The Australians' Brides. Lilian Darcy
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sorry. I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry!”
“For what?” She blinked.
“This … I shouldn’t have done this.” He’d half turned back to the fallen log in a gesture of self-protection, and every angle in his body screamed regret. What didn’t he want her to see or know? She already knew he was aroused. So was she. Her body throbbed, her mouth tingled, and she was hot and moist and swollen. It shouldn’t be a source of shame for either of them. It was human … normal … wonderful.
“Why, Callan?” She felt too bewildered to keep it from showing. “It was—it was good, wasn’t it? Real nice.”
Real nice? Sheesh, no wonder she didn’t dare call herself a writer anymore! Real nice bore as much connection to what she’d felt in his arms as cheap hamburger meat bore to sirloin steak.
“It—it—Yes, it was nice. But it sets up—I shouldn’t have done it.” He circled around, his actions restless, erratic and unpredictable, like a freshly filled balloon escaping from somebody’s grip before they’d knotted the opening. Whoosh. All over the place.
“Kissed me?” she said. “What does it set up? It doesn’t set up anything.”
In her confusion, she came across as indignant to the point of anger, and way too aggressive. The whole atmosphere between them jarred her spirit. How could the physical connection have simply … evaporated?
“Not anything bad, anyhow,” she went on, trying to speak more reasonably. “Please don’t think I’m expecting—” She made some vague circles with her hand, not wanting to put her expectations or lack of them into concrete phrasing. She was only here for a few weeks. She hadn’t been thinking ahead, nailing down a prescribed pathway.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m not saying you’re responsible for any of this.”
Any of what?
“I don’t know what the problem is, Callan.” She said it gently because he looked so troubled.
“Yeah, neither do I.” The words came out on a growl. “But whatever it is, it’s mine, not yours. Okay?”
“Okay,” she echoed obediently. “Um, in that case, thanks for a fabulous kiss. Shall we leave it at that?”
He nodded, but didn’t look grateful that she’d let him off the hook. “Best to.” His circles around the creek bed grew wider. “We have to find that damned Game Boy,” he muttered. “They’re going to wonder what’s happened to us, up at the house.”
I’m wondering what’s happened to us, too, Jacinda thought. And I’m not up at the house. I’m right here. I’m looking right at you, Callan, and I have no idea.
She didn’t join in his search. Or not wholeheartedly, anyway. She was still too confused, didn’t know whether she should be burning with mortification, angry with him, or whether all of that would have been an overreaction. He looked as if he felt all of those same emotions on her behalf anyhow. He didn’t look happy with himself. Didn’t look happy with the entire universe.
He muttered something about Lockie’s carelessness … stupid electronic toys … shouldn’t ever have let him buy the thing in the first place … kids got spoiled with that stuff.
Then he found it, sitting in what was probably the first place they should have tried, on a rock near where the horses had stood in the shade. He expressed his relief in a profanity and headed directly for the four-wheel-drive, his strong shoulders hunched as if to keep Jacinda safely away.
They drove back to the homestead, the jolting of the vehicle echoing her jarred confidence. He’d said it wasn’t her fault, but that was such a classic line. It’s not you, it’s me. Did anyone ever mean it when they said that?
Wheeling around in the front yard, he eyed the lit-up house with a bull-like glowering stare. “Looks like Mum’s still getting the kids to bed.”
“Carly gets overtired sometimes, after a long day, and it’s hard to settle her down. I hope Kerry’s not having trouble with her.”
“We’re all tired. So please, just forget this ever happened. All of it.” He sounded angry, and she didn’t understand.
“Do you want us to leave, Callan?”
“What?” His eyes narrowed. “No! Heck, no! That would be even worse.” He struggled with himself and she decided that if he was angry, he wasn’t angry with her, which made her shaky with relief because the memories of Kurt’s veiled, terrorizing anger were still too strong. “Please stay,” he said. “If you can. If you can forget tonight.”
“I’ll try.” Then something made her add, touching him on the arm, “But no, Callan, I don’t want to forget it. It was—”
“But I do,” he cut in.
She didn’t have time to cut off her final words. “—so good.”
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at her. Just opened the creaky door and climbed out of the vehicle.
Chapter Seven
That night, Jacinda couldn’t sleep for thinking about it … thinking about him. The way he’d kissed her. The way he’d turned his back.
It must have been after one in the morning by the time the memories released her body from its prison of sensual awareness, and her mind from circular questions. Even then, she had a restless night and was shocked to see how bright the morning light had grown when she woke up.
Eight-thirty, already?
Carly was long gone. Jac could hear her outside with the boys. Dressing, she heard a car, also, its engine missing some beats as the sound dropped to idling level in the front yard. She could make out an adult male voice that didn’t sound like Callan’s.
“Oh, that’s Pete,” Kerry told her a few minutes later, in the kitchen. She stood at the sink, washing fresh eggs and vegetables. “He’s one of our local North Flinders people, the Adnyamathanha. He used to be a stockman here, but he lives at the settlement at Nepabunna, now. He still drops over pretty often to help Callan out.”
“Drops over?” Jacinda repeated. “How far is Nepabunna from here?” Callan had mentioned the place, she thought, but she’d gotten the impression it wasn’t very near.
Kerry grinned, the same open, wicked grin that genetics had also given to her son. “Just a hop. Around a hundred and fifty kays. Ninety miles to you.”
“It’s okay. I’m learning to translate distances. And a hundred and fifty kilometers is just a hop?”
“It’s practically next door.”
“Well, so I’ve learned a new definition for next door, too.”
“And it’s handy for us that he is that close, because some things are a bit much for me, these days. We take on a couple of seasonals when we’re doing a big muster, but when they’re not around, it’s just Callan and Pete. They’re driving out to Springer’s Well today, working on a new mustering yard Callan’s been wanting to put up, and doing some tagging. Lockie’s going with them, I think.”
“Oh. Right. Carly will miss him.”
Carly and him being code for I and Callan.
He’s avoiding me, she decided, because of last night at the water hole.
Or else I’m kidding myself to think our kiss was that important to him, even in a negative, let’s-forget-it-ever-happened way, and he’s just building a mustering yard.
Whatever that was.
Going outside to find Carly several minutes later, she saw that Lockie