by Miranda Lee
COURTNEY knew, the moment she saw William Sinclair's face, that her mother's accountant had really bad news. He'd hedged over the phone when she'd asked him if Crosswinds was in financial trouble, saying he just needed to have a little chat with her, face to face.
Courtney hadn't been fooled by that. Her mother's cost-cutting measures these past couple of years had been obvious to everyone. Staff was down to a minimum. The fences had not been painted. Other repairs had been left undone. The place had begun to look shabby. Which wasn't exactly good for business.
If Crosswinds was to compete against the lavish and very modern thoroughbred studs now gracing the Upper Hunter Valley, then it needed to look its very best.
When she'd pointed this out to her mother earlier in the year, Hilary hadn't agreed. 'What we need, daughter, is a new stallion. Not fancy stables.'
Which was also true. Four years earlier, when the stud had been doing very well, her mother had imported a classy Irish stayer named Four-Leaf Clover.
Unfortunately, the horse had contracted a virus and had died shortly after standing his first season at stud. His only crop of foals hadn't been much to look at as yearlings, bringing such poor bidding at auction that Hilary had stubbornly kept most of them rather than let them go for less than they'd cost to breed.
With Four-Leaf Clover gone, and their remaining two sues both getting older, Crosswinds had a real hole in its breeding program. But there hadn't been the money to buy a replacement till this year.
I'll still have to look for a bargain,' her mother had told her. 'I haven't got much spare cash.'
Her mum had been cock-a-hoop when she'd arrived home with Goldplated in May, especially with the price she'd negotiated. Though no price was a real bargain, Courtney realised ruefully as she walked into the accountant's office, if the money to buy the darned horse had been borrowed.
William Sinclair rose as she entered, being the old-fashioned gentleman that he was. 'Good morning, Courtney,' he greeted. 'Do sit down.' And he waved her to the single chair facing his large, but large, ancient desk.
Courtney took off her Akubra hat and sat down, making herself as comfortable as she could in the stiff-backed seat. A fruitless exercise. Tension had already knotted the muscles between her shoulder blades.
The accountant dropped his eyes to the papers in front of him, then started shuffling them around.
Courtney's agitation rose. She wasn't in the mood for any further procrastination.
'Just give it to me straight, Bill,' she began bluntly, and his eyes lifted, bis expression faintly disapproving. He'd never liked her calling him Bill. But that was rather irrelevant at the moment 'No bulldust now. No waffle. I'm my mother's daughter. I can take it.'
William shook his head at the young woman sitting before him. Yes, she was indeed her mother's daughter, he thought wearily.
Not in looks. Lord, no. Hilary Cross had been as plain as a pikestaff. Her daughter had clearly taken after her father, that unknown, unspoken-of male who had miraculously impregnated the forty-five-year-old spinster owner of Crosswinds over a quarter of a century ago, then disappeared off the face of the earth.
Gossip claimed he'd been a gypsy and Courtney's looks seemed to confirm that, with her long black curly hair, dark brown eyes and rich olive skin. A striking-looking girl, in William's opinion.
Her personality and ways, however, were pure Hilary. Just look at the way she was sitting, for heaven's sake, with her right ankle hooked up over her left knee. That was how men sat, not young ladies. And then there was the matter of her dress, 'dress' being the pertinent word. Because she never wore one! William had never seen her in anything but blue jeans and a checked shirt. Yet she had a very good figure.
As for that glorious hair of hers. It was always bundled up into a rough pony-tail, then shoved under a dusty brown: stockman's hat. Lipstick never graced her deli-ciously full mouth. And the only scent he ever smelt on her was leather and horses!
But it was her manner that rankled William the most. Not quite as aggressive and opinionated as her mother, she was still far too tactless with people. And bold in her attitude all round. Bold as brass!
Of course, it wasn't her fault. Hilary had raised Courtney as though she were a boy, letting her run wild from the time she was a tiny tot. He could still remember the day he'd driven out to Crosswinds, when Courtney had been about eleven or twelve. She'd met him at the gate, riding a big black colt with a crazed look in its eye and wide, snorting nostrils. Far too much horse for a man, let alone a wisp of a girl.
'Race you up to the house, she'd shouted from where the horse had been dancing around in circles, obviously eager to get going. 'Last one there is a rotten egg!' And, nudging the huge beast in the flanks with her heels, she'd taken off at a gallop, hooping and hollering like some bush jockey on picnic day.
Though appalled at her unladylike iantics, he'd still gunned the engine and had chased after the minx, certain in the knowledge that any car could easily outrun even the fastest racehorse in the long curving uphill driveway.
And what had she done? Jumped the darned fence and gone straight across the paddocks, scattering mares and foals as she'd leapt fence after fence like the mad daredevil she was. She'd been there waiting for him when he'd finally rounded the circular gravel driveway in front of the house, her dark eyes sparkling at him.
'You'll have to drive faster than that next time, Bill, she'd teased. 'Or get yourself a sports car!'
It was the first time she'd called him Bill. Before that, he'd at least been Mr Sinclair.
When he'd spotted Hilary standing on the veranda of the house, glaring down at her daughter, he'd experienced some satisfaction that the brazen creature would be suitably chastised for her cheek and foolhardiness.
But what had Hilary done?
Chided the girl for losing her hat!
'Do you want to end up with skin cancer?' she'd snapped. 'Go back and find it and put the thing on, girl.' At which, the bold hussy had whirled her horse and, with another hoop and holler, set off; exactly the way she'd come, jumping fence after fence.
When William had dared make some critical comment himself about the girl's recklessness, Hilary had levelled a steely gaze his way.
'Would you have said that if she'd been a boy?' she'd challenged. 'No! You'd have praised a boy's horsemanship, marvelled at his nerve, been impressed by his courage. My daughter needs those qualities in even greater quantities than any boy if she is to take over from me when I'm gone. The world of horse-breeding is a man's world, William. Courtney needs a loose rein to become the sort of woman who can survive in such a world. There's no room for sissies around here. As my heir, she will need more than a man's name. She will need a man's spirit. A man's strength. A man's ego. I aim to make sure she acquires all three.'
And you did a good job, Hilary, William thought now.. The girl certainly has courage. And character, for want of a better word. But will she have enough to get out of the spot you left her in?
William gave if to Courtney straight, as requested.
Courtney listened to the very very bad news. Not only had her mum borrowed to buy Goldplated, as she'd feared, but to buy Four-Leaf Clover as well. And that horse had cost a small fortune! Worse, it turned out Four-Leaf Clover had not been insured, so when he'd died, the loss had been total and none of the original loan repaid.
'Your mother didn't believe in insuring anything against death,' the accountant informed Courtney, 'and I could never persuade her otherwise. As you know, she carried no life insurance herself."
Courtney nodded. 'Yes, I know,' she said, a lump forming in her throat as the reality of her mother's death washed over her again.
Hilary's heart attack had come as such a shock to
everyone, despite her being seventy last birthday. She'd always seemed so strong...
Courtney frowned. Had this escalating debt been a contributing factor in her mother's coronary? Had she been worried sick about the loan?
She'd never said a word. But then, she wouldn't have. She'd have been too proud to admit to being so foolish.
Thinking of her mother again brought a lump to Courtney's throat and a stinging to her eyes. She coughed, blinked, then gathered herself. Her mother had always hated her to cry. Tears achieve nothing, girl. Get out and do something to fix whatever''s bothering you. Don't sit there blubbering and feeling sorry for yourself!
'Exactly how much money do I owe?' she asked brusquely.
The way Bill cleared his throat before answering was not a good sign. 'Er...three million dollars, give or take a thousand or two.'
Three million!
Courtney struggled to hide her shock. And, somehow, she managed.
'Never let the bastards know what you're thinking and feeling,' Hilary had told her more than once. 'Let your guard down, and they'll take advantage of you.'
The bastards, Courtney knew, were all men. And whilst she had not grown up to be the rabid man-hater her mother had been, she was learning to appreciate, firsthand, where her mother had been coming from when she'd lectured her daughter over the predatory nature of the male sex.
The month since the funeral had been an education, all right. She couldn't count the men who'd come out of the woodwork since she'd inherited Crosswinds, smarmily flattering her and asking if there was any way they could help, now that she was all alone in the world, poor little thing.
Courtney's thoughts turned wry. They wouldn't come sniffing around if they knew this poor little thing was three million dollars in debt!
Pity she couldn't tell them.
Pride, however, would keep her silent on the subject. Pride and loyalty to her mother. Hilary had spent a lifetime earning the respect of her peers in the horse-breeding world. No way would she let them laugh at her now, especially the men.
But what on earth was she going to do?
'I know it's a lot of money,' Bill said gently. 'I did try to advise your mother not to borrow any more, but she simply wouldn't listen to me."
Courtney nodded. She understood exactly how stubborn her mother had been, and was determined not to do the same. Bill might be getting on in years but he was an intelligent man, with an old-fashioned integrity she both admired and respected. He would never try to take advantage of her, or give her bad advice. He wasn't one of the bastards. Courtney liked him enormously.
'Is the bank calling in the loan, Bill? Is that it?'
'No. They've been amazingly patient, and suspiciously generous in lending your mother more money, possibly because she had such excellent collateral against any loan. They can't lose, no matter what Let's face it, Courtney, Crosswinds is worth a lot more than three million.'
Courtney felt the first stirrings of real alarm. 'Are you saying Crosswinds is at risk here? That one day I might have to sell up?'
'If things keep going the way they're going, and you don't try to stem the rising tide of this loan, then I'm afraid such an occurrence will be inevitable. The bank will do it for you."
Courtney just sat there, staring at him.
How could she bear to live without Crosswinds? The house. The horses. The land. It was all she knew and loved. It was her lifeblood. She would die without it.
Real pity for the girl swept through William. He hated having to do this so soon after her mother's death, but such things couldn't wait. A loan as large as this grew every day, especially now that interest rates were on the rise again. That loan was like the sword of Damocles, swaying over Courtney's head.
'If you want my opinion,' he said firmly, 'then you should sell some of the horses. And quickly. You have some very valuable brood mares at Crosswinds.'
A scathing look crossed the girl's face.
'Sell the brood, mares? Are you mad? Do you know how long it took my mother and her family before her to breed up such stock? The brood mares are the backbone of Crosswinds. They are invaluable. I'd sell myself before I sold a single one of them!'
William smothered a sigh. Oh, yes. She was a chip off the old block all right. That was exactly what Hilary had said when he'd suggested the same thing a few days before her heart attack, right down to the bit about selling herself first.
He'd refrained from telling Hilary she was hardly a saleable commodity.
But her daughter was a different matter. As William's male gaze roved over the girl before him, a startling picture popped into his mind, that of a bound and naked Courtney standing proudly on some white slave trader's auction block, her magnificent black hair spread out over her bared shoulders, her beautiful brown eyes blazing defiance at the lust-filled bidders leering up at her.
What a price she would command! He could well imagine some billionaire sheikh paying a king's ransom to install Courtney Cross in his harem.
Did such things happen these days? he speculated. Possibly. But not here, in Australia.
Still, it did give William the germ of an idea...
Courtney got hold of her temper with difficulty. But, truly, Bill didn't know what he was talking about. He might know money, but he knew nothing about horses.
'How long do you think I've got?' she demanded to know. 'How long before the bank starts jumping up and down? One year? Two? Dare I hope for three?'
William suspected the bank in question might carry such a mortgage indefinitely—still it would take more than a miracle for Courtney to extricate herself from debt. In the end, they'd foreclose, and Crosswinds would be sold off, including Courtney's precious brood mares. The trouble was, in such a fire sale, nothing brought its true value. If Courtney wasn't careful, she'd not only lose Crosswinds, but there wouldn't be anything left over for her to live on. She'd be penniless.
He had to force the girl to do something now, or all might be lost in the future.
'It'll be the first of August this Saturday,' he said. 'I'd say you might have till the end of the year.'
'But that isn't enough time!' she protested. 'You'll have to talk to the bank, Bill, explain to them that in another couple of years I'm going to have a fantastic lot of yearlings to sell. Mum might have been foolish in some things but she was a great judge of horseflesh. Goldplated is going to be a success. I just know it. Within three years, Crosswinds will have money to burn.'
William sighed. He'd heard that one before. From Hilary. Over the years, he'd learnt that there was no such thing as a sure thing regarding racehorses, either on the track or in breeding.
'Courtney,' he said sternly, 'you must find a way to pay back that loan. And soon.'
'Well, don't go telling me to sell my horses again,' she threw at him, her face set into a mutinous expression, 'because I'm not going to. And that's final! There has to be some other way.'
'I can think of only two other solutions to your problem. Although, come to think of it, only one is viable,' he added drily.
What multi-millionaire would want to actually marry this difficult, stubborn, bossy girl? Beauty alone would not cut it, especially her kind of beauty which was of the wild and natural kind. Wealthy men wanted glamorous, well-groomed wives who stroked their egos and hosted perfect dinner parties, not independent, prickly creatures with an attitude, as well as a money problem.
'What?' Courtney's right foot hit the ground as she hunched forward on the chair, all ears. Tell me.'
'You'll have to find yourself a business partner, someone who'll pay cash for a share in Crosswinds.'
Pulling a face, Courtney straightened up in the chair. 'Nope. That won't work, Bill. No horseman would buy a share in Crosswinds and keep his hands off the running of the place. Mum would turn in her grave. And I wouldn't like it, either,'
'I wasn't talking about a horseman,' William explained. 'I was talking about a professional businessman. A city man. He would be a silent partne
r.'
'Oh, well, now that's the kind of partner I could just about tolerate. So how would I go about rinding such a stooge?'
William winced at the word 'stooge'. But it probably described any potential partner of Courtney's to a tee.
'I was thinking that you could ask Lois's help. She's a clever woman, not just at training horses but in public relations. She's a whiz at getting money out of people for her racing syndicates. She also has some very wealthy clients and a wide range of contacts in the business world. I would think Lois knows quite a few likely candidates with more money than sense.'
William saw the girl's nostrils flare indignantly. 'Are you saying that a man would have to be stupid to go into partnership with me?'
His smile was wry. 'Not you personally. But a wise old accountant once told me never to invest money into anything that had to be fed or watered.'
Courtney sighed. 'You're right. Breeding racehorses is a risky investment. This businessman is going to have to be one hell of a rich businessman,'
'Businessmen who get mixed up with racehorses in any aspect usually are, aren't they?'
'True, Bill. True. Look, I can't say I fancy taking a partner, even a silent one, but what must be must be. Better than selling any of the horses. I'll give Lois a ring as soon as I get home. I could hitch a ride down in the horse float this Friday. I'm sending down a couple of young horses she's agreed to syndicate out and train for me. Darned good types, too, but obviously Crosswinds can't afford to pay for them to be trained right now.'
'I'm afraid not,' William confirmed, relieved that Courtney was taking it all so well. Still, he wouldn't have expected Hilary's daughter to fall apart.
'I can't stay away too long, you know. Come this weekend, foals will start arriving.'
'You have staff to handle that. Finding a partner is more important, Courtney.'