The Cattleman's Special Delivery Page 8

  By the time she reached Michael, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘Da!’ Rosie beamed a happy, one-toothed grin at her.

  ‘Oh, baby!’ Jess scooped the little girl from Michael’s lap and hugged her tight. Still sobbing, she breathed in the sweet baby smell of her just as huge beasts filled the yard, mere inches away on the other side of the wooden fence, pushing and snorting and stirring up dust with their hard, dangerous hooves.

  Horrified, Jess backed away, clutching Rosie tightly to her. ‘How could you?’ she screamed at Michael above the noise.

  With a rev of the bike he rode over to her.

  ‘What on earth possessed you to bring a baby out here?’ she cried.

  He shook his head, bewildered and frowning. ‘What’s the matter, Jess?’

  ‘What’s the matter? You took off with my baby without telling me. You brought her down here where she could have been trampled!’ Jess shot another horrified glance to the snuffling, snorting beasts, now metres away, rather than mere centimetres.

  ‘Rubbish,’ responded Michael. ‘Rosie’s all right. I wanted to show her the stockyards.’

  ‘But she’s only a baby.’

  One stamp of those horrible hooves could have crushed her...

  ‘And you didn’t tell me you were taking her!’ Jess was still shaking with anger and fear. ‘I had no idea where you’d gone. Didn’t you think? Didn’t you realise I’d be worried sick?’

  Hugging Rosie close, she glared at the old man and he glared back at her, but before either of them spoke there was a drumming of hooves close by. Startled, Jess jumped, and saw to her relief that it wasn’t a cattle stampede, but Reece on an enormous black horse.

  He frowned down at them from a great height as he reined the horse in. ‘What’s going on?’ He scowled at Jess. ‘Why have you brought the baby down here?’

  ‘Ask your father,’ Jess cried, but even as the words left her lips she felt bad about dobbing the old man in, especially as the creases in Reece’s brow deepened as he swung easily, fluidly, down from his horse.

  ‘Dad?’

  Michael bristled. ‘You used to love the stockyards when you were little.’

  ‘But Rosie?’ Reece was shaking his head. ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘Nothing happened to you, Reece.’

  For long seconds, Reece stared at his father, then he sighed and shook his head. His dark, serious eyes rested on Jess. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Her shoulder was stinging a little from the barbed wire, but already she was beginning to calm down.

  ‘I’ll walk you back to the homestead.’

  ‘There’s no need, thanks. I can manage.’

  ‘No, you’re bleeding.’ He was looking at her shoulder and when she craned her neck, she saw a dark red stain on her ripped T-shirt.

  ‘I did that on the barbed wire, but it doesn’t hurt too much.’

  ‘You’ll need to get disinfectant onto it. I’ll help you through the fences,’ he said sternly. ‘You don’t want to scratch Rosie.’

  This was true. Jess looked again at the stockyard filling with cattle. There were two men on horseback manning the gate. ‘Can you be spared?’

  ‘Sure. The others can manage now.’

  A deviant quarter of her brain was actually noting that Reece looked devastatingly sexy in his Akubra and battered jeans. Under other circumstances, she might have loved to linger and watch him at his work.

  However, as he tied his horse’s reins to a fence post he frowned at Michael. ‘You should come back too, Dad.’

  ‘I’ll come when I’m good and ready.’ Michael still sounded belligerent, but he was looking a bit shamefaced as well.

  Watching him, Jess found herself taking fresh note of his thinning white hair and his rheumy eyes, his five-day-old beard, as white as hoar frost. She saw his gnarled, arthritic hands scarred with sunspots, such a cruel contrast to the peach-smooth, perfect skin of the baby in her arms.

  In truth, the old man was almost as helpless as Rosie, and, with his unreliable memory, he was almost as innocent. Already, Jess was beginning to wish she hadn’t yelled at him.

  ‘See you back at the homestead, Michael,’ she said gently as they left.

  * * *

  The shadows from the grove of trees were already stretching across the paddock as Reece and Jess walked back. A flock of galahs had been feeding on grass seeds and now the birds rose, revealing deep pink breasts as they circled overhead, grey and white wings flapping.

  ‘I’m sorry this happened,’ Reece said. ‘I’m afraid my father’s “senior moments” seem to be increasing.’

  ‘You don’t have to apologise. It’s actually my fault. I shouldn’t have expected Michael to keep an eye on Rosie. After all, you hired me to keep an eye on him.’

  Reece shrugged. ‘It’s a bit of a balancing act, isn’t it? One minute he’s fine, the next he’s—’

  He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he nodded to Rosie. ‘I haven’t seen her for a while. I’m sure she’s grown.’

  ‘She’s rocking on her hands and knees these days. I’m sure she’s almost ready to crawl.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You’re missing the fun. She’s nearly always asleep when you’re around.’

  ‘Yeah, well...’

  Another unfinished sentence.

  At the fence Reece placed a booted foot on the bottom strand of barbed wire and lifted the other strands high, so Jess could easily climb through unscathed, with Rosie in her arms.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Shall I hold it for you now?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ He made it look effortless as he held the rough strands down with one hand and vaulted over them.

  Rosie laughed at him and cried, ‘Da!’

  ‘Da?’ Reece shot a questioning glance to Jess.

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s calling me Da too. It’s her first word, though, so it’s cause for celebration.’

  ‘I reckon.’ Reece grinned at her and his dark eyes flashed, and it was a lovely moment as the three of them walked together towards the homestead. Jess felt far happier and more connected than she had in almost seven long months.

  Once again, she felt her old yearnings surface, the dream of an ideal marriage and a home that was more than a rented flat. It was a romantic dream she’d cherished throughout her teenage years, but it had lost its sparkle during her marriage and it had finally died with Alan. It was crazy, crazy to let it resurface now.

  Reece had employed her for her housekeeping skills. Nothing romantic about that. And how could she forget that she had too many debts to clear before she could even contemplate another relationship? She would never go to a new man burdened by the debts from a previous husband.

  Perhaps it was just as well they’d reached the gate at the other end of the paddock.

  ‘Thanks for walking me home.’ Jess sent Reece a quick smile.

  ‘I’ll come up to the homestead with you. I want to check out that cut on your shoulder.’

  Jess knew she must have looked surprised—he’d been so distant lately—and she was sure she could manage the cut on her own. But she didn’t want to send him away. No way.

  ‘That would be great,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’

  They went to the kitchen and Jess put Rosie in her high chair with a baked crust dipped in Vegemite, the baby’s favourite snack.

  ‘The first-aid gear’s in the pantry,’ Reece said, but as he collected cotton wool and antiseptic Jess realised she faced a new dilemma.

  ‘Um... I’ll have to take off my T-shirt, won’t I?’

  There was momentary silence as Reece turned to her, his dark eyes sharp and bright. She could feel her heart picking up pace.

  ‘Turn the chair and sit with your back to me,’ he said quietly, and then a playful smile twitched his lips. ‘I won’t look.’

  She knew she shouldn’t feel prudish after everything he’d seen on the night Rosie was born. Back t
hen, however, she’d been too distracted by pain to care. Now, ridiculous flames shot under her skin.

  But she had to shake off such nonsense. She was here at Warringa as Reece’s employee. Nothing more.

  Surely that wasn’t too hard to remember?

  ‘This is really going to hurt if you try to get the shirt off by yourself,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to let me help you.’

  ‘Um...no. It’s OK. I’ll...be OK.’

  ‘Jess, there are bits of fabric caught in the cut.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She was almost certainly blushing as he lifted the shirt, gently, gently easing the ripped fabric away. Then she sat, as directed, with her back to him and he began to bathe her skin, but, although he was incredibly careful, every time his hands brushed her she felt fire.

  ‘I think you missed your calling.’ She tried to make her voice light. ‘First you delivered my baby, now you’re tending my wounds. You should have been a doctor.’

  She couldn’t see Reece’s reaction and he made no comment as he continued to dab at her cut. It shouldn’t have been sexy, but rivers of heat spread all over her. She was imagining him touching her intimately.

  She wanted him to touch her intimately.

  Wanted it so badly.

  ‘Am I hurting you?’

  Jess was too breathless to answer and she had to shake her head, and then she realised she was breathing in rather frantic little gasps. No wonder Reece thought he’d hurt her.

  ‘That should be OK now,’ he said at last, with a final dab, and she was practically in mourning as he stepped away.

  A wicked imp inside her urged her to turn to him, wearing only her bra, to see how he’d react.

  Fortunately, her common sense returned just in time and she remembered that Reece was simply being helpful. He was helping her again, as he’d helped her so many times in the past.

  Any romance existed only in her head.

  She reached for a tea towel from the back of another chair and held it demurely in front of her as she stood.

  She looked up and met his gaze.

  Oh.

  Longing shimmered like fire in his lovely dark eyes—the same longing she was feeling. Longing mixed with agonising uncertainty.

  For ages, neither of them spoke.

  She had no idea what to say. Her head was crammed with unhelpful, lustful thoughts. Thoughts of Reece’s lips exploring her... Thoughts and yearnings so strong she was bursting.

  And Reece looked as spellbound as she felt.

  Maybe it was time to admit what was happening? Their chemistry was obvious. Screaming to be voiced.

  But this idea had barely formed before Rosie dropped her baked crust and began to cry.

  Gripping the tea towel against her, Jess hurried to pick up the soggy crust. ‘There you are,’ she said, quickly handing it back to her sobbing daughter.

  Then she glanced back to Reece. He frowned, looked away and cleared his throat.

  The spell was broken.

  ‘I’ll get back to the stockyards now.’

  He was already heading for the door.

  And he was gone before Jess remembered that she hadn’t even thanked him.

  * * *

  She felt a little dazed after that, as if she’d stepped off a fast-spinning merry-go-round. But things got back to normal as she turned her attention to mending bridges with Michael. Fortunately, a hearty beef stew followed by baked chocolate pudding seemed to do the trick. Not so fortunately, his fading memory finished the process.

  Although Michael surprised Jess a few days later...

  ‘Guess what day it is today?’ he asked with a challenging grin at morning tea.

  Jess smiled. ‘Well, I know it’s Thursday.’

  ‘Thursday the sixteenth.’

  ‘Yes. Is that significant?’

  ‘It’s Reece’s birthday.’

  ‘Really?’ Jess remembered her brief exchange with Reece at breakfast this morning. There’d been no hint. They were back to being super cautious around each other.

  ‘I thought maybe you could bake him a cake,’ Michael said.

  She tried to ignore the sudden flash of excitement, and she concentrated on watching Rosie as she sat unaided on the floor and banged two blocks together.

  ‘I guess I could make a cake,’ she said carefully, trying to pretend that she wasn’t already in love with the idea of surprising Reece.

  ‘Only if you feel like it.’

  ‘It’s no trouble. Does Reece have a favourite kind of cake?’

  Michael pulled a face. ‘Dunno. I guess everyone likes chocolate cake.’

  ‘I’ll see what ingredients we have.’

  ‘Maybe we could have a bit of a party?’ The old man’s face was lit by a rare smile.

  ‘Well... I guess...’ Given the short notice, Jess thought this was going a bit far. She couldn’t really imagine herself, an old man and a baby throwing a party.

  But Michael looked so hopeful, and who knew how many years he’d be around to celebrate his son’s birthday?

  ‘Of course, we can make it a party,’ she said quickly. ‘Why not?’

  * * *

  There was something different about the house.

  When Reece arrived home, dusty and tired as usual, he couldn’t quite put his finger on the change. Was it something about the lights?

  He took his boots and shirt off in the laundry and padded through to the shower. Under the pleasing hot pressure he rinsed away the day’s grime and ran through the tasks he needed to see to tonight. Paperwork, bills... There was a big bill due on the nineteenth and today was the—

  Today was the sixteenth of September—his freaking birthday—and he hadn’t given it a thought. He was thirty-three. Not that it mattered. Birthdays had never mattered at Warringa. Not since—

  Abruptly, he snapped off the taps, stepped out of the shower and snagged a towel. In his room he changed into clean jeans and a shirt, and with the shirt hanging open he went down the hallway, noting that the lights were already out beneath Jess’s and Rosie’s doors. Nothing unusual there, but he was disappointed.

  At least he could look forward to finding a delightful meal waiting for him in the warming oven. Jess had produced some pretty amazing dishes, and he fancied he could smell something quite delicious.

  But now, as well, that sense of difference returned...

  Were the lights in the kitchen flickering? The door was ajar. He pushed it.

  ‘Surprise!’

  Whack!

  Reece staggered backwards, stunned to find the room full of grinning faces. Ryan and Jim, the neighbours he’d been working with all day. Cath and Bill Anderson from Half Moon station. His dad, grinning from ear to ear. Jess, looking sensational in what had to be, hands down, the most attractive little black dress he’d ever seen.

  Candles, stuck in bottles or in tin lids, flickered from every bench top. The table was set with a snowy white cloth and decorated with coloured streamers and the best dinnerware and silver.

  ‘Happy Birthday!’ everyone shouted, and before he could react they broke into rowdy rendition of the birthday song.

  He felt suddenly weak as a kitten, and he wasn’t sure if his knees were still working. A rock the size of Uluru filled his throat and the backs of his eyes stung.

  The last time this had been sung for him he’d been five years old.

  * * *

  Halfway through singing, Jess’s throat felt too tight to go on. She’d been so excited, waiting for this moment. All day her excitement had mounted as she’d worked hard and fast to pull the party together—making phone calls, cooking, cleaning, hunting through the house for everything she needed. Then, there’d been the tension of getting Rosie to sleep and keeping everyone else quiet when Reece arrived home.

  And now—

  Now, he looked so shocked and incredulous and downright emotional Jess wanted to cry. No one should be that surprised by a birthday party. Surely?

  The song came to
an end. Everyone cheered and clapped and moved forward to shake Reece’s hand or, in Cath Anderson’s case, to give him a kiss and a hug.

  At least he was grinning now—the grin was a bit shaky and he was looking a little flushed perhaps, but his smile held as he returned backslaps and greetings. He even hugged Michael, which was nice. And then it was Jess’s turn.

  Reece stepped towards her and she was suddenly super aware of him. His dark hair, damp and sexily rumpled after he’d towelled it dry. His shirt hanging open to reveal the shadow of more dark hair on his chest.

  She must have been staring and he must have noticed, for he quickly did up his shirt buttons.

  ‘Happy Birthday, Reece.’ She dropped a quick peck on his cheek and she smelled lemon-scented soap on his skin.

  His deep brown eyes were a little too shiny. ‘Did you do all this?’

  ‘It was Michael’s idea.’ This time she didn’t feel so bad about dobbing in his father.

  ‘But you organised it. You did the legwork.’

  ‘It was fun.’

  His gaze travelled over her and his eyes were so appreciative he made her shiver. ‘Thanks,’ he said softly.

  ‘Can we eat?’ chimed in Michael. ‘I’m starving.’

  * * *

  It wasn’t a late night. Being country folk, everyone had to face early rises in the morning, but the dinner was a lively affair, the conversation convivial. The Andersons had brought wine, which went well with the baked chicken breasts, smashed garlic potatoes and a side dish of broccoli with pine nuts. The rich chocolate layer cake was a hit.

  As soon as he’d eaten Michael retired to bed, and, after coffees, Reece went out onto the veranda to farewell his guests while Jess started rinsing plates and stacking the dishwasher. She was almost finished when she heard the vehicles driving away. She closed the dishwasher, turned it on. With the first soft swish of the water filling the machine, Reece came back into the kitchen.

  ‘That was amazing,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’

  ‘I did. Everyone had a great time. The food was sensational.’

  ‘If I’d had more warning, we could have invited more people.’

  ‘Jess, it was brilliant. The best birthday party I’ve ever had.’