The Cattle Baron

“There’s bougainvillea at the top.” He spoke almost with disgust. “It could rip you to shreds.”

“Then you’ll just have to go up first and cut it off. I’ll bet you’ve got something to do it with.”

He nodded grimly. “That’s right.”

“I would’ve put a thousand bucks on it. Anyway, if you can get up there so can I. All I need is a hand.”

He stroked his lean bronzed cheek, taking a moment to verbalize his thoughts. “The problem is, what do we do if you faint?”

“I never faint.” She had once, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Tough girl.”

She put her hands on her slim hips. “Believe it.”

In fact, her color was coming back. Bone china as opposed to snow. “I guess I can haul you up.” He continued to stand over her. “You know anything about knots?”

Her face brightened. “Do I ever! I used to sail with my dad around Sydney Harbour.”

“Perfect!” He could see her in a T-shirt and white shorts. A tomboy with a woman’s body.

“You want me to knot the rope around my waist?”

“Uh-huh,” he drawled laconically. “Don’t rush. We’ve got time.”

Actually, they had very little time. Soon the brilliant sunset would fade to a brief mauve twilight, then total darkness would set in.

Rosie watched as he made short work of hauling himself up the slope, hand over hand, obviously a man who spent his life outdoors, rain or shine. She could never hope to emulate his prowess, but she sure as hell was going to try.

Moments later, he’d reached the top, walking to a big powerful-looking four-wheel drive with a really scary bull bar just in view. She laughed out loud when she saw him return with a yellow chain saw.

“Take care,” she called lightly, although she was serious. Not that she had reason to worry. She’d rarely met anyone who inspired such confidence.

In no time at all, he’d cleared an area of the spectacular purple bougainvillea with its lethal thorns. He gave her a brisk wave.

“Do you still want to do this?”

She looked up at him outlined against the flame-colored sky. “As long as you can,” she shouted.

“I think I’m up to it.”

“Right!” The rope firmly knotted around her waist, Rosie went forward, trying not to think about snakes. This was the Garden of Eden. There were bound to be a few lazing around. Okay, Rosie, you can do this, she urged herself. Part of the job. She had to make a huge effort all the same. She was feeling very shaky. Still, it felt good just to be alive.

Twice on the way up she lost her footing, dangling in space, swearing mildly while he held her weight and called out words of encouragement. “Come on, kid. You can do it!”

“Kid?” She was twenty-nine. Nearly an old maid, if her mother was to be believed. What she wanted, she thought suddenly, was a husband, children. Obviously, it took dangling off a precipice for that realization to hit.

At the top he grabbed her as though were she a feather pillow, while she, in an excess of joy, flung her arms around him. “Rosie,” he drawled, throwing back his bronze head and laughing. “You’ve made me proud.”

She returned his wonderfully infectious smile. “How did you know to call me Rosie?”

“Seems to suit you better than Roslyn,” he said, topaz eyes lighting on her hair. “Is that for real?”

“Goes with the freckles, doesn’t it?” she challenged.

“It’s quite possible you’ve painted them on, they’re so fetching. What are you doing here in Queensland, Rosie Summers?” All of a sudden he sounded like a detective with a suspect. Even the drawl had a sharp edge.

“Would you believe looking for you?” She’d been an investigative reporter too long not to know when it was time to be direct.

“So this was a setup?” His eyes glinted as he gazed down at her.

She considered that, rubbed her cheek. “Hey, I’m inventive, but this was sheer coincidence. It’s glorious country up here. I wanted to have a look around.”

“Then I’d advise you to have a damned good look for wallabies, kangaroos, brolgas and wild boar while you’re at it.”

“You mean they all cross the road?”

He moved abruptly, fighting a brief violent desire to kiss her. “I can’t take you to task now. You’re still very pale.”

“I know,” she answered almost apologetically. “I’ve been cursed with very white skin.”

“I’d say blessed.” His comment was as dry as ash.

“Would you?”

For the first time he got the full effect of her smile. “Spare me the seduction, entrapment, whatever,” he told her shortly, bending his strong fingers to untie the knot at her waist. He slipped the rope free, walked back to his vehicle, unfastened the other end from the bull bar and wound it into a neat coil, which he stashed away in the rear. “Come along.”

She started after him obediently. “You make me feel I should ask you what the charge is.”

“That’s because you are guilty of something, aren’t you, Rosie?” He rounded on her, making her feel incongruously as small as a marmalade kitten.

“I paid for the hire car. I didn’t steal it. Incidentally, is it all right to leave it here?”

He opened the passenger door for her and she hopped in. “It’s not going anyplace,” he muttered.

They were back on the road before he spoke again. “Aren’t you up here seeking permission for a dig? Specifically on my land?”

She swung her head in surprise, caught his accusing glance. “Aha, someone’s been talking. The question is, how did they know, let alone inform you?”

“The answer is, I have spies everywhere. This is my town.”

“You mean you own all the buildings?” she asked brightly.

“I own much of the land the town is built on. Is that enough of an answer?”

“Goodness, yes. The Banfields must be very rich.”

“You have an interest in rich men?”