They took their drinks and lunch to a table beside the pool beneath a shady tree.
Holly had put her peasant blouse on over her togs but Brett had added nothing to his board shorts. Bella lay beside them, gently indicating that she’d be happy to clean up any scraps. The bush beyond the fence was shimmering in the heat and vibrating with insect life.
‘How do you manage to leave this place so often?’ Holly asked.
‘Don’t kid yourself,’ Brett responded. ‘You can feel isolated up here.’
‘But you can drive out, can’t you?’
‘Sure, but it’s a long way on a rough road.’
Holly sipped her drink. ‘Do your sister and brother like it up here?’
‘From time to time, but they don’t really have cattle in their blood. Neither does Aria. She doesn’t really enjoy roughing it.’ He grimaced then elaborated. ‘She’s the girl Mark’s marrying.’
‘What’s she like?’
Brett considered and gave Bella the last bit of his sandwich. ‘Very beautiful. She has long blonde hair, a striking figure. She and Natasha make a good pair, come to think of it, although Nat’s a redhead.’ He paused. ‘My ex-fiancée.’
Holly’s mind fled back to the dinner party she’d witnessed at Palm Cove. Unless there were two stunning redheads in his life, had the one she’d seen been his ex-fiancée? If so, did that mean they were still friends?
‘No curiosity on that subject, Miss Harding?’ he queried, a shade dryly.
Holly shrugged and looked away. ‘I’m sure it’s out of bounds, and besides, its none of my business.’
‘True.’ He looked reflective. ‘Anyway, Aria is a biochemist and actually very nice, although something of a meddler.’ He looked briefly heavenwards. ‘But since Mark’s a computer genius they have similar lifestyles in common.’
Holly looked around. ‘So all this falls to you? I mean all the responsibility, the planning and so on.’
‘Yes.’ He sat back and crossed his hands behind his head.
‘It must be quite a handful, combining it with your other work.’
‘More or less what I’ve been thinking for a while now,’ he agreed with a wry little smile. He sobered. ‘But it’s in my blood. Just as you inherited your father’s writing gene, I must have inherited my f—’ He stopped abruptly.
Holly waited but found she was holding her breath.
‘Much as I don’t care to admit it,’ he said finally, ‘I must have inherited my father’s gene for cattle and the land.’
Holly released her breath slowly. Although the thought chased through her mind that she’d been right—there had been something between Brett and his father—she was mindful of his warning about going into things he didn’t want go into.
‘So it’s something you really love,’ she said instead. ‘I can understand that.’
He looked at her penetratingly. ‘You can?’
‘I think so. It’s probably unfair to say there are more challenges out here than in suburban life, but to me anyway these open spaces are not only exciting—’ she looked up at the wide arc of blue, blue sky above ‘—they’re liberating. I guess that’s what motivated my father and may have come down to me.’
‘You really mean that, don’t you?’ He sat up.
Holly nodded, then grimaced. ‘Probably easy enough to say. So. What’s on this afternoon?’
He eyed her, sitting so relaxed in her chair in her peasant blouse with its pretty embroidery, her legs long and bare and her hair curling madly.
What’s on this afternoon? he repeated to himself. What would you say, Miss Harding, if I told you I’d very much like to take you to bed? I’d love to strip your togs from your body and explore those slender lines and delicate curves. I’d like to touch you and make those pink lips part in surprise and pleasure, those blue eyes widen in wonder…
It was a disturbance over the fence in the holding paddock that drew his attention away from Holly—saved by the bell, he thought dryly. He saw that his foreman, Kane, had arrived back from the fencing trip with his two offsiders.
But as his gaze came back to Holly, he saw that she was staring at him with her lips parted, her eyes wide—all in some perplexity.
His lips twisted. ‘Why don’t you relax? I’ve got some things to discuss with Kane. I may take him back to the dam to show him what I want done, so I could be tied up all afternoon.’
‘Uh, all right,’ Holly responded after a moment. ‘I can do some work anyway.’ She hesitated. ‘If Sarah’s still not well would you like me to cook dinner?’
‘Thanks.’ He stood up. ‘That would be great.’
Holly withdrew her gaze from the physical splendour of Brett Wyndham in his board shorts. ‘Um, do I cook for Kane and the others?’
‘No. They’ll cater for themselves in their quarters. See you later.’ And he walked away.
Holly cleared up their lunch and retreated to her cabin, where she admitted to herself that she was somewhat bothered and bewildered. Or bewitched.
She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling like a star-struck teenager, she admitted as she pulled a pillow into her arms. So, what to do about it?
No answer presented itself and she fell asleep.
It was starting to cool down when she re-emerged, showered and once again changed in her blouse and jeans.
She checked on Sarah first and took her a pot of tea and a snack—all she wanted. She persuaded her to stay where she was, assuring her she was quite able to handle dinner.
A couple of hours later, with the oil lamps lit and the table set attractively again, Brett put down his knife and fork and said, ‘You can cook. Another gene from your father?’
Holly’s face dimpled into a smile as she glanced at the remains of the golden-brown lasagne she’d prepared, along with a fresh green salad and some warm rolls. ‘No. The cooking gene comes from my mother, in case you thought I was all my father’s doing.’
Brett lay back in his chair and studied her. He had also showered and had changed into a clean khaki shirt and beige chinos. ‘What does come to mind…’ He twirled his wine glass. ‘Is the fact that you’d make someone a really handy wife.’
Holly looked put out, although there was glint of laughter in her eyes. ‘That’s not exactly a compliment, Mr Wyndham,’ she said gravely.
‘Sorry,’ He grimaced. ‘As well as a very attractive wife, of course.’
‘That’s a bit better!’ Holly approved. ‘But I don’t think I’d make a good wife, actually.’
‘Why not?’
She gathered their plates. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She shrugged and stood up.
He rose too and told her to sit down. ‘I’ll do this.’
Holly sank back and watched him clear the table. He came back and topped up their wine glasses. ‘Why not?’ he asked again.
She looked at him and looked away. She stroked Bella’s head. Somehow the dog must have gauged her inner distress with the subject, because Bella had risen and put her head on Holly’s lap. Despite her inner distress, there was something else, something new. For the first time she wanted to explain why she was the way she was.
It was to do with