The Unconventional Bride

‘Er—’ she blinked rapidly and cleared her throat as she desperately tried to clear her mind, and she looked up at him bemusedly ‘—th-thank you. How’s it going?’

He studied her pink cheeks then glanced over her shoulder. ‘It’s out. But they’ll stay a while to keep an eye on it. What you need is a wash and a drink.’

He picked her up and carried her over to her ute. ‘Since we’re both dirty this time,’ he said to her with his lips quirking, ‘we’ll use yours.’ He set her on her feet.

Mel gasped as she realised that she’d transferred a considerable amount of her dirt to him. There were black streaks on his otherwise pristine white shirt and mud on his moleskins and shoes. ‘I’m so sorry!’

‘That’s OK,’ he said easily. ‘In you get.’

She climbed in and he drove them up to the house, commenting along the way that she needed to get her suspension and brakes checked.

‘What I need,’ she said ruefully, ‘is a whole new vehicle.’

‘There must be other vehicles—what about the cars your father and Margot drove?’ he queried.

She hesitated. ‘I had to sell them to pay some bills.’

‘You should have consulted me first, Mel.’

‘To be honest, it didn’t cross my mind,’ she replied, ‘but what could you have done? The bank manager explained to me that, whereas my father had a credit rating, I have none. Oh, he was very kind and concerned and he explained that, while he’d been quite sure Dad would have pulled Raspberry Hill through this reverse, I was a different matter.’ She tipped a hand and sighed.

‘I see,’ he said slowly.

‘Not that it’s any of your—’

‘Any of my business,’ he agreed sardonically. ‘Don’t you think you’ve worn that one a bit thin, Mel?’

She glanced across at him and for a moment it crossed her mind to tell him that to have someone like him to lean on during these awful times would be like the answer to prayers she’d yet to pray. But the realisation of this came rather like a blow to her solar plexus and she moved restlessly and sighed in relief when the house came in view. Because it offered the hope of refuge from all the conflicting, bewildering emotions—not to mention strange fantasies—she was subject to.

It was not to be. Mrs Bedwell received her with open arms and immediately began to shepherd her away to get cleaned up.

‘A brandy might be appropriate,’ Etienne murmured.

‘Good thinking, I’ll bring you one too,’ Mrs Bedwell said over her shoulder as Batman screamed out of the house and took a flying leap into Etienne’s arms. ‘Glory be, if nothing else you’ve made a hit with the damn dog!’ she added.

‘This is becoming a habit,’ Mel said as she rejoined Etienne half an hour later. They were on the veranda because, although he’d washed up and scraped the mud off his shoes, his clothes were still dirty.

‘Mmm,’ he agreed and poured her a brandy from the decanter on a silver tray Mrs Bedwell had provided along with a dish of nuts and olives.

Her hair was still wet and she wore her clean jeans and floral blouse. Her feet were bare and her expression was still somewhat dazed.

Etienne waited until she’d sipped some of the brandy before saying, ‘Mel, are there any other unpaid bills?’

‘A couple.’ She shrugged.

‘Why isn’t your accountant helping you to deal with them?’

She looked at him over the rim of her glass. ‘His bill is one of them.’

He paused for a beat, then, ‘I’d like to see them.’

Her gaze clashed with his and she squared her shoulders but he said with soft menace, ‘Don’t.’

‘What?’ she uttered crisply.

‘Tell me it’s none of my business.’

‘It isn’t,’ she insisted.

He looked around, through the French doors to the elegant sitting room that opened onto the front veranda with its beautiful Persian carpet, its antiques and graceful chairs. ‘She was my sister,’ he said, with the planes and angles of his face suddenly hard.

‘She may have been but I don’t want any charity.’ Mel fortified herself with another sip of brandy and raised her chin.

‘You infuriating…’ He drew a breath and forced himself to relax. What was it, he wondered at the same time, that attracted him to this often prickly, difficult girl? Other than the obvious, he thought drily, such as a gorgeous figure she seemed to be unaware of, long, shapely legs she persisted in covering up and a lovely face.

Just that, perhaps? Her lack of awareness of her physical attributes? Along with a good splash of cussed independence, of course, he added to himself, and moved restlessly.

‘Uh—I wasn’t talking about charity,’ he said. ‘There’s a way of dealing with creditors other than selling off the farm, speaking metaphorically. What you need to do is keep in touch, advise them of your difficulties, ask for extensions—and come up with a plan. That’s what I could do for you.’ He looked at her ironically.

Mel lowered her chin and her shoulders slumped. ‘All right. So long as—’

She didn’t finish because the look in his eyes told her it would be dangerous in the extreme to do so. ‘Thank you,’ she said instead with a slight tremor in her voice.

He sat back and finished his drink. ‘What are you doing tonight?’

Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Nothing. The usual, I mean. The boys will be home from school soon, so… Why?’

‘You don’t think it might be an idea to have a break from Raspberry Hill and all its problems?’

‘As in?’

‘As in dinner at a restaurant, nothing else,’ he said laconically.

‘Just you and I?’

‘Just you and I, Mel. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ she assured him hastily, ‘except that I might fall asleep. I—’ she put her head back, stretched her neck and moved her head round a couple of times, ‘—I guess I did more—’

‘More fire-fighting than you should have,’ he completed for her. ‘All right, we’ll take a rain check.’ He stood up. ‘But I’ll take the bills home with me.’

‘Well,’ she temporised, ‘I—’

‘Now, Mel.’

Despite her stiffness and feeling of exhaustion, she bounced up. ‘Do you have any idea how dictatorial you are, Etienne?’

‘Yes,’ he drawled. ‘It’s a good way to get things done. I’m not going home without them,’ he warned.