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Falling For Jack

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Год написания книги
2018
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Jack thought of all the places he’d like to tell her to go. His manners won the day, but only just.

‘What for?’

Bryony stared at her boots for a long moment—and then tilted her chin and looked at him, face to face.

Bryony Lester did have courage.

‘To apologise.’

Silence.

From all around, there were yells and whoops as the local kids launched themselves at sheep. The sounds suggested the sheep were winning, no sweat. But the man and woman stood staring at each other. In silence.

It went on and on.

In another situation this pair could have been classed as a lovely couple. Bryony was five feet eight or so. Jack was about six inches taller and a few years older. Jack looked mid-thirties. In fact, Jack was thirty-four to Bryony’s twenty-eight. But... Maybe they looked too much as if they came from different backgrounds to be classed as a couple.

Jack was wind-burned, lithe and muscular, and looked as if he was straight off the land. His cropped black curls held a layer of dust from the showground under his broad-brimmed hat, and his moleskins and open-neck shirt looked as if they’d seen years of hard work. The crinkling of his deep-set eyes, as if they were permanently shielded against a too harsh sun, augmented the impression of a man who worked the land for a living.

In contrast, Bryony looked pretty and flustered, and as if she’d never seen a sheep or a farm in her life.

‘If you want to apologise, you might try me,’ Jack said at last.

‘Pardon?’ Jack’s voice was cutting right through to her now. Bryony didn’t need Jessica to tell her that Jack’s tone was dangerous. If there’d been a shearing shed handy, she’d have crawled under it herself.

‘You might try apologising to me.’ Jack’s strongly boned jaw clamped into a long line of disapproval. ‘That mutt—’

‘He’s not a mutt. He’s a schnauzer!’

‘What kind of dog is that?’

Bryony’s green eyes flashed. Nobody criticised her Harry. ‘He’s a great dog. Schnauzers are bred in Germany as guard dogs.’

‘Then why didn’t you leave him in Germany?’

Bryony flushed some more. She ran a hand through her flaming hair, tumbling the curls back from her face. And tried again.

‘Look, I did apologise to you, but I’ll say it again. I’m really sorry. Mr...?’

She stopped and waited, expectant

‘Morgan,’ Jack said grudgingly. ‘Jack Morgan.’

‘And I’m Bryony Lester.’ Bryony held out a slim hand and smiled up at him—a smile that in days past might have knocked the stuffing right out of Jack. It was an absolutely stunning smile.

But, for Jack Morgan, women’s smiles were a thing of the past.

‘Yeah, right.’ He looked down at Bryony’s hand, and chose to ignore it. ‘Get your dog back,’ he said flatly.

Bryony’s smile faded, and her hand dropped. She stared up at the man before her and saw nothing but anger in his face.

Which was a shame. The creases around the man’s eyes looked as if they should be laughter lines. His face was open and honest. A man like this—a man as good-looking as he was and with a dog like his—ought to be smiling for the sheer pleasure of being alive.

Especially here, Bryony thought. The showgrounds were set in the lee of the Garriwerd mountain range. Bryony had been told this was the best grazing country in all of Southern Australia, and she could believe it. Rich, undulating pastures were dotted with vast river red gums. It was spring and the sun had enough warmth to soothe and caress. The showgrounds were set by a river that was as broad as it was beautiful.

All in all, it was a setting and a season to make you glad to be alive. Unless you were this man.

This man wasn’t going to smile. No way.

‘I don’t know whether I can get Harry back,’ Bryony confessed doubtfully. ‘I think he’s fallen for your dog—and he’s not very obedient.’

‘I can see that.’

‘Can you make your dog come? Harry might come with her.’

It was a forlorn hope. There were so many fantastic smells in this place. Hot dogs. Doughnuts. Cow dung...

Jack didn’t answer. Instead he put a finger to each side of his mouth and whisded—and Bryony jumped about a foot. Jack’s whistle could have woken the dead two states away. And ten seconds later Jessica slunk through the legs of the crowd and sidled apologetically back to her master.

Bryony was just plain astounded. With the smells of hot dogs, cows and all, Jessie had come back. No matter how Bryony whistled, Harry never came for her.

Then she stared down in concern as the black and white collie pressed herself close to Jack’s leg. The collie clearly knew that she’d messed things up. Her tail was tucked between her legs, her ears were flattened and her huge brown eyes looked beseechingly up at Jack in abject apology.

And Bryony knew exactly what her disreputable Harry had seen in her.

‘Oh, you darling...’ Bryony gave a delighted chuckle and sank down onto the dust—white leggings and all. ‘You’re gorgeous. Don’t look like that. It wasn’t your fault. Your Jack’s not going to blame you. Not when it was Harry’s fault...’

‘Don’t touch my dog.’

Jack’s voice was a growl and Bryony looked up in amazement

‘Why on earth not?’

‘She’s been taught not to let strangers touch her.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. She knows I won’t hurt her.’ And Bryony put her arms around Jess and gave her a hug.

The dog’s ears lifted. Jessica stopped looking up at Jack, and her tail gave a tiny, questioning wag. And then a stronger one. This was okay, her tail said. Jessie nuzzled into Bryony’s cream sweater, decided she liked the sensation very much, and gave Bryony a long, loving kiss from neck to eyebrows.

So much for Jack’s training that she should growl and withdraw if anyone but family touched her. Jack stared down in stunned amazement. And, to his horror, he felt a totally stupid surge of something that felt very like jealousy.

Jealousy for a dog? He caught himself sharply and tried once more.

‘Will you leave my dog alone?’

Bryony chuckled again—a soft, melodic sound that rang out over the trial ground as a sound of happiness. Irrationally, it set Jack’s teeth on edge. Luckily, this time Bryony obeyed his command. She rose and brushed the dust from her leggings. They were some leggings. Bryony’s legs seemed to go on for ever, and her clinging pants left little to the imagination. She had curves just where a woman ought to have curves...

Cut it out, Jack! Jack caught himself staring, and hauled himself back to anger with an almost visible effort.
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