The Australian

“Barefoot again,” he said curtly, glaring at Priss’s pretty little feet on the fence rail. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I could make several suggestions,” she murmured with a mischievous smile.

He lit a cigarette, not commenting, and leaned his forearms over the pommel of the saddle. His sleeves were rolled up, and Priss’s helpless eyes were drawn to the huge muscular hands holding the reins and the cigarette. The leather creaked protestingly as he sat forward to stare at her from under the wide brim of his Stetson. “Well, what’s the news, little sheila?” he prompted.

“I got the scholarship,” she told him proudly, eyes twinkling.

“Good on you!” he said.

“Mom’s proud,” she said. “And Dad’s especially pleased because he teaches, too. I’m going to major in elementary education.”

He studied her. Anyone would be less likely to become a teacher, he thought. He smiled softly. With her long hair curling like that, a silvery cloud around her delicate features, she was a vision. There wouldn’t be any shortage of suitors. That disturbed him, and the smile faded. She was still a child. Just eighteen. His eyes went slowly over her slender body, to the taut thrust of her perfect breasts against the sundress’s thin top, down over a small waist and slender hips and long elegant legs to her bare pretty feet.

Priss watched him, too, vaguely excited by the way he was looking at her. She couldn’t remember a time before when he’d looked at her like that, as if she were a woman instead of an amusing but pesky kid.

She shifted on the fence, with the forgotten letter still clutched in one hand. “Will you miss me when I’m gone?” she asked, only half teasing.

“Oh, like the plague,” he agreed, tongue in cheek. “Who’ll drag me to the phone in the middle of calving to ask if I’m busy? Or go swimming in my pond just when I’ve stocked it with fish? Or ride me down in the woods when I’m taking a few minutes to myself?”

She dropped her eyes. “I guess I have been a pest,” she agreed reluctantly. She brushed her hair back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t look so lost. I will miss you,” he added, his voice soft and slow.

She sighed, looking up into his eyes. “I’ll miss you, too,” she confessed. Her eyes were eloquent, more revealing than she knew. “Hawaii’s so far away.”

“It was your choice,” he reminded her.

She shrugged. “I got carried away by the scenery when I toured the campus with Aunt Margaret. Besides, having an aunt nearby will make things easier, and you know Mom and Dad don’t want me living on campus. I kind of wish I’d decided on Brisbane, though.”

“You’re an American,” he reminded her. “Perhaps you’ll fit in better in Honolulu.”

“But I’ve lived in Australia for two years,” she said. “It’s home now.”

He lifted the cigarette to his mouth. “You’re young, Priss. Younger than you realize. So much can change, in so little time.”

She glared at him. “You think I’m just a kid, too. Well, mister, I’m growing fast, so look out. When I come back home for good, you’re in trouble.”

His bushy eyebrows lifted over amused eyes. “I am?”

“I’ll have learned all about being a woman by then,” she told him smugly. “I’ll steal your heart right out of that rock you’ve got it embedded in.”

“You’re welcome to give it a go,” he told her with a grin. “Fair dinkum.”

She sighed. There he went again, humoring her. Couldn’t he see her heart was breaking?

“Well, I’d better get back,” she sighed. “I have to help Mom with lunch.” She peeked up at him, hoping against hope that he might offer to let her come up behind him on his horse. It would be all of heaven to sit close against that big body and feel its heat and strength. She’d been close to him so rarely, and every occasion was a precious memory. Now there wasn’t a lot of time left to store up memories. Her heart began to race. Maybe this time...

“Mind your feet,” he said, nodding toward them. “And look out for Joe Blakes.”

She frowned, then remembered the rhyming slang he liked to tease her with. “Snakes!” she produced. “You Bananabender!”

He threw back his blond head and laughed, deeply and heartily. “Yes, I’m a Queenslander, that’s the truth. Now on with you, little sheila, I’ve got work to do, even if you haven’t.”

“Yes, Your Worship,” she mocked, and jumped down from the fence to give him a sweeping curtsy. Her eyes twinkled as he made a face. “That’s called cutting tall poppies down to size!”

“I’m keeping score,” he warned softly.

“How exciting,” she replied tartly.

He laughed to himself and turned his mount. “Mind your feet!” he called again, amusement deepening his voice, and with a tip of his hat, he rode off as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Priss watched him until he was out of sight among the gum trees, and sighed wistfully. Oh, well, there was still a week before she left for Hawaii. If only he’d kiss her. She flushed, biting her lower lip as the intensity of emotion washed over her. He never had touched her, except to hold her hand occasionally to help her up and down from perilous places. And once, only once, he’d lifted her and carried her like a child over a huge mud puddle when it was raining. She’d clung to him, as if drowning in his sensuous strength. But those episodes were few and far between, and mostly she survived on memory. She had a snapshot of him that she’d begged from his mother, on the excuse of painting him from it. The painting had gone lacking, but she had the photograph tucked in her wallet, and she wove exquisite daydreams around it.

With a world-weary look on her face, she got down from the fence and began to walk slowly back across the paddock. Maybe a snake would bite her, and she’d be at death’s door, and John would rush to her bedside to weep bitter tears over her body. She shook herself. More likely, he’d pat the snake on the head and make a pet of it.

She wandered lazily back to the house and walked slowly up the steps to the cool front porch where she liked to sit and hope that John would ride by. In the distance were the softly rolling paddocks where John’s Hereford cattle and big Merino sheep grazed peacefully.

Her eyes grew sad as she realized that she would soon be far away from this dear, familiar scene. College. Several years of college in Hawaii—out of sight and sound and touch of John Sterling. And he didn’t even seem to mind. Not one bit.

Renée Johnson looked up as her daughter came into the house. She smiled a little as she bent her silver head again to her embroidery. She was in her late forties, but traces of beauty were still evident in her patrician face.

“Hello, darling; back already?” she teased.

“John was busy,” Priss sighed. She plopped down into a chair with a rueful smile. “He’s glad I’m leaving, you know.”

“Oh, I don’t think he is, really,” Renée said carelessly. “Friendship can survive a few absences, dear.”

Friendship. Priss almost wailed. She was dying of love for him!

“Dad should be back now, shouldn’t he?” she asked.

“He had to stop in Providence to pick up his new suit on the way back from Brisbane,” she reminded her daughter. “And Brisbane is a good drive from here.”

“All for a student he hardly knows,” Priss remarked. “Just because he needed a way to the airport. Dad’s all heart, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” her mother agreed warmly. “That’s why I married him, you know.”

Priss got up and paced the room. “I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Hawaii’s so far away...”

“The university there is one of the best,” she was reminded. “And your aunt will love having you close by. She’s your father’s favorite sister, you know.”

“Yes.” Priss stared out the window at the distant white cloud of moving sheep. John had cattle, too, but his primary interest was his big Merino sheep. She loved watching the jackeroos move them from paddock to paddock. She loved the sheepdogs, so deft and quick. But most of all she loved John. John!

“Set the table, dear, would you?” Renée asked. “I’ll be dishing up supper any minute.”

Chapter Three

Adam Johnson glanced curiously at his daughter over the dinner table. It wasn’t like Priscilla to pick at her food.

“Aren’t you hungry, darling?” he asked.

She lifted her face with a plaintive smile. “I’m just homesick already,” she confessed.

“Homesick? Don’t be silly, Hawaii’s not that far away,” he chuckled. “You can come home on holidays and vacation.”

She pushed her fork into her potatoes and stared at them. “I suppose so.”

Adam turned his head toward Renée, who was shaking her head.

“It’s just...well, do you suppose John really will miss me?” she asked her father, all eyes.

He laughed, misreading the situation. “Now, darling, I doubt that,” he chuckled as he concentrated on his food. “You do wear him out, you know.”

Priss got up from the table in tears and ran for her room. Her mother glared at her father.

“You animal,” she accused. “How could you do that to her? Don’t you realize she’s horribly infatuated with John?”

His eyebrows arched. “With John? But, my God, he’s ten years older than she is. And she’s just a child!”

“She’s eighteen,” she reminded him. “Not a child at all.”

“Well, John’s too experienced for her by far,” he said firmly. “Don’t get me wrong—I think the world of him. But she needs boys her own age. And you know how relentlessly she chases the poor man, Renée. I wonder that he tolerates it. You can see he isn’t interested in kids like Priss.”

“Yes, I know. But she’s so young, darling,” Renée said softly. “Don’t you remember how we felt at her age?”

His dark eyes softened. “Yes,” he said reluctantly, and sighed. “With everybody around telling us how young we were...poor Priss.”

“She’ll get over him,” Renée promised. “Once she’s with boys her own age, she’ll get over him.”

Priss, standing frozen in the hall, heard every word. It all came rushing at her like a tidal wave. Had she hounded John? Did he realize how desperately infatuated she was?

Her face flamed. She leaned back against the cool wall, almost shaking. Of course he did. Ten years, her father had said. John wouldn’t want a child like herself. She closed her eyes. It was far worse than she’d realized. And the worst thing of all was that she hadn’t realized how very noticeable her infatuation was. But it didn’t feel like infatuation. She loved John!

She turned and went back into her room, closing the door quietly. She felt more alone than she ever had in her life. Poor John. Poor her. Her father had said John was too experienced to want a teenager, and he was surely right. If John had felt anything for her, he wouldn’t have been able to hide it. She would have known. People always said you knew when love happened.

She tumbled onto her bed and slowly pulled out the crumpled photo of him that she kept in her wallet. She stared at it for a long time, at the rugged face, the bushy blond and brown eyebrows and hair, at the sensuous mouth and dimpled chin, at the pastel blue eyes. No, he wouldn’t miss her, she thought miserably.

“Well, you don’t know what you’re losing, John Sterling,” she told the photograph. “I’m going to be a force to behold in a few years, and you’ll be sorry you didn’t want me. I’ll show you!” She put the photograph in her trash can in a temper and flounced over to the window, glaring out at the big gum tree casting its shade over the ground. She leaned her face on her hands and sighed. “I’ll come back as finished as a princess,” she told the gum tree. “I’ll be wearing an elegant gown, with my hairdo impeccable, and I’ll be poised and ever so serene. And every man will want to dance with me, and John will be wild to, and I’ll just brush past him and ignore him completely.”

She smiled as she pictured it. What a proper revenge it would be! But then she realized how impossible it was going to be, living through those years without him. And where would she get the money for an elegant gown and hairdo? And what if John got married in her absence?

She felt sick. With a scowl, she fished his photo out of the trash can and put it carefully back into her wallet. She had too much time to think, that was her trouble. So she went to the kitchen and began clearing the table for her mother, trying to ignore the curious looks her parents were giving her.

“Could we all go into Providence Saturday and have lunch together?” she asked with a forced smile. “I have to leave for Hawaii Monday, you know.”

Her father gave a relieved sigh. “Yes, of course we can. That’s a date.”

“I’ll enjoy it, too, dear.” Her mother smiled. “Now, suppose I help you with the dishes and then we’ll go sit on the porch.”

“Fine,” Priss said brightly. Perhaps the pretense of being happy would lighten her spirits, she thought. Perhaps it would dull her hurt. Why, oh, why did she have to pick a man like John Sterling to fall in love with, and at such a youthful age? He was going to be a ghost, hanging over every relationship she tried to have with other men. She knew that no one would be able to match or top him in her loving eyes.

She avoided him during the next few days. For once she didn’t phone him to ask unnecessary questions at night. She didn’t walk along the paddock fence hoping for a glance of him. She didn’t find an excuse to ride her bicycle over the distance that separated her father’s land from John’s, or invite herself to lunch with his mother, Diane. She kept to herself, and her parents seemed delighted by the sudden maturity in their daughter.

They couldn’t know that it was killing her not to see John, to think of being thousands of miles away from him. But she was deliberately trying to put him out of her life, so that the parting wouldn’t be so rough.

The hours and days dragged, but at last Monday came, and she packed for the long drive to Brisbane, where she’d catch her flight to Hawaii. It was the most miserable morning of her entire life.

“Aren’t you even going to tell John Sterling good-bye?” Renée asked, her face concerned and full of love.

Priss’s back stiffened a little, but her face was smiling when she glanced at her mother. “I thought it might be better not to,” she said.

“Why?”

Priss shrugged. Her eyes went to her folded blouses. She fit them carefully into her carry-on bag. “I don’t think I could stand having him shout for joy,” she said with a nervous laugh.

Renée went close and put her arms around her daughter. “Not John. John wouldn’t do that to you. He’s fond of you, Priss; you know that.”

“Yes, but fond isn’t enough,” Priss ground out, fighting tears. She lifted a tortured face to her mother. “I love him,” she whispered.

Renée hugged her. “Yes, I know. I’m so sorry, darling,” she murmured, rocking Priss as she had years ago, when her daughter was little and hurt. “I’m so sorry.”

Priss hugged her mother again and smiled wanly. “You’re a terrific mother, did I ever tell you?” she asked. She wiped away the tears. “I’m okay now.”

“You’re a terrific daughter,” Renée said with a smile. “I’ll leave you to pack. Your father and I are going into Providence for a little while. He’s got to get something or other done to the car.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

“We will.” Renée kissed her daughter on the forehead. “It gets better, if that helps,” she added gently. And then she was gone, and Priss stared helplessly at the suitcase, hating it for its very purpose.

She finished putting in the blouses and went into the kitchen to check the dryer for spare articles. She found a lacy slip and was just pulling it out when she heard a car pull up. Surely it wasn’t her parents, she puzzled; they’d hardly been gone ten minutes.

She went to the back door, opened it, and looked out. Her heart shot up into her throat at the sight of John Sterling climbing out of his Land Rover.

He was wearing khaki trousers with a short-sleeve tan bush shirt, and under the wide brim of his hat, he looked even more formidable than usual. Priss, with her hair loose around her shoulders, in her pretty blue shirtwaist dress and white pumps, felt suddenly vulnerable.

He looked up as he reached the steps and stopped there, just gazing at her.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said without preamble.

She twisted the slip absently in her fingers and studied the soft pattern in the lace. “Yes.” She glanced up with a forced grin. “Aren’t you relieved? I’ll be gone by afternoon.”

He hesitated for an instant before he came up the steps. “Got something cool to drink?” he asked, sweeping off his hat. “It’s damned hot.”

“I think there’s some iced tea in the fridge,” she said. She tossed the slip onto the dryer and filled a glass for him.

He took it from her, standing much too close. He was scowling, as if his mind was working on some problem. He took a sip of the tea, and her eyes were drawn to his brawny hair-roughened forearms. He was so sexy, and some lucky woman was going to grab him up before she was old enough to.

She felt more miserable than ever. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to cry, even if he did manage to get over to say good-bye. But now it was the eleventh hour, and he’d be rushing off any minute. He was probably here to see her father, anyway.

“Did you want to see Dad?” she asked, turning the knife in her own heart.

“I wanted to see you,” he corrected curtly. “To say good-bye. Weren’t you even going to bother?”

She shrugged, staring down at his dusty boots. “I...I don’t like good-byes,” she managed in a voice that was already starting to break. The thought of not seeing him for months was killing her, and this was making it worse. She didn’t know how she was going to live in a world without him.

“What’s this?” he asked softly. His big hands, cool from holding the tea glass, caught her arms and turned her, forcing her to look at him.

Her full lips wobbled no matter how she tried to control their trembling, and her big emerald eyes were misty with tears. Silvery blonde hair curled around her oval face, and her cheeks were flushed with emotion. The picture she made held his attention for a long minute. His eyes wandered down to the top buttons of the blue shirtwaist dress, and he studied her body as if he’d only just realized she had one.

His hands smoothed up and down her arms, slowly, making wild tremors of pleasure shoot through her.

“Homesick already?” he asked quietly.

She drew in a sharp breath and tried to smile at him, but he blurred in her vision.

He was a blur of brown hair with blond streaks through it, sky blue eyes staring curiously at her from that weathered face that she loved so dearly. It was a long way to look up, even though she was wearing high heels. He towered over her like a sunburned giant.

“You’re so big,” she whispered.

“To a runt like you, I probably seem that way,” he agreed pleasantly, but his eyes weren’t laughing. They were dark and quiet and oddly watchful.

She fidgeted under the arousing touch of his hands. “I should finish packing,” she mumbled.

His thumbs pressed hard into her arms. He moved his callused hands up to enclose her face, and the look in his eyes made her knees weak.

“Don’t look so tragic, darling,” he murmured, bending his head. “I’ll wait for you.”

That hurt most of all. He was teasing her, playing with her, because he knew how she felt and was indulging her. Her eyes closed. “John...” she tried to protest.

He brushed his lips across her forehead, and she wanted to wail. He was trying not to hurt her....

“Do you want my mouth, little sheila?” he whispered suddenly, unexpectedly, and her heart shot up like a balloon.

Her eyes opened, full of dreams and hurt pride and aching hunger, and his nostrils flared.

“Yes, you do, don’t you?” he asked under his breath, and his face was solemn, intent, making her feel years older. He bent his head, letting her feel his warm breath on her parted lips.

Her body tautened, demanding to feel his against it; her mouth lifted. All her dreams were coming true at once, and the look in his eyes made her heart run wild. Her body pressed against his tentatively, shyly. She loved his warm strength, the powerful muscles tensing where her breasts were flattened slightly against him. He smelled of the outdoors, and cologne and tobacco, and her senses reeled.

“I’ve only been kissed once,” she whispered nervously, her eyes wide. “Playing...playing spin the bottle. And his mouth was wet and I didn’t like it.”

His fingers traced soft patterns on her flushed cheek, and they seemed to be the only two people in the world. “Stop dithering, little one,” he said quietly. “I don’t mind kissing you good-bye, if you want it.”

“If,” she whispered shakily. Tears were stinging her eyes. “Don’t you know that I’d walk across blazing coals to get to you...?”

His eyes flashed. “You don’t even know what it’s all about,” he said sharply. “One kiss, from a clumsy boy...”

“But you aren’t a boy,” she reminded him, her voice trembling.

“No,” he said, “I’m not.” He bent slowly, holding her eyes. “Such a taut little body,” he breathed, his hard lips parting on a faint smile as they brushed deliciously over hers. “Why don’t you let it relax against mine?”

She tried, but she was trembling with excitement and new discoveries. “I can’t,” she moaned against the soft persistent brushing of his mouth.

His fingers splayed over her throat, tilting her head against his shoulder. “I’m hungry, too,” he whispered roughly. There was a glitter in his eyes as they searched hers. “Don’t let me frighten you. Trust me.”

“I want to kiss you so much,” she managed in a broken tone, so desperate for him that she was beyond pride.

“Yes,” he said, parting his lips. “Yes, I can feel how much. Priss, you go to my head...” His voice trailed off into a deep slow moan as he kissed her for the first time, tenderly, coaxingly, letting her feel the very texture of his lips before he showed her that he needed more than this.

His breath seemed shaky as his mouth bit at hers. She kept her eyes tightly closed, hoping that if it was a dream, she could die before she woke. The silence around them was deafening, and she felt afire with awakening emotions.

Her hands suddenly clawed into the thick muscles of his upper arms, and she stiffened even more as his mouth began to invade hers. She hoped he wasn’t going to waste her last few minutes with him by being gentle.

His head lifted then and his mouth waited, poised over hers. His breath sighed out against her moist lips. “I can make you hungrier than this,” he said huskily. “I can burn you up.”

His eyes frightened her a little, but she was too consumed by longing to care. She pressed closer against his tight hard body and stood on tiptoe.

“Oh, John, kiss me hard!” she pleaded, clinging. “Kiss me hard and slow and pretend you want me!”

“Pretend!” he bit off. His mouth swooped down. He could feel the hunger building in her young body, feel the first faint stirring of response in the tender lips accepting his. Ravenously he opened his mouth and bit at hers, not wanting to frighten her, but needing more than the trembling uncertainty of her closed mouth. After a minute, she seemed to like the tender probing of his tongue. Involuntarily her lips relaxed and began to part shyly.

“Yes,” he prodded roughly. “Yes, that’s what I want. Open your mouth slowly; let me taste it with my tongue...”

It was wildly erotic. Priss had seen men and women kiss that way in movies, with their mouths open, their bodies crushed together, but she’d never known how wildly arousing it was. She moaned against John’s demanding mouth, because the sensations he was making her feel were new and overwhelming.

“Frightened?” he whispered.

Her eyes drifted open, wide and drowsy and dazed. “No,” she moaned. “Oh, no, not of you; not ever of you,” she whispered shakily. “No matter what you do to me!”

“You don’t know what I could do to you,” he warned gruffly. He studied her face for a long moment. His hands smoothed down her back, bringing her closer to his shuddering chest. One of them edged between their bodies and traced a line between her waist and the soft underside of one breast. She trembled again, her fingers digging into him.