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192 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 1966
There was no one — just Lou. But no, there was someone after all, she realized, as she heard the murmur of voices and the pulling of levers' in the pinky-buff signal box at the end of the platform. She had almost reached it when someone suddenly emerged, shrugged wide shoulders deeper into a black leather jacket, crammed the inevitable broad-brimmed hat on to crisp black hair with an air of finality, and after the merest fraction of a pause, during which she was conscious of a critical grey scrutiny, strode purposefully past her toward the waiting limousine. Somehow she felt winded, as if they had virtually collided, as if she'd received a buffeting from an actual physical force. I should have eaten my sandwiches, she told herself, not just munched an apple. I'm tired and a bit hungry, and that's why I feel so hollow. It's got nothing to do with that outback man, and he's got nothing to do with me. For there was no doubt in her mind that this was an outback man — those long impatient legs encased in narrow whitish cord, the elasticsided boots immaculately shining, the shirt opened to reveal a thick, tanned column of sunburnt neck, the backward tilt of the wide hat, all added up to an outback man. Not a grazier, not a squatter, not a pastoralist. They weren't, they couldn't be, as elemental and overwhelming as that outback man.
"Oh, no!" groaned Lou aloud. "Oh, no! It can't be — not him, not the outback man." But even as she tried vainly to calm her reeling senses, to collect her scattered wits to meet the onslaught that was to come, she knew that it could be, and it was. He'd been folding his length casually in behind the steering-wheel when the other man called. But he didn't get out again casually. Oh, no, he didn't! He got out angrily, and anger sounded too in every thud of every step as it rang over the rutted ground and back round the paling. Then he was standing over Lou, legs' apart, jacket open, hands thrust into a plaited leather belt slung over narrow hips.
"Is this some sort of joke?" was what the outback man said, except Lou knew by his acid tone that he didn't think it was funny at all. She drew herself up to her full five feet three inches in a vain effort to measure up to his commanding height as he towered above her, decided to ignore the sarcasm, if such it was, and asked in what she felt to be a commendably polite manner: "Could you possibly be Mr. Stephen Bryant, of Ridley Hills?"
"I'm Steve Bryant, yes" — he brushed that impatiently aside — "but are you Miss Stacey?"
"Yes, Louise Stacey." There was a pause, during which he appeared to be controlling a spasm of some indefinable, jaw-setting emotion.
Then, "Well, Miss Stacey, if it's not a joke, may I ask how you came to apply for a post which specifically requested a woman? I distinctly said 'Capable Woman!'"
"Well, I am a woman, and I'm here," reasoned Lou. Her voice was firm, although inside she felt as quivery as a melting jelly, and it wasn't through lack of breakfast. She raised her eyes to meet the cool grey ones of her adversary, determined hers wouldn't be the first to waver, that she would successfully hide from his piercing ones the glimmer of consternation in her own.
She couldn't know, in that moment, as she looked up at him with unconscious appeal in her violet gaze, with shadows' of weariness beneath, and the soft hair framing cheeks whose pallor had been whipped to faint pinkness by the crisp air of an inland winter's morning, that she looked no more than sixteen to the outback man. Yes, a fragile, slim-legged, innocent sixteen-year-old, he decided, as he rammed tobacco into the blackened bowl of his pipe with a blunt-tipped brown forefinger, and clenched it between his teeth unlit.
"Miss Stacey, you'll have to go back. You can't stay here, and I'm not taking you out to Ridley Hills."
Really, the man was impossible! First he advertised for someone to come immediately, and then, when they did, he tried to send them back. Lou's patience evaporated. With courage born of desperation and an almost empty purse, and a stubborn streak inherited perhaps from her Irish grandfather, she bit out, "Mr. Bryant, I have no intention of being fobbed off like this. You advertised, I replied, and your solicitors found me suitable even though you apparently do not."
Lou swallowed on a constriction of acute dismay. She'd never cooked in her life. ...... Lou's brain gave a lurch, and then ceased working altogether for a split second as a most unwelcome thought now occurred to her. How could she stay — just herself and this man alone in a bush homestead? And he'd known all the time. He'd actually compromised her by bringing her here at all. Why, the brute! The scheming, low-down, deceiving brute!
Lou's eyes suddenly smouldered with rage, her cheeks were flushed with righteous indignation, her mind, seething with fury, completely lost control of the things it had meant to make her tongue say, as she turned to him and spluttered recklessly, "Of course I can cook! What woman can't cook? I'm a capable adult, not an inane schoolgirl, whatever you may think. And as a woman, I have positively no desire or intention of taking a position in a bachelor establishment at the back of beyond. I wish to go to the station immediately. Turn this car round, please, and drive me back to Nundooya straight away."