Читать книгу Bargaining with the Billionaire: The Blackmail Bargain / The Billion-Dollar Bride / How To Marry a Billionaire - Элли Блейк, Ally Blake - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

THE colour drained from Peta’s skin, leaving her cold and shocked. She couldn’t have heard him correctly.

One glance at Curt’s implacable face went a long way towards convincing her. He had just said, ‘You’ll transfer your affections to me.’

‘No,’ she blurted. ‘I… You don’t have to go that far. I’ll just tell him that—that—’

‘You’ll tell him nothing,’ Curt stated imperiously. ‘He’ll get the message when you start looking sideways at me from beneath your lashes.’

She was shaking. ‘No, it’s impossible. What about your friend—the artist?’

His face hardened even further. ‘Your concern for her welfare does you credit, although I’d believe in it more if you weren’t jeopardising my sister’s marriage without any apparent qualm.’

‘I tell you, I didn’t realise—’

He interrupted with a coldly determined, ‘I’m not interested in what you knew or realised, or even whether you set a honey trap for Ian. It’s not relevant. And neither is my relationship with Anna.’

For some reason this blunt statement cut deeply. Peta flashed, ‘Or only in so far as it makes me look like a woman on the make, one who doesn’t care who she hurts.’

‘Exactly. Concentrate on convincing Ian that you took one look at me and decided to go for the big money.’ Curt’s smile was a masterpiece of cold cynicism. ‘No man likes to be played for a fool by a gold-digger.’

Bewildered, she thought that he shouldn’t be able to wound her with such accurate, painful precision. Normally she gave as good as she got; after that insult she had to drag in a painful breath before persisting stubbornly, ‘It won’t work. I mean—’ she gestured at herself ‘—we don’t have anything in common. Ian won’t believe it.’

He gave a short, surprised laugh. ‘You’re not my usual type,’ he agreed suavely, ‘but Ian’s a man, and what you’re offering is pretty obvious. He’ll be jealous, but he won’t be surprised if I take you up on it.’

Enraged, Peta said, ‘You—you arrogant bastard!’

‘But rich,’ he returned with silky derision. ‘And for Ian, that’s all that’s going to matter. As for your clothes, I can fix that.’

Instant suspicion darkened her eyes. ‘How?’ If he thought she was going into debt at Kowhai Bay’s boutique for clothes she’d never wear again, he had another think coming.

‘A quick trip to Auckland will provide you with a suitable wardrobe to enhance your not inconsiderable assets.’

Although his deliberate tone chilled her and his hard blue-grey gaze remained fixed on her face, she knew that he’d catalogued every one of those assets. Shamed by a furtive tingle of arousal, she stiffened her shoulders. ‘I can’t afford a make over.’

‘I shall, of course, pay.’

A niggle of pain throbbed in Peta’s temple, but she met his eyes without flinching. ‘You won’t, because I won’t do it. The whole idea is impossible—ridiculous.’ In her steadiest voice she added the clincher. ‘We don’t even like each other.’

His brows rose. ‘Liking,’ he said indifferently, ‘has nothing to do with this sort of relationship.’

Peta shook her head. Although she had her pick of scathing observations, spitting any of them out would reveal how much his high-handed attitude hurt her, so she took refuge in silence.

Curt waited, then finished, ‘And after seeing us dance together at the marae no one will be surprised.’

Humiliated pride slashed her composure to shreds. Some hidden part of her had been cherishing the memory of that dance with its reckless undercurrent of carnality. Had he been planning this then?

Of course he had, she thought furiously. Nadine was right; he was as cold-blooded as a shark.

Curt waited until it was obvious she wasn’t going to answer before finishing, ‘So I’ll pick you up tonight.’

‘Tonight—oh, the barbecue.’ Head held high, she met his eyes defiantly. ‘I’m not going.’

Although not a muscle in the big, lithe body moved, Peta’s senses reacted instantly to an unspoken threat. Adrenalin poured through her and she took an involuntary step backwards. Every sense alert, she forced herself to stand her ground, to meet ice-cold eyes and drag in a deep breath.

The world went still. Into a silence so intense she felt it on her skin like a hammer, he said lethally, ‘I don’t hurt women.’

‘I don’t know that.’ Her heart pounded as though she’d run a marathon, but beneath the fear burned a bewildering exhilaration. For the first time he was looking at her as a person, not as a woman to be manipulated. And he didn’t like her fear.

‘You know it now.’ His lips barely moved.

Eyes huge in her face, she steeled herself to say, ‘I have only your word for it. Why should I believe you when you don’t believe me?’

‘Believe it.’

She stared at him, then slowly nodded. ‘For some strange reason,’ she admitted, ‘I do. But just in case I’m wrong, you believe that I don’t like being threatened.’

Curt shrugged, but colour along his warrior’s cheekbones belied his controlled tone. ‘You say you don’t want Ian to fall in love with you. A relationship between us will kill his affection faster than anything else. Yes, you’ll look like a woman on the make. That, surely, is a small price to pay.’

It made cold, hard sense. After all, what did she have to lose? Only her pride. She bit her lip and said resentfully, ‘All right. Except that this is a fake relationship.’

‘Of course,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Think of this whole business as a sharp warning to keep your eyes off married men in the future.’

The unfairness of the accusation stung. ‘I didn’t—’

‘I saw a photograph of the two of you together,’ he interrupted, his tone scathing. ‘Ian’s hand was touching your cheek in what was definitely a caress. And you weren’t saying no.’

The memory of the pigeon, spooked by something in the plum tree, flashed across Peta’s mind. ‘Who took it?’ she demanded. Surely not Gillian?

‘A visiting kid with a new digital camera was trying to get a photograph of the bird. Instead, she got that photo, followed by one of the bird as it flew out of the tree. By then you were both looking at the camera.’

Peta swallowed. ‘If she’d waited a second longer she’d have got a photograph of me leaving in haste. And I’ve made sure I haven’t seen him alone since then.’

One black brow lifted in ironic disbelief. ‘Until this morning,’ he drawled.

Clearly, he was never going to give her even the slightest benefit of the doubt—for him, there was no doubt. He was arrogantly convinced she’d decided to go after Ian and in pursuit of her own advantage, to hell with Gillian’s happiness or anything else.

She said desperately, ‘Curt, this won’t work. It takes more than acting to fool people.’

‘Acting?’

Intuition told her what was going to happen next. Run! a despairing inner voice commanded, but an even older instinct locked her muscles so that when he pulled her into his arms she made no attempt to escape the inevitable.

‘I don’t think we’ll need to act,’ he said smoothly, and bent his head and kissed her.

It was a blatant act of mastery, possessive and angry, yet when Peta tried to resist, her body refused to accept the commands of her brain. Any other man who crowded her like this would have taken a fist in the solar plexus followed by a knee to his most sensitive region. Instead, treacherous desire and a fierce curiosity kept her prisoner until his kiss worked a barbaric enchantment.

A low sound in her throat startled her; her mouth softened beneath the demanding insistence of his, and an overwhelming tide of passion hit her, so fiercely elemental that it shocked her into surrender.

She had no idea how much later Curt lifted his head. Hugely reluctant, she opened her eyes, flinching when the glitter in his was replaced by a taunt.

‘I don’t think either of us will have to do much acting,’ he said with cool confidence as he let her go.

Mortified, Peta realised she was clutching his shirt. She jerked free of the pressure of his big, aroused body, shivering in the breeze that flowed over acutely sensitised skin.

She’d given him a potent weapon, she realised, infuriated and humiliated by the amused satisfaction in his expression. Rashly, she stated, ‘That was assault.’

His eyes gleamed and he gave her a slow, mocking smile. ‘Only if you didn’t want it.’

Hot-cheeked and indignant, Peta opened her mouth to refute this, but he said brusquely, ‘Don’t muddy the waters. You wanted it—you couldn’t have made it plainer. And you turned to fire when we kissed.’

Throat aching from unspoken tension, she said hoarsely, ‘Don’t ever do it again.’

He shrugged indolently. ‘You’re going to have to get used to it, because Ian won’t believe in a platonic relationship. If we’re going to convince Ian that you’ve latched on to a better prospect, you’ll need to be physically aware of me.’

His brutal bluntness told her how much he despised her. It slashed like a stockwhip across her skin, but she ignored it. He could well be right, she thought wearily. Ian had his pride; he wouldn’t want his brother-in-law’s leftovers. ‘Are you sure this will work?’

‘It had better.’

The cold note of menace in his tone tightened every nerve. ‘And if it doesn’t?’

‘Then you’ll lose your farm,’ he said pleasantly. ‘And in case you get any ideas, don’t think he’ll be able to help you. In New Zealand law, half of what he owns goes to Gillian.’

When she frowned he said in a tone that lifted the hairs on the back of her neck, ‘Didn’t he tell you that Gillian’s money is held in trust for her? If they divorce he’ll have nothing; certainly not enough to buy any land.’

Because he was the trustee, she’d bet.

But he had a few good points; he helped her get the calf out of the swamp, and he had to love his sister to be prepared to go slumming for her…

He watched her face, and after a taut few seconds added deliberately, ‘Don’t worry, you won’t lose financially by joining me in this masquerade.’

Dominating swine, tarring everyone with his own brush! Green-gold eyes glittering, she asked sweetly, ‘Does money solve everything for you?’

‘Most things,’ he said, sounding amused. ‘Don’t knock it. And if you want to find out how important it is, tell Ian about this.’

With gritty emphasis she said, ‘You needn’t worry—I’ll pretend as well as I can.’ She flicked a lock of hair back from her hot face and finished fiercely, ‘You’re lucky you have a ready-made way to force me into it. What would you have done if you didn’t have the power to deny me road access?’

‘I’d have offered you more money, of course,’ he said coolly. ‘I assume you see him as a source of security, and although paying you off goes against the grain, I can provide you with more than he ever could.’

Her lip curled. ‘I’m not for sale.’

He laughed beneath his breath and reached for her, linking his fingers at the back of her neck with exquisite gentleness before using his thumbs to force up her chin. ‘Everyone’s for sale,’ he said quietly. ‘All a buyer has to do is find the right price.’

‘So what would it take to buy you?’ she asked in an odd, stifled voice, driven by a strange combination of fury and compassion.

Eyes narrowed into crystalline slivers, he examined her face. ‘More than you can pay,’ he said with raw intensity. ‘More than you could ever pay.’

And he dropped his hands to pull her into him so that he could kiss her again, taking her mouth with urgent hunger in a kiss driven by a dangerous volatility. His mouth devoured hers—and hers met and matched his hunger. Her treacherous body leapt into full life, blazing with a storm of desire made even more intense by the complex turmoil of her emotions.

Every warning bolted from her brain; only when his hand came up to rest on her breast, and she felt the eager centre tighten against his palm did she realise what she had to do.

She yanked herself back; somehow her hair had become loose and when she shook her head a cloud of golden-brown swirled around her stunned face.

Instantly, as though he’d been waiting, Curt let her go and stood staring at her with a black hostility that tightened every quivering nerve into knots.

Attack first. ‘You promised that wouldn’t happen again,’ she accused.

‘It won’t,’ he said harshly. ‘I’ll see you later.’

He swung on his heel and left her there in the calf-shed with the familiar scents of animals and hay and the milk mixture, and her heart drumming in a dangerous rhythm of anticipation and excitement and anger.

‘One day,’ she muttered when the car started up outside, ‘I hope you fall desperately in love with someone, and I pray she tells you just how bloody-minded and patronising you are and then turns you down flat.’

Laddie stretched enthusiastically and yawned, his jaws making a faint clop as they came together.

Peta grimaced and bent to scratch the dog. ‘Just as well you’re not a guard dog, or I’d be sending you off to the SPCA for dereliction of duty. Why didn’t you sink your teeth into his ankle?’

Her voice shook, and as his tail swept from side to side, her attempted smile turned into a trembling contraction of her mouth. She straightened up. ‘OK, we’d better do some work and after that I’ll work out exactly what I’m wearing to this wretched barbecue.’

In the end she chose a gold shirt she’d made a couple of years previously, combining it with a pair of cuffed trousers the same bronze as her only decent sandals.

So far, so good. She checked herself out in the mirror, frowning when she caught a glimpse of bra through the thin cotton of her shirt. After a moment’s thought she opened a drawer and found a camel-coloured T-shirt and put it on under the shirt.

Yes, that was more discreet, although slightly too warm in the humid heat of Northland. Still, after her utter folly in Curt’s arms, discretion came first.

In spite of everything, there was a sly satisfaction in looking good. Mouth set in a smile that held more irony than amusement, she tied her hair back with a fine loop of leather and picked up her lipstick. Its warm peachy toning reinforced the lushness of her tender lips.

She was scared. Already in too deep with Curt McIntosh, she vowed that from now on she’d be cool and composed and completely unavailable.

But when Laddie began barking enthusiastically above the low growl of an engine, an aggressive, heady anticipation hollowed out her stomach. For the last time she checked herself in the mirror, and gaped in startled wonder at the difference. She looked alive—skin glowing, mouth full and sensuous, gold sparks lighting up the green depths of her eyes. Even her hair shimmered with new life and vibrancy.

Curt McIntosh should patent his kisses; they’d make him a fortune in the rejuvenation market!

And people were going to notice, she thought uncomfortably.

‘Well, that’s the point of this whole farcical charade,’ she said aloud in a hard voice.

So she wanted Curt McIntosh. Big deal. As long as she didn’t make the cardinal mistake of confusing desire with love, she’d be fine. Passion was less complex and infinitely safer. She’d seen first-hand how love could betray. Her mother had given up everything for it—her family and friends, her talent at music, her health. Worn down by hard work and lack of money, she’d struggled through the years because she’d loved her husband.

And in the end it had killed her.

Peta’s jaw firmed. No way was she going to surrender to that. Her independence was too precious to jeopardise by losing her heart.

That thought gave her enough calmness to pick up her small bag and open the front door. Tall and autocratic, the sun coaxing blue-black shadows in his dark head, Curt stepped back and lifted his brows, surveying her with open appreciation. Her stupid stomach performed an acrobatic manoeuvre that left her breathless.

Cool, she commanded. Be very, very cool. Right now.

‘Quite a transformation.’ He bent to pick a bloom from the gardenia by the steps.

‘I assume that’s a compliment,’ she said in a muted voice, overwhelmed by the sight of him in a casual shirt the same grey-blue as his eyes, and sleek black trousers that hugged his hips and made the most of his long legs.

His blue eyes mocked her. ‘Of course.’ He tucked the gardenia into his top buttonhole and waited while she locked the door.

This time he was driving a Range Rover, a massive thing that combined power with restrained luxury. From his kennel, Laddie watched interestedly as Curt opened the passenger door and closed it behind her.

Already belted in by the time he got in behind the wheel, she linked her hands in her lap and thought, Cool! He was far too big, and in the confined space he loomed when he turned to examine her, a frown drawing his brows together.

Hiding her dilating eyes with a quick sweep of her lashes, she stared at the fine-grained olive skin of his throat and demanded, ‘What is it?’

A swift hand found the leather tie in her hair and pulled it smoothly down over her ponytail.

‘Hey!’ she spluttered. Her hair swirled free, settling in a thick topaz cloud across her shoulders; she looked down to see a wave of it sift over his wrist. The westering sun burnished it into a flame of gold and cognac. Her heart began to pound in her ears, a cynical little drum informing her that although her mind and her will might want one thing, her body had its own agenda.

He drawled, ‘That’s much more grown-up,’ and dropped the strip of leather into his pocket as he switched on the engine.

‘Agreeing to this doesn’t give you the right to manhandle me,’ she told him tautly.

He gave her a sardonic smile and backed the vehicle skilfully around. ‘I promised not to kiss you. Anything else goes. I’ll do whatever needs to be done to save my sister’s marriage. And in case you didn’t know, what you call manhandling is an indication of attraction.’

Peta opened her mouth to speak, then closed her lips again.

‘You were going to say?’ he enquired as the vehicle swung out onto the road—his road, she thought bitterly.

‘I was going to ask if her marriage was worth saving,’ she said.

‘That’s her decision.’ He turned his head to flash a brief, white smile at her. ‘So do your best tonight, Peta. No flinching girlishly if I touch you, plenty of smiles and lots of play with those astonishing eyelashes.’

* * *

Peta had been to several parties at the homestead before— not the A-list ones, of course, just the neighbourhood affairs. Walking beside a silent Curt through the gardens towards a rear terrace, she thought bleakly that he must love his sister very much to initiate this sham relationship. How had he convinced his lover to agree to it? The thought of Anna Lee, artist and snob, rubbed her already raw nerves painfully.

Curt looked at her. ‘Smile.’

She produced a wide, false grin. ‘Don’t expect me to gaze adoringly into your eyes. No one who knows me would believe it.’

‘Didn’t you gaze adoringly into the eyes of your previous lovers?’

‘No,’ she said, clipping the word short. There had been no previous lovers, but that was no business of his.

‘I expect you to follow my lead in everything I do,’ he said softly, and when her eyes flashed he went on with grim emphasis, ‘Or else.’

Actually, he played it perfectly. Inherent sophistication meant he didn’t make a show of his supposed interest; he staked his claim far more subtly with glances and smiles, the occasional touch of his hand on her waist or arm, and his possessive air. In an odd way it made her feel protected and safe, and that, she thought warily, was even more dangerous than the flash-fire of sexual hunger she felt whenever he touched her.

If it hadn’t been for Ian and Gillian she might have enjoyed the evening, but in their presence she felt as though she were teetering on the edge of a perilous cliff, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for someone to push her over.

Born a hostess, Gillian had done an excellent job with the gardens; from the terrace around the swimming pool parents could sip and watch their children swim, and those who felt energetic worked it off at the tennis courts behind high, vine-covered walls. Any who demanded less strenuous activity tried their hand at petanque.

The Mathesons were gracious, as charming as they had ever been, yet an hour later Peta looked around the lovely grounds, the laughing people, and wondered why no one else sensed the strain between their hosts.

‘You’re doing well,’ Curt said, bending as though he were murmuring sweet nothings in her ear.

Painfully aware of Ian’s swift glance, she froze.

Curt directed a narrow smile at her. He lifted his hand to her chin and commanded, ‘Another smile, Peta.’

The sensual force of his masculinity hit her like a shock wave. She met his half-closed, intent stare with eyes grown dark and her breath barely coming through her lips.

‘On second thoughts, that’s even better,’ he said after a pause, his voice suddenly rough.

You’re giving too much away, some distant, despairing remnant of prudence warned. It took a real effort to blink and turn her head.

Across a group of people she met Ian’s eyes again, and felt her heart twist at the flash of pain in them. But sorry though she was for him, he had no right to fall in love with her, she thought raggedly.

‘I hate this,’ she said.

His expression didn’t change. ‘Then you shouldn’t have got yourself into this situation,’ he said smoothly, and smiled at her, a slow, sexy movement of his hard, beautiful mouth.

Stifled by his closeness, she glanced up to see him watching the muscles move in her throat as she swallowed. Butterflies tumbled about inside her in dazed confusion; her lips parted and she had to wrench her gaze away.

‘Dinner’s ready, everyone,’ someone—Ian?—called above the heavy thudding of her heart.

‘We’d better go and help serve.’ Curt took her elbow and steered her towards the table by the pool.

Ordinarily the delectably savoury scents would have coaxed Peta into hunger, but her stomach clenched as she gazed at succulent meat from the spit, fish wrapped in leaves and baked in the coals, and salads that were pictures in green and gold and scarlet.

And Gillian shooed them away. ‘Ian and Mrs Harkness and I know what we’re doing,’ she said, her gaze skimming Peta as she directed a smile at her brother. ‘Get something to eat then sit down and enjoy yourselves.’

After filling her plate, Peta allowed Curt to guide her to a table under an immense jacaranda tree. Four other people were already there; they looked up, a little startled when Curt first pulled out a chair for Peta then sat down himself.

Acutely aware of their interest—tomorrow the whole district would be buzzing with gossip, Peta thought mordantly— she tried to appear serenely confident while Curt charmed everyone’s initial reserve into open laughter and eager conversation.

A lilac-blue flower drifted down to land on her plate.

‘Messy things, jacarandas,’ one of the men, the machinery guru on the station, said cheerfully. ‘If they’re not dripping flowers, it’s seedpods or leaves. Don’t know why anyone would plant them.’

He grinned unrepentantly at the outcry from the women. His wife accused him of not seeing beauty in anything other than a well-tuned engine, laughing when he admitted it without a jot of shame.

‘As for wearing a flower in your buttonhole like Curt,’ she said teasingly, ‘you’d rather die.’

‘I’ll bet he didn’t pick it,’ her husband retorted, winking at his boss.

Curt gave a pirate’s grin. ‘Mind your own business.’

Without a lie he’d confirmed their suspicions that Peta had picked the gardenia and given it to him, thus clinching their relationship. To these men and their wives, only a man in the throes of desire would have worn it.

It was interesting to see how a master of innuendo worked, Peta thought with raw cynicism.

He leaned towards her. ‘Pudding? Gillian’s made her special chocolate mousse.’

His eyes were slightly hooded, and although his voice was quiet enough to indicate intimacy, there was a clear warning in his gaze.

Suddenly angry, Peta obeyed an instinct she’d never owned up to before. With slow, subtle deliberation, she held his gaze and let her tongue run the length of her lips. ‘I love her mousse,’ she said huskily.

His eyes darkened and his lashes drooped further. ‘Then you must have some.’

Serves you right, she thought furiously, only to flinch when he took her hand and drew her to her feet.

His fingers locking around hers like manacles, Curt said, ‘Who else wants chocolate mousse?’

In a flurry of feminine complaints that they didn’t dare eat such wicked indulgences so they’d have to stick to fruit salad, the group rose and went to collect their puddings.

On the way home, Peta broke into a charged silence by saying, ‘In the end they all had some of your sister’s mousse.’

‘It’s addictive,’ he agreed. He’d just informed her that tomorrow they’d go for a picnic at the beach.

Beneath the vehicle the bars of the cattle stop rattled and headlight beams blazed full onto the house, mercilessly highlighting the need for a new paint job. Laddie sat up and barked, subsiding into silence when Peta got out.

Curt escorted her to the door. Tension spiralled through her and the scent of the gardenia flowers tantalised her nostrils. Each blossom gleamed with a silvery sheen in the soft darkness. In spite of everything, she thought wearily, she’d enjoyed—well, no, that wasn’t the right word. Regret ached through her; if only they’d met like ordinary human beings, and this was the end of an ordinary date…

Common sense asserted itself briskly and brutally. He’d never have looked at you, it stated.

At the door when she turned to say good night, Curt said levelly, ‘I’ll come in.’

Anticipation simmered through her veins. ‘What?’

Did he sense it? If he did, his edged smile was calculated to deflate it. ‘No one is going to believe that I’ll come straight back.’

She clamped down on her instinctive rejection. Compared to the homestead her house was a shack. And if he once walked into it, she might never get rid of his presence.

‘No,’ he said pleasantly, ‘I’m not going to sit in the car. You can make me a cup of coffee and we’ll talk like ordinary neighbours over it.’

Ordinary neighbours? He had to be joking. ‘I only have instant,’ she said inanely.

He shrugged. ‘So?’ When she still hesitated he said on a note of derision, ‘It’s all right, Peta, you’ll be quite safe.’

‘Oh, come in if you must,’ she snapped, because she didn’t want to be safe.

The Peta who hadn’t kissed Curt was a different woman from the one who had; this new Peta had developed a reckless streak a mile wide.

Switching on the lights, she said, ‘Sit down, and I’ll put on the kettle,’ and escaped into the kitchen.

When she brought the coffee in, Curt was standing by the bookshelf examining a volume. She plonked the tray onto a coffee table. ‘Black or white?’

Other men almost as tall as he—stock agents, the occasional neighbour—had stood in that room, but none had dwarfed it as he did. And it wasn’t just his physical presence; something deeper, more potent than good genes gave him that formidable air of inner strength.

‘Black, thanks.’ He lowered himself into her father’s chair and made it his own.

Sipping her tea, Peta stayed obstinately silent, but when he asked her about the book he’d been looking at she had to answer.

Half an hour later she realised with shock that she was enjoying herself, albeit in a tense, disturbing way. His mind stimulated her and she liked the way he discussed things, with a sharp acuity that kept her on her toes.

And when she disagreed with him, he didn’t get angry— surely unusual for a dominant man? Her father’s rejection of anyone else’s opinions but his own had marred her childhood.

After a quick look at her watch she said, ‘I think you should go now.’

Lounging back in the big chair with its faded upholstery, he fixed her with a glinting glance. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t want to get a reputation for being easy,’ she said smartly. ‘I have to live here.’

There was a short silence while she recalled that she might not be living here for much longer if he decided to close down her access.

With a humourless smile he got to his feet. ‘That would never do. My mother drummed into me the importance of not stripping a woman of her good reputation,’ he drawled. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Can you be ready by ten?’

‘No.’ But she wanted to be. She explained, ‘I’ve got calves to feed and move into a new paddock. About eleven-thirty would be better, and I’ll have to be back by two-thirty.’

He frowned. ‘You work too hard.’

‘That’s life,’ she said flippantly.

She waited until his rear lights had disappeared, then changed and went across to the shed to check the animals. The calf she’d rescued from the swamp was dead.