The Socialite and the Cattle King (11 page)

T
HEY
both shot up. Holly immediately grabbed the blanket and pulled it up as she realized what a state of disarray she was in.

Not only was there a tanned, wiry little man with bowed legs and a big hat looking in on them, but two horses were looking over his shoulders with pricked ears and what appeared to be deep interest.

Even Brett was lost for words.

The man said, ‘Don’t mean to disturb anything, but if you are from the plane there’s a hell of a hue and cry going on over you. Tell you what, I’ll just take a little walk while you get—organized.’ He wheeled his horses around and walked away.

Holly and Brett turned to each other simultaneously and went into each other’s arms.

‘I told you we’d get out of this,’ he said as he hugged and kissed her.

‘You did, you did!’ she said ecstatically. ‘And I offered my kingdom for a horse—I can’t believe this! Where on earth did he come from?’

In the event, their saviour was a boundary rider for the station they were making for, and he was quite happy to
wait while they had a swim. Fully clothed and decorous, they changed into their other set of clothing. He even made them a cup of coffee while he waited.

While they drank coffee, he explained how he’d heard the news of the loss of the plane just before setting out from the homestead on a routine inspection, and how he’d promised to keep his eyes open.

‘Didn’t see nothing, though,’ he added. ‘But last night I smelt smoke on the breeze and the breeze was coming from this direction, so I thought I’d take a look and see.’

‘Is this your camp?’ Brett asked.

‘Sure is,’ the man, Tommy, replied proudly. ‘I put the shelter up, and they call it Tommy’s Hut.’

‘Well, your fishing gear was a lifesaver, Tommy. So was the rest of it. How far are we from the homestead?’

Tommy chewed a stalk of grass reflectively. ‘Bout a three-hour ride, considering there’s three of us and only two horses. Won’t be able to make much time. You and the missus can share a horse.’

‘Any family in residence at the homestead?’ Brett enquired.

‘Nope, just a manager. The place has gone up for sale, actually—family quarrels over money, I hear, so they need to cash it in. But they got radios and phones to get word out you’re OK, and to rustle up a plane to get you back to Cairns.’

‘Great.’

‘Goodbye,’ Holly said softly half an hour later when the camp had been tidied up and most of their gear stowed in the shelter.

She was perched in front of Brett on a tall brown horse.

‘Talking to me?’ he enquired.

‘No. I’m farewelling a lovely spot, a place that was a bit of a lifesaver and a bit of a revelation.’ She turned for a last look at the lagoon, the water lilies, the birds and the palms. ‘An oasis.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘And more.’ But he didn’t elaborate.

It was late that afternoon when they flew back into Cairns. A plane similar to the one they’d crashed in had retrieved them from the cattle station, where they’d taken fond farewells of their rescuer and his horses.

They hadn’t had any time alone together at all.

What Holly hadn’t expected, or even thought about, was that there would be an army of press waiting behind a barrier to greet them. She blinked somewhat dazedly into the flashlights as she stepped down onto the runway in the general-aviation section of the airport. Then she made out a face she knew in the crowd and, with a little cry, she ran forward and into her mother’s arms.

A day later, Holly was still at Palm Cove.

Her mother had gone home and Holly had been in two minds as to whether she should go back to Brisbane too. She’d seen little of Brett, who’d been tied up with air-crash investigators and all sorts of authorities. She herself had kept a very low profile.

In fact, after she’d said farewell to her mother, she’d gone for a walk along the beach and felt like pinching herself. Had she dreamt that Brett Wyndham had asked her to marry him? Had she dreamt up a magic oasis that
had become a place of even greater pleasure? No, she knew she hadn’t dreamt that. She still had some marks on her body to prove it.

But was she a journalist with an interview to complete, or what?

‘Remember me?’

She jumped as Brett ranged up alongside her. ‘Oh. Hi! Yes, although I was wondering if I’d ever see you again.’

He took her hand and swung her to face him. He wore a loose, blue cotton shirt and khaki shorts; his feet were bare.

‘I’m sorry.’ He bent his head and kissed her lightly. ‘Can you remind me the next time I’m tempted to crash-land a plane that the amount of paperwork involved is just not worth it? And it’s not finished yet!’

Holly giggled. ‘All right.’

‘Incidentally, I sent a helicopter out to the crash site and Tommy’s Hut. They brought all our stuff back.’

‘Good. Although my mother brought me some clothes.’ She looked down at the long floral skirt she wore with a lime T-shirt.

‘Would she have brought anything appropriate for a ball?’

Holly stiffened.

‘It’s tonight,’ he said. ‘Please come as my partner. And to the wedding tomorrow evening.’

‘No. Thank you, but no. I—’

‘Holly, sit down. Look, there’s a handy palm-tree here.’

‘Brett’ She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let
her, and finally they sank down and leant back against the tree.

‘You’re looking a little dazed,’ he said. ‘And I can’t blame you—’

‘Yes, well, if I didn’t dream it,’ she interrupted, ‘please don’t ask me to marry you again, because at the moment I am—I don’t know if I’m on my head or my heels.’

He stared down at her. ‘You didn’t dream it,’ he said with a glimmer of a smile in his eyes. ‘Although I won’t ask—not immediately, anyway.’ He sobered. ‘But this ball is a way for us to be together tonight, because I can’t get out of it and I’m having withdrawal symptoms. How about you?’

Holly drew her knees up, put her arms around them and rested her chin on them in a bid to hide the powerful tremor that had run through her.

‘Holly?’ He said her name very quietly.

She turned her head and laid her cheek on her knees. ‘Yes. Yes, I am. I’m missing you.’

‘Then?’

She sighed and looked out to sea. ‘All right. Do you have to go off somewhere now?’

‘Not for at least half an hour,’ he said. ‘What would you like to do?’

‘In half an hour?’ She smiled. ‘Well, talk, I guess.’

He stretched out his legs as she sat up, and he put his arm around her. ‘Did I tell you how fantastic you were?’

Holly made her preparations for the ball in a state of mind that could have been termed ‘a quandary’.

On one hand, she wanted to be with Brett rather desperately but, on the other, did she want to be with him under the scrutiny of his family and doubtless a whole host of people?

Not only a host but probably a high-profile host.

It was in line with this thought that she followed an impulse and booked into a beauty parlour when she normally wouldn’t have. The impulse was not only prompted by a need to hold her own in an upmarket throng; her nails were broken and ragged and her hair resembled a dry bird’s-nest despite having washed it.

So she had a manicure and a deep-conditioning hair treatment, as well as a mini-facial. She came out of the parlour feeling a bit better about the ball and definitely better about her hair and nails.

Next decision was what to wear. For once in her life she was tempted to shop, then she remembered that her mother had brought one of her favourite dresses, one that was the essence of simplicity but which she always felt good in.

It was black, a simple long shift in a clinging silk jersey with a scoop neck and no sleeves. With it she wore a necklace made of many strands of fine black silk threaded with loops and whorls of seed pearls and tiny shells. It was the necklace that really made the dress, and the shoes. They were not strappy sandals but a pair of low court-shoes in silver patent with diagonal fine black stripes. Her mother had even packed the bag that went with the outfit, a small patent-leather purse that matched the shoes.

How had her mother known she would need these items? Holly wondered suddenly. Then she recalled with
a smile that Sylvia never went anywhere without being fully prepared for any eventuality. It struck her suddenly—had her mother guessed that there was something between her only daughter and Brett Wyndham?

It probably was not such an unusual conclusion to come to since they’d been forced into each other’s company for the last three days, not to mention the days that had gone before, and Sylvia could be pretty intuitive.

She shrugged and started to put on a light make-up.

Brett came to collect her from her room an hour early, and took her breath away in a dinner suit.

‘You look lovely,’ he said and took her hand.

‘So do you,’ she answered with a glint of mischief in her deep-blue eyes.

‘Lovely?’

‘In your own way.’ She studied his tall figure in the beautifully tailored black suit. ‘Distinguished. Dangerous.’

His eyebrows shot up ‘Dangerous?’

‘Dangerously attractive. Did I ever tell you that you were rather stunning as a Spanish nobleman?’

‘No.’ He grinned down at her. ‘You were far too busy impersonating a French Holly Golightly and spinning me yarns about asses and camels.’

Holly gurgled with laughter. Somehow the ice was broken between them, which was to say, somehow she felt a lot better about going to this ball with him.

‘I’m early,’ he said as they walked away from her room, ‘Because Sue is having pre-ball drinks in her suite. I’ll be able to introduce you to her, as well as
Mark and Aria. Incidentally.’ He paused. ‘My ex-fiancée will be at the ball, and she could be at Sue’s drinks. I don’t think I told you she’s in charge of all the wedding festivities.’

Holly missed a step.

He stopped beside her. ‘She’s a friend of Aria’s, and she’s the best at this kind of thing. It’s been over between us for some time now.’

Nine months
; it shot through Holly’s mind.
It’s not that long, is it?

But she said nothing, although some of her feel-good mood about the ball ebbed a little as she thought of being confronted by Natasha Hewson.

She need not have worried, she soon discovered. Her presence both at Sue’s drinks and the ball was that of a celebrity—the girl who’d survived the plane crash with Brett but kept a very low profile since.

Mark and Aria were warmly friendly, so was Sue Murray. And so was Natasha Hewson. She
was
the same redhead Holly had seen dining the night before they’d flown to Haywire.

She was also extremely beautiful, tall and exotic in a bouffant shocking-pink gown.

Holly did have a momentary vision of Natasha and Brett as a couple and thought they would have been absolutely eye-catching. But Natasha appeared to be happily in the tow of a handsome man, and Holly could detect no barely hidden undercurrents between her and Brett. Which was probably why what did eventuate later in the evening came as such a shock to Holly.

In the meantime, she started to enjoy herself.

The resort ballroom faced the beach and the cove
through wide glass windows, so the view was almost unimpeded. Due to a trick of the evening light, you felt as if you could lean across the cove and touch Double Island and its little brother.

Dinner was superb, a celebration of “reef and beef” that included the wonderful seafood found in the waters off the coast. Not only was dinner superb but the company beneath the chandeliers and around the exquisitely set tables was too.

Cooktown orchids decorated the tables, and the women’s gowns, in contrast to the men in dark dinner-suits, brought almost every colour of the spectrum to the scene: primrose, topaz, camellia pink, sapphire, violet, oyster, claret and many more. Not only the colour, but there was every style and texture: there were silks, satins, taffetas, there were diaphanous voiles encrusted with sequins that flashed under the lights. There were skin-tight gowns, strapless ones, ruched and frilled ones. As it happened, there was only one plain-black one…

She and Brett dined at a table for eight that included his sister Sue as well as the bridal couple, Mark and Aria. Natasha Hewson was on the other side of the room.

After dinner, Brett invited her to dance.

‘You know,’ he said as she moved into his arms, ‘You’ve done it again.’

She shot a startled look at him.

‘You stole the show as Holly Golightly; you’ve done it here.’

Holly blinked, then shook her head. ‘Oh, no.’

‘Believe me, yes.’ He pulled her close. ‘Do you dance as well as you do everything else, Miss Golightly?’
She lowered her voice a notch. ‘Possibly better than I ride, monsieur.’

He laughed and dropped a kiss on her hair.

Neither of them noticed that Natasha Hewson was watching them as Brett swung Holly extravagantly to the music. When they came back together, lightly and expertly, they danced in silence for a few minutes.

They really were well matched, but it wasn’t only a rhythmic experience, Holly thought. It was a sensuous one too. She was aware not only of her steps but that she felt slim, vital and willowy.

As his dark gaze ran down her body, a frisson ran through her because she knew he was visualizing her breasts and hips beneath the black material. Nor could she help the same thing happening to her, being aware of his grace and strength beneath his dinner suit.

But as the moment threatened to engulf her in more specific fantasizing, the music came to an end. They came together but he didn’t lead her off the floor.

He said instead with his arms loosely around her, no sign of humour in his dark eyes, ‘Have you made up your mind, Holly?’

She took a breath. ‘I—Brett, this isn’t the time or place—’

‘All right.’ He broke in and took her hand. ‘Let’s do something about that.’ And he led her off the floor, through a set of glass doors, out onto the lawn and behind a row of trees. There was no-one around. ‘How about this?’

She took a frustrated little breath. Not only was there no-one for them to see, there was no-one to see them. ‘Brett.’ She paused, then took hold. ‘All right, I’ve been
thinking really seriously about it. It seems to make good sense.’