Australia: In Bed with a King: The Cattle King's Mistress. Emma Darcy
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seething with furious emotion. Let them have their man-to-man chat, her mind raged. Let Bobby do his worst behind her back. Let Nathan believe whatever he liked of her. She’d steel herself with all the armour she could summon so that neither man could touch her. It was stupid, stupid, stupid, to count on anyone to do right by her! Especially men who just wanted to feather their beds with a woman they fancied.
Terry, one of the waiters, was serving a selection of hors d’oeuvres to the guests. Bobby’s wife was gaily chatting to another couple who had been to Granny Gorge that afternoon, displaying no disturbance of mind over her straying husband, not even a questioning glance at Miranda as she rejoined the group. But Celine’s gaze did snap to Nathan when Bobby escorted him inside.
“Ooooh…magnifique!” she breathed in girlish awe, and Miranda sourly thought Nathan undoubtedly had the same effect on every woman. He wasn’t only special to her.
Nevertheless, despite his drawing the attention of the whole group, it was she he looked at, his gaze boring straight through her defences, shaking her up again, even as she glared back at him, telling herself she wouldn’t let him mean anything to her.
Bobby was talking at him in a confidential manner. There was no discernible response on Nathan’s face. As they came within easy earshot, Nathan turned to him and said very clearly, “You have the wrong man. This resort is the business of my brother Tommy, and he’s happy to leave its management in Miranda’s very capable hands.”
So Bobby was already trying to go over her head, Miranda surmised, though Nathan was the wrong man for that, which meant he’d try Tommy next.
Bobby frowned. “Surely you network.”
“As a family, yes. But none of us interfere with each other’s areas of special interests.” His face took on a hard arrogance as he pre-empted any reply from Bobby. “Though perhaps I should add that the whole family would swing in to protect any of our interests should they be threatened.” His gaze cut straight to Miranda. “We look after our own in the Kimberly.”
She was instantly thrown into more turmoil. Did he consider her his? Was he promising she was safe from Bobby, regardless of anything the man said to anyone?
“You’re one of the Kings?” another male guest queried, obviously fascinated by this exchange.
Nathan swung to him with a little smile of acknowledgement. “Yes. Nathan King. The cattle station is my business. And you are…?”
A flurry of introductions and handshakes followed. A keen curiosity about the running of a cattle station prompted several questions at once.
“Well, one requisite is being ready to cope with any emergency,” Nathan answered. “This afternoon one of my stockmen was thrown from his horse and it looks as though his back may be broken.”
Expressions of dismay and sympathy rippled around the guests. Miranda frowned. Was this the cause of his late arrival? “Calling an ambulance is not an option out here,” he went on. “Under instructions from the flying doctor service, we trucked him in to the station airstrip, loaded him into a plane and flew him off to hospital.”
“Any news of him yet?” Miranda asked, guilty about her own selfish concerns when one of Nathan’s men might well be fighting for his life.
“No.” His vivid blue eyes targeted her. “It was five-thirty by the time we had him safely on his way. I’ve arranged to be called here when information comes in.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “Would you like a drink?”
“Yes.” He nodded towards the bar. “Shall I help myself?”
The bar attendant was on his way to the group with a tray of cocktails.
“I’ll make you whatever drink you’d like,” she offered, hoping to have a few private moments with him.
“Thank you,” he returned drily, as though no longer expecting anything from her.
Which made Miranda burn with more uncertainties.
As they both moved towards the bar, Celine called, “Bobby, why is it called a cattle station instead of a ranch?”
Miranda silently blessed the claim for her husband’s attention.
“Probably because they use huge road-trains, up to fifty metres long, to take the stock to market,” someone else answered.
“Yes, and it’s best to get off the road if you see one coming,” another guest chimed in, proceeding to recount his experience of road-trains, which occupied everyone else’s attention.
A lively distraction from the injured stockman, Miranda thought, then reflected that it might have been Nathan thrown from his horse…and how would she have felt then? Even in her current state of violent confusion, he tugged at something vital in her.
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