Argentinian in the Outback

In the next moment they had their answer. Runaway horse and hapless rider, partially obscured by the desert oaks dotted here and there, suddenly burst into full view.

De Montalvo broke the fraught silence. “He’s in trouble,” he said tersely.

“It’s a workhorse.” Ava recognised that fact immediately, although she couldn’t identify the rider. He was crouched well down over his horse’s back, clinging desperately to the flowing black mane. Feet were out of the stirrups; the reins were flailing about uselessly. “It’s most likely one of our jackeroos,” she told him with anxiety.

“And he’s heading right for that belt of trees,” De Montalvo’s expression was grim. “If he can’t pull up he’s finished. Terminado!” He pulled the big bay’s head around as he spoke.

The area that lay dead ahead of the station hand’s mad gallop was heavily wooded, dense with clumps of ironwood, flowering whitewoods and coolabahs that stood like sentinels guarding the billabong Ava knew was behind them. The petrified rider was in deep trouble, but hanging on for dear life. He would either be flung off in a tumble of broken bones or stay on the horse’s back, only to steer at speed into thick overhanging branches. This surely meant a broken neck.

“Stay here,” de Montalvo commanded.

It was an order, but oddly she didn’t feel jarred by it. There was too much urgency in the situation.

She sat the mare obediently while de Montalvo urged the powerful bay gelding into a gallop. Nothing Zephyr liked better than to gallop, Ava thought with a sense of relief. Nothing Zephr liked better than to catch and then overtake another horse. That was the thoroughbred in him.

The unfortunate man had long since lost his hat. Now Ava recognised the red hair. It was that Bluey lad—a jackeroo. She couldn’t remember his surname. But it was painfully clear he was no horseman. One could only wonder what had spooked his horse. A sand goanna, quite harmless but capable of giving a nervous horse a fright? Goannas liked to pick their mark too, racing alongside horse and rider as though making an attempt to climb the horse’s sleek sides. A few cracks of the whip would have settled the matter, frightening the reptile off. But now the young jackeroo was heading full pelt for disaster.

Ava held up a hand to shield her eyes from the blazing sun. Little stick figures thrown up by the mirage had joined the chase, their legs running through the heated air. She felt incredibly apprehensive. Señor de Montalvo was their guest. He was a magnificent rider, but what he was attempting held potential danger for him if he persisted with the wild chase. If he were injured … If he were injured … She found herself praying without moving her dry lips.

Varo had been obliged to come at the other horse from an oblique angle. She watched in some awe as he began to close in on the tearaway station horse that most likely had started life as a wild brumby. Even in a panic the workhorse couldn’t match the gelding for speed. Now the two were racing neck and neck. The finish line could only be the wall of trees—which could prove to be as deadly as a concrete jungle.

Ava’s breath caught in her throat. She saw Varo lean sideways out of his saddle, one hand gripping his reins and the pommel, the other lunging out and down for the runaway’s reins. A contest quickly developed. Ava felt terribly shaken, not knowing what to expect. She found herself gripping her own horse’s sides and crying out, “Whoa, boy, whoa!” even though she was far from the action. She could see Varo’s powerful gelding abruptly change its long stride. He reined back extremely hard while the gelding’s gleaming muscles bunched beneath its rider. Both horses were acting now in a very similar fashion. Only a splendid horseman had taken charge of them, bringing them under tight control.

The mad flight had slowed to a leg-jarring stop. Red dust flew in a circling cloud, earth mixed up with pulped grasses and wildflowers. “Thank God!” Ava breathed. She felt bad enough. Bluey was probably dying of fright. What of Varo? What an introduction to their world!

The headlong flight was over. She had a feeling Bluey wasn’t going to hold on to his job. She was sure she had heard of another occasion when Bluey had acted less than sensibly. At least he was all right. That was the important thing. There had been a few tragic stories on Kooraki. None more memorable than the death in a stampede of Mike Norton, Sarina Norton’s husband but not, as it was later revealed, Amelia’s actual father. Sarina Norton was one beautiful but malevolent woman, loyal to no one outside herself.

Ava headed off towards the two riders who had sought the shade to dismount. Her mare’s flying hooves disturbed a group of kangaroos dozing under one of the big river gums. They began to bound along with her.

It was an odd couple she found. Bluey, hardly more than a madcap boy, was shivering and shaking, white as a sheet beneath the orange mantling of freckles on his face. Varo showed no sign whatsoever of the recent drama, except for a slick of sweat across his high cheekbones and the tousling of his thick coal-black hair. Even now she had to blink at the powerful magnetism of his aura.

He came forward as she dismounted, holding the mare’s reins. They exchanged a measured, silent look. “All’s well that ends well, as the saying goes.” He used his expressive voice to droll effect. Far from being angry in any way, he was remarkably cool, as though stopping runaway horses and riders was a lesson he had learned long ago.

Ava was not cool. He was their guest. “What in blue blazes was that exhibition all about?” she demanded of the hapless jackeroo. She watched in evident amazement as the jackeroo attempted a grin.

“I reckon I oughta stick to motorbikes.”

“I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” Ava asked with a frown.

“Yes, miss.” The jackeroo sketched a wobbly bow. “I’m Bluey. This gentleman here did a great job of saving me life. I’d have broken a leg, for sure.”

“You’d have broken a great deal more than that,” Varo pointed out, this time making no attempt to hide the note of reproof.

“It was a mongrel goanna.” Bluey made a wild gesture with his skinny arms. “About six feet long.”

“Nonsense!” Ava shook her head. “It was probably a sand goanna, half that size. You must have alarmed it.”

“Well, it rushed me anyway,” Bluey mumbled, implying anyone would have reacted the same way. “Sprang up from under a tree. I thought it was a damned log, beggin’ your pardon.”

“Some log!” It was all Ava could do not to tell Bluey off. “You could have frightened it off with a few flicks of the whip.”

“Couldn’t think fast enough,” Bluey confessed, looking incredibly hot and dirty.

The expression on Juan-Varo de Montalvo’s handsome face conveyed what he thought of the jackeroo’s explanation. “You’re all right to mount your horse again?” he addressed the boy with clipped authority in his voice.

“Poor old Elvis.” Bluey shook his copper head. “The black mane, yah know? I thought his heart would burst.”

“The black mane?” Varo’s expression lightened. He even laughed. “I see.”

Ava was finding it difficult to keep her eyes off him. He looked immensely strong and capable, unfazed by near disaster. His polished skin glowed. The lock of hair that had fallen forward onto his tanned forehead gave him a very dashing, rakish look. He wore his hair fairly long, so it curled above the collar of his shirt. She tried not to think how incredibly sexy he was. She needed no such distraction.

As they paused in the shade small birds that had been hidden in the safety of the tall grasses burst into the air, rising only a few feet before the predatory hawks made their lightning dives. Panicked birds were caught up, others managed to plummet back into the thick grass. This was part of nature. As a girl Ava had always called out to the small birds, in an effort to save them from the marauding hawks, but it had been an exercise in futility.

“What were you doing on your own anyway, Bluey? You should have been with the men.”

Bluey tensed. “Headin’ for the Six Mile,” he said evasively. “You’re not gunna tell the boss, are you?” he asked, as though they shared a fearful secret.

Varo glanced at Ava, who was clearly upset, her eyes sparkling. He decided to intervene. “Get back on your horse. I assume the red hair justifies the nickname! We’ll ride with you to the house. You’ll need something for those skinned hands.”

“A wash up wouldn’t hurt either,” Ava managed after a moment. “Think you’ll be more alert next time a goanna makes a run for your horse?”

“I’ll practise a lot with me whip,” Bluey promised, some colour coming back into his blanched cheeks. “I hope I didn’t spoil your day?”

“Spoil our day?” Ava’s voice rose. “It would have been horrible if anything had happened, Bluey. Thank God Varo was with me. I doubt I could have caught you, let alone have the strength to bring the horses under control.”

“Sorry, miss,” Bluey responded, though he didn’t look all that troubled. “I could never learn to ride like you.” Bluey looked to the man who had saved him from certain injury or worse.

“You can say that again!” Ava responded with sarcasm.

“Thanks a lot, mate.” Bluey leaked earnest admiration from every pore.

Varo made a dismissive gesture. “M-a-t-e!” He drew the word out on his tongue.

“Well, that’s one version of it.” Ava had to smile. Did the man have any idea what a fascinating instrument his voice was? “Well, come on, Bluey,” she said, giving the jackeroo a sharp look. “Get back up on your horse.”

Bluey shook himself to attention. “Dunno who got the bigger fright—me or Elvis.” He produced a daft grin.

As they rode back to the homestead Ava couldn’t help wondering if Bluey would ever make it as a station hand. His derring-do could prove a danger to others. From fright and alarm he had gone now to questioning his hero about life on the Argentine pampas, confiding that everyone—“I mean everyone!”—would be turning up to see him play polo at the weekend. “You got one helluva lot of strength inside you,” Bluey told the South American visitor with great admiration.

“Just as well. It was a titanic struggle,” Ava said, resisting the impulse to call Bluey the derogatory galah. “Common sense goes a long way. If I find you’ve used up eight lives …?” She paused significantly.

“Please don’t tell the boss, miss,” Bluey begged. “One more sin and he’ll kick me out.”

“And there goes your big adventure.” Ava shrugged, thinking admonition might well fall on deaf ears. “It could be later than you think, Bluey. Now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN they arrived back at the homestead, Varo sent the jackeroo off to the first-aid room.

“Let me have a word with this young man.” He inclined his head towards Ava.

“You think you can talk some sense into him?” she asked sceptically. “I remember now—he once put Amelia in danger with one of his ill-conceived stunts.”

“I think I can make him see sense,” he answered with quiet authority. “He knows there’s a strong possibility he will be sent home if Dev hears about this.”

“Maybe we should tell Dev?” she suggested with utter seriousness. “In rescuing Bluey you put yourself at considerable risk.”

“One doesn’t think of that at such a time.” He dismissed the risk factor, looking deeply into her eyes.

“All right,” she consented, trying not to appear flustered. “I’ll see to lunch. This afternoon I thought I might show you the hill country. It’s not all low-rise on Kooraki. The hills reach a fair height. A good climb, anyway—and there’s so much to see. Aboriginal rock paintings. And there really was an inland sea—but we’re talking pre-history. There are drawings of crocodiles on the rock walls. X-ray depictions of fish. We even have a waterfall of sorts at the moment. It plunges downhill into the rock pool beneath it. Not even a trickle in the Dry, of course.”

She knew the rock pool would be a great place for a dip. The waters were fairly deep, and crystal-clear, but Juan-Varo de Montalvo made her feel far too aware of herself as a woman to risk donning a bathing suit.

“We will ride there?” he asked, already filled with fascination for the fabled Outback.

She shook her blonde head. “We’ll take the Jeep. I’ll even let you drive.” She gave him a quick smile which he thought as alluring as any water nymph. “There’s no wrong side of the road.”

“Gracias, Señora,” His black eyes glittered as he acknowledged her marital status.

It was quite a job to keep her expression composed. Infatuation was the last thing she had seen coming.

From the passenger window Ava eyed the Wetlands, home to thousands upon thousands of waterbirds. The vast expanse of water had joined up with the lignum swamps to the extent one didn’t know where the lignum swamps ended and the Wetlands started up.

“In times of drought this great expanse of water will dry up,” she told Varo, who drove like he did everything else. With absolute skill and confidence. “The parched surface becomes crisscrossed by cracks and the footprints of the wildlife—kangaroos, emus, camels, wild pigs, snakes, or any human walking across the dry ochre sand.”

“Camels I have to see,” he said, giving her a quick sidelong smile.

“You will,” she promised. “The Afghan traders brought them in the early days. 1840, to be precise. They thrived here. We even export them to Arab countries. They’re part of the landscape now, but they can be very destructive. Not as much as hoofed animals, however. Their feet are adapted for deserts. They have soft pads, but they eat everything in sight, depleting the food supply for our indigenous species. They’re very dangerous too, when the male goes on heat.”

“The male?” One black eyebrow shot up.

“Bizarre, but true. At the last count there were over a million feral camels scattered over the desert areas of the Territory, Western Australian, South Australia and Queensland’s desert fringe. The introduced water buffalo of the Territory do tremendous damage to the environment and the ecosystem. Even our dingoes were introduced.”

“But I thought they were native Australian animals?” He glanced back at her. She had taken her beautiful hair out of its plait. Now it was sliding over her shoulders and down her back in shining, deep sensuous waves. She had changed for lunch, as had he. Now she was wearing a blue T-shirt with a silver designer logo on the front. The clingy fabric drew his eyes to the delicate shape of her high breasts.

“They’ve been here for thousands of years,” she was saying, snapping him back to attention, “but they came from South East Asia originally, where they must have been domestic dogs. Over the four or five thousand years they’ve been here, they’ve established themselves in the wilds. They’re our number-one predator. They can attack, even kill—especially if the victim is small, like a child.”

“One doesn’t like to think of that,” he said gravely. “What about sheep? Mature cattle would be able to fend them off, surely?” He was frowning slightly.

“Not the calves. The alpha male is especially dangerous. So is the alpha female. They hunt in packs. We don’t have the Great Wall of China, but we do have the longest man-made fence in the world.”

He was quick to reply. “I have heard of the famous Dingo Fence.”

“We’ll take you to see Kooraki’s section of it before you go home,” she offered.

Even thinking of his departure gave her a distinct wrench. That only added to her sense of unreality. Who could expect to be so susceptible in such a very short time? She had to be aware her sense of trepidation was spiced with undeniable excitement. She only hoped he wasn’t witness to it.

“The Dingo Fence is close to six thousand kilometres long,” she carried on, her tone rather clipped. “It was shortened from well over eight thousand kilometres in 1980 because of the high repair costs. Six feet of wire mesh with steel and timber posts. It’s a never-ending job maintaining it, but it protects over twenty-six million hectares of sheep and cattle grazing country. You’re in trouble big-time if you forget to shut a gate.”

“Who would know out here?” He waved a hand at the empty miles that ran for as far as the eye could see.

“You’d be surprised. Everyone keeps an eye out. Everyone knows if there are tourists or strangers in the area. Cattle-and-sheep men would never be guilty of such an offence.”

He could see the jagged shape of the hills off to the north-west, their broken peaks and domes silhouetted against the cobalt-blue sky. The furnace-red of the earth made a wonderful contrast to the cloudless blue sky and the amazingly green trees and vegetation. The most beautiful tree he had seen along their route Ava had told him was the Outback’s iconic Ghost Gum. It was easy to understand why. The tall upright tree with pendulous dark green leaves had a smooth, near blindingly white trunk and branches that made it glow in the sunlight. Even the distant hills were changing colour from brown to an orange that deepened into the red of the earth.

“You can stop here,” Ava said as they arrived near the foot of a tumbling white waterfall.

Once out of the Jeep they could hear the loud murmur of the waters and their splash into the circular pool. A surprising amount of water was falling into it.

Varo moved closer, looking down into the depths. The silvered mirror-like surface threw back his own reflection. That too of the beautiful blonde Ava, who stood at his shoulder like an ethereal vision.

“It’s so hot. A swim would be most welcome.” He turned to her, the movement of his wide shoulders causing a flutter of air to cross the pool and form ripples.

“Bathing suits optional?” The coolness of her voice was intended not to give her inner turmoil away.

“You don’t think it the duty of a good hostess to—”

“Varo, I know you’re teasing,” she protested, looking up into his brilliant mocking eyes.

“Even if you’re really tempted?” He seemed to be towering over her. “The water is crystal-clear.” He bent to dip a hand into it. “And so refreshingly cool.”

“Varo, I’m getting a little nervous around you,” Ava murmured.

He straightened. “You are very safe with me.”

“I know that,” she said hurriedly. “You also know what I mean. If you want a swim we have many lagoons. Dev, Amelia and I spend countless hours swimming in our favourite lagoon, the Half-Moon. The most gorgeous water lilies on the station grow there—the sacred blue lotus. They decorate the perimeter, along with all the water reeds. The lagoon is very deep in the middle. One day you can swim there. Maybe have a picnic.”

“With you?” He fixed his dark eyes on her.

“Maybe,” she said, half turning away.

“Maravillosa!” He had an instant vision of her, naked as a water nymph, her long golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her beautiful skin with the lustre of a pearl.

Ava, for her part, was glad of her gift for composure—even if it was being giving an almighty workout. She pointed upwards, a pulse beating in her throat. “There’s a big cave up there that goes so far back into the hills I used to be terrified I would get lost if I ventured too far. See, Varo?” She glanced at him, only to find him looking at her. “It’s the one partially camouflaged by those feathery sprays of acacia. You’ll have to duck your head at the entrance, but the interior at the central point is over two metres high.”

“The roof has never caved in on anyone?” he asked, beginning to stare upwards.

Ava gave a little shudder. “Never. But I didn’t dare to venture into the cave’s recesses like Dev. Even Mel was scared. We have a famous mystery novel called Picnic at Hanging Rock, written by Joan Lindsay. It was made into a film way back in the 1970s. It tells the story of the disappearance of several schoolgirls and their teacher during a picnic at Hanging Rock on St Valentine’s Day. The book is in our library at home. I’ve read and re-read it. It’s a haunting tale. The missing party was never found.”

“You think you will disappear as well?” he asked in teasing fashion.

“Wait until you’re inside the cave,” she replied, her composure regained.

“You think I’ll get cold feet?”

“Laugh all you like.” She gave him a sparkling look that was like a brief taunt. “I’ve known visitors to our great desert monuments, the aboriginal sacred sites Uluru and Kata Tjuta, come away stunned by the atmosphere. Why, some find the Valley of the Winds at Kata Tjuta very scary—especially when the winds are blowing. It’s another world.”

“One I intend to visit.” He put out his elegant tanned hand. “Let me help you.”

His wonderfully expressive voice sounded so tender her heart shook. She had no recourse but to put her hand in his, feeling his long fingers close around hers. She had known from the start nothing was going to be normal with this man. The suppressed excitement, the assault on her senses was way out of her experience. She had not dreamed of anything like this.

Together they climbed. A rock wallaby, startled by the approach of two figures, bounded back down the steep slope, making short work of reaching the bottom. Once when Ava’s foothold slipped Vero gathered her close, wrapping one arm around her. She gave an involuntary little cry. She knew it wasn’t fright. It was something far more dangerous that had her catching her breath.

At that height the rumbling of the waterfall was much louder. Big splashes fell over them—not enough to soak on such a hot day, but having a wonderful effect. Ava found herself taking droplets of cold water into her dry mouth. She wondered if this was how Amelia felt with Dev. There was a palpable ache inside her. It was sexual.

Gradually the footholds became narrower, but she turned her feet sideways just as she had done as a child. Varo might have been an experienced rock climber for all the trouble he was having. For all she knew he might have made an attempt on Mount Everest at one time. His own majestic Andes were close by his estancia, with a splendour rivalling the Himalayas.

In a final burst they reached the top, both of them turning to stare down at the infinite plains that spread out to the horizon. Not a single cloud broke up the dazzling peacock-blue of the sky.

“This is magic!” Varo exclaimed. “Superb!”

He still kept an arm around her. Maybe he had forgotten?

“And there’s much more to see.” She broke contact, restless and madly energetic. She might have caught fire from him. “Keep your head down until I tell you to lift it,” she warned, preparing to enter the cave first.

In their shared childhood she, Dev and Amelia had always brought torches so they could explore inside. On a fairly recent climb she and Dev had left a lantern behind. When lit, it threw a very satisfactory light over the interior.

Varo reached out to pull away the curtain of vines that wreathed the neck of the cave.

“It’s dark inside,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to keep your head down.”

He nodded. He had no need to be told. In actual fact he had kept right behind her, to catch her should she slip on all the loose pebbles as fine as gravel.

Then the plunge into the tunnel!

It wasn’t as dark as he’d expected. Although no ray of blazing sunshine pierced the cave, it still managed to cast a luminescence. He was able to judge the moment to stand erect. He saw her kneeling on the ground near one wall of the great tunnel, then there was suddenly light. Golden light that lit the cave and danced over the sandstone walls.

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