The Rouseabout Girl

THE ROUSEABOU
T
GIRL

Gloria Bevan

Could she ever prove her trustworthiness?

Lanie Petersen’s first experience of Jard Sanderson was when she overheard him arguing—about her! The situation never improved; he mistrusted her so much he could barely be civil toward her.

But if Lanie was going to be temporary cook at Rangimarie, Jard’s ranch, she would have to put up with his black moods.

Lanie could only hope she would have an opportunity to prove he was wrong about her
—
and that she was worthy of his love—

CHAPTER ONE

Even
before she reached the entrance leading to the spacious reception area Lanie caught the loud buzz of conversation and laughter echoing from the lavishly decorated room. At the open doorway she stood hesitating, then realised that an impeccably attired young man with dark-rimmed glasses and a welcoming smile was hurrying towards he
r.
‘Tell me, you
’r
e not
—
you don’t happen to be our prizewinner in our flour promotion contest?’

She smiled up at him. ‘That’s me! Lanie Petersen.’

His eyes crinkled in a look of amusement. ‘We weren’t expecting anyone quite so young!’

Lanie wrinkled her nose at him. ‘I’m nineteen!’ she
said with spirit, but he merely
grinned. She could almost read his thoughts. ‘It’s ridiculous that she could be our prizewinner. Why, she looks little more than a schoolgirl!’ It was a reactionary thing and she had come to expect it, something to do with being only an inch or so over five feet with a dimpled round face into the bargain. It was annoying not to look her age, but over the years she had become accustomed to it.

‘John Garfield!’ He shot out a hand and took her small paw in a strong grip. ‘General manager of the outfit. May I offer my congratulations on your winning entry? The general opinion of the company was that your recipe was outstanding and the advertising agency who judged the contest assured us they had no hesitation whatever in awarding you the prize.’

‘Thank you.’ As he bent to pin her name-tag to the shoulder of her dress Lanie couldn’t help giggling to herself. Imagine me, at a shareholder’s meeting, she thought. A quick glance around the crowded room and she estimated there was scarcely a man or woman here under the age of fifty. Golly, she thought, I must be the
only girl
in the whole place. A dimple dickered at
each comer
of her soft lips. I’m a shareholder in
the company—
or I soon will be. I can’t believe
it!

‘This way,
please,’ her escort was saying, and she went
with him over
the deep-piled carpet as they threaded
their way
between the festively decorated tables. There
was a lightness
in her step and her face was upturned
to the
man
at
her side. She was barely aware
of appreciative
masculine glances and envious feminine
looks
as watchers followed the progress of the slim
young figure,
dower-fresh in a simple white sun-frock, a
cloud of
bright hair that just missed being red falling
over the
shoe-string ties on lightly-tanned shoulders.

‘Unfortunately,’
her companion said, ‘there doesn’t
seem
to be a vacant table. We had one specially
reserved
for
you
among the V.I.Ps,’ his eyes twinkled
behind thick
lensed glasses, ‘but someone has beaten
you to it. Shall
I ask him to move away?’

‘
O
h
no,’ she protested
in her soft husky tones, ‘it
doesn’t matter a bit. Couldn’t
we share it?’

‘If you’re quite
sure.’

At last they reached
a table occupied by a spare
elderly man with carefully
brushed white hair. Lanie smiled
down into the
lined, sun-weathered face. ‘Do
you mind if I share
your table?’

‘Delighted.’ With
old-fashioned courtesy he rose to his feet
and saw her
seated. The manager made a brief
introduction. ‘Jim
Sanderson. Jim happens to be one of
our main shareholders
in the farm
.’

The leathery face split
into a grin. ‘Only because I happen to
grow wheat
for your mill!’ He had shrewd bright eyes,
Lanie noticed,
and he was so deeply tanned.
Face,
arms and
neck
were all a shade of mahogany. Clearly he
was a
tanata
whenua
—the Maori words sprang to her
mind, a man
of the land. Could that be the reason she got
the
impression he was feeling hot and uncomfortable this warm summer day in his city gear of well-cut grey suit and crisp white shirt?

She brought her
mind
back to the pleasant masculine tones. ‘Seems like you and I are the only ones who are here on our own.’

She sent him a twinkling glance.

‘Does it
ma
tter?’

‘Not now.’ His glance went to her name-tag. ‘It’s Elaine, is it?’

‘Goodness, no!’ She flashed him a smile. ‘No one ever calls me that. Just Lanie.’

‘Just Lanie.’ His glance flickered over her short nose with its scattering of freckles, the wide happy smile. There was something about this girl’s air of vitality and friendliness that made him feel young again. Suddenly he got the feeling that the deadly boring annual meeting of shareholders had been worth getting himself togged up for in this flaming hot suit and tie, after all. This girl was happy-natured, an enthusiast, like his own girl. A shadow clouded his eyes. Funny to think that though his only daughter had married in England and lived there for the past fifteen years, he still missed her around the place. She was the sort of girl who made life seem fresh and exciting, and he wouldn’t mind betting that this Elaine was the same. Odd that they both happened to have the same name too. Aloud he murmured pleasantly, ‘Quite a crowd for the meeting.’ His glance roved over the room with its many suntanned faces. ‘Looks like wheat-growers from all over the country are having a day out in the city. All but you.’ He had a really friendly smile, Lanie thought. ‘My guess is that you belong right here in town.’

She glanced towards him in surprise. ‘What makes you say that?’

He grinned. ‘Never came across anyone in the country looking the way you do,’ his eyes crinkled, ‘worse luck!’ Something in his expression robbed the words of any personal significance. Indeed, Lanie felt extraordinarily pleased at the compliment. Of course she knew she looked fairly attractive in a diminutive, flame-coloured-hair, extra-slim sort of way. How could she help knowing? All the same it was heartwarming to be told so, especially today, when she was in need of
all the
encouragement that came her way.

‘Forgive me,’
there was a glimmer of curiosity in the
twinkling brown
eyes, ‘but aren’t you a trifle young for
this sort of
caper?
’

‘I do feel
a bit out of it here today,’ she admitted. She
sent him
a wide and friendly smile. She enjoyed talking
to people,
and her habit of confiding her life story to
strangers
was one that was bound to land her in some
sort of trouble
sooner or later, her flatmate Mary often
warned
her. ‘You see, it was this way
—
’ She broke off as
a
waiter
pushed
a
trolley towards the table. There was a
tempting
array
of
foods, both sweet and savoury, together
with pots of
tea and coffee. ‘Shall I be mother?’

‘If you
please. Coffee for me. I’ll tell you something
else,’ her
companion observed when they had helped
themselves to cold
meats and attractively presented
salads, ‘I don’t
see
you
as a shareholder in the Arm.
Like I said, you’re at
least twenty years too young.
Tell me, what
are
you
doing here amongst all the old
fogies like me?’

Two dimples flickered at
the corners of Lanie’s
soft lips. Her mischievous smile,
her companion mused, was
something worth watching
for. His own Elaine had
smiled like that, as
if she really meant it, as if life was
worth living, every
damned moment of it!

‘Would you believe,’
Lanie buttered a roll, ‘I’ve got a special
invitation to the
luncheon today! I’m hard up at the
moment,’ she
confided, ‘and a free meal isn’t to be
turned down, not when
you’re down to your last few
dollars and out of a job!’

‘Oh
?
’
her companion
was surprised he hid it well.
‘Shares,’ he agreed, ‘are
good to own, but you can’t have
them for dinner.’
There was a kindly twinkle in his br
o
wn
eyes. ‘Let me guess?
A well-heeled uncle passed on the
luncheon invitation,
right?’

She eyed
him laughingly.
‘Wrong! And I haven’t any shares in the
company—not
yet, that is, but I soon will have!’ She leaned
forward
conf
i
dentially. ‘Guess what!’

‘Your parents
are passing
on a few hundred or so as a birthday gift to
you?’

A shadow passed over her face. ‘No parents—they died when I was a child. Luckily I had a nice aunt who brought me up. But my parents didn’t have any capital. They had so little to come and go on they didn’t leave me a thing.’ She grinned impishly.
‘
Except this red hair.
’
Flicking a shining red-gold strand with her finger, she pulled a face, then murmured as an afterthought, ‘And the bread recipe, of course!’

‘Bread recipe?’

‘Oh yes, that’s the point, that’s why I happen to be here today. Don’t look so puzzled,’ she ran on impulsively, ‘it’s quite simple really. Just that I happened to see a competition advertised in the local newspaper. It was run by the flour company, and all you had to do was to submit an unusual recipe for home-made bread. I still have my mother’s old cookery book, all in her handwriting, and I thought her recipe was a bit unusual.’

He was an attentive listener, studying her with amused interest. ‘Must have been a cracker, chockful of
modern
health foods and all that?’

‘Oh no, it was so simple a child could follow it. You just throw three cups of flour in a basin, toss in three teaspoons of baking powder with two tablespoons of sugar and a teaspoon of salt. Then you sift it all together and mix it up with ten fluid ounces of beer. It only takes an hour to bake and there you are! How does it strike you?’

He chuckled. ‘The same way it would strike any man—a waste of a good bottle of beer!’

‘Oh, but you haven’t tasted the loaf. Anyway, the flour milling people sent me a letter asking me to be here today so that they can present me with the prizes.’

‘You don’t look too happy about it. What is the prize? A sack of flour?’

A bubble of laughter rose to her lips. ‘Worse than that! They sent me a picture of it—a massive electric range with all the latest gadgets. Honestly, the way it looks in the photograph you'd need to hold a driving licence to work it!’ All at once her expression sobered.
‘That’s one of the reasons why I decided to give in my notice at the office and look for work somewhere in the country. Making the break now seemed to work in with everything else.’

Everything else? In the silence her thoughts wandered and a picture of Trevor’s set, resentful face flashed before her mental vision. He had been so
angry
when she handed back her diamond solitaire engagement ring. Working at adjacent desks in the same office, they had drifted into a tepid relationship that on Lanie’s part had been more a matter of habit and companionship than anything else. When Trevor had told her with pride of the amount of his savings and had suggested a marriage date, all at once she had panicked. Was this what life was all about? A gold band on her linger, a boxlike house in the suburbs? What of the wild sweet ecstasy of love? Or could it be that was something that existed only in films and romantic novels?

It was true that the contest win had sparked off her decision to break with the past and to start a new life. She had spent her childhood in a small country town, sliding down grassy banks and riding her pony t
o
school, and she still preferred country living to the bustle of city streets. Over the last few years, she had managed to keep up her interest in horse riding and had become a familiar figure at local shows and gymkhanas. There must surely be some sort of work offering in a country settlement, she had thought—but although she had written many letters of application to banks and councils and made numerous phone calls, so far nothing had eventuated for her in the way of employment. If she didn’t find something soon she’d be forced to apply for another job in the city to supplement her dwindling resources. She would just have to, she thought desperately.

Her companion’s voice jerked her from her musing. ‘Burned your boats behind you, is that it?’