Cattle Baron: Nanny Needed

by Margaret Way

  “Not for me it won’t,” he said firmly. “Where do you live?”

  She held up her hands. “Please…no. This is madness!” She wasn’t at all sure she could handle a man like this. Sean had been one thing. This man was really, really something else.

  “Maybe that’s why I like it.” He smiled. “Address, please?” He checked again on the remaining number of guests. Maybe a dozen. The organist was still playing triumphantly, although the soprano, probably with perforated eardrums, had made her escape.

  “I don’t know if this is a good idea.” Amber, who never dithered, dithered. How could a woman feel like jumping off a cliff one minute and be going out to dinner with a handsome stranger the next? But then she realized that it did happen.

  “Just give me your address,” he prompted.

  Bemusedly, she did so. She might need him to put in a good word for her with his Godzilla of an aunt by marriage.

  “I’ll pick you up at nine,” he informed her briskly. “I’ll be able to make it by then. You’ll feel better if you’re out and about.”

  “Just don’t alert the paparazzi.”

  He laughed, lifted a hand in salute, then began moving lithely down the flight of stairs.

  His grandfather, accompanied by Rosemary, lost no time in seeking him out. They looked an incongruous duo, propelling their way towards him like two ocean-going liners breasting the high seas. Rosemary was a big woman who had become ever more substantial over the years. She towered over her father-in-law. But whereas Rosemary had reduced her doomed husband, Ian, to a tiny planet in orbit around her, his formidable grandfather radiated power, authority and a kind of physical indestructibility.

  It had always been like that. Cal’s mother, the bolter, Stephanie, was Sir Clive’s only daughter. Her brother, Ian, was Georgie’s father, the only son. Their mother, Rochelle, had been killed a week after her fortieth birthday when her high-powered sports car, a birthday present, had slammed into a brick wall, doing one hundred miles per hour. Ian had taken after his father in looks if nothing else; Stephanie had inherited Rochelle’s beauty, wit and high octane nature. Stephanie had been idolized by Sir Clive and endlessly indulged, whereas Ian had never been able to cope with a stern and exacting father’s expectations and demands.

  Georgie, the Erskine heiress, had never worked a day in her life. But then she hadn’t lived a life devoted exclusively to the pursuit of pleasure either. Georgie, like her father, lived her life under Rosemary’s thumb. How then had a moral lightweight like Sinclair hoodwinked Rosemary, let alone his grandfather, into thinking he would make Georgie a good husband? Cal had believed them more than capable of sniffing out a rat. Well, they would know soon enough. Ms Amber Wyatt had made a very lucky escape. He didn’t doubt that for a minute.

  His grandfather laid a steely hand on his arm. “I want to thank you, Cal, for getting that outrageous young woman out of harm’s way. What was she thinking of, coming to the church? Simply not done!” he huffed. “Especially not to me or my family. She’d behaved herself up until now. I had every intention of offering her a holiday. Anywhere in the world she cared to go. Certainly not now. That’s gone by the board.” He nodded his large balding head several times, then pulled his right ear lobe.

  “Why not forget it?” Cal suggested. “Maybe she shouldn’t have turned out for the wedding, but she must have taken the public humiliation hard. A lot of women in her shoes might have been prepared to do a whole lot worse.”

  “That was bad enough,” Sir Clive grunted, still red in the face. “You’re not defending her, surely, m’boy?”

  “I suppose I am,” Cal admitted. He was in no way intimidated by his authoritarian maternal grandfather. Not even as a child.

  “I can’t believe this!” Rosemary shook with rage. “Seeing that girl arrive was almost the death of me. To think she would try to spoil our Georgie’s big day!”

  “It could have been a lot worse,” Cal said provocatively. “As I understand it, Ms Wyatt has drawn a lot of public sympathy.”

  “Cheap! She’s cheap, cheap, cheap!” Rosemary glared back, shoulders shuddering. “Of course she’s very beautiful.”

  “Dangerously so,” he suavely agreed. “But she didn’t intend to do anything too dreadful.”

  “That’s your view, is it?” Sir Clive gave a sudden bark. He stared back at Cal as if he had suddenly gone mad. Worse—disloyal. “This was your cousin’s—my granddaughter’s—big day, might I remind you, Cal? A bloody fortune has gone into it.” Even he had been gobsmacked by the cost.

  “You know it was well worth it, Grandfather, dear,” Rosemary appealed to her father-in-law, who had fronted the monumental bill.

  That didn’t curb Sir Clive’s rage. “That young lady made one very big mistake today. It has turned me against her. The whole thing will be reported in the newspapers. I don’t take kindly to being made a fool of. What exactly did she intend to do?”

  “Nothing really. She just took it into her head to attend.”

  “You’re covering for her, Callum,” Rosemary said with fierce disapproval. “There’s only one explanation—she intended to cause a massive scene. You couldn’t let her do that.”

  “No, of course I couldn’t,” Cal agreed quietly; he had known Ms Amber Wyatt was a bundle of trouble from the moment he had laid eyes on her. “But I’m defending her because she came quietly. Always a good sign. If she were as bad as you seem to think, she could have turned on quite a show. Instead, she let me escort her up to the organ loft.”

  Rosemary showed her mean eyes. “I think it had more to do with the fact she knew she wasn’t any match for you. All through the ceremony my Georgie would have been frantic with worry. Sean too. Which brings me to why he said he had to be free of her.”

  Cal kept his eyes fixed on Rosemary’s face. “Do tell, Rosemary. You’re dying to. Why did your son-in-law have to make the break? A physical description of Ms Wyatt would have to be glorious.”

  “Be careful you’re not giving yourself away, Callum,”

  Rosemary retaliated, nostrils flaring. “You always were susceptible to a beautiful woman. Take Brooke now—”

  “That will do, Rosemary,” Sir Clive sternly intervened. “Kindly remember this is my grandson you’re talking to. Brooke Rowlands wasn’t anywhere near good enough for Callum. Now, we have to go in to our guests. This is supposed to be a joyous occasion. I have to tell you I’m none too happy about Georgie’s new husband, but the deed is done. We would have had to admit her to a psychiatric facility if any of us had tried to stop her. That doesn’t excuse Ms Wyatt’s part in the day’s proceedings, however. She looks such a lady too. I’m disappointed. However, for this outrage she might find herself behind the cameras for a while. Give her time to reflect.”

  It was as good as done, Cal thought. His grandfather was way too powerful.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AMBER had only been inside her apartment six or seven minutes when Jono knocked on the door, his mobile face bright with anticipation.

  “Well, how did it go?”

  Amber stood back, waving him in. “It was very, very sad.”

  “Really?” Jono spun. “What happened? Remember you can’t keep it private, sweetie.”

  Amber led him into the stylishly decorated living room. “Like a coffee or something?”

  “Let me make it. You just sit down and talk to me. You don’t look sad.”

  “Oh, how do I look?” She was quite unaware that she looked radiant from head to toe.

  “Like you’ve just met some new guy, hot on the heels of the old?”

  “What makes you think I want a new guy?”

  “You mightn’t think so now, dear, but you will,” Jono told her with certainty. “When that dirty rotten scoundrel Sean committed to being a love rat he made up his mind to be the best one around. But there are good men out there, Amby. Never doubt it. Sometimes I wish I weren’t gay.”

  “Don’t tell Jett that.” She had to smile. She d
id a lot of smiling when Jono and his partner, Jett, a fellow computer whiz, were around. “But there was a new guy. The bride’s cousin, of all things. He was the one who dealt with me.”

  “Lord sakes! He didn’t chuck you out?” Jono paused in what he was doing.

  “No. He whisked me off to the organ loft and stayed with me throughout. He’s a Cattle Baron by name of Cal MacFarlane.”

  “A Cattle Baron!” Jono shrieked, throwing up his hands. “Not a redneck, I hope?” He set the coffee to perk. “Rich?”

  “Without a doubt. And he’s no redneck. He’s very cultured. His grandpop is Sir Clive Erskine.”

  Jono’s face fell. “Then he can’t be good-looking. There’s always a downside.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. How does Clive Owen-ish sound?”

  Jono’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

  “You can meet him if you like,” Amber promised. “He’s picking me up at nine. We’re going out to dinner.”

  Jono whistled in admiration. “And I thought I was a fast worker! As I’m very fond of saying, love, life’s an adventure. One chapter finishes, another begins.”

  The Cattle Baron had a limousine waiting. “You look ravishing.”

  Hugely gratified, she could see that he meant it. She had picked out a short, glittery gold dress that showed off her long limbs and, if she said it herself, a tantalizing décolletage.

  “Thank you. Hard to get away?” He was still wearing his formal wedding suit. It was absurd how well it suited him.

  “It wasn’t that easy. But I’m here.”

  “So, what you promise you deliver?”

  “I really do like it that way.”

  The uniformed chauffeur held the door while Amber slipped gracefully into the back seat. A moment more and the Cattle Baron joined her. She was almost shivery with the intimacy. He was just so physical, the quintessential man of action.

  “So Jono and Jett are your friends?” he asked when they were underway.

  “Jono for years now. He’s a very clever, very gentle man. He likes to keep an eye out for me.”

  “You must feel good about that. He couldn’t have approved of you know who.”

  “I don’t have a clue who you’re talking about,” she said airily, gazing out of the window at the glittering cityscape, above it a starry sky.

  “Right. I admire the way you’ve disposed of that problem.”

  “Where are we going, by the way?”

  “The best establishment in town. Where else?”

  Where else, indeed? It dawned on her that she was looking forward to spending a few hours with the Cattle Baron. In fact, she was excited. Didn’t that underscore her poor judgement about Sean?

  The restaurant was seriously good. Wonderful ambience, excellent, discreet service. She had dined there a number of times. Always as a guest, not the one footing the bill. No one in their right mind could say the price was right. But the food—inspirational stuff—was superb, the wine list a long selection of the very best the world’s top vintners could offer, the upper end pricey enough to give even the well-off a heart attack.

  “Tell me what wine you like?” the Cattle Baron asked, looking across a table set for two. One of the best positions in the room. How had he managed it on a Saturday night?

  “And put you at my mercy?” she joked. “You’ve seen the prices.”

  “We can forget the prices for tonight,” he told her calmly. “What if we start with a nice glass of champagne? Can’t go past Krug. You have to celebrate your lucky escape.” His cool green eyes glittered.

  “Let me make it perfectly clear that I’m still upset.”

  “Of course you are. But the Krug will help.”

  It was all too tempting.

  She had thought she never would again, but she laughed. Really laughed. She hadn’t expected him to be so entertaining, but he was a born raconteur. He kept telling her wonderful stories about Outback life—hilarious incidents, interposed with the tragic and poignant realities of life in a harsh, unforgiving land. It was what gave him the heroic image, she suddenly realised. It was emblazoned all over him. Hero figure.

  From the arrival of the amuse bouches, tempting little morsels to tease the palate, the starters, a carpaccio of tuna and swordfish garnished with a delicious little mix of green herbs, the main course of fillet of barramundi with a sweet-and-sour pepper sauce over risotto, the rim of the plate decorated with baby vegetables, he kept her enthralled. So much so she was eating with abandon. It struck her that they liked the same food, because independently they came up with the same choices. Even to the bitter chocolate mousse with coffee granita and gingered cream.

  “That was superb,” he said, laying down his dessert spoon.

  “I know it. Good thing you’re paying. There’s a poor soul over there choking over the bill.”

  He laughed. “I daresay it takes a lot to run a three star restaurant and make a nice profit. Coffee?”

  “Absolutely. I need to sober up.”

  “You won’t be wanting a liqueur, then?” There was a twinkle in those mesmerizing green eyes.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “So, feel ready to tell me a little about you,” he said, settling back to enjoy his coffee.

  “I knew there was a catch.”

  He leaned forward slightly, aware that they had been under scrutiny since they had walked into the restaurant. She was obviously well known. He wasn’t. But he was wearing wedding gear. A big clue. “I didn’t ask if I could sleep at your place.”

  “Where are you staying?’ She circled the rim of her coffee cup with a forefinger, not daring to look up and perhaps give her living dangerously self away.

  “Why, with Grandpop, of course.”

  “He does have a mausoleum.”

  “And he insisted I stay over. I know it’s not a nice thing to say, but I do my level best to avoid Rosemary.”

  “Look, I don’t blame you. As soon as I got home I had to lie down to recover from her evil eye. So, your uncle and aunt and dear little Georgie—up until her dicey marriage—live with Grandpop?”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Those distracting little sexy brackets at his mouth again. “So it’s more than likely Georgie and Sean will move into the mausoleum when they return from Europe?” She was able to raise a blasé brow.

  “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. It’s a ‘till death us do part’ situation with Georgie and her mother.”

  “Poor thing! Even I can feel sorry for her. But not for Sean. How did he pass muster with your people anyway? Your grandfather is rumoured to have the hardest nut in town. Rosemary could have been a pushover. Sean can be very good at buttering up the women.” Even a Brunhilde.

  “Forget them,” he said. “It’s you I want to hear about. From the beginning. You must have been an extraordinarily pretty baby.”

  “My dad thought so.” She couldn’t stop a tender smile breaking out when tears still ran down the walls of her heart. “It was he who named me Amber. My mother wanted to call me Samantha.”

  “Then you’d have got Sam for short.”

  “So you think he made a better choice?”

  “Amber suits you.” His eyes were very bright. “You’re an only child?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your parents?”

  She sighed deeply. “I lost my dad when I was fourteen. A teenage driver ran the red light and collected him in a crossing. He could have saved himself but he chose to save a child instead. A little boy and his mother were on the crossing at the same time. There could have been more people hurt.’

  “I’m so sorry, Amber.” He reached over to grip her hand, divining her sense of loss. “It’s brutal losing a much loved parent.”

  “It is that.” Her topaz eyes misted with tears. “My mother remarried the year I finished school. Needless to say, I didn’t take to my new stepfather, though he’s not a bad guy. Not my dad, though. I lived on campus through my university days. Not mu
ch to tell about the rest. I became a cadet journalist. Got a break on television. I guess the way I look has kept me there.”

  “You’re being hard on yourself. Didn’t you win a prestigious award for your article about street kids? It couldn’t have been easy going into tough places. Exploring the drug scene, the Dead On Arrivals presenting at hospital, the hopelessness and deep depression.”

  “What do you think?” Unshed tears continued to shimmer in her eyes. “Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night.”

  He nodded. ‘You’re still in touch with your mother?”

  “Of course. I love my mother. But I don’t see her as much as I’d like. They live in Cairns. They love the tropics, close to the Reef. My stepdad has money and a big motor cruiser. They take lots of trips because he’s retired. Tell me about you.”

  “Me?” His mouth faintly twisted.

  “Yes, you. You sound like you know all about missing a parent.”

  “It happens I do. Like you, I lost my dad, a little over four years ago. He ignored a gash in his arm until it was too late. Lots of barbed wire around the station. Died of septicaemia in a very short time.”

  “How terrible!” Amber felt moved to exclaim. “Couldn’t your mother have made him see a doctor? Men can be so careless with their injuries.”

  “He’d had his shots. We all have them but the effects must have worn off. My mother left us for a guy I called Uncle Jeff for years of my childhood. So, no mother, no guardian angel. I was away at a trade conference when it happened.”

  “So you know all about having a hard time?”

  “I learned. I grew tough.”

  “Well, you may appear tough—”

  “Do I?” His look was very direct.

  “In a striking sort of way. But you have a heart of gold. You’ve been very kind to me.”

  “What’s kind about taking a beautiful woman out to dinner?” he asked, then issued a quiet warning. “Don’t look up. The people at the table over there haven’t taken their eyes off us since we walked in.”