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Her head jerked up. Jonno’s eyes were an unsettling mixture of mild amusement and something else…something private and deep.
‘But—’
‘I don’t have any hang-ups about marriage,’ he said slowly. ‘But when I choose a wife I’d like to do the chasing. Nothing turns me off faster than a woman who blatantly chases after me.’
Camille frowned. ‘OK, so you’d better explain why on earth you agreed to take part in our project.’
His face grew hard and tight. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Hello? I have a signed statement saying otherwise.’
A bleak shadow darkened his eyes and his mouth twisted bitterly. ‘Look, I don’t want to go into details about how I ended up in your magazine.’
‘Are you saying…?’ Camille pressed a hand to her stomach. Right from the very start she’d had a strange gut feeling that there’d been something a little different about Jonno’s entry. ‘Are you telling me that you were entered against your will?’
‘Yes.’
‘Framed?’
He nodded.
‘So who sent us your photo? Your signature?’
‘I told you I’m not prepared to give details, but, believe me, it was a mistake. A huge mistake.’
Camille was surprised by how readily she believed him. Nevertheless, the urge to press him for details was strong. In the past she’d never shied away from getting to the bottom of a story and she longed to know how a handsome devil like Jonathan Rivers could end up in Girl Talk by mistake. Her magazine and its readers deserved to know.
But even as the questions lined up in her head, something in his face stopped her from voicing them.
Her experience of interviewing people from all walks of life told her that the door on this particular conversation had clanged shut. It was locked as securely as the gate to his property, and she sensed that to pry would be useless—even dangerous. She could alienate him completely if she pushed too hard.
But her job was in jeopardy if she didn’t.
‘I don’t think it’s possible for you to simply bow out,’ she told him. ‘We can’t retract you from the project now. Our readers are hanging out for the follow-up stories.’
‘Of course you can drop me. I might have fallen under a bus. Anything’s possible.’
‘But you’re one of our most popular bachelors.’ In actual fact he was the most popular, but she decided nothing was to be gained by pumping up his ego more than necessary.
He glared at her. ‘Too bad.’
As he drained his coffee, Camille’s mind raced. If only she knew who had set Jonno up. Was it a practical joker? Or someone in town who had a grudge against him? A rejected lover? A misguided secret admirer?
His voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘What’s your position at Girl Talk?’
Her shoulders squared. ‘I’m an associate editor.’
‘How much say do you have?’
‘In “The Bachelor Project”? It’s my responsibility.’ Now wasn’t the moment to add that she still had to report to Edith King, the editor-in-chief.
Jonno sat without speaking for a long, thoughtful stretch of time, then he looked straight at her. ‘Associate editor?’ Resting both elbows on the table, he leaned towards her and his face was transformed by a slow smile. ‘If you have enough clout as associate editor, I think we might be in a position to talk turkey, Camille Devereaux.’
Help! His smile was so wicked, so distracting, so devastating that she had to struggle to think straight. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not on your wavelength.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ he said smoothly.
Was he flirting with her? No, of course he wasn’t. Her brain had been short-circuited by that sexy smile and she was beginning to think like one of his groupies.
‘We’re both in an excellent position to help each other,’ he prompted.
‘We are?’ She dropped her gaze. It would be easier to think when she wasn’t trapped by that knockout smile. After a moment of staring at the remains of her abandoned sandwich, she felt the fuzz of foolishness clear. ‘Oh, oh, yes, of course.’ She looked up, suddenly worried. ‘You’re suggesting that if my magazine drops you from the bachelor project, you’ll help me out with my cattle problem.’
‘Exactly.’
Her thoughts flew to Edith. Girl Talk’s editor would have kittens if she heard that Jonathan Rivers was no longer part of the project. Then she thought of Paris. And of seeing her father. And of keeping her savings intact. ‘How could you help me?’ she asked, feeling her cheeks warm with growing excitement.
The smile lingered in his eyes. ‘If I take your cattle out to my property at Edenvale, I could raise them for the next few months and then sell them on when the price is right and we can split the profits.’
‘Profits?’ The last thing she’d expected was to profit from his suggestion. ‘You mean I could actually make some money from my little cows—I mean steers?’
‘That’s what we do to survive out here.’
‘Could I make more than if I left my savings in the bank?’
‘It’s always an educated gamble, but we’ve had good summer rain and follow-up rain in late autumn. There’s plenty of pasture in this district at the moment and, as long as the export prices continue to rise, we could make a tidy profit from your cattle.’
Her cattle. How weird that sounded. And yet Camille felt a little tremble of excitement, too, as if she was about to take the first tentative step towards a mysterious new adventure.
‘But of course,’ Jonno added, ‘you’d have to promise to drop me out of your magazine.’
‘Yes.’ She bit her lip as she thought of the battle she would face when she got back to Sydney. Edith would probably rupture something. And Camille would have to find a way to soothe her. But she sensed that Jonno had valid reasons for wanting to be dropped from the bachelor project, and finding an excuse to cover for him would be a darn sight easier than finding someone else to look after her cattle. ‘It’s a deal,’ she said, smiling back at him. ‘Can we shake on that?’
For a moment he didn’t respond. He sat staring at the tabletop, his expression deadly serious. ‘Sure,’ he said at last.
His strong hand gripped hers and their eyes met. And there was something so suddenly fiery and disturbing in his glance that it stole her breath. Her stomach seemed to fall from a great height.
Jonno quickly dropped his gaze and crumpled the greaseproof paper that had wrapped his sandwiches. ‘OK. I’d better go and take care of the paperwork and I’ll have a word with one of the truckies about getting that pen run out to Edenvale this afternoon.’
He stood and she realised that this was the end of their conversation.
Feeling absurdly disappointed, she reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a business card. ‘You’ll need this if you want to contact me directly—about the cattle or…or anything.’
He frowned at the small card as he held it in his big hands, and he seemed to take ages as he scrutinised every item of her contact details. ‘So you’re heading back to Sydney?’
‘I guess so,’ she said, jumping to her feet. ‘Although I probably won’t make it to Townsville before dark tonight.’
He tapped the card against the tabletop. ‘You should make it to Charters Towers. The road’s pretty good and at least it’s stopped raining. Then you could be in Townsville and catching a plane to Sydney by tomorrow morning.’
She nodded and hitched the strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘Thanks for lunch.’
‘Pleasure.’ He reached inside his coat, unbuttoned a little flap on his shirt pocket and slipped her card inside. There was an awkward, shades-of-high-school moment while they stood staring at each other without speaking. While she remembered that look in his eyes. Oh, crumbs, he was gorgeous.
He had to be one of the hunkiest guys she’d ever met, and that was an opinion shared by half the women in Australia. But, putting all that aside, now that she was on the point of departure, the spectre of her editor-in-chief’s wrath loomed larger.
‘Was there something else you wanted to discuss?’ he asked when she didn’t walk away. ‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’
She sighed. ‘I can’t help feeling I’m letting you wriggle out of this too easily.’
With a shake of his head, he released a scoffing, disbelieving laugh. ‘How can you say that?’
‘Well…all you have to do is put those calves into a paddock and then you can relax with your feet up while they eat grass and grow fat and make easy money. Meanwhile, I have to face my boss and try to explain how I lost you from the project!’
To her surprise, he flushed dark red. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides and he looked mad enough to grab her and shake her.
But he didn’t move. He stood rock still, while his face slowly regained its natural colour and set into hard lines. His cheekbones looked more chiselled than ever and his eyes grew cold as marble. ‘We struck a deal,’ he said quietly. ‘We shook hands. Maybe city folk haven’t heard of a gentleman’s agreement? But, sorry, there’s no going back on it now.’
‘I was afraid of that,’ she said.
‘How you keep up your end of the bargain is your problem.’
He marched out of the canteen without waiting for her response and without looking back.
Mullinjim was too remote for Camille’s mobile phone to pick up the network, so she called Sydney from a phone box in the sale yard’s car park.
‘Oh, my God!’ Edith shrieked. ‘It’s so good to hear from you, Camille. I’ve been fretting that we’d lost you in the outback! Did you make it to Mulla-what’s-its-name?’
‘Yes, I’m in Mullinjim, and I’ve been talking to Jonathan Rivers.’
‘You little star! I knew you’d pull us out of this.’
Camille grimaced. ‘Yeah—well—’
‘I’ve been so stressed about our reluctant cowboy. He’s the key to the whole project.’
‘Edith, I’ve got to tell you it hasn’t been easy. I’m afraid I’ve had to strike a kind of a—a deal with him.’
‘OK, OK. We’ll do whatever we’ve got to as long as we secure his story.’
‘But—’
‘No rampant cheque-book journalism, mind you. Don’t go overboard, Camille. If he wants big money, he’ll have to deal directly with me. Let me do the negotiating.’
Camille heard the faint click of a cigarette lighter on the other end of the line. Edith scorned rules about smoking in the office and Camille could picture her boss’s long white fingers with their bright red nails lifting a cigarette to her painted lips.
‘Edith, you don’t understand. It’s nothing to do with money.’
‘Oh, my God, he wants to sleep with you?’
‘No!’ Camille sank against the side of the phone box and pressed a hand to her forehead. This was going to be even harder than she’d feared. ‘He’s simply not available.’
‘He’s already married?’ Edith screeched.
‘No, listen to me. It’s all been a mistake.’
‘He’s not gay.’ Edith groaned. ‘Camille, tell me our cowboy’s not gay.’
‘He’s not gay.’ That was one thing she was sure of. Jonno had shown too much interest; she’d caught him checking her out too many times. But Camille almost flinched as she added, ‘The mistake was that he never agreed to be part of the project in the first place.’
This was greeted by silence. Stony, bristling silence. Camille could picture Edith drawing deeply on her cigarette as the news sank in. She fancied she heard her exhale.
‘Repeat that very slowly,’ Edith said, her voice dropping several decibels but sounding twice as threatening. ‘I hope I misheard you.’
Camille gulped. ‘The bottom line is he wants out and I don’t know if we can hold him.’
Suddenly she wished she could offer Edith a definite, valid reason. If only she’d forced Jonno to give her concrete evidence that he’d been framed.
‘I’ll explain when I’m back in Sydney, but he’s completely uncooperative, Edith. I’m sorry. I did my best. You know I don’t give up easily, but I hit a brick wall. We’re not going to get anything out of him, so I’m on my way back. I should be home by tomorrow night.’
‘Camille,’ Edith thundered, her voice at full throttle again, ‘you’re not going anywhere. You’ll stay right there, my dear, and you’ll get me the Jonathan Rivers story.’
‘But I told you—’
‘I don’t care what you have to do.’ There was a brief pause while Edith let out a deep, noisy breath. ‘You know I don’t like making wild threats. Our relationship’s above that. But there’s more going on with the publishers than you realise and it’s vital—you’d better believe me when I say it’s vital, honey—that we pull this one off. Now, you get back to work on this lonesome cowboy. I’ll expect a call tomorrow night with an update.’
She hung up.
Oh, help! I’m dead meat.
Camille dropped the receiver into the cradle and covered her face with her hands. She was toast. She’d already struck her bargain with Jonno, her gentleman’s agreement, and her parting attempt to renegotiate had made him so furious she’d left herself no room to manoeuvre.
How on earth could she accommodate Jonathan Rivers’s insistence on privacy and satisfy her editor?
Pushing the door of the phone box open, she stepped outside. Despite bright sunshine, a chill, wintry gust whipped at her coat and she dug her hands deep into her pockets and began to pace. She often thought better when she was walking.
What could she do? Dig until she found the truth behind Jonno’s entry into the project? Would that really help? Perhaps her only hope was to come up with a great alternative story. If she could write a top piece of journalism…about life on a cattle station, perhaps…a woman’s perspective about a cattleman’s world…
She’d include thoughts about romance and marriage…a ‘City Girl in the Bush’ story…
Her enthusiasm warmed a little as her imagination kicked in. She’d have to make it good. She’d have to knock their socks off.
Hands deep in his coat pockets, Jonno stomped through the parking area next to the sale yards, trying to shake off his anger. Camille Devereaux’s parting comment about the laid-back, effortless life of a cattleman had him riled. Easy money be damned!
He knew he shouldn’t let anything she said bother him. She didn’t have a clue about what was involved in raising cattle. She was an airhead from the city who didn’t know squat about the way he earned a living—couldn’t even tell a cow from a steer.
And she called herself a journalist?
But he shouldn’t have let her go without setting her straight. He should have taken her outside that canteen and given her an earful…
