Margaret Way - Six Australian Heroes

Poppy had other ideas, but with two experienced horsemen in front of her and a thick, scratchy hedge behind her, she was finally cornered, although Lee caught his shirt in the hedge, ripping it severely and finally abandoning it on a wicked thorn.

Neither of them said a word as they marched the pony back to the stables, nor as Lee put her into the sand-roll and closed the metal door on her, but it wasn’t a silent time. The dogs were barking; the other horses were all stirred up.

They checked them out individually and mixed some small feeds to settle them all down.

Then they stood in the middle of the stable yard and eyed each other.

Rhiannon was the first to crack. ‘Talk about a snow man—you look like a mud man!’ she gurgled. ‘It’s in your hair, all over your chest, everywhere.’

‘I know that,’ he countered. ‘And talk about a mud maiden—you look as if you’ve gone through some bizarre tribal ritual. There’s only one thing to do.’ He shrugged. ‘What does a little more water matter anyway?’

He reached for the stable hose, turned it on and sprayed himself from head to toe.

‘Your turn now!’

She couldn’t stop laughing long enough to tell him not to—and it was the only sensible thing to do anyway, so she accepted her hosing down.

But something changed between them, an awareness grew between them out of nowhere.

She was struck by the beautiful proportions of his upper body, clean and slick now. She could only drink in the width of his sleekly muscled shoulders, his taut diaphragm, his lean waist and the mat of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.

‘You look like a siren,’ he said huskily, causing her to look up guiltily.

‘A well-dressed one.’ She glanced down at herself and bit her lip. Her top was moulded to her breasts, her nipples clearly outlined, so were her thighs.

‘Maybe not so well-dressed,’ he murmured.

Her eyes flew to his. ‘No, I mean—’

‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Luscious and very lovely.’

She started to colour. His eyes glinted wickedly.

Rhiannon clenched her fists. She battled to control the tremors that were starting to run through her as that dark blue gaze of his swept her body again—it was almost as if there was an electric current running between them.

The moonlit stable yard with its puddles of water, the sounds of munching, now contented horses, all had a surreal quality and for a blinding moment she wished she were young and refreshingly open again. So that she could reach that open, honest plane with Lee Richardson.

If he made one step forward, she thought, she’d be lost. She’d be vulnerable to all those fantasies about him she’d thought, wrongly, she’d banished.

She’d be as helpless—no!

‘I think it might be timely to remember,’ she said with an effort, ‘that basically, I’m the housekeeper here on a job. Goodnight.’

She swung on her heel and squelched through the yard towards the kitchen door.

Lee made no attempt to follow her, although he stared after her with a muscle flickering in his jaw.

She saw little of him the next morning and was grateful for all the work she had to do towards the party—it was one way of keeping her thoughts on other things at bay. It hadn’t been an easy night.

Not only that, but there was also a devastated Cliff to counsel and a subdued Christy to handle.

‘One more incident like that and she has to go,’ Christy told her tearfully. ‘Not only is Lee mad but so’s my father. She trampled his prize begonias and his vegetable garden is wrecked.’

‘I know,’ Rhiannon said ruefully.

‘Actually, I’ve never seen Lee in such a bad mood,’ Christy confided.

Rhiannon paused and grimaced inwardly. ‘Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if they get over it, both Lee and your dad. But in the meantime it would be a good idea to be firmer with Poppy, Christy. Don’t let her get away with murder. If I had more time I’d help you. Maybe after the party I’ll be able to sort something out.’

Christy went away looking happier.

But Rhiannon still had the girl on her mind when she did bump into Lee and it led to a tense little encounter.

She was sorting cutlery and wrapping each knife and fork in a linen napkin on the dining-room sideboard when he walked through the room on his way to the kitchen.

‘Ah. Basically the housekeeper,’ he said sardonically, coming to a stop beside her.

She flicked him a quick glance and went on wrapping cutlery. ‘Good afternoon.’

‘How is your day going so far, Ms Fairfax?’ he enquired.

‘As well as can be expected, Mr Richardson. How’s yours?’

‘Not without its complications. Things would appear to be a little tense.’

‘Just don’t take it out on Christy!’ she flashed at him then could have shot herself.

He opened his mouth, closed it and said smoothly, ‘What would you recommend? That I give her a certificate? Pretend Poppy’s escapades were laudable?’

Rhiannon set her teeth. ‘No. But don’t transfer any annoyance you might be feeling towards me onto her.’

‘Now, what on earth made you think that?’ he drawled.

‘Men can have fragile egos,’ she retorted. ‘And, since I got myself into this impossible conversation, I might as well keep going. Someone needs to give Christy some help with Poppy, so why don’t you?’

He put his head to one side. ‘You really are the most complete housekeeper, aren’t you?’ he said, annoyed. ‘Will there be any aspect of our lives you haven’t reorganised by the time you leave?’

‘She is only eleven, she doesn’t have a mother, she loves Poppy—any one of you could have worked that out, I would have thought.’

‘Are you suggesting I become a horse whisperer in my spare time?’

‘Yes.’

He regarded her bent head and busy fingers thoughtfully. ‘Since you’re such a fountain of wisdom, Rhiannon, how would you suggest I deal with a difficult night filled with visions of you, clothed but soaking wet then unclothed in my arms?’ He waited then went on,

‘Or, since you’re so touchy this afternoon,’ he paused as she lifted her head and their gazes clashed, ‘maybe you had a similar night? In which case, perhaps you could tell me what the hell we’re fighting about.’

Her throat worked but nothing came out.

He smiled drily and walked away but they both stopped what they were doing, she folding napkins and he turning back, and they spoke simultaneously.

‘Look,’ he said.

‘Listen,’ Rhiannon said.

The silence grew after their words had clashed until he said, ‘Be my guest.’

‘I think we should—put aside all this,’ she said with an effort. ‘It’s going to be a huge day one way or another and.’ She gestured helplessly.

‘My sentiments entirely. Should we sign an entente cordiale for today at least?’

‘I think we should agree to one, anyway. And,’ she frowned, ‘talking of guests, are you still sure you want me as one? It really would be much easier—’

‘I’m afraid to say on that point I’m rocksolid,’ he murmured. ‘I see you as invaluable on the social scene.’

She blinked. ‘But why?’

‘You’re very talented, Rhiannon. It just,’ he shrugged, ‘shines through. As a matter of fact, you remind me of my mother. She managed to blend considerable social skills with a streak of solid-gold practicality and genuine warmth.’

‘But,’ Rhiannon objected frustratedly, ‘that’s Mary’s role!’

He shrugged again. ‘One day, maybe. It hasn’t yet happened. So that’s signed and sealed?’

She stared at him. ‘Well …’

He smiled at her, the hundred-and-fifty-watt version.