The Cattle Baron

Mick looked down, smoothed his luxuriant mustache. “Three years, six months and ten days. Bridget would have liked you,” he told Rosie a little harshly. “Bridget loved a woman with character.”

Marley leveled his penetrating blue gaze on Rosie. “I extend my sympathies too, of course, Dempsey, but I wonder if we could keep to the agenda.”

“I thought the agenda was getting me here.” Banfield’s expression must have instantly alerted Marley that he’d said the wrong thing. “It took Miss Summers to persuade me.”

“Call her Rosie, for God’s sake, Chase,” Mick implored, frowning at Chase in amazement.

“Miss Summers is a media power, Mick,” Chase explained. “One must show respect. But getting back to King Tut, talk of an ancient Egyptian presence is old news, like the forgotten race of Pygmies that hang out in the rain forest. Someone’s always sighting one.”

“Someone always does if they have a mind to,” Rosie said, “but there were Negritos, weren’t there?” She threw herself into the argument. “I know I’ve read about them somewhere.”

“Just a small type of Aborigine, I would suggest,” Banfield said. “About five feet tall with short tight curls.”

“Actually they were first officially noted in 1958,” Marley intervened rather shortly, a veritable font of knowledge. “Anthropologist by the name of Birdsell. There were hundreds of these people in the rain forest at that time. There is evidence the so-called Negritos arrived about seven thousand years ago, while the Aboriginal presence in Australia goes back at least forty thousand years. This is all very interesting, but it’s not what we’re here to talk about.” Exasperation bit into his tone.

Banfield swiveled slightly in his chair, looking to Rosie impossibly handsome and just a touch daunting. “Not if the necklace is the best you can do. I know Porter has little items like that up his sleeve. How he got hold of it I wouldn’t know. He’s been a collector for many years. He finds ‘things’ for the very rich and gets a reward. I know he has dealings with a wealthy collector based in London. My uncle is…something of an opportunist.”

Marley tried unsuccessfully to cover up his resentment at the way the conversation had gone. “I realize that. Give me credit, Banfield. As deeply involved as your uncle is, he’s not a professional, any more than you or Roslyn here. I, however, am highly respected in my field. My views must be taken seriously.”

“C’mon,” Banfield frowned. “Tell me why I should take you seriously. You’ll have to come up with something more concrete than what you’ve got.” His tone lightened. “Are you asking us to believe the necklace Miss Summers is wearing was found on Three Moons? Did my uncle lead you to understand this? Unlike me, he has the time to play games—always for his own ends. He may be using you.”

“I can control people like your uncle.” Marley finished his drink with a grimace. “I have other things—”

“We’re going around in circles, Doctor,” Banfield said, cutting him off. “Porter wants to get back on Three Moons for some reason. Maybe he has something hidden somewhere in the house. Under the big banyan tree. Anything’s possible. It could even be gold. My family benefited greatly from the gold strikes in this area.” He paused, shaking his head. “My parents were taken from me literally overnight. I was only a boy. There was no time to fill me in on all the family secrets. I know there have to be a few. Lost hopes. Lost dreams. This part of the world might be an opulent paradise, but terrible hardships went into our pioneering past. Isn’t that so, Mick?”

“Plenty of early deaths,” Mick said. “But there are so many things you mightn’t know, Chase, that Porter would.” He brightened. “Stuff he’d make sure you’d never find out.”

Marley seized on that. “Then there’s a good chance your uncle’s right. All I’m asking is that you give me a couple of weeks….”

“To hare off on your own?” Banfield said with a flash of his brilliant eyes. “You could be killed if you’re heading up-country.” He transferred his gaze to the slender, very womanly Rosie, his attitude almost explosive. “It could be quite terrifying to get lost in the jungle.”

Rosie nodded, breaking the tension. “You’ve sold me.”

Despite himself, Banfield laughed, studying the dangerous magic of her, the warmth of her, the challenge in her almond eyes, the gorgeous clash of colors, the gleaming magnificence of the necklace around her proud throat.

“You might even run into one of those Negritos,” he drawled. “I think they were cannibals.”

“Really?” Rosie picked up her liqueur.

“He’s joking, love,” Mick assured her lightly. “He’s always joking. But I’ve been thinking—I could help out.” He looked around the table, not at all disconcerted by Chase’s quick penetrating glance. “I’m as good a bushie as your dad,” Mick pointed out.

Banfield nodded. Quite true, but Mick hadn’t handled things well for quite a while. “What about Derrilan? How does it get on?” he asked in a measured voice.

“Hell, Chase, Arnie runs the place,” Mick said sheepishly. “He’s been as good as runnin’ it since I lost Bridget. No, this sounds exciting, and I could do with a little excitement these days.”

Banfield’s eyes settled on his friend with a private message. There aren’t any pubs up-country.

“It might help me out.” Mick leaned forward to stare into Banfield’s stern but caring face.

“And it could do you a lot of harm.” Banfield wondered how long it would take Mick to hit the bottle.

“Once, you used to have great faith in me, Chase,” Mick said gruffly.

“I learned a lot from you, Mick.” In this instance, Banfield had to try not to weaken, when he normally wasn’t a man who gave way easily. “So what’s your proposal?” he asked Marley. “Is my uncle along on the trip?”

Marley’s rich voice developed a sudden coaxing charm. “I had to include him.”

“Oh, perfect!”

“And I’ve been in war zones,” Rosie reminded Chase. “If that counts for anything.”

He gave her a brief smile. “You’re forcing my hand?”

“It’s a beautiful hand.” She glanced at his right hand on the table. “Strong, lean, elegant…”

“Calluses on the other side,” he mocked, turning his hand over. “I’m a cattleman, Miss Summers.”

“Hell, yes! None better.” Mick spoke with affection and pride. “His mum and dad would’ve been so proud of him. Wonderful, just wonderful what he’s accomplished in these last years after Porter bloody near—”

Banfield leaned toward him. “Mick, we won’t waste time on Porter for the moment. I have to think about this.”

“What harm could it do?” Rosie’s eyes lit with green fire. “If your uncle can lead us to this pyramid—he swears it’s somewhere on the station—Graeme can identify it, date it. Even if it’s a wild-goose chase, which it probably is, I could turn it into a good story. Even a short documentary.”

“Get Paul Hogan back and turn it into Crocodile Dundee 3,” Banfield suggested, sitting back, his mouth twitching. “You want to fool around with crocodiles?” he asked Rosie.

“I haven’t got the nerve.” She shivered. “But Mick here seems to think he has.”

Mick crowed, but Marley was in no mood for frivolity. “A joke has its limits,” he said, sounding very professorial. “This will be a very serious expedition. Headed by me.”

Rosie picked up a liqueur chocolate, as if she was still famished. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be leader.” She shrugged. “What about you, Mick?”

Mick was enjoying this, his blue eyes brighter and more focused than Banfield had seen in a couple of years. “No way, m’dear. I’ll act as your guide. It’ll be grand!”

“And what will your duties be, Miss Summers?” Banfield asked suavely, knowing she would be highly capable, intelligent, resourceful, remarkably cool in a tight spot. His expression, however, suggested that at some stage they could expect hysterics.

She put a hand to the glittering necklace, aware he was being deliberately provocative. “To show the flag,” she said airily. “To be of any help I can. Which probably comes down to the cooking, but I could run to a bit of first aid.”

“And where do you intend to stay during the planning stage, the initial forays?”

Mick jumped in without a thought, munching yet another pretzel, never touching his light beer.

“What’s a bunch of people at Three Moons?” he asked Banfield, as if a great idea had just come to him. “Dammit, I know you don’t want crowds marching all over the place, but this is different. And I’ll be there to look after your interests.”

Between one binge and another, Banfield thought, then chided himself for not showing Mick some confidence. “You’re a real romantic at heart, aren’t you, Mick.” He smiled as he said the words.

Mick sighed. “Bridget used to say that.” For a moment, his expression sagged.

Banfield saw that he’d have to make a decision based not on what he wanted, but on what Mick wanted—and that scintillating, unlikely femme fatale, the amazing Miss Summers.

“I’ll admit the homestead is big enough.” His tone was brusque with an underlying hint of humor.

“So you agree?” Rosie and Mick spoke together, picking that moment to slap a high five.

Banfield glanced at them both repressively. “I said I have to give this a lot of thought.”

Mick nodded, laughing. “What a character you are, Chase.”

“I am that,” he answered dryly, catching Rosie’s sparkling eyes.

“So do you reckon you’ll know by mornin’?” Mick asked with glee.

“Does it mean so much to you, Mick?” Banfield looked at the older man with sympathy.

“Who knows what we might find, son?” Mick’s blue eyes glowed. “Although I don’t like the idea of havin’ old Porter around, I can tell you that. ’Struth, the man’s a fanatic.”

Marley held up his large palm. “Mr. Dempsey, you yourself are not included in our party.”

“I’m in if Chase says so,” Mick answered stoutly. “Am I in, Chase?”

Banfield laughed. “I don’t think I’ve agreed to anything yet, Mick. But I don’t see why you couldn’t go if it actually comes to that. You certainly know your way around. Dr. Marley is more familiar with central Australia and the Kimberly than he is with this area.” He turned to Marley. “Wouldn’t that be right, Doctor?”

Marley wasn’t about to acknowledge it. “Even so, I’m an experienced bushman.”

“And I watched every episode of The Bush Tucker Man,” Rosie chimed in as though that settled everything. In reality she was trying to keep her excitement down. Every time Chase Banfield’s eyes lighted on her, the most dramatic things happened to her body. Adrenaline pumped. Pulses raced. Even her nipples tightened. Normally she didn’t react sexually to a man’s mere presence.

“I’d appreciate it if I could get a decision,” Marley said, clearly angered by the sizzling undercurrent that ran between Banfield and Roslyn.

“Don’t push it, Graeme,” Rosie warned with a speaking glance. “I’m sure Chase will tell us when he’s good and ready.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THEY BROKE UP shortly after eleven, Banfield citing his dawn return to Three Moons as an excuse.

“Couldn’t drop me off on the way, Chase?” Mick asked hopefully, following them all out into the foyer with its wealth of huge jewel-colored cushions over teak furniture.

Banfield stopped in his tracks, gazing at Mick in surprise. “How did you get here, Mick?” He’d assumed Mick had driven in from Derrilan.

“Arnie had to come into town for some supplies.” Mick referred to his head man, now the manager. “Dropped me off at the club.”

“I see. And how’d you get here from the club?”

Mick waved a hand. “One of the blokes drove me.”

One way or the other, Mick fell on his feet. Banfield clapped a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Sure, I’ll drop you off. No trouble.” In fact it would take him twenty miles out of his way, but what was distance up here? Mick was bound to start again with that business about the wild-goose chase.

“Well, I’ll say good-night, then.” Mick smiled happily. “It’s been a great pleasure meeting you, Rosie,” he said. “Some people you feel you’ve known all your life.”

“Same here, Mick.” Rosie returned the smile, giving him her hand, which he bowed over quite gallantly.

“Take care of that necklace now,” he warned. “It might have belonged to a very important Egyptian lady. A beautiful woman of high social standing. It suits you to a T. Good night, Dr. Marley.” Mick nodded in Marley’s direction, his charming Irish voice flattening out.

“Good night, Dempsey.” Marley sounded equally unimpressed. As Mick moved off to the stairs, relatively sober for once, Marley turned to Banfield with his trademark imperious expression. “There are other things you haven’t seen. A magnificent scarab!”

“Probably out of Porter’s safe, as well.”

“I take it I may expect your answer in the morning?” He visibly fought down his irritation. “I’ve come all this way, not without good reason. I believe we have sufficient evidence to proceed. With all due respect, I might point out that I’m the expert. This expedition could mean great things for all of us. I beg you to take that into consideration.”

Banfield’s eyes slid to Rosie, catching her in contemplation. “Would you care for a short stroll before bed?” he asked. “A breath of fresh air after so much talk of an ancient civilization. Kind of a sick one, at that. Too much emphasis on death. The ancient Egyptians built their great monuments to the dead. I’m for building monuments to the living, like the ancient Greeks or the Romans did.”

“Nevertheless, we’re speaking about a mighty civilization with twenty-five hundred years of great triumph and glory,” Marley broke in before Rosie, uncharacteristically breathless, had a chance to respond.

“I appreciate the fascination, Doctor,” Banfield said smoothly. “I’m just mentioning their strange ways. As I said earlier in the evening, I need time to think this over. You surely didn’t expect a decision tonight. Let’s say by the end of the week. I’m sure you can fill your time profitably. You’d probably like to visit my uncle. It may seem a harsh thing to say, but I don’t want him back on Three Moons. I have my reasons.”

“And I don’t want to interfere in any way.” Marley hastened to make his position clear. “But Porter is the one who claims to know where the pyramid is, or at least the general direction.”

Banfield nodded. “A number of people over the years have claimed to know where pyramids are sited. I’ll say good-night, Dr. Marley. We’ll be in touch.”

It was as much as Marley could hope for. He transferred his gaze to Rosie, who was standing quietly at Banfield’s shoulder, enjoying the sensation of having a man tower over her. “I’ll see you, Roslyn, when you come up.” His tone implied he’d be waiting for her in bed.

It was time to put things straight. She turned around fully to face him. “No more talking tonight, Graeme,” she said firmly. “I’ll be going straight to my room—to sleep. See you at breakfast.”

“Is this little affair very hush-hush at the moment?” Banfield asked as they walked out into the glorious tropical night. A big languorous copper moon sailed above the tall palms; the breeze was like incense.

“You’re not getting to me, Chase Banfield,” she scoffed, although the man drew her like a magnet. “There’s no affair. I told you.”

“You’d better tell Marley,” he suggested with more than a touch of irony.

“He’s married.”

He laughed, taking her arm and steering her in the direction he wanted to go. “I’d like a dollar for all the extramarital affairs in this state alone.”

“Let me put it more plainly. I don’t like him. He’s an elitist, and he’s sexist and arrogant, possibly a bigot.”

“Charming.”

“He’s also at the very top of his profession. His book on the life and culture of Australian Aborigines is a classic. His fieldwork attracts big grants. In a word, he’s got to be taken very seriously.”

Banfield considered briefly. “Speaking of grants, who’s funding this?”

“Presumably Graeme’s department.”

“Really? Well, surely they realize that even the most brilliant scientists can have a few bats in the belfry. My concern is that Porter’s using him, and Marley’s making it easy because he has this burning desire to keep confounding his peers. Finding the Winjarra paintings was a huge success. But success can’t stand still. Next, a tremendous discovery confirming once and for all that there was an ancient Egyptian presence in Australia.”

Rosie lifted her face to the heady perfume of the night. It seemed to be coming from the cascades of gardenia-scented white trumpet vine that smothered the lattice screens. “But is it so impossible?” she asked. “How did all the relics get here? The jewelry, the artifacts, the coins—some of them were apparently buried for four thousand years. Then there’s the pottery, the bronze and copper tools, the amazing hieroglyphics carved into rocks. Graeme thinks Australia was actually the Land of Punt, the mysterious southern continent referred to in Egyptian carvings. They could even have mined gold and silver and left their relics behind. Look at this gold necklace.” She fingered the gleaming lotus flowers.

“I’ve been looking at it all evening, oddly enough.”

“Where did this necklace come from?”

He glanced down at her, all his senses alive. “Again, try Porter’s safe,” he said wryly. “Speaking of gold, there could be gold deposits on Three Moons, for all I know. There were rich lodes up here in the old days. Tin. Collecting is an obsession with my uncle. He’s run through most of his own fortune and now he has to find ways of making more. If there is gold on Three Moons—and one of my people, a tribal elder, believes there is—Porter as a Banfield would have a claim.”

“So it’s more complicated than I thought.” Rosie picked a flower, then stuck it carelessly in her hair.

“It always is, especially with my uncle around.”

“And you’re worried about Mick, aren’t you?” Her voice was quiet and sympathetic.

He stopped, took her by the shoulders, turned her around to face him. “How did you know?”

“Easy.” She smiled. “I’m sensitive and highly intelligent.”

And she had a strong, very womanly sexuality. It enveloped him like the perfume of the gardenias. Once again he had that hard wild urge to kiss her, taste that luscious, full-lipped mouth. He was a passionate man, but of necessity he kept it under control. There was no point at all in starting something with Miss Roslyn Summers, despite the attraction between them. Slowly he dropped his hands, walked on. “Mick has suffered badly since he lost his wife,” he said levelly. “He loved her dearly and she loved him. Mick’s feelings go deep. At some stage he took to the bottle to ease the pain. He’s not a natural drinker. He doesn’t really enjoy it. But it serves to keep his mind anesthetized.”

“And you’re concerned that after the initial enthusiasm wears off, he’ll return to heavy drinking?”

Banfield sighed heavily. “He’s not the man to mastermind an exploration of the up-country. Only a few years ago, he would have been. But I have good reason to believe he’s not going to reform overnight.”

“You’re going to say no.” She felt a surge of disappointment. Not the least of it because she’d be losing all contact with him.

“I can’t bury my disquiet. I’m of two minds about everything, which doesn’t suit me at all. On the one hand, it was great to see Mick show such enthusiasm. He’s always been on about the Egyptian connection. A lot of people up here still are. My own grandfather claimed to have seen massive ruins of stone walls in the wilds of Cape York, which is as remote a place as one can get.”

She stared at him in amazement, struck by the male beauty of his strong features. Michelangelo would have loved him. “You never mentioned that before.”

He threw her a sidelong mocking smile. “There are lots of things I haven’t mentioned, Miss Summers, much as you’ve tried to beguile them out of me. You wouldn’t know, but the old Aboriginal witch doctors around here used ‘knot magic,’ much like the ancient Egyptians did. The knots represented blessings or curses. Where do you suppose they learned it? How did the ancient Egyptians come by their golden boomerangs, for that matter? Why did the Torres Strait natives mummify their dead using the Egyptian method? It’s all fascinating stuff, I agree. I do have some imagination, but I also have a big enterprise to run.”

“And you’re afraid to let us go off by ourselves with only Mick and, I presume, your uncle for guides?”

He answered with some force. “I’m afraid to let you go off, Miss Summers. I appreciate that you’ve had terrifying times covering your war stories, but you can equally well get lost or killed in the jungle. No joke. Where you’re going, the river is teeming with crocs. There are wild boar, pythons, snakes, spiders, among the deadliest in the world.”

“I’m game.” She’d have to take good care that nothing happened to her.

“I thought you might be.” He looked down at her moodily. “And all you expect to get out of this is a story? A world scoop?”

“What’s wrong with that?” She didn’t add she was mad keen to know him better. Instead, she stopped to stare at a bed of Indonesian torch ginger with its fantastic ten-inch red flowers. Such a clump of them! Unbelievable! “I also get to keep this necklace,” she added with a self-satisfied little smirk.

“Really?” His voice was very dry. “Porter has never been known to give anything away.”

“One of the perks of the job. An inducement, obviously.” She shrugged with apparent nonchalance. “It’s a pity you’re such a busy man.”

“You’re so good at this,” he groaned.

“Well, you are the ideal man to head this safari.”

“So what would I get out of it?” he demanded.

A nearly audible chord of excitement vibrated in the air between them as attraction assumed real shape and substance.

Rosie couldn’t laugh. She had never felt so vulnerable in her life, literally quaking. “You can hardly be suggesting we become lovers.” Even saying it aroused her. Inside her head. All over her body.

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