The Socialite and the Cattle King

‘Not really,’ Holly disagreed, going back to clearly hostile, and turned to look straight at him. ‘Why have you done this?’

He countered with a question, ‘Did you or did you not tell your mother you would love to interview me?’

‘I…’ Holly paused. ‘I told her an interview with you could provide the boost my career needed. I told her that I’d had no idea who you were, but if there’d ever been any chance of an interview I’d blown it.’

‘Only, being a mother, she didn’t believe you,’ he said wryly. ‘Well, it is on, on certain conditions.’

‘So I hear.’ She glanced at him coolly, as if she was highly suspicious of his conditions—which she was. ‘What are they?’

‘I’m a bit pressed for time. I need to be in Cairns—Palm Cove, precisely. I have an important meeting. And I need to be out at Haywire the following day for a few days. It’s the only free time I have before my brother gets married, and anyway—’ he looked at her over the rim of his glass ‘—it will set the scene for you.’

‘You—want me to come to Palm Cove and then on to this Haywire place with you?’ she queried a little jaggedly.

He nodded. ‘Not only am I pressed for time, but logistically it makes sense. The best way to get you to Haywire is for you to fly out there with me from Cairns.’

‘Do I,’ Holly gestured, ‘actually have to see this Haywire place?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

He sat back and shoved his hands into his pockets with a slight frown. ‘That doesn’t sound like a dedicated journalist. Why wouldn’t you want to see it?’

‘Mr Wyndham,’ she said carefully, ‘You have not only accused me of being a serial socialite and a gold-digger, you’ve mentally undressed me often enough to make me seriously wary of being stuck somewhere out beyond the black stump with you!’

Like lightning, a crooked grin creased his face which didn’t impress Holly at all.

‘I apologize,’ he said then. ‘I was—’ he paused to consider ‘—not in a very good mood—not at the lunch, anyway. However, you’d be quite safe at Haywire. There’s staff up there, and I’m not in the habit of forcing myself on unwilling women.’

Holly chewed her lip then said finally, ‘What are the other conditions?’

‘I mainly want to talk about the work I do—so nothing personal, unless it’s ancient history. And I want to vet it before it gets published.’

Holly blinked several times, then she said frustratedly, ‘Why me?’

He shrugged. ‘Why not? Not only are you a journalist, but you’re interesting.’ He looked amused. ‘I’ve never been walked-out on before, as you did at the lunch. I’ve never been told I was making a pass in a French accent. And I’ve never been accused of being as bad-minded as a leopard.’

Holly realized she’d been staring at him openmouthed. She shut it hastily and watched him twirl his beer bottle in his long fingers before pouring the last of it into his glass.

‘But what really decided me,’ he continued, ‘was your mother.’

‘My mother?’ Holly repeated in dazed tones. ‘How come?’

‘I thought what she did was quite brave. Maybe it’s mistaken maternal faith—we’ll see, I guess—but I liked her for it.’

Holly was seized by strong emotion and had to turn away to hide it as her eyes blazed. If it killed her, she would dearly love to prove to Brett Wyndham that her mother’s faith in her was not mistakenly maternal, even if it meant spending some days with him at Palm Cove and beyond the black stump…

After all, there was bound to be staff at the station, and Palm Cove was highly civilized, wasn’t it? It was not as if she’d be stranded in some jungle with him. It would actually be quite difficult to be stalked by him up there, as predator and prey, and she was no silly girl to be seduced by palm trees and mango daiquiris.

Was that all there was to it, however? Was simply to be in his company seductive? Was he just that kind of man? She couldn’t deny he’d had a powerful effect on her a couple of times—without even trying too hard, she thought a little bitterly. But surely that was in her power to control? Well, if not control, ignore.

After all, was she not getting gold in return for a little self-discipline?

She opened her mouth, looked frustrated and said, ‘You never give interviews. So I’m having a little difficulty with that.’

‘I’m branching out in a new direction that I was going to publicize anyway. I’ve read some of your pieces, you have your father’s touch and I thought you could do justice to it.’

Holly’s lips parted and he could see the quickening of interest drowning the doubt and suspicion in her eyes. ‘Am I allowed to know what it is?’

He shook his head. ‘Not yet. But it’s the very good reason for you to see Haywire.’

Holly looked unamused. ‘I find you extremely—annoying at times,’ she told him.

Brett Wyndham’s lips twisted; he wondered what she’d say if he told her how annoyed he’d been when they’d first met. He’d been annoyed at the lunch; he’d arrived annoyed, then got further annoyed at finding himself feeling a niggle of attraction towards the kind of girl he’d castigated to himself so thoroughly. When she’d walked out, the niggle had become tinged with a grudging kind of admiration—that had also annoyed him.

Then her Holly Golightly hauteur had claimed his attention, and on discovering it was the same girl his annoyance had turned to intrigue. He was still intrigued by this version of Holly Harding—even more intrigued because he was quite sure he’d stirred some response in her…

Still, he reflected, these were improbable lengths to go to over a smattering of intrigue to do with a woman, particularly for him. But he had liked her fresh, slightly zany style in the pieces he’d read, he reminded himself, and he had even considered the possibility of offering her some publicity work for his new venture.

‘So?’ He lifted an eyebrow at her.

Holly meditated for a moment then replied quite candidly. ‘I’d love to say no, because you’ve pressed a few wrong buttons with me, Mr Wyndham. But—’ she flipped her hand ‘—you’ve also pressed a few right ones. My mother was an inspired one, in more ways than one.’ She cast him a strange little look from beneath her lashes. ‘Then there’s my editor. How I would explain to him I’ve knocked back this opportunity, I can’t even begin to think.’

She paused to take several breaths.

‘There’s more?’ he queried with some irony.

‘A bit more. You’ve got to be interesting—you’ve certainly captured the public’s imagination—so, on a purely professional level, I can’t turn it down.’

‘Am I expected to be flattered?’

Holly searched his eyes and could just detect the wicked amusement in their dark depths. ‘Yes,’ she said baldly. ‘I’m usually no pushover.’

‘OK, take it as read that I’m flattered.’ He stopped, flagged a passing waiter and ordered a bottle of champagne.

‘Oh. No!’ Holly protested. ‘I didn’t mean…’

‘You don’t think we should celebrate?’ He looked offended. ‘I do. It’s not every day I score a coup like this. Besides, I thought you liked champagne.’

‘You’re making fun of me,’ she accused.

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Well, yes and no. You can be quite an impressive twenty-four-year-old. Thanks,’ he said to the waiter who delivered the champagne and carefully poured two glasses.

He handed one to Holly and held up his own. ‘Cheers!’

Holly reluctantly raised her glass to his. ‘Cheers,’ she echoed. ‘But I’m only having one glass. On top of everything else, I’m driving.’

‘That’s fine,’ he said idly.

‘Isn’t that a waste of champagne? Or are you going to drink it all?’

‘No. I’m meeting someone else here shortly. She also likes champagne.’

Holly took a hurried gulp. ‘Well, the sooner I get going the better.’

‘No need to rush; she’s my sister.’

Holly looked embarrassed. ‘Oh. I thought…’ She tailed off.

‘You thought she was a girlfriend?’

‘Yes. Sorry. Not that it matters to me one way or the other.’

‘Naturally not,’ he murmured.

She eyed him over her glass. ‘You know, I can’t quite make you out.’

He allowed his dark gaze to drift over her in a way that caused her skin to shiver of its own accord. She’d been inwardly congratulating herself on not having this happen to her during this encounter—an involuntary physical response to this man—but now it had.

‘The same goes for me,’ he said quietly. ‘Can’t quite make you out.’

Holly made an effort to rescue herself, to stop the flow of messages bombarding her senses. How could it happen like this? she wondered a little wildly. Out of the blue across a little glass-topped table on a terrace in the fading light of day.

But her rather tortured reflections were broken by a canine yelp, a squeal then howls of pain as, limping badly, a dog skittered across the terrace and disappeared into the shrubbery.

Chapter Three

HOLLY jumped to her feet but Brett Wyndham was even quicker.

He plunged into the shrubbery, issuing a terse warning to her over his shoulder to be careful because the dog, in its pain, could bite.

The next few minutes were chaotic as Brett captured then subdued the terrified dog, a black-and-white border collie. How, Holly had no idea, but he did, and a lot of people milled around. None of them was its owner, or had any idea where it had come from, other than it must have got loose from somewhere and possibly got run over as it had crossed the road.

‘OK.’ Brett pulled his phone out and tossed it to Holly. ‘Find the nearest vet surgery.’ He pulled out his car keys and tossed them to her. ‘And drive my car down here as close as you can get. It’s the silver BMW.’

Holly grabbed her tote and did so, and ended up driving the four-wheel-drive so Brett could attend to the dog on the way to the surgery. He was staunching a deep cut on its leg with his handkerchief and she heard him say, ‘You’re going to be all right, mate.’

She found the surgery with the aid of the GPS and helped carry the dog in. ‘Is he really going to be all right?’ she asked fearfully as they handed it over.

‘I reckon so.’ He scanned her briefly then looked more closely. ‘You better sit down; you look a bit pale. I’m going in for a few minutes.’ He turned to the receptionist, who was hovering. ‘Could you get her a glass of water?’

‘Of course. Sit down, ma’am.’

Holly was only too glad to do so. A mobile phone with an unfamiliar ring sounded in her tote. She blinked, remembered it must be Brett’s phone and after a moment’s hesitation answered it.

‘Brett Wyndham’s phone.’

‘Where is he and who are you?’ an irate female voice said down the line.

Holly explained and added, ‘Can I give him a message?’

‘Oh.’ The voice sounded mollified. ‘Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. It’s his sister, Sue. I’m waiting for him at Southbank, but I’m going out to dinner so I won’t wait any longer. Could you tell him I’ll catch up with him tomorrow?’

Ten minutes later Brett reappeared and held his hand out to Holly. ‘Let’s go. He’s got a broken leg, as well as the cut, but he’ll be fine. He’s in good hands, and he’s got a microchip so they’ll be able to track down his owner.’

‘Thank heavens.’ She got to her feet.

‘How are you?’ he queried.

‘OK.’

He studied her narrowly. ‘You don’t altogether look it.’

‘I…I once lost a dog in an accident. He was also a border collie. I called him Oliver, because as a puppy he was always looking for more food. He was run over, but he died. It just took me back a bit.’

Brett released her hand and put an arm around her shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but Holly discovered herself to be comforted. Comforted and then something else—acutely conscious of Brett Wyndham.

She breathed in his essence—pure man—and she felt the long, strong lines of his body. She was reminded of how quick and light on his feet he’d been, how he’d used the power of his personality and expertise to calm the dog—but above all how he’d impressed her on a mental level, and now on a physical one.

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