The Cattle Baron

“And what will your duties be, Miss Summers?” Banfield asked suavely, knowing she would be highly capable, intelligent, resourceful, remarkably cool in a tight spot. His expression, however, suggested that at some stage they could expect hysterics.

She put a hand to the glittering necklace, aware he was being deliberately provocative. “To show the flag,” she said airily. “To be of any help I can. Which probably comes down to the cooking, but I could run to a bit of first aid.”

“And where do you intend to stay during the planning stage, the initial forays?”

Mick jumped in without a thought, munching yet another pretzel, never touching his light beer.

“What’s a bunch of people at Three Moons?” he asked Banfield, as if a great idea had just come to him. “Dammit, I know you don’t want crowds marching all over the place, but this is different. And I’ll be there to look after your interests.”

Between one binge and another, Banfield thought, then chided himself for not showing Mick some confidence. “You’re a real romantic at heart, aren’t you, Mick.” He smiled as he said the words.

Mick sighed. “Bridget used to say that.” For a moment, his expression sagged.

Banfield saw that he’d have to make a decision based not on what he wanted, but on what Mick wanted—and that scintillating, unlikely femme fatale, the amazing Miss Summers.

“I’ll admit the homestead is big enough.” His tone was brusque with an underlying hint of humor.

“So you agree?” Rosie and Mick spoke together, picking that moment to slap a high five.

Banfield glanced at them both repressively. “I said I have to give this a lot of thought.”

Mick nodded, laughing. “What a character you are, Chase.”

“I am that,” he answered dryly, catching Rosie’s sparkling eyes.

“So do you reckon you’ll know by mornin’?” Mick asked with glee.

“Does it mean so much to you, Mick?” Banfield looked at the older man with sympathy.

“Who knows what we might find, son?” Mick’s blue eyes glowed. “Although I don’t like the idea of havin’ old Porter around, I can tell you that. ’Struth, the man’s a fanatic.”

Marley held up his large palm. “Mr. Dempsey, you yourself are not included in our party.”

“I’m in if Chase says so,” Mick answered stoutly. “Am I in, Chase?”

Banfield laughed. “I don’t think I’ve agreed to anything yet, Mick. But I don’t see why you couldn’t go if it actually comes to that. You certainly know your way around. Dr. Marley is more familiar with central Australia and the Kimberly than he is with this area.” He turned to Marley. “Wouldn’t that be right, Doctor?”

Marley wasn’t about to acknowledge it. “Even so, I’m an experienced bushman.”

“And I watched every episode of The Bush Tucker Man,” Rosie chimed in as though that settled everything. In reality she was trying to keep her excitement down. Every time Chase Banfield’s eyes lighted on her, the most dramatic things happened to her body. Adrenaline pumped. Pulses raced. Even her nipples tightened. Normally she didn’t react sexually to a man’s mere presence.

“I’d appreciate it if I could get a decision,” Marley said, clearly angered by the sizzling undercurrent that ran between Banfield and Roslyn.

“Don’t push it, Graeme,” Rosie warned with a speaking glance. “I’m sure Chase will tell us when he’s good and ready.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THEY BROKE UP shortly after eleven, Banfield citing his dawn return to Three Moons as an excuse.

“Couldn’t drop me off on the way, Chase?” Mick asked hopefully, following them all out into the foyer with its wealth of huge jewel-colored cushions over teak furniture.

Banfield stopped in his tracks, gazing at Mick in surprise. “How did you get here, Mick?” He’d assumed Mick had driven in from Derrilan.

“Arnie had to come into town for some supplies.” Mick referred to his head man, now the manager. “Dropped me off at the club.”

“I see. And how’d you get here from the club?”

Mick waved a hand. “One of the blokes drove me.”

One way or the other, Mick fell on his feet. Banfield clapped a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Sure, I’ll drop you off. No trouble.” In fact it would take him twenty miles out of his way, but what was distance up here? Mick was bound to start again with that business about the wild-goose chase.

“Well, I’ll say good-night, then.” Mick smiled happily. “It’s been a great pleasure meeting you, Rosie,” he said. “Some people you feel you’ve known all your life.”

“Same here, Mick.” Rosie returned the smile, giving him her hand, which he bowed over quite gallantly.

“Take care of that necklace now,” he warned. “It might have belonged to a very important Egyptian lady. A beautiful woman of high social standing. It suits you to a T. Good night, Dr. Marley.” Mick nodded in Marley’s direction, his charming Irish voice flattening out.

“Good night, Dempsey.” Marley sounded equally unimpressed. As Mick moved off to the stairs, relatively sober for once, Marley turned to Banfield with his trademark imperious expression. “There are other things you haven’t seen. A magnificent scarab!”

“Probably out of Porter’s safe, as well.”

“I take it I may expect your answer in the morning?” He visibly fought down his irritation. “I’ve come all this way, not without good reason. I believe we have sufficient evidence to proceed. With all due respect, I might point out that I’m the expert. This expedition could mean great things for all of us. I beg you to take that into consideration.”

Banfield’s eyes slid to Rosie, catching her in contemplation. “Would you care for a short stroll before bed?” he asked. “A breath of fresh air after so much talk of an ancient civilization. Kind of a sick one, at that. Too much emphasis on death. The ancient Egyptians built their great monuments to the dead. I’m for building monuments to the living, like the ancient Greeks or the Romans did.”

“Nevertheless, we’re speaking about a mighty civilization with twenty-five hundred years of great triumph and glory,” Marley broke in before Rosie, uncharacteristically breathless, had a chance to respond.

“I appreciate the fascination, Doctor,” Banfield said smoothly. “I’m just mentioning their strange ways. As I said earlier in the evening, I need time to think this over. You surely didn’t expect a decision tonight. Let’s say by the end of the week. I’m sure you can fill your time profitably. You’d probably like to visit my uncle. It may seem a harsh thing to say, but I don’t want him back on Three Moons. I have my reasons.”

“And I don’t want to interfere in any way.” Marley hastened to make his position clear. “But Porter is the one who claims to know where the pyramid is, or at least the general direction.”

Banfield nodded. “A number of people over the years have claimed to know where pyramids are sited. I’ll say good-night, Dr. Marley. We’ll be in touch.”

It was as much as Marley could hope for. He transferred his gaze to Rosie, who was standing quietly at Banfield’s shoulder, enjoying the sensation of having a man tower over her. “I’ll see you, Roslyn, when you come up.” His tone implied he’d be waiting for her in bed.

It was time to put things straight. She turned around fully to face him. “No more talking tonight, Graeme,” she said firmly. “I’ll be going straight to my room—to sleep. See you at breakfast.”

“Is this little affair very hush-hush at the moment?” Banfield asked as they walked out into the glorious tropical night. A big languorous copper moon sailed above the tall palms; the breeze was like incense.

“You’re not getting to me, Chase Banfield,” she scoffed, although the man drew her like a magnet. “There’s no affair. I told you.”

“You’d better tell Marley,” he suggested with more than a touch of irony.

“He’s married.”

He laughed, taking her arm and steering her in the direction he wanted to go. “I’d like a dollar for all the extramarital affairs in this state alone.”

“Let me put it more plainly. I don’t like him. He’s an elitist, and he’s sexist and arrogant, possibly a bigot.”