Claiming the Cattleman's Heart

CHAPTER TWO

THEY crossed the stretch of grass to the house and Lily saw that Daniel was right. The homestead certainly showed signs of neglect.

The long front veranda was unswept and littered with leaves. Dirty pieces of straw and old, yellowed newspapers were piled in corners. The white weatherboard walls were coated with grimy cobwebs and the windows were smeared with dust. Dried mud nests made by hornets clustered around the dark green windowsills, and long strings of grey cobwebs hung from the deep eaves.

Daniel sent Lily a grimly cautious glance. ‘I did warn you. This is no showplace up close.’

She waved away his apology. ‘I’ve seen it all before.’

He almost smiled again as he pushed the screen door open. ‘At least the kitchen’s habitable.’

And indeed it was.

It was large and clean, old-fashioned and homely, with a scrubbed pine table dominating the centre of the room and a big, open-shelved pine dresser on the opposite wall, filled with happy-looking blue and yellow china.

Actually, it was almost too neat. Where, Lily wondered, was the usual kitchen clutter? The feeding bowls for pets? The ubiquitous calendar on the wall with significant dates circled or scrawled over? And where were the old notes or receipts stuck to the fridge by funky magnets?

Of course, if Daniel had been away for some time, he wouldn’t have had the chance to acquire pets or to gather much clutter.

‘Do you live alone?’

‘Yes.’

Was it her imagination, or had she seen a flash of pain in his face?

He turned quickly to the sink, squirted some lemon detergent and washed his hands. Over his shoulder, he nodded to a door. ‘Bathroom’s through there if you’d like a wash.’

‘Thanks.’

The bathroom was plain but clean—with fluffy lime-green towels and a cheery sunflower stuck in a green wine bottle and set on the windowsill. From her experience of bachelors, the flower was an unexpected touch. Lily stared at it, wondering…

As she stepped back into the hallway she noticed that the doors to all other rooms, except one—Daniel’s bedroom, she guessed—were firmly shut. Thick trails of grey dust drifted from beneath the closed doors.

Obviously he’d fixed up just enough space for his immediate needs.

She couldn’t help feeling curious about him, about where he had been and whether he had a family—a girlfriend—even a wife somewhere. Why had this house and his large property been allowed to get so run down while he was away? Ironbark Station would be worth a stack of money if it was a fully functioning cattle station.

And, now that Daniel was back here, why didn’t he have help to fix it up?

No doubt about it, he was a man of mystery. Under other circumstances she might have felt compelled to try to solve his mystery, but right now her focus was her mother’s health, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be deflected from that. Besides, if and when Daniel Renton wanted anyone’s help, all he had to do was ask for it. And, when he did, Lily Halliday would be the last person he’d turn to.

Unfortunately.

Over lunch, conversation was limited to ‘Pass the bread, please’ and ‘Do you have milk with your tea?’—and Lily grew uncomfortable again.

She had always prided herself on being open and friendly and easy to talk to, and she found Daniel’s reluctance to open up disturbing. It seemed odd to her that he would go to the trouble of offering to help her, even share a meal with her, and yet remain so reserved and secretive.

Her harmless question about whether he lived alone seemed to have silenced him.

It was odd. It didn’t feel right. People in the Outback were famous for going out of their way to be friendly, weren’t they?

She started thinking again about all the closed doors only a few steps down the hallway. What was hidden behind them?

‘How anxious are you to get to Gidgee Springs?’

Lily jumped and looked up at him, to see his attractive blue eyes on her.

‘Sorry. I was daydreaming. What did you say?’

‘I was wondering if you’re in a hurry to get to Gidgee Springs.’

‘Why—um—why do you ask?’

‘I’m concerned about the young heifer,’ he said. ‘I’d like to hang around a bit longer. Just to make sure she’s OK.’

Lily lifted her hands, palms open. ‘Don’t let me stand in the way of a safe delivery. I’m keen to get to Gidgee Springs, but as long as I can collect my car in daylight it should be fine.’

‘I promise to get you to town well before dark.’ He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, and almost smiled at her. ‘Thanks for understanding.’

‘That’s OK. Thanks for your help.’

Jerking his head in the direction of the paddock, he said, ‘I’ll head off, then. You’re welcome to stay here at the house.’

‘No, thanks,’ Lily said quickly. Somehow she didn’t fancy being left alone with all those closed doors. ‘I’ll come with you. I’ve never seen a calf being born.’

‘You might not enjoy it.’

‘I’m not squeamish.’

He stared at her for a moment or two, and Lily could feel his blue eyes piercing her, taking her measure, trying to decide if she would be in the way. At last he said, ‘Come on, then.’

As she followed him, she remembered the succession of pregnant women who’d visited her mother in their tiny cottage in Sugar Bay.

Lily had been a child at the time, but, as far back as she could remember, the women had come, all looking alike in floating tie-dyed cheesecloth maternity dresses. And they’d always sent for Fern’s help when it was time for their babies to be born. Usually Lily had been taken to stay at a friend’s house, but occasionally she’d been allowed to play in another room in the house where the births took place.

She had grown up assuming that all babies arrived surrounded by the smells of scented candles, incense, and soothing massage oils, and accompanied by the gentle sounds of warm baths running, soft flute music and quietly issued instructions about breathing.

Of course, she knew better now. But Fern had helped dozens of women to have beautiful home-birth experiences, and they’d always shown their gratitude by bringing gifts—fresh eggs, fruit, vegetables and herbs, homemade jams or soaps and woven shawls.

Now it was Fern who needed their help, but her friends were an itinerant lot, and nearly all of them had drifted away from Sugar Bay.

The heifer was lying down by the time they reached her. Daniel retrieved a length of binder twine from the back of the ute. Lily wondered what it was for, but she didn’t ask.

At the fence, he paused and held down two rungs of barbed wire with his boot, then offered a hand to help her over. Her legs were only just long enough for her to clamber over the fence without scratching her bare thighs, and she wished she was wearing jeans.

It didn’t help that Daniel seemed rather distracted by her shorts. She felt a little flustered as she landed on the other side, and she had to grip his hand tightly to keep her balance. And then her hat fell off.

With an easy swoop of one long arm, Daniel retrieved it, and at first she thought he was going to pop it casually on her head. But she should have known there was nothing casual about Daniel Renton.

He hesitated, and then handed the hat to her rather formally. But his smile was so unexpectedly shy and enchanting that she wondered why there weren’t a dozen or more females buzzing about his property, offering to clean his house and to clear his lantana, or to fix him something more substantial for lunch than bread and cheese.

However, his smile vanished just as quickly as it had come, and he turned his attention to the labouring heifer.

The poor thing’s sides were inflated as if she was holding her breath, and two little black hooves protruded from her rear end.

Making soothing noises, Daniel examined her with gentle hands, murmuring something Lily couldn’t quite catch, before he began to tie the twine around the protruding hooves.

‘It’s just as I thought,’ he said. ‘The calf’s a bit big for her,’

Lily winced, thinking of the pain. ‘Poor darling.’

‘I think she’ll be OK with a little help.’

To Lily’s surprise, he planted his booted foot on the heifer’s hindquarter, gained leverage, and then began to pull down on the twine, easing first one little hoof and then the other.

The air was very still and hot out in the middle of the paddock, and Lily was grateful for her shady hat. The rest of the cattle were some distance away, grazing quietly, and all Lily could hear was an occasional chomp as they chewed at tufts of grass. And then the heifer bellowed sharply.

Lily watched the muscles in Daniel’s forearms stand out as he hauled on the rope. She found herself holding her breath as she watched him strain, until at last the calf’s gangly legs emerged. And then its head.

The little wet calf had a dark-red face like its mother, but there was a white blaze on its forehead. It looked so sweet. And then it blinked. Goodness, it was still in the process of being born, and it had actually blinked its cute brown eyes. Unexpected emotion choked Lily.

‘That’s a good, brave girl.’ Daniel’s voice was deep and calm as he spoke to the heifer while he hauled again on the twine, and the calf’s shoulders inched forward. After several more firm tugs, the shoulders were cleared.

Again Lily held her breath, but it was only seconds later that the rest of the calf’s body slipped out, and an involuntary cheer burst from her. Daniel sent her a quick, relieved grin and she had to swipe at unexpected tears.

‘Oh, wow. Well done,’ she said between sniffles. She stared at the newborn form. It was lying very still. Actually, the calf’s eyes were closed now, and its chest wasn’t rising.

Oh, no. A few minutes ago it had blinked so sweetly. How awful if it hadn’t made it after all.

‘It’s not breathing,’ she whispered.

Without a word, Daniel knelt beside the inert body. He broke off a piece of dried grass and calmly tickled the calf’s nose with it. Lily couldn’t help thinking how nice his hands looked—workman’s hands, strong and callused, yet long-fingered and gentle. Hands that fostered life.

The calf gave a little snort and then another. Finally it lifted its head, and Lily gave a cry of delight. The new mother struggled to her feet and began to lick her offspring.

Still kneeling, Daniel looked up at Lily, his face alight, and she could see how very happy he was—almost as if he wasn’t used to having things go so well for him. A breeze played with his dark hair. Lily swiped at her eyes and laughed.

‘That was wonderful.’

She watched the skin around his blue eyes crease as he smiled at her, and he was still smiling as he rose lightly to his feet. Lily smiled back at him, and they stood there. They went on smiling foolishly at each other for a long, breathless stretch of time.

Daniel’s eyes actually shimmered, and Lily’s heart began to jump. She felt a thrilling, silent connection hum between them. Warmth. A special kind of happiness. And something far deeper.

But then he said, ‘We’d better get you on the road again.’

Welcome to Gidgee Springs.

One-hundred metres from the weathered sign, Daniel pulled to the side of the road and left the motor running. This was it. As far as he was prepared to go.

He didn’t look at Lily, but he was aware of her surprise that he had not taken her right into town. He could sense it in the way she stiffened and turned to him.

‘That’s Gidgee Springs,’ he said, nodding ahead towards the straggle of houses on the outskirts of the tiny Outback town.

‘So I see,’ she said, but she made no move to undo her seatbelt.

Daniel grimaced and drew a deep breath that emerged as a sigh. ‘I’d rather drop you off here than right in the centre of town.’

She didn’t answer, but when he glanced her way he could see her confusion.

‘Believe me, it’s better this way.’

She sat very still, staring at him, her lovely eyes puzzled. She opened her mouth to say something and then thought better of it.

Daniel swallowed, and ran a restless hand around the steering wheel.

Again Lily looked as if she was about to comment, but she paused, as if she was thinking carefully before she spoke. ‘You don’t want people to see me with you?’

Daniel covered his embarrassment with anger. ‘Look—I’ve done what you asked. It’s only a short walk to the garage and you can get your petrol.’

His bad manners ate at him, but they were necessary. No way was he going to explain to Lily exactly why he was being so unfriendly. He knew it would make perfect sense to her if he drove her all the way to Jim Blaine’s service station, waited while she got her petrol, and then drove her back out to her abandoned car. He had to go back that way anyway. He knew that. She knew that.

But what she didn’t know, what she couldn’t anticipate, was the way people would look at her if they saw her with him. He had no idea what had brought her to Gidgee Springs, but he was damned sure that her time there would be much more pleasant if she arrived without him.

‘Jim will help you find someone who’ll give you lift back out to your car. There’ll be plenty of people happy to help.’

‘I’m sure there will,’ she said in a low voice. ‘There have to be some friendly people around here somewhere.’

He could see puzzled disappointment written all over her, even though she was trying to hide how she felt. Well, too bad. This wasn’t the first time he’d disappointed a woman.

With a sharp little tilt of her chin, Lily unclipped her seatbelt and pushed the door open. Her hat and handbag were on her lap, and she slipped the straps of the bag over her shoulder and picked up the hat.

Then she took a deep breath and looked at him, her face fashioned into a tight, polite smile. ‘Thank you for lunch and for the lift. It—it was nice to meet you.’

His answer was a brief, bleak nod.

Her eyes flashed with an unnerving brightness, and with another spiky lift of her chin she stepped out of the ute and closed the door behind her.

She stood next to the car, and he had a clearly framed view through the passenger window of her blue floral shorts, hugging her cute behind, and above them the neat, slender curve of lightly tanned skin at her waist.

Clenching his teeth, he revved the car to send a clear message that he wanted to be on his way. Lily took the hint. With sunglasses and floppy hat in place, and her shoulders defiantly squared, she marched away from him. Her sandals crunched the gravel at the edge of the road and a gust of wind forced her to hang onto her hat. But she didn’t look back.

Good.

Daniel shoved the ute into gear and executed an abrupt U-turn, sending out a spurt of gravel in the process. He wouldn’t allow himself a single glance in the rear-view mirror. Another glimpse of Lily and he might weaken and head straight back to her, spluttering apologies.

For all sorts of reasons he mustn’t do that. He needed to put plenty of distance between himself and Lily Halliday.

To Lily’s surprise, it was a friendly young police sergeant who volunteered to drive her back to her abandoned car.

‘Who gave you a lift into town?’ he asked as they sped back over the bitumen.

‘Daniel Renton.’

As Lily said this she hoped he didn’t hear the quiver in her voice—a legacy of her lingering confusion about the man in question.

The policeman’s eyebrows shot high. ‘Daniel? Really?’

Deep down, Lily had guessed that her answer would surprise him.

‘I wish I’d seen him,’ he said. ‘I heard he was back. I would have liked to say hello.’

He seemed genuinely disappointed that he hadn’t caught up with Daniel.

‘He was in a terrible hurry to get away,’ she said tightly.

The police sergeant nodded, but didn’t comment, and for several minutes he drove on in silence. Lily felt absurdly annoyed. What was the mystery surrounding Daniel Renton? Why was it such a conversation-stopper?

She turned to stare out at the passing rush of dry paddocks and gum trees, and gnawed at her lip. Perhaps it was just as well they weren’t going to talk about Daniel. She’d experienced a ridiculous cocktail of emotions in the short time she’d been with him—intrigue, fear, sympathy—and an impossible attraction.

Daniel Renton was dangerously distracting. She hadn’t experienced such a compelling reaction to a man since Josh.

Josh. Oh, help. She was hit by an instant flash-flood of emotion, piercing, sweet and excruciating. Josh Bridges was the blond, suntanned, beach-boy hero of her youth. With him, she’d experienced youthful infatuation at its most poignant and painful.

She’d invested far too many years in Josh, too much tender love and too many fragile dreams. Then, just as her father had done when she was five, Josh had abandoned her.

These days she kept her heart safely under lock and key.

Besides, she couldn’t afford to be distracted by men. Right now, her mother depended on her. She was on a mission. Just as soon as she got her car going and was back in Gidgee Springs, she would try Audrey Halliday’s number again, and she wouldn’t give up till she got through to her.

But the annoying thing was that, no matter how hard she tried to divert her thoughts, Lily still felt an overwhelming need to talk about Daniel—especially to someone who knew him.

‘Daniel told me he’s been away and that he’s only come back recently,’ she said. ‘I don’t know where he’s been, but I’m sure of one thing—he wasn’t having fun.’

‘You’re dead right about that.’

‘I could sense this…’ She paused, and the sergeant looked at her expectantly.

‘Go on,’ he said. ‘What did you think of him?’

‘It’s hard to pin down,’ she admitted. ‘But he seemed vulnerable somehow. And I thought there seemed to be an—an awful sadness in him.’

Lily drew a sharp breath, stunned to hear what she’d said. But, yes. Sadness. That was what it was. She hadn’t been able to identify the exact feeling while she’d been with Daniel, but now she knew what had bothered her about him. Sadness. Deep, dark sadness.

The policeman was watching her with a shrewd, searching look, and then, without warning, his eyes twinkled. ‘So Daniel brought out your mothering instincts, did he?’

‘No.’

A second later, she regretted her hasty reply. Her denial had been an automatic defence, because she hated to be teased. But it wasn’t the truth. And, for some reason she couldn’t quite name, she felt that Daniel deserved the truth.

‘I take that back,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not sure that mothering’s the right word. But he did make me feel—he did awaken my—er—sympathy.’

He frowned then, and his jaw seemed to lock into a jutting grimace as he stared thoughtfully ahead through the windscreen. Lily wondered what she’d said to make him look so serious.

Eventually his face relaxed and he turned to her, and she had the distinct impression that he’d made some kind of decision.

‘Daniel deserves some well-directed sympathy,’ he said.

She remembered the way she’d behaved when Daniel had dropped her off on the outskirts of Gidgee Springs. He hadn’t offered any real explanation as to why he couldn’t accompany her any further, and she’d been short with him, almost rude, and now she felt guilty. She felt impossibly curious, too.

‘Why?’ she asked, suddenly impatient to get to the bottom of this. ‘What happened to him?’

CHAPTER THREE

THE sunset that evening set the distant hills on fire.

Daniel watched the blaze of red and orange from his front steps, where he sat, beer in hand, trying to absorb some of the twilight’s peacefulness. He watched a flock of white cockatoos set out across the darkening sky with slow, heavy flaps of their chunky wings. And as the shadows lengthened he saw kangaroos and pretty-faced wallabies emerge from the scrub to graze in the long home paddock.

And he tried to forget about Lily.

By now she should have collected her car, and she’d be safely installed in the Gidgee Springs pub. Tomorrow she’d probably be on her way. Out of the district.

Just as well. He had enough to deal with without being sidetracked by a passing female.

Of course he knew why he felt sidetracked by Lily, why he couldn’t get her out of his head. She was the first woman he’d been alone with in a long time. A very long time.

That explained why he was obsessed by memories of her hands fixing her hair. It was the only reason he was still thinking about her blue floral shorts. And her bare legs. The soft, touchable skin at her waist. And her eyes—the muted blue-grey of the sky when it was reflected in the Star River.

He let out a long, frustrated sigh. The fact that his mind clung to these details was proof of nothing—except the sad truth that he was a thirst-crazed man, emerging at last from the desert, and Lily Halliday had been his tempting oasis. That and that alone was why her smile haunted him, and why he couldn’t forget the way she’d looked at him with uncomplicated directness, making his heart leap.

But he was going to forget her. Now.

In prison he’d taught himself how to forget. It had been the only way to save himself from going mad. He’d learned to blank certain mind-crazing images from his thoughts.

And now he blanked out Lily.

He concentrated on the darkening sky. Night fell quickly in the tropics, and already there was only a thin river of ruddy gold clinging to the horizon. Above it the sky was deepening from light blue, through turquoise and purple, to navy. And in his head Daniel named each colour, and imagined each hue blanking out a little more of Lily.

The blue…got rid of her legs. Turquoise, and her shorts were gone. Yes, yes, they were gone, damn it. It was good to be free of them. No regrets.

Purple—goodbye, midriff. Navy blanketed her eyes.

Almost.

He concentrated harder on the navy, willing the sweet, questioning look in Lily’s eyes to disappear. At last. Mission accomplished.

Black took care of her hair…

And she was…gone.

He took a good long breath of warm summer’s-night air and let it out slowly, savouring the relief of seeing nothing but sky. The stars had already popped brightly into place, and a thin crescent of new moon was peeking through the silhouetted branches of a huge gum tree.

The sky was huge and clear—and so was the land. It was good to be surrounded by all this space, by the country he loved. Ironbark. His country. If he worked hard enough, if he exhausted himself day after day, perhaps in time he would find his way back to the peace he craved.