by Margaret Way
“How’s work progressing?” Nori asked, putting a tray down on a circular table covered with floor-length tapestry.
The tray was set with a silver coffee pot, matching sugar bowl, a jug for cream, a beautiful cup and saucer, and a small plate of sandwiches cut into neat fingers. There was a chocolate cupcake for good measure. Nori knew Genevieve only wanted a light lunch after a good breakfast.
Stretching her arms above her head, Genevieve stood up, easing back from the waist to take pressure off her spine. “There’s so much here to cover. It’s been quite daunting to just get through this much.” She indicated the documents piled high. “I don’t think a single thing has ever been thrown out. I hope I’m not making extra work for you, Nori? I could easily come to the kitchen to collect my tray.”
Nori gave a three-cornered smile. “Ms Trevelyan gives the orders. We obey.”
“Or off with your head?” Genevieve let slip. “She did tell me to stay in here, but I’m going to take the tray outside into the fresh air. I love all the water features.”
“Bore water. We are over the Great Artesia Basin, as you would know. Shall I carry the tray out for you?”
“I’m okay with it.” Genevieve smiled. “Thank you so much, Nori. I’m hungry.”
Nori laughed. “Good!”
Trevelyan’s out-of-the-blue appearance in the library truly startled her. She knew his workday often started in the pre-dawn and continued until dusk. She’d been sure she wouldn’t see him again until dinner. But here he was. Like some big cat, he made as little noise as a black panther taking its prey completely by surprise. How he had entered the room so silently she didn’t know. He was wearing traditional cowboy boots.
“Did I startle you?” he asked, in a gentle so-sexy voice.
Genevieve felt the all-too-familiar rush of blood to her head. If she had any sense at all she would get to work on controlling her reactions. “Big cats must move like you,” she managed.
“No big cats in the Outback,” he said. “Though there have been plenty of sightings over decades of what a lot of people believe are black panthers and pumas over rural Australia.”
“I know.” She was as intrigued by the sightings as the next person. “I’ve seen footage on TV. They weren’t very big dogs or huge feral cats. To my eyes they looked and moved like black panthers. Perhaps the progeny of animals that escaped from circuses? Or brought into the country as pets by American servicemen, then released when the call came to go back into battle?”
“Well, it’s a theory.” He gave her a smile.
She bit her lip. Pain could be very sobering. “But there is evidence.”
He shrugged a wide shoulder. “I agree. Working away?” He took stock of the pile of documents on her desk.
She took the opportunity to straighten some papers, badly in need of a breather. Powerful sexual attraction was a kind of magic. Only was this white or black?
“Hard at it, actually.” Her voice, to her great relief, sounded business-like. “This is going to be a huge job, but fascinating. I didn’t think I would see you at this time of day.”
Immediately after she’d said it she could have bitten her tongue. His God-given magnetism was just too powerful. She hadn’t had time to erect effective barricades. Whatever else she had come prepared for, she hadn’t bargained on Trevelyan.
He didn’t appear to notice the rosy colour that had swept into her cheeks. “I need to scoop you up and take you across to the stables complex,” he said. “I’ll be away Friday through Monday. Derryl can entertain his friends in peace. I have outstations to check on. You can pick whatever horse you like, providing I satisfy myself you can handle it.”
All at once it seemed like a miracle to be young and alive. “I wasn’t thrown up into the saddle before I could walk, like you probably were, but I did tell you I was an experienced rider. You obviously didn’t take it to heart.”
“I’m taking your safety to heart,” he retorted firmly. “Come along.” Another command. “I don’t have a lot of time.”
She hesitated for a moment. “What about Ms Trevelyan?” she queried.
He turned back to her. A gleam had come into his near black eyes. “There seems to be a misunderstanding here, Genevieve. I’m the boss. Hester will understand.”
“Well, that’s plain enough.” She spoke too jauntily, but as usual in his presence she was thrown off balance. It was entirely his fault.
At least she’d continued to dress the part. She was wearing a white cotton shirt tucked into sensible jeans. In another life she wouldn’t have been caught dead in them.
The stables complex was huge, with a large courtyard to walk the horses. Two young aboriginal boys were in attendance. Trevelyan waved a hand to them. They appeared ready to do whatever he wanted. Trevelyan obviously commanded an awe-inspiring respect.
In the end she chose a thoroughbred gelding. It was a gleaming dark bay. At their approach it threw up its handsome head with a fine-boned skull, nostrils flaring wide with life. The gelding bent its head as Genevieve put out her upturned hand, hoping the horse would lick her palm. It did.
“I’ll be very happy with this one,” she said. “What’s his name?”
“What if I said Lucifer?” Trevelyan offered very dryly. “This is a big and potentially dangerous beast in the wrong hands.”
“It’s clear he likes me,” she said, petting the horse and patting its glossy neck.
“It would seem so. Horses, like children, know who their friends are. But no promises on that one. The last thing we want is a mishap.”
“Trust me.” Genevieve turned up her face to him. She was unaware her iridescent green eyes were sparkling behind the lenses of her fake glasses.
“If it were that easy…” he mocked, putting out a hand to whip the glasses from her nose.
Instinctively she put up a hand. “You can’t do that. I mean—”
“What exactly do you mean?” he challenged. “Clearly you’ve sought to make yourself look what my great-aunt had in mind?” He dangled the spectacles in front of her.
“How do you know I don’t need them?”
“A blind man wouldn’t have been tricked.”
“Derryl was.”
He laughed, black eyes glittering. “Obviously Derryl will have to try harder.”
“Okay.” She surrendered. “I wanted to fit the bill. Nothing too dodgy about that. Ms Trevelyan requested a serious-minded young woman. End of story.”
“More like the start of one,” he contradicted flatly. “It’s so nice to see you without them anyway. You have very beautiful eyes.”
She felt the streak of hot blood through her veins. “Thank you. But I’d consider it a friendly gesture if you’d return my glasses.”
“Why wear what you don’t need?” He held her sea-green gaze. It rather stunned him, his image of her as a mermaid. The initial image remained strong. Mermaid, water nymph—cool, cool crystal-clear green eyes. And the long Titian hair was the stuff of a man’s dreams. Any man would want to take up handfuls of it and bury his face in the silky coils. He showed nothing of this. Instead he deliberately shoved the offending glasses into the breast pocket of his bush shirt. “What else are you trying to sell us, Ms Grenville?”
She pushed away the quick rise of panic. “Does anyone ever answer a question like that?”
“Probably not honestly,” he said. “I’d just like to know what’s really behind this masquerade.”
“You count wearing glasses a masquerade?” she parried, and raised delicately arched brows that were naturally dark like her eyelashes.
“You obviously do,” he pointed out, in a silky-smooth voice that nevertheless gave her pause.
“Maybe I’m not allowed to tell anyone.” It came out a mite frivol
ously.
“You’d do well to tell me.” He gave her a long hard look.
She sobered. “You’re completely wrong. Let’s call the glasses a minor offence.” She changed tack. “So, when do we begin? You said you had limited time? I should tell you I like a fast horse. I love a good gallop.”
“I just bet you do,” he said, a sardonic expression crossing his striking face. He had seen her scintillating vitality from the very beginning. “I can spot a risk-taker when I see one.”
“Surely not me?”
“Yes, you—for certain.” He gestured to one of the boys to saddle up the bay gelding. “I’d like you to wear a hard hat.” He reached for one of a few that sat on hooks.
From delight to dismay. “You’re joking.”
“I never joke about possible danger,” he returned, handing her the black hard hat. “Put it on.” He turned away. “Benny, saddle up Sulaimann for me.”
“Sure, boss.”
Both young men hopped to.
“The name of your gelding is Zimraan, by the way. Both horses have Arab blood.”
Genevieve, busy with the strap beneath her chin, looked her amazement. “Hang on a moment—you’re going to ride with me?”
“How else will I know if you’re telling the truth?”
She looked aghast. “I’m not stupid.”
“No, you’re not.” Lightly he tapped the top of her hard hat. “Nevertheless, I’m going to check you out, Ms Grenville.”
The way he said it set off a long pealing of alarm bells.
The horses were saddled up. Genevieve didn’t wait for assistance. She swung up onto the saddle, quickly gathering up the reins. After a few settling moments for herself and her horse she began walking, trotting, moving to a fast canter around the courtyard. Zimraan was very receptive to her every direction. He had a lovely smooth action. So far, so good.
The moment Trevelyan cast a hard, assessing eye in her direction, she was provoked into showing off. She stood up in the stirrups like a winning jockey. She wasn’t about to submit to Alpha Man. She thought he should know she was no novice. The danger was he acted as such a powerful stimulant on her that she was falling out of character. It wasn’t the right time to show off. But she had such a great horse!
Zimraan was dancing, nervy, practically begging for a gallop. She mightn’t have Trevelyan’s superb skill with a horse, she reckoned. He looked wonderful mounted—tall and straight in the saddle, his cream akubra with its crocodile skin band set rather rakishly on his handsome head. He wasn’t looking at her. He was controlling Sulaimann with a practised hand. The tall chestnut gelding was also mad keen for a gallop.
“Okay, we’re off.” He signalled to her.
She turned her horse swiftly to follow him, relishing the rising excitement.
It was marvellous to be alive.
Trevelyan stayed with her for quite a while. Then, deciding she was a class rider who knew what she was about, he let her have her head. She took off at a spanking gallop, wearing the abominable hard hat. She had to. He’d insisted.
With a spurt of pleasure he found himself lining Sulaimann up to give her the race of her life. She actually had the superior mount. Suleimann wasn’t his usual ride. His chosen horse, Moonlight, as pure a white as Carrara marble, who carried him sure-footedly wherever he went on the station, was tethered to a shade tree back at the Eight Mile. Knowing what he had in mind, he had driven the Jeep back to the homestead to collect Ms Grenville, who was turning out to be quite a surprise packet. He suspected the surprise packet could turn into a real handful.
He had no difficulty closing the distance between them, but immediately he saw her heading for a ruined and crumbling old wall he just knew in his bones she was going to jump it. Anxiety surged over him. He knew Zimraan was not just a good ride, he was a good jumper. But who did she think she was? A steeplechase jockey? He was responsible for her, damn it! Why wouldn’t she be a daredevil, with that red hair? he censured himself. But she didn’t know the terrain. That was the thing. The plains country wasn’t like the well-trodden tracks she was used to. He felt like giving her a good shake when he caught up with her.
As she and her mount gathered for the jump, he knew a fresh spurt of alarm—this time realising exactly what was about to happen. What would have appeared to Genevieve as a fallen log in front of the wall, half-hidden by dried twigs and grasses, suddenly shot up, morphing into a five-foot sand goanna, black with light spots—the perfect camouflage. It dashed away with comical speed. Those goannas had such speed they had been nicknamed “racehorse goannas”.
Genevieve would not have had fair warning. Neither would the gelding. The gelding’s quarters were already bunched to clear the wall; Genevieve was bent low over the gelding’s neck. Horse and rider were certain they could clear the wall perfectly—only at the last stride the gelding propped.
Spooked.
It was Genevieve who shot over the wall, disappearing on the other side.
The muscles of Trevelyan’s jaw clenched. God help him, he was furious with himself. The unexpected was always possible. He had explained that to Genevieve before they rode out of the home compound. Zimraan was standing steady, unharmed but looking like a horse overwhelmingly ashamed. Thank God the two of them hadn’t gone over the wall. Zimraan might have crashed onto her. It didn’t bear thinking about.
He threw himself out of the saddle. She was lying on her side, her back to him. For a moment horror tore him up. He couldn’t bear the thought she could be injured. He couldn’t go beyond that…
“Genevieve!” He shouted her name so loudly he alerted every wild animal and every brilliantly coloured bird in the vicinity.
To his enormous relief she swung over onto her back, of all things laughing. Perversely, that put him in a fury. That was laughter dancing in her eyes. From being desperately worried she might have injured herself, he was now in an irrational rage, and stunned that he could be. When had he ever flown into a rage? He couldn’t remember. If ever.
She was puffing with limited breath. “Pride comes before a fall!”
He dropped to his haunches beside her, his expression taut. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” he demanded to know. “Couldn’t you have contented yourself with a gallop?”
She sat up, all laughter gone at his expression. “You’re angry!”
“You bet your life I am!” he confirmed. “What if I’d had to pick up the pieces? The two of you could have gone over. Zimraan could have rolled on you.”
She tried to defend herself, although knowing what she did she understood his reaction. A young woman had met with a tragic accident on this historic Djangala Station. None of them could escape the memory of that terrible event. It probably haunted the entire family.
“Why are you hitting on the worst possible scenario?” she asked quietly, the breath coming slowly back into her pained lungs. “I’ve taken plenty of spills in my time.”
There was a pallor beneath his bronzed skin. “Princess Anne is a highly intelligent woman and she would have trusted my advice. Not acted recklessly.”
“You’re joking!” She undid the strap of her hard hat, shaking her head from side to side. Thankfully the pins in her coiled hair were still holding, although long silky coils were escaping everywhere.
“I can’t be,” he said curtly. “I’m not laughing.”
She knew she was expected to apologise. “Look, I’m sorry if I caused you worry. I knew we could jump the wall safely. God knows, it’s not much of a hurdle.”
“It’s high enough.” He chopped her off. “And you didn’t know what was on the other side.”
“Mea culpa.” She struck her breast. “It was just so fantastic—galloping off into the far horizon, not a building in sight, not a single obstruction, those go
rgeous little emerald and gold budgies winging overhead, pointing an arrow for me to find the way. All would have been fine—only I wasn’t counting on the Komodo dragon.” She gave a wry laugh.
“A sand goanna.” He set her straight, strangely calmed by her description.
“The goanna wasn’t counting on me either. I saw it a split second too late. I thought it was a log—it was so heavily camouflaged.”
“And they’re all over the place—the plains, the dunes,” he said shortly. “Our Perentie is second only to the Komodo dragon.”
“Good thing they don’t feed on humans,” she said, relieved that air was coming back into her lungs.
“You’re safe. Don’t worry.” He rose to his impressive height, extending a hand to help her up. “Are you okay?” he frowned. “Can you get up? Sit still for a moment longer if you have to.”
She pulled a wry face. “I don’t think I could have taken it had you been kind.”
“Kind!” he exclaimed, clearly exasperated. “You’re pale.” He studied her intently. Pale and beautiful. Like a flower.
“So are you.” She cursed her too-quick tongue!
He didn’t answer, but drew her strongly to her feet, keeping a hold on her arms. “Genevieve, you simply can’t go haring off like that again,” he said, his dark eyes filled with silver glitter. “It’s for your own safety.”
“I realise that.” Her tremulous voice was betraying her. They were so close, invading one another’s personal space. She had never been so conscious of man—the sheer physicality of him, the natural dominance and—she had to face it—the superiority in so many ways. “I failed the first test. I’m sorry. But I promise from now on I’ll keep a keen eye out for wildlife.”
“It’s necessary.” He drew in a breath. “We need to head home.”
“Yes, of course.” She tried to inject normality into her voice. “Are we still talking?” They certainly weren’t moving. They might have been glued to the spot.