Christmas with her Boss (7 page)

‘You don't know which bull…'

‘It could have been one of three.'

‘You're telling me she's…loose?' he demanded, and she giggled and swayed on her perch and he put a hand out to steady her. He shifted closer and held on around the waist, making sure she was secure. She waited for him to let her go—but he didn't.

‘So tell me all,' he demanded, and she thought, do you know what the feel of your arm around my waist is doing to me? Obviously not or it'd be gone in a flash.

Maybe she should tell him.

Or not.

She had to do something. She was getting close to melting here. ‘I think you'd better let me go—Mr McMaster,' she managed, and he did. He shifted away a little, without comment, as if it meant nothing. As if holding her hadn't caused him any sort of reaction. Nothing like the sizzle that had just jolted through her.

‘So are we waiting for the baby to be born so we can take DNA samples and enforce a paternity suit?' he asked, and they were talking about Millicent. Of course they were.

‘Maybe not.' She was totally discombobulated. It wasn't just the feel of his arm. It was so much more. ‘I… one of the bulls is a Murray Grey.'

‘That's bad?'

‘If you're a Friesian crossed with a Jersey, it's very bad. Have you ever met a Murray Grey?'

‘I can't say I have.'

‘They're about half Millicent's size again. She's still underdeveloped. If we'd found her straight away we could have done something, but she got out and we lost her and didn't find her for ages. What must have happened was that she got out onto the road, wandered along happily, we suspect, looking for bulls because she's that sort of girl. Whoever found her must have shooed her through the nearest gate to get her off the road—which, of course, happened to be Rod Palmer's bull paddock. There was plenty of feed in the paddock. It's hilly and mostly out of sight of the road and Rod lets his bulls be until he needs them. So Millicent might have been enjoying herself for quite a while. She certainly seemed content when Rod finally found her and called us.'

‘Uh-oh,' he said. ‘So now?'

‘So now she's in the house paddock while we wait for the birth. Signs are any day now. I hope to heaven she doesn't drop over Christmas because there's no way we'll get a vet.' Then a thought occurred and she eyed him with hope. ‘As well as cars… You didn't have a houseful of pets you practised on when you were a kid as well?' she enquired. ‘Maybe a cow or two, and a resident vet?'

‘Nary a goldfish.'

‘Not even a dog?' she demanded, startled.

‘My family don't do pets.'

‘But you like them.'

‘Just because I patted Killer…'

‘No, but you do. When we're out on site… Every time we meet a dog you talk to it. You should have one.'

‘And leave him in my Manhattan apartment alone, for months at a time?'

‘You have staff. Is Mr Himmel still around?'

‘Long gone.' That was said bleakly and she thought—don't go there. She was pushing past anywhere that was her business. Move on.

But move on where? Move onto where she wanted to go?

Why not?

‘So…so do you need to go over to Jenny's again later?' she managed.

‘Jenny's?'

‘Mickey's. To make more phone calls.'

‘I rang Elinor while I was in Curalo.'

Elinor. First name. The word hung between them, loaded with unknowns.

Leave it, she thought, but then she thought if she was Letty she'd ask. She swung her legs against the fence rails and tried to look nonchalant. As if this was a lightweight question.

‘So the gossip rags haven't caught up with Elinor?'

‘I hope they never do.' It was said with such vehemence that she blinked.

‘Um…it's serious then?'

He seemed disconcerted but then he shrugged. ‘You could say that.'

‘I'm sorry you'll miss Christmas with her, then.'

‘I'm sorry, too.' He swung himself down from the fence and she knew the question had messed with whatever calm he'd been feeling. ‘I believe I need to get that carburettor back in. Without it, we're dependent on the tractor as emergency transport so I'm not going to bed before it's in working order. It's okay. Twenty minutes work, tops. I'm not being a martyr.' He glanced down at his overalls and he smiled, with unmistakable
all-boy satisfaction. ‘I haven't looked this greasy since I was Scott's age. It feels great.'

‘You are great,' she said as he reached up and took her by the waist and lifted her down to join him. He should let her go. He didn't.

‘So are you.'

Uh-oh.

Keep it light, she told herself.
Keep it light.
‘If our office staff could see us now they'd have kittens,' she managed.

‘Or a cameraman.'

The paparazzi. That was an appalling thought. She could see the headlines now:
McMaster Trapped with Secretary in Rural Hideway
… What would the unknown Elinor say if she saw such a headline?

‘Does Elinor know you're stuck with me?' He was still holding her. She should step away—but she didn't.

‘Yes,' he said.

‘She doesn't mind?'

‘She's upset for me. She knows I want to be home.'

For some reason that hurt, but she made herself respond. ‘That's generous of Elinor.'

‘She's a generous woman.'

What to say to that? And he was still holding her.

‘I…I need to go to bed,' she managed and she tugged a little but still he didn't release her.

‘Bed?'

‘In case you hadn't noticed, it's nine, which is the witching hour when milking starts at five.'

‘So you don't look forward to your morning milk?' he teased.

He was so close… She was having trouble making her voice work but she had to try. ‘Getting up at five… Ugh,' she said. ‘But while I'm here it's normal. For lots of people it's
normal. You get up at five to check on your trade indices all the time. You don't mind.'

‘So what do you want to do at five?'

‘Sleep!'

He smiled, then put his head on one side, considering. ‘So why stay on here? You're putting your life on hold for your little brother.'

‘I haven't noticed much life-holding.'

‘Where's the social life? When you work with me I demand twenty-four seven commitment. Then you come here and it seems the same. Milking from five to nine and milking from three to seven. Where's time for Meg in that?'

He sounded concerned, and that disconcerted her. He'd never sounded concerned. Their relationship was businesslike.

It had to stay that way.

‘I have wild lunches,' she told him.

‘Right.' He was watching her in a way that disturbed her. As if he was trying to figure her out.

‘So…boyfriend?' he asked and she winced. Ouch. That'd do as far as personal questions went. He set his boundaries. She'd set hers.

‘That's not your territory, Mr McMaster.' She tugged back and this time he did let her go. She made to turn away but his next question stopped her.

‘Do you like working for me?'

That was an easy one. ‘I love it.'

‘Why?'

She hesitated. He was watching her in the fading light, and she knew her answer meant something to him.

‘It's smart work,' she said slowly. ‘I never know what my day's going to hold. I need to use my brain, and I love it that you treat me like I can.'

‘Like you can what?'

‘Rise to any challenge.' She managed a smile at that. ‘Except get you home for Christmas.'

He didn't smile back. Silence. The sun had sunk well over the horizon and the light was disappearing fast. The night was warm and still. Millicent was right beside them by the fence, oozing the contentment of a soon-to-be mum who had everything she wanted in life.

Except she didn't have her bull, Meg thought, and then thought what was she thinking?
Her bull?

‘Bed,' she said.

‘Sounds good,' he said and she blushed and stepped away so fast she tripped on her own feet. He put out a hand to catch her but she staggered and grabbed the fence and maintained her distance.

‘Is there anything else you need?' she asked, stammering.

‘I don't believe so.' He was laughing, she thought—not obviously, but there was laughter behind his eyes. ‘So do we have a date with a hundred cows at five in the morning?'

‘I can't believe you offered to milk.'

‘It will be my pleasure.'

‘In lieu of the world's trade indices.'

‘In lieu of trade indices.' He hesitated. ‘I really don't mind getting up early,' he told her. ‘If you need to sleep… I wish I could milk them for you.'

He was serious.

‘Yeah, well, I do have some affection for the cows,' she managed. ‘Though it's a wonderful offer…' She took a deep breath. ‘As was buying Scott the car. I'd like to pay.'

‘Get off your high horse, Jardine.'

‘It's not my high horse, it's my dignity,' she said with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘By which I take it that you won't let me. In which case I'm very, very grateful. So thank you, Mr McMaster, and goodnight.'

‘William,' he said, and it was a snap.

‘William, then,' she said and met his gaze for as long as she dared—which wasn't very long at all.

‘Sleep well,' he said and, before she knew what he was about, he reached out and touched her face. It was a feather touch, a fleeting brush of his finger against her cheek, but he might as well have kissed her. She raised her hand to her cheek as if he'd applied heat. Maybe he had.

‘Sleep…sleep well yourself,' she whispered.

‘I'll see what I can do,' he said. ‘And Meg?'

‘Yes?'

‘Thank you for rising to my challenges. I appreciate it.'

He was still so close. She desperately wanted him to touch her again. She stood and stared up at him, but there was nothing to say.

She desperately wanted him to kiss her.

And where would businesslike be after that?

‘Good…goodnight,' she managed, and then she turned and left him standing in the darkness leaning against a pregnant cow.

She knew that he watched her all the way back to the house.

 

He should move. He still had to get the carburettor in and he did have to get up at the same time as she did. Instead, he watched Meg's retreating figure and when she disappeared he stood and stared at the darkened house, lit only by its ridiculous decorations. Santa's legs were lurching at an even more alarming rate.

That was the morning's job, he decided. He'd do it after milking. Then he'd replace Letty's exhaust pipe. Then he'd help Scott with the Mini. He was looking forward to each of them.

So much for feeling trapped.

This was a weird sensation. The McMaster family business, a vast mining conglomerate, had been founded by his grandfather. William's father hadn't wanted to go near the business. His grandfather, however, had found his retiring grandson to be intelligent and biddable, and he'd thrown William in at the deep end.

That had been okay by William. He enjoyed the cut and thrust of the business world and in a way it made up for the lack of affection in his family. His grandfather had approved of him when he was doing well for the company, and on his grandfather's death he'd simply kept on with what he was good at. That was what the world expected. It was what he expected of himself.

But here… He'd forgotten how much he loved pulling a car apart. He'd loved his time with Scott.

As he'd love returning to Manhattan, he reminded himself.

When he finally arrived at Elinor's apartment, his reception would be just as crazy as Meg's had been. Or maybe not quite, he conceded. Ned was six years old and his little sister was four. They could bounce but they didn't quite equate to a five-dog pack, a grandma and a brother. And Elinor… Her smile would be as warm as it was possible for a smile to be, but Elinor was a sixty-two-year-old foster mother and she welcomed the world.

Like Letty.

Like Meg, too.

No. Don't think about Meg, he told himself. It's making you crazy. Meg was his PA. He was leaving in two days and he did not want to mess with their employer/employee relationship.

The problem was, though, that he was no longer able to think of her purely as his employee.

He'd called her Meg.

Don't think about her, he told himself again sharply as he headed for the shed. Think about people he could justifiably be attached to.

Like Elinor. Elinor expected nothing, which was just the way he liked it.

He'd been introduced to Elinor two years back, at the launch of New York's Foster-Friends programme. The programme was designed to give support to those who put their lives on hold for kids in need. He'd been approached to be a sponsor, he'd met Elinor at the launch and he'd been sucked right in by her commitment. Elinor was everything he wasn't—warm, devoted and passionate about Pip and Ned, the two kids in her care.

Tentatively, he'd suggested helping a little himself. Part-time commitment. Walking away when he needed to. It sounded…feasible. ‘I'm not often available' he'd said and Elinor had beamed as if he were promising the world.

‘Anything's better than what these two have been getting up to now,' she'd said simply. ‘It breaks my heart their Mama won't put them up for adoption and they so need a Papa. You come when you can and you leave the rest to me.'

The thought of letting them down at Christmas had made him feel ill, but Elinor's big-hearted wisdom had come straight back at him.

‘I have a turkey. We have candy and paper lanterns and a tree. We're going out today to see the fancy shop windows and then the kids are visiting Santa. You get home when you can and we'll love to see you, but don't you worry about us, Mr McMaster. We'll do fine.'