He shouldn’t be here About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE Copyright

He shouldn’t be here

This woman was beautiful. This woman was intelligent and funny. This woman was eccentric. This woman was engaged to another man.

He should get out of here—right now. But his daughter had come alive. Maddy had been with him for three months now and she’d been flat and listless and disinterested the whole time.

And Bryony had made her laugh. You could forgive a lot in a woman who made your daughter laugh.

Trisha David is a country girl, born on a southeast Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a “very special doctor,” Trisha writes medical romances as Marion Lennox and Harlequin Romance® books as Trisha David. In her other life she cares for kids, cats, dogs, chickens and goldfish. She travels, she fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost!)—oh, and she teaches statistics and computing to undergraduates at her local university.

Falling for Jack
Trisha David

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

JACK MORGAN was a farmer who had spent six years trying to remove emotion from his life.

He had failed. Maddy was watching from the ringside, and the love he felt for her was almost overwhelming. And in the ring there was Jessica—and who wouldn’t fall for Jessica?

It had to end. Perfection couldn’t continue for ever. There was a lump rising in Jack’s throat as he prepared to give the last command.

The sheep were bunched neatly outside the final gate. Jack lifted his fingers to his mouth and gave a piercing whistle. It didn’t have the effect Jack intended.

A small grey dog raced from under the stands. This wasn’t a sheepdog like Jessica. This dog was squat and stocky, with white tufts on his chest, bristly black eyebrows and a wiry grey moustache and beard. The dog galumphed rather than raced, his pudding frame pounding up a dust storm. He yapped. Jack gave another frantic whistle.

‘Get them in, Jess. Now! One more minute and you’ll have them penned and be Australian champion.’

Jess wouldn’t be Australian champion. The strange dog launched himself straight into the mob. Sheep sprayed outward as if a bomb were exploding, and there was nothing Jessica or Jack or any power on earth could do to stop them. The sheep headed for the fence. The mutt headed after them—and Jessica followed. Jack stood alone in the ring. Stunned.

‘Harry!’ A woman was calling frantically from somewhere in the crowd.

Jack couldn’t see who was yelling. All he could see was chaos. For a bunch of farmers, what was happening was crazy. People parted to make way for escaping sheep. No one moved to stop them. The first sheep to hit the fence ducked under the bar. Then the mutt raised his yap rate and the last few took the fence as a hurdle.

The fence wasn’t designed to keep sheep in. This was a trialling ground for sheepdogs, and sheepdogs knew their stuff. Young or badly trained dogs mightn’t control a mob as they ought, but the most ill-trained dog could at least hold them together.

But not now. Even if Jessica was still interested in sheepdog work—which she wasn’t—the sheep had scattered too widely to stop them.

Bryony Lester stared around her with dismay. To put it mildly, this was terrible! Myrna had told Bryony that to bring Harry to the show was a great way to introduce herself to the locals. Well, the locals would know her now. They’d probably tar and feather her and run her out of town.

‘Good one, Myrna!’

As Bryony muttered invective to her absent friend, a fat and frantic sheep thumped into her legs, veered sideways, and headed for the horizon.

‘I’ll kill you, Harry,’ Bryony said out loud. ‘Mutton’s off the menu and schnauzer’s on!’ She cupped her hands and yelled again for her stupid dog, but she just knew it wasn’t going to work.

Spectators were scattering in all directions. Some were making a token effort to catch sheep, but others simply stared open-mouthed, stunned that, for the first time in years, Jack Morgan had missed out on first prize. The dogs disappeared completely before Jack Morgan recovered enough to yell for his dog to return.

‘Jessica!’

Jack’s best sheepdog-training voice boomed out over the general chaos. Nothing happened. No black and white dog appeared from the crowd. No Jessica.

What appeared was a woman. Bryony. And Bryony Lester was some woman!

Bryony was tall and willow slim. She had on white leggings and boots and a vast cream sweater that almost reached her knees. The only colour about her was her huge green eyes and a blaze of red curls tumbling to her shoulders.

Oh, and maybe her cheeks. Her face was chagrin-pink, turning fast to mortification-scarlet!

‘Oh, help... Harry, where on earth...?’

Bryony stopped mid-sentence as she came face to face with Jack. And Jack knew... Jack just knew that this woman and disaster walked hand in hand. She was behind this. She had to be. The absent Harry she was calling and the sheep-chasing mutt must be one and the same.

So Jack stepped over the fence—no problem for the departing sheep and even less for the six-foot-two-inch Jack—and he met her head-on.

‘Is that mutt yours?’

Jack’s voice—raised a minute ago to yell for Jessica—now lowered to whisper-quiet, but his clipped words carried.

‘Harry’s a small grey dog?’ he demanded as Bryony failed to answer. His solid frame blocked her path.

Bryony stopped short. Oh, heck... This man had been in the ring with the sheepdog. She’d seen him. In fact, maybe it was because she’d been too intent on looking at him—well, who wouldn’t look at a man like this?—that Harry had been able to wriggle free.

A man had no business to be as good-looking as this.

‘I’m... Yes, that’s Harry.’ Bryony took three deep breaths and fought for calm. The farmer was standing right before her, his muscled frame blocking everything else. Making it hard for her to think of anything else! ‘Were they...are they your sheep?’

‘They’re not my sheep,’ Jack told her. His one-syllable words were spoken slowly so even the stupid could understand, and he was glaring as if she were some faintly repellent insect. ‘They’re owned by the agricultural committee. They’re here for the dog trials.’

Bryony looked wildly around.

‘Oh, no... And now they’ve gone. And they’ll take ages to round up.’

Faint grinding of teeth.

‘I imagine they will.’

Jack’s voice was now so low, Jack’s dogs would have recognised danger and headed straight under the shearing shed. And stayed there.

Bryony gulped. This man wasn’t helping her mortification level one bit. She tried again. ‘I’m so sorry. Can you...? Could you please tell me where to go, then?’

Jack thought of all the places he’d like to tell her to go. His manners won the day, but only just.

‘What for?’

Bryony stared at her boots for a long moment—and then tilted her chin and looked at him, face to face.

Bryony Lester did have courage.

‘To apologise.’

Silence.

From all around, there were yells and whoops as the local kids launched themselves at sheep. The sounds suggested the sheep were winning, no sweat. But the man and woman stood staring at each other. In silence.

It went on and on.

In another situation this pair could have been classed as a lovely couple. Bryony was five feet eight or so. Jack was about six inches taller and a few years older. Jack looked mid-thirties. In fact, Jack was thirty-four to Bryony’s twenty-eight. But... Maybe they looked too much as if they came from different backgrounds to be classed as a couple.

Jack was wind-burned, lithe and muscular, and looked as if he was straight off the land. His cropped black curls held a layer of dust from the showground under his broad-brimmed hat, and his moleskins and open-neck shirt looked as if they’d seen years of hard work. The crinkling of his deep-set eyes, as if they were permanently shielded against a too harsh sun, augmented the impression of a man who worked the land for a living.

In contrast, Bryony looked pretty and flustered, and as if she’d never seen a sheep or a farm in her life.

‘If you want to apologise, you might try me,’ Jack said at last.

‘Pardon?’ Jack’s voice was cutting right through to her now. Bryony didn’t need Jessica to tell her that Jack’s tone was dangerous. If there’d been a shearing shed handy, she’d have crawled under it herself.

‘You might try apologising to me.’ Jack’s strongly boned jaw clamped into a long line of disapproval. ‘That mutt—’

‘He’s not a mutt. He’s a schnauzer!’

‘What kind of dog is that?’

Bryony’s green eyes flashed. Nobody criticised her Harry. ‘He’s a great dog. Schnauzers are bred in Germany as guard dogs.’

‘Then why didn’t you leave him in Germany?’

Bryony flushed some more. She ran a hand through her flaming hair, tumbling the curls back from her face. And tried again.

‘Look, I did apologise to you, but I’ll say it again. I’m really sorry. Mr...?’

She stopped and waited, expectant

‘Morgan,’ Jack said grudgingly. ‘Jack Morgan.’

‘And I’m Bryony Lester.’ Bryony held out a slim hand and smiled up at him—a smile that in days past might have knocked the stuffing right out of Jack. It was an absolutely stunning smile.

But, for Jack Morgan, women’s smiles were a thing of the past.

‘Yeah, right.’ He looked down at Bryony’s hand, and chose to ignore it. ‘Get your dog back,’ he said flatly.

Bryony’s smile faded, and her hand dropped. She stared up at the man before her and saw nothing but anger in his face.

Which was a shame. The creases around the man’s eyes looked as if they should be laughter lines. His face was open and honest. A man like this—a man as good-looking as he was and with a dog like his—ought to be smiling for the sheer pleasure of being alive.

Especially here, Bryony thought. The showgrounds were set in the lee of the Garriwerd mountain range. Bryony had been told this was the best grazing country in all of Southern Australia, and she could believe it. Rich, undulating pastures were dotted with vast river red gums. It was spring and the sun had enough warmth to soothe and caress. The showgrounds were set by a river that was as broad as it was beautiful.

All in all, it was a setting and a season to make you glad to be alive. Unless you were this man.

This man wasn’t going to smile. No way.

‘I don’t know whether I can get Harry back,’ Bryony confessed doubtfully. ‘I think he’s fallen for your dog—and he’s not very obedient.’

‘I can see that.’

‘Can you make your dog come? Harry might come with her.’

It was a forlorn hope. There were so many fantastic smells in this place. Hot dogs. Doughnuts. Cow dung...

Jack didn’t answer. Instead he put a finger to each side of his mouth and whisded—and Bryony jumped about a foot. Jack’s whistle could have woken the dead two states away. And ten seconds later Jessica slunk through the legs of the crowd and sidled apologetically back to her master.

Bryony was just plain astounded. With the smells of hot dogs, cows and all, Jessie had come back. No matter how Bryony whistled, Harry never came for her.

Then she stared down in concern as the black and white collie pressed herself close to Jack’s leg. The collie clearly knew that she’d messed things up. Her tail was tucked between her legs, her ears were flattened and her huge brown eyes looked beseechingly up at Jack in abject apology.

And Bryony knew exactly what her disreputable Harry had seen in her.

‘Oh, you darling...’ Bryony gave a delighted chuckle and sank down onto the dust—white leggings and all. ‘You’re gorgeous. Don’t look like that. It wasn’t your fault. Your Jack’s not going to blame you. Not when it was Harry’s fault...’

‘Don’t touch my dog.’

Jack’s voice was a growl and Bryony looked up in amazement

‘Why on earth not?’

‘She’s been taught not to let strangers touch her.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. She knows I won’t hurt her.’ And Bryony put her arms around Jess and gave her a hug.

The dog’s ears lifted. Jessica stopped looking up at Jack, and her tail gave a tiny, questioning wag. And then a stronger one. This was okay, her tail said. Jessie nuzzled into Bryony’s cream sweater, decided she liked the sensation very much, and gave Bryony a long, loving kiss from neck to eyebrows.

So much for Jack’s training that she should growl and withdraw if anyone but family touched her. Jack stared down in stunned amazement. And, to his horror, he felt a totally stupid surge of something that felt very like jealousy.

Jealousy for a dog? He caught himself sharply and tried once more.

‘Will you leave my dog alone?’

Bryony chuckled again—a soft, melodic sound that rang out over the trial ground as a sound of happiness. Irrationally, it set Jack’s teeth on edge. Luckily, this time Bryony obeyed his command. She rose and brushed the dust from her leggings. They were some leggings. Bryony’s legs seemed to go on for ever, and her clinging pants left little to the imagination. She had curves just where a woman ought to have curves...

Cut it out, Jack! Jack caught himself staring, and hauled himself back to anger with an almost visible effort.

‘Your dog’s still chasing the sheep,’ he said harshly. ‘Get him back.’

Bryony moistened her lips.

‘Like...how?’

‘Like I got my dog back. Call him.’

‘Well, short of borrowing a bugle, I can’t get a sound as loud as yours. And he’ll be halfway across the showground by now.’ Bryony paused and gave Jack a small, placating smile. ‘Actually, even if I’m six feet away Harry doesn’t come when I call. Unless I’m eating. Then he does a back flip to get to me.’

‘You feed your dog what you eat yourself—?’ Jack broke off in disgust. ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake... Look, just get your dog and clear out of here, Miss...Miss Whatever-your-name-is.’

‘I’m Bryony,’ she said again, and this time she forced him to take her hand by simply reaching out and grasping his. ‘I knew you weren’t listening last time.’ She took his fingers between hers and shook, regardless. ‘Bryony Lester.’

Jack did a mental back flip. Bryony’s hand was firm yet soft, and she smelled of something fragrant... Something really good.

‘Bryony...’ Jack said her name automatically—as if he was saying it despite himself.

‘I’ll go and find Harry,’ Bryony said apologetically, disengaging her fingers. ‘I guess he’ll have sheep up trees by now. But don’t worry, Mr Morgan. He won’t hurt them. He brought me one of Myrna’s ducklings last week and when he put it down the little thing waddled straight back to its mother. Wasn’t that clever of him to be so gentle?’

‘Brilliant.’ Jack had recovered a smidgen of his equilibrium—and his bad temper. His voice said Harry was anything but brilliant.

Bryony sighed and turned away. Hopeless. This man was so good-looking he could make her toes curl, but hopeless!

‘Jack!’

A shout from the sidelines made her hesitate. A middle-aged man in a suit—incongruous in a land of denim jeans and moleskins—was heading straight for them. A large badge proclaimed him: Brian McKenzie. Judge-Working Dog Trials. He looked brimful of self-importance, and despite the discomfiture Jack Morgan was making her feel Bryony waited to hear what he had to say.

‘Jack, I’m sorry, mate, but we’ve had to disqualify you,’ the man told Jack. He directed a lingering look at Bryony and then turned his attention reluctantly back to Jack. ‘It’s rules,’ he said shortly. ‘Your dog should be able to cope with distractions.’

Jack’s look, stormy before, turned to thunder.

‘Another dog launching himself into the mob while Jess works is hardly just a distraction.’

‘The rule book doesn’t say anything about that,’ the man told him. ‘We checked. Sorry, mate.’

‘Hell...’

‘There’s always next month,’ the man assured him, not meeting his eyes. ‘And Tom Higgins will enjoy getting first prize for a change.’

Then the man cast one last appreciative look at Bryony—and headed for his judges’ stand before Jack could argue.

‘Oh,’ Bryony said in a small voice, watching Jack’s face. ‘That doesn’t seem fair.’

‘No.’ Jack’s voice was stretched like fencing wire, almost to breaking point. ‘It’s not.’

‘Do you think if I went and explained...apologised...?’

‘It wouldn’t make any difference. I can appeal, but it’ll be fought every inch of the way and it’s just not worth it. That man is Tom Higgins’ father-in-law.’

‘Tom Higgins... The competitor who’ll win now?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘I see.’ Bryony looked doubtfully up at Jack. Then her face cleared a little. ‘Well, I guess it’s not like it’s money or anything. Harry and I were watching you and I thought your Jessica was gorgeous. The best. Harry thought so too. That’s why he tried to meet her. So you still have the best dog, with or without first prize.’

And then, as Jack’s expression still stayed stormy, she tried again. ‘Actually. Harry and I didn’t win first prize either. In fact, we didn’t win any prize. Harry cocked his leg on the judge’s lovely shoes. Edna McKenzie. Do you know her? The poor lady nearly had kittens.’

Jack’s eyes widened. Edna McKenzie...wife of Brian. It couldn’t have happened to a more satisfactory person.

A tiny muscle at the side of Jack’s mouth quivered—so slightly that Bryony thought she might have imagined it. His jaw clamped back down straight away, though. Clearly Jack Morgan was intent on nursing his grievance.

‘You weren’t here for obedience trials?’ Jack’s voice was frankly incredulous.

‘Well, no.’ Bryony smiled up at him, refusing to be daunted by his grouchiness. ‘We were trying for champion schnauzer. Harry’s a pedigree. Myrna said I should show him and maybe someone would pay a stud fee for his services.’ She chuckled. ‘Harry would love that. At the moment he practises on cushions and on my leg and on anything else he can find. It’d be nice to channel his interest into a more natural direction.’

Once more, there was that almost imperceptible twitch.

This man was really something, Bryony thought. If she could only get him to smile...

And then she paused as a child materialised at Jack’s side. The child was about six years old, and she was thin to the point of emaciation. Her fair hair was dragged off her face in two long, uneven pigtails and her denim dungarees hung loose on her body. She looked like an escapee from an Orphan Annie movie.

‘Jack, Jessie didn’t win.’

A thin, reedy voice. Flat. Intensely disappointed. And, for the first time, Bryony felt a surge of real guilt. It hadn’t been too bad up until now. Bryony had reasoned that she hadn’t meant to let Harry slip his collar and, even if Jack Morgan had missed out on first prize, it couldn’t be so important. This was a small country show and everyone knew Jessica was far and away the best dog.

But this little one had wanted Jess to win. The loss was aching in her voice, and Bryony felt just dreadful, so she dropped to her knees again, her leggings making two cups in the dust. She had supreme disregard for her white leggings.

As well she might, Jack thought. Even coated six inches thick in dust, Bryony’s leggings would look wonderful on Bryony.

‘I’m afraid that was all my dog’s fault,’ Bryony confessed to the little girl, oblivious of Jack watching her. ‘He chased Jessica’s sheep. Did you see him? Harry’s a bad dog and I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.’

‘Jessie won’t be Australian champion now.’

The child’s voice wasn’t accusing. She was just telling the facts.

‘How do you mean?’ Bryony looked up at Jack. ‘I... This is only a small show. I mean, surely it’s not like it’s the Australian championships or anything.’

‘It is,’ the child said sadly. ‘You get points for every show you win, but you have to get all your points in a year. Jack said Jess only needed one more show and this was it. And we were going to put Jessie’s trophy in my room because Jack lets Jessie sleep on my bed...’

She stopped, her huge brown eyes filled with tears, and Bryony felt about two inches tall.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Bryony’s voice fell uselessly away. One look at this little girl told Bryony there was more at stake here than a trophy. The child had every appearance of a waif—a waif who’d wanted a trophy so much it hurt.

‘Hey, Maddy, there’s one more show. One more show before we run out of time.’ Ignoring Bryony, Jack stooped to lift the child into his arms, but the little girl refused to be comforted. She held herself ramrod-stiff, refusing to sink into his hold.

‘But it’ll be her last chance,’ she whispered. ‘What if something happens then?’ Maddy hardly seemed to be speaking to the man who was holding her. It was a conversation with herself. She was pushing all her distress inward.

‘Do you think something like this could happen a second time?’ Jack hugged the child and smiled into her troubled eyes, and it was the smile Bryony had expected and more. It was a smile that could turn a heart right over. Gorgeous white teeth flashed out in his weathered face, transforming it to laughter, and his deep brown eyes crinkled as if they were accustomed to smiling. There was humour in Jack’s face, and there was kindness and there was sympathy.

There was love for this little one written all over him, and it was a smile to make hearts stand still. Whew! But Maddy held herself aloof.

‘If Miss Lester promises to leave her dog at home, we’ll win next time,’ Jack promised the child. Jack cast a doubtful look across at Bryony. ‘And I don’t think she’ll be here again. She’s not local.’

Of course she isn’t local, his look said. No one this dumb could be a local.

‘Well, I am local,’ Bryony said, hauling herself upright again to meet his look with defiance. ‘I’ve just moved here.’

The child stared at her from Jack’s arms.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked cautiously.

‘Bryony.’

The child considered. ‘Bryony’s pretty,’ she pronounced. ‘Mine’s Madelaine but my... People call me Maddy.’

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Maddy.’ Bryony didn’t put her hand out to greet her. There was something about this child that said she wasn’t into being touched. Not even by the man who was holding her.

‘I’ve just moved here, too,’ the child said. ‘Where did you come from?’

‘Well, this time I’ve moved from New York.’

‘But...New York’s in America.’

‘Hey, that’s right.’ Bryony beamed her approval and Maddy gave her a shy smile.

‘My grandma lived in America,’ Maddy confided. ‘I don’t expect you knew her. We lived in California.’

‘You’re American?’ Bryony had already guessed. It was obvious when Maddy spoke. The man was broadly Australian, but the child definitely wasn’t. ‘Wow. I’m very pleased to meet you, Maddy. I spent the last few years in the States and I’m homesick. It was Thanksgiving last week and no one here knew about it but me. I had to eat my turkey all by myself. Are you homesick?’

Maddy cast a doubtful look at Jack.

‘Y-yes.’

‘Have your family moved here?’

‘No.’ The child’s face clamped down. Her lips pressed together and there was a look of pain in her face that told Bryony to ask that question had been really dumb. The child took a deep breath, as if she was about to confess something shameful. And she did.

‘My mom doesn’t want me,’ she said bleakly. ‘My grandma did, but she’s dead. I have to live with my father now.’

Oh.

‘I see.’ Bryony looked doubtfully at Jack, her heart sinking.

Jack. This must be the father, then, in the ‘I have to live with my father...’ There was definitely a resemblance. The eyes were the same. And the firmness of the set mouth.

“This is your daddy?’

‘My mom says Jack’s my father.’ The child’s voice said she didn’t believe a word of such a stupid statement. Maddy gave an uncompromising wriggle in Jack’s arms. ‘I want to get down.’ She was set on the ground by a silent Jack, and she stared up at Bryony with interest. Her father was discarded. ‘Where’s your bad dog gone to now?’

‘I don’t know.’ Bryony hesitated. There were things going on here she didn’t understand in the least, but maybe they weren’t her business. ‘I guess I’d better go find him.’

Should she, though? What were her priorities here? Bryony looked dubiously over at the stands. One sheep was right up at the top of the seating, trying to figure whether jumping down into the Haunted House was worth the risk. That was the only sheep in sight. Heaven knew where the rest were. ‘Maybe I’d best help catch the sheep first.’

‘At the risk of giving offence, Miss Lester,’ Jack told her dryly, ‘you’d be more help just catching your dog. Jessica and I will round up the sheep. You concentrate on getting your dog under control.’

‘Harry could help find them!’

‘And then he’d keep chasing them.’ Jack shoved his wide hat down further over his eyes, forming a barrier of shadow. ‘They’d end up in Queensland. Just find your dog and keep him out of trouble. That’s all I ask.’ He held out his hand to his daughter. ‘Come on, Maddy.’

Maddy considered Jack’s hand and shook her head, firmly. Instead, to Bryony’s surprise, she reached out and tucked her hand into Bryony’s.

‘I’ll help Bryony find Harry.’

‘Maddy...’ Jack’s voice took on a tone of exasperation, and the child froze, and cringed, looking up at Jack as if she expected to be struck.

‘Hell!’ Jack swore, and then he knelt so his eyes were level with the child’s. He sighed as the fear in the child’s eyes didn’t fade a bit. ‘It’s okay, Maddy.’ His voice softened, but there was defeat in his tone. ‘You go hunt for bad dogs with Miss Lester.’ He looked up at Bryony. ‘Can I trust you to bring her back here when you’ve found him?’

‘Of course.’ Bryony glared. Jack Morgan might look like an absolute hunk, but there was no denying his temper—or that Maddy was afraid of him. Jack saw the thought, for Bryony didn’t attempt to hide it and this man was astute. He flinched.

‘I don’t hurt her,’ he said, and there was pain behind his words. ‘I never have and I never would. I promise you. Things aren’t what they seem.’

Bryony looked into his eyes—and believed him.

‘Yeah, well...’

Who knew what was happening here? Certainly not Bryony. She nicked her hair back from her face and tried for nonchalance. ‘We’ll leave you to your sheep, then, Mr Morgan,’ she managed. ‘Let’s go find Harry, Maddy Morgan.’

CHAPTER TWO

THEY found Harry fifteen minutes later and Harry was neck-deep in trouble. Or rather he was neck-deep in dung.

The cattle pavilions were the last place they searched. Bryony nosed her way through the cows, Maddy clinging to her side, and there was Harry rolling with canine delight in a pile of fresh manure.

The dog looked up as he saw Bryony. Bryony! Source of dog food, toast and electric blankets. He struggled to his feet, cocked a mucky eyebrow at his mistress, quivered all over from nose to stump—and launched himself at her with love. Straight into her arms. It was the only trick Bryony had been able to teach him—to fly straight up into her arms. He trusted her absolutely to grasp him and not to let him fall as he jumped.

So Bryony had no choice. She grasped as expected and Harry wagged himself all over in her arms. Green dung dripped straight down the front of her cream sweater and further, onto her white leggings.

Bryony stood on the concrete floor of the cattle pavilion, thinking longingly of goldfish as pets and wondering whether schnauzers made good goldfish food.

‘He is a bad dog!’ By her side, Maddy was breathless in horrified awe.

‘He certainly is.’ Bryony took a deep breath—then decided she didn’t need to breathe again for a while. Harry looked adoringly up through his bushy eyebrows and wagged his stump of a tail. It was too much. Around them there was shocked silence as the cattlemen saw what Harry had done, but Bryony’s mouth was curving into a grin she couldn’t contain. She either laughed here or she sat down amid the dung and howled. So she laughed and, with relief, the cattlemen laughed with her.

‘Can I give you a hose down, miss?’ one of them asked her—semi-serious—and Bryony thought, Why not? She held her dog before her as the farmer directed his hose full blast. After all, it would serve Harry right and it couldn’t make the mess worse. Could it?

It could. The dung had soaked in too far to be rinsed off by a spray with cold water. Now, instead of being almost dry and manured, she was soaking wet and manured. The dung mixed with the water and soaked right in to her skin. Now she was smelly and sodden, and Harry was even soggier.

‘I guess it’s just not my day,’ she told the wide-eyed Maddy and the almost pop-eyed cattlemen. ‘Some days you just shouldn’t get out of bed in the morning, and this is one of them.’

‘Bryony!’

Uh-oh...

Bryony turned cautiously to find her friend, Myrna McPherson, watching her from the pavilion door. Myrna had her six-week-old twins inside a pushchair; Peter, aged five, was clinging to one side of the babies and Fiona, aged six, was holding the other side of the pushchair handle. All of them were gazing at Bryony as if she’d taken leave of her senses.

‘Hi...’ Bryony faltered, and started to laugh again.

Myrna didn’t laugh. She regarded her friend with resigned horror, as if Bryony had done something dreadful, but what did she expect? This was Bryony, after all.

There are sheep loose all over the fairground,’ Myrna said carefully, ignoring Bryony’s laughter. ‘Someone said a little grey dog was chasing them. Would that be Harry, then?’

‘Hmm.’ Bryony stopped chuckling and met her friend’s look with a guilty smile. ‘It might be.’

‘I see.’ Myrna rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t think you could have held on to him?’

‘I got distracted.’ Bryony didn’t say with what, or with whom, and by the look in Myrna’s eyes she didn’t need to. Myrna was a very good friend.

Now she was focusing on something other than the disgusting Bryony and her even more disgusting dog. She’d spotted the child at Bryony’s side and she smiled a welcome.

‘Hi, Maddy.’

‘H-hi.’ Maddy’s thumb came up and wedged into her mouth, and she backed imperceptibly behind Bryony.

Bryony could feel the fear. She frowned, feeling as protective as a mother hen. A sodden, smelly mother hen.

‘Do you two know each other?’ Bryony asked, looking from Maddy to Myrna.

‘Maddy’s in the same class as Fiona at school.’ Myrna gave her small daughter a gentle push forward. ‘Say hi to Maddy, Fiona.’

Maddy dived completely behind Bryony, and Myrna’s eyes widened.

She looked at Bryony, her eyes asking a question, and Bryony gave her head an almost imperceptible shake. Don’t push it.

Myrna was anything but stupid; she got the message loud and clear. She put a restraining hand on Fiona’s shoulder, stopping her daughter from walking forward.

‘On second thoughts, go no further, Fi,’ she ordered. ‘Bryony stinks.’

Bryony glared. ‘Gee, thanks.’

‘What are friends for if they can’t give each other gentle hints about body odour? You weren’t thinking of going home in my car, were you?’ They’d come together, packed like sardines in Myrna’s small Fiat—four children, two adults and one dog.

‘Well, yes...’

‘Well, no.’ Myrna screwed up her nose in distaste. ‘I’d have to sell the car if I let you near it, or your stink would mingle with the petrol fumes and blow us all up. Heaven knows what that chemical combination is.’

‘But...’

‘We were squashed before,’ Myrna said definitely. ‘And now...Bryony, that dog is definitely not coming in my car—and neither are you!’

‘Myrna...’ Bryony stared helplessly at her friend. ‘You have to.’

‘No, I don’t.’ There was a twinkle behind Myrna’s eyes that said she was enjoying herself. ‘I’ll send Ian back for you with the truck.’

Ian was Myrna’s husband, and Bryony was torn between laughter and dismay.

‘Myrna...Ian’s busy. Don’t you dare.’

‘Ian’s sowing barley this afternoon.’ Myrna gave Bryony her sweetest best-friend smile. ‘But he’ll be finished about six and I’ll send him to fetch you then. I don’t see what else you can do. The local taxi sure won’t take you.’ She screwed up her nose some more and looked around to where the farmer with the hose was spraying dung from the concrete floor. ‘At least you’re among your own kind here among the cows. I’ll tell Ian just to follow his nose when he comes to find you, shall I?’

‘Myrna, you rat...’ Bryony took a hasty, laughing step forward and discovered Maddy was clinging to her leggings, tightly, dung and all. Myrna’s eyes widened still further, but she made no comment.

‘Come on, children,’ Myrna told her troop, grinning widely and turning her pushchair with the air of a woman with purpose. ‘Let’s get out of here. Aunty Bryony has finally gone too far—and I don’t want to stick around to see the consequences. I can see from here that they’ll be far from pretty.’

With a last, mischievous chuckle, Myrna swept from the pavilion, leaving Bryony with Harry—and Maddy—until six o’clock... Two more hours. Oh, great. Two hours of wandering round the fairground looking and smelling like a pile of dung.

‘Won’t she take you home?’ Maddy was still tucked safely in behind her, and her hand still clung.

‘No. She won’t.’ Bryony sank down on a hay bale with Harry in her arms, and Maddy sat sympathetically beside her. ‘Do you know what a fair-weather friend is, Maddy?’

‘No.’

‘That.’ Bryony gestured to the departing Myrna’s back. ‘She’s a great example. I come halfway around the world to rescue her business and she doesn’t let me in her car because I smell a little.’

‘You smell a lot,’ Maddy said truthfully.

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘Jack’ll take you home.’

Now that was a thought. Why hadn’t that occurred to her? Bryony cringed inwardly at the prospect.

‘I’ll just bet your D—I’ll bet your Jack drives a lovely new car with cream leather seats.’

‘Sometimes he does, but today he’s driving a truck. A big one, with little houses built on the back for the dogs.’

‘Well, that’s a possibility. Maybe I could use a dog house.’ Bryony grinned down at Maddy and, to her delight, the child smiled back.

‘Silly. You could sit up front with us. I’ll go ask.’

Before Bryony could stop her, the child had slipped away and was racing nimbly around assorted cows and out of the pavilion door. She disappeared. Oh, help... Bryony rose, with Harry. Now what should she do?

Myrna had said Bryony was among her own kind here, and she was, up to a point. The pavilion was full of magnificently groomed cows and bulls and calves, and everything had the faint odour of dung. Here, if Bryony sat quietly on her hay bale and waited for Myrna’s husband, she’d attract not much more than the odd disgusted glance.

But...

But she’d promised Jack she’d deliver Maddy back to the dog-trial ground. Maddy was now on her own, and the trial ground was on the other side of the fairground. So there was nothing for it but to tuck Harry more firmly under the arm of her disgusting sweater and take off after her.

‘Maddy, wait for me. Maddy...’

Bryony’s boots weren’t meant for running and Harry, although small, weighed a ton. Maddy beat her by a country mile. By the time Bryony puffed her way into the trial ground, Jack Morgan was listening to his daughter’s tale with an expression on his face that told Bryony he was trying to conceal anger that she was alone. Bryony could tell at a glance that he was furious.

‘I don’t understand,’ he was saying. The trial ground was deserted and, as Bryony reached the stands, she could hear every word. Then Jack looked across and saw her.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Nice of you to join Maddy.’ It was sarcasm at its most pointed.

‘She ran ahead.’ Bryony tried to glare, but it was hard to puff and glare all at the same time. She stopped where she was—twenty feet away—and concentrated on her glare-puff technique. Then she checked out Jack’s disdainful glance and figured she didn’t have to be there at all. She’d seen Maddy back. Even if she had to puff a bit more to leave, it was worth it. This man thought she was a cross between a caterpillar and a maw-worm.

‘I’ll see you later, Maddy,’ she called between puffs. ‘Maybe at the next dog show. Thanks for helping me find Harry.’

‘Don’t you dare be at the next dog show,’ Jack growled, and even Maddy looked dismayed. But she grabbed her father’s arm and pulled.

‘No!’ Her voice was urgent. ‘I told you. We have to take Bryony home because she smells.’

She did smell, too. Jack remembered. She smelled really good.

‘Honey...’

‘The bad dog got cow muck all over her and then a man sprayed her with the hose and now she and Harry smell so bad that Fiona’s mummy won’t take her in the car. Bryony has to sit with the cows until someone comes with a truck, and that won’t be for ages and we have a truck.’

Jack stared down at his little daughter. Then, slowly, his eyes moved again to Bryony, and he registered what Maddy had been trying to tell him.

Bryony’s hair was sodden. Her white clothes were stained green and disgusting. The dog in her arms was even worse. If he’d tried for the rest of his life to think of a suitable punishment for this woman, he couldn’t have come up with a better one than this. She was foul.

Or maybe...maybe not quite. Bryony was mired and wet and out of breath, but she stood, her chin tilting with defiance and her green eyes flashing—and Jack thought suddenly that he’d never seen anything more beautiful. Or more ridiculous.

‘She says she can go in one of the dog houses on the back of the truck, but she can come in the front of the truck with us, can’t she, Jack?’

Jack’s shoulders shook.

‘Don’t you dare laugh,’ Bryony said carefully.

‘Why not?’ Jack’s eyes twinkled with pure Machiavellian enjoyment ‘You appear to have met your just deserts.’

‘Thank you.’ Bryony spun on her heel.

‘Miss Lester.’

Bryony ignored him. She stalked away, boots squelching water, and three seconds later was stopped by a large hand on her shoulder. She wheeled around and discovered Jack’s wicked laughter directed straight down at her.

‘Whew,’ he said. ‘I can see Fiona’s mother’s point of view.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, with as much dignity as a lady with an armload of manured dog could muster. It didn’t help that Harry was wriggling fiercely, trying to get down to greet Jessica.

‘Will this help?’

Jack produced a collar and lead from his pocket—Harry’s. When Harry had slipped his collar, Bryony had dropped it as she’d tried to grab him back.

‘Someone found it in the grandstand and gave it to me.’ Ignoring the smell, Jack reached out and fastened the collar around Harry’s neck. Harry raised his eyebrows, wriggled his backside, and looked eagerly down at Jessica, still standing obediently at Jack’s side.

‘Your taste in women might be impeccable, but your choice of aftershave leaves something to be desired,’ Jack told him as he lowered Harry onto the ground with a ruffle behind his disreputable ears. The two dogs greeted each other with joy. Harry’s choice of aftershave obviously suited Jessica down to the ground. Jack wasn’t looking. He was looking at Bryony.

‘Can we drive Bryony home?’ Maddy’s voice was urgent and entreating.

Jack frowned.

‘Why?’

Blunt and to the point. Bryony couldn’t think of a single reason why he should.

‘Because I like Bryony,’ Maddy said stubbornly. ‘And it’s not her fault Harry’s bad.’

‘He’s not trained.’

‘You could help train him,’ Maddy said eagerly, but even Bryony thought that was going a bit too far.

‘Thanks, Maddy,’ she told the child. ‘But I’ll just go back to my cows and wait for Ian.’

Jack hesitated. ‘Ian who?’

‘McPherson.’

Jack’s face cleared. For some reason, the thought of Bryony meeting a man he knew as safely married eased a tension he’d hardly been aware was building.

‘Ian McPherson’s sowing crop this afternoon,’ he told her. ‘I passed him on the way here.’

‘I know,’ Bryony said politely. ‘But when he finishes he’ll come and get me.’

‘He won’t finish until dusk.’

‘Then I’ll wait until dusk.’

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair, barely lifting his hat as he did.

The knot of tension tightened again. There was something about Bryony Lester that told him he should pick up Maddy and Jessica and leave now, have nothing more to do with her.

But Maddy was tugging his hand with an urgency he’d never seen in the child before.

‘I like Bryony,’ she’d said.

Well, he didn’t like Bryony. A more useless, ornamental, smelly... She had great eyes. He didn’t like women’s eyes. He liked Bryony’s. She had great legs. Ditto. Her hair was fabulous! Oh, brother...

‘Come on,’ he growled. ‘I’ll take you home.’

Bryony bit her lip. As an invitation it lacked some polish. She should refuse.

But she was wet and she stank—maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to be hosed down. Despite her run, she was now feeling just a bit cold, and promising to get colder.

‘The offer’s good for two minutes,’ Jack said, seeing her look of reluctance. ‘We’re going home now. Take it or leave it.’

She didn’t want to stay here for two more hours. Even if Jack Morgan was an arrogant toad he was a really good-looking arrogant toad. With a great smile... When he could be bothered to produce it. And he loved Maddy; even a fool could see that. So he couldn’t be all bad. She managed a smile herself.

‘Thank you,’ she said submissively. ‘I’d like to go home. Harry and I will sit on the back so the wind takes our smell backward.’

‘No. I want you to sit in the front with me,’ Maddy said stubbornly. ‘We don’t mind the smell—do we, Jack?’

‘We might.’ Jack’s tone was cautious. ‘In fact...’

‘When we found that sick lamb last week I nursed it all the way back to the house in the front of the truck and it smelled horrid,’ Maddy said hastily. ‘You put it in the stove and it smelled all the time until it was warm enough to go back to its mother. My lamb was nice—but Bryony’s better.’

She had a point there. Jack looked hard at Bryony and gave himself a swift mental shake. Get a hold on yourself here, boy! Get this over with. Fast.

‘My truck’s behind the grandstand,’ he said bluntly, then he called his dog, took Maddy by the hand and strode off towards it, as if he couldn’t care less whether Bryony followed or not. Which was about as far from the truth as it was possible to get.

The ensuing drive was tense, to say the least. At Maddy’s insistence, Bryony sat inside the cab, but she was acutely aware that she smelled, that she was soaking the upholstery and that Jack Morgan thought she was some sort of bad joke low life.

Which, all in all, managed to put a stop to Bryony’s normally cheerful chat.

The two dogs stayed in their enclosures on the truck tray and, by the end of the ride, Bryony would almost have preferred to be back there with them.

She gave brief directions to her cottage on the outskirts of town, then huddled herself and her aroma in the corner and concentrated fiercely on not moving. Every time she did, a fresh wave of dung wafted over the cabin. Jack had both windows down as far as they’d go, but even Maddy was looking uncomfortable by the time they pulled up. Bryony was out of the cabin door practically before the truck had ceased moving.

‘Thank you very much for the ride,’ she told them, managing another smile. They seemed to be getting harder. ‘I’ll just get Harry off the back...’

And then she stopped. Jack had carefully placed Jessica in one enclosure and Harry in another. Now they were lying in the one enclosure, side by side, and the pong wafted out from both of them. Jack jumped down from the cabin to help release Harry—and when he saw the dogs his jaw dropped a foot.

‘What...?’ he said, and his tone was back to being dangerous. ‘Who...?’

‘It wasn’t me!’ Bryony’s voice was practically a yelp. ‘They were in separate enclosures when I saw them last, I swear.’

‘It was me.’

Maddy had hardly talked all the way home, answering Bryony’s questions in monosyllables. Now she climbed carefully down from the cabin. She addressed Jack in an ‘I cut down the cherry tree so pack me off to the colonies on bread and water’ tone that made Bryony cringe. ‘I did it while that man came over to talk to you after you’d put the dogs up,’ she continued. ‘Bryony was looking at you and no one was looking at the dogs and Jessica looked lonely.’

Jack closed his eyes, defeated. He would have liked to yell at Bryony, but he had to admit this wasn’t her fault and he couldn’t yell at Maddy. He could still be annoyed.

‘Well, that’s the end of Jess sleeping on your bed tonight, young lady. She’ll smell almost as bad as Harry. We’ll bathe her in the morning.’

Maddy’s face fell, and Bryony had the sudden feeling that, for Maddy, maybe the colonies on bread and water were preferable to a night in bed without a dog.

‘Hey, you can bathe her tonight,’ she volunteered.

‘She takes hours to dry,’ Jack snapped.

‘So use a hairdryer.’

Maddy and Jack both stared at Bryony as if she were talking a foreign language.

‘A hairdryer?’ Bryony looked from one to the other and frowned. ‘You know—a neat little electric gadget that blows hot air on wet heads?’

Maddy looked doubtfully up at Jack. ‘I don’t think we have one of those—do we?’

‘We don’t.’

Bryony sighed.

Escape wasn’t easy.

‘Well, I have two,’ she confessed. ‘You’d better come in and we’ll bathe Jess here. But I get first go at the hot water.’

‘Two...?’

‘Two hairdryers.’

Jack stared. ‘Why on earth do you have two hairdryers?’

‘In case you haven’t noticed, I have rather an oversupply of hair.’ Bryony grinned. ‘I hold the hairdryers one on each side of my ears and my hair flies straight up like something out of Star Wars. It’s a great sensation, and a lot quicker than using one.’

Jack had a sudden mental image of Bryony—fresh out of the shower—naked and glowing, with a hairdryer in each hand, red hair flying upward. He felt dizzy.

‘I don’t know...’ His voice came from a long way away.

‘Oh, stop quibbling. My dog has made your dog smell, so I’ll fix it.’ Bryony leaped lightly up onto the truck tray, released the dogs from their cage, then jumped down again and grabbed Maddy by the hand.

‘Come on in,’ she said cordially. ‘If you give me ten minutes while I wash myself, then I’ll wash both dogs and send you home with a sweet-smelling Jess and a clear conscience. It’s the least I can do—and I always do the least I can do.’

She and Maddy marched forth, dogs following adoringly behind, and this time it was Jack who was left to follow, whether he liked it or not.

Bryony left the dogs outside and Jack and Maddy in her sitting room while she showered. By the time she emerged, Jack was starting to wonder just what sort of madhouse he’d got himself into.

Bryony’s cottage was like no other he’d ever seen. From the outside it was ordinary enough, though the two vast ceramic elephant legs—one on either side of the entrance—were a fair indication of what was to come.

And inside...

This lady was a chronic collector, a magpie, and what she collected was extraordinary. There were furnishings here from all over the world.

The furniture itself was huge—way too big for such a tiny cottage. The lounge sofa and chairs didn’t match. Each was vast and overstuffed and in a different colour of some sort of vivid silk. A riot of huge, squashy cushions tumbled over them and onto the floor. The floor itself had about ten rugs, layered one on top of the other. Each was in a different fabric or texture and the effect was one of some sort of crazy comfort cocoon.

And the paintings...

Weird, wonderful paintings—some of which were astounding, some just plain beautiful and a couple...well, if Jack had his choice he’d turn them to the wall while Maddy was in the room.

And there were things... Sculptures, some big, some small. An array of glasses on the sideboard, none of them matching but each one individual and wonderful. Small tables of exotic wood, with seashells and carvings and strange-looking seed pods...

Maddy wandered about the room, open-mouthed, and Jack sank into one of the vast chairs and just plain stared. This lady was a nut! A complete, utter nut! What sort of person put eight rugs on a floor hardly big enough to hold one?

They heard her in the shower next door, making enough noise to suggest there were a couple of whales in the bathroom. She dropped the soap and they heard her attempts to pick it up with astonishment. Maddy got the giggles.

‘Close your.ears, Maddy,’ Jack growled. ‘You’re not to learn those words.’

‘She doesn’t think we can hear.’

‘No.’

Maddy found this extremely satisfactory. She checked out each seat, chose the highest and clambered into it. Definitely into. You didn’t sit on any of Bryony’s furniture, you sank.

‘This is the best room...’ Maddy sighed. ‘You know you said we could decorate my room? I’d like my room just like this.’ She giggled. ‘Jack, take your hat off. See that horn? I think it’s a hatstand.’ She clambered off her seat, lifted Jack’s hat from his head and took it over to place it on what looked like some sort of bugle, stuck on a bamboo pole. Ridiculous!

But Maddy was grinning, and she’d removed Jack’s hat. For a child who only went near Jack when she had to, it was a beginning. Then Bryony burst back into the room, clad in jeans and an oversized white T-shirt that said ‘No Fear’ in huge red letters. Her amazing hair was turbaned up on her head in a white fluffy towel. She looked fresh and scrubbed and bare-toed—and absolutely gorgeous.

Jack blinked.

‘Your house is wonderful,’ Maddy told her before Bryony could speak. ‘Is the rest like this?’

‘Well, the rest is a bit crowded.’

‘You mean this isn’t?’ Jack stared around in incredulity and Bryony grinned.

‘I collect things. I have visions of one day living in a big house and needing all this. When I moved from New York I tried to sell a bit but selling things is okay in principle. It’s only when you pick up each thing and look at it and remember where you found it that it gets impossible. And storing... I know I should put some of these rugs into storage, but they’re sort of fun like this.’

‘You brought all this from America? It must have cost you a fortune.’

‘Mmm. But I couldn’t leave it behind.’ She grinned down at Maddy. Could I, now? Want to see my bed?’

‘Oh, yes...’ Maddy bounced across the room and grabbed Bryony’s hands. ‘Please...’

Bryony grinned at Jack. ‘You can see it, too, if you’re interested,’ she offered. ‘Otherwise, go grab a beer from the kitchen straight down the hall. I should have offered you one before I showered. I’m sorry. All I could think of was getting rid of my smell.’

Jack forgave her. Just like that. He got up in a daze and found himself not getting a beer but standing by Bryony’s bedroom door staring in amazement at the bed.

It was vast, king-sized or bigger, carved in some sort of deep red wood—mahogany or something similar—with huge posts at each corner and all hung with gold and purple drapes—like something out of a sultan’s palace.

‘It’s ridiculous.’ Bryony chuckled. ‘I’ll have to sell this. Roger says he won’t sleep in it in a fit and it’s hardly a guest bed.’

‘Roger?’ Jack was finding it hard to catch his breath.

‘My fiancé.’

A fiancé. Yeah, right. Jack managed to catch his breath on that one. For some reason, it made things seem more in control.

‘I’d like to sleep in it,’ Maddy announced, unaware that a spiral had just stopped mid-spin for Jack. ‘Very, very much.’

‘Well, if Jack says you can, then maybe one night you can spend the night with me and Harry.’

‘Harry sleeps here, too?’

‘Actually,’ Bryony admitted, ‘Harry and I swim in this bed. I told him he should really have been a giant wolfhound just to fill it up. We thought of letting out pillow space.’ She ruffled the little girl’s pigtails, and Maddy, who normally cringed when touched, wiggled her head as if she thoroughly enjoyed being ruffled. ‘Okay, miss. Let’s cope with these dogs. Harry first because he’s the worst. And then your Jess.’

What followed was a very silly hour. If anyone had ever told Jack he’d enjoy himself so much washing and blowdrying a couple of smelly dogs he would have thought them ridiculous. But Bryony had them all in fits of laughter. They ended up—all of them—back in her crazy sitting room, knee deep in rugs with damp dogs and hot air going everywhere.

The dogs thought it was wonderful and so did Maddy. Jack was just plain hornswoggled. Who the hell was Roger? Finally he could bear it no longer.

‘So tell me,’ he said as the overfluffed and pristine dogs rolled on the rugs with Bryony and Maddy. ‘What the hell are you doing here in Hamilton? Is Roger a local?’

Bryony’s laughter died a little.

‘Roger lives in Sydney.’

‘But...you’re marrying Roger.’

‘Not until next year.’

‘I see,’ he lied. He didn’t see at all. But...presumably you came from New York to marry Roger?’

‘Well, sort of.’ Bryony grabbed a passing dog and started brushing. She sighed. ‘Roger and I have known each other for ever. He proposed years ago, but I hadn’t seen the world yet so I took off to America. I’m an interior designer.’ She grinned. ‘If you hadn’t guessed.’

Silence. Bryony cast a swift look at Jack. He was frowning, and for some reason Bryony found herself fighting for words.

‘I built up an interior design agency in New York, but I missed Australia,’ she continued, talking too fast now. ‘And Roger kept visiting and giving me all the good reasons I should marry him. And then Myrna—I met Myrna at university and we started in business together way back in the Dark Ages—wrote that she was having twins and her interior design business here would have to close if she couldn’t find anyone to look after it for a while. So I figured I’d come home in stages. Twelve months living here getting used to not being in New York—and then Sydney and marriage to Roger.’

‘but...I thought you were American.’ Maddy didn’t like this turn of events. Bryony moving on...Bryony an Australian...

‘I’m half American,’ Bryony told her. ‘My mom was American, but she married my dad a long, long time ago and he’s an Australian.’

‘Oh.’ Maddy’s face cleared. ‘You’re still like me, then.’

‘Yep.’

‘But...you’re going to live in Sydney?’ The disappointment in Maddy’s voice was poignant and Bryony reached to give her a hug. Jack stared. Maddy... Hugs...

‘I’m not going to Sydney for yonks.’

‘What’s yonks?’ Maddy asked, bewildered.

‘Yonks is so far ahead I refuse to think about it.’

‘Don’t you want to marry Roger?’

‘Sure I want to marry Roger.’ Bryony’s voice was defensive. ‘He’s cute.’

‘So’s Harry,’ Jack said dryly, and Bryony grinned.

‘Yeah, well, Roger has certain advantages over Harry.’

‘What?’ Maddy demanded.

Bryony’s green eyes twinkled. ‘Well, for a start he’s a rich lawyer. He can keep me in the manner to which I wish to become accustomed.’

‘Jack’s rich,’ Maddy retorted. ‘You could marry him.’ Yeah, right. All of a sudden, the silence was loaded. Bryony scrambled to her feet. ‘Tea,’ she said. ‘I’m starving. Are you?’

‘Yes.’ Maddy was definite, but Jack rose too, and took her hand.

‘We have to go, Maddy.’

‘I’m not offering a seven-course meal here,’ Bryony told him, and grinned. ‘I can’t. Cooking is not my forté. I’m offering toasted cheese sandwiches.’

Maddy’s face set into obstinacy. ‘Cheese sandwiches are my favourite.’

Jack looked down at his small daughter and sighed. He shouldn’t be here. This woman was beautiful. This woman was intelligent and funny. This woman was eccentric. This woman was engaged to another man.

He should get the hell out of here—right now.

But Maddy had come alive. His daughter had been with him for three months now and she’d been flat and listless and uninterested the whole time.

Bryony had made her laugh. You could forgive a lot of a woman who made your daughter laugh.

Besides, there was a part of Jack that wanted to spend more time here, wanted to sit on the other side of the kitchen table and watch Bryony make toasted cheese sandwiches—watch Bryony do anything...

‘If you have enough bread and cheese,’ Jack found himself saying weakly.

‘I have enough to burn,’ Bryony said cheerfully. ‘And I hope that’s not prophetic.’

CHAPTER THREE

SO DID he stay for long?’

Monday morning. Time for Myrna and Bryony to get together and discuss Hamilton’s interior decorating needs for the week. Myrna and Harry were on the couch; Bryony was disappearing under cushions on the floor. Interior decorating was taking a back seat.

‘About four hours.’

Myrna shoved Harry’s rump sideways—Harry went for warmth, and rump against thigh was his favourite feel—and regarded her friend with awe. ‘Did you feed him?’

‘Yep.’

‘What did you feed him?’ Myrna asked doubtfully. She knew Bryony’s cooking.

‘Toasted cheese sandwiches. I burned the first two lots. We fed them to the dogs and then Jack took over.’

Myrna stared.

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Don’t believe I burned the sandwiches?’

‘Well, of course I believe that. It’s a wonder you haven’t burned the whole house down by now. Your ability to not concentrate on your cooking is legendary. It’s just... Bryony, Jack Morgan...’

‘Why is it so amazing that Jack Morgan brought me home and visited my house and ate my cheese sandwiches? ’

‘Because he doesn’t visit.’

‘Doesn’t visit who?’

‘Doesn’t visit anyone. The man’s practically a recluse.’ Myrna grinned. ‘Well, with women, anyway. He has a past.’

‘Don’t we all?’

‘Speak for yourself.’ Myrna hugged her knees and looked around the room with affection. ‘This place is great—and not a nappy in sight. I think I’ll move in.’

‘Uh-uh.’ Bryony’s curls shook. ‘I’m off house-mates until next year. Harry’s my chaperon. I’m practising being an engaged lady.’

‘I imagine it must be a strange feeling, being engaged.’ Myrna sighed. ‘I wouldn’t know. I was single and then—wham!—I was married. I can’t remember anything about being engaged, except maybe the one morning Ian let me out of bed long enough to buy a wedding dress.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s why you have four kids and I have none. No self-control.’

‘Not when Ian’s in sight.’ Myrna sighed again, happily, and hugged her knees tighter.

‘You want a bucket of cold water dumped over you? Hey, Myrna?’

Myrna gave herself a shake, lost her cat-got-the-cream look, and mock-glared at Bryony. ‘You don’t feel this way about Roger? Like you only have to look at him and your knees turn to jelly?’

Bryony thought. ‘I guess. I mean, I suppose I do. Roger looks great in his Italian suits. Smooth.’

‘But does he look great not in his Italian suits?’ Myrna grinned. ‘The first time I saw Ian I had him undressed in my head in two minutes flat. Or less...’ And then she fixed Bryony with a look. ‘You always fall for suits. I don’t understand it.’

‘I love good-quality suits.’

‘So do a deal with Armani, buy yourself a suit and hang it in your wardrobe. And then get on with the important things in life. Like finding a man! Heck, Bryony, you had Jack Morgan in your house last night. How can that compare to a suit? Bryony, Jack Morgan is seriously sexy.’

‘He is, isn’t he?’ Bryony fiddled with her coffee mug, and blushed. Myrna looked at her sideways—looked again—and decided to ignore the blush. For now.

Myrna, comfortably plump and pretty, and gloriously happy with her Ian, wasn’t all that impressed with Bryony’s Roger. This had definite promise, but she knew better than to push.

‘So what gives with Maddy?’ she asked, carefully changing the subject.

‘Now there’s something I don’t understand. Maddy. Tell me about her,’ Bryony demanded. ‘That little girl has seen trouble.’

‘Well, you’re right there. She’s disturbed enough.’

‘So tell me why.’

‘I’m not sure.’ Myrna sighed. ‘Well. maybe I do know a bit. Maddy was born here.’

‘What—in Australia? I thought she was American.’

‘Her mother was from the States. Or maybe...more cosmopolitan, if you like. Georgia always made out she had contacts everywhere. Jack met her overseas when he was quite young, married her in the States and brought her here. Only she hated the farm, hated Australia. In the end she hated Jack. She whinged until we were all sick to death of her. She had Maddy and then, when the baby was about three months old, she skipped the country, taking Maddy with her.’

Bryony frowned. ‘Jack didn’t want his daughter?’

‘Jack wasn’t given the choice. He went away for a weekend to some important farming conference and when he got back they’d gone. He went to the States looking for them and there was talk he was trying to get custody, but he didn’t succeed.’

‘But he found her?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is that he came back here and buried himself in his work. Absolutely. The loss devastated him and he compensated by making money. Jack has one of the most profitable sheep studs in the country, and for a sideline he breeds and trains sheepdogs. His dogs are legendary. Jack Morgan is seriously rich, but he doesn’t enjoy a cent of it. Bitter, that’s what Jack is, isolated by choice. Then three months ago Maddy arrived.’

‘To stay?’

‘As far as we know. Jack’s not talking. And Maddy... Well, she won’t talk to anyone or go near anyone if she can help it. She goes to school, but she keeps to herself. Her teachers are at their wits’ end because she won’t communicate. I was stunned she was touching you yesterday.’

‘Mmm.’

Bryony thought back to the last time she’d seen the little girl, at ten o’clock last night. They’d played Scrabble on the rugs. Bryony had lost against the combined team of Jack and Maddy—for heaven’s sake, what sort of man knew a xyster was an instrument for scraping bones?—and then Bryony had walked out to the truck with them to say goodbye. Maddy had placed her arms round Bryony’s neck and clung. She was a little girl in need.

‘Will you see her again?’ Myrna asked carefully. She knew better than to ask whether Bryony was seeing Jack again. After all, despite Myrna’s disapproval, Bryony Lester was an engaged lady.

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, when?’

‘This afternoon,’ Bryony told her, and blushed all over. She glared up at Myrna. ‘And it’s not what you’re thinking, it’s work.’

‘Don’t tell me you talked Jack Morgan into redecorating? ’ Myrna looked hopeful. ‘Jack’s place is vast. We get a job like that and we can retire. Set up in the Bahamas.’

‘With or without your twins?’ Bryony shook her head. ‘No. Luckily for the twins and your Ian, it’s only Maddy’s bedroom. It seems it’s sparse and Jack’s trying to get her interested in re-doing it. Only she isn’t. Then last night she said she wanted a bedroom just like mine.’

‘Like yours?’ Myrna’s face went blank. ‘You mean... she saw your bedroom?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did Jack see your bedroom?’

‘Yes.’

‘You did tell him you were engaged?’ Myrna demanded, suddenly anxious, and Bryony laughed.

‘Yes again, goose.’

‘If he’s seen that bedroom, he has the wrong idea about you,’ Myrna said gloomily, and Bryony thought about it

‘No. Every girl should have a bed like mine.’

‘If every girl had a bed like yours, the production of this country would hit zero, except for kids. Bryony, you must be nuts. He’ll think you’re sex-starved...’

‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Bryony, you have black satin sheets! I have never known anyone with black satin sheets, except someone with a red light on their front door. It’s a good thing Maddy was there, otherwise you deserved to be ravished on the spot.’

‘I wouldn’t mind!’ For the life of her, Bryony couldn’t keep the wistful note out of her voice. ‘The odd spot of ravish by Jack Morgan might be rather fun.’

‘Bryony!’

‘Okay, okay.’ Bryony held up her hands, laughing. ‘I know. I’m engaged to Roger. But I haven’t seen Roger for a month, and being engaged doesn’t stop me looking.’

‘Wanting?’

Bryony appeared to consider. ‘Well, if he is seriously rich...’

Myrna threw a cushion at her. ‘Bryony Lester, I know what you sold your agency for in New York. If you want the Bahamas, there’s nothing stopping you. And Roger’s not exactly poor...’

‘There’s nothing to stop a girl wanting more.’

‘So join the spider-widow club. Marry serially and poison them off as you go, starting with Roger and working through every eligible bachelor in the country.’ She grinned and threw another cushion. ‘Bryony, get these indecent thoughts right out of your head and let’s get to work.’

Which was all very well, but the indecent thoughts just wouldn’t go. Bryony gave herself severe lectures all day, but all they did was give her more excuses to think of Jack.

Jack’s smile.

Jack’s body.

Jack’s hands...

She was having hot flushes on hot flushes and she was engaged to Roger.

‘So get out there, plan Maddy’s bedroom and get the heck out of their lives,’ she told herself severely.

Jack’s home was a rambling homestead, huge and solid, with verandahs running right round and a fragrant, overgrown garden teeming with birdlife, poppies and roses. Spreading English oaks grew on the boundaries of the home garden. Set amidst wide paddocks dotted with river gums and grazing sheep, and with the river running on its northern boundary, the whole place looked like paradise.

Bryony was met by Maddy, who’d clearly been waiting for her. The child led her through the house to the kitchen, and by the time they reached it Bryony’s nose had told her that paradise was just where she was.

‘Jack’s made gem scones,’ Maddy said anxiously. ‘Do you like them?’

‘Do I like them?’ Bryony shook her head. ‘Gem scones! I haven’t eaten them since my grandma made them when I was a little girl. No, Maddy. I don’t like them. I love them. And they love me.’ Then she frowned. ‘Did you say Jack made them?’

‘He did.’ Maddy appeared desperately anxious to impress. ‘And he made the jam, too. Strawberry. There’s bought stuff if you want, like my grandma used to buy.’ She gave Bryony a look of entreaty. ‘But Jack gets a bit funny if you eat bought stuff instead of his.’

‘I don’t blame him.’ Bryony laughed.

Maddy swung open the kitchen door and the first sight of Bryony that Jack had was of her laughing, which was just how he remembered her. He’d been taking the gem scones out of the oven. Now he straightened, turned to put the griddle down on the sink and tried to smile. It didn’t quite come off.

She took his breath away. Literally. Today Bryony was wearing a soft blue skirt that almost reached her ankles and a tiny white knit top, high-necked but with no sleeves. Her fiery curls tumbled down to her shoulders, her arms were slim and lovely, her face was creased into laughter and her green eyes twinkled. All in all, it was as much as Jack could do not to drop the griddle on his boots.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

For two mature people it was a pretty limited conversation. Jack tried again. ‘Did you have trouble finding the place?’

‘No. But I thought...’ Bryony was stammering. ‘I thought... Myrna said you bred sheepdogs. There’s only Jess...’

This was an improvement. He could think of something to say on this one.

‘Were you expecting rows of battery dogs?’ Jack’s mouth curved into a smile. ‘No. I employ a few men on the place and each of my men looks after a dog or two. That way they all have individual attention. I have a breeding programme, but in every other respect they’re my men’s dogs. But Jess is mine.’

‘Oh. I—I see.’ Bryony stared down at the gem scones Jack was now flipping out of the griddle and wrapping in a cloth. Her eyes widened. ‘Did you say ... did Maddy say you made these?’

‘Mmm.’ Morgan, there has to be a better conversation starter than this! He was tongue-tied again.

‘And the jam?’

‘That’s right.’ Not much better.

‘Do you want to plan my bedroom and then eat scones, or will you eat the gem scones first?’ Maddy asked anxiously, and Bryony sat down at the kitchen table and reached for a plate.

‘Both,’ she said promptly, and relaxed. She looked up at Jack and gave him her very widest smile. ‘A man who can cook! I’d like to know where you were when I was accepting marriage proposals,’ she told him. ‘Roger’s starting to look distinctly second-rate.’

The only problem was—it was true. Bryony had said it as a joke, but as Jack walked by her side up the stairs to Maddy’s room she was so aware of him that she felt the need for Myrna’s bucket of cold water.

He was so big. So ... so masculine. Roger smelled of expensive aftershave. Jack smelled...well. Jack smelled of Jack. Roger always looked immaculately groomed. Jack’s shirt had a rip in the sleeve above where he’d rolled the sleeves up, and his jeans were old and stained.

Bryony was starting to be breathless, and it had nothing to do with the stairs. Concentrate on work, she told herself fiercely. Desperately. Then leave. Fast. But she was needed here, for Maddy’s room was indeed sparse. Bleak would be a better word for it. Bryony stopped at the doorway and stared in dismay.

For a little girl’s room, it was pathetic. Oh, it was a nice enough room. Beige walls. Brown carpet. Beige bedspread. One window facing north with a great view over the sheep paddocks to the river beyond. That was its one redeeming feature. But there was not a toy in sight. Not a stuffed animal. Nothing to suggest this was a child’s room.

On the chair was one small battered suitcase. Full to bursting. On impulse Bryony walked over and pulled open the bureau drawer. Empty. The child had her suitcase packed, ready to go.

‘Diana suggested we paint the room pink and buy Maddy some new clothes,’ Jack said, and Bryony heard the desperation in his voice. ‘But Maddy won’t have a bar of it.’

‘Diana?’

‘My next-door neighbour.’

‘I don’t like pink,’ Maddy said stubbornly. ‘And I don’t like Diana.’

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