Stranded with the Secret Billionaire

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Oh, Matt...’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, even though it wasn’t. ‘I have the resources to see her a couple of times a year.’

  ‘Does she look like you?’

  And, for some reason, that shook him.

  The guys on the farm knew he had a daughter—that was the reason he took off twice a year—but that was as far as it went. When had he ever talked about his daughter? Never.

  ‘I guess she does,’ he said slowly. ‘She has my black hair. My brown eyes. There’s no denying parentage, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘I guess. I didn’t mean anything,’ she whispered. ‘I’m just thinking how hard it would be to leave her there.’ She gave herself a shake, a small physical act that said she was moving on from something that was clearly none of her business. But it seemed she did have more questions, just not about Lily.

  ‘So you,’ she said. ‘I’ve told you all about my appalling family. Your mum and dad?’

  ‘Just mum.’ Why was he telling her this? He should excuse himself and go to bed. But he couldn’t. She was like a puppy, he thought, impossible to kick.

  Or was there more? The need to talk? He never talked but he did now.

  ‘This farm,’ she was saying. ‘I assumed you’d inherited it.’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘So rich mum, hey?’

  ‘The opposite.’ He hated talking about it but he forced himself to go on. ‘Mum had me when she was eighteen and she had no support. I was a latchkey kid from early on, but we coped.’ He didn’t say how they’d coped. What use describing a childhood where he’d been needed to cope with his mother’s emotional messes?

  ‘Give me a hug, sweetheart. Sorry, I can’t stop crying. Can you go out and buy pies for tea? Can you go down to the welfare and say Mummy’s not well, we need money for food? But say I’ve just got the flu... I don’t want them sticking their noses in here...’

  He shook himself, shoving back memories that needed to be buried. Penny was waiting for him to go on.

  ‘When I was twelve Mum took a housekeeping job about five hundred miles inland from Perth,’ he told her. ‘Sam Harriday was an eighty-year-old bachelor. He’d worked his parents’ farm on his own for years and was finally admitting he needed help. So off we went, to somewhere Mum hoped we’d be safe.’

  ‘Safe?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He caught himself, but now he’d said it he had to explain. A bit. ‘There were parts of Mum’s life that weren’t safe.’

  She was silent at that, and he thought she’d probe. He didn’t want her to but he’d asked for it. But when she spoke again she’d moved on. Maybe she’d sensed his need for barriers. ‘Good for your mum,’ she told him. ‘But so far inland... You were twelve? How did you go to school?’

  ‘School of the Air.’ He shrugged and smiled at the memory of his not very scholastic self. ‘Not that I studied much. I took one look at the farm and loved it. And Sam...’ He hesitated. ‘Well, Sam was a mate. He could see how hungry I was to learn and he taught me.’

  ‘But—’ she frowned, obviously trying to figure the whole story ‘—this isn’t his farm?’

  ‘It’s not,’ he told her. ‘Cutting a long story short, when I was fifteen Mum fell for a biker who got lost and asked for a bed. She followed him to the city but Sam offered to let me stay. So I did. I kept up with School of the Air until I was seventeen but by then I was helping him with everything. And I loved it. I loved him. He died when I was twenty-two and he left me everything.’ He shrugged. ‘An inheritance seems great until you realize what comes with it. The death of someone you love.’

  ‘I’m sorry...’

  ‘It’s a while back now and it was his time,’ he said, but he paused, allowing a moment for the memories of the old man he’d loved. Allowing himself to remember again the pain that happened when he’d been needed so much, and suddenly there was no one.

  ‘So the farm was mine,’ he managed, shaking off memories of that time of grief. It was rough country, a farm you had to sweat to make a living from, but it did have one thing going for it that I hadn’t realized. It was sitting on a whole lot of bauxite. That’s the stuff used to make aluminium. Apparently geologists had approached Sam over the years but he’d always seen them off. After he died one of them got in touch with me. We tested and the rest is history.’

  ‘You own a bauxite mine?’ she said incredulously and he laughed.

  ‘I own a great sheep property. This one. I own a couple more properties down river—economies of scale make it worthwhile—but this place is my love. I also own a decent share of a bauxite mine. That was what got me into trouble, though. It’s why Darrilyn married me, though I was too dumb to see it. But I’m well over it. My current plan is to make this the best sheep station in the state, if not the country, and the fact that I seem to have hauled the best shearers’ cook I can imagine out of the creek is a bonus.’

  He smiled and rose, shaking off the ghosts that seemed to have descended. ‘Enough. If I don’t go to bed now I’ll fall asleep on top of a pile of fleece tomorrow. Goodnight, Penny.’

  She stood up too, but she was still frowning. ‘The mine,’ she said. ‘Bauxite... Sam Harriday... It’s not Harriday Holdings?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Oh, my,’ she gasped. ‘Matt, my father tried to invest in that mine. He couldn’t afford to.’

  ‘The shares are tightly held.’

  ‘By you?’

  ‘Mostly.’

  She stood back from him and she was suddenly glaring. ‘That must make you a squillionaire.’

  ‘I told you I’d pay you. Now you know I can afford to. And I doubt I’m a squillionaire.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t even know what one is. And, by the way, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t broadcast it. The locals don’t know and I have no idea why I told you.’

  ‘Because it’s our night for secrets?’ She hesitated and then reached out to touch his hand. ‘Matt?’

  He looked down at her hand on his. It looked wrong, he thought. This was a gesture of comfort and he didn’t need comfort. Or maybe she intended to ask a question that needed it.

  ‘Yes?’ That was brusque. He tried again and got it better. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Where’s your mother now?’

  How had she guessed? he thought incredulously. How had she seen straight through his story to the one thing that hurt the most?

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry. But something tells me...’

  ‘Don’t!’

  She hesitated and then her hand came up and touched his cheek, a feather-touch, a fleeting gesture of warmth.

  ‘I won’t ask but I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘And I’m even more sorry because...you might be a squillionaire, but something tells me that all the whinging I’ve just done doesn’t come close to the pain you’re hiding. Thank you for rescuing me yesterday, Matt Fraser. I just wish I could rescue you right back.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  IF EVER THERE was a cure for humiliation piled on humiliation, it was ten days of cooking for shearers. Ten days of pure hard work.

  ‘We’ve only two more mobs left,’ Matt told her with satisfaction. ‘That’s four days shearing and we’re done. We’ve had the best weather. The best food. The best shear I’ve ever organised. You’re our good luck charm, Penny Hindmarsh-Firth. I’ve a good mind to keep you.’

  Matt hadn’t stopped for ten days, Penny thought. He’d worked until after midnight almost every night. He said he went to bed but she saw his light at the far end of the veranda.

  She had his situation pretty much summed up by now. Five sheep properties. A bauxite mine worth heaven only knew how much. Responsibilities everywhere.

  The drapes in his bedroom were often pulled back. She could see his shadow against the light
, sitting at his desk, working into the night.

  He had a massive desk in his study. He wasn’t using that.

  Because she was here? She knew it was, but he wasn’t avoiding her.

  They’d fallen into a routine. Matt left the house before dawn, she saw him only briefly at meals but at dusk she sat on the veranda and talked to the dogs and he’d finally fetch his plate of leftovers from the warming drawer and come out to join her.

  He was always dead tired. She could hear it in his voice, in the slump of his shoulders. Sometimes he seemed almost too tired to talk and she respected that, but still he seemed to soak up her company. And for herself? She liked him being here too, and she didn’t need to talk. She was content to sit and watch the moon rise over the horizon, to breathe in the night air and let go of her fast-paced day.

  And it was fast-paced. She’d set herself a personal challenge. Each day’s cooking had to be at least as good as the days’ before. It was worth it. ‘Great tucker,’ a shearer growled as he headed back to work. Or, ‘Strewth, Pen, that sponge’s almost as good as my gran used to make.’

  And Matt had nothing but praise. ‘I’d have pulled a rhinoceros out of the creek to get cooking like this,’ he’d told her after the first couple of days and she had no idea why that throwaway line had the capacity to make her feel as if her insides were glowing.

  The way he ate her food at night was compliment enough. He was always past exhaustion but he sat and savoured her food as if every mouthful was gold. He was enjoying his dinner now, as she sat and watched the moon rise.

  She thought about the way he’d smiled at her when she’d handed him his plate. Somehow he didn’t feel like an employer. She wasn’t sure what he felt like, but...

  ‘Malley doesn’t know what he’s getting.’ Matt’s low growl from where he sat behind her made her jump. She’d been dreaming. Of a smile?

  Idiot!

  She didn’t answer. There was nothing to say to such a compliment. There was no reason his comment should have her off balance.

  Though, actually, there was.

  There were four more days of shearing to go. The floodwaters were slowly going down. She could probably leave now, though it’d still be a risk. And Matt still needed her.

  But in four days...

  ‘You are still going to Malley’s?’ Matt asked and she tried to think of a way to say it, and couldn’t.

  But he guessed. Maybe her silence was answer enough. ‘You’ve changed your mind?’ Matt put his empty plate aside and came across to where she sat on the edge of the veranda. He slipped down beside her and the night seemed to close in around them, a warm and intimate space that held only them.

  What was she thinking? Intimate? He was her boss!

  He was a man and she didn’t trust herself with men. Didn’t they always want something? Something other than her? Even Matt. He needed her to cook. She was useful, nothing else.

  So stop thinking of something else.

  ‘Malley changed my mind,’ she managed, and was disconcerted at the way her voice worked. Or didn’t work. Why were emotions suddenly crowding in on her?

  And it wasn’t just how close Matt was sitting beside her, she thought. It was more. In four days she wouldn’t be needed. Again.

  Wasn’t that what she wanted?

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, get over it, she told herself and swung her feet in an attempt at defiance.

  As if sensing his mistress needed a bit of support, Samson edged sideways and crept up onto her knee. He was filthy but she didn’t mind. Penny had given up on the bathing. Samson was now a farm dog.

  If her mother could see her now she’d have kittens, Penny thought. She was filthy too, covered in the flour she’d used to prepare the bread dough for the morning. She was cradling a stinking poodle.

  But Matt was sitting by her side and she thought, I don’t care. Mum has Felicity if she wants a beautiful daughter. I’m happy here.

  It was a strange thought—a liberating thought. She tried to think of Brett. Or Felicity. Of the two of them hand in hand telling her they’d betrayed her.

  They can have each other, she thought, and it was the first time she’d felt no bitterness.

  Ten days of shearing had changed things. Ten days of sitting outside every night with Matt? But there were only four days to go.

  ‘You going to tell me about Malley?’ Matt asked. He’d given her time. He’d sensed there were things she was coming to terms with, but now he was asking again.

  What had she told him? Malley changed my mind.

  Yeah, he had, and she’d been upset and she should still be upset. But how hard was it to be angry when she was sitting with this man whose empathy twisted something inside her that she hadn’t known existed.

  ‘I phoned Malley the night I got here,’ she admitted. ‘He told me I was a...well, I won’t say what he said but the gist of it was that I was a fool for taking the route I did and he was an idiot himself for thinking a citified b...a citified woman could do the job. He said he’d find someone else. He called me a whole lot of words I’d never heard of. I guess I was pretty upset so when he rang back and expected me to drop everything...’

  And then she stopped. She hadn’t meant to say any more. What was it about this man that messed with her head? That messed with the plan of action she knew was sensible?

  ‘Drop everything?’ he said slowly, and she thought uh oh. She went to get up but he put his hand on her arm and held her still. ‘You mean abandon this place?’ He was frowning. ‘Is that what he meant?’

  ‘He rang me back two days after I got here,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s okay. I used a few of his words back at him. Not...not the worst ones. But maybe the ones about being an idiot for ever thinking I’d take the job.’

  ‘But why did he ring?’

  This was sort of embarrassing. She’d been dumb to say anything at all but Matt was watching her. He was frowning, obviously thinking through the words she’d let slip. She had no choice but to be honest.

  ‘He ended up almost as trapped as we are, so finding another cook wasn’t an option,’ she told him. ‘And it’s costing him. Malley’s hotel is the base for scores of stranded tourists. He has supplies but no one to cook. He’s losing a fortune.’

  ‘So?’ Matt said slowly.

  ‘So he knows one of the chopper pilots who’s doing feed drops up north. I gather for two days he fumed at how useless I was and then he realized he didn’t have a choice. So he bribed the chopper pilot to come and get me.’

  There was a loaded silence.

  ‘So why didn’t you go?’

  ‘You told me he had mice.’

  ‘And you told me you could clean.’

  ‘So I could,’ she said with sudden asperity. ‘But I didn’t see why I should clean for someone with such a foul mouth. The tourists can cook for themselves if they need to. Why should I go?’

  ‘But you came all the way here to take a permanent, full-time job.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And shearing finishes in four days.’ He frowned. ‘Why didn’t you accept? I don’t understand.’

  And she didn’t, either. Not totally. It had been a decision of the heart, not the head, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

  She reverted to being practical. ‘The chopper pilot was supposed to be dropping food to stranded livestock, so what was he about, agreeing to pick me up? How could I live with myself knowing cows were hungry because of me? Besides, they couldn’t fit my car into the chopper.’

  ‘You were the one who suggested leaving your car here until after the floods.’

  Drat, why did he have to have such a good memory?

  ‘So why?’ he asked again, more gently, and suddenly there seemed nothing left but the truth.

  ‘You neede
d me,’ she told him. ‘And...’

  ‘And?’

  Her chin tilted. This was something her family never got. Her friends never got. She’d been mocked for this before but she might as well say it. ‘I was having fun.’

  ‘Fun?’ He stared at her in amazement. ‘You’ve worked harder than any shearer. You’ve planned, you’ve cooked, you’ve cleaned. You’ve gone to bed as exhausted as me every night and you’ve got up every morning and started all over again. You call that fun?’

  ‘Yes.’ She said it firmly. It was a stand she’d defended for years and she wasn’t letting it go now. Cooking was her love, and cooking for people who appreciated it was heaven. ‘But you needn’t sound so amazed. Tell me why you’re here. You own a bauxite mine, one of the richest in the country. You surely don’t need to farm. You’re working yourself into the ground too. For what?’

  ‘Fun?’ he said and she smiled.

  ‘Gotcha.’

  ‘Okay.’ He sighed. ‘I get it, though I’m imagining the work at Malley’s would have been just as hard. So where do you go from here? You knocked back a permanent job to help me.’

  ‘I knocked back a permanent job because I wanted this one. And, even without the mice, Malley sounds mean.’

  ‘The man’s an imbecile,’ Matt said. ‘To bad-mouth a cook of your standard? He obviously has the brains of a newt. To lose you...’

  And then he paused.

  The atmosphere changed. That thing inside her twisted again. To have someone defend her...value her...

  It’s the cooking, she told herself. She was never valued for herself.

  But suddenly his hand was covering hers, big and rough and warm. ‘Thank you,’ he told her and it sounded as if it came from the heart. ‘Thank you indeed—and I think your wages just went up.’

  * * *

  Fun.

  He thought of the massive amount of work she’d put in over the last ten days. He thought of the drudgery of planning, chopping, peeling, cooking and cleaning. He thought of the mounds of washing-up. How had he ever thought he could handle it himself? In the end he’d hardly had time to help her cart food across to the shed, but she hadn’t complained once.