The Cattle Baron. Margaret Way
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“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.”
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