Ross's Girl Read online

  got a lot to learn in that line—besides, it's not manager's work. Said I'll think about it, but I guess I'll accept. Being a station clerk is better than nothing, and I guess it will ease things for the staff too. That's the way Ross would have seen it.'

  Vicky's small hands clenched by her side. How could Ross have treated her father like that? Why, it was like kicking a man when he was down! She thought of the station grapevine, and how soon the news would be broadcast from station to station. So much for friendship! she thought grimly. Surely it would be better if her father did retire. To stay on would only bring scorn and jeering fingers pointed at him Station clerk indeed! `Tell him to get lost!' she snapped furiously, and added indignantly, 'And to think I nearly married him! I was right to break it off. All he wanted was the station. He couldn't care less about us!' she fumed, and looked towards her father. 'Isn't there anything left?' she asked pleadingly. 'I mean, just enough for us to get out and live somewhere else? I could get some kind of a job in a riding stables somewhere—say, Sydney?' she suggested hopefully.

  Her father shook his head. 'I wouldn't get anything at my age, girl. There's not much work around anywhere these days, and you couldn't support the pair of us. No, I'll take my medicine. If it hadn't been for Ross we'd be out on the street now.' He straightened his shoulders and patted Vicky's hand that she had placed on his arm as she made her entreaty. 'It's going to be all right.

  Nothing will get out about the other business, that's between Ross and me. All the rest need to know is that I've decided to hand over the reins to Ross a little earlier than anticipated.'

  Vicky nodded her head dumbly and went back into the kitchen to finish off the washing-up of their dinner things, a task she had put aside as soon as Ross had come, hoping to be included in the coming discussion.

  When everything was stacked away, she slipped through to the hall and putting on her old thick cardigan, because the evenings were inclined to be chilly, she let herself out of the homestead. She knew her father would prefer to be alone to think things out, and come to terms with his altered status.

  In a sense it was what she had to do too. It had never occurred to her that Ross might take advantage of her father's foolishness, for that was what she thought he had done. She didn't know how much he had paid for the station, but presumed it was more than the going price. Her smooth forehead creased. Was that why he had been, to her way of thinking, so hard on her father? She shook her head in silent disagreement with this theory. Ross was not like that, and it wasn't as if it had stripped him bare; he was an exceedingly wealthy man, and she couldn't see anyone getting the better of him in any financial transaction. He wasn't a man to haggle. It would be a case of 'take it or leave it' and under the circumstances, that precious pair of confidence tricksters would be only too

  pleased to grab what they could and move on in double quick time—Ross would see to that.

  As she walked towards the paddocks, she heard the low bleating of the sheep in the pens waiting for the shearers the following morning. Her glance wandered on and over to the long hut, where she could faintly hear the murmurs of the men, who gathered there in the evenings, for a game of cards or just chat. They would have plenty to talk about tomorrow, she thought sourly, as she walked on.

  The moon cast a sombre light on the property, showing gigantic shadows in the distance from the stately pines to the south of the station. Vicky drew in an inward breath. She felt incredibly sad, and it was nothing to do with her father's lapse from grace, but with the way Ross had handled the whole thing. Even though she was furious with him, she couldn't help feeling terribly let down. Ross was family, and though she wasn't going to marry him, he was still the one she would always look to for help in any awkward situation—or had been, she reminded herself sadly.

  Now things were different. Ross was the station boss now. Things would be different all round. He didn't believe in half-measures. He had often said that the homestead needed modernising, and no doubt he would see to that too, she thought angrily, although it had been good enough for her and her father and suited their way of life. Whatever he wanted to do, he would do, and neither she nor her father would have a say in the matter.

  She rested her elbows on the fence railing and

  stared ahead of her. Somewhere there ought to be a sign stating that the station was under new management. Not that anyone would be under any delusions from that score. It was all very well her father thinking that everything would be hushed up, but he had forgotten that bad news travels fast, and there's always someone who knows something. His frequent visits into town, for instance, must have caused some speculation—his complete loss of interest in the station itself, even more.

  She sighed. What it all amounted to was that she and her father were nothing more than hired help. Her brows went up at the thought. What exactly was she being paid for?—housekeeping? They owned nothing, so they would have to earn their keep. Her father had got his job lined up, but what about her? Her lips clamped together tightly. It was true that she did all that needed to be done about the homestead; perhaps she wasn't as efficient as Mrs George, Ross's housekeeper, but she did what was necessary, she told herself sternly, but a guilty conscience reminded her that she ought to have turned out the spare bedrooms long before now. Everything was tidy, but the rooms did need airing, a state of affairs the capable Mrs George would never have allowed to exist.

  Her chin jutted out in a defiant gesture. If Ross dared to interfere with her way of doing things, then she would soon show him! Another sigh escaped her. What was the point? It wouldn't get her anywhere. The place was his now. She stared unseeingly at the shadowed landscape before her.

  Just wait until she saw him! She would tell him exactly what she thought of him! Her father might feel obliged to stay on, but there was nothing to stop her leaving.

  It wasn't, she argued silently to herself, as she made her way back to the homestead, as if she would be letting her father down. It wasn't as if he needed her support—in fact it might be better if she was off the scene for a while until things settled down again. She wouldn't go too far away, she thought; Albury would do nicely, and she could slip home for the occasional weekend.

  Her thoughts raced on as she let herself into the homestead. Aunt May would put her up until she got something. She frowned as she took her cardigan off and hung it on the coat rack near the door. Her father wouldn't like that arrangement at all, but he'd prefer her to be there rather than with complete strangers, and now that Aunt May was safely married and no longer a threat to his peace of mind, Vicky could see no reason for his refusal, although he still wouldn't like it.

  `Aunt May' was a courtesy title bestowed on Vicky's mother's best friend, a friendship that had lasted through their schooldays. Angela had married, but May had remained a spinster until a year ago, having finally given up all hope of becoming Gordon Dale's second wife, for the two girls had fallen in love with the same man, but Gordon had soon scotched any hope of May's in that direction by his determined courtship of Angela.

  After Vicky's mother's death, Aunt May had offered to come and housekeep for them, a not altogether altruistic offer, though it meant her giving up her small curio shop that catered mainly for tourists. The offer had been politely but firmly turned down, self-preservation coming to the fore where Gordon Dale was concerned.

  Vicky had attended May's wedding a year ago, and had been pleased to find that the man she had chosen was a kindly man, and not someone on the lookout for a handsomely endowed middle-aged spinster, for Roy Marks was an accountant and a fairly successful one, handling the accounts of several prosperous wool men and in no need of handouts from his new wife.

  Up until her marriage Aunt May had lived above the shop in a flat that was small but adequate for her needs, and it was this flat that Vicky hoped to be able to make her new home. Aunt May, now Mrs Marks, moved out to her husband's home, a large establishment on the edge of town, and in keeping with her husband's prosperou
s vocation.

  Vicky knew that the flat was now being used as a storage area. Aunt May had told her that she had never known where to put her stock before, but now that the flat was empty she would have ample space for storage, and had gone on to say how happy she was that Mr Marks had put up no objection to her keeping on her little business.

  Full of her plans for the future, Vicky went in search of her father to tell him of her decision to move out, and steeling herself to the opposition

  that was bound to come, but told herself that once he had slept on it, he would see the sense of her argument.

  She eventually tracked him down in his study, lost in a welter of figure work, and her hopes rose as she surmised that he was trying to salvage something from what had been their property, enough perhaps for them both to leave?

  At this point he looked up suddenly and saw her standing there. 'I could do with a sandwich,' he said, almost absentmindedly, before he settled back to his task.

  Vicky smiled as she went back to the kitchen to fix him something. That was more like her father! He was a great one for his food—or had been, before he was led up the garden path by a couple of crooks.

  As she cut the sandwiches and prepared a pot of coffee for him, she knew she would have to leave her news until the morning, and who knows, she thought cheerfully, if her father did come up with something he would have a few ideas of his own. Whatever they were, Vicky would go along with them, just as long as they could leave and not be beholden to Ross, who thought more of property than friendship.

  To Vicky's intense disappointment, the following morning did not bring fruition of her cherished hopes of something being salvaged. Her father was very quiet during breakfast, not that he ever said a lot, but he only spoke when necessary, refusing a second helping of toast, and a third cup of coffee,

  a very bad sign to Vicky, who had hoped for better things. 'I guess Ross will be around soon,' he said heavily, as he got up from the table. 'I'd better see that Cooky's got enough rations in, the shearers started this morning.'

  `Oh, Jake will have seen to that,' Vicky said easily, and at the wince this statement produced from her father wished she had thought before speaking, and began hastily to clear the table.

  `Oh, sure, Jake's pretty competent,' her father replied, with a trace of bitterness in his voice as he left the dining area.

  Damn! thought Vicky. That wasn't very tactful, and it really wasn't like her father to take things that way. He would have been the first to admit that Jake was a first-class foreman who did more than his fair share of work, more so since her father's distraction from work.

  That settled it! Vicky thought grimly, as she almost threw the crockery into the washing up bowl. She would have to have things out with Ross. Her father was too proud to stand up for himself, and had meekly accepted the post Ross had offered him, and that in itself had been an insult. Clerical work! she fumed. A job for a retired man, who was well past the hard physical work of a station. Not that her father did any physical work now, but he did run the station, and surely he ought to have been offered the manager's job?

  She took her frustration out on the job in hand, and the water splashed in all directions, but she was too incensed to feel the growing wet patch on

  the front of her cotton blouse that made it cling to her slim figure, outlining her small high breasts. Just wait until she saw Mr Ross Janson!

  `Washing up or taking a bath?' queried an amused voice behind her, the voice of the very man she had wanted to see.

  `What does it look like?' she demanded furiously, as she whirled round to face Ross. 'Where's Father?' she asked coldly. What she wanted to say to Ross was not for her father's ears.

  His brows rose at her tone. 'Supervising the shearing at the moment,' he replied. 'Why?'

  `Because I wanted to have things out with you,' Vicky said furiously, and added bitterly, 'I suppose he can manage that.'

  Ross's blue eyes narrowed. 'Got in a right paddy, haven't you?' he said softly. 'I should leave that part of the business in the hands of the men. Gordon's not complaining,' he added complacently.

  Vicky's furious eyes threw out sparks at this calm statement. 'How the devil could he complain?' she asked angrily. 'He was only too grateful to you for coming to his rescue. He had no choice but to accept what you offered him. I would have thought that he rated a bit higher than a desk clerk, though,' she spat out at him.

  Ross's calm gaze rested for a moment on her flushed face and her small clenched hands from which the water dripped on to the kitchen floor, and he casually threw her a tea-towel. 'Get dried up,' he commented, and staring at her drenched

  blouse added, 'and change out of that wet blouse.'

  Vicky's lips clenched together at this authoritative habit of his of ordering her around. 'It'll dry,' she said crossly, and jerked the clinging blouse away from her skin, but only succeeded in sending the small pearl button fastenings scattering and leaving her hastily clutching the ends of the blouse to preserve her dignity. 'Now look what you've done?' she exclaimed furiously. 'And don't change the subject. Why couldn't you have offered Dad the manager's job?' she demanded.

  Ross's eyes were still on the blouse, but he recollected himself in time to reply haughtily, 'I had my reasons, which I may or may not tell you. I'll think about it,' he added infuriatingly, and gave a curt nod towards her state of undress. 'Do something about that first. If your father comes in now, we'll have to get married,' he stated with a wide grin that revealed his strong white teeth.

  `Very funny!' Vicky snapped back at him, but she was hurt by his amusement. She knew her father would take no such attitude, to the pair of them she was still a little girl. Her wish that she had nothing to offer but herself had come true, she thought ruefully, but she had forgotten that a girl with no money did need a certain amount of good looks, and she ought to have wished for beauty to cushion the blow. Because she was hurt, she took refuge in sarcasm. 'Even Dad's not that dumb,' she said pithily. 'Romance isn't exactly your scene, is it?'

  Ross's eyes narrowed to a slit, and Vicky felt, a

  spurt of gratification at having got through that calm exterior of his. 'I'll admit that I'm no ladies' man,' he said abruptly, 'but if that's what you want maybe I can oblige,' and without warning pulled the unsuspecting Vicky into his arms and kissed her hard.

  She was still recovering from the shock when she felt his hand slip under her blouse and start to caress her. Sheer fury lent her the power to twist herself out of his arms, and she glared at him while she fought for composure, her bright cheeks and heaving chest showing her utter indignation. 'Don't you ever touch me like that again!' she managed to splutter out furiously. 'You've bought the station, but you haven't bought me. Go and find someone else to practise on—there are plenty who'll be only too happy to oblige you!' There were tears in her eyes as she said this, and not wanting to let him see how upset she was, she swung away from him and turned towards the door, but the next minute found herself back in his arms again and being treated to what she could only describe as a bear-hug.

  She froze when she heard her father's voice behind her, and his somewhat embarrassed, 'It'll keep,' as he made a hasty exit again.

  As soon as they were alone again Ross released her, and seemed to have recovered his good humour as he drawled, 'I told you to do something about that blouse, didn't I? I want a leisurely walk down the aisle, not a shotgun gallop!'

  `I'm not walking down any aisle,' Vicky

  managed to get out, 'and most certainly not with you!' she exclaimed, furiously tugging the two halves of her blouse together.

  `Of course you are,' Ross said complacently. 'All we need is a bit of courting practice. I must say I liked our preliminary skirmish—come here,' he commanded loftily.

  Vicky found the door with the instinct of a homing pigeon and raced for her room, slamming the door behind her. Although out of sight and earshot of Ross, she knew he was laughing, and again she experienced that odd sense of hurt
, but that was at the back of her mind, overridden now, by a sense of shock.

  Ross, of all people, she thought shakily. She was not ignorant of the wiles of men, but Ross would have been the last man she would have accredited such behaviour to. Did he no longer respect her? Was this the result of her altered status? She recalled the way he had made fun of her, using her disarrayed appearance as an excuse to manhandle her. So she had annoyed him by her cutting re-

  · marks on the lack of romance between them, but she hadn't asked for that.

  She walked to the window and stood gazing out. As for his blithe statement that of course she would marry him—her brow darkened. If that was the type of courtship that he had in mind then no doubt she would marry him. Shame alone would make her take that trip down the aisle! Only the man you intended to marry should ever be that intimate, she thought, with a blush of recollection

  at his light yet searching touch. And he hadn't even apologised! she thought indignantly.

  `Vicky!' her father's voice drifted up to her, cutting off her musings, and Vicky hastily searched out a T-shirt and changed out of her blouse, thinking as she threw it on the bed that it ought to have scorch marks on the front, and was vaguely surprised to find that it was still damp, considering her treatment at a certain person's hands!

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN Vicky got downstairs, she was relieved to find only her father there. She wasn't sure how she would have faced Ross. His abrupt change from his brother like attitude towards her to one of determined courtship was going to take some getting used to, and Vicky needed time for adjustment.