A Parisian Proposition. Barbara Hannay
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‘I’ve realised that I should make the most of my trip and do a story about outback life while I’m out here.’
His upper lip curled. ‘And how are you going to do that? By describing the view from your motel window?’
‘Of course not. I want to do an in-depth feature about the real outback.’
Jonno muttered what sounded like a curse and plunged his hands deep in his pockets. ‘You’d be the last person to write about anything that resembles real life in the bush.’
‘And what would you know? I’m a damn good journalist.’
‘Don’t kid yourself, Ms Devereaux. You turn up here. You stumble around a sale yard all starry-eyed and woolly-headed—and accidentally buy a pen of steers. Then you lump your mistakes on me and have the effrontery to talk about cattle-raising as easy money.’
Ah, she thought. I’ve dented that gigantic ego of his. ‘I’m sorry. That was a thoughtless comment.’
He seemed surprised by her apology. For a moment his unsmiling eyes rested on her and they seemed to focus directly on her mouth. Her heart nearly stopped. Then he pulled his gaze upwards and looked her squarely in the eye. ‘From what I’ve seen of your fancy magazine, you prefer fluff and nonsense. I don’t recall an ounce of realism.’
Her chin lifted. ‘Then give me realism.’
‘In what form?’
‘Give me a story, Jonno. Show me what your life is really like.’
He glowered at her. ‘I don’t want to be featured in any story you write.’
‘I’ve promised I won’t do a story about you as an eligible bachelor, but let me write one about your life out here. If you like I can emphasise how un-romantic the bush is for women.’
Holding up her hands as if to stop his flow of protests, she said, ‘You won’t be mentioned. I’ll keep it anonymous—a general story about real life on a cattle property, a picture of what’s expected of a woman or a wife in the bush from a city girl’s point of view.’
‘Which means a patronising, naive point of view.’
She gasped, stung by his words. How could someone so gorgeous be such an arrogant, chauvinist pig? ‘OK, you win! Forget I ever asked! I’ll find someone who doesn’t have a huge grudge against the world beyond his doorstep!’
Swinging away from him, she stormed across the car park.
‘Camille!’
A hard hand gripped her elbow, but she jerked her arm free and hurried on.
‘Camille, wait, damn it!’
The grip was stronger this time and she was forced to stop and turn around.
‘What do you want?’
To her surprise, Jonno was looking just a little shamefaced. ‘I guess you weren’t to know I was conned into that bachelor business, so I do owe you some kind of a story.’
‘Don’t trouble yourself. I can find any number of friendly, co-operative people. You seem to be the only person out here lacking in the famous bush hospitality we hear so much about.’
‘Listen! If you want to do a story about a cattle property, you’d better come out to Edenvale.’
‘To your place?’ She knew her mouth was hanging open as his suggestion sank in.
‘Yeah.’
‘You mean you’re actually inviting me through that locked gate to the inner sanctum?’
The shadow of a smile lightened his features, but then it was gone again as if whipped away by the wind.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked. It seemed impossible that the intransigent Jonno should make such an about-face.
He shrugged. ‘If you’re my business partner, you should take an interest in the well-being of your livestock.’
She’d never thought of that angle. ‘I guess I should.’
‘You can see how the steers you’ve bought settle in.’
‘Great.’
‘They’ve just been weaned. They were still with their mothers yesterday, so they’ll be highly stressed and they’ll need gentle handling when they arrive.’
‘Really? The poor babies.’ Cocking her head to one side, she hid her surprise behind a teasing smile. ‘I hadn’t realised you were such a Sensitive New Age Cowperson, Jonno.’
His jaw stiffened, but apart from that he ignored her dig and asked smoothly, ‘Are you interested in my offer?’
‘Yes, yes, of course I am.’ She could write about her cattle. Already she could see her story taking shape. ‘From City Girl to Cattle Queen in 5 Easy Steps.’ Resisting the temptation to smile coyly, she kept her face deadpan as she added, ‘I’d be fascinated to learn more about your techniques for gentle handling.’
CHAPTER THREE
JONNO’S brother, Gabe, rang about an hour after he arrived home with Camille.
‘I thought I’d better warn you there’s a journalist from that Sydney magazine snooping around town. She was in our office this morning looking for you.’
‘Yeah. I know about her.’
‘Did you know she tried to get me to chopper her into Edenvale?’
‘Look, thanks for the warning, big brother, but actually you’re too late. She’s already found me.’
There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line. ‘I hope you weren’t too tough on her.’
Jonno cleared his throat. ‘Course I wasn’t. We—uh—worked things out—uh—more or less amicably.’
‘Glad to hear you behaved yourself,’ Gabe said. ‘You’ve been so uptight about this magazine caper I had visions of a full-on brawl. It’s a relief to hear she’s still in one piece.’
Jonno winced. What would Gabe think if he knew that not only was Camille Devereaux in one piece, she was relaxing in a deep cane lounger on his back veranda, watching the sunset while Megs, his ginger tabby, purred on her lap and Saxon, his golden Labrador, sprawled across her feet?
He’d been crazy to bring her back here, but he blamed his upbringing. His mother had instilled in both himself and Gabe an innate sense of courtesy.
Only a shabby barbarian could have continued with the sustained rudeness he’d extended towards this woman. He’d never behaved that way before and he’d felt compelled to compensate.
But too late he was realising what a big mistake he’d made by inviting her to Edenvale.
‘It’s a pity you couldn’t have met that girl under more pleasant circumstances,’ Gabe commented. ‘Even a safely married man like me noticed that she’s rather easy on the eye.’
‘You reckon?’ Jonno muttered, and felt his face heat. Not noticing how attractive Camille was had become the major challenge of the day.
He should have followed his initial instincts and refused to have anything to do with her. But he’d made mistake after flaming mistake.
And now she was home with him and had exchanged her tailored city suit for an old pair of jeans and a crimson, super-soft woollen sweater that outlined all too clearly the shapeliness of her breasts, and not looking at her had zoomed to an even higher level of difficulty.
‘By the way,’ Gabe said, ‘Jim Young, the truckie, asked me to pass on a message. He says he’s been held up at Piebald Downs and he won’t get those steers through to you till later this evening.’