took it without a word and inspected it with interest.
‘Checking for burrs?’ he queried smugly.
‘Actually I was thinking that the thing has so much padding and is so deep that a person would have more chance of falling out of an armchair! An Australian stockman wouldn’t use one of these as a matter of pride!’
Bart let the remark go unchallenged. It would have served her right if he’d given her one of the old worn saddles! He refused to dwell on the reason why he hadn’t. He watched her go about putting the object in question on the horse. She was careful to fold the stirrup straps across the saddle before easing it on to the grey.
Silently he applauded her. It was a good habit to get into, as with a skittish horse the sudden impact of the irons swinging down and hitting it could often cause it to rear or bolt. Again she was sweet talking the animal as she tightened the girth. From the corner of his eye he noticed the men had stopped work and were watching her. He said nothing.
‘OK, Pewter, darling, let’s check the stirrups for length,’ she said.
Taking hold of the reins in such a way that the horse was unable to turn his head and take a nibble on her derrière, she used her free hand to turn the stirrup iron towards her and in a fluid motion swung herself into the saddle.
‘The advantages of stretch denim,’ Bart murmured, and received a bored look in response.
She stood in the irons for a moment before dismounting. She lengthened one of the stirrups two notches, then walked around the horse and repeated the action with the other.
‘Those stirrups are too long,’ he told her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she replied sweetly. ‘I thought you were riding the bay.’
‘I am.’
‘Then, since I’m riding this horse, I’ll saddle him so I’m comfortable!’ she retorted, remounting. This time she barely cleared the saddle by two inches when she stood in the irons.
Dammit! How could something as sweet and gentlelooking as she was be so darn stubborn? As for that hat she was wearing, it looked as if it had been stomped by a mule! The wide brim dipped down over her face, but, instead of being the smooth oval shape of a stetson, it was squared off and the crown lower, in keeping with those favoured by the Australian stockmen who worked for him. Around the band was a chain-like decoration, which on closer scrutiny proved to be a series of old ring pulls from beer cans linked together. If anyone ever accused Alessandra of dressing to make an impression, they could only mean a bad one!
‘Is there something in particular you’re looking for or are you merely trying to commit my face to memory?’ she asked.
‘Lisa could have lent you a hat, if you’d asked.’
‘If I’d needed one I would have.’ She touched a hand to the item in question. ‘But this is my lucky hat. I take it everywhere I go.’
‘It shows.’
His unexpected grin made her go weak, and Alessandra was sure if she’d been sitting in any saddle other than the one she was in she’d have ended up in the dirt on her backside!
‘Mind if I walk him round a bit just to get the feel of him and the saddle?’
She could hardly credit that the squeaked request had come from her. In an effort to restore some calm to her body she took a deep steadying breath and motioned the horse into action.
It was ridiculous that she could affect him in this way, Bart told himself silently, still experiencing the warm stirring in his loins that the sight of her breasts straining against her shirt ignited. It wasn’t as if he was starved for female companionship. Up until a few months ago he’d been involved in a lengthy and very physical relationship with a lawyer in Dallas. Bree had been everything that Alessandra wasn’t. Elegant, sophisticated, highly successful in her career, but first and foremost a lady. Their relationship had ended when Bree took a job in New York, and Bart bought the Australian property, with no regrets on either side. The approach of his foreman drew him from his reflections.
‘She’s got good hands,’ Jim observed.
‘Yeah.’
‘Rides mostly with her upper legs, though. Looks easy in the saddle.’
‘She’s got a good seat.’
‘Me an’ the boys noticed that even before we saw her ride!’ Jim chuckled.
‘Hard to miss,’ Bart conceded with a grin. ‘She wants to work with the stock.’
‘Ah…’ The cowhand was non-committal.
‘Would you work with her?’ Bart asked, not taking his eyes from Alessandra, who was now cantering the horse.
‘Is she any good?’
‘That’s what we’re about to find out,’ Bart replied, pushing himself away from the fence he’d been leaning against. ‘Alessandra! We’re going to ride up to the Kilto paddock and see how well you can cut cattle. You ready?’
‘Sure.’
‘Jim, grab your horse and come with me. You might as well be in on this, since you’re the one who’ll have to answer to me for any mistakes she makes,’ Bart told the cowboy.
‘Hey, Jim!’ Alessandra called to the departing man. ‘Your job will be a breeze! I don’t make mistakes!’ She couldn’t stifle the laughter that Bart’s thin-mouthed expression created.
The only conversation was between Bart and his foreman and it centred around the movement of stock and the mending of fences. Alessandra rode behind them, admiring the view. She was glad to be back among the familiar eucalyptus and wattle landscape of Australia.
It took them almost fifteen minutes to reach their destination, a gently sloping hill about seventy yards above a herd of grazing cattle.
The scent and sound of the cattle filled Alessandra with nostalgia. She closed her eyes, threw back her head, and took a deep breath.
‘You OK?’
Bart’s voice came from beside her. She kept her eyes closed.
‘Wonderful. In fact I feel almost orgasmic!’
‘It must be the saddle!’ he snapped.
Alessandra opened her eyes and looked at him. The late afternoon sun was conspiring with the brim of his hat to camouflage most of his face, but from the set of his mouth she could tell he wasn’t in the mood for any back chat. Which was as good a reason as any to give him some!
‘If it’s the saddle, them I have only you to thank!’
Bart moved his mount closer and with one arm reached over and pulled her face to within an inch of his.
He muttered something which Alessandra didn’t quite catch and then took her mouth in a hard kiss. ‘Onslaught’ was probably a better word, she thought, because as a kiss it fell a long way short
