A Parisian Proposition

‘It’s so beautiful here,’ Camille said yet again.

Jonno scowled and strode faster, so that she had to almost run to keep up. At the barn, he pulled three bales free from the haystack. ‘Can you carry one of these?’

‘Sure.’ She held out willing arms to take it. ‘So what happens now?’

‘We spread this in the yard so the calves will have something to eat when they get here. They won’t have been fed at the sale yards and, as they’re coming off their mothers’ milk, we don’t want them to lose too much condition.’

As they broke up the bales and laid the hay around the stockyard’s fence line, she asked, ‘Why don’t we spread it all over the pen?’

‘It’s a waste of time putting hay in the middle—the cattle will only trample it into the mud.’

‘That makes sense,’ she said, standing with her hands on her hips and admiring their handiwork.

Jonno frowned. ‘It’s only a stock yard, Camille. Not a work of art.’

Things went from bad to worse when she insisted on cooking their dinner.

‘I’m handy in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘And you must be sick of having to cook for yourself.’

‘Actually, I cook a mean steak,’ he muttered. ‘And I have a cleaning woman who makes a big casserole each week. That lasts me for several days.’

‘But you’d like a change, wouldn’t you?’ she insisted. ‘And there’s something about being out in the country with animals and hay and gum trees and sunsets that brings out my domesticated instincts.’

He must have looked thoroughly alarmed because she rushed to add, ‘Don’t worry, Jonno. I only get very occasional doses of domestication. I’m not dangerous. I don’t step up to a stove and immediately have visions of a slim gold band and a trip to the altar. Cooking is as far as I go.’

‘Glad to know I’m safe,’ he said with a wry grin. If only he could be as casual about this as she was. But somehow, letting Camille Devereaux into his kitchen felt more dangerous than entering a bull ride at a rodeo.

Rummaging around in Jonno’s kitchen and concocting a meal from what she found was fun. Thinly sliced beef, onions, capsicum, carrot and celery combined with a sweet chilli sauce quickly became a tasty Asian-style stir-fry, but when they sat down to eat at the round pine table, Camille’s sense of fun turned edgy.

What was she doing here, alone and sharing an unnatural cosiness with this puzzling, gorgeous man? She’d spent the best part of the day at war with him and yet here they were—just the two of them in his whopping great empty homestead, with a meal to share and a long night ahead.

With Jonno’s self-conscious glances and her screaming hormones!

They ate in conspicuous, restless silence. Camille would have liked to interview Jonno but suddenly the usual getting-to-know-you type questions made the meal feel too much like a date. Heaven forbid. Jonno was so touchy about husband-hunting women. Any sign that she was attracted to him and he would have her out on her ear and she’d miss out on her story.

And even if he wasn’t so hostile, what the heck was the point of being attracted to Jonno Rivers anyhow? They belonged in different worlds.

But she’d never felt so much chemistry. The kitchen was sizzling with it. And a dark, secretive fire burned in Jonno’s eyes whenever he looked at her. She’d never been so tongue-tied, so out of her depth…

It was a relief when his chair scraped on the timber floor and he jumped to his feet. ‘I can hear the cattle truck bringing your steers.’

He crossed quickly to the row of hooks near the back door where his heavy outdoor coat was hanging. ‘You don’t have to come outside now. It’s cold and you won’t be able to see much in the dark.’