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CURT left McIvor’s bedroom feeling like he was wading through quick sand. The nurse was hovering nearby and he lost no time telling her Mr. McIvor was in need of his medication. He then went in search of Darcy, finding her in the kitchen, washing a head of lettuce at the sink.
“Ham and salad okay?” she asked in a way that suggested her mind wasn’t on fixing lunch at all.
“Fine.” His voice too came out more clipped than he intended. “Make it a sandwich and a cup of coffee, Darcy. I have to talk to you.”
“Of course you do and from the expression on your face you know I won’t like it. Dad is selling Murraree to you. At the right price, of course.” Although she was joking Darcy’s golden skin had turned pale. Anything was possible with her father.
Curt gave a harsh laugh. He pulled out a chair and sat down. “That’d be one for the books!” The kitchen was enormous and very old-fashioned. Like the rest of the rambling old homestead it was badly in need of updating and refurbishing. For all his money McIvor was notoriously tight fisted. “Let’s make this clear. I don’t want Murraree, Darcy,” he said, aware of her loss of colour. “I have enough on my hands.”
She shook her gleaming head. “You wouldn’t knock it back if it came on the market?”
“I’m not getting into any hypothetical discussions. Come here and sit down.”
“I’ll make you a sandwich first. The coffee will only take a minute. I’ll put it on the stove.” For a few moments neither spoke as she worked quickly putting together a plate of ham and salad sandwiches. “So what did Dad suggest?” she asked finally, setting the plate before him along with a clean white linen napkin.
“This looks good,” he said, realizing he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten since dawn. “You’re going to have something surely?” He looked up at her.
“I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“You can’t afford to. You’re downright skinny.” The expression in his green eyes changed, as they travelled over her.
Sometimes he slipped back into doing that so the blood raced through her veins. “Why do you do it, Curt?” she asked, thoroughly rattled.
“Call you skinny?” he half smiled.
“You know darn well. Look at me like that?”
He sat back, considering. “Well apart from being skinny you’re just beautiful even with a pigtail hanging down your back. I can’t remember the last time I saw your hair out.”
“You do too,” she reminded him shortly. “The last polo ball.”
“That’s right. Damn near a year ago. Sunset hosts it this time around. I remember you spent most of the night with Rob Erskine,” he referred to a member of his team who had always been painfully in love with Darcy and unbeknown to him had actually proposed to her.
“So I did.” She shrugged. “While you gave Beth Gilmour the best night of her life. Both of them now out of the picture.”
“Oh yeah?” he mocked. “I saw Beth only the other day.”
“Actually she’d make you a good wife.”
Curt gave her a disgusted look. “We’ve been through this before, Darcy. I’m allergic to having a wife picked out for me by you!”
The tantalizing aroma of perking coffee filled the kitchen. “You always taunt me about my single state. Why can’t I have a go at you?”
“Taunt away,” he invited, waving a careless hand. “You, my dear Darcy, are an open book. You want a review? It’s as I always tell you. You’re terrified of giving your heart away. You construct defences that make you feel safe, presumably against loss. Unfortunately loss is inevitable in life. You’ve been a victim. That’s why you’re compelled to act as you do.”
“You should have taken up psychiatry.” She raked an escaped lock of hair off her face.
He shrugged. “Anyone could see your conflicts.”
“Loving you a woman could get hurt badly.” She risked a glance at him, determined to keep her sensual self closed off when obviously she couldn’t.
“A woman meaning you. Don’t sound so miserable. Eventually you’ll work it out. I just hope you don’t leave it until your child bearing years are over. I think you’d make a great mother. I see you when you’re around little kids, teenagers come to that. Remember those so called problem kids we took on at Sunset last year? They thought you were great. You handled them so well. Firm but gentle, ready to listen, encouraging them. You interacted better than anyone else. Including my mother. I recall an eternity ago I had high hopes for us.”
For a few seconds she had difficulty continuing with what she was doing. Her hands shook. “I wouldn’t have been good for you, Curt. Nor you for me. We’d have ruined each other’s lives by now. I thought we’d established that.” Once she and Curt had been lovers—one of those great desperate romances that ended very badly. There was danger in even stirring over the ashes.
Determinedly she switched the conversation. “So what did Dad say?”
The corners of Curt’s firm mouth turned down. “That’s right, change the subject. I messed up, didn’t I? I should have made allowances for your insecurities instead I frightened you away. Maybe you saw it as self-preservation. But Darcy, I thought you were ripe for loving.”
She sought sanctuary at the kitchen sink. “Was I wrong or did we take our loving to extremes? If you’d asked me to run off to the other side of the world with you I would have. Then what would have happened to Dad? It was bad enough trying to keep all my feelings locked away despite having plenty of experience.”
“Don’t you realise the fact you felt compelled to lock your feelings away indicates a serious problem,” Curt asked with a hint of severity. “Your father has been the cause of much unhappiness, Darcy. I think you provide the clearest illustration.”
The truth of that gripped her. “Please, Curt, let it go. It’s all ancient history anyway. I might look tough but underneath I’m mighty vulnerable.”
“You’re telling me? You project your mother’s problems on to yourself. As far as looking tough? You might be a fighter, Darcy, but look tough, you don’t. I’ve had so much time to consider. You ran from me because you felt threatened. Is that it? You never attempted to explain. Poor mug me, was on top of the world. I just floated through life then, on Cloud Nine. I know you were frightened of your own sex drive let alone mine. Anyone would think our lovemaking had corrupted you.”
She could never forget the intensity. “It was incredibly passionate.” She lowered her head, not allowing him to see her eyes. “Maybe I thought your idea of me wasn’t the real me. How could you have professed to love me so much? You could have had anyone. All the blue-blooded society girls. Not tormented old me. I was paralysed by the fear you’d eventually cast me aside and I needed to get out before then. Maybe what you’re saying is true. I can’t differentiate between myself and my mother. What happened between us got way out of control. Isn’t the word passion derived from the Greek penthos to grieve? Strong passions can cause suffering.”
“So your answer was to escape? I never knew you were such a coward.”
“There’s lots you don’t know,” she said, suddenly wanting to run. “How could I cope with being Curt Berenger’s wife? Now that’s a big job. Who knows some time down the track I could be sent packing.”
He put his hands flat on the table and stared at her. “It all comes back to your own family. I don’t care to be lumped in with your father.”
Darcy shook her head. “Aren’t you both alpha males?”
He reacted vehemently to that. “The only similarity is we’re both cattle men, extraordinarily successful at what we do. In your father’s case, did. I do not have a callous hand with women. I am not a womaniser despite your quite insulting ideas. I am not bloody mean and shockingly selfish and I’m fairly certain I don’t have the reputation for being a bastard. I’m intelligent, good natured and dare I say it, attractive. You’re the only woman I know who goes into panic mode at the very sight of me. Don’t bother denying it. I can see through the smoke screen.”
“Maybe you can,” she expressed a sigh. “But what’s in it for us, Curt, but high risk? For a while there you had me body and soul. It’s something I can’t allow.”
“Fearless in so many ways, timid in others,” he accused.
Darcy shook her head. “You say timid. I say keeping myself together.”
“You won’t stay together long with all this hard physical labour,” Curt retorted. “And for goodness’ sake, sit down.” He waited until she did before resuming. “What you do is much too hard for a woman though your father has allowed it. It has to stop. It will stop.”
Colour stained her high cheekbones. “You mean when you take over? Are you trying to tell me it’s a possibility?”
He looked angry at the question and the deep resentment in her tone. “I don’t have to tell you running a cattle station involves excessive hard work seven days a week. I don’t know how you’ve been able to keep it up but it can’t last. It will steal your youth and your strength. You need help Darcy. What’s more, you’re going to get it.”
“Dad has elected you the new Boss.” She brought out bitterness like a weapon.
“Give me a break, Darcy.” They were at it again. “I’m not going to ruin things for you. I’m going to help you.”
“Wouldn’t I be lost without you?” She was becoming increasingly angry and confused.
“Well we’re sitting here together, aren’t we?” he shot back.
“So it seems.” Darcy tried to get a rein on herself but the pressure was too much. “Would you like another cup of coffee?” she asked bleakly.
“Please. It’s excellent.” He presented his empty cup, thinking what he was saying was having little effect.
“You were the one who brought the beans back from the city for me,” Darcy reminded him, refilling their cups. “So let it out. What have you got to say that’s going to surprise me?”
Curt didn’t beat about the bush. “You know your father’s views. He is without question a chauvinist.”
“Yes,” she answered sharply, betraying her worry over what was coming.
“In the original will you were the sole beneficiary apart from a few minor bequests.”
“I know.”
“You were right in thinking your father wants to acknowledge Courtney.”
Darcy sighed deeply. “She is his daughter. I have no real problem with that providing she has no say in running Murraree about which she knows nothing.”
“Your father wants to set up a trust fund.” Curt took a long swallow of the hot steaming coffee and set down the cup.
Darcy’s aquamarine eyes flashed. “A trust fund. C’mon?” she jeered.
“He doesn’t think you could run Murraree by yourself. You can’t, without help. I know you’re that realistic. His big concern, however, is you and Courtney will become targets for unscrupulous suitors.”
“So he wants to set up a trust fund with you the trustee?” Darcy looked angry, contemptuous and humiliated all at the same time. “I knew it. He wants you to run the bloody place.”
“I knew exactly your reaction.” He too gave way to anger.
“When you come right down to it, who else?” She shoved her plate away. “You’re the right man for the job.”
“You mean I’m the last person you’d want in the job?” He leaned a fraction closer tall and rangy with those wide shoulders. “The last man you’d want.”
“Why should I have you or anyone?” she demanded to know.
“Because you need someone better than Tom McLaren, your present manager,” Curt ground out. “Tom’s a good man, experienced at what he does, but he can’t take control, much less do your father’s job. It’s your father’s station and it’s your father’s money. You’ll be a rich woman when he dies. Better yet, a free woman. So will Courtney. Though as I understand it you’ll have the lion’s share.”
“I should bloody hope so,” she swore again without apology. “I can imagine Courtney will be thrilled. She’ll probably decide to come out here to inspect her property. She might even bring my mother and her second husband. After all, they’d have nothing to fear anymore. Dad will be gone. How does this trust fund work?” Her slanting eyes with their winged black brows glittered her anger was so apparent.
“The usual way. The trustees, probably three, two from Maxwell-Maynard—”
“Adam?” she interrupted.
“He’d be a good choice.”
“You being in charge of course. You’re the man to take control.”
He gave her a look of total exasperation. “This wasn’t my idea.”
“I wonder?”
His handsome features tightened into severity. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said sharply. “I expect an apology.”
“Okay. I apologise.” Her voice was so brittle it crackled. “I wasn’t thinking about your splendid ethics. Correct me if I’m wrong. You hold the reins. You make the decisions. You decide what Courtney and I as beneficiaries get. I have to go to you cap in hand whenever I want something in relation to the running of the station.” As she spoke she shoved back her chair and stood up, beginning to pace about the kitchen
Curt was unsurprised by her anger. He studied her willowy figure clad in its everyday garb of tight fitting jeans and T-shirt. Today it was a bright scarlet T-shirt that suited her complexion, the manufacturer’s logo stitched across the front in navy. She had small, but beautifully shaped breasts, just the right butt and long legs for jeans. The kind of body that made riding gear look damn near haute couture. “Take pity on me. I’m not spoiling for a fight.”
“Well I am,” she said fierily. “Murraree is none of your business.”
“If you were a horse you’d have your ears flat against your head and you’d be baring your teeth. As usual, you’re not thinking about me. Why should I want more work? The fact of the matter is, if your father doesn’t appoint me he’ll find someone else. He told me so in no uncertain terms. That’s what swayed me. Do you want someone else? All I’m going to be, Darcy, is a guiding hand. A friend. Nothing more.”
“It’s an outrage. It’s awful,” Darcy cried.
“Don’t look so martyred. You’re not being thrown off.”
Darcy ignored him. “I am an experienced, responsible woman, not an idiot. I grew up on a cattle station unlike Courtney who doesn’t know a thing about it.”
“Spare yourself a lot of grief, Darcy,” Curt advised her. “Don’t fight your father on this. He’s determined on taking this course. His aim however much you disagree is to protect his fortune. Courtney mightn’t be as level-headed as you.”
“This document doesn’t even exist,” Darcy said hopefully.
“No, but Jock wants the lawyers back.”
“He could die at any time,” Darcy looked skyward. As if her father had already taken off on wings.
Curt sighed. “I’ll bet whatever you like he survives until after a carefully prepared will is drawn up.”
“I could argue he wasn’t of sound mind.”
“I doubt you’d get anyone to agree with you. I didn’t fly over here this morning to do your father’s bidding and in doing so anger you. Jock is set on his course. He has a perfect right to do whatever he wants with his money. And with Murraree. It’s a wonder he doesn’t want it sold up after he’s gone. He’s of the opinion he’s the last of the line. No woman could run the station on her own. It’s killing work. Your husband according to Jock might well be a waster.”
Reluctantly Darcy returned to her chair, a wash of tears over her eyes. “Maybe the reason for this decision is Dad is now reconciled to the notion I might end up marrying you?”
“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t,” Curt said with a flash of contempt. “However, for all my unbridled lust which so frightened you, I never got around to asking you to marry me though I went to the city to buy you an engagement ring. Don’t look so shocked. Some fiancée you’d have made never trusting me. These days there are just too many suitable girls around without your problems and unresolved conflicts. But at a professional level I think we could work together very well.”
She blinked furiously, fighting the impulse to do something—anything—to relieve the intense pressure his admission had put on her. An engagement ring? My God! “I’m dead against this,” she said.
“Tell your father.” Curt was acutely aware of her sense of betrayal. “That’s if you’re prepared to thoroughly antagonise him. I hardly think Jock McIvor is the man to change his mind once it’s made up.”
CHAPTER THREE
IN THE middle of the broad flight of stone steps leading up to the homestead’s verandah, stood a small graceful figure.
Her sister.
A few feet behind her, impressively tall and elegant, Adam Maynard, the solicitor, his dark hair in the sunlight glossy as a crow’s wing. Adam had arranged the charter flight from Brisbane. He would be staying a few days. The young woman, enchantingly pretty, moved forward blindly. Tears flowed from her large azure blue eyes.
“Darcy!”
Darcy’s heart gave a great jolt that wasn’t apparent from her sober expression. It wasn’t hard to reconcile this lovely apparition with the image of the ten-year-old-girl Darcy carried in her head. Her sister, Courtney, was still the image of their mother.
