The Enemy's Daughter. Linda Turner

he looked like a big, lazy jungle cat lounging in the sun. She wasn’t, however, fooled by the deceptive pose. She knew better than most how fast the man could move when the situation called for it. With no effort whatsoever, she could still feel the strength of his arms as they’d closed around her when he’d swept her out from under Thunder’s hooves yesterday.

      Her heart lurching at the memory, she reached over and turned the air conditioner from low to high.

      Arching a brow at her, Steve grinned. “Hot?”

      A blush climbed high in her cheeks. She trained her eyes straight ahead. “It’s a little stuffy in here. The truck was sitting in the sun and hasn’t cooled off yet.”

      His grin broadening, he murmured, “I see.”

      Afraid he did see all too clearly, she pressed her lips together tightly. If he thought she was going to trade cryptic comments with him all the way to Roo Springs, he could think again.

      Silence didn’t bother her. She could drive the entire way without saying another word.

      It was a good plan, but she quickly discovered that Steve wasn’t the least perturbed by her lack of encouragement. Content to carry on the conversation by himself, he settled back in his seat with a contented sigh and said, “You know something? I think I’m going to like it here. It reminds me of Wisconsin.”

      She’d sworn she wasn’t going to respond, no matter what he said. And she wouldn’t have—if his statement hadn’t been so outrageous. Jerking her gaze from the road, she looked at him incredulously. “I’ll be the first to admit that my American geography isn’t the best, but isn’t Wisconsin up north? By Canada?”

      His dimples winking at her, he nodded sagely. “Yep. I grew up there.”

      “And Wisconsin looks like this?”

      When she glanced pointedly at the desert landscape that stretched as far as the eye could see, he had to laugh. “Not exactly. We’ve got a lot more trees and it’s a hell of a lot cooler. But we’ve also got cows. My parents own a dairy farm there, and I was milking cows almost before I was old enough to walk. I bet you were, too.”

      She couldn’t deny it. “We only had a few we kept for milk, though.”

      He laughed as he told her about his childhood. “God, it was cold in the winter! The snow would pile up higher than the house, and sometimes it didn’t melt again until spring. But my brothers and I had a great time growing up. As soon as we finished our chores after school, we’d go ice fishing or play hockey on an outdoor rink my dad built for us.”

      Lise was captivated by how Steve’s face was alight with memories, his gray eyes sparkling, as he told her about good times and bad, including when the winter storms were so bad that they lost half their cows to the cold. But then there were the summers when there were fireflies to catch and camp outs in the woods and the nights he and his brothers laid out in the grass and oohed and aahed over meteor showers high in the heavens above.

      And in spite of all her best intentions, Lise found herself smiling and remembering in turn. Oh, she had never seen snow, and even in their worst winter, they’d never lost a single cow to the cold. It was the summers that were bad in the outback, the summers that could kill. She’d only been a child, but she could still recall vividly the summer that was so dry the watering holes dried up. Dozens of cows died of thirst before the ranch hands could get water to them.

      She doubted that Steve had any experience with a drought or could understand why a summer rain usually meant a party, but still, they were kindred souls. As children, they’d both listened to the lonely lullaby of a cow lowing. And if he was anything like her, when twilight fell and the dew turned the air cooler, he would think there was no sweeter smell on earth than the fresh earthy scent of the land.

      “I can remember frying eggs on the patio out back and going swimming at nine o’clock at night,” she said quietly, her eyes trained on the road and the past at the same time. “I went on a walkabout once with Cookie—or at least I thought it was a real walkabout—but I was just six and we were only gone for four hours. But he taught me all about life in the bush, the dangers and the magic of it, and I loved it.”

      “He’s been here that long?”

      She nodded. “Since before I was born.”

      “And what did your mother say about him taking you off for four hours? Was she worried?”

      “She died in a riding accident when I was five,” she said simply. “I don’t remember that time period very well, but I think that’s why Cookie took me on the walkabout. I was lonely here all by myself except for my nanny, and he felt sorry for me.”

      Steve had read what little information SPEAR had on her; he’d known her mother had died some time ago. But he’d had no idea she’d died when Lise was so young. The poor kid.

      Instantly sympathetic, he frowned. “What about your father? Surely he didn’t leave you here with the nanny and cook when you’d just lost your mother. You weren’t much more than a baby!”

      The very idea outraged him, but she only smiled ruefully. “And he had just lost the only woman he ever loved. He adored her. Maybe if I’d taken after her more, he would have stayed, but even at five, it was obvious that I wasn’t going to be small and petite the way my mother was. He had business interests that called him away, and to be perfectly honest, I think he jumped at the chance to go. He was never happy here after Mama died. That’s why he still never stays very long. He misses her too much.”

      If they’d been talking about an ordinary man, Steve might have believed that. His own father would be devastated if his mother died first. But Art Meldrum was no ordinary man. He was Simon, a traitor without an ounce of conscience who was out to destroy Jonah—the man at the helm of SPEAR—any way he could, and bring down the entire secret organization. A man like that was incapable of love. He was a monster without a heart, and although Lise had, no doubt, had an incredibly lonely childhood, she’d been blessed every time the bastard had found an excuse to leave the station.

      That wasn’t, however, something she was ready to hear. So he said instead, “Then he should have taken you with him. You were just a little girl, and you’d already lost one parent. You shouldn’t have lost the other one, too.”

      Suddenly focusing on something else she’d said, he scowled. “And what the hell do you mean, your father would have stayed if you’d been small and petite? There’s nothing wrong with you the way you are!”

      She was, in fact, damn well just the right size, as far as he could see. He’d never understood why anyone would look twice at a woman who was little more than skin and bones. Give him a real woman to fill his arms, not one he constantly had to worry about crushing.

      “I never said there was,” she said stiffly. Annoyed, she gave him frown for frown and wanted to kick herself for confiding in him. Her relationship with her father was no one’s business but her own, and she didn’t normally discuss it with anyone. But then again, she’d never met anyone who was quite so easy to talk to. He made her forget that he was not only an employee, but little more than a stranger. She’d have to watch that in the future.

      “Anyway, when did this conversation become about me?” she demanded irritably. “We were talking about you. So what brought you to Australia besides a job? I would have thought cowboy jobs were a dime a dozen in the States, so it had to be something else besides that.”

      Steve didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash. Giving her a slow, intimate smile, he replied, “That’s easy, darlin’. I’d always heard the women Down Under were something to see, so I thought I’d check them out for myself. So far, I’m not disappointed.”

      Rolling her eyes, Lise sternly ordered herself not to be flattered. He’d only been in the country two days, and as far as she knew, he’d spent that time hitchhiking to the station. Which meant, in all likelihood, that she was probably the only woman he’d met so far. So much for compliments. It was easy to look good when you were the only