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unconscious sensuality that so appealed to him. Either way it had come as a surprise to him since he usually preferred more sophisticated meat.
    But however Joe Turner might try to keep his daughter a child she was very much a woman, and the ache in Jack’s loins told him that he wanted her. And what Jack wanted, he usually got.

 
    Chapter Three
    ‘Keep you short of money, does he?’ Jack considered putting his arm about Meg’s shoulders but she looked so fierce suddenly, he decided against it. He would content himself this afternoon with letting her chatter. There was plenty of time, after all.
    ‘Money? I’ve none at all. How can he be so against women working when he has me labouring like a slave from dawn to dusk? How can he pretend to be so pious when everyone knows he’s the biggest shark of a moneylender around these parts?’
    ‘He’s a fearsome character right enough, your dad. I know Sally Ann Gilpin is scared sick of him.’
    ‘Is she?’
    ‘They’ve been having their troubles lately. Her dad has been ill. Left them a bit short, I reckon.’ Jack’s eyes fastened on Meg’s mouth, small and moist, a pink tongue darting excitedly over her lower lip as she talked.
    ‘I see.’ Meg was sad about that since she liked the Gilpin family, and strongly disliked an old friend being scared of her father. ‘How did you hear?’ What she really meant was, when did you see Sally Ann? She felt a spurt of jealousy that Jack had talked to a pretty girl, and hated herself for it.
    Jack was too busy gazing at the white column of her throat to notice the sharpness of her tone. ‘I don’t remember exactly. Her mam is having a real hard time of it, though.’
    ‘I can imagine.’ The women who lived in the row of cottages up by the quarry and were forced to avail themselves of Joe’s money lending service in order to survive the week, had every cause to fear him. Nobody got behind with their payments with Joe Turner, not if they wanted to avoid trouble.
    ‘Why do women always get the rough end of the stick? I’ve been trained to keep house since I was three years old. Not so the boys, who were somehow excused anything that smacked of woman’s work. But it’s going to change, I tell you. I can only take so much and one of these days . . .’
    Meg felt the anger drain out of her, becoming intensely aware of the warm weight of Jack’s body beside hers. What was she doing wasting this precious time together talking about her father? Jack moved a little, his thigh brushing hers and it was as if she could scarcely breathe, as if her lungs were bursting, squeezing inwards, pushing a pain deep down into her groin.
    She was aware too of Jack’s breathing, of its strangely uneven quality, that it became less and less pronounced. She felt him turn towards her and knew instinctively that if she looked at him he would kiss her, but she could not move. Much as she longed to feel the warmth of his lips move over hers, her body was stuck fast to the tree, her hands curled tight into the clumps of grass at her side.
    ‘Meg?’
    That was all he said. Her name. So softly questioning it was like a caress. Then his hand came up to her neck and she turned her cheek into it, lifting her face to his as if to the warmth of the sun. She had waited for this moment for what seemed like a lifetime and Meg closed her eyes and gave herself up to the joy of it without hesitation.
    The kiss roughened and deepened, and then moved on to explore the warm curve of her throat and the sensitive hollows below her earlobe. She rubbed her cheek against the roughness of his coat collar, loving the feel of it against her silky skin. Happiness burst inside her like the opening petals of a new flower.
    Meg gasped when she felt his hand move to her breast. She wasn’t ignorant. Brought up on a farm, she was well versed in the mechanics of life and had filled in the gaps with Kath long since, giggling behind the barn with one of those books in plain brown