by Jane Corrie
The Station Boss by Jane Corrie
Her new life was not proving easier!
Not until fate appeared in the person of Clay Dayman did Sheena find courage to leave a man who wouldn't defy social conventions to marry her. And since her father had left her a small landholding on part of Clay's ranch, Sheena was eager to be in a place she could finally call home. But she hadn't bargained on Clay's ulterior motives in wanting her at his homestead, nor his seemingly unbreakable hold over her!
Printed in U.S.A.
OTHER Harlequin 'Romances by JANE CORRIE
1956—THE IMPOSSIBLE BOSS 2020—RAINBOW FOR MEGAN 2038—SINCLAIR TERRITORY 2053—GREEN PADDOCKS 2072—THE BAHAMIAN PIRATE 2087—DANGEROUS ALLIANCE 2098—RIMMER'S WAY 2159—RAFFERTY'S LEGACY 2167—PATTERSON'S ISLAND 2194—THE TEXAN RANCHER 2209—PEACOCK'S WALK 2257—THE ISLAND BRIDE 2285—CARIBBEAN COCKTAIL 2313—THE SPANISH UNCLE 2335—TASMANIAN TANGLE
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Original hardcover edition published in 1980 by Mills & Boon Limited
ISBN 0-373-02365-0
Harlequin edition published November 1980
Copyright © 1980 by Jane Corrie.
Philippine copyright 1980. Australian copyright 1980.
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All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
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* * *
CHAPTER ONE
`SOMEONE to see you, Sheena,' said Mrs Rider, known as 'Cookie' to the inhabitants of Barter's Ridge, a prosperous sheep station in New South Wales.
`Me?' queried Sheena in a wondering voice as she flicked the last speck of dust off the redwood dresser and turned to face Cookie. 'You're sure they asked for me, and not Mrs Charter?'
Cookie gave an emphatic nod. 'It's you he particularly asked to see. He looks like a Ranger to me,' she added gently. 'Not that he's dressed as one, but there's something about those fellows,' she shrugged her ample form, 'well, you know what I mean.'
Sheena's hand holding the duster clenched round it, and her lovely sapphire blue eyes took on a bleak look. It could only mean one thing, they had found her father.
`Want me to come with you?' asked Cookie, not liking the pallor that now tinged Sheena's cheeks. `I've put him in Doyle's study.'
Sheena drew a deep breath and shook her head, making the blue-black waves that framed her heart-shaped face spring away from her small features. 'No, thank you, Cookie,' she replied slowly, 'I'd rather be on my own,' then as a thought came to her she asked breathlessly, 'Is Doyle—?'
Cookie shook her head. 'He's not back from Sydney yet. I guess he's got held up somewhere. He shouldn't be long, though,' she replied.
Sheena nodded, then smoothed her dress down in a manner that suggested that she was trying to stall for time. Then she lifted up her head in a gesture that said, 'Let's get it over with,' and made her way to the study at the rear of the homestead.
The man stood by the study window gazing out at the wide expanse of green paddocks, visible from this side of the homestead. Sheena had an impression of height and authority and understood what Cookie had meant when she had said that she thought he was a Ranger.
When he turned to face her, the impression was still there—at least the authority was, but for some reason she couldn't explain, she didn't think he was a man of the law.
He was dressed much as any outrider would dress, but his clothes were good and fitted his tall frame as a second skin. The sort of good cloth that Doyle would wear, and this thought made her swallow quickly. believe you asked to see me,' she said in a soft hesitant voice, as the thought went through her mind that that was about all that this man would have in common with Doyle, for Doyle was fair, whereas this man was dark, with dark forbidding brows, and even more forbidding black eyes that seemed to sear right through you, as they were doing now, she thought, as she waited for him to speak.
'Miss Greig?' he asked with a hint of a Northern
drawl, and at her swift nod continued, 'I'm Clay Dayman. You wouldn't have heard of me, but I've brought this as an introduction.' He slipped a lean hand into his leather waistcoat and produced something that he gave to her.
Sheena stared at the gold watch that she held in her hand. It was her father's, and her heart lurched painfully. 'He's dead, isn't he?' she said tonelessly, still looking at the watch.
The man gave a curt nod in answer to this. 'I would have come sooner,' he said, 'only I was away at some cattle sales in Wingham when it happened. I've a spread in Bellingen. Your father worked for me for the past two years.'
Sheena looked quickly away from the watch in her hand. Why had he to work? she asked herself bitterly. Surely the money he had stolen from Doyle would have been enough to keep him in comfort for the rest of his life?
She glanced swiftly at the man who was now staring down at the floor. Did he know that her father was a thief? she wondered.
His next words proved that he did. 'The payroll's there,' he said quietly. 'He told me where to find it. He'd cached it away on his trek to the North.'
He directed Sheena's attention to a well-worn saddlebag that lay on a chair opposite Doyle's desk. Sheena's lips firmed. She recognised the saddlebag, too. She wanted to weep her heart out, for in that bag lay the cause of all her unhappiness, and it hadn't even been spent. At least the thought of her father
living in luxury had been some consolation for the shame and misery that she had endured for the past three years, and although that hadn't been the right way to look at it, there had been no other consolation for her.
`There's a letter,' Clay Dayman said, and felt in the top pocket of his blue checked shirt and took out a square envelope which he handed to her. 'He left me a note, that's how I knew about that,' his glance strayed towards the saddlebag and then back to her.
Sheena still stood there, one small hand clutching the letter and the other her father's watch. She was grateful for the man's kindness in carrying out her father's wishes, but now she wanted to be left alone. Her glance fell on the saddlebag. If this was a fairy story, the return of the stolen money should have made things come right for her, but it wasn't a fairy story, and it was too late for her dreams to come true, she thought bitterly.
`I'm very grateful for the trouble you've taken, Mr Dayman,' she said quietly. 'Have you come far this morning? Can I offer you some refreshment?' she asked.
Clay Dayman smiled, and it transformed his hard features. 'Not far for me, only a matter of fifty miles or so, and I won't trouble you to produce anything in the refreshment line. I'm returning up North tomorrow. If you've a mind to do as your father suggests,' his black eyes fell on the letter still unopened in her hand, 'then I'll be happy to escort you back to Bellingen with me.'
Sheena's sapphire blue eyes opened wide at this calm statement of his. Take her
back to Bellingen with him—but why? For what?
`I think if you just read the letter,' Clay Dayman suggested gently.
Sheena swallowed. Then she blinked hard and started to open the letter. As she did so, Clay Dayman turned back to his perusal of the paddocks from out of the study window.
It wasn't a very long letter, but long enough for James Greig to say what he wanted to say. He asked Sheena to forgive him and to forgive the fact that he hadn't had the courage to return the money to Doyle. He had thought that her future was assured, and had only recently learned the truth by making some enquiries into her circumstances. 'I never thought that Doyle Charter would have gone back on his word. I swear that I would have returned and taken punishment for my blind and stupid mistake in taking that money, had I known the truth. Cut loose, girl; by what I've heard you've paid for your board and lodging there long enough. I've put Clay into the picture, and he's a man you can trust. I've a smallholding of sorts on the outskirts of his station, and a bit put by to keep you going until you get settled.'
Sheena's hand holding the letter fell slowly to her side. It had all looked so easy from his point of view, she thought numbly. He had forgotten one salient fact; she loved Doyle, and she would always love him. He hadn't broken the engagement, she had. The fact that he hadn't tried to talk her out of her deci-
sion was understandable. The Charters were an old and well respected family, and it had caused quite a stir in the high society to which they belonged when Doyle had courted his manager's daughter.
She could still remember with bitter clarity the wonderful moment when he had put that large glittering diamond ring on her third finger and asked her to marry him. She could still feel the pride she had felt at that moment, for Doyle was the most sought-after bachelor in the district, and his financial circumstances made him even more of a prize. Not that Sheena had thought of him that way. To her, he was Prince' Charming, and she had adored him for years. She had been just fifteen when her father had started to work for Doyle's father, and subsequently for Doyle on his father's death. It was on her eighteenth birthday that Doyle had proposed to her.
This memory awakened others, and she was back again in the home that she had shared with her father. He had lost his wife, Sheena's mother, shortly before their move to New South Wales, after an operation that she had never recovered from, but he had carried on with the move, considering that it was better for both of them to start afresh elsewhere without the heartbreaking pull of old memories constantly around them.
Having applied for the position of manager at Barter's Ridge and being successful, Sheena's father was assigned quarters on the station, and Sheena found herself in the middle of the hustle of a thriving sheep station.
She had been happy, she thought wistfully, but never more so than that evening when she had proudly held her hand out to her father so that he could admire the ring. She recalled his words that had sounded so odd at the time. 'So you're safe now,' that was all that he had said. The next morning he left Barter's Ridge, and with him went the payroll, the station's largest payout for the year, for it was shearing time.
Sheena had returned Doyle's ring that same day. He had taken it and said harshly, 'Do you know what you're doing?' That was all that he had said. There had been no plea for her to reconsider, no assurance that naturally she was shocked and so was he, but he wasn't going to let her go, she couldn't be held responsible for what her father had done. All these words could have been said, but they weren't.
In the midst of her misery and shame for her father's action, the message had slowly seeped through to her that the words would never be said. Doyle was an important man, and his family too well-respected to even consider marrying a thief's daughter. Even Sheena's beauty could not compensate for this, and her pride would not allow her to forget it.
When Doyle had offered her the post of companion to his mother, she had accepted without reservation because he was also offering her somewhere to live. The quarters she had shared with her father would now house the new manager and there was nowhere else for Sheena to go. She had no other living rela-
tions, and no money. Doyle could have asked her to leave the station, but he hadn't and Sheena had felt a spark of hope that perhaps in time the past would be forgotten and he would ask her to marry him again.
She took a deep breath. That had been three years ago, and although Doyle treated her as one of the family, he had deliberately refrained from making any affectionate approaches to her. It was as if their love had never been, and if he had once loved her, then he had had second thoughts since, and it was now a thing of the past. As time slipped by, her post of companion to Mrs Charter had widened its boundaries, and she became a general factotum in the household chores, helping out wherever necessary and never complaining. The salary that she had been forced to accept was the minimum payable, and she would not have heard of accepting a higher one. In her eyes, she was lucky to have a roof over her head and three meals a day. She could never repay the money that had been taken, but she owed the family her living, and this was the only way that she could show her gratitude.
When the engagement between Doyle and Sheena had been ended, Doyle's mother had become distinctly friendlier towards her. There was no doubting the fact that she had felt that her handsome son could have made a better marriage, and she had had several suitable girls in mind; all came of wealthy families and were in close touch with the Charters. Her evident relief at Sheena's removal from the marital front was shown by her rather gushing efforts to make her
feel wanted—to Sheena it was as if she was saying,
`Thank you' fervently each time they were alone together, but Sheena refused to dwell too much on this.
Her dreams of marrying Doyle remained dreams, as did the longing for him to take her in his arms again and kiss her as he had once done. Only the fact that she was near him and saw him each day compensated for her heartache. She found herself always looking for some little action on his part to show her that he still cared for her, but if his gaze did linger on her for a little longer than was necessary, he was careful to turn the conversation on to more general subjects, thus squashing any wishful thinking on her part.
`Well?' said the deep voice of Clay Dayman, and Sheena looked towards him, now facing her.
She swallowed. Sense told her that she ought to do what her father suggested, to cut loose, as he had put it, but leave tomorrow 'It doesn't give me much time, does it?' she said hesitantly.
`Time enough,' he answered firmly, his dark eyes noting the pallor of her cheeks. 'I'd say you've played your part,' he added, gazing at her significantly. `Wouldn't you?'
`Can't you give me a little more time to think things over?' she asked, and swallowed. 'I can't just walk out on them like that.' She looked away from his searching eyes. 'I'm not even sure that I want to.'
`Well, that's up to you,' he replied slowly. 'But I'd say your father was right. Only there's a little more to it, isn't there?'
Sheena's pallor turned to a pink hue. He was talk-
ing about Doyle, and the real reason why she didn't want -to leave. Her soft lips firmed. It was no business of his. If she wanted to stay at Barter's Ridge then she would stay.
She was just about to voice these sentiments when the study door opened and Doyle strode into the room. His light blue eyes rested first on Sheena, then on the tall figure of Clay Dayman, and back again to Sheena. 'Company?' he said to her.
Sheena was about to make the introduction when Clay Dayman took the initiative away from her by walking forward and holding out a hard hand to Doyle. 'Clay Dayman,' he said crisply. 'If you're the owner of Barter's Ridge, then I guess this is your property.' He walked over to where the saddlebag lay and handed it to Doyle.
Doyle stared at the saddlebag, then he looked at Sheena, who gave a dull nod. It's the payroll, Doyle,' she said simply. 'Father never spent it.' She looked at Clay. `He's dead now, and he left Mr Dayman a letter asking him to return it. He w
orked for Mr Dayman.'
She said nothing about the letter her father had left for her in which he had suggested that she go back North with Clay Dayman.
Doyle's lips thinned as he said caustically, 'Better late than never, I suppose,' and inclined his head towards the bag. 'There's a tidy sum in there, Dayman. Are you claiming a percentage for the return?'
Sheena gasped. How could Doyle have said that ! There had been no trace of gratitude in his voice at
all. He must have made Clay Dayman feel like a bounty-hunter. 'Doyle ! ' she exclaimed hastily. 'I'm sure ...'
Doyle's growled, 'Keep out of this Sheena,' prevented her from finishing the sentence.
`No percentage, Mr Charter,' answered Clay Dayman, with emphasis on the 'Mr'. 'James Greig asked a favour of me, and I'm doing my level best to fulfil it.' He turned his dark sardonic eyes on the embarrassed Sheena. 'Part of that favour was to take his daughter back up North with me. He'd saved up a fair amount to keep her going until she gets the smallholding he's left her up to scratch. I'm sorry she couldn't give you more notice that she's leaving. We're heading North tomorrow.'
Sheena blinked in disbelief. Her wide sapphire blue eyes stared at Clay Dayman. Why had he said that? He knew very well that she had been about to turn down her father's suggestion.
`Is this true, Sheena?' Doyle asked, rounding on her aggressively, almost daring her to say yes.
Sheena swallowed. She wanted to say no, that of course she wouldn't do a thing like that, but Clay Dayman's eyes were upon her, and no matter what she wanted to do she found herself unable to let him down. The words were out before she could recall them. 'I'm sorry, Doyle, but I think it would be for the best.' Her eyes pleaded with him to understand that things couldn't go on as they had, that she had had enough.
Once the words were out, she felt a sense of free-