but quick is the operative word. Another ten minutes and I won’t guarantee that the chicken won’t be ruined!’
Bart seemed about to say something, but changed his mind and merely nodded before leaving the room.
‘Well he can certainly kill a party just by his presence!’ Alessandra remarked.
‘He’s in a bad mood,’ Lisa confided. ‘I can tell.’
‘That’s a relief, I’d hate to think he was that bloody unpleasant every evening after work! Set the table, would you, Lisa?’
A phone call interrupted the meal almost as soon as the three sat down to the table. It was for Bart, and with obvious reluctance he pushed his plate of spicy chicken aside and went to take the call. Lisa and Alessandra enjoyed a light-hearted conversation which, although it never rested on one subject for long, revealed a lot about the younger girl to Alessandra, parts of it touching a wound she’d thought long healed.
‘Sorry about that,’ Bart said, returning to the dining-room just as the others were finishing the last of their meals. ‘Business that couldn’t wait. Don’t feel you have to keep me company while I eat,’ he said with more generosity than he felt. He loathed eating his evening meal alone. It reminded him all too much of the lonely time immediately after Kathleen’s death, before Lisa had been old enough to sit alongside the table in a highchair.
He looked across at his child’s classically beautiful face and was again reminded of her mother. Kathleen had been barely four months older than Lisa was now when she’d died. For years he’d feared his daughter might have inherited not only her mother’s beauty but also the asthma which claimed her young life. Fortunately Lisa had been spared that.
Alessandra was sensitive to the awkward silence drenching the atmosphere and wondered if anyone else noticed. Bart didn’t appear interested in generating any small talk, and Lisa, although looking uncomfortable, seemed reluctant to move. Suspecting the teenager was anxious to discuss something with her father, Alessandra politely excused herself. Taking an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, she let herself out into the warm night air.
She located a log, beneath a huge tree of indeterminable age, and sat down in the night’s dark peace. Propping her elbows on her knees, she cradled her chin, looking out in the direction of the legendary Black Stump. In the blackness, all she saw was a network of twinkling lights stretching for miles. Whoever had written the song about the stars in Texas being big and bright had missed out on the magic of sitting beneath Australia’s Southern Cross. Here the stars were bigger and brighter than anywhere in the world, including the heart of Texas!
But she frowned even as the famous tune played in her head. Actually, she was in danger of taking a particular Texan too much to heart. With no encouragement from him at all, she was more than a little interested in Mr Bart Cameron.
There was something about the man that stirred up the three years of dust which had settled on her sensuality. He, of course, didn’t appear to be even remotely attracted to her, and she had to admit this was understandable, considering they had next to nothing in common. So why did he hold such an attraction for her?
Bart Cameron was staid and conservative to the point of being almost boring. She, on the other hand, was what her brothers described as a ‘radical extrovert, who bordered on fruitcake’! So why was she so drawn to the cowboy? Maybe it was the flashes of loneliness she caught glimpses of from time to time, but, if that was the case, then surely what she was feeling hinged on pity? No, Bart Cameron created a lot of different feelings within her, but pity definitely wasn’t one of them!
Just roll with the punches and see what happens, she told herself.
After all, she wasn’t the type for coy games when it came to the opposite sex; five brothers had taught her that men preferred women who were honest about their feelings, and subtlety definitely wasn’t one of her strong points.
Rising, she took a healthy bite of the apple she’d been absently polishing against the leg of her jeans, and ambled off in the direction of the corrals: Eventually her feet led her into the stables.
Only four horses were housed in the building—the stallion she’d seen Bart grooming and three others. She was instantly drawn to a magnificently proportioned chestnut.
‘Well, aren’t you a beauty, fella?’ she whispered, reaching a steady hand towards him. The animal whinnied aggressively, taking a step backwards.
‘Easy, mate. I’m not going to hurt you.’ She edged nearer, aware of the uneasy brightness in the animal’s eyes. ‘Steady, boy…You’re a beautiful fella, aren’t you…hey?’ Again the horse loudly protested her presence. It was as he turned sideways that Alessandra noticed he’d been gelded.
‘No wonder you’re angry. What sort of stupid moron wouldn’t want to use you for stud purposes? Well, don’t you worry, handsome…this is one female who thinks you’re perfect just the way you are…’
The muscular horse raised himself on to his hind legs, exhaled a hysterical snicker, and lunged at the gate that separated them. In the blink of an eye she was forced savagely against the wall on the opposite side of the long narrow building and shaken by the forearms.
‘Are you completely stupid?’ Bart demanded to know.
‘I will be if you keep pounding me into the bloody wall!’
The vibrations stopped; the verbal insults didn’t.
‘You must be the most idiotic woman I’ve ever met! Redskin is a maniac! You could have been killed!’
‘So what are you trying to do—finish the job? Let go of my arms before I lose all circulation to my hands! Thank you!’ she said, stunned by the effect his closeness was having on her.
He took a step back, casting a quick glance at the still restless horse before steering her by the arm away from the front of the stall.
‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you OK?’
She shook her head.
‘What’s the matter?’ His voice held alarm. Her eyes seemed even brighter than usual and her face was slightly flushed.
‘My heart is pounding a million miles an hour.’
‘It’s probably due to the fright you got when Redskin reared,’ he said, trying to keep his gaze from moving to her breast to check her timing.
‘No. It’s entirely your fault.’
‘Look…’ He ran a weary hand through his hair and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Alessandra, but all I was thinking about was getting you clear of the gate in case the brute crashed over it and struck you with a hoof. I acted on instinct. I’m sorry if I scared you.’
Alessandra considered what sort of a reaction she might get if she were to reach up, put her arms around his neck and kiss him. She could always plead delayed shock as an excuse if he objected to her actions.
Half an hour earlier she hadn’t been convinced that Bart Cameron was ‘her type’; suddenly she knew that no other man would ever come close to affecting her the way he did! Her shortness of breath wasn’t the result of Redskin’s antics; it was due entirely to Bart Cameron’s closeness and overwhelming masculinity. Yet it was more than simply his physical presence
