Alex Patterson was having doubts. Serious doubts.
On paper the journey had sounded okay. Manhattan to L.A.
L.A. to Sydney. Sydney to Albury. Albury to Werarra.
Yeah, well, maybe it hadn't sounded okay, but she'd
read it fast and she hadn't thought about it. A few
hours before she'd reached Sydney she was tired. Now,
after three hours driving through pelting rain, she was just
plain wrecked. She wanted a long, hot bath, a long, deep
sleep and nothing more.
Surely Jack Connor wouldn't expect her to start work
until Monday, she thought. And where was this place?
The child she'd seen on the road a way back had told her
it was just around the bend. The boy had looked scrawny,
underfed, neglected, and she'd looked at him and her
doubts had magnified. She'd expected a wealthy
neighbourhood—horse studs making serious money. The
child looked destitute.
Werarra Stud must be better. Surely it was. Its stock-horses
were known throughout the world. The website showed a long,
gracious homestead in the lush heart of Australia's
Snowy Mountains. She'd imagined huge bedrooms, gracious
furnishings, a job her friends would envy.
'Werarra.' She saw the sign. She turned into the
driveway—and she hit the brakes.
Uh-oh.
That was pretty much all she was capable of thinking. Uh-oh,
uh-oh, uh-oh.
The website showed an historic photograph of a fabulous
homestead built early last century. It might have been
fabulous then, but it wasn't fabulous now.
No one had painted it for years. No one had fixed the roof,
mended sagging veranda posts, done anything but board up
windows as they broke.
It looked totally, absolutely derelict.
The cottage the child had come from had looked bad. This
looked worse.
There was a light on somewhere round the back. A black SUV
was parked to the side. There was no other sign of life.
It was pouring. She was so tired she wasn't seeing
straight. It was thirty miles back to the nearest town and
she wasn't all that sure Wombat Siding was big enough to
provide a hotel.
She stared at the house in horror, and then she let her head
droop onto the steering wheel.
She would not weep.
A thump on her driver's side window made her jump almost
into the middle of next week. Oh, my…
She needed to get a grip. Now.
You can cope with this, Alex Patterson, she told herself.
You've told everyone back home you're tough, so
prove it. You're not the spoilt baby everyone treats you as.
But this was…this was…
Another thump. She raised her head and looked out.
The figure outside the car was looming over the car window
like a great black spectre. Rain-soaked and vast, it was
blocking her entire door.
She squeaked. Maybe she even gibbered.
Then the figure moved back a bit from the car window,
letting light in, and she came back to earth.
A man. A great, warrior-size guy. He was wearing a huge,
black, waterproof coat, and vast boots.
The guy's face was dark, his thick black hair slicked to
his forehead in the rain. He had weather-worn skin, stubble
so thick it was close to a beard, and dark, brooding eyes
spaced wide and deep.
He was waiting for her to open the car door.
If she opened it, she'd get wet.
If she opened it, she'd have to face what was outside.
He opened it for her, with a force that made her gasp. The
rain lashed in and she cringed.
'You're lost?' The guy's voice was deep and
growly, but not unfriendly. 'You need directions?'
If only she was, she thought. If only.
'Mr. Connor?' she managed, trying not to stutter.
'Jack Connor?'
'Yes?' There was sudden incredulity in his voice, as
if he didn't believe what he was hearing.
'I'm Alex Patterson,' she told him. 'Your
new vet.'
There were silences and silences in Alex's life. The
silences as her mother disapproved—as she inevitably
did—of what Alex was wearing, what she was doing. The
silences after her father and brother's fights. Family
conflicts meant Alex had been brought up with silences. It
didn't mean she was used to them.
She'd come all the way to Australia to escape some of
those silences, yet here she was, facing the daddy of them all.
This was like the silence between lightning and
thunder—one look at this man's face and she knew
the thunder was on its way.
When finally he spoke, though, his voice was icy calm.
'Alexander Patterson.'
'Yes.' Don't sound defensive, she thought. What
was this guy's problem?
'Alex Patterson, son of Cedric Patterson, Cedric, the
guy who went to school with my grandfather.'
She put a silence of her own in here.
Son of.
Okay, she saw the problem.
She 'd trusted her father.
She thought of her mother's words.
'Alex, your
father is ill. You need to double-check
everything…''
'Dad's okay. You're dramatising. There's
nothing wrong with him.' She'd yelled it back
at her mother, but even as she'd yelled it, she knew she
was denying what was real. Alzheimer's was a vast, black
hole, sucking her dad right in.
She hadn't wanted to believe it. She still didn't.
She' d trusted her father.
And anyway, what was the big deal? Man, woman, whatever. She
was here as a vet. 'You thought I was male?' she
managed, and watched the face before her grow even darker.
'I was told you were a guy. His son.'
'That's my dad for you,' she said, striving for
lightness. 'A son is what he hoped for, but you'd
think after twenty-five years he could figure the
difference.' Deep breath. 'Do you think you could, I
don't know, invite me in or something? I hate to mention
it when the fact that I'm female seems to be such an
issue, but an even bigger deal is that it's raining,
I'm not wearing waterproofs and it's wet.'
'You can't stay here.'
This was bad, she thought, and it was getting worse.
But her dad's fault or not, this was a situation she had
to face, and she might as well face it now.
'Well, maybe you should have told me that before I left
New York,' she snapped, and she hauled herself out of
the car. She was already wet. She might as well be soaked,
and her temper, volatile at the best of times, was heading
for the stratosphere. 'Maybe now I don't have a
choice.'
Deep breath, she thought. Say it like it is.
'I,' she said, in tones that matched his for iciness
and more, 'am at the end of a very long rope that
stretches all the way back to New York. It's taken me
three days to get here, give or take a day that seems to
have disappeared in the process. I applied for a job here in
good faith. I sent every piece of documentation you
demanded. I accepted a work visa for six months on the
strength of a job with a horse stud that looks—'
she glanced witheringly at the house '—to be
non-existent. And now you have the nerve to tell me you
don't want me. I don't want you either, but I seem
to be stuck with you, with this dump, with this place, at
least until the rain stops and I've eaten and I've
slept for twenty-four hours. Then, believe me, you won't
see me for dust. Or mud. Now let me inside the house, show
me where I can eat and sleep, and get out of my life.'
She'd meant to stay icy. She'd meant to stay
dignified. So much for intentions.
Her last words were almost hysterical—a yell into the
silence. No matter. Who cared what he thought? She flicked
the trunk lever and stalked round to fetch her suitcase. Her
foot hit a rain-filled pothole, she tripped and
lurched—and the arrogant toerag caught her and held her.
It was like being held in a vice. His hands held her with no
room for argument. She was steadied, held still, propelled
out of the puddle and set back.
His hands held her arms a moment longer, making sure she was
stable.
She looked up, straight into his face.
She saw power, strength and anger. But more.
She saw pure, raw beauty.
It was as much as she could do not to gasp.
Lean, harsh, aquiline. Heathcliff, she thought, and Mr
Darcy, and every smouldering cattleman she'd ever lusted
after in the movies, all rolled into one. The strength of
him. The sheer, raw sexiness.
He released her and she thought maybe she should lean
against the car for a bit.
It was just as well this place was a total disaster; this
job was a total disaster. Staying anywhere near this guy
would do her head in.
Her head was already done in. She was close to swaying.
Focus on your anger, she told herself. And practicalities.
Get your gear out of the car. He's going to think
you're a real New York princess if you expect him to do
it for you.
But he was already doing it, grabbing her cute, pink
suitcase (gift from her mother), glancing at it with
loathing, slamming the trunk closed and turning to march
toward the house.
'Park the car when it stops raining,' he snapped
over his shoulder. 'It'll be fine where it is for
the night.'
She was supposed to follow him? Into the Addams Family
nightmare?
A flash of lightning lit the sky and she thought it needed
only that.
Thunder boomed after it.
Jack had reached the rickety steps and was striding up to
the veranda without looking back. He had her suitcase.
She whimpered. There was no help for it, she whimpered.
Her family thought she was a helpless baby. If they could
see her now, they'd be proven right. That's exactly
how she felt. She wanted, more than anything, to be back in
Manhattan, lying in her gorgeous peach bedroom, with Maria
about to bring her hot chocolate.
Where was her maid when she needed her most? Half a world away.
More lightning. Oh, my.
Jack was disappearing round the side of the veranda. Her
suitcase was disappearing with him.
She had no choice. She took a deep breath and scuttled after
him.
He showed her to the bedroom and left her to it. Headed to
his makeshift study and hauled open his computer. Grabbed
the original letter.
Could he sack a worker just because she was female?
Surely he could if she'd taken the job under false
pretences, he thought, reading the first letter he'd
received.
My son, Alexander, is looking for experience on an
Australian horse stud. Alex is a qualified veterinarian and
is also willing to take on general farm work. The level of
pay would not be a problem; what Alex mostly wants is
experience.
My son.
He flicked through the emails, printing them out. After
Cedric's first letter he'd corresponded directly
with Alex.
Her. There was no mention of what sex
she was in her emails, he conceded. They'd been polite,
businesslike, and they hadn't referred to her sex at all.
Yes, I understand the living conditions may be rougher
than I'm accustomed to, but I'd appreciate even a
tough job. My aim is to work on horse studs in the States,
but getting that first job after vet school is difficult. If
I do a decent job for you, it may well give me the edge over
other graduates.
He'd expected a fresh-faced kid straight out of vet
school, possibly not understanding just how tough it was out
here, but ready to make a few sacrifices in order to get the
job. Despite the conditions, Werarra produced horses with an
international reputation. This would be a good career step.
He'd never have employed a woman.
He hadn't wanted to employ anyone, but sense had decreed
he had no choice. This place had deteriorated to the point
of being a ruin. The horses took all his attention. The
house was derelict and the manager's cottage even more
so. Brian, the guy who'd managed the place for his
grandfather, preferred to live a half a mile down the road
on the second of the farm's holdings. Jack had expected
him to keep on working, but the moment Jack arrived he'd
lit out, abandoning his wife and kids, disappearing without
trace.
The letter from Cedric Patterson, addressed to Jack Connor,
had come when he was overwhelmed. Despite his misgivings
he'd thought, a vet. .plus someone who could help with
the heavy manual work like getting the fences back in
order… The manager's house was unlivable, but maybe
a kid could cope with sharing the big house with him.
He'd written back to Cedric explaining that the Jack he
was writing to, the Jack he'd gone to school with, was
dead. Cedric had visited Werarra, had stayed here, when he
and his grandfather were young men, when his grandmother was
alive and making the place a home. The house had
deteriorated, he'd told him. There were no separate
living quarters, but if Alex was happy to do it tough…
Alex himself…
herself.. .had emailed back
saying tough was fine.
What now? He didn't even have a working bathroom.
Asking a guy to use the outhouse was a stretch,
but a
woman?
He could fix the bathroom. Maybe. But not tonight.
And he still didn't want a woman. The women in his life
had caused him nothing but grief and anguish. To have
another, sharing his house, sharing his life.
Stop it with the dramatisation, he told himself harshly. She
wouldn't want to stay even if he wanted her to. She
obviously had a romantic view of what an outback Australian
horse stud would be. One look at the outside privy and
she'd run.
He didn't blame her.
Meanwhile.
Meanwhile he needed to feed her. He hurled sausages into the
pan, sliced onions as if he could get rid of his anger on
the chopping board, tossed them on top of the sausages and
fumed. At himself more than her. He shouldn't have tried
to employ anyone until he had this place decent,
but a
woman?
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