“There’s only one way to find out if we’re soul mates, Lydia.

“And that,” Joe continued, “is to get a bit closer.”

Lydia went to stand up, but stilled as he spoke again.

“You opened your heart just a little to let me kiss you, because you couldn’t help it. Then you closed all channels of communication like a clam.”

She licked her lips. “Perhaps it’s the only way I feel I can handle you, Joe.”

She saw his gaze narrow. “Then may I take another approach?” Joe said consideringly. “Having once kissed you without your permission—”

“Joe Jordan, kiss me before I change my mind!” she advised.

Legally wed, but he’s never said…

“I love you.”

They’re…

The series where marriages are made in haste…and love

comes later….

Look out for our next great

Wedlocked! title.

Coming soon!

The Unexpected Husband
Lindsay Armstrong

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

‘OF COURSE I don’t want to go to bed with you!’ Lydia Kelso said.

Joe Jordan stared at the woman who had just rejected his offer with such stinging contempt, and he registered mental surprise tinged with amusement. Surprise because Lydia Kelso was as different from her sister as chalk from cheese…

She had an unruly mane of sun-streaked dark fair hair that looked as if she didn’t bother to torture it into any kind of style. Her skin was smooth and her eyes a deep velvety blue. Whilst she didn’t have immediately turn-your-head kind of looks, that lovely skin, the delicately cut yet severe pair of lips, as well as her stunning eyes, redeemed her to a rather unusual attractiveness. She wore no make-up at all.

Her neck was long and elegant—so was the rest of her: tall and almost boyishly rangy beneath a pinstriped navy trouser suit she wore with black leather loafers. Her shoulders were straight and her hands were narrow yet capable-looking, with short, unpainted nails, and she wore a man’s signet ring on the little finger of her left hand and a man’s watch.

Whereas her sister Daisy was drop-dead gorgeous, with dark hair, true violet eyes and a sensational figure…

He shrugged, raised an ironic eyebrow at Lydia Kelso, and murmured, ‘I asked because that was the proposition your sister put to me when we first met. I thought it might run in the family.’

‘You should never generalise about people, even when they come from the same family, Mr Jordan,’ she said coldly.

‘Does that mean you don’t approve of your own sister?’ he asked wryly.

Lydia took a breath and subsided somewhat. Then she moved her hands and decided to be honest. ‘I don’t approve of you,’ she said flatly.

‘We’ve only just met,’ he pointed out, with open amusement in his eyes now.

‘Your reputation precedes you, however, so—’

‘All right.’ He sat up straighter and reached for his pen. ‘Tell me exactly what you know about me, Lydia Kelso. We may then be able to sort the wheat from the chaff.’

Lydia looked around Joe Jordan’s colourful studio and reflected that she could have been outmanoeuvred. At the same time she took in the posters on the wall, the books and magazines overflowing from a whole wall of honey pine bookshelves, the polished timber floor with a slightly ruckled rug in jewel-bright ruby swirls on a yellow background. There were two computers on the table behind him, an easel, a skylight above, and a particularly healthy Kentia palm flourishing in a wicker basket in one corner.

Then she looked back at him across the wide expanse of his untidy desktop, saw the challenge in his eyes and stiffened her spine.

All the same, it took her a few moments to compose her mental processes. Because it had been one thing to think dark thoughts about this man in his absence, but being confronted by him, and suddenly able to see what Daisy had obviously seen in him, made it a slightly different matter.

He wasn’t, as she’d expected, to-die-for handsome. On first impressions, that was. She found herself amending the thought. He had thick, straight sandy-brown hair, hazel eyes, a smattering of freckles, and golden hairs glinted on his arms beneath the rolled up sleeves of his khaki bush shirt as a mote of sunlight came in through the skylight. He wore his bush shirt with blue jeans and brown desert boots.

So what was it? Well, he was tall enough—tall enough even for her. Lean, yes, but with wide shoulders, well-knit…

A smile touched her mouth as she wondered exactly what that meant. If it meant all in proportion, with a well-balanced look and the hint of smooth, easy strength beneath his outline, that was exactly the impression Joe Jordan gave. But he was also—interesting, she decided. In a way that was hard to define. You couldn’t help gaining the impression that here was a man it could be exciting to know, especially if you were a woman…

She shook her head, reminded herself of his offer to take her to bed although they’d only just met—her blue eyes blazed at the memory—and said, ‘We all know how clever you are, Mr. Jordan. One of the better known cartoonists in the country, but—’

‘Why would you hold that against me, assuming it’s true?’

‘Because you have the ability to make people look stupid?’ she countered sweetly.

‘Only when they deserve it,’ he responded mildly.

‘Ah, but who’s to say your judgement of whether they deserve it or not is always accurate?’

Joe Jordan frowned and sat forward. ‘Have I offended someone you know?’

‘No. But you can’t deny it would be possible.’ Lydia gazed at him seriously.

He shoved a hand through his brown hair, leaving it standing up in spikes. ‘And that’s cause to disapprove of me in regard to your sister?’ he queried sardonically.

‘That’s cause for me to have reservations about you, Mr Jordan,’ Lydia said precisely. ‘It’s your playboy reputation I fear in regard to my sister. Can you deny that you’re often seen escorting beautiful women around?’

‘Lydia, you wouldn’t be a tad jealous of your very lovely and feminine sister, by any chance?’ he asked smoothly. ‘This—’ he gestured towards her, managing to convey that she wasn’t particularly feminine ‘—has the taint of sour grapes about it, if you’ll forgive me for saying so.’

Lydia smiled with genuine amusement. ‘Not in the slightest, Joe! I hope that doesn’t disappoint you. But the fact of the matter is, my sister has plans that you may be unaware of, plans that might not feature on your agenda at all.’

‘Such as marriage plans,’ he said wearily. ‘Look, I can—’ But he stopped at the sudden look of searing contempt in Lydia’s eyes.

‘You can—take care of yourself?’ she suggested gently. ‘I’m sure you can.’

‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered, and rubbed his jaw. ‘Daisy and I have made no commitments whatsoever, Miss Kelso,’ he added. ‘So if you’re imagining I’ve led her up the garden path, you’re wrong,’ he finished flatly, then frowned. ‘Isn’t she your older sister?’

‘Daisy is twenty-nine going on nineteen. I’m twenty-six. What you may not understand, Mr Jordan, and I can’t blame you for this, is…’ Lydia paused and wondered how best to explain.

‘Do go on, I’m agog,’ he murmured with considerable irony.

‘OK. Our father is a poet. Our mother, a pianist, died when we were little and we were raised by an aunt. She’s my father’s sister and she’s a sculptress—’

‘An artistic family,’ Joe Jordan commented, looking only one step away from utter boredom as he doodled desultorily. ‘Daisy plays the violin—I can’t wait to find out what you do, Miss Lydia Kelso! Wrestle the double bass?’

‘Oh, I’m quite different,’ Lydia said flippantly. ‘I’m a vet.’

She had the satisfaction of seeing sheer surprise in his hazel eyes. He said slowly, now looking at her rather intently, ‘So? Where does all this lead?’

‘I’m the only one of the family who is not in the least artistic and happens to have her feet planted squarely on the ground.’

‘Are you saying your whole family is mad?’ He blinked at her.

‘Not at all. But I can’t deny they can be quite—eccentric and naive at times, then madly passionate at others, and, well, given in those moments to doing some rash things. Otherwise they’re warm and wonderful and I would kill rather than see them get hurt.’ Lydia folded her hands in her lap and looked at him serenely.

‘What…’ Joe Jordan could have killed himself for the slightly nervous way he said the word ‘…um—rashness has Daisy concocted towards me? I gather that is the problem?’

Lydia smiled at him. ‘At least you’re quick on the uptake, Mr Jordan. I’ll tell you. She’s decided to have your baby, with or without the benefit of wedlock.’

Joe Jordan’s jaw dropped involuntarily, although he snapped it shut immediately. But before he could utter the cynicism he was prompted towards—I’ve heard that one before!—Lydia went on.

‘At the moment she’s rather in favour of out of wedlock, I have to tell you. I think she looks at herself and sees Jodie Foster, Madonna—there are quite a few famous single mums around—and when you’re as devoted to your career as Daisy is, it’s certainly easier if you only have a child to worry about. She also adores kids, and although twenty-nine is not old, she’s not getting any younger.’

‘Why me?’ Joe Jordan asked faintly, after a long pause.

Lydia smiled quite warmly at him this time. ‘You should feel complimented. She’s gone into it very seriously, so she tells me, and she feels that you may contribute the brains she—not exactly lacks, but you’re obviously very clever.’

Joe Jordan stood up and planted his fists on the desk. ‘I said this before but—bloody hell! So that’s why she suggested going to bed when…’ He let the sentence hang unfinished in the air, and had to suffer Lydia Kelso looking at him with obvious sympathy—something that annoyed him all the more. ‘Are you sure you’re not making all this up?’ he said then, through his teeth.

‘Quite sure.’

‘What if I did decide to marry her?’

‘I’d be only too relieved, Mr Jordan,’ Lydia said sincerely. ‘Provided you love her, of course. She really needs someone to look after her, especially if she has a child, and I can’t always be there. You know, she’d make a wonderful wife.’

‘How can you say that?’ he demanded bitterly. ‘You’ve just led me to believe she’s as mad as a March Hare! Something the whole Kelso clan could suffer from, if I’m not mistaken, despite your assertion to the contrary,’ he added pointedly.

‘Look,’ Lydia responded coolly, ‘it’s not that I approve, necessarily, but it’s a choice a lot of women are making—and not because they’re mad but because they deem it a viable option in today’s society, where women can aspire to having careers and continuing to have them instead of retreating to the kitchen sink once they start a family.’

‘Go on,’ he ordered tersely.

She shrugged. ‘Some can cope with it, but I don’t think Daisy would be one of them. And, whilst a lot of mistakes you make in the heat of the moment can be corrected, a fatherless child is not one of them.’

Joe Jordan sat down, propped his chin in his hands and considered that this rangy twenty-six-year-old girl knew how to pack her punches. She shot from the hip and was unusually mature, perhaps. ‘You said you didn’t necessarily approve—apart from Daisy. Why not?’

‘I happen to believe a child needs both its parents. Of course it can’t always be helped, as in my own case. And it’s not that being a natural parent makes one automatically a perfect parent. But at least if you have kinship with a child it has to help.’

Joe raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. ‘It so happens I agree with you. Nor would I countenance being used as a stud. Do you happen to know whether Daisy intended to put me in the picture? Or did she plan to disappear out of my life with a little bundle of joy I was never to know about?’

‘It’s the one thing that’s causing her a bit of a problem,’ Lydia said gravely. ‘Well, there are two. While she feels she may be in love with you, she can’t be sure that you are with her. If you were, then I’m sure she’d abandon all this nonsense.’

‘I’m speechless,’ Joe Jordan remarked with considerable feeling.

‘Would you like to tell me exactly what you do feel for Daisy?’ Lydia suggested.

‘No! That is,’ he corrected himself irritably and ironically, ‘I have no intention of marrying her. I have to be honest. Or anyone at the moment,’ he said moodily. ‘But—look, this has been a light-hearted—I couldn’t even call it an affair. She was the one who…dammit!’ He glared at Lydia.

‘Well, now you know why. But you must have liked her? Or do you pop into bed with every woman who indicates they’re willing?’ She eyed him innocently.

He swore, seriously this time.

Lydia waited, looking absolutely unruffled.

He gritted his teeth. ‘I like her. She’s fun to be with, she’s extremely decorative, but…’ He groped for the right words, then sighed savagely.

‘You don’t miss her when she’s not there?’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Is that a true test? You sound as if you…know what you’re talking about.’

‘I got married when I was twenty,’ Lydia said quietly. ‘We had a year together before he was drowned in a boating accident. That’s how it happened for me. He was always on my mind. Tucked into the background at times, yes, but always there.’

Joe Jordan swallowed visibly and looked discomforted.

Lydia went on before he could formulate any words. ‘Please don’t feel you need to apologise for anything you may have implied. Nor did I tell you to make you uncomfortable—’

‘Then why?’ he interrupted. ‘And how come you use your maiden name?’

Lydia stood up. ‘My husband’s name was also Kelso, although we were not related at all. It was one of those strange coincidences because it’s not very common. As to why I told you—it was to establish my credibility, I guess. This is not sour grapes, and I do have some experience in these matters.’

‘So what do you suggest I do?’ He lay back and eyed her narrowly.

‘I’ll leave that up to you, Mr Jordan. But if you do what I think you intend to—let her down lightly, please.’

‘I gather you’ll be there to pick up any pieces?’

Lydia hesitated briefly. ‘I’m just about to start a position on a cattle station. It’s only temporary—I’m filling in for a friend while he takes leave—so, no. However, my father and my aunt are in residence at present. Now, my father,’ she said, with a faint smile touching her mouth, ‘may not be quite as civilised as I’ve been should Daisy be inconsolable.’

Joe Jordan stood up with disbelief written in every line of his face. ‘Is that a threat?’

‘Oh, I don’t think he’d do you any bodily harm. But he might come and harangue you, that kind of thing.’

‘I don’t believe this!’ He thumped his fist on the desk, then doubled up in pain clutching his shoulder.

Lydia blinked, then moved around the desk with her boyish stride. ‘Can I help?’

‘No, you can’t! I’m a human being. Why would I need a bloody vet?’

Of course it was surprise, he figured out, that had allowed him to be overpowered by a woman. Mind you, he told himself, she was quite strong, even unusually strong, because he’d ended up back in his chair with her long, capable hands massaging and gently manipulating his neck and shoulder in a way that brought him almost instant relief.

‘How did it happen?’ she asked conversationally.

He sighed. ‘I was playing tennis and pulled a muscle. Just takes time, so they say. How…you did tell me you were a vet, didn’t you?’ he enquired bitterly.

Lydia laughed down into his upturned face. ‘Animals also have muscles, tendons and nerves. I specialise in horses and I’ve done quite a lot of work with racehorses and polo ponies; they often pull muscles. There. What you need is regular physiotherapy, probably.’

She moved round to stand in front of him and held out her hand.

Joe Jordan didn’t take it immediately for the very good reason that he was suddenly struck by the insane desire to see this girl without her clothes. To unbutton her mannish jacket and watch the pinstriped trousers sink to the floor, to find out how her figure was curved and how she could be strong yet so slim, to watch that fascinating stride…

‘Goodbye, Mr Jordan,’ she said gravely. ‘I feel we understand each other quite well, don’t you?’

If you can understand going from one sister to the other. If you have any idea how enigmatic you appear, Lydia Kelso. If you can understand that you’ve successfully made me feel like a piece of horseflesh… He bit his lip on all that was hovering on the tip of his tongue and said instead, ‘I guess so. Goodbye, Miss Kelso. You have magic hands, by the way.’

‘So I’m told. Oh!’

He followed her dark blue gaze to see it resting on his sketchpad. ‘Ah, I apologise,’ he murmured. ‘I do these things without thinking sometimes.’

But Lydia was laughing down at the cartoon of herself, immensely tall and obviously haranguing a diminutive, seated Joe Jordan in short pants, whose feet didn’t even touch the ground. ‘It’s so good,’ she said, still chuckling appreciatively.

‘It’s not meant to make you laugh,’ he replied with dignity.

‘Then I must have an odd sense of humour! May I have it?’ She paused, then added blithely, ‘I can use it to warn myself against being too dictatorial and overpowering, even bossy.’

‘You don’t believe that for one moment, do you?’ he countered.

She laughed again. ‘How could you tell?’

He paused. ‘I just have the feeling you…’ He hesitated, and wondered what use it was to ponder any further about Daisy Kelso’s surprising sister. ‘Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, I guess.’ But as he stood up he was curiously relieved to discover he was an inch taller than she was.

‘No. It doesn’t,’ she agreed, with an oddly significant little glance.

He shook her hand, then tore the drawing off the pad and gave it to her.

‘I’ll get it framed—don’t bother to come down; I’ll let myself out,’ she murmured, with a look of delicious mischief in her eyes now. And she went round the desk, slung her navy bag on her shoulder and strode out.

She was still chuckling as she walked along the street in Balmain where Joe Jordan had his townhouse. It was a lovely afternoon and, since its revival in the 1960s, Balmain was a pleasant spot.

One of Sydney’s oldest suburbs, on a peninsula into the harbour with a few miles of coastline, its fortunes had been varied. But although there were plenty of interesting and historic buildings from its early times of affluence, it now had a trendy population, and she wouldn’t mind a townhouse there herself, she thought, as she waited for the ferry to take her across the harbour. Especially one as nicely restored as Joe Jordan’s.

But then, he could be described as trendy himself, she mused, which she was not, particularly, yet he wasn’t quite what she’d expected…

The ferry came and she stepped aboard and turned to have a last look not only at Balmain but at the home suburb of, yes, she had to admit it, a slightly intriguing man.

That evening, as she was putting the finishing touches to her packing, Daisy wandered into her room and sat down at the dressing table.

‘I’m going to miss you, Lyd,’ she said as she unpinned the glorious fall of her dark hair and started to brush it.

‘Me too.’ Lydia sat down on the bed and eyed her sister’s back. ‘But you’ll have plenty to occupy yourself, what with the Musica Viva tour and the start of the symphony season.’

Daisy sighed and lowered her hand. ‘Can’t seem to get excited about it, somehow.’ She swung round on the stool. ‘It’s my biological clock,’ she added. ‘I can feel it ticking away madly.’

‘It actually ticks?’

Daisy pulled a face. ‘You know what I mean. I just wish,’ she said intensely, ‘you could meet Joe and give me your opinion. Then I’d know whether to go ahead or not.’

Lydia experienced an inner tremor of guilt, but she said easily, ‘There’s an old saying—when in doubt, do nowt. To be honest, Daisy, I think you should put up with your biological clock a bit longer and wait for the right man to come along.’

‘So you’ve said. But you’re not twenty-nine—I’ll be thirty in two months!’

‘Maybe you’re confusing the dreaded thirty—remember when we used to think anyone over thirty was ancient?—with the biological clock?’

Daisy smiled briefly. ‘I just keep thinking my life is slipping away from me, and that there may not be a Mr Right out there for me.’

‘So Joe,’ Lydia said carefully, ‘is not necessarily Mr Right?’

‘Joe’s lovely, most of the time. He can also be moody and sarcastic, and there are times when I don’t think he knows I exist.’

Lydia smoothed a pair of khaki shorts across her lap as she wondered how to ask her sister whether she’d actually slept with Joe Jordan. This was one point Daisy had been reticent about, but then she was always reticent, if not to say capable of closing up like a clam, with her family on this touchy subject, because they, above all, knew how frequently she fell in and out of love. But would Joe Jordan squire around a beautiful woman he was not sleeping with? A woman who had indicated her willingness on their first date? She doubted it deeply, Lydia decided.

She asked cautiously instead, ‘Would you say you’re having an affair with him, Daisy?’

‘Not exactly. I mean, when I decided I wanted him for the father of my child, I made most of the running, you could say. Then I thought—Hey, this guy is also something else; he can give you goosebumps just by looking at you, let alone the rest of it, so…’ She paused with an uplifted expression on her face that Lydia felt answered her question better than words might. ‘So,’ Daisy went on, ‘then I thought, Perhaps I should hang on to him but, put simply, Lyd, he’s not that easy to hang on to.’

Daisy’s eyes were a true violet. She wasn’t tall, she had a perfect oval face, a lovely figure, she was exquisitely groomed, even for a dinner at home, and she looked every inch a sophisticated twenty-nine-year-old. Nor did her just uttered sentiments belie this—unless you knew her well enough to know that of the two of them she was the much more naive.

‘Does he have other women?’ Lydia asked, packing her shorts and reaching for a blouse.

‘I don’t think so. But the fact of the matter is he hasn’t had much of me lately. He’s losing interest, I would say.’

Thank heavens, Lydia thought. She said bracingly, ‘Then he’s not worth it, Daisy. Besides, you could end up with a moody kid!’

‘All the same, there’s something about him—’

‘Listen, Daisy.’ Lydia was suddenly serious. ‘I went along with this when I thought you were theorizing as opposed to actually doing it, because you’re a lot like Dad. Once he gets an idea into his mind nothing can change it until he gets it out of his system.’

‘Thank you,’ Daisy said gravely.

‘But now it’s time for straight talking,’ Lydia went on pointedly. ‘If you love Joe Jordan and he loves you and wants to marry you, you have my blessing. Otherwise it’s a dangerous game you’re playing—don’t do this to yourself. You’re worth much more than a life of seducing men so you can have a baby.’

Daisy turned the brush over in her hands. ‘You don’t know what it’s like, Lyd,’ she said slowly. ‘You fell in love once and it worked out perfectly—well, until Brad died, of course. But it never works perfectly for me.’ She brushed away a tear.

‘Could you be…could you be a shade too generous, Daisy?’ Lydia suggested, picking her words with care. ‘Why don’t you play hard to get for a change?’

Daisy lifted her head as if struck by inspiration. ‘Oh. Maybe Joe would respond to that!’

‘Forget Joe Jordan—’ Lydia broke off and bit her lip.

‘Why?’

‘Uh—you told me yourself that he’s very clever and that he can be moody and sarcastic. That’s always hard to live with unless you’re clever in the same way. What you need is someone musical, someone who could share the area where you’re really sensitive and creative.’

Daisy stared reflectively into the distance. ‘There is a new oboe player who’s just joined the orchestra. He’s rather sweet, and I can tell he’s interested, but, no, it wouldn’t work.’

‘It’s probably far too early to tell whether it would work,’ Lydia commented practically, ‘but how can you be so sure it wouldn’t?’

‘He’s younger.’

‘Younger… How much?’

‘He’s about your age, I guess.’

Lydia was struck silent for a long moment, struck by the irony of her sister plotting to have some man’s child to bring up on her own yet unable to contemplate a normal relationship with a man because he was a little younger…

She said, at length, ‘Three years—that’s nothing, really.’

‘Oh, yes, it is. When I’m thirty he’ll still be in his twenties. More importantly, when I’m fifty, he’ll still be in his forties. I’m sure it should be the other way around because men tend to age better than women, don’t you think?’

But Lydia was suddenly gripped by the feeling that a younger man could be just what Daisy needed. Might it not bring out a so far latent streak of maturity in her? As well as getting her over Joe Jordan, of course. Then she sighed and decided she’d done enough interfering in her sister’s life for one day.

‘Why don’t you just wait and see what happens?’ she murmured, and reached for the silver-framed photo of Brad on the dressing table. She stared down at it, blinked a couple of times, then laid it gently face down on top of her clothes in the suitcase.

Daisy was on her feet in a flash, and she knelt in front of Lydia and took her hands. ‘Do you still miss him so much, darling? I had hoped it was getting easier.’

‘It is, mostly,’ Lydia said tremulously. ‘Just sometimes it’s actually harder. I don’t know why. Unless it’s because I’m afraid I’ll forget.’

‘You know,’ her sister said, ‘you worry an awful lot about me, but I can tell you that Brad loved you so much he would not want you to be unhappy for ever. And it’s been five years now. Time to stop living a half-life. Time to have no guilt about finding someone else.’

Lydia smiled painfully. ‘The problem is, I couldn’t care less if I never did find anyone else. Men don’t seem to interest me much, apart from—’ She stopped abruptly as it surfaced in her mind that Joe Jordan was the first interesting man she’d met for a long time. To make matters worse, she’d been just about to say it.

‘So there is someone?’ Daisy said eagerly.

‘No!’ Lydia denied hastily.

‘But you said—“apart from…”?’

‘Um—the ones you can’t have,’ Lydia improvised madly, then thought, Well, that wasn’t so far from the truth either.

‘Still, that could be a start!’ Daisy frowned. ‘Anyone I know?’

‘No. No—’

‘Is he married?’ Daisy asked, with both understanding and sympathy. ‘A lot of the best ones are.’

‘You’re right—was that Chattie calling?’ Their aunt Charlotte was universally known as Chattie Kelso, and she still lived with them in the big old house at Bronte, a beachside suburb of Sydney where both Daisy and Lydia had grown up.

Daisy rose. ‘She’s cooked roast pork,’ she said conspiratorially. ‘You know how paranoid she is about getting the crackling crisp. We’d better not keep her waiting.’

James Kelso, who was renowned for his bush ballads and poetry written under the name of Kelso James, as well as renowned for always wearing a bush shirt and jeans, raised his glass and cleared his throat. ‘I’d like to propose several toasts. First to you, my dear Chattie, for the crispest crackling you’ve ever produced.’

Chattie, a spinster in her fifties, with Lydia’s colouring and build although her hair was sprinkled with grey now, looked gratified. She raised her glass in return and her fine eyes glinted with mischief. ‘Thought so myself, although I didn’t like to say it.’

‘And to you, my dear Daisy—’ James inclined his head towards his elder daughter ‘—for looking sensational, as usual. No one would think you were a day over nineteen.’

Daisy smiled fondly at him. ‘Dad, you’re sweet, but you tell awful lies!’

‘May one enquire how your love life is going at present?’

‘One may—it’s going, but it’s at a critical stage, you could say.’

‘Hmm. Dangerous age, twenty-nine. Would you agree, Chattie?’

‘No. They can all be dangerous. I consider myself at my most dangerous when I was seventeen, closely followed by thirty-nine. At seventeen I would have done anything to have a boyfriend and be like the rest of the girls, and at thirty-nine I would have done anything to have a husband.’

‘What about children?’ Daisy asked.

‘That too. I gave serious thought to having one without a husband—’

‘Chattie!’ James reproved. ‘Don’t put silly ideas into their young heads.’

Lydia ate her roast pork and thought that if Joe Jordan were a fly on the wall he might be able to judge for himself how eccentric her family could be.

‘If you’d let me finish,’ Chattie said, ‘I decided against it because I realised it was extremely unfair to a child to deprive it of a father.’

Lydia put her knife and fork down and glanced at her aunt through her lashes. Had a whiff of Daisy’s state of mind got through to her?

‘I have to agree,’ James said. ‘For example, do you or do you not think I’ve enriched your lives, girls?’

Daisy masked her expression almost immediately, but Lydia saw her sheer horror at the thought of never having known their father, and she felt like cheering at the same time as she wondered whether her father had also divined Daisy’s dilemma…

She said, ‘Dad, you’ve not only enriched our lives but your wisdom never ceases to amaze me—when you’re not driving me mad with your forgetfulness, your inability to find your glasses, even when they’re on top of your head, and the way you persistently wear odd socks—when you remember to wear them at all.’

‘Well, that brings me to you, Lydia, my younger and most practical daughter,’ James said humorously. ‘We’re going to miss you, my dear. Who else will we have to fix fuses and start our cars when they break down? You know how hopeless I am at that kind of thing.’

‘I do.’ Lydia grinned. ‘Heaven alone knows where that expertise came down to me from, but if you just look in the Yellow Pages you’ll find there are electricians, mechanics, plumbers and so on galore—on second thoughts, I’d better write you out a list.’

‘Now that makes us feel really small,’ James Kelso admonished, ‘but I’d be much easier if you did! And I know I speak for the rest of us when I say we’re all happy to think of you enjoying a new challenge, a new experience—may it be a wonderful one!’ He raised his glass again.

‘Hear, hear!’ Chattie and Daisy echoed.

‘So let’s think up a suitable limerick,’ James went on.

It was a game they’d played ever since Lydia could remember…

‘Lydia Kelso is going to Queensland,’ Daisy started.

‘To…look after cows…with a magic hand,’ Chattie supplied.

‘Not for too long,’ James said.

‘You won’t know I’m gone!’ Lydia laughed.

There was silence until Daisy said frustratedly, ‘The last line is always the hardest! What rhymes with Queensland? We’ve got hand…’

‘Wedding band?’ Chattie suggested.

‘Oh, no!’ Lydia protested. ‘There’s not the least likelihood of that happening, and anyway, I didn’t like to interrupt the creative flow, but I’m actually going to the Northern Territory.’

Everyone groaned. ‘Oh, well,’ James murmured, ‘that’s right next door, so we won’t start again—and you never know! So… And she’ll come home complete with a wedding band.’

‘Very amateurish,’ Lydia said. ‘But thank you all for your good wishes!’ And she looked round the dining room, with its heavy old oak table, dark green walls, examples of her aunt’s sculpting and some lovely gold-framed paintings on the wall. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she added. ‘Just promise me you’ll all be good!’

It struck her as she got ready for bed that she could go away with a much easier mind, now. A quiet word with Chattie had revealed that she was aware of Daisy’s dilemma and would keep a weather eye out for her.

‘We won’t tell your father,’ she’d said. ‘He’s liable to go and want to have things out with this Joe Jordan.’

Lydia had confessed that she’d already done that, but that Daisy was unaware of her actions.

‘What’s he like?’ Chattie had asked curiously.

‘Interesting, but not serious about her—nor, I suspect, did he stand much chance. She made the running, so to speak.’

‘So she is sleeping with him?’

‘She hasn’t actually admitted to that, but she looks, well, you know…’

‘I do. But he could have knocked her back. How like a man!’

They’d looked at each other, then grinned simultaneously.

‘Daisy, in full flight, is a sight to behold,’ Chattie had acknowledged. ‘Perhaps I was being a bit hard on him. What about you?’

Lydia had blinked. ‘What about me?’

‘When are you going to lay Brad to rest and start living again?’

‘Not you too!’

‘Your father been giving you a hard time?’

Lydia had shaken her head. ‘Daisy. But I am living, and enjoying myself and really looking forward to this job!’

‘All right.’ Chattie had looked as if she’d been about to say more, but had desisted and hugged her niece instead. ‘Leave them to me; I’ll look after them!’

Lydia took off her pinstriped trouser suit, donned a velvet housecoat and sat down at her dressing table to brush her hair, after removing a few very dark strands from the brush.

She’d returned to this room and this single bed after a year of marriage, and some days it was hard to believe she’d ever left it.

She and Brad had met at university, he’d been studying economics, and the first thing to draw them together had been their common although unusual surname. But the attraction had been almost instantaneous, and mutual. It had also been a revelation to Lydia, because he’d been her first serious boyfriend, and to find someone she clicked with so completely had been totally unexpected.

To fall so much in love when she’d expected to spend her university years working hard to achieve her career goals had also been disconcerting, but that had been another wonderful part of their relationship. They’d been quite happy to allow each other the space to study.

So, after two years, and before she had graduated—although he had, and had joined an eminent firm of stockbrokers—they’d got married, got themselves a small flat and had a year of idyllic happiness.

It had been a matter of surprise to many, her family included, that she should have been the first sister to marry, and so young.

He’d been such fun, she thought sadly, the night before she went—not to Queensland, although via it to the Northern Territory. Not that you’d necessarily have known that behind his glasses and his computer-like brain there had lurked a delicious sense of humour. And he’d handled her growing ardour with surprising passion for a man who had always been able to tell you how many points the All Ordinaries or the Dow Jones had gained or dropped overnight.

It wasn’t fair. She’d thought it so many times, when her body had ached physically for him, and her mind had yearned for the warmth, tenderness and laughter they’d generated together.

She’d also suffered the growing conviction it would never happen for her that way again. So that, despite their good intentions, she hated it when people told her it was time to think of falling in love again—even her own sister.

She brushed steadily for a few minutes, trying to compose herself, and finally found some relief from her sad thoughts coming from an unusual direction…Joe Jordan and his hints that she was not as feminine as her gorgeous sister.

She put the brush down and studied herself in the mirror. What would he have thought, she mused, if he’d known that under her suit she’d been wearing—these?

‘These’, beneath her velvet robe, were a midnight-blue silk camisole deeply edged with lace and a matching pair of panties.

She stood up, opened her robe and, putting her hands on her hips, twirled slowly in front of the mirror. True, she conceded to her image, she was not like Daisy, who had an hourglass figure, but—how had Brad put it? Beneath her clothes she was slim, sleek and surprisingly sensuous, and her legs were to die for.

Of course, she told herself as she sat down again and grinned at herself, what appeals to one man may not appeal to another! And although her clothes were sometimes mannish it was only for comfort, and they were beautifully made. She also had a passion for shoes and bags and the finest lingerie.

So there, Mr Jordan, she thought, and was tempted to stick out her tongue at a mental image of him.

Then she sobered and wondered what on earth she was thinking. Only minutes ago she’d been consumed by sadness and the unfairness of fate—how could she be thinking of another man? A man her sister might be in love with—might even have slept with, moreover.

She closed her eyes and clenched her hands until Brad came back to her in her mind, and she remembered how he’d loved to cook, but had been quite hopeless at clearing up after himself…

CHAPTER TWO

SEVERAL days later she was winging her way to Katerina Station in the Victoria River District of the Northern Territory, five hundred kilometres south of Darwin. She’d flown first to Townsville, to spend two days with Brad’s parents in North Queensland, then on to Darwin to spend a day in the veterinary science department of the Northern Territory University.

The vet she was filling in for, although not precisely as a vet, was a friend from university, Tim Patterson. They’d kept in touch over the years, and several months ago he’d written to tell her that he was taking a break from his practice and doing something he’d always wanted to do—joining a mustering team on a cattle station where not only his horsemanship but his veterinary expertise would be useful.

Then, a few weeks ago, he’d written again to say that he was having the time of his life mustering cattle, that it was also wonderful experience for a vet interested in large animals, but for business and personal reasons he needed to take six weeks off and would she be interested in filling in for him? He’d assured her that the Simpson family, who ran Katerina Station, would welcome her enthusiastically and provide accommodation for her in the main homestead—when she wasn’t sleeping under the stars with the rest of the mustering team.

That had done it. She’d gone, cap in hand, to the senior partner of the practice she was working for in Sydney and showed him the letter. He’d given her six weeks’ leave and added enviously, ‘Half your luck, Lydia!’

She was now staring down at the grassy plains, rolling savanna and rocky outcrops of the Victoria River District, known locally as the VRD, as it glided past below. It was a fine, clear day and the sky was huge, so was the panorama beneath it, giving Lydia a sense of the vastness and the emptiness of the ancient continent she called home.

The VRD supported one of the most successful grazing enterprises in northern Australia, but to look down upon it you wouldn’t think a soul lived in it.

The station pilot was young and friendly, and he smiled at her wonderment and took an extra ten minutes to show her the various sets of cattle yards and bores as proof that cattle did exist in large numbers, then he buzzed the Katerina homestead to alert the occupants of his imminent arrival.

He also filled her in about the Simpson family. ‘Sarah is a daughter of the pioneering family that started Katerina,’ he explained. ‘She and her brother inherited it, but when she married she divided her share with her husband, Rolf, and he actually manages the place.’

‘What about the brother?’ Lydia asked.

‘He spends time here, he’s still the major shareholder, but he doesn’t live here—look, there’s a mob on the way to the main yards.’

Lydia stared down at the dust being raised by a mob of cattle as they were moved along by horsemen.

‘Do you only muster by horseback?’ she asked. ‘I thought most of it was done by chopper these days.’

‘Used to be, for a time, but the ringer’s coming back into fashion nowadays. You can’t educate a bunch of cows from a chopper.’

‘Does that mean you’ll be out of a job?’ He’d already told her he piloted a Bell 45 helicopter too.

‘Nope! We work in conjunction. Choppers still have their uses in really difficult terrain and for moving large mobs. OK, here we go.’

He set the light plane down on a grass airstrip in what looked like the middle of nowhere until a large shed came into view.

Lydia emerged as the dust settled. She breathed deeply and looked around. Tim had confided that being a vet did not necessarily confer any special status on a member of this mustering team. They did most of their vet work themselves, and how you rode and handled cattle was the prime consideration—although some of the bigger stations did employ vets as vets.

She’d found this amusing, because he’d also told her that Katerina Station covered a million acres. What was big if not that? she’d pondered. But he’d gone on to say that once they’d realised you knew what you were talking about and doing, you’d find them deferring to you. So, she would have to prove herself first, she reflected. It would be a nice kind of challenge.

She turned as she heard a vehicle approaching, expecting either Sarah or Rolf Simpson. But as another cloud of dust started to subside as it skidded to a stop beside her, a pale gold Labrador dog leapt off the back of the battered utility and raced towards her, only to sit down in front of her and extend a paw.

‘Hello!’ Lydia squatted down in front of the dog and shook the paw gravely. ‘And who might you be? I have to tell you I think you’re gorgeous, and so well-mannered.’

The dog grinned widely and a voice above Lydia said, ‘Glad you approve of my dog. OK, Meg, back in the ute.’

Meg obeyed, but not before giving the owner of the voice a loving lick as he put his hand down to her.

Lydia straightened dazedly. Because there was no mistaking that voice, nor any chance of mistaking the tall man standing in front of her, although he looked so different from the last time she’d seen him.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ It came out before she could help herself as she took in the stained, dusty clothes he wore and the battered felt cowboy hat he dangled—none of which diminished the impact of that ‘well-knit’ tall body and ‘interesting’ face beneath his brown hair…

‘Good morning to you, Miss Lydia Kelso—or rather Mrs,’ Joe Jordan drawled, and leant casually against the bonnet of the vehicle as he allowed his hazel gaze to run over the olive-green stretch moleskins and cream shirt she wore with a sleeveless quilted olive vest and brown boots. Her hair was tousled, but he couldn’t imagine it any other way, he found himself thinking, and it was a gloriously free head of hair, that framed those delicate features admirably.

Lydia, on the other hand, shook her tousled head and looked around, blinking experimentally. ‘Am I on Katerina Station in the Northern Territory run by the Simpson family, or have I been kidnapped?’ she queried.

‘Not at all—’

‘So how did you get here from Balmain?’

‘As I was about to explain, Sarah Simpson is my sister,’ he said mildly.

‘You’re the brother who owns half of the place?’ Lydia stared at him incredulously.

‘None other. I don’t usually trade on it,’ he added modestly, ‘but after you left me the other day, I suddenly thought to myself—Didn’t Rolf let me know that Tim had to go away for six weeks but he’d found someone to take his place who also happened to be a vet? My next thought was that it would be an interesting coincidence should you be the person replacing him.’

‘I’m speechless,’ Lydia said, in a parody of what he’d said to her three days ago.

Joe Jordan straightened. ‘You weren’t exactly speechless the other day.’

Lydia gestured futilely. ‘So what are you doing here now?’

‘Decided to come up for a bit of R&R at the same time as I check out how the new vet handles herself, amongst other things.’

Lydia muttered something beneath her breath.

‘That doesn’t recommend itself to you?’ he asked, with the most wicked spark of mischief in his eyes.

‘No, it does not. You’re the last person I want peering over my shoulder all the time!’

‘Now why would that be?’ he asked ingenuously. ‘I thought anything taking me out of reach of your sister would meet with your approval.’

Lydia stared at him. ‘Because the circumstances in which we met were not exactly auspicious,’ she said deliberately. ‘And did you just walk out on my sister?’

His eyes glinted with irony now. ‘As a matter of fact, no. I told her that I had to be out of town for a while.’

‘Was she devastated?’ Lydia demanded.

‘If so she gave no hint of it. I had actually prepared a sort of—not exactly farewell address, but a letting-down-lightly kind of thing, as you so thoughtfully recommended—only it never got said because she took the words right out of my mouth. She said that she thought it would be an excellent idea if we had a bit of a break from each other.’

Lydia digested this, then swore beneath her breath this time.

‘Which indicated to me,’ Joe Jordan said, with a wryly raised eyebrow, ‘that she’s losing interest in me and the idea of me fathering her child.’

No, she’s not, she’s playing hard to get!

Lydia didn’t say it, she bit the words off on the tip of her tongue, but she experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that generally indicated she was right about her lovely sister Daisy’s state of mind.

‘I can’t believe this,’ she said instead. ‘I was really looking forward to this experience.’

He frowned. ‘Surely my simple presence couldn’t provide that much of a blight?’

‘Your presence is not simple at all,’ she retorted.

He stared at her thoughtfully. ‘Does that mean you were rather intrigued about me, as I discovered I was about you, dear Lydia?’ he queried.

She’d never been a blusher, but she undoubtedly coloured. She could feel the heat of it beneath the smooth skin of her cheeks and down her neck, all of which he noted with a flicker of amusement twisting his lips.

It was his amusement that got her going again, when she really would have loved to crawl into a handy hole to hide. ‘How could you—apart from anything else—transfer from one sister to another just like…clicking your fingers?’ She demonstrated, and he laughed openly this time.

‘Funnily enough, I asked myself that,’ he murmured. ‘The only conclusion I could come up with was that your sister had singled me out from the herd, slightly against my better judgement, whereas you and I…came together differently.’

‘We didn’t,’ she protested. ‘We came together—we met—because of my sister!’

‘Whatever.’ He waved a negligent hand. ‘This interest we share, however, sprang up of its own accord. Daisy had nothing to do with it.’

‘I’m not admitting to…’ She bit her lip and suffered a moment of dread that she would blush again, but she didn’t. ‘I am not interested in you, Mr Jordan. Let’s put it like that.’ She stared at him defiantly.

‘I would have said your first assertion was more truthful, Lydia. The one about not admitting things. But let’s not get ourselves all tied up here and now. Pete’s got your gear off the plane. Would you allow me to drive you up to the homestead? Sarah has lunch waiting.’

Lydia was sorely tempted to press her point, if not to find some way of driving it home with a sledgehammer, but she contained herself and only looked supremely frustrated.

Joe Jordan watched her for a moment, then said, ‘Good. I wouldn’t have believed you anyway, and it’s hot enough without getting oneself unnecessarily hot and bothered. After you, ma’am!’ He walked round the ute and opened the passenger door for her.

She did say stiffly as they drove away, ‘It is hot, for the middle of winter.’

‘Ah, but the nights are deliciously cool at this time of year, in comparison. Ever been up this way before, Lydia?’

‘No.’

‘Then you’re in for a delightful surprise. The country is superb at the moment. We had a good wet season, everything’s still flourishing, you can get about easily—do you ride?’

‘Of course!’ She looked at him scathingly, then looked out of the window.

‘Excellent. Unless, that is, you intend to converse with me only in monosyllables for the next six weeks?’

She turned back to him wide-eyed. ‘You’re not going to be here for six whole weeks, are you?’

He shrugged. ‘More or less.’

‘But why? Surely you don’t usually spend so much time up here!’

‘How would you know?’ he countered.

‘I…well, I assumed you lived most of your life in Sydney,’ she offered—a shade feebly, she couldn’t help thinking.

‘As in making generalisations about people from the same family, one shouldn’t make assumptions based on very little knowledge of the facts, Lydia,’ he reproved gravely.

They were driving along a rocky dirt road towards a stand of tall trees and between them she could see a large tin roof with ‘Katerina’ painted in big black letters on the silver surface: the roof they’d flown over.

Lydia blinked several times and said tersely, ‘I was told you didn’t live here.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Pete, the pilot. I had no idea, of course, that he was talking about you!’

‘Sprung,’ Joe Jordan remarked with a charming smile as he wrestled the gear lever and they bounced over a large rock. ‘Must get this road fixed, by the way. Uh—no, I don’t actually live here, although I spend quite a bit of time up here.’

Lydia waited, then said pointedly, ‘So?’

‘Several things have happened, that’s all. Rolf and Sarah need a bit of a break. Modern technology means that I can still pursue my chosen career from up here, and—well, the other thing that happened may not recommend itself to you, so I might wait.’

‘Tell me!’ Lydia ordered through her teeth.

He brought the utility to a halt outside a low white pole fence surrounding a lush acre of garden that in turn surrounded the homestead. There were colourful parrots swooping amongst the trees, there was a carpet of thick green grass, the house was old and sprawling, but well maintained, there was a riot of purple, pink and white bougainvillea smothering the tank stands, and a woman standing on the front steps was waving to them.

‘All right.’ Joe Jordan cut the motor and turned to look at her fully.

He didn’t start to speak immediately, however, and, much as she would have wished otherwise, Lydia felt an erratic little frisson run through her at the proximity of this man. Nor was it so hard to define his attractiveness suddenly. It was all there in the lines and angles of his face, the well-cut mouth, those broad shoulders and lean hips, the pair of strong hands, those intelligent hazel eyes, and in the distinct feeling that not only might he be exciting to know, he was also a connoisseur of women.

And he waited until their gazes clashed before he said, ‘I’ve been plagued by the curious yet nevertheless powerful desire to see you without your clothes, Ms Kelso. And the way you walk has taken to invading my thoughts. I do apologise for putting it so plainly, but it is the truth and you did command me to tell you.’

Lydia washed her hands in the bathroom attached to her bedroom and brushed her hair vigorously.

She’d been welcomed warmly by Sarah Simpson, shown her room and asked if she’d like to brush up before lunch. She hadn’t responded to Joe Jordan’s statement, beyond bestowing upon him the fieriest of blue glances before she’d jumped out of the utility. It hadn’t abashed him in the slightest as he’d introduced her to his sister and brother-in-law.

How on earth she was going to face him over a lunch table and for the next six weeks she had no idea, she mused savagely as she flung her brush down and stood with her hands on her hips. And there was Daisy to think about. Daisy, putting her own advice into practice, unless she was much mistaken.

‘Rolf and I have to take a little while off, although it’s such a busy time of the year,’ Sarah said over lunch.

She was in her early thirties, Lydia judged, with the same colouring as her brother. She was also what one would call ‘horsey’ but in a not unattractive way. Horses were never far from her conversation, and the verandah room, closed in with glass louvres, where lunch was set out, was decked with ribbons and trophies she’d won for dressage and show jumping, and she wore jodhpurs with a pink blouse.

Another clue to Sarah’s preoccupation with horses was that, from what Lydia had seen of the house, and while it was comfortable enough, the furnishings were old-fashioned, and it didn’t give off the glow of a dedicated homemaker being in residence.

Sarah had also been boarding-school-educated, and there were photos on the wall depicting a young Sarah Jordan as school captain. She had a rather bracing, authoritative air, as if she were a school captain born and bred. One thing she wasn’t, by her own admission, was much of a cook.

Lunch, while plentiful, was plain. Cold meat and salad, a fruit bowl and cheese.

‘Do, do make free use of the kitchen, Lydia,’ she invited. ‘I only do the basics, I’m afraid.’

‘Watch it,’ Joe advised Lydia. ‘You could find yourself not only the resident vet but head chef.’

‘Just because you got my share of the cooking genes, Joe, there is no need to be smug. We’re twins,’ Sarah confided to Lydia. ‘I sometimes think things got a bit muddled up. I should have got the artistic bent, one feels, but…’ She shrugged.

‘Hang on, beloved,’ Joe advised his sister this time, ‘you could be giving the wrong impression here.’

Sarah blinked her hazel eyes at her brother. ‘Darling,’ she murmured, ‘one only has to count the trail of broken hearts you’ve left amongst the female population of the Territory alone to know otherwise.’

Joe Jordan looked hurt and outraged at the same time. ‘Now you’ve really done it, Sarah!’

‘Done what?’ She eyed him innocently.

‘Lydia already classes me with Casanova!’

Sarah transferred her gaze to Lydia with some interest. ‘Joe mentioned that you two know each other. I didn’t realise it was in that way.’

‘It’s not,’ Lydia replied coolly. ‘It’s my sister he knows in “that way”.’

Rolf Simpson, a man of few words so far—in fact to Lydia he epitomised the fair dinkum cattleman: tall, lean, sparse of speech and with far-seeing blue eyes—said, ‘It’s never a good idea to come between sisters, mate.’

Lydia flashed a triumphant look at the main shareholder of Katerina Station, then turned her attention to her lunch and the dodging of some uncooked pieces of potato in the salad of the same name.

‘I’m suitably chastened; however—’ Joe took a draught of his beer ‘—I didn’t seek out either of the Kelso sisters.’

‘Gosh!’ Sarah enthused. ‘We could be in for some interesting times, by the sound of it. I’m almost tempted to put our little holiday off, Rolf. She turned to Lydia. ‘I must tell you, if what I think is going on between you two, is going on between you two, I should be delighted to have a vet for a sister-in-law. Just think how handy it would be for my horses, let alone Katerina.’

This time it was Joe Jordan who flashed Lydia a look that, while not exactly triumphant, spoke volumes.

‘When, exactly, do you plan to take your holiday?’ Lydia enquired of Sarah.

‘In a fortnight,’ Sarah replied. ‘We’ll be taking three weeks. But Joe’ll be here, so it’s not as if we’re abandoning you!’

‘I imagine,’ Joe Jordan commented, ‘that Lydia doesn’t quite see it that way.’

‘Why ever not?’ Sarah looked perplexed.

‘She’ll probably tell you herself; she’s a plain speaker, our Lydia.’

‘Joe, I wish you’d stop talking in riddles,’ Sarah protested, then turned her attention to Lydia with a smile. ‘You do look awfully young to be a fully qualified vet.’

‘Twenty-six, although I agree she looks younger,’ her brother commented. ‘But I can assure you she’s very strong.’

‘Ignore him,’ Sarah said to Lydia. ‘He can be impossible.’

But it was Rolf who changed the subject. ‘We are Brucellosis and TB free in the Territory now, Lydia—did you know?’

‘I…yes!’ Lydia murmured, wresting her mind from his brother-in-law, who was sitting back in his chair with the most devilish little glint in his hazel eyes.

‘What do you want now?’ Lydia asked arctically, much later in the day.

It was after dinner, and she’d spent the rest of the day with Rolf and Joe, doing a tour of the main yards and the vet station, and she’d even been able to practise her science on a lame stock horse. She’d found a nail in its hoof and been able to extract it.

Neither man had said much during the operation, but she’d known they were watching keenly. After the nail had come out, and she’d injected the horse with an antibiotic and a tetanus needle, Rolf had remarked that no one else had been able to come up with the cause of the horse’s lameness. It had been a way of saying well done, she gathered.

But instead of going to bed after dinner, despite yawning several times, she’d pulled on a dark green pullover, moved a comfortable cane lounger from the verandah onto the lawn and sunk down in it to watch the millions of stars overhead. That was how Joe Jordan had found her.

‘Nothing. I thought you’d retired.’ He went away and came back in moments with another chair. ‘Mind if I join you?’

She glanced at him sardonically and shrugged.

‘Thank you,’ he returned politely. ‘Hang on again; I’ll be right back.’

This time he was away for five minutes, and he came back with a pottery wine cooler supporting a frosted bottle and two glasses. ‘Thought you might appreciate some kind of a nightcap. Because Sarah doesn’t drink, she forgets others do. And most people drink wine.’

Meg had followed him, and she put her muzzle in Lydia’s lap for a pat before lying down at her master’s feet.

‘I have no intention of drinking half a bottle of wine.’

He pulled the cork from the pocket of his jeans and showed it to her. ‘We can drink as much or as little as we like. It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?’ He gestured sky-wards.

Lydia hesitated, then accepted the glass he’d poured for her and laid her head back. ‘You’re not wrong.’

‘There’s only one better way, and that’s to be camped out. No tent, just a swag beside a small fire, the horses hobbled not far away.’

‘That’s the kind of stuff my father writes about,’ she said dreamily. ‘He was a jackeroo as a young man. He always says it got into his blood.’

‘I’ve read some of his work. It’s good. I’m surprised he didn’t take you outback.’

‘Oh, he did. Just not to the Northern Territory. Cooper Creek, the Barcoo, Lake Eyre—I’ve seen those.’

There was a long silence; Lydia sipped her wine and made no attempt to break it.

It was Joe who finally said, ‘Why are you so mad at me?’

Surprise held her further silent for a moment, then she said wearily, ‘I’m not.’

‘You could have fooled me, but if we discount Daisy as a possible reason—what’s left?’

It was no good trying to study his expression, it was too dark, despite the Milky Way seeming to hang just above their heads, but she had the feeling he was serious.

‘You don’t really hold being a cartoonist against me?’ he queried. ‘As you see, it’s not the only thing I can do.’

‘No…’ She sighed.

‘And you shouldn’t believe Sarah’s stories about a trail of broken hearts—’

‘Why not?’

He paused. ‘Because it’s not true. I… Lydia, are you laughing at me, by any chance?’ he asked ominously.

She sat up chuckling. ‘Yes. Heaven alone knows why, Mr Jordan, but I’m quite sure it is true, or was when you were a young man in these parts.’

‘What tells you this?’

‘You’d probably have to be a woman to understand.’

‘It’s funny you should say that—I read a quote the other day that intrigued me. On the subject of women.’

‘Do tell me,’ she invited.

“‘Any man smart enough to understand women is also smart enough to keep quiet about it.’”

Lydia smiled. ‘Do you?’

‘Understand women? I would have thought so,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘Until I met you.’

‘Oh, come now. This is only the second time we’ve met, and I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so…’ She drained her glass and handed it to him.

But he merely reached for the bottle on the grass beside him and refilled it. ‘One more won’t hurt, surely? Besides, I got the feeling it was loosening you up, Ms Kelso.’ He put the glass back into her hands.

‘Is that how you do it? Ply them with alcohol?’

‘Not at all,’ he denied. ‘But I thought you were uptight, feeling less than restful, and it might help.’

Lydia hesitated, then settled back. ‘If you hadn’t been the first person I bumped into on Katerina I might be feeling a lot more restful. If I didn’t think my sister Daisy was—’ She broke off.

‘I told you what happened.’

‘I know. You also told me you had this curious desire to see me without my clothes. As if I might be some sort of circus freak.’ As soon as she’d said it Lydia regretted the words, and was amazed to discover that she had subconsciously taken umbrage at that particular word.

‘Ah.’ Joe Jordan drained his glass and refilled it. ‘That wasn’t what I meant at all, but I apologise for phrasing things awkwardly. What I meant was, if I’d thought you were some sort of circus freak, the last thing I’d want is to see you undressed. Do you perceive the difference, Lydia?’

‘I perceive that you’re getting yourself tangled up in technicalities, Joe! But, no, you don’t have to explain further. I know exactly what you meant.’

‘You do? Would you be so kind as to tell me what I meant?’ he asked, with some chagrin.

Lydia grinned fleetingly. ‘That at first you didn’t find me feminine and to your taste, especially compared to my sister Daisy. You know, I would have had to be particularly dense not to have got that message loud and clear, Joe.’

She could see enough to see him flinch, and had to laugh softly. ‘Look, don’t let it come between you and your sleep,’ she advised. ‘I grew up in Daisy’s shadow; I’m quite used to it.’

‘And once again I’m speechless.’

‘Good,’ she said unfeelingly. ‘Because I’m getting tired of this conversation and I am going to bed.’

‘Mind you, I’m relieved it’s not because of some of the things Sarah said—the other things about mixed up genes and being able to cook,’ he said humorously.

‘I wouldn’t hold that against a man,’ Lydia replied. ‘My husband was a fantastic cook, although disastrously messy.’

Joe Jordan stared down at the wine glass cradled in his hands, and said at last, ‘Is that it, Lydia?’

She stood up in one lithe movement. ‘Yes, Joe, that’s it. You see, it was so wonderful I…can’t forget him or believe it could ever happen that way for me again.’

He stood up, and Meg rose like a wraith in the dark to stand patiently beside him. ‘Then Daisy is not part of it?’

‘Daisy is part of it,’ she contradicted. ‘If…’ She paused and chose her words with care. ‘You are at all serious about an interest in me, then you’ve run into a double whammy, so to speak. My memories of Brad and the impossibility of having anything to do with a man my sister may love. Goodnight.’

This time she took her glass with her as she walked inside.

Joe Jordan sat down again after a moment and took his dog’s face into his hands. ‘My dear Meg,’ he murmured, ‘who would have believed I could have been such a fool? Not that I was to know—all sorts of things—but I’ve been about as heavy-handed as a bull in a china shop—if you’ll forgive my mixed metaphors. However, it would be fair to say I’m all the more intrigued. You do like her, don’t you?’

Meg gazed lovingly up at him and wagged her tail.

‘Good. As they say, tomorrow is another day. And another strategy is obviously called for. We shall see!’

About a week later, Lydia got up at the crack of dawn, then remembered it was a Sunday, so she got back into bed and fell asleep until ten o’clock.

There seemed to be no one about as she padded into the kitchen then and made herself some tea and toast. She took it back to her bedroom and spent the next hour leisurely engaged in doing the things she’d hadn’t had much time for over the previous week.

She washed her hair, left the conditioner on and wrapped her head in a towel. She attended to her nails and smoothed moisturiser all over herself at the same time as she checked herself for bruises and saddle sores; there were no sores but a few colourful bruises. She paused to wonder whether her skin and hair would ever be the same again, despite this treatment, and sat down to write a long letter home.

Finally, she unwound the towel, rinsed her hair and dressed in a pair of cool pink linen shorts with a pink and white floral cotton blouse, luxuriating as she did so in clothes that were not khaki or definitely working clothes, and slid a pair of light sandals on.

She wondered again why the homestead was so silent, then shrugged. A week at Katerina had been long enough to discover that one day was very much like another, although she’d been told firmly to take Sundays off. Sarah would most likely be with her horses, and Rolf and Joe, if they weren’t working on the road or the cattle yards or the airstrip or the maintenance of some vehicle or another, could still find a hundred other tasks.

She went out onto the verandah and pulled a chair into the sunlight so she could dry her hair, and ran a mental review of the week as she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun.

A faint smile curved her lips at the memory of how stiff she’d been for the first few days, and was still stiff at times. This was despite begging a friend in Sydney, as soon as she’d decided to come to Katerina, to let her exercise his polo ponies every day to get herself fit for what was to come. Although she’d ridden since she was six, and although horses were by no means the only way to get around Katerina, she’d done more riding in a week than she’d done in the past year. But it had been exhilarating and more.

She’d read respect in the eyes of the Simpsons when she’d refused to complain about her aching muscles or to take to the ‘bull buggy’, an open four-wheel drive vehicle suitable for getting around rough terrain with fearsome bars on the front capable of repelling charging bulls.

But Joe Jordan had surprised her. There had been no more overtures of a personal nature. In fact he’d treated her exactly as he treated his sister.

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.