“Alexandra? What are you doing here?” About the Author Title Page Dedication PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN EPILOGUE Copyright

“Alexandra? What are you doing here?”

Clearly Fletcher regarded her as an intruder. How could this happen? He had come to the city and made exquisite love to her and changed her life forever. “You’re surprised to see me,” Ally whispered.

“Surprise is one word I could choose, I guess,” Fletcher drawled, his deep voice rumbling with sarcasm. His eyes traveled—very deliberately—over her slim frame. ”What are you doing here?” he repeated, his voice less harsh this time, as if he had run out of breath suddenly.

“I have brought your little godson, Connor. You’re his guardian now....”

“I know damn well I’m his guardian, but what have you got to do with it?”

“Well, the point is,” resumed Ally, “I’m his nanny.”

The color in Fletcher’s face deepened while, with the worst sense of timing, a kookaburra broke into raucous laughter in a gum tree overhanging the track. “Ally! You can’t be!”

Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the Australian bush, she also delights in an urban life-style-chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy.

Outback Wife and Mother is Barbara’s outstanding debut title for Harlequin Romance®-we just know you’ll love her heartwarming style, so look out for more from her in the future!

Outback Wife and Mother
Barbara Hannay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For John Dow,

who was my father and my first hero

PROLOGUE

MUMMY was crying again.

Lying in his bed, the boy could hear her muffled sobs and his father’s pleading voice in the next room. ‘But, Vivienne, you mustn’t go. You can’t leave us.’

He could see the friendly silhouette of his teddy bear on the pillow beside him, but not even his favourite toy could help him feel safe or happy. Not when he could hear the desperate sadness in his mother’s voice.

‘I feel so—so stifled here in the outback,’ she sobbed. ‘I think I’ll go mad.’

Eventually, he pulled the pillow over his head to shut out the frightening voices...

Then with the first creamy fingers of dawn, his mother crept into the room, smelling as fresh as flowers. She sat on the edge of his bed and he buried his head in her lap.

‘Mon petit,’ she whispered, stroking his hair. ‘I will miss you so much.’

Something started to thump loudly in his chest. ‘You don’t have to miss me, Mummy,’ he cried. ‘I’m going to stay on Wallaroo with you and Daddy for always.’

With a choked moan, she hugged him close, cradling him with her soft, warm arms. ‘Oh, cheri,’ she whispered and, looking up, he saw her beautiful eyes fill with bright tears. ‘Always remember, I love you very, very much. But you belong here.’

There was a crunch of tyres on gravel in the yard outside, and then heavy footsteps on the wooden floorboards of the veranda. Ned, the stockman, stood in the doorway. He cleared his throat as he fiddled with his wide-brimmed hat.

‘Yes, Ned. I’m coming,’ she said softly.

The boy felt her warm lips on his cheek and she held him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. Then she stood up and drifted away from him, out of the room, as soft and pretty as the morning mist on the river.

His feet hit the cold floor as he hurried after her.

Outside, the bush was already waking. A huge flock of pink and grey galahs rose from the gum trees along the creek, filling the reddening sky with their raucous chorus. Ned opened the door to the truck and she slipped inside. The little boy could just make out her pale face through the window glass.

He ran faster, but as he reached the top of the steps, two strong arms caught him and lifted him up and he felt his father’s bristly morning cheek pressed against his. ‘We’ve got to let her go, Fletcher,’ he said, his voice sounding gruff and strange. ‘She doesn’t belong in the bush. She needs the city lights.’

What was Daddy talking about? Of course Mummy belonged here. The truck’s engine spluttered to life and the station dogs barked and yapped at its tyres.

‘It’s just you and me now, little mate. At least she let me have you...’

The truck rolled forward.

Thoroughly bewildered now, the boy struggled in his father’s arms and cried out to her, ‘Mummy, don’t go!’

But the truck gathered speed. And she looked back at him one last time, raised a graceful hand to her lips and blew him a kiss.

CHAPTER ONE

FLETCHER HARDY ran an irritated finger around the inside of his uncomfortably stiff collar and glared at the marbled floors and mirrored walls of the enormous ballroom. He had rushed straight to the hotel from a press conference about the drought in North Queensland and he had to postpone a dinner meeting with the Minister for Primary Industries—simply to watch half starved girls sashaying around in outrageous costumes!

He prided himself on never doing anything against his will, but in a rare moment of weakness he had allowed his cousin, Lucette, to talk him into coming to a fashion show.

Grimacing as his shoulders met the unfamiliar constraints of his tux, he strode impatiently towards the rows of seats arranged around the catwalk. He ignored the swing of expensively coiffed female heads trailing after him like sunflowers following the sun.

And he scowled as he found his seat and lowered his long body into it.

Fashion! Ridiculous female obsession, he’d always claimed, happily overlooking the minor detail that he had, on odd occasions in the past, been known to admire an elegantly designed garment gracing a beautiful woman.

As soon as Lucette had heard Fletcher was travelling south to Melbourne, she’d begged him to come and watch the show so he could admire the set she designed especially for this exhibition. He’d found his kid cousin’s enormous pride in her first real assignment quite touching and so, to humour her, he had come. But where was she now? The live band was blasting out its opening number and the lights were going down and still no Lucette! She’d left him to brave this torment on his own!

Typical. With any luck there would be an interval and he could leave.

Wrapped in these angry thoughts, he refused to join in the applause as the grinning compere, dressed in a gold tuxedo, approached the microphone, welcomed the audience and delivered a totally incomprehensible joke about fashion. The audience roared. Fletcher growled.

‘This evening, the Quintessential Collection brings us a preview of the new season highlights from five of Australia’s top young designers. We begin with the delightful Alexandra Fraser. I’m sure most of the menfolk here would agree with me, that Ally is herself rather beautifully designed...’ Here the compere paused for a brief titter from the audience, while Fletcher almost groaned aloud. ‘Today we see fine examples of her ultraurban, minimalist designs in pale cashmeres and silks,’ the compere continued with a wide, plastic smile. ‘And you should note the clever addition of silk cummerbunds to her slinky pants and long evening skirts.’

Fletcher raked a hand distractedly through his thick, dark hair as, for the sake of his sanity, he turned his attention to Lucette’s set. OK, it was good. Against an ethereal backdrop resembling the sky at dawn—all pinks and golds—there were delicate, gilded arches encrusted with winking bud lights and a runway edged with more tiny lights and misty clumps of tulle. It all seemed appropriate, he decided, suggesting a show, which would present the quintessence of earthly beauty. And as far as he could see the decor provided a suitable accompaniment for the palely elegant fashions, which soon emerged.

But as for the deportment and grace of the models slinking and strutting along the runway—he barely noticed them. His eyes were squinted with his efforts to read his watch in the darkened room. But his attempts were futile so instead he began scanning the audience, searching for Lucette. After several fruitless minutes, he tried the watch again. No use. When could he safely slip away?

Restlessly, he squirmed in his seat. His elbow bumped the thin woman sitting beside him and she glowered at him from beneath her wide-brimmed hat.

About to scowl back at her, his attention was suddenly captured by a woman emerging down the runway. Dressed in the simplest of short gowns in deep purple, the colour of crushed violets, she stood out in stark contrast to the whites, creams and beiges worn by the models surrounding her.

‘Ladies and gentleman, our very own Alexandra Fraser.’

So this was the designer of the first collection. She was bowing as the crowd applauded her. Cries of ‘Bravo’ could even be heard, so obviously she was being well received.

She smiled out into the audience and at that precise moment, the simple, two syllable word woman took on an entirely new level of meaning for Fletcher Hardy.

This woman was like no other he’d ever seen before. An unnerving tension seized his body. His hands gripped the upholstered arms of his seat and incredibly, this hardened man of the land’s throat tightened over a huge lump of unexpected emotion as his gaze remained transfixed by the figure on the catwalk.

She was surrounded by tall, willowy models, but his eyes were drawn from their almost asexual leanness to ber startling femininity. Her gleaming dark hair and pale skin were a perfect foil for the rich colour of her oneshoulder dress and the delectable curves it barely concealed. Her slender legs and the graceful movement of her dainty hands as she acknowledged the models were utterly fascinating. Spellbound, he watched this dark-haired, enchanting designer.

She was the most exquisite female he had ever seen.

Her features were delicate yet determined and her thickly lashed grey eyes sparkled with intelligence and spunk. Surrounded as she was by models looking as vacant as dolls in a shop window, this woman looked vibrant, incredibly alive, undeniably sexy.

And then she was gone, tossing a final smile over her one bared shoulder before disappearing with the models back through Lucette’s golden arches.

Another group of models bounced onto the runway accompanied by wild heavy metal music. Fletcher had a vague impression of a kaleidoscopic mix of lace and satin teamed with psychedelic stockings and electric blue lips, but his mind was still totally absorbed by Alexandra Fraser. If only he had bothered to pick up a catalogue on his way in, he might have discovered more about her.

Restlessly he sat through the gyrations and outlandish creations of the second collection but as soon as its designer, a young man whose bald head was wildly tattooed, appeared to receive his applause, Fletcher rose from his seat and made his way quickly to the back of the ballroom.

He found a stack of catalogues on a small side table and hurriedly snatched one up, leafing through it impatiently. Reading by the light of a dimmed wall lamp, he found little to satisfy him. There was a brief description of Alexandra Fraser’s collection and a list of several awards she had won and then a quoted comment.

‘Alexandra says of fashion design, “I keep to simple tines, neat silhouettes, no frills or fluffiness, but this doesn’t mean my clothes cannot be soft or reveal the body. For me design is a passionate experience. It fu161s me totally—mind, body and soul.”’

To his annoyance Fletcher Hardy did not find the scraps of information at all comforting and he skulked around the back of the ballroom as the show continued, feeling startled and miserable. How could fashion fulfil such a beautiful woman?

And he knew then that, after the show, his next move would be to dismiss the waiting limousine, courtesy of the Cattlemen’s Union.

And then he would be heading backstage.

Ally Fraser made her excited way through the backstage confusion. Around her, models were changing, some removing wigs or false eyelashes, while assistants gathered up costumes and shoes. As she passed, nearly everyone looked up to smile or to openly congratulate her. She was trying not to grin too widely, but her collection had clearly drawn the most enthusiastic audience response of the entire Quintessential show and she was over the moon. More importantly, she’d noticed at least two fashion journalists nodding and smiling at her when she’d taken her bow.

She stopped to check that several of her garments were being stored away properly and thought fleetingly of how wonderful it would be to be able to head straight for home and an early night. But although she was dead tired after the hectic pace of the past few weeks, she steeled herself to go outside to join in the cocktails and to be particularly pleasant to the fashion editors.

Quickly she glanced around the crowded room, making sure everything was under control before she left.

However there was a rather uncontrolled and excited babble erupting from the models in the far corner as a strange man walked into their midst. Ally stared, intrigued. These girls were so used to having all kinds of people wander in and out of their changing areas that they usually took no notice. But they were paying a great deal of attention to this good-looking stranger.

To her surprise, Ally saw that he was ignoring the girls’ varied stages of undress as he advanced purposefully across the room. Most newcomers, especially males, couldn’t keep their eyes from straying frantically. To her even greater surprise, she realised that the tall, dark intruder appeared to be heading straight for her. In his sleek, black tux, marching head and shoulders above the models, he advanced, staring at her so intently she felt her pulses begin to race.

‘I’m looking for Lucette Hardy,’ he said, as soon as he reached her.

His voice was deep and resonant and his claim sounded quite plausible and yet Ally found that she couldn’t believe him. She had never considered herself to have telepathic insight, but this man’s eyes were so fiercely fixed on hers that she knew straight away that he was seeking her out. And the knowledge held her, standing before him, mesmerised by his height, his strong, handsome face and his piercing blue eyes which looked exactly as if they had been made from summer skies.

As those eyes continued to explore every detail of her face, she struggled to speak. ‘Poor Lucette’s come down with flu,’ she said. ‘She’s devastated to miss the show.’

‘So that’s what happened.’ He looked away briefly and then his eyes found hers once again. ‘You are—’ he began and then cleared his throat as he corrected himself. ‘Your designs are absolutely exquisite.’ With a sweeping gesture, he indicated the racks of her clothes. ‘The simple lines ...’ He paused, apparently lost for words.

‘And neat silhouettes?’ she supplied, her lips curled in sudden amusement.

He grinned then, a cheeky grin that totally transformed his face. ‘OK, I read your comments in the catalogue. But honestly, I like the dress you’re wearing best of all.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied. It was certainly not the first ime she had received a compliment, but most of the praise that came her way was delivered with such a pracised smoothness that it smacked of insincerity and slipped over her like an old, warm blanket that she took for granted. This evening her heart pounded erratically in espouse to his clumsy admission and she stared back at he sun-tanned, ruggedly handsome face knowing that she had never met a man like him. In contrast to her world of image-makers and haute couture, his masculin ,ty seemed to be stripped of all pretension.

He frowned and she was surprised at the way his gaze iropped to his work-toughened hands as if he were sudienly shy. With a totally unexpected jolt of disappointment, she thought, soon he’ll say it was a pleasure to meet me and then he’ ll be gone.

In the awkward silence, she looked back at him, taking in his broad shoulders, thick, black hair, rugged features and vivid blue eyes and wondered how someone who embodied the fantasies of half the women on the planet could make such a hash of what was clearly meant to be i simple pick-up.

‘We haven’t really met you know,’ she heard herself saying a little too eagerly. ‘You haven’t even told me your name.’

He grinned again and visibly relaxed, his strong fea ures turning so sunny that for a moment Ally thought the technical crew were playing tricks with the lighting.

‘I’m Fletcher Hardy, Lucette’s cousin. In Melbourne on business. I actually came to admire Lucette’s work.’ She half expected him to trot out something trite about ending up admiring the designer instead, but to her relief he didn’t. Instead he asked, ‘When do you finish here?’

‘I’m afraid I’ve got to do my duty out there first.’ She grimaced, pointing to the ballroom. ‘Meet the press, that sort of thing.’

He pulled a face. ‘You have my sympathy. I’ve had a day of that sort of thing myself.’

‘Really?’ She looked at Fletcher Hardy contemplatively. ‘Now let me guess. You do something in the outdoors. A ski instructor? No, the press wouldn’t bother you about that. Perhaps a mountaineer? Are you about to conquer something generally considered unconquerable?’

Fletcher laughed, throwing back his head and drawing sharp glances from others in the room, then he looked her over slowly and said softly and with wicked audacity, ‘I’d say I might be in with a chance.’

The ripple of excitement that raced up her spine shocked Ally. This cousin of Lucette’s was losing his shyness with breathtaking speed.

‘I never was much good at guessing games,’ she said quickly to cover her sudden self-consciousness. But she didn’t mind his cheek. She’d never before felt such an immediate connection with another person, especially a man. No one else, on first meeting, had accelerated her heartbeat to such a heady, scampering pace. ‘You’ll have to remain a mystery for now,’ she added. ‘I really must go to this party. Why don’t you join us?’

‘Sure. Lead the way.’

Ally was aware of many eyes watching as Fletcher followed her into the cocktail party. As they helped themselves to champagne cocktails, Derek Squires, the baldheaded, much-tattooed designer rushed over to them.

‘Darlings,’ he crooned.

‘Hello, Derek. I’d like you to meet Fletcher Hardy.’

‘And hello-o, darling,’ smiled Derek, eyeing Fletcher with open interest Fletcher nodded politely.

‘How’s it all going?’ Ally asked.

‘Just keep me away from that dreadful woman,’ shuddered Derek.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Phoebe Hardcastle. She had the cheek to criticise my lovely blue lipstick. Said my girls looked half drowned.’ He trembled in horror. ‘She has the creative imagination of a fruit fly.’

‘She certainly can be very cutting,’ agreed Ally, flashing a quick glance at Fletcher to see how he was reacting to the conversation. His eyes were wide with interest.

‘She has no understanding of fashion flair. Stupid cow.’

‘Now let’s not get too critical of cows,’ cut in Fletcher. ‘They’re my stock-in-trade.’ Both Derek and Ally looked at him curiously, waiting for more explanation. ‘I raise cattle,’ he said with a shrug.

‘Oh, how awful for you,’ murmured Derek, backing off hurriedly.

Ally smiled, her grey eyes dancing as she looked up at Fletcher from under her thick, dark lashes.‘ I knew you did something in the outdoors.‘

‘Ally Fraser,’ boomed a commanding voice from behind them. ‘Spare me a minute or two if you please.’

An alarming-looking woman with bright red hair, thick spectacles and a heavy jaw pushed her way next to Ally.

‘Oh, Phoebe. How are you this evening?’

‘Tolerable, dear. But I’ve deadlines to meet. Can you answer a couple of quick questions?’

Ally shot Fletcher a swift, mildly apologetic glance and nodded. ‘Fire away.’

‘What I want, darling,’ the redhead began, shoving a small tape recorder under Ally’s nose, ‘is for you to sum up in a nutshell...who you’re trying to appeal to...who you expect to wear your clothes...who is going to connect with them.’

‘But I’ve told you all that many times,’ Ally protested.

‘New show, new comments,’ the journalist shot back, her eyes hard and unsympathetic.’

‘Very well,’ replied Ally after only a moment’s hesitation. ‘I think my clients are people who are looking for value...for something contemporary, but with classical elegance as well...’

She felt a strong hand pat her heartily on the back and looked up to catch Fletcher winking at her.

There were more questions which Ally answered as best she could, but the whole time she was terribly con scious of the way Fletcher’s hand stayed there, resting on her bare shoulder. Her skin beneath the warm hand tingled deliciously in response.

‘And are you planning to launch a range of perfumes, like some of the other more successful designers?’ Phoebe was asking.

Ally wavered. This was something she had been considering, but it was too soon to talk about it.

‘Good question,’ cut in Fletcher. ‘And when we have the answer to that, you’ll be the first to know. We’ll give you an exclusive, but for now we have another engagement.’

‘Who are you?’ spluttered Phoebe, looking up at Fletcher, her red-painted mouth agape.

‘I’m Ms. Fraser’s public relations consultant. It was very nice of you to give us your attention, but I’m afraid that’s all we have time for.’

Ally gave a startled gasp, but the hand on her shoulder remained firmly in place as she felt herself gently but purposefully led away.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she cried, twisting around to face him.

‘Ssh. I’ll explain in a minute.’

Frowning, and with lips pursed, Ally walked quietly beside Fletcher until they made their way through the throng and reached the main door of the ballroom.

‘OK, now tell me what you’re doing,’ she demanded, still frowning and with her arms crossed over her chest.

‘I’m abducting you,’ he said quietly.

Then as she opened her mouth to retaliate, Fletcher placed a finger over her lips. ‘I’m taking you away, because you’re the most intriguing woman I’ve ever seen and I don’t have much time in Melbourne and...we don’t have time for all the social niceties.’

They stood staring at one another, his finger still warm on her lips. Ally was stunned.

‘But my career hangs on these interviews,’ she stammered.

‘Do you really think so?’

She hesitated. It was a question she’d asked herself many times. She had always tried to ‘do the right thing.’ It was the way she’d been brought up, but she knew that little of what she’d actually said to a journalist ever appeared in print and usually when it did, she was furious at being misquoted.

Fletcher continued. ‘These journos have already made their notes and taken their photographs. And they’ve already made up their minds about your clothes. Now all they want is free food and grog, to be seen with celebrities and to catch up on the hot gossip.’

Ally suspected that he was right. And, she reflected, she’d placed work before pleasure for so long now that she could hardly remember the last time she’d given in to capricious self-indulgence. If she hadn’t been so certain this man was going to be incredibly important to her, she might have wavered. But her mind was too distracted by the thrill of intense excitement and heady anticipation she’d felt from the moment she first saw him. And that simple touch of his hand on her shoulder had seduced her body more surely than the most concerted efforts of any of her previous admirers. She could have been making the biggest mistake of her life, but suddenly she didn’t care. Being with Fletcher Hardy became the only possible option.

‘Where would you like to go?’ she asked with a smile.

‘Do you like Thai food?’

‘Love it.’

They took a taxi to the best Thai restaurant in the city.

‘You know Melbourne well?’ Ally asked as their taxi wove through the traffic.

‘Only the inner city area. I usually only come down for conferences once or twice a year.’

‘And these cows of yours. Beef or dairy?’

‘Beef. I own a cattle property on the Burdekin River. Wallaroo Downs.’

‘The Burdekin? That’s in North Queensland, isn’t it?’

‘Sure is.’

‘A long way from here.’ Ally tried not to sound too bothered by this news.

‘About three thousand kilometres.’

‘And you like living up there?’

‘Yes. I do.’ He slanted her a slow smile and stretched his arm along the back of the seat. ‘And I like visiting down here.’

The restaurant was fairly crowded, but there were still some tables to spare. The gleaming timber furniture, soft cream wool carpeting and enormous ceramic urns of beautiful fresh flowers provided a formal enough atmosphere for them to feel at ease in their elegant evening wear.

‘It’s been too long since I dined out,’ Fletcher commented after they were seated.

‘Well, at least you have an excuse,’ said Ally. ‘I don’t suppose there are too many restaurants on your block, but I’m surrounded by them and I still don’t indulge much.’

‘So, tonight is a treat for both of us,’ smiled Fletcher, and Ally wondered if she had ever seen quite such a sexy smile.

It was ridiculous to feel so excited, so expectant, as if she were a child on her birthday surrounded by beautifully tempting, as-yet-unopened presents, or a skydiver on the brink of a thrilling leap into the unknown.

She willed her stomach to stop fluttering as they chatted about the menu, discussed the food and wine, their likes and dislikes. When the waiter came, Fletcher pronounced the Thai dishes with surprising fluency.

‘You’ve been to Thailand?’ she asked.

‘Not as a tourist. Strictly business.’

‘But you took time out for the important business of eating.’

Fletcher grinned and reached out to take her hand. ‘I’m rather glad Lucette harangued me into coming to your show.’ He looked down at her hand, which seemed so small and white in his sun-tanned grasp. ‘No rings,’ he said and then added with a lift of one dark eyebrow, ‘Does that also mean no strings?’

‘My work pulls me in all kinds of directions,’ Ally admitted. ‘But no strings of the personal variety. I’ve been rather single-minded about focusing on my career.’

‘I can’t believe there haven’t been numerous attempts to sidetrack you.’

She tasted the crisp, white wine Fletcher had chosen while she considered his comment.

‘A girl has to be careful.’ She looked straight into his bright blue eyes. ‘There have been plenty of wolves in the forest, but I always thought Little Red Riding Hood was far too easily led. I’ve mostly ignored them and just kept on going, heading straight for Granny’s house.’

‘In this case, Granny’s house being the Quintessential label?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled.

‘So, after the resounding success of this evening’s show, perhaps you’ve earned yourself a little diversion,’ he said.

‘Per-perhaps.’

But, just remember, a warning voice sounded in her head, that is all this man who lives three states away can possibly be—a temporary diversion. A pleasant—an extremely pleasant—dinner companion.

The meal was superb. A delicious soup of seafood simmered in coconut milk, ginger and coriander was followed by special Thai curries—a green beef curry for Fletcher and a red chicken version for Ally. Both dishes were accompanied by aromatic spoonfuls of fluffy, jasmine rice.

For Ally, the meal, the wine and the accompanying conversation were highly charged. While no one else had ever made her feel so comfortable, her bubbling emotions continually kept her on edge—incredibly excited and happier than she could ever remember, but nervous, too, wondering what on earth she would do when this meal was over and it was time for them to go their separate ways.

They talked and laughed together and she found herself telling Fletcher more about her love for fashion and her ambitions, and he listened intently, making her feel that she was a fascinating conversationalist. He talked a little about the conference that had brought him to Melbourne and very briefly about Wallaroo Downs.

Throughout the meal, his eyes were watching her. They seemed to travel restlessly from her face and throat to her arms and back again and she knew he was as sensitive as she was to something intensely strong and powerful filling the space between them. It was a heady, almost suffocating tension. This must be what they call sexual chemistry, Ally thought with bewildered fascination. Until now men had only ever induced in her a kind of bemused, gentle stirring of her senses. But Fletcher’s compelling masculinity triggered an elemental need that startled her.

So that when they left the restaurant and stepped out onto the street, Ally found herself turning to Fletcher and saying a trifle nervously, ‘My apartment’s only two blocks away. We could walk there if you like—for coffee.’

‘Great idea,’ he said with an easy smile and took her hand as they set off.

You’ve only just met the man, Ally kept reminding herself as they passed late-night coffee shops and silent, darkened office buildings. So, your hormones have come out of hibernation, but just remember you never, ever sleep with anyone on a first date.

‘How long are you in town for?’ she surprised herself by asking. It was a question she’d avoided all evening.

‘Three days.’

Only three days! ‘Oh.’ Ally bit down hard on her lip, but it was too late to stifle the cry of disappointment.

Perhaps Fletcher shared her reaction, for he paused and, drawing her into the shadows of a shopfront, gathered her closer to him.

‘And that reminds me...’ he murmured.

‘Reminds you?’ Ally’s voice trembled, her breath snatched away by his proximity. Up so close, she could feel his warm breath on her cheek, sense the strong muscles beneath his suit jacket and smell the spicy tang of his aftershave. In the scant light thrown by a street lamp some distance away, she could see his delicious smile. His eyes held hers and as she looked into the blue depths, she knew she had never wanted to be kissed more than she did now.

If only he needed to kiss her as much as she needed to taste his beautiful, sensuous mouth. Her ears buzzed, her heart had surely stopped beating. Was she breathing? Everything seemed to have stopped.

‘I’m reminded,’ he whispered, ‘that it’s time to start kissing you now. We really don’t have time to waste, do we?’ His hand cradled her cheek. ‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you all evening,’ he said. Then he lowered his lips to hers, to take her mouth gently in a kiss so tender, so tempting, that it only served to fire a desperate longing for more. Her lips parted eagerly as his mouth met hers again, to kiss her more deeply, more urgently, his arms binding her hard against him.

Ally hardly knew how to cope with the jolt of wild sensations that surged through her.

‘O-oh,’ she moaned softly, wondering if her feet still touched the ground, knowing at once that she belonged in this man’s arms. Not wanting his mouth to ever leave hers. Nothing had ever felt so right.

He broke away as footsteps approached.

‘We need somewhere private where I can kiss you very thoroughly.’

‘We’ve nearly reached my place. It’s just around the corner,’ Ally replied, ignoring with reckless ease the alarm bells rung by her well-exercised conscience.

They walked quickly. The lift shot up to her apartment, and once inside, Ally switched on the low table lamps. In the warm pool of light, Fletcher looked at her, holding out his arms with a smile that banished any lingering inhibitions. And she walked into them, as eagerly and gladly as if it were what she was born to do. He threaded his fingers through her dark hair.

‘You know, Ally, I don’t consider myself a wolf. It’s not usually my policy to rush these things.’

She felt a ridiculous stab of dismay at the note of caution in his voice.

‘Well, to be honest, I like to get to know a man before I let him...kiss me,’ she forced herself to admit.

‘It’s a bit reckless, can be dangerous in fact.’

‘It certainly can be,’ she muttered, burying her head into his chest and breathing in the mixture of cotton and silk of his clothes combined with the cleanly masculine scent of his skin. Hearing the pounding of his heart.

‘So perhaps I should leave now?’ he breathed against her cheek, as his fingers gently stroked the nape of her neck.

‘Do you really want to know what I think?’ she asked, closing her eyes and arching her curves closer into his strength.

‘Uh-huh,’ he murmured, while his lips trailed dizzying circles over her jaw in a manner that could elicit only one possible answer.

‘I think we’re wasting valuable time standing here talking.’

CHAPTER TWO

ALLY looked up sleepily as Fletcher emerged from the bathroom, a huge white towel looped around his lean hips. Her breath caught in her throat. All this dark-haired, broad-shouldered, lean-and-muscled masculine perfection was about to walk out of her life just as abruptly as it had appeared. How could the time have flown so quickly?

Monday morning had never felt so bad.

Over the weekend, she and Fletcher had been together for every moment their work commitments spared them, and Ally was delighted to discover that there were so many other wonderful qualities about this man apart from his superb body. She and Fletcher had meshed on so many levels—emotional, physical and intellectual. It had been like meeting a soul mate.

But it had been all too short.

‘Did we really only meet two night’s ago?’ she asked, while her thoughts echoed silently—I feel as if I’ve known you all my life.

Her knees tucked under her chin, Ally watched from the bed as Fletcher slowly buttoned his shirt, looking down at her with a regretful, thoughtful smile.

He crossed the room to sit on the edge of her mattress. ‘I think there’s a New Age term for the way we met,’ he said. ‘We experienced a defining moment.’ He lifted his hand as if he were going to reach for her, but stopped, the hand hovering in midair. He sighed and stood up again, reaching instead for the lavender lace nightdress which was crumpled at the bottom of her bed. Tossing it to her, he flashed a cheeky smile. ‘And I’d say you’ve been redefined as a purple passionfruit.’

Ally plucked at the garment. Her fondness for all shades of purple had amused and enchanted Fletcher. Until now it had simply been a colour she often chose to wear because it complemented her dark hair, pale skin and clear, grey eyes. But Fletcher had insisted her favourite colour was symbolic of the newly discovered passionate side to her nature she had never known existed.

She tried desperately to smile back at him. But it was difficult to hide the despair she felt at the reality of Fletcher’s leaving. Any minute now the taxi would be pulling up in the street below and he would be walking out of her life, catching the early flight back to North Queensland and his cattle and his outback. He might as well be heading for Mars.

‘I suppose you could call our meeting a defining moment,’ she said, but then in the next breath, she blurted out, ‘But what about the old-fashioned description—love at first sight across a crowded room?’

‘Love?’ Fletcher looked down at her, startled. ‘When I’m about to catch a plane to the back of beyond...’ He paused in the act of threading a plaited leather belt through the loops of his jeans and his eyes darkened to a worried navy blue. ‘We can’t afford to get overly romantic, Ally.’

She felt her face flood with scarlet and a cold hand clamp tightly round her heart. She’d been caught out making the oldest mistake of all. Confusing passionate sex with love and respect and compatibility. Fletcher had never promised her anything more than three nights.

And now their time was up. And she was grown up. This was the real world.

But how could she bear it?

Then it happened just as Ally knew it would. The taxi arrived, with a screech of tyres and a blast of its horn. Fletcher clasped her to him, kissed her, held her, whispered soothing nothings, kissed her again. And then he was gone. The door closed behind him with a soft sigh and she heard his footsteps on the pavement below, the slam of a car door. And it was all over. Just like that.

She couldn’t move. She should have been eating breakfast, dressing for work, but she lay there in the bed wondering how something so wonderful could leave her feeling so lonely and desolate. The usual expectant tingle she felt at the start of the working week had vanished. Her mind, her heart, her body—all of her was numb—a huge gaping vacuum.

Well, she thought with chagrin, Fletcher Hardy had taught her one thing—actually, several if the truth be told. She had never known that lovemaking could be so imaginative, beautiful and exciting all at once. But the end result was her very sure knowledge that she was not the type to enjoy casual sex. It had never happened that way before. Never before had she simply met a man she wanted and thought that alone was an excuse for intimacy. And now she was paying the price for giving away her heart and her body so easily.

She had fallen in love. Hopeless, unreturned love.

She rolled over and buried her head in the pillow, giving in to the luxury of tears—of huge, gasping, noisy sobs.

She wasn’t sure how long she had lain there deep in her misery before the phone on her bedside table rang loudly, startling her. Automatically, she lifted the receiver without stopping to consider that she was in no fit state to take a call.

‘Hello, Ally. Ally, are you there?’

‘Yes,’ she blubbered, shoving the bunched-up corner of the sheet into her mouth to stifle more sobs.

‘Ally, it’s Lucette.’

‘Oh, hi. How—how are you?’

‘Much better thanks. But I was knocked out by this flu. I can’t believe my rotten luck missing the show.’

‘Oh, Lucette, you poor thing. I meant to ring you, but—I got caught up. I know that sounds a rather lame excuse. Your set was wonderful! It really was marvellous.’

‘I’m glad everything was OK. Do you have the flu now, Ally? You sound awful.’

‘My nose is a bit stuffed up,’ admitted Ally, reaching for a tissue. ‘By the way, I met your cousin,’ she added, regretting, even as the words left her lips, her feeble, weak will.

‘Fletcher? Really? I hadn’t heard from him so I assumed he didn’t make it to the show. Poor fellow, I bet he hated it. It’s not really his scene at all.’

‘Oh, he seemed fairly interested in some aspects of it.’

‘What did you think of him?’ asked Lucette, a subtle lilt in her voice implying past experience of Fletcher’s effect on women. ‘Most of my friends think he’s pretty cute.’

I’ il bet they do, thought Ally with a stab of foolish jealousy. How many other friends of Lucette’s had Fletcher dallied with? ‘He—he seemed very presentable,‘ she mumbled.

‘Anyhow you’d be wasting your time looking twice at Fletcher,’ continued Lucette.

‘Oh?’ Ally tried for nonchalance, but the word emerged as more of a desperate honk.

‘Oh, he has too much bush in his blood. I mean, I grew up in the bush, too—on a property not far from his, but I was glad to leave the outback. But Fletcher will never leave. He’s totally committed to his property. Passionate about the land. So there’s not much future for a city girl with a man like him.’

‘Fair enough,’ replied Ally, trying to sound bored, wishing she’d had more common sense than to allow this conversation to turn to Fletcher. ‘Did you read the coverage of our show in the newspapers?’ she asked, trying to steer Lucette back to safer ground.

But she didn’t hear Lucette’s reply. As she sat there on her bed, the phone clutched in one hand and a bunch of tissues in the other, she heard a familiar, authoritative knock at her front door. Her heart stilled.

Ally dropped the phone, then picked it up and spluttered. ‘I—I’m sorry, Lucette. I’ve got to go.’

Then, her heart thundering in her chest, she bounded out of bed and snatched up a towelling bathrobe, tying it around her as she hurried across the room. It couldn’t be! Surely not.

At the front door, she paused and took a deep breath. Don’t be ridiculous, she warned herself. He’s on the plane. This will be someone from work. Get a grip! But it was a shaking hand she raised to the latch.

She inched the door open. At first, all she could see was an enormous bunch of Cooktown orchids with lilac petals and purple throats. But then, from behind them, came Fletcher’s uncertain smile.

‘Oh!’

‘These were the only purple flowers I could find,’ he said with an apologetic grin and a slight shrug of one broad shoulder. ‘I know it’s your favourite colour and—’

‘Fletcher, you’re still here.’

‘I couldn’t do it, Ally,’ he whispered into her hair as she flung her arms around him. ‘I don’t know what this means, but I couldn’t get on that plane. I...’

The rest of his words were lost as she linked her hands behind his neck and, with a gesture that felt as right and natural as breathing, pulled his face and his beautiful, sensuous mouth to meet hers.

She managed to wangle a week’s special leave. The following days and nights were perfect. They drove into the country and wandered hand in hand through fields of springtime wild flowers. They dined out, cooked for each other, brought home take-away meals and watched movies together. Sensational days and mghts. Ally had never had so much fun, had never felt so happy. It was a happiness she knew could not last, but she refused to think about the future, and had absolutely no inclination to think about her work.

And the Cooktown orchids were the first of many purple presents. Fletcher showered her with gifts; chocolate hearts with violet cream centres, a purple velvet evening bag, a box of crystallised violets and finally a beautiful pendant with amethysts set in filigree silver.

Two nights before she was due back at work they lay together on her wide bed, their bodies gleaming in the silvery light of the moon that shone through a high arched window, listening to one of Ally’s favourite Brahms sonatas. Rolling onto his side so that, propped on one elbow, he could look into her eyes, Fletcher smiled tenderly. ‘I shall never, ever forget you, Ally.’ With a long finger, he traced the silvery outline of her body. ‘This neat silhouette will be my most precious memory,’ he told her, his voice husky.

‘I’ve never been so happy.’ She laughed, kissing him. ‘I’ve quite shocked myself.’

Fletcher’s blue eyes widened. ‘Shocked as in horrified, or shocked as in surprised?’

‘Oh, surprised. Very pleasantly surprised.’ She bent over him, enjoying the hungry glint in his eyes as her breasts grazed his chest. She nibbled gently at the stubble on his chin. ‘I’ve never been like this before. Wanting to make love over and over. Never having enough.’

‘Some people might find that shocking,’ Fletcher agreed with a happy chuckle, ‘but I don’t have a problem with it.’

‘So, you’re not sleepy yet?’ she asked, her voice sultry with desire.

‘How could I sleep with your tempting little body draped all over me. Watch out, Ally, you’re about to be shocked some more, but I promise you’ll love it.’ And Fletcher was as good as his word.

The happy bubble burst with a phone call at breakfast.

Ally was making fruit salad, scooping out the fleshy pulp of a passionfruit and laughingly claiming that she bore absolutely no resemblance to the round purple fruit Fletcher had coined as her nickname.

The shrill summons of the telephone came from the lounge room.

‘I’ll get it,’ said Fletcher, helping himself to a cube of mango before he swung his long legs off the pine kitchen stool.

With a contented smile, Ally watched him stride across the room, then she continued to chop banana and squeeze lemon juice over it before adding it to the bowl. She was stirring all the fruits together, delighting in the fresh colour combinations of the different melons—the pale green of honeydew, combined with the deep pink of watermelon and the delicate orange of rockmelon—when she sensed Fletcher standing very still and quiet in the kitchen doorway. She looked up and was startled by his stunned, sad expression.

‘Fletcher, what’s the matter?’

‘There’s been an accident,’ he said quietly.

Ally felt her stomach lurch with a sudden horrible fear. She watched him walk towards her slowly, awkwardly, his mouth twisted with the effort to hold his emotions in check. ‘My best friend, Jock Lawrence and his wife, Lisa—killed in a car accident in Sydney.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

‘Yeah.’ Fletcher let out a weary sigh and sank back onto the kitchen stool, his shoulders slumped. Ally quickly moved to the other side of the bench and slipped her arms around him. She rested her cheek gently against his and he turned and kissed her in a brief acknowledgment of her offer of comfort. ‘I just can’t believe it. He was such a great guy. We went to school, to university...’

There was nothing she could say or do except stay there, holding him, letting him talk slowly, haltingly.

‘I’ll have to go, Ally. I mean I’d go to the fune-ftmeral anyway. But there’s his son—little Connor. He was the only—only survivor, strapped in one of those little seats in the back. I’m his godfather and, according to old Mr. Lawrence, I’ve also been named as his guardian.’

‘Guardian? Does that mean he’ll live with you?’

‘Perhaps. I’m not sure yet. He’s with his grandparents in Sydney at the moment, but they’re pretty old and frail. Jock’s father sounded very shaken.’ He stood up quickly, so quickly that her hands, as they fell away from his shoulders, slapped against her sides. ‘I’ll have to ring the airlines and make a booking. Oh, God, I can’t believe it.’

Ally followed him into her lounge room and sat some distance away watching as he dialled and waited for a connection, before speaking to the airline. She felt cold and lonely, knowing with a sudden certainty that this time when Fletcher left Melbourne he would be walking out of her life. Going back to his own people—where he belonged.

Eventually he hung up and told her softly. ‘I got a cancellation on the 9:00 a.m. flight.’

‘This morning?’ cried Ally in panic. ‘That’s only two hours away.’

‘I’m sorry, Ally, but Jock’s parents—I don’t know that they have anyone to help them deal with this.’

‘Of course, I understand,’ replied Ally, ashamed of her selfish outburst. ‘I’ll make us a pot of coffee.’

Fletcher was still sitting in the lounge chair, staring thoughtfully at a spot on the rug when she returned. He looked up.

‘Smells good.’ He smiled, his blue eyes warming as they linked with hers.

She handed him a steaming cup and then sat opposite him, curling her legs beneath her and hugging the mug of coffee to her chest as if for comfort.

‘I guess this brings back bad memories for you,’ he said gently.

Ally felt her eyebrows lift in surprise. She had told Fletcher just about everything there was to know about her and she guessed that he was referring to her own parents’ death in an aeroplane crash when she was seventeen. But that was not on her mind now. Sad as this accident was, all she could think about was what it meant to her relationship with Fletcher. There was so much she wanted to say, had needed to say all week.

In all the talk and all the passion and happiness they shared, they learned a lot about each other, but they skirted round the truth. They had never discussed their future because the horrible truth was that there was no possible future for them. Fletcher’s biannual visits to Melbourne were hardly the grounds for an ongoing relationship.

Fletcher put down his cup of coffee and stood up. He looked at her so sadly Ally felt tears spring to her eyes.

‘Ally, I’m sorry about this...’

‘Don’t be, Fletcher. You have to go.’

‘No, I mean I’m sony about us, about coming back and making things worse. If I’d left on Monday...’ He reached down and scooped her into his arms. ‘I should have been stronger. Should have been able to resist your spell. You’re so damn beautiful, Ally.’

How perfectly her body nestled into his. How much she wanted him to go on telling her she was beautiful.

‘But what you’re trying to say is...we come from two different, totally incompatible worlds,’ she said, her voice shaking with the effort to sound calm.

‘Too right,’ he sighed. ‘You do understand, sweetheart, don’t you?’

She nodded her head against his chest. Her throat was burning with hot tears. Fletcher’s long fingers played with her hair.

‘They warn us so much these days about the need for physical protection in a relationship, but that’s easy to look after. But protecting our emotions, that’s a different story.’

‘Perhaps there’s a solution,’ she couldn’t help adding.

‘No, I’ve thought and thought about it. There’s no way ahead for us, Ally. You have your career and I have my cattle.’

‘City girls have been happy in the country before today,’ she offered timidly. ‘Perhaps I should come and live with you on Wallaroo Downs.’

He broke away from her then, staring at her, his sky blue eyes puzzled, clearly shocked by her words. He shook his head slowly.

‘That’s a pretty fairy tale, and if it could come true I’d be the happiest man alive, but it wouldn’t—it couldn’t end in happily ever after.’

Ally felt a painful lump form in her throat, preventing a reply.

‘You see,’ he continued, the tone in his voice a daunting mixture of tenderness and regret, ‘there are more differences between us than my paddocks and your tar and cement. You’d hate the life I lead, Ally. You live in a world you’ve worked so hard to reach—and it’s so elegant and artistic.’

‘It’s not glamorous all the time,’ Ally managed to protest.

‘Sewing machine oil is the closest you’d come to grease and dirt,’ he said with a lopsided smile that wrenched at her heart. ‘I’m just sorry I’ve messed you up. I’ve never done anything so damned stupid in my life before.’

Ally’s chin came up defiantly. ‘I don’t think it was at all stupid. I’ve never had anything so wonderful happen to me—ever.’

Fletcher groaned and pulled her to him. ‘Listen, passionfruit,’ he whispered, ‘I have to pack and then I’m going to Sydney. And after that I’ll almost certainly have to get back to Wallaroo. There’s a muster coming up and I have to be back for that. Then, with a bit of luck, there’ll be a wet season. I can’t see us getting together again in a long while. You’re a beautiful, clever woman and this is where you belong. You have to get on with your brilliant career. There’s no other way of looking at this.’

She knew that as a woman of the nineties she should be able to handle this. People had relationships and then they moved on. It was as simple as that. It happened all around her all the time.

But not to her.

Ally glanced at the clock on the wall behind Fletcher. If he were to make it to his flight, he would have to get moving.

‘I’ll check out the laundry basket. See if you’ve left anything there,’ she said grimly with a small, dismissive shrug of her shoulders.

Fletcher packed in silence while Ally tidied the kitchen. They had never been so quick and efficient together. She insisted on driving him to the airport.

As her small sedan zipped along the freeway, she tried to forget about her own sadness and think of the poor little boy left without parents.

‘This little boy, Connor. Do you know him very well?’ she asked.

‘No. I have to admit, I haven’t seen all that much of him,’ admitted Fletcher. ‘I went to his christening when he was just a tiny tadpole—hadn’t even reached the ankle-biter stage. He must be three or four now. Last time I saw him he’d just started toddling around. As far as I remember, he looks like Jock.’ His voice broke a little. ‘Brown hair and eyes—going to be tall.’

Once they reached the busy, bustling airport, and Fletcher had queued then checked in, there was little time for conversation. And there was certainly no privacy for the kinds of things Ally would have liked to discuss. All too soon the flight to Sydney was boarding and for the last time she felt Fletcher’s strong arms around her, and his warm, delicious lips on hers.

‘Be beautiful, Ally,’ he whispered, his eyes glistening with a betraying dampness. Then he swung away quickly and strode through the doors of the departure lounge, leaving her without looking back.

She was prepared for his silence; she hadn’t expected him to ring her from Sydney. And she was prepared for the sense of desolation that swamped her. But what she hadn’t expected was the lassitude with which she returned to her work. She’d hoped that once back in the swing of things, the old enthusiasm for dealing with designs, textiles and market trends and the fascinating array of individuals associated with that world would rescue her from her misery.

It was with a growing sense of alarm that she faced each day at the office. She took her designs home to work on at night, hoping the soothing atmosphere of her own apartment would help inspiration to flow. With the spring and summer collection behind her, Ally had to plan for next year’s winter season and a juicy contract with the wool board was on offer. Normally she would have been thrilled. But she couldn’t concentrate and what was worse, much, much worse, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Her mind and her emotions were totally absorbed with Fletcher. Where was he now? Had he gone back to North Queensland? Had he taken little Connor with him? Did he think about her the way she thought endlessly of him?

After three weeks of silence and despair, she could stand it no longer. She had to make some kind of contact with him. Her first step was to ring Lucette.

‘Have I heard from Fletcher, Ally?’ Lucette repeated, her voice squeaking with surprise at Ally’s first question once the greetings were over. ‘Why, yes, I have actually. He rang from North Queensland just yesterday.’

‘You see,’ Ally offered with a silly little laugh, ‘I ended up seeing quite a bit of him while he was down here, but then he was called away for the funeral...’ Her voice trailed away as her tightly strung nerves clenched a notch tighter.

The stunned silence on the other end of the line didn’t help her feel any more relaxed.

‘Really?’ Lucette managed at last.

‘Does he have the little boy with him?’

‘No, not yet Connor’s still in Sydney with his grandparents. But as a matter of fact that’s why Fletcher rang me. He’s guardian for Connor and he wants me to find a nanny to travel up to Wallaroo Downs and help take care of him there.’

Ally closed her eyes against the frightening wave of dizziness that swamped her as a host of different pictures crowded her mind: pictures of Fletcher, sun-tanned, astride a horse somewhere in North Queensland; of Fletcher and a little brown-haired, brown-eyed boy walking hand in hand along a shady creek bank; of a young attractive nanny living with them both day in, day out.

‘Ally, are you still there?’

‘Yes, Lucette. I’m here. Listen, would you mind terribly much if I came and visited you? I need to talk.’

‘That’s fine,’ replied Lucette, unable to disguise her surprise. ‘I’ll be home all evening. You have my address?’

‘But, Ally, this is impossible!’ Lucette exclaimed an hour later as the two women sat opposite each other at the kitchen table in her tiny bed-sit apartment. ‘For starters you underestimate the stubbornness of the Hardy male. There’s no way Fletcher would have someone like you as a nanny on Wallaroo Downs.’

Ally’s chest tightened painfully at Lucette’s words.

‘I think Fletcher came to care for me. In fact I know he did.’

Something in her expression seemed to capture Lucette’s attention. She stared at Ally for several silent moments and then she reached over and took Ally’s hand.

‘I’m sure he does feel very strongly about you,’ she said gently. ‘Fletcher’s usually very wary about getting entangled with women, because of where he lives. He believes only women who grow up in the bush can take the harsh life of the outback. So if he allowed you to understand he cared...’ Lucette paused and smiled ruefully. ‘Then I’d say chances are he was totally smitten.’

‘I’m prepared to take a gamble on it.’

‘But your career!’ Lucette cried. ‘How could you possibly turn your back on everything you’ve achieved?’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Ally. ‘A month ago I would have said it was totally impossible, but...’ She paused, taking in a deep shuddering breath. ‘Have you ever been in love, Lucette?’

‘Of course,’ the girl laughed, ‘hundreds of times.’

‘No. I’m talking the real thing. I can’t go on without him. I can’t work. I can’t eat or sleep.’ She paused and shook her head at Lucette’s wide-eyed response. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying all this. I used to be the first person to condemn girls who went all drippy over males. I mean, I used to think that all it took to resist falling into that kind of trap was a modicum of intelligence. But honestly, Lucette, I’ve no choice. I’ve got to go to him.’

Lucette sighed and refilled Ally’s coffee cup. ‘Ally, I really feel for you, believe me. But I don’t think Fletcher would have a bar of it. And it wouldn’t be because he doesn’t care for you. It’s simply that he couldn’t imagine how you could possibly be happy out there. He’d worry about taking you away from everything you’ve achieved.’ Lucette eyed her crestfallen friend with concern. ‘This is all my fault!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if I hadn’t been so jolly eager to show off my set designs when he was in Melbourne for that conference, he would never have come to the show and fallen for the lovely Alexandra Fraser.’

Ally closed her stinging, tear-filled eyes as she remembered that moment when a tall, dark grazier marched into the models’ dressing room! She stared into her coffee cup. ‘I think I’ve got to do it, Lucette. I’m prepared for everyone telling me I’m mad. I’m prepared for Fletcher to be a little angry at first, but I think he’ll get over it. It’s just that I’ve found someone I love more than my career and I think I can convince him of that, too. I’ve fallen in love and I can’t just sit here and do absolutely zilch about it!’

‘Well, apart from anything else we’ve covered, there might still be one major hitch,’ said Lucette tentatively.

‘Which is?’ asked Ally, lifting her chin in a brave effort at defiance.

‘What experience have you had as a nanny?’

‘Aha! I can answer that,’ cried Ally triumphantly. ‘All the time I was at college, I worked as a nanny for the Johnstons. You know Dr. James Johnston and his wife Helen—the paediatricians? Nights, weekends, holidays. I looked after their four children on and off for three and a half years.’

Lucette raised her fair eyebrows and looked back at Ally with eyes the same sky blue as Fletcher’s. She took a long, deep swig of her coffee. ‘Then perhaps we’d better take a closer look at this,’ she said with a solemnity which was totally spoiled when her face broke into a cheeky grin, again alarmingly like her cousin’s. ‘But we’re going to have to plan it all very carefully.’

CHAPTER THREE

THE best laid plans of mice and men... The unwelcome quotation flashed through Ally’s mind again as it had on repeated occasions over recent weeks. But now, with Connor’s little hand clinging to hers as she crossed the steamy car park at Townsville airport, she refused to think of defeat. Together with Lucette, she had schemed and plotted so that this risky enterprise would run like clockwork and the journey was almost complete.

She’d been nervous about going to Sydney to meet Connor, but the few days she’d spent there getting to know the little boy had been delightful. They had enjoyed a trip to the beach and to Taronga Park Zoo, as well as some quiet times at his grandparents’ house. Then, to her relief, he had come with her and Lucette on the plane night to Townsville without objection. All that was left was the final leg—driving out to Wallaroo Downs.

And to Fletcher.

Ally shifted the weight of her large carry bag higher onto her shoulder and smiled at Connor, who looked back at her with trusting, big brown eyes.

‘This should be our vehicle,’ said Lucette, indicating a sturdy-looking station wagon in the line-up of hire cars. She pushed their heavily loaded luggage carrier the last few metres and clicked the central locking button on her key. ‘Hey, presto! Look, Connor,’ Lucette cried as she swung the car door open. ‘Magic doors!’

But Ally could feel Connor backing away, his hand in hers struggling to be freed.

‘No!’ he cried. ‘No! I don’t like that car!’ His little face contorted in fear as he tried to pull away.

Ally dropped to her knees and threw her arms around him.

‘No!’ he sobbed. ‘I don’t like that car!’ His voice rose in alarm, but he clung to Ally. She could feel his little body trembling and her heart nearly broke for him.

‘Oh, you poor darling,’ Ally murmured as she hugged him to her. She realised at once that his parents must have been driving a similar car when they were taken from him so horrifically.

Lucette hovered uncertainly near the luggage.

‘Sweetheart, look. I’ve got something to show you,’ Ally said as she dipped her hand into the large carry bag and drew out a soft toy she’d been keeping for such a moment.

The sobs subsided slightly. ‘What—what is it?’ Connor hiccupped, staring through his tears at the furry brown creature Ally held.

‘It’s a platypus, Connor. I had him made just for you.’ A plump little hand reached tentatively towards the ball of fur.

‘Plat-pus?’ he whispered.

‘That’s right,’ said Ally. ‘See, he has a fluffy tummy and a lovely black bill and four little black feet.’

Connor fingered one webbed foot, beautifully crafted from the finest black leather.

‘That’s amazing,’ exclaimed Lucette from behind them. ‘It’s so lifelike. Did you have it made at work?’

Ally nodded. ‘A few people owed me favours.’ She spoke to Connor. ‘Real platypuses live in creeks out in the bush. And that’s where we’re going. Uncle Fletcher lives there, too.’

‘Can I hold the plat-pus?’

‘Of course you can, darling. He’s yours to keep.’ Aware that Lucette was quietly loading their luggage into the back of the station wagon, Ally continued talking as Connor cuddled his new toy. ‘When I was a little girl, my favourite story was about a platypus called Shy. Would you like me to tell it to you?’

The little boy nodded solemnly, blinking away his tears.

‘Well let’s you, me and your platypus make ourselves comfortable in the back of the car here and I’ll tell you about Shy.’ Ally held her breath as she gently guided Connor towards the car door. He hesitated and turned to her.

‘Can I call my plat-pus Shy?’

‘Of course you can. It’s a lovely name, isn’t it,’ Ally reassured him, and he allowed himself to be buckled into his car seat without another murmur.

And as Ally began her story of the platypus family who lived in the riverbank, Lucette slipped into the driver’s seat and the car slowly edged out into the traffic.

Shy had been a big hit with Connor, Ally reflected hours later, as she sedately guided a gentle mare down a quiet bush track at Wallaroo Downs. One hurdle had been cleared, but a still higher one faced her. She had yet to discover how Fletcher would react when he returned from a day’s branding to find her already settled into his home.

Grateful for the shady protection of whispering casuarinas, she tried to shrug off her nervousness by focusing on the soothing sounds of the quiet bush; the steady clip, clop of Juno’s carefid,steps and the peaceful hum of cicadas in the trees around her.

No wonder Fletcher loved his outback. It was so remote, so alien in its stark, dry beauty—another world. Separated from Melbourne by thousands of kilometres, it was hard to believe she was still in the same country. On the drive inland from Townsville airport they’d travelled through heat and dust and past endless paddocks of brown, lifeless-looking stubble, but here, by the creek, it was cool and shady and perfectly serene.

Until... the afternoon peace was split by the sudden roar of a motorbike.

To Ally’s horror, her startled horse whinnied and reared, hooves striking at the air. Then, within breathless seconds, she felt the reins snatched from her trembling hands and a furious voice roared at her.

‘Alexandra? What the hell are you doing here?’

Panic Bared!

Common sense should have told her the danger was over. The dreadful motorbike’s engine had cut off, the mare was calming down and the bush was quickly returning to its former languid stillness. So she knew the wild thumping of her heart was an overreaction. There was no longer any excuse for her to crouch low against Juno’s neck with her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Except that she knew that voice.

She knew exactly who was bellowing at her and it was the very last person she wanted to meet until all her plans were in place.

He wasn’t supposed to be down here!

With trepidation, she lifted her head, blinked, and her stomach clenched. A fiercely scowling Fletcher stood within arm’s reach, Juno’s reins gripped tightly in one strong brown hand.

She found herself fighting a nervous urge to look away, yet she forced her eyes to hold Fletcher’s scalding gaze. Agitated as she was, she couldn’t stifle a swift glow of admiration. He was as rugged and tall, as wideshouldered and lean-limbed as the memory she had treasured these past weeks. And his eyes, piercing blue as ever, were a perfect match for the flashes of brilliant sky she glimpsed between the swamp bloodwoods behind him. But the smile, the special, heart-flipping grin, was missing. She had never known Fletcher not to smile at her!

This was nothing like the reception she had hoped for and pictured hundreds of times during the last few weeks. She manoeuvred her strained features into something resembling a smile.

‘Er...hello, Fletcher... I’m, um, I’m practising riding.’

‘I see.’ His clipped reply dropped unhelpfully into the space between them.

Ally shivered. It was then she noticed the trail bike he’d abandoned when she and Juno blundered onto his path, now slewed against an old tree stump a metre or so behind him. The realisation of her guilt sent her heart sinking further.

‘I’m sorry I nearly ran into you.’

The apology was clearly not accepted. Fletcher merely continued to glare at her in silent anger while her wretched eyes took in more details. His crow-black hair, his bare chest and shoulders all glistened with water and his jeans clung to his hips and thighs in dark, damp patches that blatantly outlined his flagrant masculinity.

‘You’ve been swimming?’ she stammered.

‘Yes,’ he replied. The briefest flicker of a smile twitched the corners of his mouth. ‘If you’d been a few minutes earlier, you would have found me in the creek.’

Heat stole into her cheeks. He would have been swimming naked. She had no doubt about that.

She whipped her eyes away from his damp lower region as he growled at her, without smiling. ‘I suppose it’s too much to ask for an explanation as to why you’ve suddenly appeared here, and just happen to be riding one of my horses without any invitation?’

‘I was planning to give you a very good explanation.’

‘Planning, Ally? Hell! You practically caused a serious accident.’

His hostility was enough to wither her tiny stock of courage even before she began to defend herself.

‘I said I’m sorry.’ Ally’s grey eyes blazed briefly, then her lashes lowered over them as she mumbled her excuse. ‘Your stockman said I could use this horse—that you were out branding somewhere. I didn’t know—’

‘You came over three thousand kilometres just to take in a little horse riding practice?’

She nearly lost her nerve there and then. Clearly he regarded her as an intruder—uninvited and unwanted. Tears gathered swiftly, burning the backs of her lids.

How could this happen? This was the man she loved! This was her Fletcher! He had come to the city and made exquisite love to her and changed her life forever. But now he had the audacity to glare at her with outright rejection clearly stamped in the firm set of his jaw, the frowning black stripe of his eyebrows and the whiteknuckled clench of his fists.

She took an agonising breath hoping to calm her frantic, self-defeating thoughts. ‘You’re surprised to see me,’ she whispered, and her wide eyes anxiously darted away from his unyielding gaze.

‘Surprise is one word I could choose, I guess,’ Fletcher drawled, his deep voice rumbling with sarcasm. But now he was staring back at her, hard. His eyes travelled—very deliberately—over her slim frame, her jeans and soft, white shirt buttoned low over a pale lavender crop top. They rested for the longest time on her pale face. ‘What are you doing here?’ he repeated, his voice less harsh this time, as if he had run out of breath suddenly.

‘I—I’ve—Your cousin and I have brought your little godson—Connor.’ The words tumbled out of control like beads spilling from a broken necklace.

Fletcher scowled. ‘You came with Lucette?’

‘Yes. You’re his guardian now...’

‘I know damn well I’m his guardian, but what I still don’t understand is what you’ve got to do with it?’

‘Well, Lucette was looking for a nanny for Connor so that you...’

‘You’re sidetracking,’ Fletcher snapped. ‘Get to the Point.,

‘Well, the point is,’ resumed Ally, running her tongue nervously over parched lips. ‘I’m his nanny.’

‘What?’

Startled, Ally watched as the colour in Fletcher’s face deepened and then leached away while, with the worst sense of timing, a kookaburra broke into raucous laughter in a gum tree overhanging the track.

‘Hell, Ally! You can’t be!’

‘I’ve had some training as a nanny,’ she offered tentatively, then began to chew the inside of her cheek while her fingers nervously played with the horse’s mane.

‘Damn it to hell! Of all the crazy...!’ He studied her through narrowed eyes. ‘How much?’

‘How much what?’ she repeated lamely.

‘How much training have you done to be a nanny for heaven’s sake?’

‘That’s how I put myself through Art College—working as a nanny for...’

Interrupting her with a fierce curse, Fletcher tossed the reins back over Juno’s neck before striding across the track away from her, shaking his head, clearly unimpressed, quite obviously more angry than ever.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.