A Wish and a Wedding (7 page)

“Just an accident of birth, Chrissy. You could have been the Rushford heiress.”

“Not darned likely!” Chrissy had choked on laughter.

Aware Chrissy was still feeling like a fish out of water, tactfully Tori had left the idea of supplementing—or to be truthful
changing
Chrissy's wardrobe until the day before Kerri and her friend Marcy were due to arrive. She had seen more than enough of Marcy to know she was a terrible snob, with a gift for the throwaway insult, even among her own moneyed set. One look at Chrissy in her current gear and the knives would be out—even if they were behind Chrissy's back. Still, Chrissy would
know
she was a source of droll disdain.

Philippa listened carefully when Tori explained. “The last thing I want to do is hurt Chrissy's feelings, but I have so many things I can give her to wear. You know what Kerri and that awful Marcy are like.”

Philippa sighed to herself. “I certainly do. God forgive me for saying it, but I do wish they weren't coming. Marcy will grab any opportunity to see Haddo. I'm tempted to tell her she's been wasting her time all these years.”

“Don't you think Haddo should be the one to tell her?' Tori asked crisply.

“I'm fairly sure Haddo hasn't given Marcy any encouragement, dear,” Philippa assured her, veiling her eyes. “Anyway, as regards Chrissy, what harm can it do, showing her what you've got? She's a good bit shorter than you, but you're both very slender. Personally, I don't think you'd know Chrissy with a little bit of a makeover.”

“I want her to look her best,” Tori said. “And I'm going to get that tooth of hers fixed,” she whispered, although Chrissy was a good distance off, with Kate in the kitchen. Chrissy felt at home there, to the extent that Kate, Mallarinka's long-time housekeeper, was giving her cooking lessons. It had been Tori's idea, and it was a good one.

The two girls had fallen into a routine of riding in the afternoon. It hadn't taken Chrissy long to get the hang of riding a horse again, once a nice quiet mare was found for her, and Tori worked out safe rides in advance. That afternoon they had decided on being a bit more adventurous and visiting a stock camp at Cobbi Creek. Tori knew a party of stockmen was scheduled to head off to the rough hill country, to bring back all the cattle they could muster. Haddo had mentioned it at dinner the previous night. The muster was expected to go on for several days, which meant the men had to take along extra horses—at least three or four to a man—so they could rest the others when they were ready to drop from fatigue or, as sometimes happened, when they got injured. Mustering meant physical exhaustion.

When they arrived at the camp, surrounded by a near solid wall of coolibahs, and areas of the creek packed with fragrant pink water lilies, they dismounted and left their horses tethered in the abundant shade. Tori's eyes immediately picked out Haddo's tall, commanding figure. He was standing outside the corral talking to Snowy, their top aboriginal stockman and tracker, who most probably would be in charge. A whole bunch of horses had already been rounded up for the trip. She counted roughly thirty. They were standing quietly inside the corral, almost at attention.

Haddo turned his head and came towards them, emanating that vibrant masculinity that was so much a part of him. He looked stunningly handsome even in his everyday riding gear, with a bright red bandanna knotted around his darkly tanned throat.

“How's it going?” He reached them, smiling. And what a smile he had!

Chrissy responded with her own sweet smile, broken tooth or no. “Great—just great, Haddo. I'm absolutely loving this. I'm finally getting used to being back in the saddle too. My bum doesn't hurt so much. Can you swim in this creek?”

He nodded, with a glance at the glittering water. “You could, but there are much better places to take a swim. Tori can show you.” Now his smouldering sapphire gaze slicked over Tori, who stood with a classy white akubra tilted nonchalantly over her eyes. “Hi!”

“Hi!” she responded, momentarily blinded to her surroundings. Haddo did that to her.

“I like the way you call her Tori,” Chrissy said. “Everyone else calls her Vicki.”

“Well, I've been calling her Tori so long I couldn't possibly change,” Haddo explained, glancing back at the camp. ‘The men will be taking a break shortly. You're welcome to stay for some billy tea—and some I guess you could call them damper scones.”

“That would be lovely!” Chrissy said, looking to Tori for approval.

“Billy tea, yes. I'll pass on the scones,” Tori drawled.

“They're better than you think, Chrissy. Don't let Tori put you off.” Haddo's eyes narrowed over Tori's small, vivid face. She had plaited her dark red hair into a silky rope that hung down her back. Her cream shirt was silk, her skintight jodhpurs a darker cream. Her riding boots, very expensive, were dark tan with a high gloss. She looked perfect for a fashion shoot, her very slim, attenuated body falling naturally into elegant lines that could have been poses, but were not. Tori had always been marvellously graceful.

“What's with you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she retorted, with heightened crispness.

“You're not usually a woman of few words.”

“Why is it your voice always has that thread of mockery?”

He shrugged. “I don't plan it. But come along. Everybody knows you, but I can introduce Chrissy.” Haddo moved off, leaving the girls to follow.

Chrissy's big brown eyes sparkled. Most of the men were middle-aged, but there was one young blond guy, in a check shirt and tight jeans, with a black akubra shoved back on his head. He looked kinda cute…

“Who's the blond guy?” she whispered urgently, taking Tori's arm. “He looks a bit like one of those western movie stars, don't you think?”

“As a matter of fact, no,” Tori answered truthfully.

“Come on—he
does!
” Chrissy insisted, as if she had big plans.

“Well, maybe just a teeny-weeny bit,” Tori relented. The jackeroo, Shane McGuire, looked
nothing
like a movie star in her opinion, but he
was
nice-looking, with blue eyes and blond curly hair. Better yet, everyone liked him. But there was the fact Chrissy had lived through a couple of very harrowing years with an abusive partner. Shouldn't she be more cautious?

“What's his name?” was Chrissy's follow-up question.

“Behave yourself, Chrissy,” Tori admonished. So much for Zack, she thought—and good riddance. “Okay, it's Shane McGuire. He's the jackeroo.”

“He's not married?” Chrissy queried. “If you say he is, I think I'll cry.”

“Save your tears.” Tori laughed. “Haddo doesn't hire married jackeroos. They have to learn the ropes before they can think of settling down. Anyway, Shane's only about twenty, twenty-one. Life hasn't properly begun at that age.” Hadn't she made a total fool of herself at sixteen?

“It began for me when Mum died,” Chrissy said, shrugging off some pretty horrendous times.

“I know. I'm sorry.” Tori, who had suffered her own bad times and because of them was empathetic, hugged Chrissy's thin shoulders.

“That's okay. I've found a pal like you.” Chrissy smiled. “Am I allowed to speak to him?”

“Of course you are.”

“I mean when you aren't around.” Chrissy watched in delight as a big flock of yellow-crested cockatoos came to rest in the coolabahs on the opposite bank, looking for all the world like giant white flowers.

“You don't have to consult me about whom you want to speak to, Chrissy. But just take it easy, okay?”

“Yeah, sure!” Chrissy gave her saviour a great big hug.

So what have we here?
Tori was left to wonder.
Love at first sight?
Her biggest regret was there hadn't yet been time to get Chrissy's front tooth fixed, but maybe someone like Shane would see past that to the sweetest of expressions and those big brown eyes?

Chrissy had already confessed she would love to stay on Mallarinka if Haddo would only give her a job. She was willing to do anything—domestic work, or she could learn stock work. She would die to become a jillaroo, but that wasn't on the cards. Mallarinka was a man's world. School-teaching wasn't in her repertoire either. Chrissy had paid little or no interest in schoolwork at the various homes she had been shunted around, and consequently her three Rs were pretty sketchy.

That was something else Tori was set to fix. School would start up again tomorrow morning at nine o'clock sharp—a time Tori had come to think of as more or less daybreak.

In the end Tori didn't have the heart to refuse a damper scone smothered in lashings of wild plum jam. Wild plums grew in abundance right across the desert fringe, and they did make good jam—deliciously tart. The scone however, stuck in her chest. Maybe another mug of billy tea—which
was
good—would wash it down.

She rose from the fallen log she and Chrissy were sitting on—Chrissy was tucking into the scones with gusto—to walk towards Lliam, the half-Irish, half-Chinese camp cook. She should have put her sunglasses back on. The sun was dazzling, making her squint. She put up a hand to protect her eyes, then in the next breath she was caught in a one-armed grab from behind, and swung aside so powerfully she thought she might crack a rib. As it was, she fell to her knees, her face white with shock.

“Let go, yah bastard!”

It was Snowy, the stockman, roaring a whole chain of obscenities, ladies present or not. At about the same time she heard Haddo let out a harsh rattle of pain.

Oh, no!
Instantly she realised what had happened. Like a fool, she had walked too close to the rear of the pack donkeys. They were standing together, four of them—bad-tempered at the best of times, not an affectionate one between them. These donkeys would just as soon greet you with a bite or a swift kick than with brays, snorts or snuffles, but they were intelligent, and could carry food and gear across the roughest terrain. Haddo must have seen she was in danger and come instantly to her rescue. The mule hadn't taken a bite out of
her,
but it had certainly got a grip on Haddo's arm.

How could she have been so careless? she upbraided herself, wanting to sink through the bright red earth. Haddo was paying the price. To make it worse, she knew all about these mules—their stubbornness, their cleverness, and their disconcerting habit of trying to sink their big teeth and jaws into anyone who just so happened to annoy them. These weren't animals suitable to be kept as pets. They weren't at all calm, and they didn't particularly like people. One always needed some protective weapon to hand just in case they played up.

She bent over, gulping for air, aware that everyone was crowding around her.

“Jeepers, Vicki!” Chrissy was crouching beside her, aghast at what had happened with such lightning speed. Not familiar
with donkeys, Chrissy had imagined they would be very mild-tempered animals—not to say exceptionally docile.

“Tori? You're okay?” Haddo demanded brusquely. He too went down on his haunches, his burning blue gaze moving steadily over her.

For an instant she couldn't speak. All the silly bravado had been knocked out of her. Then slowly she lifted her head. “I'm so sorry, Haddo,” she said, in a small, subdued voice. “So ashamed. I should have realised. Did the blighter bite you?”

“It certainly had a go,” Haddo confirmed wryly, ignoring his left arm, where the donkey's teeth had made quite a dental impression.

“I'm just so sorry,” she repeated, tears springing into her eyes.

“Forget it.” He drew her to her feet, noticing how she gave a little involuntary wince. “Did I hurt you?” He knew he had grabbed her hard and fast, but there had been no help for it.

“You could have cracked a couple of my ribs,” she tried to joke.

“Don't worry. We'll get you checked out.”

He was serious. She knew that, so she shook her head. “I'm okay—
really.
Why didn't you just let the damned thing bite me?”

He suddenly smiled, his good humour utterly convincing. “Because I need you to teach the kids.”

“Brilliant!” She found herself smiling back into his face. Something she hadn't done for a long, long time. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

“Well, I'm not,' he clipped off, powerfully affected by that smile.

“You've had all your shots, haven't you?” she asked solicitously.

“Of course. Everything's okay, Tori. End of story.”

“You need something to put on that, Haddo,” Chrissy broke in, sounding as subdued as Tori.

“Yes, you do,” Tori agreed, staring at Haddo's strong arm. The donkey's teeth had barely punctured the skin, but there would be a lot of deep bruising.

“Snowy will find me something.” Haddo shrugged it off. Snowy was a medicine man of some renown, with a host of bush remedies many qualified doctors would like to get their hands on.

Snowy, in fact, was grinning happily. “Lucky I had a stout stick, eh, boss?”

Snowy—so called because of his fine head of snow-white curls, which contrasted with his shiny black skin—was still holding it, after having given the still glaring pack donkey a few telling whacks before it could be persuaded to let Haddo's arm go.

“Not the first time you've come to my rescue, Snowy,” Haddo said, with real affection.

Snowy, a wry sixty, pointed a thumb at his own chest. “Snowy will never let anyone or anythin' hurt yah, boss. Now, I'm gonna look around and mix you up somethin' to put on that.”

“Thank you so much, Snowy,” Tori broke in gratefully. “Haddo can't afford to overlook any injury—battery of shots or not.”

 

After dinner Philippa had fallen into the habit of playing the piano—which just happened to be a Steinway concert grand—to entertain them. The whole family loved the fact Philippa was so talented, and she had been greatly blessed in that she had miraculously escaped any form of arthritis in her pianist's hands. Haddo and Tori were well used to her wonderful musicianship, but Chrissy, who had only heard some truly woeful strumming in her short and troubled life, was enthralled. While Philippa played she had a captive audience in Chrissy, who was soaking up her various experiences like a desert claypan soaked up rain.