of arriving at the table in a satin and lace camisole. Time to unpack.
Packing and unpacking wasn’t difficult for Alessandra; in fact she could manage to make herself at home in a new place in a little over ten minutes. Rolling from the bed, she lifted her suitcase on to it and proceeded to do just that.
Her meagre wardrobe consisted mainly of jeans and trousers which she teamed with either brightly coloured T-shirts or sweatshirts, as climate dictated. There were two hand-embroidered calf-length skirts she’d bartered for in Israel and a length of colourful hand-painted silk, purchased last year in Hong Kong, should she need something more dressy. Alessandra had never been one to get overly hung up on fashion, probably due to growing up with a tribe of brothers, and her only concessions to feminine vanity were expensive underwear and a collection of gold and silver jewellery, which she’d gathered from various parts of the world over the last nine years.
The last items she pulled from her case were three brass-framed photographs, which she set on the dressing-table. One was of a smiling middle-aged couple against a backdrop of ocean. She had taken the snap four years ago when, following her father’s retirement from his plumbing business, her parents had moved to the north coast of New South Wales.
The second photograph was of her five brothers— Greg, Drew, Scott, Brad and Matt. Scott and Matt were both single while the other three were married with seven children between them. The remaining snap was of the children and their mothers.
Bart waited for her as she descended the stairs.
‘Settled in?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ She gave him a wide smile. ‘It never takes me long.’
‘Good. Lisa has dinner ready, so we better get in there.’ He stood aside to allow her to pass, hoping she didn’t have a sensitive stomach—his daughter’s cooking was definitely an acquired taste!
‘Wow! I love your hair!’
‘Thanks!’ Alessandra smiled pleasantly at the teenage girl, who hadn’t waited for a formal introduction.
‘Is it bleached?’
‘Lisa!’
‘Only by the sun,’ Alessandra replied, ignoring Bart’s apologetic expression at what he considered rudeness on his daughter’s part.
‘I wish I was a blonde!’ Lisa Cameron sighed, pushing savagely at her waist-length dark hair.
‘I dyed mine black once when I was thirteen,’ Alessandra confessed, and laughed at the teenager’s horrified expression. ‘My parents’ facial reaction was pretty much similar to yours now!’
‘Dad would kill me if I changed mine!’ she said with more than a trace of resentment.
‘You’ve got that right,’ Bart Cameron stated.
‘Why?’ Alessandra asked, causing both heads to swing in her direction. ‘It’s her hair.’
‘That’s what I keep telling him!’ Lisa said.
Bart sent a controlled glare across to his most recent employee.
‘Lisa is only seventeen years old,’ he replied, as if that explained everything.
‘Nearly eighteen!’ his daughter responded.
‘With luck you might make it.’
The tone of the exchange between father and daughter told Alessandra she had walked into a struggle of awakening independence versus old-fashioned discipline. The atmosphere wouldn’t be dull around here, that was for sure, even if the cutlery was. Cripes! How was a person expected to cut steak with a blunt knife? She diverted her plan of attack to the creamed potatoes, only to wish she hadn’t as the half-cooked vegetable caused her to gag.
‘You OK?’ Bart Cameron enquired, and Alessandra wasn’t sure whether she imagined the hint of humour she saw in his eyes.
‘Eh, sure! A bit just went down the wrong way,’ she lied, now suspecting that the inability to cut the steak lay in its cooking and not the knife. ‘Do you kill your own meat?’ she asked, in an effort to forestall having to take another mouthful.
‘Usually. The Rough Rivers Brand has the reputation of producing some of the finest beef cattle on either side of the Pacific.’
Alessandra tried to look impressed, while wishing that it hadn’t lost quite so much of its reputation on the way to her plate!
‘We have beef for dinner every night when the housekeeper is on vacation. It’s the only thing Lisa feels confident about cooking.’
God help us if she ever tries to tackle anything else! Alessandra prayed silently as she managed to sever another piece of meat and insult her taste-buds with it.
From then on conversation was limited to enquiries about the health of Marilyn and her family, and Alessandra explained how she had met Bart’s sister in California and become firm friends with the older woman and her husband and children. It was Marilyn, knowing that Alessandra was planning to return to Australia for the summer, who had suggested that she apply for the job at Rough Rivers.
When Bart began to talk to Alessandra about the ranch’s accounting system, Lisa announced she had a date and excused herself from the table in the wake of a paternal instruction to be home before midnight.
Through it all Alessandra continued to try and force herself to eat; finally she gave in and pushed the plate aside. She looked across the table to find her employer leaning back in his chair watching her. His gaze caused a pool of warm liquid to settle in her lower abdomen.
‘Well, that was certainly…filling,’ she said. ‘I
