The Socialite and the Cattle King

by Lindsay Armstrong

  ‘There could be. There could be tributaries with some water in them, it was a fairly good wet season, but there’ll also be crocs.’

  ‘Croc…Crocodiles?’ she stammered.

  ‘Uh-huh. Mostly fresh-water ones, usually safe, but enough to give you a fright. And it’s not completely unknown for the odd salt-water croc to find its way up here. They are not safe.’

  ‘I see. OK,’ she said judiciously. ‘I’m happy to stay dirty.’

  He frowned. ‘You also said battered, but you told me you were fine earlier. Where…?’

  She held up a hand. ‘I am fine. Just a bit shook up. It’s also starting to get cold—that might be making me feel my age,’ she said humorously. ‘Don’t old cowboys feel every mended bone when there’s a chill in the air?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He looked rueful. ‘But we should make some preparations. I don’t want to light a fire—the breeze is blowing towards the plane now—so our best bet is to wear as much of our clothing as we can.’

  Holly had inspected their bags earlier. Hers had mostly contained clothes, his had yielded a few useful items other than clothes: a serious penknife with all sorts of attachments, a small but powerful pair of binoculars, a compass and a torch. And they both had wind cheaters fortunately, for later when the temperature dropped.

  ‘All right.’ She got up. ‘But I do have to go on a little walkabout. I’ll add some clothes at the same time. I presume if I’m not close to water I’m safe?’

  ‘Relatively,’ he replied. ‘But don’t go far, and stamp around a bit. There could be snakes.’

  Holly swore under her breath.

  When she returned, he’d laid out a meal. He’d cut up one of the tinned hams and, together with biscuits, dates and raisins, he’d set it all out on two pieces of cardboard roughly shaped as plates. And he’d poured two plastic cups of wine.

  He handed her his pocket knife and said he was happy to use his fingers.

  They ate companionably in the last of the daylight, then the dark. He told her about some of the safaris he’d been on and the electronic-tagging system he’d been involved with that tracked animals.

  She got so involved in his stories, she might have been in Africa or Asia with him, experiencing the triumphs and the disasters he’d encountered.

  He also poured them a second, then a third, cup of wine.

  ‘This will send me to sleep,’ she murmured. ‘Or make me drunk, as well as give me a hangover.’

  She didn’t see the acute little glance he beamed her way.

  ‘I doubt the hangover bit,’ he said. ‘It’s very light, but it might be an idea to get settled now. How about we scoop some sand about to make a bit of a hollow and something to rest our heads on?’

  ‘OK. You hold the torch and I’ll—’

  ‘No. You hold the torch and I’ll—’

  ‘But I can—’

  ‘For once in your life, just do as you’re told, Holly Harding!’

  She subsided, then chuckled suddenly.

  ‘I probably look quite amusing,’ he said as he scooped sand. ‘But you don’t have to laugh.’

  ‘I’m not laughing at you,’ she told him.

  ‘Who, then?’

  She waved a hand. ‘It just seems a very long way from society weddings, balls and so on—Oh!’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘When was your first pre-wedding party?’

  ‘Tomorrow. Nothing we can do about it,’ he said with a grimace.

  ‘Perhaps they’ll cancel it because you haven’t turned up?’

  ‘Perhaps. Not that I would wish it on them—having to cancel it—but the more concerned people are about us, the sooner they’ll start organizing a search.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said eagerly, then sat back again. ‘What was I saying? Yes, it’s actually rather lovely. Look at the stars,’ she marveled, and hiccupped. ‘Told you,’ she added.

  ‘Listen, take the torch if you need another bathroom call—don’t go too far—and then let’s go to bed, Miss Harding.’

  ‘Roger wilco, Mr Wyndham!’

  When she came back, he’d lined the hollow that he’d scooped with the cardboard of the cartons and the paper the foodstuffs had been wrapped in. As they settled themselves, he draped the rest of their clothes over them, then the two blankets.

  She slept for about three hours, curled up beside him with his arm protectively over her.

  Then she woke, and it wasn’t so lovely any more. It was freezing. At first she had no idea where she was, then there was something large moving around on the edge of the creek bed.

  She moved convulsively and backed into Brett’s arms with a squeak of fear.

  ‘Shh,’ he murmured and flicked on the torch. ‘It’s only a kangaroo. I’ve been watching it for a bit. It’s just curious. Kangaroos aren’t renowned for attacking and eating people.’

  ‘I k-know that,’ Holly stammered. ‘It must have been all the tales of Africa you told me. I feel terrible.’ She added.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he queried with a hint of surprise.

  ‘Stiff and sore. Everything’s aching. How about you?’

  ‘I’m too damn cold to feel a thing. Come closer,’ he ordered, and as she turned around with difficulty he gathered her into his arms. ‘It’s all the result of bouncing around in the plane, performing heavy tasks and sleeping on a river bed.’

  ‘I suppose so. Mmm…at least that’s a bit warmer. Do you mind if I really burrow in?’

  ‘Why should I mind?’ He stroked her back. ‘In the light of hypothermia, it’s the only thing to do. Just relax if you can.’ He pulled the thin blankets from the plane more securely over her.

  She was too grateful to protest, and gradually the protection of both blankets plus his body brought her some warmth, and her aching muscles unknotted a little.

  She wasn’t aware of the moment things changed—the moment when it wasn’t only warmth and comfort she was seeking, or receiving, but something different. It came about so subtly it seemed entirely natural, a natural progression towards a greater closeness that claimed them both at the same time.

  His hands slipped beneath her clothes as their mouths touched and he teased her lips apart. She moved her hands and slid them beneath his windcheater, responding to his kiss as she hugged him. From then on she forgot the cold and the discomfort of the river bed; she was lost to all good sense, she was to think later.

  But, at the time, it was magic. She remembered something he’d said to her at the masked ball about celebrating her lovely, slim body to both their satisfactions. It wasn’t quite like that—they were too hampered by clothes, covers and freezing night-air for that—but he gave her an intimation of what it would be like if they were together on a bed, or anywhere smooth and soft.

  He transported her mentally to an oasis of delight where her skin would feel like warm silk—as he’d also promised. Even in the rough environment of a dry riverbed he managed to ignite her senses to a fever pitch as he kissed and caressed her, as he touched her intimately and made her tremble with longing, need and rapture.

  She had her own sensory perceptions. She drew her fingers through the rough dark hair on his chest; she laid her cheek then her lips on the smooth skin of his shoulder, before returning her mouth to his to be kissed deeply again. And again.

  She cupped her hand down the side of his face; she moved against the hard planes of his body. She was provocative, pressing her breasts against him and tracing the long, strong muscles of his back.

  She was alight with desire for Brett Wyndham, she thought, when she could think. Alight, moving like a warm silken flame he couldn’t resist in his arms.

  How much further things would have got out of hand between them, she was never to know as a belligerent bellow split the chilly air.

  They both jumped convulsively then scrambled to their feet, rearranging their clothes as best they could as Brett also searched for the torch. When he found it, it was to illuminate a mob of wild-looking cattle, some with hug
e horns, advancing down the creek bed towards them.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Brett swore. ‘Stay behind me,’ he ordered. He reached up and tore a spindly limb from a tree growing out of the bank. ‘They’re probably as surprised as we are.’

  With threatening moves, and a lot of yelling and whistling, he dispersed the mob eventually—but only after they’d got uncomfortably close. Then they took to their heels as if of one mind and thundered back the way they’d come, causing a minor sandstorm and leaving them both coughing and spluttering, sweating and covered in sand.

  ‘Just goes to show, you don’t have to go to Africa for wildlife excitement,’ he said wryly.

  ‘You have quite a way with cattle!’

  ‘That was more luck than anything.’

  Holly frowned. ‘They didn’t look like Brahmans.’

  ‘They weren’t, that’s why I was a bit lucky. They were cleanskins, in case you didn’t notice.’

  ‘Cleanskins?’

  ‘Yes. Rogue cattle that have evaded mustering and branding and therefore are not trained to it. Independent thinkers, in other words. Throwbacks to earlier breeds.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yep.’ He dragged a hand through his hair and put the torch on the ground. ‘Where were we?’

  Chapter Seven

  THEY stared at each in the torchlight then started to laugh.

  In fact, Holly almost cried, she laughed so hard; he put his arms around her.

  ‘I know, I know, but one day I will make love to you with no interruptions,’ he said into her hair.

  Holly sobered and rested against him.

  ‘Look,’ he added. ‘You can just see the horizon. A new day.’

  ‘How long will it take them to come?’ she asked.

  ‘No idea, but just in case we have to spend another night we’ll need to get organized.’

  Holly sat up. ‘Another night?’

  ‘That’s the worst-case scenario,’ he said. ‘The best is that they know we’re missing and they know roughly the area. So they’ll keep looking until they find us.’

  But full daylight brought another challenge: rain and low cloud.

  ‘I thought this was supposed to be the dry season,’ Holly quipped as a shower swept up the river bed.

  They’d moved all their gear under tree-cover on the bank as best they could as soon as the clouds had rolled over. They were sitting under the cover of the plastic V-sheet Brett had hooked up from some branches.

  ‘It is. Doesn’t mean to say we can’t get the odd shower. You know…’ He stared out at the rain drumming down on the river bed, then looked at her. ‘If you cared to take your clothes off, it might be quite refreshing.’

  Holly looked startled. ‘Do you mean skinny-dip?’

  He shrugged. ‘Why not? It’s our only chance of getting clean for a while.’

  Holly drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. ‘Clean,’ she repeated with deep longing. Her eyes flew open and she jumped up and started shedding clothes.

  Brett blinked, not only at the fact that she did it but at the speed she did it. A rueful little smile twisted his lips as she stopped short at her underwear—a lacy peach-pink bra with matching bikini briefs.

  ‘That’s as far as I’m going to go,’ she told him, and climbed down the bank to run out into the rain with something like a war cry.

  He had to laugh as he watched her prancing around for a moment, then he stood up to shed his clothes down to his boxer shorts and climbed down the bank to join her.

  It was a heavy, soaking shower but it didn’t last that long. As it petered out, Holly—now more subdued—said in a heartfelt way as her wet hair clung to her head and face, her body pale and sleek with moisture, ‘That was divine!’

  She ran her hands up and down her arms and licked the raindrops from her lips.

  ‘Yes, although I didn’t expect you to do this.’ He grinned down at her and flicked some strands of wet hair off her face.

  ‘I suspect most girls would have done the same if they’d been through what we have. Now, if only I had a towel…’

  As she spoke, thunder rumbled overhead and a fork of lightning appeared to spear into the river bed not far from them.

  Holly jumped convulsively and flew into Brett’s arms. He picked her up and carried her swiftly to their makeshift shelter.

  ‘Th-that was so close,’ she stammered.

  ‘Mmm…I don’t think it’ll last long; it’s just a freak storm.’ But he held her very close as more thunder rumbled.

  ‘Lightning,’ she said huskily, ‘Is right up there with flying foxes for me. It’s funny; there are a whole heap of things I can be quite cool about.’

  ‘Mexican bandits and sheikhs?’

  ‘Yep—well, relatively cool. But lightning—’ she shivered ‘—I don’t like.’

  ‘Just as well I’m here, then,’ he murmured and bent his head to kiss her.

  ‘This—this is terrible,’ Holly gasped, many lovely minutes later.

  ‘What’s so terrible?’ He drew his hands down her body and skimmed her hips beneath the elastic of her briefs.

  They were lying together beneath the protection of the plastic sheet in each other’s arms on one of the blankets. They were damp but not cold—definitely not cold…

  ‘How did I get to the stage of not being able to keep my hands off you?’

  He laughed softly. ‘For the record, I’m in the same boat.’

  ‘But it’s been so fast. There’s got to be so much we don’t know about each other.’

  ‘It’s how you get to know people that matters.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she conceded. ‘I guess it helps, but there’s an awful lot I don’t know about you.’

  He opened his mouth, appeared to change his mind and then said, ‘Such as?’

  Holly went to sit up but he pulled her back into his arms.

  ‘In fact, you know more about me than most people,’ he growled into her ear.

  ‘But, for example—’ She hesitated suddenly aware that she was about to tread on sacred ground, from an interviewer’s perspective. But surely she was more than that now? ‘I know you were engaged and that it didn’t work out, but I don’t know why. And I sense some—I don’t know—darkness.’

  She felt him go still for a moment, then his arms fell away and he sat up and stared through the dripping view to the river bed.

  Holly sat up too after a couple of minutes, during which he was quite silent.

  ‘Have I offended you?’ she ventured hesitantly. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

  He turned his head and looked down at her. Her pink bra had a smudge of mud on it, but he could see the outline of her high, pointed breasts clearly. Her waist was tiny, tiny enough to span with his hands, but her hips were delicately curved and positively peachy.

  He rubbed his jaw. ‘No.’ He smiled suddenly and ironically. ‘Are you open to a suggestion?’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked uncertainly.

  ‘That we put some clothes on? Just in case a rescuer arrives.’

  Holly stared at him, convinced she’d crossed a forbidden barrier, then she looked down at herself and took a sharp little breath. She scrambled up. ‘Definitely!’

  The thunder storm moved away pretty quickly as Brett had predicted, and there was no more rain, but the low cloud-cover remained.

  ‘That’s got to make it harder for them to find us,’ she said as they ate a very light lunch, with a view to preserving their limited supplies. They’d also rationed the water, but Brett had found some shallow rock pools with fresh water in them for future use.

  By mid-afternoon the cloud cover had cleared and they heard two planes fly over—not directly overhead, but fairly close.

  They said nothing during the tense wait both times, just exchanged wry little looks when the bush around them returned to silence.

  Brett returned to the plane and, after crawling in with some difficulty, spent some time working on the radios but to no avail.

  By
four o’clock they were sitting back against their rock in the shade when he put his arm around her. Without any conscious thought, she leant her cheek against his shoulder.

  ‘There is an option to consider now,’ he said. ‘We could walk out.’

  ‘Is that a viable option?’ she queried.

  ‘It’s not what I’d prefer to do. At least we’re visible here—the plane is, anyway. I do have a rough idea of where we are, though, and where this river leads. But it’s a long walk—maybe a couple of days.’

  ‘What’s at the end of it?’

  ‘A cattle station near the head waters. We’d have to travel light, more or less food and water only. We’d really have to eke out the food, but it could be done.’

  ‘What if someone spots the plane but we’re not there?’

  ‘We’d leave a note, but anyway they’d automatically assume we’ve followed the river bed. You see—’ He paused and glanced at her, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to go on, then said, ‘I didn’t mention this yesterday but there’s the possibility that none of our signals or radio calls were picked up. That means our position won’t be known except very roughly, and we did make a detour.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said on a long-drawn-out breath. ‘Well, then, I guess it makes sense to take things into our own hands. At least,’ she added rather intensely, ‘We’d be doing something!’

  ‘My thoughts entirely.’

  ‘And if we take the V-sheet with us we can always wave it if anyone flies overhead.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ he said, and kissed her on the top of her head. ‘But listen, it could mean a very cold night. He sat up. ‘Unless I make a sled of some kind so we could take a bit more with us—a blanket, at least. Come to that,’ he said as if he was thinking aloud, ‘once we’re well away from the plane, we could make a fire. I had thought of doing that this afternoon, but well away from the plane.’

  ‘Send up smoke signals, you mean?’ she asked humorously.

  ‘Something like that,’ he replied with a grin. ‘But everything’s still damp. Tomorrow it may have dried out if we get no more rain. Uh, I have to warn you, though—this river bed could have rapids in it that would mean rock climbing, now its mostly dry, so it could be a very arduous walk.’