Outback Baby

By evening, they had worked out how to barricade off the section of the verandah adjacent to the study, so that Mollie could have a safe area to crawl and play while Gemma worked. Gemma had unpacked her clothes and had showered to wash off the dust from her journey. She’d bathed the baby girl in the old claw-foot tub in the main bathroom and fed her mashed vegetables. Max had ambled down to one of the ringers’ huts to discuss station matters and explain about his visitors.

When he returned, he fixed a simple supper of steaks and salad while Gemma gave Mollie her bottle and settled her for sleep.

Everything went like clockwork. Gemma couldn’t believe how obliging Mollie was and how conciliatory Max had been. She was beginning to feel calm and confident and even optimistic about the whole venture. Surely this mood wouldn’t last?

They ate together, and their steaks were followed by a simple, no-frills dessert of chocolate chip ice cream and tinned apricots. Then coffee. They chatted about people they both knew from around the district and Max was a surprisingly entertaining host—slipping humorous anecdotes and juicy titbits of gossip into the conversation.

As he drained the last of his coffee, he put his cup down and leaned back in his chair. ‘I should have offered you a nightcap. Would you like a liqueur or brandy?’

She shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’m quite tired, but you have one.’

‘Not tonight.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You haven’t told me anything about the trip you made to England after university.’

‘I didn’t think you’d be interested,’ she answered stiffly.

His eyebrows rose the tiniest fraction. ‘I don’t need a travelogue, but I’d like to know whether you found what you were looking for.’

The coffee cup in Gemma’s hand rattled against its saucer. ‘I went to London for two years’ work experience.’

After a little, Max said, ‘I suspected you were running away.’

He’d dropped the charm and reverted to Big Brother mode and Gemma’s sense of relaxation was falling away at breakneck speed. She should have known the truce had been too good to last. ‘What would I have been running away from?’

He frowned. ‘You and Dave were so close for so many years. Everyone in the district thought of you as a couple.’

‘Yes, but I’m sure everyone knew it wasn’t serious.’ She was stunned to think that Max might have thought she’d been pining after Dave. ‘Heavens, Max, Dave and I just sort of hung out together out of habit. I mean—being with him was always fun and sweet and everything, but when we parted it was quite painless and definitely for the best.’ She added quietly, ‘There was something missing in our relationship.’

Heat leapt into her cheeks. She didn’t add that there had seemed to be something missing in every relationship she’d attempted. Gemma had a dreadful suspicion that there was something missing in her own personality. She feared she just wasn’t suited to romance. No matter how handsome and charming and eager to please her the young men she’d met had been, none of then had ever once made her feel giddily, genuinely in love. Not the kind of love she was hoping to find.

‘You thought you would find that missing something…in London?’ Max’s eyes were lit with a puzzling intensity.

Blue fire.

The way their gaze locked onto hers robbed her breath. This man of all people shouldn’t be asking her such questions.

‘No, I wasn’t hoping for that,’ she said at last, and prayed that he couldn’t guess she was lying through her teeth.

‘No suave English gentleman swept you off your feet?’

It was time to finish this conversation. Gemma didn’t like it at all. She especially didn’t like the way her heart began beat so frantically when Max looked at her.

Unless she put an end to this now, she might end up admitting to him that although she’d met plenty of nice young men, none of them had captured her heart. And the very last thing Gemma wanted was for him to continue this line of questioning and uncover her embarrassing secret.

None of her family or friends knew the truth about her love life. Or rather her lack of a love life. Gemma was quite certain that she was the only twenty-three-year-old female outside a nunnery who was still a virgin.

She lifted her chin to what she hoped was a challenging angle. ‘There were several men,’ she told him. ‘But, Max, you’re not my big brother. I’m not giving you an itemised account and you don’t need to keep watch over me. It’s none of your business how many men I’ve met or—or how many affairs I’ve had.’ Pushing back her chair, she jumped to her feet. ‘I haven’t asked you one tiny question about your breakfast companions.’

He stood also and looked down at her from his menacing height. ‘What would you like to know?’ he asked while a poorly suppressed grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

‘I have absolutely no interest in your philanderings.’ She spun on her heel and began to stomp away from the table. Then she stopped abruptly, remembering her manners. ‘I’ll help you clear the table and tidy the kitchen,’ she mumbled.

‘Thank you, Gemma,’ he replied with a studied politeness that annoyed her.

In silence they worked, Max gathering up the plates and cutlery, Gemma collecting the cups, place mats and serviettes. Together they walked into the kitchen and set their things down at the sink. They both reached for the tap at the same time. Their hands connected.

As if she’d been burnt, Gemma snatched her hand away from the contact, but Max’s reaction was just as quick and he caught her fingers in his strong grasp.

His thumb stroked her skin once, twice…and she felt her blood stirring in response. Her hand trembled.

She wanted to pull away, but she was too fascinated by her body’s astonishing reaction. Never had she felt so unsettled, so fired up by a man’s simple touch. She didn’t dare look at Max. She stood by the sink, mesmerised by the sight of her slim white hand in his large, suntanned grip. She could see little hairs on the back of his hand, bleached to gold by the sun. A faint trace of the fresh, lemon-scented soap he’d used in the shower still clung to his skin and his work-roughened thumb continued to move slowly over her hand, making her feel shivery and breathless.

‘Gem.’ His gruff voice barely reached her over the savage drumbeat in her ears.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

‘Gemma,’ he said again, and his other hand reached under her chin, forcing her head up until their eyes met. Max was looking as startled as she felt. His breathing sounded just as hectic.

When his fingers began to trace ever so gently the outline of her face, she could feel her skin flame at his touch.

‘Gemma Brown,’ he whispered, ‘whether you like it or not, I’m going to keep watching you…just like I always have.’

And the moment was spoiled. Gemma was embarrassingly disappointed.

‘For Pete’s sake!’ she exclaimed, wrenching her hand out of his grasp and pulling right away from him. She was fearfully angry with him and she wasn’t quite sure why. ‘You are not my brother, my bodyguard or my guardian angel!’ For a dreadful moment she thought she might burst into tears. ‘Go paint some more walls. Get a life, Max, and leave me to get on with mine!’

This time she didn’t care about good manners. Gemma rushed out of the kitchen and left him with the dirty dishes.

CHAPTER THREE

THE grimy dishes were still sitting on the counter top waiting to be washed when Gemma walked into the kitchen the next morning. Added to last night’s pile were an extra-greasy frying pan, a mug and more plates—things Max must have used for his breakfast before he headed off at sunrise.

‘Who does he think he is?’ she asked Mollie as she surveyed the dreary mess. Mollie merely whimpered and rubbed her face against Gemma’s shoulder. She’d been restless during the night and still seemed rather fragile this morning. Having slept very fitfully, Gemma wasn’t feeling too chipper either. In their own separate ways, both Max and Mollie Jardine had kept her tossing and turning for hours.

She set Mollie down on the floor while she hunted through Max’s cupboards for a saucepan to boil their eggs, but Mollie began to cry almost as soon as Gemma walked away from her.

‘Aren’t you going to let me do anything this morning?’ Gemma sighed. She tried to cheer the baby up with clucking noises while she set about making their breakfast.

After popping two eggs into a pot of water, she slid bread into the toaster and boiled the kettle for a mug of tea for herself. The phone rang. Gemma glanced at Mollie, who was still making miserable little whimpers and she deliberated whether she should let the answering machine deal with the call. Then, having second thoughts, she handed the baby a saucepan lid, hoping it would keep her happy while she dashed to the phone.

The call was from Brisbane—the printers were wanting to clarify some final details about the pamphlet—so Gemma was glad she’d answered. But when she returned to the kitchen, her heart sank.

Max stood in the middle of the room, with his hands on his hips, staring in dismay at Mollie, who was howling loudly and banging the saucepan lid on the floor in time to her wails.

She dashed into the room and swept the baby into her arms. ‘Why didn’t you pick her up?’ she challenged Max, deciding to attack him before he could begin to accuse her of neglect.

But he clearly didn’t react well to being scolded. His eyes narrowed. ‘Where were you?’ he asked.

‘Where was I?’ She knew she sounded shrewish, but was too frazzled to care. ‘After pacing the floorboards all night, trying to calm your niece, I was answering an important business call. Where were you?’

‘I’ve had one or two things to attend to,’ he snapped. ‘I need to talk to my men—delegate more jobs now that I have other responsibilities.’

‘Who are you trying to kid?’ Gemma cut in. ‘You wouldn’t recognise a responsibility if it was formally introduced to you. Who rocked Mollie back to sleep when she wouldn’t settle last night? Me! Who waltzed off this morning without a care in the world and left the kitchen covered in grease? You did!’

‘I’m sorry you had a bad night,’ he replied with annoying composure, ‘but calm down, Gemma.’ He reached over and lifted the miserable Mollie from her arms. ‘I had every intention of doing the dishes—same as I always do them—at lunchtime.’

‘Lunchtime?’

Gemma might have launched into another tirade, but she noticed that Max’s nose had begun to twitch. Was he feeling angry or just very guilty? Neither of the above, she realised with dismay as the acrid smell of smoke reached her.

‘It seems you’ve burnt the toast,’ he said quietly.

Black smoke billowed from the corner of the kitchen and Max, with Mollie on one hip, lunged across the room, switched the toaster off and flung its doors open.

Wasn’t it just typical of this man? Gemma thought as she watched him. He could buy himself a smart little plane, a satellite dish and a fancy computer and still not have progressed to a pop-up toaster.

On the stove, the eggs were boiling so rapidly they rattled against the saucepan. ‘Oh, blast! They’ll be hardboiled!’ she wailed. This was definitely not her morning.

She snatched the saucepan from the stove, thumped it into the sink, then whirled around to glare at Max. He was nuzzling Mollie’s tummy with his nose and making her laugh.

Laugh! Out loud!

Proper chuckles!

Gemma could feel her bottom lip drooping into a pout. How dared Mollie be so sweet and responsive to Max when she was the one who’d lost all the sleep? She sagged against the kitchen bench and, with a self-pitying sigh, folded her arms across her chest.

Max glanced at her. ‘I’ll take her out to see the puppies and give you some space to have another go at cooking breakfast,’ he suggested.

She drew in a deep breath and nodded. Some peace and quiet, some space…that was what she needed…

And yet she felt strangely abandoned watching Max take Mollie outside—as if they belonged together and she was the outsider. He carried her so easily, without any sense of awkwardness. He would make a good father…She found herself wondering how many of Max’s breakfast companions had been hoping to marry him, to have him father their children.

Groaning at the stupid direction of her thoughts, Gemma picked up the blackened pieces of toast and, with grimly compressed lips, tossed them into the bin before setting out to remake breakfast.

By the time Max and Mollie returned, she had set the little table on the verandah and her breakfast and Mollie’s were ready. She had decided against eggs after all and had made Mollie some porridge, settling for tea and toast for herself. And she’d assumed Max might want some more to eat so had made extra for him.

‘Thanks,’ he said as he settled Mollie on his lap and proceeded to feed her milky porridge with a tiny spoon.

‘We could do with a high chair. It would make mealtimes much easier,’ Gemma commented as Max intercepted Mollie’s plump little hand before she could dunk it into the porridge bowl.

‘I’ll add it to my shopping list, but I’m not sure if Goodbye Creek runs to high chairs.’

‘So you’re going into town this morning?’

He nodded. ‘Want to come?’

Gemma hesitated and took a sip of tea, shocked by her ready willingness to accept his offer. The idea of going to town with Max seemed more appealing than she could have thought possible. Her mind ran ahead of her, wondering what she might wear.

He was looking at her thoughtfully. ‘Of course, you might appreciate some time to set up your office. I could take Mollie with me and get her out of your hair for the morning, while you get your business sorted out. It’s a hot day for travelling and seeing you’ve had a rough night…’

Gemma placed her mug carefully back on the table. What on earth was wrong with her? Max Jardine was offering to get out of her way. She should be celebrating. This time yesterday she would have paid him to stay away.

His suggestion that she take the morning to reorganise her business was so brimming with common sense that she couldn’t refuse without looking foolish. So why on earth did it make her feel downright miserable? Her tiredness had to be the answer—plus the fact that she had already grown so attached to Mollie that she hated to be parted from her.

‘A morning to myself would be great,’ she told Max brightly. ‘You finish your toast and I’ll go clean up Mollie and make up an extra bottle for you to take.’

‘Better give me some extra clothes for her, too,’ Max said as she stood to go. ‘We might be some time.’

They were gone for most of the day. Many, many times Gemma went to the front verandah to peer down the dirt track, searching for the cloud of red dust on the horizon that would tell her the truck was returning. She hadn’t the courage to tell Max that there wasn’t much work on her books at present. He already had a low enough opinion of her without adding fuel to his fire.

But by ten o’clock in the morning she’d finished her work and she spent the rest of the day roaming restlessly around the house.

After lunch, she washed and dried all the dishes, vowing that she would have to change some of Max’s bachelor habits. Then she set a sprinkler on the front lawn and picked some flowers from the old rambling garden that Max’s grandmother had established many, many years ago. Exotic-smelling white gardenias, roses in two shades of pink and some yellow crucifix orchids.

After arranging the flowers in a crystal vase on the hall table, she piled a blue bowl with tangy bush lemons and set it on the kitchen dresser, then brought in Mollie’s washing from the line, folded it and put it away.

By mid-afternoon, Gemma wondered if she should start thinking about the evening meal, but decided to wait and see what Max had bought.

At about four, a trail of dust signalled their return at last. Trying not to hurry, she made her way through the house to greet them, unable to disguise her pleasure when they pulled up near the kitchen door.

Max grinned at her as he swung his long frame down from the driver’s seat and her heart gave a silly little lurch. He held a finger to his lips. ‘Mollie’s asleep,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll try to get her out without disturbing her.’

Expertly, he unbuckled Mollie’s car seat and lifted her gently out of the truck. In his strong arms, the baby girl looked comfortable and safe and Gemma’s throat constricted painfully. The combined effect of Max’s surprisingly tender manner as he handled his little niece and the way his usually grim gaze softened when he looked at her lying asleep in his arms upset her.

He hunched one broad shoulder forward to accommodate the little head covered in damp curls and the thoughtful gesture touched her deeply. But Gemma didn’t want her emotions to be touched—such reactions were out of order and made her distinctly uncomfortable.

She felt better when she set about the businesslike task of unloading groceries and carting them through to the kitchen.

‘How was town?’ she asked when Max joined her.

‘Same as always.’ He shrugged. ‘Mollie caused quite a stir.’

‘I guess babies are a bit of a rarity out this way.’

He nodded and continued the unloading without further comment. He brought in a rather battered-looking high chair, which he proudly announced he’d found in the secondhand shop, and then he carried through an Esky full of cold goods and began to load the freezer with more tubs of chocolate chip ice cream and packets of frozen corn cobs and peas.

At last he looked up. ‘Get plenty of work done while we were away?’

‘Oh,’ Gemma replied, with a vague wave of her hand, ‘yes—heaps.’

‘Mollie’s been awake for most of the day. So many people wanted to make a fuss of her. I’d say she needs a good sleep now.’

‘I guess so,’ Gemma agreed. With a plastic scoop, she transferred sugar from a huge hessian bag into an old-fashioned metal canister. ‘Would you like some afternoon tea?’

He glanced at his watch. ‘I should mosey on down to the ringers’ place and have something there. I need to know if Chad and Dingo were able to fix the pump on the five-mile bore.’

With that, he reached for the Akubra hat hanging on a nail near the back door and was gone.

Gemma clamped the lid down tight on the sugar canister, lugged the bag into the pantry, then sat down at the kitchen table and propped up her chin with her hand. She stayed there staring at the door where Max had disappeared. The clock on the wall ticked loudly.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.