Six Australian Heroes

‘Sit,’ he commanded.

They obliged smartly.

‘You’re safe, Rhiannon,’ Lee called. ‘They’re trained not to attack. OK, guys,’ he added to the dogs, ‘heel! We’ll get you shut up then—Rhiannon, would you mind giving me a hand? Poppy can also be the ultimate vandal when she sets her mind to it. She can actually turn on taps with her teeth.’

‘Certainly.’ Rhiannon stepped out of the car. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s in the vegetable garden as we speak.’

‘Whow! Having turned on a few taps, on the way,’ he cursed as he stepped into a large puddle that shouldn’t have been there. ‘I don’t know why I put up with this blasted horse!’

‘Because you’re rather fond of Christy?’ Rhiannon suggested with a smile.

They discovered how Poppy had got out when they reached the stables. She’d kicked a hole in the lower half of her stall door and somehow scrambled through.

‘You have to give her some marks for sheer ingenuity,’ Rhiannon laughed, although Lee was swearing as he locked up the dogs.

‘OK, let’s arm ourselves.’ He took down two leads and a headstall from hooks on the wall and gathered two biscuits of lucerne hay from the feed room.

As Rhiannon had predicted, they found Poppy in the vegetable garden—where she’d turned on another tap thereby creating something of a quagmire—expertly digging up carrots.

‘Oh, poor Cliff,’ Rhiannon breathed as she summed up the devastation in the moonlight.

‘It might just prompt him to consider getting his daughter a decent, well-mannered horse,’ Lee said caustically. ‘Let’s back her into that corner.’ He pointed. ‘I don’t think she can get through that hedge. Oh, Poppy,’ he called in dulcet, singsong tones as he advanced with his lucerne, ‘if you know what’s good for you, you old witch, you’ll come quietly!’

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.

‘Oh, all right!’ She turned away hastily and went back to wrapping cutlery.

Two hours before the guests arrived Rhiannon was happy with all her preparations, and she decided to take a break, checking up on the veranda, where Cliff was setting things up, on her way out for a breath of fresh air.

Three long trestle tables clothed in dark green linen had been set up for the food and a portable bar was tucked into a corner. Smaller round tables and chairs were scattered about as well as some potted lemon trees.

Candle glasses sat on the tables and lined the edge of the veranda. A bowl of roses and a lovely silver six-branch candelabrum with pink candles dominated the main table.

She moved the roses and the candelabrum to show them off more effectively and repositioned the baskets of linen-wrapped cutlery and stood back to study the effect.

Satisfied, she looked at the sky but it was clear and there was no breeze.

‘Good night for it, thank heavens!’ she said to Cliff who was working behind the bar.

‘Not only that, we’ve got a full moon tonight. It’s quite a sight from up here,’ he replied.

Rhiannon looked enchanted. ‘I believe you!’

She decided to enjoy the rose garden for a few minutes before she went indoors again. The sun was starting to set. A flock of corellas, white parrots without the sulphur crests of cockatoos, was wheeling and squawking as they made the best of the last of the daylight before they put themselves to bed.

There was a sprinkler system watering a section of the garden and lawn and raising the rich scent of damp earth and wet grass.

She stopped and breathed in deeply—it really was the most beautiful place and it brought back memories of her home before the crash. Although it hadn’t been as grand as Southall, her parents had had a lovely estate perched in the Blue Mountains above Sydney.

She sniffed suddenly as she thought of it, and her father and mother.

Tears trickled down her cheeks.

She brushed them away with her fingers and turned to go in, only to bump into Lee Richardson.

He put out a hand to steady her. ‘Rhiannon?’ He frowned down at her. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ She pulled a hanky from her pocket and blew her nose. ‘Some pollen, maybe, that’s all.’

He looked unconvinced and she rushed into speech, the first thing that came to mind.

‘What on earth have you been doing?’

He looked down at his sweat-soaked T-shirt, track pants and bare feet. He also had a towel slung round his neck. ‘Boxing.’

Her lips parted in surprise. ‘You’re a—boxer?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘It’s a horrible sport!’

‘There you go, making snap judgements again,’ he drawled. ‘Done scientifically and with all the proper rules, it’s actually a great way for boys to let off steam and curb their sometimes naturally destructive instincts—as I should know. Walk with me,’ he added. ‘I’m going for a swim.’

She hesitated then fell into step beside him. ‘What do you mean? And who have you been fighting?’

He laughed. ‘A bunch of late-teen boys at a sports club the family set up and endowed some years ago. I always try to show my face when I’m here.’

Rhiannon blinked a couple of times. ‘That—sounds rather laudable if only it wasn’t boxing. And why should you know about boys needing to let off steam et cetera?’

They’d reached the pool and he unwound the towel and dropped it onto a sun lounger. He also looked at her quizzically.

‘Obviously apart from having been a boy yourself,’ she amended. ‘What I mean is, it sounded rather pointed the way you said it.’

He shrugged. ‘It was. I had a pretty torrid late-teen period myself. I thought I was invincible when it came to cars, bikes and speed, to girls and the high life.’

Rhiannon stared at him wide-eyed.

He grimaced. ‘It’s not so unusual, you know.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ she said slowly. ‘I know it’s not—especially when you’re rich.’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ he agreed.

‘So boxing saved you?’

He nodded. ‘Plus a wise mentor. Not that I went on with boxing but I did learn to channel all that energy more productively. I took up polo.’

Rhiannon looked heavenwards. ‘How very élite!’

‘But competitive, physically challenging and dangerous,’ he murmured.

‘I’d still like to bet it didn’t change your dangerous ways with girls,’ she said involuntarily.

‘Maybe not,’ he conceded and pulled off his T-shirt, ‘although this may interest you. They didn’t seem to mind.’

She was about to say ‘Tell me another!’—but a vision of Lee Richardson as a virile twenty-year-old with all those dark good looks and a bit of a bad-boy reputation planted itself in her mind and she shivered suddenly.

They would and they wouldn’t, she thought. Yes, they’d have known they were playing with fire but when he smiled at them as she’d seen him do two days before in an airport lounge, they’d have melted.

They still melted. She herself had melted.

She shook her head to dissolve the image. ‘Surely you had plenty of opportunity to channel your energy productively on all those cattle stations in the family?’ she objected.

‘Of course.’ He smiled fleetingly. ‘I was mustering cattle as a kid. But I also spent long years at boarding-school then university.’

He stripped off his track pants, revealing a red and white pair of hipster board shorts, and he placed his hands on his hips. ‘Why don’t you swim too? After a long, hard day slaving over a hot stove you deserve it.’

Rhiannon realised she was staring at him. Again. And again it was hard to stop because he was a work of art. Lean and tall with long, strong legs. Those wide shoulders tapering to a taut, narrow diaphragm; dark, springy hair on his chest and thighs; sleek, smooth, tanned skin sheathing streamlined muscles.

‘I—I don’t have a costume,’ she stammered as she backed away a couple of steps and was brought up short by a pillar.

‘You mean you weren’t at all tempted to try out our fabulous beaches if nothing else?’ he queried gravely but she knew he was laughing at her confusion as he followed her and came to stand right in front of her.

‘I was actually going to splash out and buy a new bikini,’ she replied as tartly as she was able to, considering that her breathing was ragged and her senses were leaping about like any teenage girl’s.

‘There’s not a lot of difference between some bikinis and a bra and undies,’ he said meditatively.

‘There is for me,’ she contradicted. ‘Besides which, with your reputation—’

He started to laugh. ‘Not only am I reformed and a lot older but I never did make a practice of leaping on girls even in their underwear without an invitation.’

‘It’s how you go about getting that invitation,’ she began but he stopped her short.

‘Rhiannon,’ he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear—for once she hadn’t done it herself, ‘I would say we’re both a long way from either the indiscretions or disappointments of our earlier years. So don’t blame the effect I have on you,’ he looked at her breasts as they moved up and down agitatedly in tune with her uneven breathing, ‘on anything but a spontaneous attraction. I will do the same.’ His gaze came back to hers and it was curiously sombre and probing.

‘I don’t trust spontaneous attractions,’ she said a little raggedly. ‘Not only that—if you must know!—the whole concept irritates the life out of me.’ She shook her head frustratedly.

‘Because you don’t feel you’re completely in charge of yourself?’ he suggested drily.

Her eyes widened. Had he hit the nail on the head?

‘Maybe you should guard against being taken over by your job,’ he said then, and smiled lethally. ‘A little too much liking for that sense of power it gives you.’

She went to slap his face but he caught her wrist in a hard grip. ‘On the other hand,’ he said softly, ‘you’re not kidding me, Rhiannon Fairfax. There’s an electric current between us that tells me if you let your guard down your beautiful body would writhe with delight in my bed.’

He looked her up and down and, with sardonic intent, mentally stripped her.

She told herself to breathe evenly in a bid to destroy the images mounting in her mind but it seemed nothing could stop her from visualising herself naked in his arms, drinking in the sleek power of his body, even glorying in his scent of sweat, leather and chalk while he explored her body at whim …

‘In the meantime,’ he continued after a long, fraught moment as they stared at each other, he coldly and clinically, ‘I’m going for a swim. You please yourself but perhaps a cold shower would be a good idea.’

He released her, turned away and dived cleanly into the pool.

* * *

Rhiannon could only come up with one outfit that remotely resembled a party outfit.

‘Why didn’t I just say no to this?’ she asked herself bitterly as she studied her reflection in her bedroom mirror. ‘Because he would have cancelled the party, thereby causing considerable chaos or—because I wanted to prove to him he does nothing to me?’

She closed her eyes briefly as she contemplated her disarray beside the pool, and the feeling that she’d like to demolish Lee Richardson one moment, then wake up in his bed the next. Not to mention that insidious little sense that he’d firmly slammed a door in her face again.

She had on a knee-length A-line black skirt that she usually enjoyed wearing but not tonight—other than jeans she had nothing else to cover her legs—and black tights.

She’d teamed it with a coral fine-cotton camisole top with shoestring straps and a drawstring waistline. She wore a four-string fine silver necklace threaded lightly with jade beads and matching long, dangly earrings. Her black shoes had slender heels and were the same ones she’d worn with her grey trouser suit.

She had no evening bag so she tucked a lacy black hanky into her waistband.

She’d washed and dried her hair so it shone and felt bouncy and she’d applied her make-up carefully.

Then there was nothing more to do to herself but she delayed a few minutes longer as she tided her bedroom and bathroom scrupulously. But her conscience got the better of her desire to hold off from any more disturbing encounters with Lee Richardson. The more help she could give Sharon before the party started, the better.

It also struck her that Matt and Mary hadn’t arrived yet.

* * *

At a quarter to seven, Rhiannon stepped out onto the east veranda.

The candle glasses were lit, the roses scented the air delicately, all the accoutrements of the meal were in place and the veranda looked lovely.

Lee Richardson was already there, looking impossibly handsome in a grey suit with a black shirt and a silver tie.

She rushed into speech as his gaze flickered down to her legs. ‘Aren’t they here yet? Do you think they’re coming?’

‘I—’ he broke off and listened ‘—would say they’ve just arrived. For someone who had nothing to wear, you’ve done well, Rhiannon.’

‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, moving restlessly under his gaze.

He smiled slightly then turned as two people came out onto the veranda.

Matt Richardson didn’t resemble his brother much. He was shorter and squarer with curly brown hair, hazel eyes and a wide, engaging smile as he introduced himself to Rhiannon.

‘Thank you so much for all this,’ he enthused. ‘Mary is really grateful, aren’t you, sweetheart?’ He turned to his wife.

Mary Richardson was stunning. She had red-gold hair, almost turquoise eyes, milky-white skin and a shapely figure that showed no sign of her pregnancy.

She was wearing a low-cut turquoise strapless dress that matched her eyes. It had a frothing ballerina-length skirt, a tight waist and the bodice glittered with sequins. Her high strappy sandals were silver and an exquisite diamond pendant on a platinum chain nestled in the valley between her breasts. She looked sensational.

‘Hi!’ she said enthusiastically to Rhiannon. ‘Wow!’ She looked around. ‘You have done well! Actually, I’ve had a great idea,’ she said excitedly. ‘Why don’t you come and work for us permanently, Rhiannon? I’m sure you’d make a great housekeeper!’

Matt flinched and Lee Richardson cast his sister-in-law a speaking look she didn’t see because he was standing behind her.

Then another voice said, ‘I happen to agree—why don’t you give it some thought, Rhiannon?’ And Andrea Richardson strolled onto the veranda.

If Mary looked sensational, Andrea topped it. Her hair was piled on top of her head, her strapless, décolleté black gown was moulded to her figure, her skin glowed like ivory and a magnificent ruby necklace matched her lips.

‘Thank you,’ Rhiannon murmured with a faintly ironic little smile, ‘but I have other plans.’

Andrea shrugged and turned away. Her eyes fell on the main table and she tilted her head to one side, then moved forward and repositioned the roses and moved the candelabrum. ‘That’s better,’ she said and turned to glance at Lee with her chin lifted.

Rhiannon took a sharp breath but fortunately Cliff approached at this point. He wore a snowy white shirt, black trousers and a black cummerbund. He had a white napkin over one arm and he carried a small silver tray bearing five frosted glasses of champagne.

‘Thanks, Cliff.’ Lee took two glasses and handed one to Rhiannon. ‘Come and look at the moon,’ he added to her.

She hesitated then walked away with him until they were out of earshot of Matt, Mary and Andrea.

The moon was huge and orange as it rested on the dark horizon.

‘My apologies,’ Lee Richardson said. ‘Mary was tactless, so was Andrea.’

Rhiannon flicked her hair back. ‘Did you know she was coming, your stepmother?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, they probably had no idea they were being tactless—unlike you, earlier. But it doesn’t matter.’ She took a sip of her champagne.

He looked down at her smooth, fair, bent head. ‘Are you talking to me?’

‘Only if absolutely necessary.’

He smiled slightly but said, ‘Sometimes the truth hurts.’ And added before she could take issue with that, ‘Why were you crying earlier?’

‘Oh, don’t start me off again.’ She blinked a couple of times and sniffed. ‘It was nothing.’

‘Thinking of your father?’

Her head came up and she regarded him out of startled brown eyes. ‘How did you know?’

He shrugged. ‘Not exactly rocket science.’