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Conscious of her rain-soaked body, she moved quickly, and had soon finished. She returned to the shed where Ian and Rupe were finishing penning Up. She had to admire their skill ruefully, remembering her own efforts.

‘You remember Frances?’ Rupe said to Ian when they stood on the board again.

‘How could I forget!’ came the ready reply. ‘Wet, water baby?’ He flung her a towel and she was glad of the excuse to hide her burning cheeks.

‘I won’t offer to help this time,’ he added sotto voce to her. His eyes held a mocking gleam as he rubbed the worst off his small nephews.

‘Will you come back for a drink?’ he asked Rupe.

‘No, thanks, we’d better get home so Frances and the boys can get dry.’

‘O.K. I’ll finish up here. See you at half past six in the morning.’ Thankfully Frances ran to her car, this time Thad with her as well. Rupert had a motorbike and she heard it roar as she flicked her Mini into action. The rain steadily poured down and Frances had to drive cautiously as the wipers could barely cope. Even the boys were quiet till the top gate was reached, then a hot argument broke out as to who should get out to open the gate. They were glad to be at home. After a quick shower they sat down to a piping hot casserole. Rupe kept glancing out the window to study the clouds. When Frances queried it, he explained that the rain could cause a lot of problems if it rained very hard for a long time.

‘You should see the Rakaia in flood—after a summer storm it can do a terrifying amount of damage. We have to make sure we clear the river flat paddocks. Actually Ian has a much bigger problem as his river boundary is twice the size and he has to keep a wary eye on soil erosion the whole time. However, I think this will clear in an hour or two.’

‘I do hope so,’ said Jenny. ‘I couldn’t bear shearing to be delayed again.’

It was so unusual for Jenny to sound even slightly ruffled that Frances looked at her in surprise.

Rupert put his hand over his wife’s. ‘Come on, love. Have a cup of tea, then bed for you. I’ll look after the boys.’

‘Aw, heck! Not now, Dad!’ Ivan complained. ‘We want to watch Superman.’

‘It’ll be over by seven-thirty, Dad,’ said Thad with his usual good logic.

‘Right! Get your pyjamas on now, then sit down quietly.’

‘Dad, can I stay home to help tomorrow?’ asked Thad.

‘O.K., son! You’re a big help to me at shearing.’

‘Me too!’ ‘Me too!’ put in Ivan and Greg.

Rupe paused. ‘No—sorry, boys. Thad can. He’s doing well at school, so it won’t hurt him to miss one day. Ivan, your last report said you could work much harder. Greg, you mustn’t miss any school, your reading is too important.’

The theme music sounded and in quick time three neatly dressed figures were sitting on the floor, eyes reflecting the wonders of Superman.

After Jenny had said goodnight, Frances quietly stacked the dishes in the machine. In this household it was a necessary invention.

‘The rain’s stopping, thank God!’ muttered Rupert, Frances looked out. The steady thrum had died away and now only the odd spot reminded them of the cloudburst of a few hours before. Incredibly the night sky was dark but clearing fast and later the stars would shine.

The caped crusader was triumphant over the forces of evil again, so the boys were piled off to bed. Rupe read them a story, heard their prayers and tucked them up.

Frances decided to check that the sheep she had penned earlier were settling all right. She put on a light jacket, then told Rupe where she was going.

The air was fresh and cool and Frances felt refreshed jogging smoothly over to the shed.

One or two stars were peeping out and the moon, almost full, hung pale and lemon-washed in the sky, its shadowed face making ghostly figures of the dark band of trees. The woolshed stood blackly, the light-filled windows a welcome signal. Inside, all was quiet. Here and there green eyes of sheep gleamed at her in the light. She stood quietly for a few moments, then decided to check the other mob in Ian’s shed. It would save Rupe time and she felt like a run. She had a pencil in her jacket pocket and found a paper in the engine room and briefly wrote an explanatory note. She placed it prominently by the door, then set off.

Frances felt glad to be running again. In the city she jogged routinely, her body needing the exercise. Here her life was full of activity, but she knew she would enjoy the run. After the intense heat of the past two days it was wonderful to feel the velvet softness of the air. She vaulted over a gate in her path and felt smug when she cleared it easily. She realised she was now on Ian’s land, though she still wasn’t sure in just which direction Ian lived. However, he would be occupied at his house, no doubt, he certainly wouldn’t be checking stock in the moonlight. Unconsciously she stiffened at the thought and slowed her steps. However, she saw nothing but the blur of the hills and the bands of trees. It didn’t take her long to reach the shed. She could see easily enough that the stock appeared comfortable. A few noisy bleats broke the peaceful quiet. There was plenty of room here as it was a much bigger shed. She glanced around automatically, noting the boards oiled and polished with the constant dragging of sheep being shorn. The long row of shearing machines hung like black skeletal arms, beyond them the sorting table, its slatted surface gleaming a dull yellow, worn with the thousands of fleeces it must have held. A big square press stood to one side and a row of bins lined another wall. In the centre was a sizeable floor space which led to a vast sliding door. Obviously trucks would be able to back up here to receive their loads of bales of wool.

Behind her the sheep moved again and she wondered what had disturbed them. She strolled over to check, unaware of the inviting picture she made to the tall figure standing by the engine room door. Once more she went to the pens, puzzled by the restlessness of the sheep. She felt herself grabbed from behind and instinctively fought. She turned to face her antagonist and recognised Ian, his hands having released her.

‘You skunk, you scared me stiff!’ Frances exclaimed angrily.

‘Temper! Temper! My mother warned me about girls with red hair.’ His eyes danced quickly. Frances felt her breath become rapid and she moistened her lips, unconscious of her vibrant beauty, red hair glinting in the dim light, her eyes dark, her whole body tense.

‘You know, you look really tempting,’ Ian said slowly, almost insolently, letting his eyes run up and down her body. Frances instinctively backed away and tripped over a pile of wool packs neatly stacked by the wall. Ian reached out and helped her up, the touch of his hand sending ripples of feeling along her body.

Gently he stroked the finger and thumb of her hand, tickling her palm, his eyes on her face. Frances stood still, ready to flee but oddly moved by the experience. His touch caused unknown feelings to well up, and suddenly she knew she wanted him to kiss her. As though he read the thought in her eyes he came closer and reached her to him without effort.

‘Penalty for trespass,’ he said softly, as his mouth found hers, stilling her tenseness. Frances found herself responding to his kiss, amazed by the vibrant attraction that flared between them. Ian’s hands caressing her body, his mouth demanding, and she instinctively curled her hands round his neck, twisting the strong curly hair. A flood of desire ran through her and her body’s response staggered her.

‘You don’t waste time, do you, water baby? Well, I’ve never made a sexual conquest in a woolshed before, but I’m game if you are.’ His words, passionate yet controlled, in her ear, pulled her up with an icy shock.

‘You’re absolutely insufferable!’ she cried.

‘Oh, come off it! We click together. You’d be fabulous in bed, water baby! That’s what you want, too.’

Ian’s words cut into her sharply. Her eyes huge dark pools, Frances shook her head blindly and turned and ran. As she sped she heard his laugh echo mockingly behind her, but she knew he was making no attempt to follow her.

She didn’t even remember crossing the gate or following the track home. Heart pounding, she climbed into bed, her emotions in a whirl. Never before had she reacted so physically to a man’s touch. As she calmed down she was forced to admit that she had encouraged Ian, and she remembered her body’s abandoned invitation. No wonder he had suggested they release their passion then! It was pure sex, she realised, with nothing of kindness or love. He had made no attempt at even pretending it was anything other than that. Gradually, still shaken, she calmed down. Somehow she had to live and work with this man. Fervently she hoped he would not be around too often. She groaned at the thought that she would see him in the shearing shed in a few hours. She knew his eyes would strip her bare, leaving her almost defenceless. The scorn in his eyes filled her with repugnance. He had made her feel cheap, something no man had ever done before. She shuddered, remembering the magnetism he had for her and the attraction of his lean hard body. She wondered if he was lying awake and thinking about her. Yet she knew, as soon as the thought came, that he would be sleeping like a log, totally uncaring of the havoc he had produced.

The morning crept in gradually. The wind had kept up in the night, but there had been no more rain. Now Frances watched the sun rise and heard Rupe move quietly down the hall. Her clock showed it was almost six.

Reluctantly she pulled herself out of bed and put on her oldest pair of jeans, then glanced at herself in the mirror. The jeans had shrunk with repeated washing and they emphasised the neat little bottom and the long slender legs, She pulled on a pale blue shirt which had been one of her brother Martin’s rejects. At least it kept her covered and hid her figure. She wrapped a scarf round her hair, pulling it back from her forehead, then grinned at herself in the mirror, seeing a totally different Frances from her usual soignee self.

‘Dressed for shearing,’ she thought. She was completely unaware that with her hair hidden, her eyes took on an extra emphasis from the angles of her cheekbones and her mobile mouth was revealed as softly vulnerable.

Jennifer had organised morning tea and a snack, despite looking pale. Rupert told her to send one of the boys to the shed if she didn’t feel well. He looked anxious, and Frances felt deeply envious of the look of tenderness he gave his wife. She was well aware of the very special love Jennifer and Rupe shared. She doubted whether she would ever find that love now. She had been searching for the man who would take her to the stars but instead, with Ian, she had seemed to land on the edge of a black hole. She finished her thought and put it away, determined to ignore him.

Two cars were drawn up by the woolshed doors. Rupe introduced Frances to the shearers, who made delighted remarks about the improvements to the scenery since their last visit.

Thad was allowed to press the button starting the machine. The heavy black leather belt which pulled the big wheel flapped sluggishly, then began to spin, setting in motion the smaller wheels above the shearers’ heads. They stood easily fitting their hand pieces on to the long skeletal arms. Each one adjusted the fine shining silver combs, then, on a word, they dived into the holding pens. Frances watched fascinated as the shearer closest to her grabbed a sheep firmly, set it on its backside and pulled it from the pen on to the floor. He picked up his handpiece and pulled the rope to send his own machine in gear, in one smooth movement, then sent the cutting comb over the sheep’s belly. Thad, who squatted like a hunched-up grasshopper at his side, pulled the belly wool aside and flung it into a woolpack behind him. Carefully the shearer cleared the breast and legs and head before expertly turning the sheep to shear the side. Then he bent, using a long gliding stroke from end to end. Frances had heard it called ‘the long blow’ and studying it now in fascination she saw the wool unfolding in a creamy richness of thick pile. At the end the shearer straightened slightly, tapped the sheep into line with his exit chute and the first sheep was shorn, its startled leap into the empty pen showing its relief.

Thad picked the fleece up in a quick but careful style, then flung it expertly on to the sorting table where his father was standing ready. He ripped the edges of the fleece off, then expertly flicked the sides to the centre, rolling the ends to the middle so it formed a neat roll. With long practised ease he threw it to the presser, who cornered it carefully in the woolpack fastened inside the press. The scene was busy yet controlled, no wasted movements, a rhythmical pattern. Frances was conscious of being the only idle person there. Rupe must have realised how she felt as he smiled and said she could keep the pens full for the shearers.

‘We’re lucky it’s turned out fine. Ian’s letting the other mob out of his shed. He’ll bring them over later, or I might get you to do it.’

Frances nodded. Inside she was telling herself to play it cool with Ian. Mentally she prepared herself for seeing his tall lithe figure. She went to the back of the pens and moved some sheep into the shearers’ pens. One shearer was very fast, and she realised he must be shearing a sheep in a little over a minute. When she commented to Rupe he replied that the fast shearer was indeed an expert and acknowledged as such. The pile of fleeces mounted steadily in the press in proportion to the white naked sheep bleating in the open pens. Frances was busy when Ian came in, yet she was instantly aware of his presence, the shearers’ calls showing none of her reluctance to greet him. He himself seemed totally unabashed, calling out an open, ‘Hi, water baby,' as he went past. By breakfast time the sweat was pouring from the shearers, and Rupe took a tally pad to count each shearer’s run. Good-natured chaffing among the friendly group went on as the men went over to the house. They ate swiftly, so they could have a laze for a short time before starting work again.

Jenny had worked hard preparing breakfast and having seen the tremendous amounts that disappeared so quickly Frances had some idea of the workload she carried. She decided to help Jenny, who was under strain, and although she put on a bright face Rupert looked at his wife thoughtfully from time to time. When Frances told Rupert she thought she should stay Rupe seemed relieved. Now that Ian was back there was really no need for her in the shed.