The Cattleman's English Rose
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Barbara Hannay
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13
CHAPTER ONE
‘WHO’S that?’
The woman on the stool beside Kane McKinnon gave his thigh an impatient squeeze as she squinted towards the bar-room doorway.
‘Who’s what?’ Kane refused to look and took a lazy sip of his beer instead.
‘That girl, of course.’ She tugged at Kane’s jeans and he knew she wanted him to turn and join her in a scrutiny of someone who’d just come into the Mirrabrook pub. Perversely, he let his gaze linger on his glass.
There was nothing on earth quite so important as the first icy-cold drink on a stinking hot day, especially when a man had been out in the bush on a cattle muster for three weeks. Besides, Marsha’s possessive touch was bugging him.
Admittedly, he’d been in a bad mood all day, thanks to the shocker of a bombshell his little sister had dropped that morning.
He and his brother, Reid, had arrived back at Southern Cross homestead just after dawn, ready for breakfast, their stomachs primed for a good feed of steak and eggs, and they’d been greeted by a cold, empty stove and a note propped against the sugar bowl in the middle of the kitchen table.
They’d read their little sister’s note twice before it had sunk in that Annie had taken off to the city for a week—maybe two…for a date with destiny, she had written. But don’t worry about me, I’ll be quite safe. I’ll be staying with Melissa Browne.
It was totally out of character for Annie to up and leave them without warning. Not that the kid didn’t deserve a trip to the city now and then, but she knew that her brothers would need time to find a replacement housekeeper while she was away.
As it was, Kane had been forced to waste a good few hours driving into Mirrabrook today to track down someone to help them out at short notice. And, damn it, there was no one available.
At least, there were no ‘safe women’ available—sensible women, who wouldn’t view a chance to work at Southern Cross for the McKinnon brothers as an open invitation to start dreaming about a long white dress and a trip to the altar.
‘I’ve never seen her before, have you?’ Marsha was still talking about the woman who’d just walked in and her voice sounded as disgruntled as Kane felt.
He shrugged. Marsha regarded every woman as competition, which perhaps explained why her shorts kept getting shorter and her necklines lower. The top she was wearing today wasn’t much bigger than a Band-Aid.
It was another thing that added to his irritation. He didn’t like women to be prudes, but Marsha’s recent taste in clothes and her increasingly possessive body language smacked of desperation. And that was a definite turn-off.
‘Why is she staring at you?’ Marsha hissed.
‘I have no idea.’ Kane sighed, hoping she would catch his not so subtle hint that he found her question tedious.
‘Well, you’re about to find out.’
Slipping from her stool, Marsha moved close, so close that her bosom bumped against Kane and he turned to see why she was making such a fuss.
Struth.
Every sunburned, jeans-clad local in the Mirrabrook pub was gaping at the newcomer.
And Kane saw why.
To start with, she was wearing a dress—a soft, summery, knee-length number, the colour of ripe limes. And her skin was milk-white, her hair long and wavy, the colour of expensive brandy.
Against a backdrop of empty beer glasses, barstools and outback ringers draped over a pool table, the young woman looked as if she’d walked off the set of an elegant, old-fashioned romantic movie and found herself in the wrong scene.
But the most surprising thing about her was that she was heading straight for him, her smoky green eyes resolute and unflinching, and Kane thought of Joan of Arc facing up to the Brits. A woman on a mission.
He felt an urgent need to slide off the bar-stool and stand tall. His right hand was damp from the condensation on his beer glass and he gave it a surreptitious wipe on the back of his jeans.
‘Kane McKinnon?’ the girl said when she reached him. With only a slight nod of acknowledgement towards Marsha, she held out her slim white hand. ‘I’m Charity Denham. I believe you know my brother, Tim.’
Tim Denham’s sister. This was a surprise. Her green eyes were watching him carefully, but Kane made sure his gaze didn’t falter. She didn’t look much like her brother, although they both had the same well-bred English accents.
‘Tim Denham?’ he said. ‘Sure, I know him.’
They exchanged cautious handshakes.
‘I understand that Tim worked for you on Southern Cross station,’ she said.
‘That’s right. He was on one of our mustering teams. Are you out here on a holiday?’
‘No.’
She dropped her gaze and pressed her lips together, as if she were gathering strength for what she had to say next and he decided that her bravado had been a front. Then she looked up at him again.
Her eyes were the dusky green of young gum leaves and her skin so fine and pale he could almost see through it.
‘I’m looking for my brother,’ she said.
‘Any special reason?’
She seemed startled by his question, as if the answer was as obvious as Marsha’s cleavage. ‘Tim’s missing. My father and I haven’t heard from him in over a month.’
Beside him, Marsha let out an impatient snort. ‘A month? That’s nothing. Tim Denham’s old enough to look after himself. He doesn’t need his sister chasing halfway across the world to look out for him.’
‘Let me introduce Marsha,’ Kane cut in.
The two women exchanged cool, cut-glass smiles.
‘Can we get you a drink?’ he asked.
‘A lemon lime and bitters would be nice, thank you.’
‘I’ll get it,’ offered Marsha.
Her eagerness surprised Kane, but he pushed some notes towards her from the pile of change on the table. ‘Thanks, Marsh.’
As he drained his glass, Marsha said to Charity, ‘You don’t want that drink. I’ll get you a gin and tonic. That’s what you English girls drink, isn’t it?’
‘Oh.’ There was a momentary hesitation. ‘Well, just a small one then, thank you.’
Marsha sashayed off to the other end of the bar and the English girl watched her thoughtfully.
‘Pull up a pew,’ Kane said, nodding towards a bar-stool.
She sat on it gingerly and kept her neat white hands folded demurely in her lap, while he resumed his usual position, with the heel of one riding boot hooked over the rung of the stool and the other leg stretched out comfortably.
‘How did you track me down?’ he asked.
‘I asked for directions to Southern Cross at the post office. The woman there told me you were in town today and that I’d find you here.’
That would be right. It wasn’t possible to blow your nose in this town without Rhonda at the post office knowing about it and passing the news on to everyone else.
‘Mr McKinnon.’ The determination in the girl’s voice suggested that she planned to interview him rather than conduct a pleasant conversation. ‘I’m hoping that you can help me to find my brother.’
‘You shouldn’t worry about him. He can look after himself.’
‘But we haven’t heard anything in over a month and Tim knew how much Father and I would worry. Father made him swear on the Bible that he’d keep us posted about his whereabouts.’
‘On the Bible?’ Kane had difficulty in hiding his surprise.
‘Didn’t Tim tell you that our father is the rector of St Alban’s, Hollydean?’
‘Ah—no.’
‘Father only agreed to pay Tim’s airfare to Australia on the condition that he stayed in touch. And up until a month ago we received regular updates, but since then there’s been total silence.’
‘You mustn’t worry. He’s okay.’
Excitement sparked in her eyes. ‘Do you know that for sure? Do you know where he is?’
He winced. ‘What I meant was Tim’s an okay bloke. He can look after himself.’
‘But he knows so little about Australia.’
‘You underestimate your brother. When he worked for me he picked things up quickly and he fitted in well. Of course, he copped a bit of a ribbing from some of the boys about his toff accent, but he’s a good worker. He was good with horses.’
‘But where did he go from here? When did he leave?’
‘He took off about four or five weeks ago, but I can’t tell you where.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
Her quick question almost caught him off guard. Almost. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he said in a take-it-or-leave-it tone. ‘All I know is he’s left the district.’
She frowned. ‘It just doesn’t seem right. Didn’t Tim tell you anything about where he was going, or what he was going to do?’
Kane shrugged. ‘This is a free country.’
She shook her head and dragged in a deep, dissatisfied breath through her nose.
‘Out here, people can come and go as they please,’ Kane said in defence. ‘It happens all the time. Isn’t that what travelling is all about? Being free to take up whatever opportunities arise?’ He shot her a deliberate, searching glance. ‘Maybe your brother wants to cut the apron strings.’
Her response was to glare at him, but he merely smiled.
‘You can’t keep a young bloke like Tim on a short chain for ever.’
She gave an impatient toss of her bright brandy hair. ‘That’s more or less what the police said, but I won’t accept that.’
‘So you’ve already been to the police?’
‘Of course. I spoke to them in Townsville. They’ve listed Tim as missing, but they were far too casual for my liking. They spun me the line that young people go missing all the time. They said that most of the youngsters are deliberately running away, but I know that Tim wouldn’t do that.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
There was a warning flash of green fire in her eyes. ‘I know my brother. I’ve raised him since our mother died when he was seven years old.’
This time Kane couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘You must have been very young to take on that kind of responsibility.’
‘I was fourteen.’
‘You’ve done a grand job.’ He switched his gaze from her earnest face to the bottom of his beer glass. ‘So what else did the police tell you?’
She sighed. ‘Not much. They’ve checked Tim’s bank account and there haven’t been any withdrawals. They say that’s good, because his account hasn’t been stripped and that suggests that there hasn’t been foul play. But if Tim hasn’t used his money, couldn’t it mean that he’s had an accident? He might have perished somewhere and no one knows about it.’
‘I wouldn’t start panicking just yet,’ Kane said gently. ‘I paid him in cash, so he would have been well stocked up when he left here.’
The clip-clip of Marsha’s heels sounded on the wooden floor. As she reached their table and handed out glasses, she eyed them both with a sweet-and-sour smile. They thanked her and took their time sampling grateful sips of their cold drinks.
The silence was broken by the clink of ice against glass and then another sigh from Charity. ‘I know I must look like a fussy mother hen, but I can’t help worrying,’ she said. ‘Tim’s so young. He’s only just turned nineteen.’
There was a short gasp of surprise from Marsha. Kane shot her a sharp, silencing frown.
‘Out here, if a boy’s nineteen, he’s old enough to vote, old enough to drink and old enough to fight and die for his country,’ he said.
‘That may be so, but I intend to find him. If you can’t help me, could you suggest where I should start looking?’
He shrugged. ‘He could be anywhere.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sure you can do better than that.’
Kane sighed. He should have known from the moment she walked in that this girl was a crusader who wouldn’t give in easily.
‘Okay, I’ll give it to you straight.’ With a forefinger, he ticked off the fingers on his left hand. ‘Your brother could have taken another mustering job on a property farther out, or he could be droving cattle up north in the Cape, which would mean spending six or eight weeks on horseback. He could be fishing for barramundi up in the Gulf, or he could be on a prawn trawler out of Karumba.’ He eyed her slowly. ‘You want some more?’
When she didn’t answer, he gave a slight shake of his head before continuing. ‘He might be gold prospecting out the back of Croydon, or fossicking for sapphires down at Annakie, or he could be sitting on a bar-stool chatting up a Swedish backpacker on Magnetic Island.’
As she listened to his list she chewed her lower lip—her soft, petal-pink lip—and he couldn’t help staring.
She shook her head. ‘But if Tim was doing any of those things he could have phoned us, emailed or written a letter.’
Kane shrugged again. ‘I’d say he’s too busy, or too remote.’
Charity stared into her glass, swilled the ice cubes and took another thoughtful sip of her drink.
‘Trust me,’ Kane said quietly, keeping the expression on his face deadpan. ‘Your brother’s okay.’
‘But how do you know that?’
Abruptly he drained his second beer. ‘Look, you don’t want to hang around here. This isn’t the place for you. You should head back to the coast. Why don’t you see a bit of Australia? Have a bit of a holiday while you’re out here. I have Tim’s home address. I’ll contact you if I hear something.’
He knew she wouldn’t be happy to be dismissed so soon, but she’d asked her questions, he had answered them and now he wanted her to leave.
To his surprise she accepted this.
With a series of nervous gulps she finished her gin and tonic. ‘Thanks for the drink,’ she said. ‘I was hoping you could help me, Mr McKinnon, but as you can’t I’ll try to find someone else in this district who might have known Tim.’
Then she jumped to her feet and was just a little unsteady. How much gin had Marsha put in that drink?
Holding out her hand, she said, ‘Thanks for your time.’
‘Just remember my advice,’ he said. Her hand felt soft and he was conscious of her delicate bones as he clasped it. ‘Don’t hang around here. Get back to the coast and have some fun.’
She turned to Marsha, who looked decidedly chipper all of a sudden. ‘It was nice to meet you, Marsha.’
‘You, too, Charity,’ she said, giving a little wave.
Holding her head high, Charity turned and walked very carefully across the bare wooden floor to the bar’s entrance. Kane remembered the conviction in her eyes when she’d entered the bar not so long ago, and he wasn’t proud that he’d managed to knock the stuffing out of her so easily.
Thanks for nothing, Mr McKinnon.
As soon as Charity reached the little foyer at the front of the pub, she slumped on to a wooden bench, swamped by anger and disappointment.
She’d come all this way and she’d pinned so much hope on Kane McKinnon’s help and all he would tell her was to get out of the district.
There’d been an air of secrecy about him that disturbed her. Was it a natural reticence or a wall of defence because he had something to hide? She couldn’t shake off the feeling that he’d been warning her off or, worse still, that his words had been a threat.
But if he wouldn’t help, where else could she go for assistance? The police had been next to no help and she had no one else to turn to. She was in a strange country as vast and alien as the moon and she couldn’t think what to do next.
Kane McKinnon had suggested that Tim was having such a wonderful time that he’d simply forgotten to keep in touch. Could that be true? Had she been expecting too much of her brother? Perhaps the boy had fallen head over heels in love. It was possible, but it didn’t really explain his silence.
‘Your Tim was a cutie.’
Startled, Charity turned to see Marsha. ‘Oh, hello.’
‘He was a real gentleman,’ Marsha said, stepping closer. The huge silver loops in her ears made soft tink-tink sounds when she moved.
‘Did you know Tim very well?’
‘Well enough.’ The woman’s face was a picture of sympathy as she plonked down on the seat next to Charity. ‘To be honest, I thought Kane was a bit rough on you. After all, you’ve come such a long way and you don’t know anyone here.’
Charity’s eyes widened, signalling her deepening surprise.
‘Why don’t you come with me? We can have a nice little chat about your problem. Girl to girl.’
‘That’s kind of you,’ said Charity, trying to hide her surprise.
Marsha was very different from the kind of women who normally befriended her and the last person she’d expected to offer the hand of friendship was Kane’s woman. At least, she assumed Marsha was Kane McKinnon’s girlfriend. No doubt he had a string of girlfriends. She supposed that most women would find his silver-blue eyes and hard packed, lean body attractive.
Marsha smiled. ‘Why don’t we go and have a quiet drink in the beer garden?’
‘Oh, thank you…’
How could she refuse? She had so few options it would be foolish to do so. Charity rose and followed the other woman through a side door into a surprisingly pretty, shaded courtyard. The area was paved with black and white tiles and protected from the sun by a vine-covered pergola. A border of huge fern-filled hanging baskets made the area feel very secluded.
‘It’s quieter out here,’ Marsha said, nodding towards the only other couple, who were seated at a far table.
‘It’s lovely.’
‘You take a seat while I get us another drink.’
‘Please, let me pay.’ Charity pulled her purse from her handbag, but Marsha dismissed her with a wave of her hand. ‘You can get the next round,’ she said with a grin.
Charity doubted that she could handle a third round. Perhaps it was the heat, but the first drink had left her feeling just a little unsteady but, before she could say so, Marsha disappeared.
She returned very quickly. ‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass against Charity’s.
‘Cheers.’ Charity took a small sip. ‘Do you work in Mirrabrook?’
‘Sure do. I have my own hairdressing salon. I’ve stacks of clients. Most days I’m run off my feet.’
‘You must be good.’ After another sip, she set her glass down. ‘Was there something you wanted to tell me about Tim?’
The silver earrings tinkled as Marsha leaned closer and lowered her voice. ‘Just between you, me and the gate post, I’m a bit worried about the dear boy. Tim promised to see me on my birthday, but he didn’t turn up.’
‘He promised to see you?’ Shocked, Charity picked up her glass and drank deeply.
Marsha smiled slowly. ‘Does that surprise you?’
‘I—er—it does a bit.’ She didn’t want to think why Tim would visit Marsha. She couldn’t even begin to let her mind go there.
‘It didn’t make sense that he disappeared,’ Marsha said.
‘So you think something’s happened to him?’
Marsha frowned. ‘I’m not sure, but I’m happy to help you find out.’
‘That’s so kind.’ Charity wondered if she’d misjudged this woman. Perhaps she’d been leaping to all the wrong conclusions.
Marsha smiled again and reached out and squeezed Charity’s hand. ‘Drink up. I’m sure we women can work something out.’
