No Greater Joy Read Online Free Page A

a different tone. 'Why are you looking at me like that, Clint?'
    'You intrigue me,' he told her.
    'I thought perhaps I was boring you.'
    'Do you know, Alison,' dark brown eyes held her green ones, defying them to move from his, 'I've a feeling you have a great many qualities, most of which I've yet to discover. But boringness could never be one of them.'
    'Thank heavens for that!' She laughed up at him, then turned her eyes back to the horses, but not before Clint had seen that her cheeks were flushed with pleasure at the compliment.
    But a moment later the compliment was forgotten. A nervous horse was coming their way, head jerking, gait skittish, when Alison spotted a little boy climbing the slats of the paddock fence. Little more than a toddler, three years old at most, he got to the top of the fence, balancing unsteadily as he waved his hands at the horse.
    'Careful!' shouted Alison in alarm.
    She lunged for the child, meaning to pull him back, when he overbalanced, falling headlong into the paddock, directly into the path of the horse.
    Alison was levering herself frantically over the fence when strong hands pulled her back, and in a second Clint had vaulted into the paddock. He snatched the child from ~ the ground just as the front hooves of the horse were about to smash down on it. And then he was back at the fence, passing the little boy across to Alison It had all happened so quickly that the horse's owner had not had time to control his rearing steed. From start to finish, the incident had lasted less than a minute.
    Only now did reaction set in. The horse's owner, badly startled, and obviously thinking Clint and Alison were negligent parents, was cursing all three of them. The child, cradled in Alison's arms, began to cry. And then the mother rushed up, white and shaken, and took the child from Alison's arms.
    'Thank you—oh, thank you!' She was crying as she turned to Clint. 'I just turned my head for a moment, and Bobby here ran away. I should have known better.'
    'No harm done,' Clint said kindly.
    'It's all my fault!' Tears streaming down her face, the woman hugged the child to her.
    Alison touched her arm. 'These things happen. Look, you've had an awful shock. Why don't you go and get yourself a cup of tea? You might feel better then.'
    'I'll go and find my husband first.' The woman turned to Clint. 'I don't know how to thank you.'
    'You've thanked me already.' Clint ruffled the little boy's hair. 'Take it easy next time, cowboy.'
    When the woman, still holding the little boy in her arms, had walked away, Alison said, 'That was quick thinking, Clint—and very brave.'
    He smiled at her. 'I was no braver than you, Alison.'
    'Me? I didn't do a thing!' she protested.
    'You were going to. Have you forgotten that I stopped you from jumping into the paddock yourself?'
    Wide-eyed, she stared at him. 'Yes, I had forgotten. Why did you stop me, Clint?'
    The smile turned wicked. 'Put it down to masculine arrogance.'
    She shook her head. 'No, it wasn't arrogance. But I could have done it—I'm used to horses and fences, Clint.'
    'So am I,' he said easily.
    After a long moment Alison said, 'You really did grow up on a farm, then?'
    'Really. I thought that surprised you the first time I mentioned it. Why, I wonder?'
    She had to think about it. 'Your image, 1 suppose. Your... your clothes, your car. All those hotels.'
    He was so close to her that she could feel his laughter shaking his body. 'Trappings that all came much later. I didn't grow up owning hotels, Alison.'
    After a moment she asked, 'What kind of sheep farm was it, Clint?'
    'Merinos, mostly. Like you, I spent my youth on horseback—helping the men look for lost sheep, checking broken fences.'
    They were still standing at the paddock, arms in front of them on the wooden rail, but now Clint shifted position, so that his arm was touching Alison's. A strong arm, deeply tanned, with the suggestion of hard muscle and sinew just beneath the skin.
    Where his arm