The Outback Engagement

“So it seems.” Darcy tried to get a rein on herself but the pressure was too much. “Would you like another cup of coffee?” she asked bleakly.

“Please. It’s excellent.” He presented his empty cup, thinking what he was saying was having little effect.

“You were the one who brought the beans back from the city for me,” Darcy reminded him, refilling their cups. “So let it out. What have you got to say that’s going to surprise me?”

Curt didn’t beat about the bush. “You know your father’s views. He is without question a chauvinist.”

“Yes,” she answered sharply, betraying her worry over what was coming.

“In the original will you were the sole beneficiary apart from a few minor bequests.”

“I know.”

“You were right in thinking your father wants to acknowledge Courtney.”

Darcy sighed deeply. “She is his daughter. I have no real problem with that providing she has no say in running Murraree about which she knows nothing.”

“Your father wants to set up a trust fund.” Curt took a long swallow of the hot steaming coffee and set down the cup.

Darcy’s aquamarine eyes flashed. “A trust fund. C’mon?” she jeered.

“He doesn’t think you could run Murraree by yourself. You can’t, without help. I know you’re that realistic. His big concern, however, is you and Courtney will become targets for unscrupulous suitors.”

“So he wants to set up a trust fund with you the trustee?” Darcy looked angry, contemptuous and humiliated all at the same time. “I knew it. He wants you to run the bloody place.”

“I knew exactly your reaction.” He too gave way to anger.

“When you come right down to it, who else?” She shoved her plate away. “You’re the right man for the job.”

“You mean I’m the last person you’d want in the job?” He leaned a fraction closer tall and rangy with those wide shoulders. “The last man you’d want.”

“Why should I have you or anyone?” she demanded to know.

“Because you need someone better than Tom McLaren, your present manager,” Curt ground out. “Tom’s a good man, experienced at what he does, but he can’t take control, much less do your father’s job. It’s your father’s station and it’s your father’s money. You’ll be a rich woman when he dies. Better yet, a free woman. So will Courtney. Though as I understand it you’ll have the lion’s share.”

“I should bloody hope so,” she swore again without apology. “I can imagine Courtney will be thrilled. She’ll probably decide to come out here to inspect her property. She might even bring my mother and her second husband. After all, they’d have nothing to fear anymore. Dad will be gone. How does this trust fund work?” Her slanting eyes with their winged black brows glittered her anger was so apparent.

“The usual way. The trustees, probably three, two from Maxwell-Maynard—”

“Adam?” she interrupted.

“He’d be a good choice.”

“You being in charge of course. You’re the man to take control.”

He gave her a look of total exasperation. “This wasn’t my idea.”

“I wonder?”

His handsome features tightened into severity. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said sharply. “I expect an apology.”

“Okay. I apologise.” Her voice was so brittle it crackled. “I wasn’t thinking about your splendid ethics. Correct me if I’m wrong. You hold the reins. You make the decisions. You decide what Courtney and I as beneficiaries get. I have to go to you cap in hand whenever I want something in relation to the running of the station.” As she spoke she shoved back her chair and stood up, beginning to pace about the kitchen

Curt was unsurprised by her anger. He studied her willowy figure clad in its everyday garb of tight fitting jeans and T-shirt. Today it was a bright scarlet T-shirt that suited her complexion, the manufacturer’s logo stitched across the front in navy. She had small, but beautifully shaped breasts, just the right butt and long legs for jeans. The kind of body that made riding gear look damn near haute couture. “Take pity on me. I’m not spoiling for a fight.”

“Well I am,” she said fierily. “Murraree is none of your business.”

“If you were a horse you’d have your ears flat against your head and you’d be baring your teeth. As usual, you’re not thinking about me. Why should I want more work? The fact of the matter is, if your father doesn’t appoint me he’ll find someone else. He told me so in no uncertain terms. That’s what swayed me. Do you want someone else? All I’m going to be, Darcy, is a guiding hand. A friend. Nothing more.”

“It’s an outrage. It’s awful,” Darcy cried.

“Don’t look so martyred. You’re not being thrown off.”

Darcy ignored him. “I am an experienced, responsible woman, not an idiot. I grew up on a cattle station unlike Courtney who doesn’t know a thing about it.”

“Spare yourself a lot of grief, Darcy,” Curt advised her. “Don’t fight your father on this. He’s determined on taking this course. His aim however much you disagree is to protect his fortune. Courtney mightn’t be as level-headed as you.”

“This document doesn’t even exist,” Darcy said hopefully.

“No, but Jock wants the lawyers back.”

“He could die at any time,” Darcy looked skyward. As if her father had already taken off on wings.

Curt sighed. “I’ll bet whatever you like he survives until after a carefully prepared will is drawn up.”

“I could argue he wasn’t of sound mind.”

“I doubt you’d get anyone to agree with you. I didn’t fly over here this morning to do your father’s bidding and in doing so anger you. Jock is set on his course. He has a perfect right to do whatever he wants with his money. And with Murraree. It’s a wonder he doesn’t want it sold up after he’s gone. He’s of the opinion he’s the last of the line. No woman could run the station on her own. It’s killing work. Your husband according to Jock might well be a waster.”

Reluctantly Darcy returned to her chair, a wash of tears over her eyes. “Maybe the reason for this decision is Dad is now reconciled to the notion I might end up marrying you?”

“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t,” Curt said with a flash of contempt. “However, for all my unbridled lust which so frightened you, I never got around to asking you to marry me though I went to the city to buy you an engagement ring. Don’t look so shocked. Some fiancée you’d have made never trusting me. These days there are just too many suitable girls around without your problems and unresolved conflicts. But at a professional level I think we could work together very well.”

She blinked furiously, fighting the impulse to do something—anything—to relieve the intense pressure his admission had put on her. An engagement ring? My God! “I’m dead against this,” she said.

“Tell your father.” Curt was acutely aware of her sense of betrayal. “That’s if you’re prepared to thoroughly antagonise him. I hardly think Jock McIvor is the man to change his mind once it’s made up.”

CHAPTER THREE

IN THE middle of the broad flight of stone steps leading up to the homestead’s verandah, stood a small graceful figure.

Her sister.

A few feet behind her, impressively tall and elegant, Adam Maynard, the solicitor, his dark hair in the sunlight glossy as a crow’s wing. Adam had arranged the charter flight from Brisbane. He would be staying a few days. The young woman, enchantingly pretty, moved forward blindly. Tears flowed from her large azure blue eyes.

“Darcy!”

Darcy’s heart gave a great jolt that wasn’t apparent from her sober expression. It wasn’t hard to reconcile this lovely apparition with the image of the ten-year-old-girl Darcy carried in her head. Her sister, Courtney, was still the image of their mother.