Tilting her head to the side, she gave him a long, penetrating look, her eyes a study of diffuse emotion. ‘It’s an interesting offer.’
Yes! She was tempted to take it on. Life was good. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Fantastic. I’ll get HR to write up the contract and -’
‘I don’t think so, Linton.’
Her firm words sliced through his euphoria. ‘But—’
‘Thanks anyway for the thought.’ She rolled her lips inwards and nodded her head slightly. ‘So, I guess I’ll see you around.’ She turned and walked away.
The retreating sound of her cowboy boots on the linoleum vibrated through him. He wasn’t used to ‘no’. He didn’t like ‘no’ at all.
CHAPTER TWO
THE strong and greasy aroma of shorn wool hung in the air as Emily vigorously swept the ancient floorboards of the shearing shed, the thump and swish of the broom soothing her jangled nerves.
Linton Gregory wanted her to work for him. For a second she hugged the delicious thought close.
No, Linton Gregory wants you to work in his department for a year. Note the difference.
Ever since she had been a little girl she’d come out to the shearing shed when she’d needed to think. Or to hide. With four brothers to contend with, that had been reasonably often. She’d come and lie in the softness of the offcuts of wool, stare up at the rough-hewn beams, count the tiny sparkles of sunlight that shone though the pinprick holes in the corrugated-iron roof and find a sense of peace.
Now she was all grown up and far too big to lie in the hessian wool bags, so she swept and quarrelled with herself. For the last hour she’d been caught in an argument loop.
His offer is pure expediency. Nothing personal.
And deep down she knew that. Which was why when he’d asked her to work in A and E, she’d said no. Working side by side with Linton had been hard enough twice a year for two weeks. Working side by side five days a week for a year would completely do her in. She’d be an emotional basket case by the end of that time.
Her subconscious snorted. And you’re not now?
She thumped the broom hard against the truth. She’d been a basket case from the first moment she’d laid eyes on Linton one year ago.
And she hated herself for it. She was twenty-five, for heaven’s sake. A crush at fifteen was normal. At twenty it was forgivable. At twenty-five it was laughable in a tragic and pitying way.
Especially after everything she’d been through with Nathan. After that debacle, she’d promised herself she would never be that foolish again. She needed to keep her heart safe. But some promises seemed impossible to keep.
‘Emily? You in there?’ Her eldest brother’s voice hailed her from outside.
She sighed. Her family knew her too well. If she’d really wanted to hide out she should have gone somewhere else. ‘Yes, Mark, I’m here.’
‘Thought you would be. You’ve got a visitor.’
She turned and leaned the broom up against the corrugated-iron wall and called out, ‘OK, I’ll come back to the house.’
‘No need. We can talk here.’
She swung round, her heart pounding wildly like a runaway horse. Her brain immediately recognised that smooth, deep voice which held as many resonant tones as the colours of polished jarrah. Somehow she managed to halt the gasp of astonishment that rocked through her. He was the last person she’d expected. Linton had never visited her at home. In fact, he’d never visited her, full stop.
He leaned casually against the wall, all six feet two of him. His soft-soled Italian leather shoes had been silent against the worn boards more used to the firm tread of boots. His devastating smile hovered on his lips, tinged with the slightest uncertainty. But every other part of him controlled his space with magnetic charisma, from the tips of his blond-brown hair to the hem of his designer trousers.
Emily glanced down at her torn jeans and her brother’s old and faded T-shirt, and groaned inwardly. At the best of times she felt frumpy and gauche, but she was usually in her Flying Doctor’s uniform rather than her hide-from-the-world, comfort clothes.
She tugged at her hair and pasted a welcoming country smile on her face. ‘Linton! What a surprise. What brings you out to Woollara Station?’
He pushed off the wall, toned muscles tensing and relaxing, propelling him forward toward her in one continuous, smooth movement. His lips curved upward into a full smile. ‘I came to talk to you.’
His words rolled over her like warm caramel sauce—sweet and hot, fanning the bone-deep heat that had smouldered inside her from the first moment she’d met him. The ever-familiar wave of warmth hit her, spinning her round before dumping her against the shore, battering every one of her good intentions to stay immune to him.
She fought her dangerous attraction like she always did, using one of a cache of weapons in her arsenal. She dragged in a long, deep breath. Experience had taught her that men didn’t find her attractive, and no way was she going to subject herself to excruciating embarrassment where Linton was concerned. He had no idea she had the world’s worst crush on him and he never would. To him she was just a nurse and a mate—someone to chat to when no tall, gorgeous supermodel types were around.
That wasn’t often.
Tall, willowy women flocked to Linton like moths to a flame. They came from all over the town and the region and the rest of the state. Visitors from Sydney often arrived for a weekend so he was never short of company. He dated a different woman every month.
I came to talk to you. Tamping down her reaction to him, she sternly reminded herself that his natural charm and emphasis on the well-placed words wasn’t personal. She climbed up onto the post rail of one of the sheep pens and stared straight at him, her chin slightly tilted. ‘So, isn’t your phone working?’
He rubbed his jaw, his fingertips dipping as they crossed the cute dimple-like cleft that scored his chin. ‘My phone’s working fine, why?’
She balanced herself with her hands, gripping the rail. ‘It’s just you’ve never been out here before and it’s a long drive on the off-chance I’d be here.’
He climbed up next to her. ‘I wanted to talk to you in person. You raced off so fast this afternoon we didn’t have a chance to discuss things fully.’
His familiar and special scent of sunshine, soap and one hundred per cent healthy man enveloped her. She gripped the rail more firmly so she wouldn’t move away.
So she wouldn’t move closer.
She surreptitiously shot him a sideways glance from under her fringe, taking in how his hair brushed the tips of his ears. Funny, usually his hairstyle was immaculate. ‘I didn’t think we had anything more to discuss.’
He slapped his thigh, indignation radiating from him. ‘Yes we did! I offered you a job.’
‘And I said, no, thank you.’ Her fingers gripped the wood so hard they started to go numb.
‘But why?’ Genuine confusion vibrated through his voice. He sounded like a child who couldn’t work out why the other kid wouldn’t come out to play. ‘It would be great experience for you.’
‘I’d miss flying.’ She tried to keep her tone light. She couldn’t tell him the truth. That working with him every day would be delicious yet soul-destroying torture.
‘It’s only for a year.’ Lack of understanding stamped itself all over him.
Only for a year. That was so easy for him to say. But for her it was fifty-two weeks, three