Turn round and lean over the bonnet so I can search for hip holsters, thigh holsters or wherever women carry their concealed weapons.’
Jo stared at him in the fading daylight and wondered if she was the one going mad or—was this a nightmare? But the substance of her nightmare was anything but dream-like.
He was tall, taller than she was, with good shoulders. In a navy jumper and torn, dirty jeans, he looked to be extremely fit in a lean, rangy way. His thick black hair was short and ruffled and his jaw was covered with black stubble. Then there were those furious blue eyes that gave every indication of a man not to be trifled with.
But why? How? What? she wondered wildly. Some modern day bushranger on the loose? Surely not!
It’s not unheard of, she corrected herself immediately, but why would he have been expecting any kind of a ‘Joe’?
‘Make up your mind,’ her tormentor ordered. ‘We haven’t got all day.’
With trembling fingers, Jo unzipped her anorak and started to lower her cargo pants. Then she got angry again and pulled the anorak off and flung it over the bonnet. She ripped her boots off and stepped out of her pants. ‘You may look but don’t you dare lay a finger on me again,’ she ground out, her grey eyes flashing magnificently.
The man grimaced and raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, well!’ His gaze dwelt on her figure beneath a fitted, fine-knit blue jumper and pale blue cotton briefs, and drifted down her long legs.
‘Just goes to show you shouldn’t make snap judgements,’ he said with humour, looking back into her eyes, ‘since it would be fair to say that in other circumstances you’d be welcome to seduce me, love.’ The humour left his eyes. ‘Turn around.’
If she’d been angry before, Jo was boiling now, but caution had the upper hand. She turned and lifted her arms to shoulder height. ‘Satisfied?’ she asked over her shoulder.
‘Yep.’ She stiffened as she felt his fingers on her waist and the elastic of her briefs pinged against her skin. ‘Good old Bonds Cottontails, I do believe,’ he added. ‘OK, get dressed, then we’re going for a drive.’
Jo pulled on her cargo pants. ‘A drive? How far?’
‘Right into—’ He paused. ‘Why?’
She hesitated, unsure whether to confess that she’d somehow underestimated the distance to Kin Can homestead, and another of her concerns had been that she’d run out of petrol…
‘Come on, Jo—’ he unslung the gun menacingly ‘—talk!’
‘I don’t have much petrol left.’
He swore. ‘Bloody women!’
‘I believe there’s a pump at the house so—’
‘Told you that, did they? Well, it’s not going to be of any use to me. Get in and switch on so I can see how low the tank is.’
Jo swallowed and finished dressing as quickly as she could. And when she switched the motor on and the petrol gauge was revealed—bordering the red—he swore again, even more murderously, then, ‘No spare tanks?’
‘No.’
‘What are you? One of their molls press-ganged into providing back-up?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about!’ Jo cried. ‘None of this makes any sense.’
‘Oh, yes, it does, sweetheart,’ he replied insolently, then rubbed his jaw with a sudden tinge of weariness. It didn’t last long, that first faint sign of weakness, however. ‘Plan B, then,’ he said grimly.
Ten minutes later, Jo was steering her vehicle over another diabolical track, but this time following her captor’s directions.
She’d had no opportunity to escape, as he’d made it quite clear he would shoot her down if she made any attempt to run away. Her request to be told what was going on had received a ‘don’t act all innocent with me, lady’ response.
And he’d quashed, with an impatient wave of his hand and virtually unheard, her solitary attempt to explain who she was, why she was on Kin Can station and her conviction that he was making a terrible mistake.
He’d also searched the vehicle before they’d set off, then glanced at her with a considering frown.
So she drove with a set mouth and her heart hammering; he wouldn’t allow her to use the headlights and the light was almost gone.
‘There,’ he said, pointing to a darker shadow on the landscape. ‘Pull into the shed on the other side.’
At first Jo thought it was only a clump of towering gum trees, then she discerned the outline of two buildings. ‘What is it?’
‘Boundary riders hut,’ he replied tersely as she nosed the vehicle into an old shed.
‘Is it…is this where you live?’
He laughed scornfully. ‘Who are you trying to kid, Jo?’
She sucked in a breath. ‘I’m not trying to kid anyone! I have no idea what’s going on or who on earth you are! What’s your name?’
He glanced at her mockingly. ‘For the purpose of maintaining your charade, why don’t you choose one? Tom, Dick or Harry will do.’
‘I have a better idea,’ she spat at him. ‘Mr Hitler is particularly appropriate for what I think of you!’
‘So the lady has claws,’ he said softly, with an appreciative gleam in his blue eyes, and switched on the inside light.
‘You better believe it.’
Their gazes clashed. It was an angry, defiant moment for Jo, but there was also fear lurking beneath it. Fear and something else—a certain amount of confusion. He might act like a bushranger or a boundary rider gone berserk, but he sounded like neither.
What he said was undoubtedly inflammatory and insulting—let alone the incomprehensibility of it all—but the voice was educated and cultured with the kind of accent that a wealthy, old-money family and a private school steeped in tradition would imbue.
Then there was his navy-blue jumper. If she was any judge, it would have cost a small fortune, being made of especially soft, fine new wool—although they were on a sheep station that specialized in fine new wool, weren’t they?
But most perplexing of all was the frisson tiptoeing along her nerve ends in the form of an awareness of him stealing over her. If you discounted his stubbly jaw and his eyes that could be murderous, he was well proportioned, excellently co-ordinated and rather devastatingly good-looking…
‘What?’
She blinked at his question. ‘N-nothing.’
‘Or—thinking of changing sides?’ he suggested. ‘Believe me, Jo, you’d be well advised to. Being my moll would have infinite advantages over—’
‘Stop it!’
