The Cattle King's Bride

by Margaret Way

  “Yes, indeed. I’ve never heard her so chatty.”

  “Put her out of her misery, Dev,” she advised. With his iridescent eyes on her, her heart was starting to beat high in her chest.

  Dev continued on his way. “It’s the Celt in her. Makes her unpredictable.”

  “And she’s upping her game.”

  “Then she’s peaked way too fast,” Dev said sardonically, eyeing Mel as she sat at the circular library table. She was wearing a simple white ribbed singlet that set off her golden skin, paired with black linen chinos, a tan leather belt slung around her narrow waist. Mel always did look great in whatever she wore. Definitely not your girl next door.

  “I have to fly to Sydney Monday next,” he told her.

  “Business?” Mel looked across at him. Dev would be expecting far more of it.

  He gave a faint sigh. “Always business. I need to call in on one of Granddad’s stockbrokers. Want to come?”

  “Not if it delays my trip to Silverton,” she answered. “I can find the town by myself.”

  “Sure you can, but I can make your journey easy and safe. I don’t like the idea of your haring around the bush by yourself. It’s still frontier country, Mel. Sydney first, then Silverton right after. How’s that?”

  She took her time to reply. “I guess I’m happy enough with that.”

  He gave a satirical whoop. “You’re happy, I’m happy. Hallelujah!” He stood up purposefully, as though he had wasted enough time. “Why don’t you come on down with me to the Five Mile? We’re shifting a big mob into a holding hard. We could do with some help. Some of the boys are still out in the desert rounding up strays and any cleanskins they can find. We’ll divide the cleanskins with Patrick O’Hare. The trouble is, cattle split up as they graze and a lot go missing each year. Just roaming wild. They love it.”

  “Freedom,” Mel said. “We all love it. I’ll need to change. Give me half an hour. I’ll join you.”

  “Great! Thank God I can trust you not to lose yourself.” Dev rested a hand on her shoulder as he passed her chair. “I’ve lost count of the number of warnings I’ve had to issue to visitors over the years. Remember the guy who told me he utilized the eeny, meeney, miny, moe set of coordinates?”

  Mel had to laugh. “That was the polo player, wasn’t it, Chris Quentin?” A search party had been organized to find him. She had been part of it.

  Dev sighed. “Not much good in the bush, old Chris. He was probably just riding along thinking of you. It was getting to the stage where I thought he was going to ask for permission to marry you.”

  “How do you know I wasn’t tempted to say yes?”

  Dev gave a spluttering laugh. “Ah, come on, Mel,” he mocked. “You’re addicted to me. I’m the same with you.” The mockery in his voice deepened. “You’re my favourite woman in the whole wide world, no matter how many Stop signs you’ve erected along the way. I bet you wouldn’t swear to obey me until death—or divorce—us do part.”

  The thought shook her. “Langdons didn’t believe in divorce,” she retorted.

  “Not so far. Looks like Ava is set to make history.” His expression sobered. “Of all the guys she could have chosen, why him?”

  “We both know Ava saw her marriage as an escape.”

  “Who could blame her?” Dev sighed. “God, you were the most gorgeous bridesmaid. Extravagantly beautiful.” Ava had four very good-looking bridesmaids in attendance for her wedding, two blondes, two brunettes. Mel had been maid of honour. The bold colours of their dresses had been a talking point. Ava had borrowed them from her favourite flower, the tulip—a fabulous deep purple, an intense pink, a dark crimson and a richly glowing amber. With such strong blocks of colour, one might have thought they would clash but they had looked luscious. “Whatever happened to that amber dress?” he asked.

  “I’ve still got it. I did look good in it, didn’t I? But no way did I trump Ava. No bride could have looked lovelier.”

  “Perfect foils,” said Dev, the best memories of that day still clear in his mind. “Now, I’m outta here. You might take Gunner. He could do with a ride.”

  “Right!” Gunner, with studbook blood, was a chestnut gelding who she had found to her delight could do tricks. She was happy to be put to work. That way she wouldn’t have time to think. Maybe when she was out on the vast empty plains she might see the ghost of the gentle man she had called “Daddy.” Michael Norton had been a good man. She would remember him with great affection mixed with sadness all the days of her life.

  * * *

  By the time Mel rode into the Five Mile the afternoon tea of scones with butter and jam, fruit cake and billy tea was just finishing, the ring of a bell announcing the break was over. She could see Dev already standing outside Number One yard, talking to a few Aboriginal stockmen, all experts at their job. The atmosphere was light and good-humoured. Morale was high at Kooraki. During the ride over she’d experienced a few hairy moments she would have to tell Dev about. A dingo as big as a large dog, its yellow-brown coat merging with the ripening spinifex, had materialized out of nowhere and started following her.

  Immediately she’d pulled out her whip, cracking it and swinging Gunner’s head in the slouching wild dog’s direction. She’d urged the bay to speed as she’d yelled at the top of her voice to the dingo, “Buzz off!” As she’d closed the gap, whip cracking, the dingo took off, running for all it was worth, its long, dark straw-coloured body flattened out like a dachshund. Mel had suddenly realized the wild dog wasn’t so much shadowing her, as she had supposed, but a couple of wallabies she had spotted. The dog had obviously picked up their scent. Usually it was the dingo that struck terror into the wildlife, the cattle, especially the young calves. It was appalling, the death and destruction dingoes could wield. She had seen it all. Calves, lambs, not the Big Reds, the kangaroos well able to defend themselves, but the smaller wallabies and possums. She wasn’t on the side of animal lovers on this one. Dingoes were killers. Now it was the dingo’s turn. It tore off across the perfectly level plain while the wallabies got to live another day.

  * * *

  She was greeted with smiles, waves and doffed battered hats. She was known to all of the men, many from early childhood. Tethering Gunner, she looked up at a spectacular display overhead—a flight of a hundred and more galahs. They screeched and called to one another, flashing their lovely pink undersides as they flew overhead, swerving above and through the trees. Although she had witnessed these spectacles for most of her life, they still held her spellbound. The numbers and varieties of Outback birds were amazing: the great flocks of budgerigar, finches, parrots, black cockatoos, the sulphur-crested white cockatoos, the kookaburras and kingfishers, and that didn’t include the waterfowl that turned the swamps, waterholes and lagoons into moving, jostling masses of waterbirds. The Outback was in such extraordinary good condition, so green, it was almost surreal—a result of Queensland’s unprecedented Great Flood of early 2011. There were literally millions of wild flowers still hectically blossoming with multicoloured butterflies, bees and dragonflies floating over the vast carpets that continued on to the horizon.

  As soon as Dev saw her, he came over. “Everything okay? You look a bit flushed.”

  “Tiny scare, not on the Tjungurra scale. I had to chase off a fair-size dingo,” she told him, as she had to. “It was going after a couple of wallabies.”

  “Where was this?” Dev shot back.

  “Near Tarana Waterhole.”

  “Okay…I’ll get one of the men to pick it off. I know the animal you mean. It’s a cross with a runaway station dog. They’re even more dangerous than the pure breed.”

  He turned his head for a moment, looking towards the five holding yards, then he turned his attention back to Mel. “The men have been working since dawn. They’ve done a great job. As you can see, they’re channelling cattle from the largest yard into smaller ones, and eventually to the stock race, of course.” The stock race was a narrow V-shaped alley. �
�We’ve got most of the cows and calves yarded. Halfway through the heifers and steers. No one likes mixing cows and calves with bullocks. The bulls will go into Yard Three but you won’t be going near them, needless to say.”

  Mel nodded. She had no need of the warning. Herding the bulls was dirty, dusty, dangerous work. The alley was only the width of a beast. If it became spooked or panic-stricken, for whatever reason, it would try to charge back the way it had come, causing mayhem. The toughest hands were the ones that handled the bulls. They were the ones who wielded the stout canes, whacking any recalcitrant beast back into line. That afternoon the bulls seemed calm enough but everyone was aware of their potential danger. Many a station hand over the years had been gored, hooked or grazed in the ribs by bull rogues.

  “I’d like you to partner Bluey,” Dev said. “He’s coming along okay. A bit erratic, over-eager, but he’ll learn.” Bluey was a young jackeroo, needless to say, with the nickname of Bluey, a carrot-head with an engaging face covered in big orange freckles, for all the sunblock he slapped on. She and Bluey would be doing the lightest job. The one with least chance of injury. Mel wasn’t about to argue.

  “Right, Boss.” She tipped a hand smartly to the brim of her akubra, thinking she probably had more expertise than Bluey, real name Daniel.

  Everyone got down to business. She and Bluey worked as a team, though Mel found herself doing quite a bit of shepherding the over-eager young jackeroo. Together they were half coaxing, half pushing the remaining heifers and steers into line. Mel could see out of the corner of her eyes forty or so bulls remained to go through the alley into Holding Yard Three.

  It was shortly afterwards, to Mel’s instant alarm, Bluey decided to expand his horizons. For no good reason, he broke away from his job to assist a man on horseback who was wielding a whip above the head of the bad-tempered beast entering the alley. She yelled a warning to the stockman. He took immediate heed, but the tip of his whip caught the charging Bluey painfully on the left shoulder. Bluey let out a great yelp that brought forth an answering cacophony of sound from the penned cattle. However, that wasn’t the problem. Bluey’s yell had set off the bull next in line. With a diabolical bellow, head down, it made a butting charge at the hapless young man, hooking one of its horns through Bluey’s belt.

  Mel recognised, but didn’t pay heed to her own danger. She felt a hot flare of fright, but she acted instinctively. Adrenalin pumping, she seized the first fallen branch that was to hand and began belting the bull’s swaying rump, not slackening for an instant. The bull didn’t appreciate being attacked. It gave up momentarily on Bluey. Strained horns raised to the sky, it began snorting its rage. Mel stood utterly still, none too sure she was doing the right thing, but reasoned correctly that if she made a run for it the bull would instinctively charge and overtake her before anyone could intervene.

  Only someone did—someone who had the courage and expertise to handle a critical situation. Dev materialized as if by magic, moving in silence and at speed, his tall lean body moving with catlike grace. He launched himself first at Mel, flinging her out of harm’s way, though the impetus sent her sprawling on the rust-red earth. Next he tackled the maddened bull, who now had Dev as his quarry. Half a dozen men were moving with stealth but alacrity to assist him. The foreman stood, rifle in hand, prepared to open fire on the valuable beast.

  Only there was no need. Under different circumstances, a top-class rodeo, it would have been quite a performance that Mel would have been thrilled by, only this was present danger. She watched in a frozen panic as Dev managed to gain the enraged bull’s attention. He had to be hypnotising the beast because it didn’t move as he got a powerful grip on it, twisting its head and throwing it expertly to the ground.

  The crisis was all but over but it left a nasty taste in everyone’s mouth.

  * * *

  The bull safely corralled, Bluey, to everyone’s amazement, walked up to Dev with a big grin on his face, his hand outstretched. “That was terrific, Boss!” he exclaimed in wholehearted admiration. “Reckon you’d win the top prize at any rodeo.”

  Dev ignored his hand so Bluey dropped it limply to his side.

  The head stockman, with a shock of pepper-and-salt hair and a fulsome black beard, lifted his head long enough to roar an enraged, “You bloody fool, Bluey!”

  Several other men added to the words of condemnation, signalling their collective disgust.

  Bluey was initially stunned by this reaction, then his freckled skin abruptly emptied of admiration. He flushed beet-red, looking young and vulnerable.

  “Look at me, Daniel,” Dev ordered in a steely rasp.

  It was enough to cause Bluey to flinch. “Yes, sir.” His red head came up.

  Dev was only just barely suppressing his anger. “How long have you been on the planet?” he asked in a tightly controlled voice.

  Bluey cleared his throat. He looked tremendously upset and embarrassed. It wasn’t any performance to gain sympathy. Everyone could see his mortification was real. “I’m twenty-two, Boss,” he said, visibly shaken.

  “Twenty-two!” Dev pondered aloud. “Well, let me tell you, you mightn’t live much longer if you try stunts like that again. You heard what Lew said, didn’t you?” Dev’s expression was grim. “What you did, your rash judgement, your inexperience could have caused Mel and you possible serious injury. Do you understand that now? I know you thought you were helping but your help wasn’t needed. Mungo is well able to handle himself. You aren’t. He really should take his stock whip to you. It might teach you a lesson.”

  Bluey by this time was spluttering and choking up with shame. But he was ready to take his punishment like a man. “So I’m okay with that,” he mumbled, real tears standing in his blue eyes.

  Dev relented. “Okay…” he snapped. “This time we’ll let you off with a caution. Do the job that’s allotted to you, Dan. You can support a mate, sure, but the men are far more experienced than you. You have a great deal to learn.” Having delivered his verdict in a halfway forgiving tone, abruptly Dev lashed out, clipping the hapless Daniel over the ear. “Go and apologize to Mel,” he ordered, “though what she did was pretty foolhardy.” And brave. But he made no comment on that.

  “I heard that,” called Mel, accepting the foreman’s helping hand to her feet. “I had to do something, Dev,” she sharply defended herself. “It could have been a disaster. Over in seconds.”

  “Take it easy now, lass,” the foreman warned out of the side of his mouth. One look at the boss’s seriously taut face had prompted the warning. It was easy to label the boss’s expression. Anger. Shock. Fear. All of them combined. The foreman had been there on the terrible day when Mel’s dad had been killed. The boss’s fear was clearly for Mike Norton’s beautiful fiery daughter. Everyone on the station knew how close they had been since they were kids. All of them had been unnerved by the young jackeroo’s mindless action. None more so than the boss.

  * * *

  Mel was the first one to notice the blood seeping through Dev’s denim shirt. She stared at the spot, then up at his face. He looked calmer now. Langdon in control.

  “You’re hurt?” Without waiting for an answer or his usual shrug-it-off reaction, she surged forward, unbuttoning his shirt. Nothing was going to happen to Dev on her watch. There was a nasty graze of several inches, stretching from close to the armpit across his rib cage. “Oh, that doesn’t look good.”

  “Don’t worry, Mel,” he urged, a note of impatience in his voice. “I’m up to date with all my inoculations.”

  “I don’t care,” she retorted briskly. “This needs clearing up and some antiseptic applied. And don’t tell me not to fuss.”

  “Mel, I’m not about to bleed to death,” he assured her.

  She clicked her tongue. “I really hate the way men are so careless with their health. And that’s a sad fact.”

  “Not careless at all,” Dev protested. “I told you all my shots are up to date.”

  “Then humou
r me,” she begged. “Come back to the house. Set my mind at rest. It’s a wound and it needs washing and disinfecting, Dev. You know that.”

  “What about you?” His brilliant eyes moved over all he could see of her.

  “A bit of a sprawl in the dust. Nothing.” In fact she had skinned her right elbow.

  Dev looked around at his foreman said, “Can you finish up here, Lew?”

  “No problem.” Lew nodded briskly. “Mel’s right. You should get that cleaned up to be on the safe side, Boss.”

  “So you’re ganging up on me.” Dev gave a half smile. “Dan is off the job for today, Lew. Number Four bore is playing up. Send him out to give Sutton a hand.” Not until he had given young Bluey a good talking-to, Lew thought.

  He tipped his dusty wide-brimmed hat. “Will do, Boss.”

  * * *

  “You’re not going to sack him, are you, Dev?” Mel asked anxiously as they moved off.

  He glanced down at her. “Hang on.” He paused to remove a few dry leaves and a twig or two from her hair. “He can have a second chance. He won’t get a third. That was remarkably foolish, what he did.”

  “Don’t worry, Dev. He’ll take it to heart.”

  “He’d better,” Dev said shortly. “Don’t expect me or the men to keep tabs on him, Mel. You could have been seriously injured, savaged, even mutilated. You realize that?”

  “Hell, I’d say so!” she half joked, half shuddered. “But you were the one who put my heart in my mouth.”

  “So you do love me after all?” His iridescent eyes glittered with self-deprecation. “Isn’t that great?”

  “Let’s press on,” Mel said briskly. “I need to attend to that gash.”

  “Florence Nightingale.”