The Socialite and the Cattle King (6 page)

‘It’s very remote,’ she said in awe. ‘And empty.’

‘Remote,’ he agreed. ‘Hot as hell in summer, but with quite a history, not only of cattle but gold rushes and gem fields. Georgetown has a gem museum and Croydon has a recreation of the life and times of the gold rush there.’

‘They look so small, though—Georgetown and Croydon,’ she ventured.

He shrugged. ‘They are now. Last count, Georgetown had under three-hundred residents, but it’s the heart of a huge shire, and they’re both on the road to Karumba and the gulf, renowned for its fishing. With the army of grey nomads out and about these days, they get a lot of passing traffic.’

Holly grinned. ‘Grey nomads’ was the term given to retired Australians who travelled the continent in caravans or camper vans or just with tents. It could almost be said it was the national retiree-pastime.

Half an hour later they started to lose altitude and Brett pointed out the Haywire homestead. All Holly could see was a huddle of roofs and a grassy airstrip between white-painted wooden fences in a sea of scrub.

Then he spoke into his VHF radio, and over some static a female voice said she’d walked the strip and it was in good order.

‘Romeo, coming in,’ he responded.

Ten minutes later they made a slightly bumpy landing and rolled to a stop adjacent to the huddle of roofs Holly had seen from the air.

A girl and a dog came through the gate in the airstrip fence to meet them.

‘Holly,’ Brett said, ‘This is Sarah. And this—’ he bent down to pat the red cattle-dog who accepted his ministrations with every sign of ecstasy ‘—is Bella.’

‘Welcome to Haywire, Holly,’ Sarah said in a very English accent.

Holly blinked in surprise, and Brett and Sarah exchanged grins. ‘Sarah is backpacking her way around the world,’ Brett said. ‘How long have you been with us now?’ he asked the English girl.

‘Three months. I can’t seem to tear myself away!’ Sarah said ruefully. ‘Brett, since you’re here, I’m a bit worried about one of the mares in the holding paddock—she’s lame. Would you mind having a look at her? I could show Holly around a bit in the meantime.’

‘Sure. I’ll leave you to it.’

Haywire homestead was a revelation to Holly in as much as it wasn’t a homestead at all in the accepted sense of the word. All the accommodation was in separate cabins set out on green lawns and inside a fence designed to keep wallabies, emus and other wildlife out, according to Sarah.

All the other facilities were under one huge roof: lounge area, dining area, a small library-cum-games room et cetera. But the unique thing was, there were no outside walls.

The floor was slate; there was a central stone-fireplace, and at intervals there were tubs of potted plants and artistically arranged pieces of dead wood, often draped with ferns.

There was a long refectory table, comfortable caneloungers and steamer chairs; beyond the fence and lawn, looking away from the rest of the compound, there was a lake alive with birds, reeds and water lilies.

The whole area reminded Holly of a safari lodge, and she was most impressed.

‘Just one thing, what do you do when it rains or blows a gale?’ she asked Sarah ruefully.

‘Hasn’t happened to me yet,’ Sarah replied. ‘But there are roll-down blinds.’ She pointed them out. ‘And I believe they put up shutters if they get a cyclone. Otherwise it lets the air flow through when it’s really hot. Here’s the kitchen.’

The kitchen was not visible from the rest of the area; it was also open on one side, yet had all mod cons. There were, Holly learnt, several sources of power on Haywire: a generator for electricity and gas for the hot-water system. There were still some old-fashioned combustion stoves for heating water in case other means failed. And there was a satellite phone as well as a VHF radio for communications.

There was an above-ground swimming pool surrounded by emerald lawn and shaded by trees.

Sarah explained that she was actually a nurse, but she enjoyed cooking, she loved the outback and she loved horses, so a stint as a housekeeper at Haywire suited her down to the ground.

‘Mind you, most often there’s only me, Bella, the horses and a few stockmen here. We don’t get to see the family that often. Actually, I’m surprised to see Brett. I thought he’d be down at Palm Cove with the rest of them.’

‘We were—he was,’ Holly said, and intercepted a curious little glance from Sarah. She found herself thinking,
I knew this would happen! Probably no passable woman is safe in Brett Wyndham’s company without being thought of as his lover.
‘I’m actually working with him,’ she added.

‘So she is,’ the man in question agreed as he strolled up to them.

They both turned.

‘The mare has a stone bruise in her off-fore. I’ve relieved the pressure, but keep an eye on her or get Kane to,’ he added to Sarah. ‘Are they coming in tonight? Kane,’ he said for Holly’s benefit, ‘Is station foreman, and he has two offsiders.’

Sarah shook her head. ‘They’ve got a problem with a fence on the northern boundary. That’s miles away, so they decided to camp out overnight.’

‘OK, then it’s just us. I’m going to take Holly for a drive; we’ll be back before dark. Incidentally, what’s for dinner?’

Sarah grinned her infectious grin. ‘Would you believe? Roast beef!’

‘Standard cattle-station joke—roast beef for dinner,’ Brett said to Holly as they climbed into a sturdy, high-chassis four-wheel-drive utility vehicle. Holly had brought her camera.

She laughed, but said, ‘Look, I’m really surprised at how few people you have working here. From memory you run ten-thousand head of cattle; that sounds like a huge herd to me, and Haywire covers thousands of square kilometers.’ Holly said.

‘That’s because you probably don’t know much about Brahman and Droughtmaster cattle.’

‘I know nothing,’ Holly confessed.

‘Well—’ he swung the wheel to avoid an anthill ‘—Brahmans come down from four Indian breeds; they were first imported here from the USA in 1933. Droughtmasters are a Brahman cross, developed here. They’ve all adapted particularly to this part of the world for a variety of reasons. They’re heat-and-parasite resistant, they’re mobile, good foragers and they can survive on poor grass in droughts. They have a highly developed digestive system that provides efficient feed-conversion.’

‘They sound amazing.’

‘There’s more,’ he said with a grin. ‘The fact that they’re resistant to or tolerant of parasites means they don’t require chemical intervention, so they’re clean and green,’ he said humorously. ‘The cows are good mothers; they produce plenty of milk and they have small calves, so birthing is usually easy, and they’re renowned for protecting their calves. All of that—’ he waved a hand ‘—means they require minimum management. In answer to your question, that’s why we don’t need an army of staff.’

Holly looked around at the now undulating countryside they were driving through. It was quite rocky, she noticed, and dotted with anthills as well as spindly trees and scrub. The grass was long and spiky.

‘But this is only one of your stations, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Yes, we have two more, roughly in this area, and
one in the Northern Territory.’ He drew up and pointed. ‘There you are—Brahmans.’

Holly stared at the cream and mainly brown cattle with black points. They were gathered around a dam. They had big droopy ears, sloe eyes, dewlaps and medium humps. ‘They look so neat and smooth.’

‘It’s that smooth coat and their highly developed sweat glands that help them cope with the heat.’

‘Do they come in any other colours?’

‘Yes, grey with black points, but we don’t have any greys here on Haywire.’

‘It’s so interesting!’ She took some pictures then folded her arms and watched the cattle intently.

Brett Wyndham watched her for a long moment.

In her yellow singlet top, her jeans and no-nonsense shoes, she didn’t look at all out of place in the land-scape. In her enthusiasm, she looked even more apt for the setting; with her pale skin, that cloud of fair curls and no make-up, she was different and rather uniquely attractive.

He thought of her in her swimming costume only this morning: very slender, yes, but leggy with a kind of coltish grace that he’d found quite fascinating. Then again, in all her incarnations he’d found her fascinating…

He stirred and glanced at his watch. ‘Seen enough?’

Holly turned her head and their gazes clashed for a moment. She felt her skin prickle as an unspoken communication seemed to flow between them, one of mutual awareness.

Then he looked away and switched on the engine, and the moment was broken, but the awareness of Brett
Wyndham didn’t leave her as they bounced over the uneven terrain back to the compound.

Quite unaware that her thoughts echoed his thoughts, she remembered him all sleek and tall in the waters of Palm Cove that morning. She recalled how easily he’d picked her up in his arms and carried her up the beach. She shivered inwardly as she remembered the feel of her skin on his skin.

Brett parked the ute outside the compound fence and pointed out of his window. Holly followed the line of his finger and saw three emus treading with stately precision down the fenceline.

She breathed excitedly—not only in genuine interest, but because she was grateful to be relieved of her memories of the morning…

‘It’s already like a zoo here,’ she told him.

They watched for a while, then got out, and he led the way to the cabin she’d been allotted.

‘You’ve got half an hour before pre-dinner drinks. Would you like to freshen up?’ he asked.

‘Thanks,’ she said gratefully.

‘This is a guest cabin. By the way, there’s plenty of hot water.’

‘Lovely,’ Holly murmured,

He turned away, but turned back. ‘Oh, there should be a functioning torch in there—use it when you’re walking around the compound at night. There could be frogs. Or snakes.’

‘Frogs I can handle,’ Holly said. ‘Snakes I’m not too keen on, but I guess usual practice—make a bit of a
noise as you move about so the ground vibrates and otherwise beat a hasty retreat?’

‘Good thinking; they’re not common,’ he agreed.

‘That’s nice to hear,’ Holly said with some humour.

‘We
are
—almost—beyond the black stump.’

‘Now you tell me,’ she quipped, and closed herself into the cabin.

She immediately discovered that Haywire might be remote, and might resemble a safari camp in some respects, but its cabins were sturdy, beautifully appointed and had very modern bathrooms.

The double bed had a sumptuous thick-looking but light-as-air doona covered in an intricately embroidered cream-linen cover, with four matching pillows. It was also a four-poster bed. There were paintings on the dark-green walls and the carpet was the kind your feet sank into in a soft sea-green. There was a beautiful cedar chest, two armchairs and a delicate writing-desk with cabriole legs. The bedside lamps had porcelain bases and coral-pink linen shades.

The bathroom was a symphony of white tiles, black floor and shiny chrome taps. Lime-green and lemon-yellow was echoed not only in the towels and the robes that hung behind the door but in the cakes of soap and toiletries all provided in glass bottles, with an ornamental ‘H’ for Haywire entwined with a ‘W’ for Wyndham.

She took a hot shower and changed into a pair of clean jeans and a long-sleeved blue blouse that matched her eyes. She thought about wearing her heavy shoes as protection against any snakes on the loose, but decided her feet needed a change, and slipped them into her ballet pumps.

As usual she spent a few minutes grappling with her hair; she’d washed it, but in the end merely pushed her fingers through it and left it to its own devices. She’d discovered that very few people with curly hair actually appreciated it, whilst many who did not have it thought it would be marvellous to do so. She grimaced at her reflection as she recalled the agonies in her teens when she would have given her eye teeth to have straight smooth hair.

That Brett Wyndham didn’t seem averse to it occurred to her—and, since she had five minutes to play with, she sat down in one of the armchairs and thought about him.

In particular she thought about that charged little moment out in the ute when their gazes had locked and she’d been so aware of everything about him. Not only that, but she’d sensed it was mutual. Where could it ever lead? she wondered. There was something about him she couldn’t put her finger on. Yes, she’d decided he was a loner—it was pretty obvious he lived the kind of life that didn’t go well with domestic ties—but was there something even more remote about him?

If so, did it come from his broken engagement to Natasha Hewson or did it go deeper than that?

She frowned as she suddenly remembered what he’d said this morning about going into areas he didn’t want to go to. What could that be about? she wondered as she cast her mind over all the material she’d collected from him the previous evening. None of it had been especially riveting, mostly family history, history of the area and some anecdotes…
Hang on!

She paused her thoughts as it struck her that those
few anecdotes from his formative years had included his brother Mark, his sister Sue, his mother, who was a doctor, and his grandparents but not one word about his father. Wasn’t that a little strange?

She shook her head, more than ever conscious that Brett Wyndham was an enigma. She also had to concede that there was a spark of chemistry between them—more than a spark. She couldn’t deny there were times when she loved his company, even though he’d so incensed her at the beginning, but she also couldn’t deny her wariness.

Of course, some of that was to do with what had once happened to her, but who would wittingly fall in love with an enigmatic loner? She posed the question to herself.

S
HE
didn’t encounter any snakes or frogs on the way to dinner. In fact, Bella came to meet her as she opened her door and escorted her.

‘You are a lovely dog,’ she said to Bella as they arrived, then, ‘Wow—this looks amazing!’

Oil lamps hung from the rafters, shedding soft light. The table was set with colourful, linen place mats, pewter and crystal, and a bowl of swamp lilies. There was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, and there was the tantalizing smell of roast beef in the air.

Brett had obviously showered too; his hair was damp and spiky and he’d changed into khaki trousers and a checked shirt. He looked devastatingly attractive, Holly thought privately.

‘Champagne?’ he invited, lifting the bottle by its neck and starting to ease the foil off.

‘Yes, please.’ Holly looked around. ‘I must say this is amazingly civilized for beyond the black stump.’

‘We do our best. Champagne, Sarah?’ he called.

‘No, thanks,’ Sarah called back. ‘I’m in the midst of dishing up; I’ll have one later.’

‘Has it always been like this—Haywire?’ Holly
asked, and lifted her glass in a response to Brett’s silent toast.

‘More or less,’ he replied and shrugged. ‘Ever since I can remember, although the cabins have been renovated and more mod cons put in. But I never wanted to change
this.
’ He gestured comprehensively.

‘I’m so glad; it’s magic,’ Holly said enthusiastically.

Not a great deal later Holly said to Sarah, ‘That was fantastic,’ as she put her knife and fork together and pushed her plate away. ‘Not only roast beef but Yorkshire pudding.’

‘I am a Yorkshire lass,’ Sarah revealed as she stood up and began clearing plates. ‘There’s fruit and cheese to come, and coffee.’

‘Please, let me help,’ Holly offered.

‘No way! I am being paid to do this. You and Brett relax,’ Sarah ordered.

Holly breathed a little frustratedly. She didn’t really want to be left alone with Brett—well, she did and she didn’t, she decided. But she felt tense about it; she felt jittery.

On the other hand, she didn’t want to force herself on Sarah in the kitchen. Some cooks hated having their space invaded with offers of help.

She got up, but stood undecided beside her chair, and it seemed to show in her face.

She saw Brett watching her rather narrowly and wondered what he was thinking. Then she realized, as his dark gaze flicked up and down her figure, that he was thinking of her in a particular context—the awareness
that continued to spring up between them—and she felt herself colour; she turned away, biting her lip.

He was the one who solved the problem. He said, ‘I’ve got a few things to do, a few calls to make. Why don’t you look through the albums? It might give you more background material.’

She turned back. ‘Albums?’

He indicated the library area and some thick albums arranged on a teak table. A comfortable armchair stood beside the table and a lamp above it shed light.

‘There are photos going way back; there are visitors’ comments and press cuttings.’

‘Oh, thank you! I will,’ she said eagerly, but didn’t miss the ironic little glance he cast her. In fact, it caused her to bridle as she stared back.

But he only shrugged and drew her attention to a drawer in the table that contained pens and paper, if she wanted to make notes.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly. Feeling foolish, which didn’t sit well with her, she waved her hands and recommended that he go away and leave her alone.

‘By all means, Miss Harding,’ he said with soft sarcasm. ‘By all means.’

Holly ground her teeth.

An hour later she looked up as he came back into the library area, then put her pen down and stretched.

‘Finished?’ he enquired.

‘No. They’re fascinating—I could go on for hours, but I won’t. Thanks very much.’ She closed the album she’d been working on and stood up. ‘I think bed might
be a good idea. I seem to have done an awful lot today,’ she said with evident humour.

‘I’ll walk you to your cabin,’ he murmured.

‘I can walk myself.’ But she paused, feeling recalcitrant and juvenile. What could happen between here and her cabin? ‘OK. Thanks.’

They called goodnight to Sarah, who was watching a DVD, and set off. In the event, there were no snakes, but there was a flying fox. As Brett opened her cabin door and reached in to switch on the light, it swooped down on Holly.

It startled her so much she dropped her torch, gave a yelp and with an almighty shudder sought refuge in Brett’s arms.

The creature flew into the cabin, then straight out again.

‘It’s only a flying fox,’ he said, holding her close, though, and flipping off the light. ‘It was the light.’

‘Only a flying fox!’ she repeated incredulously. ‘Aren’t they responsible for the Lyssa virus or the Hendra virus—or both?’

‘It didn’t actually touch you, Holly.’ He passed a hand over her hair then closed the cabin door.

She shuddered again. ‘Can you imagine it getting caught in my hair? Yuck!’

‘Some people love them.’

‘Not in their hair, I bet they don’t. Look, I’m not keen on them; snakes, spiders, rats and frogs I can manage to stay sane about—flying foxes, not!’

He laughed down at her then bent his head to kiss her.

Holly was taken completely by surprise, but it felt
so good, she was immediately riveted and all her fears seemed to melt away.

Then some common sense prevailed and she drew away a little.

‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ she whispered.

‘We’ve been wanting to do it all day,’ he countered.

‘I…’ She swallowed. ‘The thing is, I’m here to do a job and I really need to concentrate on that. So.’ She managed to look up at him humorously. ‘Thanks for being here, otherwise I could have really freaked out! But now I’ll say goodnight.’

He released her promptly, although with a crooked little smile. ‘All right. Don’t switch the light on until you’re closed in.’ He turned away and left her.

Holly closed herself into the cabin and stood in the dark for a long moment with her hand to her mouth.

The next morning, after breakfast, he had a surprise for her.

She’d greeted him cautiously, but he’d been casual and friendly and they’d eaten breakfast companionably.

Then he recommended that she bring a hat and sunscreen, along with her camera, and meet him at the holding-paddock gate.

When she got there, there were two saddled horses tied to the fence.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t rustle up a camel or a donkey.’

Holly groaned. ‘Thank heavens! But I have to tell you that, although I have ridden horses before, I’m not much of a rider—I usually get led.’

‘No problem.’ He produced a long rein out of his
saddle bag and attached it to one of the horses’ bridles. ‘Up you get.’ He put his hands around her waist and lifted her into the saddle.

‘Where are we going?’

He mounted his horse with ease and clicked his tongue. As they set off, he said, ‘We’re putting in a new dam; I want to see the progress. It’s a pleasant ride.’

‘You’re not going to gallop or do anything that’ll contribute to me falling off?’ she queried as she clutched her reins and tried to adjust herself to the motion as they broke into a trot.

‘Nope. Just relax. Are you always this nervous when you’re on a job?’

‘Often with good cause, believe me,’ she said a shade tartly. ‘I’ve even been known to get off and walk, but I do always get there in the end.’

Brett Wyndham grimaced.

‘What?’ she asked with conspicuous hauteur.

He laughed softly. ‘I believe you. You’re a stubborn one, Holly Golightly; that I don’t doubt. OK. Let’s see if we can enjoy this ride.’

An hour later they reached the dam sight, and to Holly’s surprise she had enjoyed the ride. They’d stopped a couple of times, once on a rocky crest that had afforded them a sweeping view of the countryside, and once beside a salt lick.

Both times she’d dismounted and asked a lot of questions. By the time they reached the dam, she was confident enough of her horse not to need the leading rein, and she was genuinely charmed when Brett lit a small fire and boiled the billy he had in his saddle bag.
She reached into hers as instructed and withdrew some damper Sarah had baked to go with their tea.

‘A real bush picnic,’ she enthused as she sat on a rock and fanned herself with her hat. ‘Oh—I can see a bulldozer over there. And a camp—but not a soul in sight!’

‘Yes.’ Brett squatted beside the fire and put a few more sticks on it. ‘They usually work two weeks on, one week off. I wanted to check it all out on their off-week. Ready for your tea?’ He poured boiling water onto a teabag in an enamel mug and handed it to her.

‘Mmm…I’m looking forward to this. Thank you. But I don’t see any cattle.’

‘We rotate paddocks; this one’s resting.’

‘I see. How long…?’

But he interrupted her to give her all the information she was about to ask for about the paddocks, and more besides.

Holly had to laugh, although a little self-consciously, when he’d finished. ‘Sorry, I’m asking too many questions, but it is interesting.’

He sent her a thoughtful look. She seemed to be completely unfazed by the heat and the flies; she seemed quite unaware that she had a dirty smudge on her face, or that her hands were grimy, that her hair was plastered to her head or that her shirt was streaked with sweat.

‘You’d make a good countrywoman,’ he said at last.

Holly tried the damper and pronounced it delicious. ‘I’m insatiably curious,’ she said. ‘That’s my problem.’

He looked thoughtful, but he didn’t comment. When
they’d finished their tea, he put the fire out carefully, they mounted again and went to explore the dam workings.

Two hours later they cantered back into the holding paddock and Brett suggested a swim in the pool.

‘Sounds heavenly,’ Holly said in a heartfelt way, and went to change into her togs. She was on her way to the pool when it occurred to her that Sarah wasn’t around, and that she hadn’t been quite her cheerful self at breakfast. She hesitated then went to knock on her cabin door.

Sarah opened it eventually and was full of apologies. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll get stuck into lunch—I’ve just got a touch of sinus, but I’ve taken something. Makes me feel a bit sleepy, though.’

Holly studied the other girl’s pale face and the dark rings under her eyes. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘You go back to bed. I can handle lunch!’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Sarah replied, but her gaze fastened on something over Holly’s shoulder. Holly turned round to see that Brett was standing behind her. Before Sarah got a chance to say anything, she explained the situation to him and finished by saying, ‘I could make lunch easily.’

‘Done,’ Brett said with authority. ‘You do as you’re told, Sarah.’

‘I should be better in time to make dinner,’ Sarah said anxiously.

‘We’ll see about that,’ her boss replied, and reached out to rumple Sarah’s hair. ‘Take it easy,’ he advised her.

Sarah sighed and looked relieved.

In the event Holly made both lunch and dinner. They had a swim in the pool before lunch, then Brett poured them a gin and tonic each—a fitting aperitif for the middle of a hot day, he told her—while she made open cold roast beef sandwiches with hot English mustard and salad.

They took their drinks and lunch to a table beside the pool beneath a shady tree.

Holly had put her peasant blouse on over her togs but Brett had added nothing to his board shorts. Bella lay beside them, gently indicating that she’d be happy to clean up any scraps. The bush beyond the fence was shimmering in the heat and vibrating with insect life.

‘How do you manage to leave this place so often?’ Holly asked.

‘Don’t kid yourself,’ Brett responded. ‘You can feel isolated up here.’

‘But you can drive out, can’t you?’

‘Sure, but it’s a long way on a rough road.’

Holly sipped her drink. ‘Do your sister and brother like it up here?’

‘From time to time, but they don’t really have cattle in their blood. Neither does Aria. She doesn’t really enjoy roughing it.’ He grimaced then elaborated. ‘She’s the girl Mark’s marrying.’

‘What’s she like?’

Brett considered and gave Bella the last bit of his sandwich. ‘Very beautiful. She has long blonde hair, a striking figure. She and Natasha make a good pair, come to think of it, although Nat’s a redhead.’ He paused. ‘My ex-fiancée.’

Holly’s mind fled back to the dinner party she’d
witnessed at Palm Cove. Unless there were two stunning redheads in his life, had the one she’d seen been his ex-fiancée? If so, did that mean they were still friends?

‘No curiosity on that subject, Miss Harding?’ he queried, a shade dryly.

Holly shrugged and looked away. ‘I’m sure it’s out of bounds, and besides, its none of my business.’

‘True.’ He looked reflective. ‘Anyway, Aria is a biochemist and actually very nice, although something of a meddler.’ He looked briefly heavenwards. ‘But since Mark’s a computer genius they have similar lifestyles in common.’

Holly looked around. ‘So all this falls to you? I mean all the responsibility, the planning and so on.’

‘Yes.’ He sat back and crossed his hands behind his head.

‘It must be quite a handful, combining it with your other work.’

‘More or less what I’ve been thinking for a while now,’ he agreed with a wry little smile. He sobered. ‘But it’s in my blood. Just as you inherited your father’s writing gene, I must have inherited my f—’ He stopped abruptly.

Holly waited but found she was holding her breath.

‘Much as I don’t care to admit it,’ he said finally, ‘I must have inherited my father’s gene for cattle and the land.’

Holly released her breath slowly. Although the thought chased through her mind that she’d been right—there had been something between Brett and his father—she was mindful of his warning about going into things he didn’t want go into.

‘So it’s something you really love,’ she said instead. ‘I can understand that.’

He looked at her penetratingly. ‘You can?’

‘I think so. It’s probably unfair to say there are more challenges out here than in suburban life, but to me anyway these open spaces are not only exciting—’ she looked up at the wide arc of blue, blue sky above ‘—they’re liberating. I guess that’s what motivated my father and may have come down to me.’