Kitabı oku: «Outback Bachelor / The Cattleman's Adopted Family», sayfa 5

Chapter Four

The Present

HER father sat down to a dinner with a sad and haunted look in his eyes. The colour was a bright blue like hers but they were a different shape.

“I’m glad you went riding with Keefe,” he said, picking up his knife and fork. “He mightn’t have shown it but he was really labouring to get through today.”

“I know, Dad.” For a moment she wondered if denying Keefe the comfort of her body was not a failure on her part. For his part, he had accepted her decision and moved on.

“This looks great, love!” Jack praised the unfamiliar dish.

Skye had to smile. He was her dad. He was forever praising her. Everything she did was just great.

“Thai stir-fried beef with a few vegetables and noodles. Hope you like it.”

“I like anything you make,” he told her, quite unnecessarily. “How did you turn into such a good cook?”

“I took lessons in the city,” she said, forking a slice of bell pepper. “Everyone should be able to cook. I enjoy cooking. I’m quite domesticated, really.”

“You know what? So was your mother!” The sad expression lifted like magic. “Cathy was a bonzer little cook. Very fancy. Presented a meal beautifully. Not like your poor old dad. It’s steak and chips mostly and lashings of tomato sauce. At least the steak is prime Djinjara beef. Tender enough to melt in your mouth.” Jack paused, to look directly into his daughter’s eyes. “I thought I spotted a bit of tension between you and Keefe when you arrived. I was pretty keyed up myself.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” she replied gravely. “Mr McGovern’s death came as a terrible shock. As for Keefe and me, nothing is as easy as the old days, Dad. They’re gone. We’re adults now. I have to accept it. Keefe is Keefe, Master of Djinjara and everything else besides. It’s a huge job he’s taken on. In many ways it’s been unfair. There’s always been great pressure on Keefe. Little or no pressure on Scott. All Rachelle has to do is marry more money.”

“She won’t be an easy target,” Jack pronounced. “Keefe will have been left in charge of the McGovern Trust. No fortune-hunter will get past him.”

“Well, I don’t wish any bad experience on Rachelle,” Skye said. “You’d think she’d interest herself in one or other of the McGovern enterprises. I’m sure she’d make a good businesswoman if she tried.”

Jack looked unconvinced. “Very unpleasant young woman, I’m sorry to say.” Jack was never the one to talk badly of anyone. “No one likes her. She’s an outstanding example of a first-class snob, when Keefe, the heir, is anything but. Don’t worry about Keefe, love. I know what he means to you. He’s up to the job. Count on it. I’ve never seen a man prouder of his son than Mr McGovern was of Keefe.”

“True, but he had two sons, Dad,” Skye felt obliged to point out. “Perhaps without meaning to Mr McGovern, while lavishing his love and pride on Keefe, turned Scott into a bitter young man.” She pondered that a moment, then rejected it. Broderick McGovern had loved both his sons.

“No, dear.” Jack McCory shook his head. “Scott sprang from his poor mother’s womb, bitter.”

“Seems like it!” Skye gave a regretful sigh. “Still, many gifts and attributes were showered on Keefe at birth. Not the other son.”

“Not simply the luck of the draw, Skye. Mr McGovern did love Scott. He worried about Scott’s mood changes. Scott was given every opportunity to make a success of himself with that job on Moorali. It would have been a big leg up. He turned it down flat. Both Scott and Rachelle take after the mother’s family, the Crowthers. Mrs McGovern was never really at home on Djinjara, although as a Crowther she was Outback born and raised. Rachelle is like her, in looks as well.”

“I barely remember her,” Skye said. “Lady McGovern has always ruled. I must have been ten or eleven when Keefe’s mother died. Melanoma wasn’t it?”

Jack nodded.

Skye set down her knife and fork seeing an opening. “We never talk about my mother, Dad. There’s only one good photograph of her in the house.”

“And aren’t you the image of her!” Jack exclaimed. “Even then I couldn’t take it out for years and years. The pain of loss was too great. That’s the danger in giving your heart away.”

Gently she touched his hand. “Dad, I understand the pain—”

“No, darlin’, you don’t,” Jack said with conviction. “You only think you know. One has to experience the death of that beloved person to know the total devastation. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“Of course not.” Skye felt chastened, but determined to persevere. “Lady McGovern avoids the whole subject, as you do. It’s like venturing into dangerous territory, but you must understand, Dad, there are things I want to know, things it’s taken me far too long to ask.” Like who exactly was my mother? That was the issue Keefe had referred to as a “Pandora’s box”.

Jack’s head shot up. “Oh, darling girl, I’m sorry. I’m just plain selfish,” he apologised. “All I’ve thought of is my own pain, my own loss. You’ll have to forgive me. The worst of the pain—the most brutal, heart-wrenching grief—has eased. A man couldn’t continue to live with it. But I can never forget. I loved my Cathy with all my heart. She died giving me the best and most beautiful daughter in the whole wide world.”

Skye’s eyes filled with tears. She rose from her chair to put her arms around her father’s shoulders, kissing his weathered cheek. “All right, Dad, we won’t talk now. Finish your meal. There’s coconut ice cream with lime and ginger syrup for later. Maybe when we have our coffee you’ll feel able to answer just a few of my questions.”

Jack had his work cut out, giving his daughter a smile. When all was said and done there was a great deal about his beautiful Cathy he didn’t know. Cathy had been such a private person not even he had been able to intrude.

Skye returned to her chair feeling a prickling of unease. If her mother had been a member of Lady McGovern’s family in England—maybe extended family—what relationship did she herself bear to the McGovern family? According to legend, her mother was the daughter or niece of a friend of Lady McGovern’s. No one knew exactly, it was all terribly vague. Deliberately vague. But why?

She was soon to discover her father knew amazingly little about his beautiful young wife’s background…

“I married Cathy because I loved her, not because of any background,” he said, resting back in his armchair. “She was like an angel from Heaven, bringing glory into my life. I couldn’t believe it when she consented to marry me.”

Skye had no difficulty accepting that. Wasn’t her own situation with Keefe a reversal of the situation that had existed between her father and mother; the social divide which would have been far greater in their day? Then there was the issue regarding her mother’s exact connection to the McGoverns. “But how did the relationship grow, Dad?” she asked, covering her bewilderment. “You were a stockman at the time. She was a guest of Lady McGovern. How could it be? Where did you meet? How often? How long did it take you to fall in love?” She knew from her father’s expression that the whole topic was causing him distress, but she felt driven to continue.

“Me?” Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Why, the instant I laid eyes on her! And she knew. I must have given myself away that very day. She was so beautiful, so fresh and sweet. Nothing stuck-up about her. She was someone who spoke to everyone on the station. Everyone loved her. That love has been passed on to you. When I was out of it with grief, there was always someone keeping an eye on you. Lady McGovern placed you in Lena’s care.”

“And wonderful she was to me too!” Skye was still in contact with Lena, who now lived with a family in Alice Springs.

Jack nodded. “True blue was Lena. I tried once to get her to talk—fill me in about Cathy and her connection to the family—but Lena wouldn’t open up. Still, I think Lena knew a lot.”

“About what, specifically?” Maybe she could get more information out of Lena than her father if she tried?

“Oh, an amazing amount of stuff,” Jack said, looking like he wanted to terminate the whole conversation. “I guess we should have had this discussion years ago, but in all truth, love, I never did know a lot. Cathy wouldn’t talk about her past. She’d started a new life. With me. Whatever she wanted I went along with. So in a way I’m accountable for her death.”

“No, Dad, no!” Skye protested strongly. “You have to stop all that. It was a tragedy.”

“Yes, a tragedy,” Jack groaned. “She died in my arms. My little Cathy. Do you suppose it could have been because you arrived early?”

This was way beyond Skye. There had never been any mention that she had been a premature baby. All her life she had enjoyed excellent health. Unease struck harder.

“Who attended the birth? Who was the doctor, the midwife, whatever?”

Jack’s face was showing strain. “Tom Morris. A good bloke, a good doctor. He’s dead now, Tom.”

“Who called him?”

Jack looked stunned. “Why, Lady McGovern got him here fast. He was flown in. I remember him saying practically right off he had concerns.”

“Why didn’t she go to hospital?”

“She didn’t want to,” Jack said broken-heartedly. “She was adamant about it. She was happy to be on Djinjara. She loved it here. She loved being with me. ‘You’re my minder, Jack,’ she used to say with a laugh. I minded her. Yes, I did. Until the end. I don’t know what her reasons were for leaving her own people. All I know is she found sanctuary with Lady McGovern. Lady McGovern used to talk to Cathy like she was her own child. Of course she wasn’t. But I wouldn’t be surprised to hear there was some blood connection.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t, love.” Jack shook his head. “And I wouldn’t dare ask the old lady.”

So her father had lived with his own demons. High time for her to face up to her own. Lady McGovern would know the truth. Probably she was the only one living who did. But she had the dismal notion Lady McGovern wasn’t about to help anyone out. Bizarre as it sounded, even Broderick McGovern might never have known a great deal about Cathy. He would have been married by then with a wife and children.

Time to visit her mother’s grave. Then time to go back to her city life. Back to the life she had forged for herself. She had to confront the fact the same aura of unease regarding her background surrounded Keefe as it did her. Maybe the crucial bits that were missing explained why neither of them seemed able to move forward. Only Lady McGovern knew exactly what had happened all those years ago…

She took one of the horses to the McGovern graveyard, tethering the mare in the shade of the massive desert oaks. A huge wrought-iron fence enclosed the whole area, the iron railings topped by spikes. The gates were closed, but unlocked. She opened one side and walked through, shutting it with a soft clang behind her. This was the McGovern graveyard, scrupulously tended, with generations of McGoverns buried here. Everywhere there were markers and plaques, tall urns, a few statues. A classical-style white marble statue of a weeping maiden marked the grave of the wife of the McGovern founding father.

What was her mother doing, lying here among the McGoverns? She had asked Lady McGovern once when she had been about twelve and had failed to get any answer whatever. Just a stern silence. She had never asked again. Broderick McGovern’s grave as yet had no headstone. No one had expected him to die so prematurely, leaving his son at barely thirty to take up the reins.

She had brought flowers with her. Not from the home gardens, though she could have asked and been given as many armfuls as she wanted. Instead, she had broken off several branches of pink and white bauhinia, arranging them in a sheaf. Oddly, although the cemetery wasn’t a cheerful place, it wasn’t depressing either. Surrounded by such incredible empty vastness, in the distance the ancient temples of the sandhills glowing an orange-red flame, it wasn’t difficult to get one’s own life into perspective.

Her mother’s grave was marked by a child-sized white marble angel with outspread wings. The inscription read:

Catherine Margaret McCory, 1964-1986.

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there

Silently she mouthed several more lines of the famous bereavement poem. She knew them by heart. All around her the silence was absolute except for the soft tranquil swish of the desert breeze. For an instant she fancied the breeze very sweetly kissed her cheek. Perhaps it was a greeting from her mother? Why not? It was hard to believe one simply ceased. There was mind, spirit. Only the body was consigned to the ground.

Cathy could well be in the thousand winds that blew, the swift uplifting rush of birds, the soft stars that shone at night. Though the stars that shone in their billions over Djinjara were ten times more brilliant than city-soft.

“Where are you, Cathy?” Without being aware of it Skye spoke aloud. “Who are you?” She desperately needed reassurances. Tears for what might have been pooled in her eyes. She bent to place the bauhinia branches, weighed down by exquisite blossom, on the white stone. There were so many mysteries in life. She couldn’t seem to get to the bottom of the mystery of her own family. Had her mother lived she could have bombarded her with questions and got answers. She had always been a questioning child. Now it seemed her mother’s short life had been defined by her death.

She paid her respects at Broderick McGovern’s resting place then made her way slowly along the gravelled path to the tall gates. Along the way she passed a brilliant bank of honeysuckle that adorned one side of the fence, pausing to draw in the haunting perfume. Life might be many things, she thought, but in the end it all came down to one thing. Great or small, the body returned to dust. She chose to believe the soul roamed freely…

Just as she reached the gate, a station Jeep pulled up so hard it raised a great swirl of red dust and fallen dry leaves. Deliberate, Skye thought. Rachelle was at the wheel. Resolutely Skye turned to face her. She could hardly remount and gallop away. Unpleasant and abrupt as Rachelle was, this was Djinjara. Rachelle was a McGovern. She had to be accorded respect.

Rachelle was out of the vehicle with the speed of a rocket being fired. She was dressed in a cream silk shirt and jodhpurs, riding boots on her feet when it was well known Rachelle didn’t particularly enjoy riding, though she was competent, as expected of a McGovern.

“What are you doing here?” Rachelle whipped off her big black designer sunglasses.

“I wonder you ask, Rachelle,” Skye managed a quiet answer. “My mother is buried here.”

“Highly unusual, I’d say.” There were shadows under Rachelle’s fine dark eyes. She looked faintly ill and nerve-ridden. Yet even in the tranquillity of the graveyard, with her father laid to rest not far away, Rachelle couldn’t rein in her dislike and resentment.

“You should speak to your grandmother some time,” Skye suggested. “She was very fond of my mother. My mother could only have been buried here with her approval.”

“It’s all seriously odd,” Rachelle said, a vein throbbing in her temple. “That’s all I can say. Your mother should be all but forgotten. You didn’t know her. We were only little kids when she died yet we can’t seem to get rid of her. Or you either.”

Skye gave the other woman a saddened look. “Why do you hate me so much, Rachelle?”

Rachelle looked back with huge disbelief. “You don’t know?” she hooted. “You robbed me of my brother for years and years of my life.”

“No.”

“You did.”

“Maybe he saw you weren’t going to be my friend?”

“Please! You could never be numbered among my friends.”

“Where are all your friends, Rachelle?” Skye retorted, suddenly firing up. “You didn’t have any at school. I’m fairly modest by nature but you might recall I did. I was also head girl in my final year.”

“How impressive!” Rachelle sneered. “Who knows why Gran wanted you there in the first place. I guess she had to be fond of your mother. Who was she anyway? Over twenty years have gone by and Gran won’t say a word about her.”

Wasn’t that the truth! “You surely must know if she was a relative? One of Lady McGovern’s relatives in England?” Skye challenged, so desperate for clues she would ask even Rachelle.

Rachelle’s outraged expression rejected that. “I’d have a heart attack if I thought you and I were related,” she snapped off. “Your mother was just some stray Gran befriended. I don’t know from where. Like I care!”

“But you do care.”

It had got to the stage where they all cared. “Nonsense!” Rachelle’s cry was a near shriek. “You’re the bane of my life, Skye McCory.”

“Sounds like you should get a life,” Skye advised, turning away.

“Keefe might have loved you when we were kids,” Rachelle called after her. “But he doesn’t love you now. You’ll never get him. That’s what he told me, I swear. Though I expect that cuts your heart to ribbons. You love him. Don’t think I’m a fool. You’ve always loved him. But nothing will ever happen between you and him. Keefe has his life planned differently. He’s way out of your league.”

Skye had to wait until the initial shock had worn off. “Where did you learn to be such a terrible snob, Rachelle?” she asked quietly enough, though Rachelle’s words had landed like punches.

“It’s called knowing who you are,” Rachelle explained with a lofty tilt of her chin. “I’m a McGovern. You’re Jack McCory our overseer’s kid. He’s a real rough diamond, isn’t he, your dad?”

Skye felt heat burn up her veins. Steady. Steady. She got herself under control. “He could teach you some manners,” she answered with cool disdain. “I can see there’s never going to be a way for us to start over, Rachelle. In a way, I’m sorry about that. I know you’re not good at taking advice, but if I were you I’d jettison the bitterness and save your sanity. Hatred and jealousy hold bad karma.”

“Bad karma?” Rachelle’s laugh held more than a hint of ferocity. “Tell me about it! And what’s this with Rob? He only stayed over thinking he could hang around you. Except Keefe put a sock in it and set him to work. Using Rob as a back-up, are you, dear? Can’t have Keefe. Scott isn’t interested. Maybe Robbie will do?”

Introducing Cousin Robert at this point caught Skye by surprise. She hadn’t laid eyes on Rob since the day of the funeral.

“Well?” Rachelle gave Skye a disgusted look.

“Sorry, I need time to digest that, Rachelle. Rob is nice. I like him. But I have no romantic interest in him whatever.”

“Maybe not but you do need a leg up in the world. A Sullivan would certainly do. But there again too much of a reach.” Rachelle laughed with bitter triumph. “You’re nothing but—”

She broke off hastily as a tall shadow fell. Both young women turned round to see Keefe standing barely a few feet away. How had he moved so silently? Skye marvelled. It didn’t seem possible. But, then, Keefe managed to do some pretty incredible things.

“Is this really the place to have an argument?” he asked tersely, his light eyes blazing from one young woman to the other.

“Not an argument, Keefe.” Colour flooded Rachelle’s pale face. “I was laughing.”

Keefe’s expression would have daunted anyone. “If that was a laugh, Rachelle, you’d never get me to join in. Why are you always attacking Skye? Is it ever going to end? Skye has no interest in Rob. It’s Rob who is out of his depth.”

“Please, Keefe! Don’t go on,” Skye implored, seeing all Rachelle’s bravado drain out like her life’s blood. “Rachelle is very stressed. We all are. I came to pay my respects to your father and visit my mother’s grave. I’ll go now.”

“Believe me, that’s for the best,” said Rachelle hoarsely, no more able to control herself than a two-year-old. “This is family. This is the family cemetery. I have fresh flowers in the Jeep for Dad. Are you going to join me, Keefe?” She swung her dark head to appeal to her brother.

“Yes,” he returned sombrely, speaking directly to Skye. “No matter what happens, life goes on. We need to round up the best of the brumbies in the morning. We badly need a few more working horses. I thought you’d like to come along.”

Rachelle moved closer to her brother. “Count me in. I’d like to come.”

“I thought you regarded herding brumbies as a bad idea?” Keefe countered, looking down at his sister.

“Maybe I want to rediscover the thrill.”

“Then I have to warn you, you might be sore and sorry the next day.”

“What about her?” Rachelle countered, wearing a huge frown.

“Even you will have to admit Skye’s a far better rider than you, Rachelle,” Keefe said, keeping his tone level. “Also she keeps up with her riding when she’s back in the city. I can’t think when you last went out for a gallop, even if you do like to wear riding clothes. But I will say they suit you.”

“I can keep up,” Rachelle maintained stoutly. “I’ll take one of the horses out this very afternoon. Give it a workout.”

Keefe didn’t answer, but turned back to Skye. “I’d like to make a pre-dawn start. Okay with you?”

The least contact with Rachelle left Skye feeling frayed. “Keefe, I think I’ll pass,” she told him quietly.

“You amaze me!” There was a satiric inflection in his voice. “Besides, you can’t pass. I’ve counted you in.”

They saddled up when Minghala, the dawn star, hung high in the east. It was still dark and the air was a good ten degrees cooler than it would be in only a few hours’ time.

Keefe, sitting tall in the saddle, looked across to Skye. “Stick with me,” he said.

“You got it, boss!” she mocked, touching a finger to the brim of her Akubra.

“You don’t want to?” There was a twist to his mouth.

“It used to be much the best place to be.” Their relationship was highly sexual but the strong attachment was also non-sexual. Their liking for each other, the interests they shared, their love of the land. It would always hold them together.

“Don’t talk like it’s history,” he said.

And an odd history it was too! Swiftly she changed the subject. “I see you’ve allowed Rob to come along?’ She looked towards the group of other riders. Rob Sullivan was a fine horseman and an excellent polo player. He often played on Keefe’s team.

“Actually, Rob begged to come along,” Keefe stressed. “He’ll be an asset. I don’t know about Rachelle.” Rachelle made up the rest of the party along with three of the station’s top aboriginal stockmen. All three had great tracking eyes—tracking was essential, demanding considerable skill—and a wonderful way with horses. One of them, Jonah, was manoeuvring his gelding back and forth in a parody of herding cattle. Everyone was mounted, circling the forecourt, getting the frisky horses under control.

“So where are we heading?” Skye could feel the build-up of excitement.

Keefe rode alongside her. “The mob has been spotted drinking near Jinjin Swamp. They could have moved on but some of the mares are carrying foals. That will slow them down.”

“So who’s the kingpin these days?” she asked, watching a very impatient-looking Rachelle scolding the horse she was riding. The mare was acting up a little, but there was no doubt Rachelle’s bad mood was communicating itself to the animal.

“Still Old Man Mooki,” Keefe said, lifting an arm and gesturing to the north-west to mark their start. “He’s still capable of impregnating the mares and he’s still full of fight. Mooki is as wily as they come. He’s no use to us, of course, but there are ten or twelve decent-looking colts running with him. We’re after them.”

“How many in the mob?” She looked towards the horizon, now washed with ever-expanding bands of pearl grey, pink and lemon.

“Around thirty last time we checked. I know you’re good at this, but don’t take any chances.”

She responded to the seriousness of his tone. “I won’t.”

“You might keep an eye on Rachelle from time to time. I’ve asked Rob to do the same. He’s got one hell of a crush on you, by the way, and not hiding it very well.”

“Some men wear their hearts on their sleeves, others give a woman only the occasional glimpse,” she commented dryly.

“Maybe there’s some underlying fear? Ever think of that? Clearly I can’t wear my heart on my sleeve. I’m running this outfit.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve long since got the message.”

“Have you really?” He flicked a diamond-hard glance at her. “Maybe you’re not as good at interpreting as you think. Anyway, as a favour to me, don’t give Rob the slightest encouragement. He doesn’t need it.”

“What, not even a smile?” Her blue eyes sparkled with challenge.

“Next thing you know he’ll want to stay on longer.” Keefe’s answer was crisp.

“I don’t think so,” she disagreed. “There are lots of girls out there.”

“Not like you there aren’t,” he clipped off. “Damn this thing!” He began to pull on the bandana around his neck to loosen it. They were all wearing protective bandanas. Hers was sapphire blue; Keefe’s a bright red. The colour on him was wonderful, setting off the polished bronze of his skin.

She had never seen a man so impossibly dashing. “Anyway, it’s like I said. I’m not going to compound your worries. I’m going home.”

“Are you, Sky-Eyes?” He turned his dark head abruptly, pinning her gaze.

She took a quick fluttery breath. He hadn’t called her Sky-Eyes since she couldn’t remember when. “You know perfectly well I have to. You’re my fantasy lover, Keefe,” she said on a bitter-sweet note.

“Now you tell me. You dream of me.” He looked straight ahead.

“Nightmares mostly.” She laughed, but it came out off-key.

“But very real.”

“Very real,” she admitted, thinking of the torture of awakening to find he really wasn’t there in the bed beside her.

“Even at their worst you want them,” he said.

“One ought to be able to take medication for want.”

“Maybe want is wired as much into the brain as the flesh.” He broke off with a groan. “Look at Rachelle! Early morning isn’t her scene. Why did she want to come?”

“Hopefully to see me take a tumble,” she suggested, laconically.

“My sister is far more likely to be the one taking a tumble.” His reply was grim.

“I hope not! Even under provocation I have no heart to wish any harm on Rachelle.”

“Only on me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Keefe,” she said sharply, rising above the difficulties that had been thrown in their way. “You’re the person I’d miss most in the world. Not that you don’t know it,” she added, with a helpless flare of hostility.

He laughed beneath his breath, reaching across to lightly tap her hand. “Some things, Sky-Eyes, we can’t change. Much as we fight it.”

An hour later, the vast landscape was drenched in blazing sunlight. They cut a swathe through a section of Djinjara’s great herd, which was moving in a slow, snake-like formation of well over a mile, undulating towards water. Riders surrounded the herd, keeping them in line with little effort. They exchanged waves. One of the aboriginal stockmen was giving voice to a native song not unlike a chant. Not only the cattle were finding the lilting sound calming, even though it had grown very hot by now. As always, they hoped for an afternoon thunderstorm to bring the blessed rain. Hope was everything on the desert fringe.

Jinjin was a moving mass of waterbirds, spoonbills, shags, white-faced herons with long pointed beaks, huge flocks of ibis. The pelicans wouldn’t come into the swamps until they had good rains. Soaring red gums threw their long leafy arms over an amazing green carpet of lush grass with countless little wildflowers in all shades of purple. Their sweet fragrance was saturating the air. Obviously the whole amazing area was flourishing on the moisture drawn from beneath. It was alive with droning bees and dragonflies and multicoloured butterflies that drifted about like spent petals raining down from the trees.

“You’d swear the old guy knew we were after him,” Keefe swept off his Akubra to savour a moment of cool relief

“Not here, boss,” Jonah called. “Bin here, though. Ya can see all the tracks. Mebbe this mornin’. Can’t be far.”

“We’ll take a ten-minute break,” Keefe decided, already starting to dismount. Everyone was tired. So tired. But determined. There was a job to be done.

Skye followed suit. She was fading more quickly than she had thought. The shimmering heat over the spinifex plains was unholy. There was one plus, however. Her mare, with her thoroughbred lines and fine aristocratic head, was as smooth as silk to ride. That gave her extra confidence.

“This is awful!” Rachelle staggered up to them to complain. “I feel like I’m about to pass out.” Her smooth olive skin was mottled with heat rash. Skye felt really sorry for her. No use to say, “You shouldn’t have come, Rachelle.” That would have been tantamount to waving a red flag in front of a bull.

Keefe looked at his sister with concern. “You wanted to come, Rachelle,” he reminded her. “It is terribly hot. We’re in for another dry storm. Why don’t you relax for a while, cool down, then call it a day? We’re over the worst of it, but there’s more to come. The mob can’t be far away.”

Robert walked towards them, raising a hand. “It doesn’t get much better than this,” he enthused, his good-looking face aglow with heat and excitement. No brumby chases where he came from. No real rough and tumbles. “What a picturesque place!” he exclaimed. “It has to be seen to be believed. You couldn’t even count the butterflies. But no brumbies, alas!”

“We’ll find them,” Keefe said with conviction.

“How’s it going, Skye?” Robert transferred his gaze to Skye, thinking she looked a vision even after a tough ride. Her beautiful skin was flushed, honey-gold wisps of hair escaped from her thick plait to stray around her face: her eyes were as vivid a blue as the sky.