A fairy tale.
So get real, she told herself and kicked up a spray of water so high she soaked the front of her dress. This guy is a billionaire from Manhattan-my ex-boss. I’m unemployed, with a hundred dairy cows, a little brother and a grandma who needs me and will need me for years.
She kicked the water again and glanced sideways at William.
He wasn’t looking at her. He was striding along the beach as if he was there to walk off his too-big breakfast and that was that.
And why shouldn’t it be that? The man hadn’t been to the gym for two days. He’d be suffering from withdrawal.
‘You go on by yourself,’ she called to him. ‘Burn some energy. I’m happy to stay here and kick water.’
He glanced at her and nodded, brisk, serious.
She turned to watch the windsurfers and he headed off along the beach. Alone.
He was being a bore.
He didn’t know what else to be.
There were a thousand emotions crowding into his head right now and he didn’t know what to do with any of them.
She was beautiful. There was a really big part of him that wanted to head into the shallows-with or without shoes-and tug her to him and hold.
How selfish would that be?
She wasn’t like any woman he’d dated. He’d selected her with care as his Australian PA and that was what she was qualified to be. She was smart, efficient, unflappable. Loyal, honest, discreet. Sassy, funny, emotional.
Trusting and beautiful.
He didn’t have a clue what to do with all these things. He moved in circles where women knew boundaries; indeed, they wanted them. He was an accessory, a guy with looks and money who was good for their image. No one had ever clung.
Meg wasn’t clinging. The opposite-she was walking away.
That was good. She knew the boundaries. She knew they’d overstepped them so she was protecting herself. She had the right.
And if he stepped over the boundaries after her, like walking into the water now and taking her hand, pretending they could just be a normal couple, boy and girl…
He didn’t do boy and girl. He had to leave; he knew no other way of living.
Do not depend on anyone.
He could depend on Meg.
No. She’d resigned. The thought hurt. He tried to drum up anger but it wasn’t there. All that was left was a sense of emptiness, as if he’d missed out on something other people had. How to change? If he tried… If he hurt her…
He walked faster, striding along the hard sand, trying to drive away demons. He stopped and looked back, and Meg was a red and white splash of colour in the shallows, far behind.
In a day or two she’d be further away. She’d get some sort of hick job and be stuck here, milking her cows. Taking care of Letty and Scott.
It was her choice.
He picked up a heap of seaweed and hurled it out into the shallows, as if it’d personally done him injury. That was what this felt like, but he couldn’t fault Meg. She was protecting herself, as he protected his own barriers.
She had the right.
He’d choose another PA and move on.
But first…he had to get Christmas over. Bring on Santa Claus, he thought grimly, followed by a plane out of here.
And then they’d all live happily ever after?
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS a subdued trio who returned home. Letty was stretched out on the back seat, dozing. The doctors had been inclined to keep her; she’d woken enough to be stubborn but she was sleeping now.
Meg sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. As if she was enduring something that had to be endured.
He’d made a few desultory attempts at conversation but had given up. So much for his smart, sassy PA. Now she was just…Meg. Someone he once knew?
Just concentrate on driving, he told himself. When he got back to the farm he’d move onto evening milking. The phone line was working again so after milking he could use the Internet; keep himself busy.
‘By the way, I’ve organised your satellite connection,’ he said and Meg cast him a glance that was almost scared.
‘You what?’
‘While you were dress shopping. It only took me minutes to buy what I needed, and the Internet place was open for business. It seems satellite dishes make great Christmas gifts. Even I couldn’t get them to erect it today, but first working day after Christmas it’ll be here.’
‘I can’t afford…’
‘It’s paid for. Three years in advance.’
‘No, thank you,’ she said in a tight, clipped voice. ‘Three dresses are enough.’
But… ‘Are you out of your mind?’ Letty was suddenly awake, piping up from the back seat in indignation. ‘Meg, what sort of gift horse are you looking in the mouth here? Scotty will love it. You know there’ll be times still when he’s stuck at home in pain. You can’t say no to that.’
‘Letty, I’m no longer working for Mr McMaster,’ Meg said. ‘So I can’t take expensive gifts.’
‘You’re not working for him?’
‘She’s resigned. Tell her she’s daft,’ William said.
‘No,’ Letty said, surprisingly strongly. ‘My Meg’s not daft. If she’s quit there’s a good and sensible reason. But a satellite connection…that’d be a gift to Scotty and me, not to Meg, wouldn’t it, Mr McMaster?’
‘William,’ he said and he almost snapped.
‘William,’ Letty said. ‘Scott’s friend. My friend. Meg, dear, William has more money than he knows what to do with, and he’s just given us a very fine Christmas gift in return for a bed for Christmas. And…’ She hesitated, but she was a wise old bird, was Letty. ‘And you don’t want anything in return, do you, Mr McMaster?’
‘William!’
‘William,’ Letty said obediently. ‘But you’re not buying Meg with this. She doesn’t owe you anything, right?’
‘Right,’ he said and glanced across at Meg. Her face was drawn, almost as if she was in pain.
He hated that look. He didn’t know what to do about it.
‘Then I accept on Scotty’s behalf,’ Letty said across his thoughts. ‘And your bed for Christmas is assured.’
When they’d left the farm it had been almost deserted. When they turned back into the driveway there were more than a dozen vehicles parked under the row of gums out front.
‘Uh-oh,’ Letty said, peering dubiously out of the window. ‘This looks like a funeral.’
‘If it hadn’t been for William, it would have been,’ Meg said, and once again William thought she sounded strained to breaking point. ‘If Scott’s done something else stupid…’
But it seemed he hadn’t. When they pulled up, women emerged from the house, men appeared from the yard, kids appeared from everywhere.
‘They called a working bee,’ Scott said, limping across to the car on his crutches and tugging open the back door to make sure for himself that his grandmother was in one piece. ‘They said you had enough on your plate, Meg. And they knew you’d left the hay till after Christmas, so they brought slashers and they’ve done three whole
