‘Petra!’ David’s small, urgent hiss scarcely penetrated her consciousness, but his quick discreet nudge did.
Her eyes flew involuntarily to the road above them. Two men were there on horses looking down on them. How they had got there without her hearing, Petra couldn’t guess. Maybe they had come up the incline on the other side and the sandy soil had deadened the sound of their horses’ hooves. As she stared back at them her heart sank. They might have overheard what she had just said and would probably report it to their boss, who must be the man she was on her way to see. Not that she could make out if they were the sort to carry tales or not, as their faces were strangely spattered with mud, just as she vaguely recalled the bullock’s had been. Having more time to study the men she could see that not only their faces but all their clothing seemed covered in the peculiar, glue-like substance.
After what seemed unconscionable seconds the two men dismounted, almost simultaneously, and slithered down the uneven bank to join them.
‘You’re having trouble?’ The taller of the two spoke first, his voice a slow, deep drawl which Petra suspected hid some slight exasperation. Just as the lazy sound of him undoubtedly concealed much more formidable characteristics.
This last impression, fortunately, stayed just behind Petra’s immediate consciousness, although she was aware of a faint apprehension. ‘If you mean with the car then I’m sure you can see for yourself,’ she rejoined coldly, her eyes searching in vain for some point of focus in his dirt-covered face. ‘If your beastly cow hadn’t pushed us off the road we’d have been all right.’ She couldn’t prevent herself from adding fiercely, ‘Can’t you control your animals better? You’re probably paid more than enough!’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, or is it miss?’ The man had his wide-brimmed Stetson pulled well down over his forehead, but Petra could have sworn a muscle at the side of his wide mouth twitched. ‘The animal in question has just suffered the indignity of being dragged from a half dry waterhole. If it had been a lady it might have appreciated a mud bath, but this particular gentleman only appeared to be outraged.’
‘You can say that again!’ David piped up, grinning so cheerfully that Petra felt quite cross with him.
‘This your brother, miss?’ The tall stranger was evidently weighing Petra up as his eyes lingered, as speculative as hers had been, on her face.
‘Yes,’ she answered shortly.
‘You’ve a nasty cut above your eye, miss,’ he said next.
‘I wondered when you’d get round to noticing!’ The shock she had sustained apparent in her slightly hysterical exclamation.
‘Oh, I noticed, right away, that both you and your—er—car were in trouble.’ His narrowed glance went slowly to the pile of broken glass at her feet. ‘But first I had to establish how you came to be sitting at the bottom of this ditch, miles from anywhere. Were you going any place special?’
The bruise on Petra’s wrist was really hurting now and his questions didn’t make her feel better. Biting her lip to conceal a wince of pain, she said sharply, with a slight rudeness quite foreign to her nature, ‘I don’t have to explain further, not to you, anyway.’ Protectively she put a hand on David’s shoulder, drawing him nearer. ‘If you would kindly take us to your boss, who I presume is Mr. Neil Cameron, I’d be greatly obliged.’
From the shorter of the two men came a swift, if unidentifiable exclamation which was swiftly stifled by a quick glance from his companion. ‘Jake, miss,’ the tall one drawled, ‘is somewhat surprised, seeing how he doesn’t think the boss is expecting visitors. Not your sort, anyway.’
‘No,’ Petra’s cloud-grey eyes widened, unwittingly apprehensive as she more humbly, this time, agreed, ‘I’m afraid that’s true. We’re his cousins from England, you see, and only just decided to call. Not that,’ she added haughtily ‘I’m sure he’ll be anything else but delighted to see us.’ There was a moment’s sudden silence while the man, because his mouth tightened warily, obviously regretted speaking so lightly to a prospective guest of his employers. Even the shorter man seemed rendered curiously speechless as he did nothing but blink uncertainly. The taller of the two was obviously the foreman, Petra decided, as he did all the talking.
She must have been right as after staring her up and down, in a manner she let him see quite clearly she resented, he tilted back his head and rubbed one contemplative hand around his deeply cleft chin. His eyes were blue, she noticed, and the bits of hair she now managed to see were black. All of which pointed to a kind of positive personality. Yet, for all her rather vague summing up, she was scarcely prepared for the sudden decisiveness which seemed to bear out her swift impressions. ‘As you’re so sure Cameron will be delighted,’ he said crisply, ‘I’d better get you to the house right away, and get your car hauled out later. If you’re staying there can’t be any hurry, and the quicker you and your brother have attention the better, I’m thinking. Wouldn’t you say so, Jake?’
Jake gazed at him blankly again for another second before mumbling obligingly, ‘Oh, sure! Anything you say.’
‘Fine, then,’ the drawl was back. ‘You take the boy and I’ll manage Miss—What did you say your name was?’
‘I didn’t,’ Petra said cautiously, not sure how far she could trust these mud-covered men. The line about not knowing her name! She’d heard it so often during this past year although, in this instance, maybe she was being ridiculous in objecting to it. This tall man, this drawling, taunting stranger could have no ulterior motives. He and his friend looked rough, however. It might be wiser to keep them in their place, if she did it nicely, and goodness knows among her father’s so-called friends she’d seen enough of the art of patronising the lower classes to know exactly how it should be done. She raised her delicately rounded chin and looked down her slightly tip-tilted nose at him. ‘I think I shall wait until I see your employer, my cousin,’ she murmured, with a smooth confidence she was far from feeling.
‘As you wish, ma’am,’ he drawled back, too smoothly to be entirely to her liking as his hand went out and he turned her towards his horse.
She didn’t care for the steely grip of his fingers on her elbow. ‘Couldn’t you send a vehicle back for us? I'm sure if you explained to Mr. Cameron he would come for us himself.’
The man paused but briefly. ‘It’s all of four miles further on to my—to the homestead. I shouldn’t care to leave you alone, entirely at the mercy perhaps of another rampaging steer.’
She blinked nervously. ‘Was that what it was?’
‘We thought it was just a crazy old cow,’ David exclaimed, ‘and Petra said ...’
‘Petra?’ the tall man cut in.
If she felt wary of being too friendly, David showed no such reluctance. He smiled and explained reasonably, ‘Petra, short for Petronella.’
‘That will be enough, darling,’ Petra said quickly, too conscious that the man almost grinned, as if something afforded him some small satisfaction. Did David have to trot out her ridiculous name to all and sundry? ‘I think it might be better,’ she hastened, as if it had been David who had objected, ‘if we did as this man suggests.’ She stared at the horses doubtfully.
‘I presume you’ve seen a horse before, if not a steer?’ The tall man’s mud-encased eyebrows lifted sarcastically.
‘Once or twice,’ she said loftily, now certain he was laughing at her. Her sore face and aching wrist allowed little humour and she refused to confess she had ridden almost before she could walk.
She had been right—he was amusing himself at her expense, possibly at the thought of her further discomfort. His smiled flashed very white against his mud-grey face. Why didn’t he wipe it off? she wondered vaguely, thinking of the mud.
Currently absorbed with this, she missed seeing David taken up on the other man’s horse until he rode past her. Then, so suddenly that a small gasp of surprise escaped her she found herself lifted and swung in front of the foreman. The smoothness and unexpectedness of the whole operation startl
ed her, as did the tightness of the arm around her narrow rib-cage which caught her firmly back against the hardness of his broad chest while his other hand grasped the reins. Automatically her nerves tightened as every part of her cried out silently against the closeness of his hold, as the wild terror of men which had accumulated inside her rose to tangle incoherently in her throat. She was prepared to struggle, but was still trembling from the accident in the car and she realised, with some mortification, that without his arm around her she might easily fall off.
She shivered and tried to stop thinking of men generally, but didn’t succeed until her injured wrist hit the saddle and she almost cried out. Stopping herself just in time, she held herself stiffly to prevent it occurring again and directed her thoughts towards the hired car. ‘You haven’t so much as locked it up!’ she exclaimed. ‘It doesn’t belong to me, you know.’
‘I guessed, Petronella,’ he sounded more laconic than ever. ‘Now who do you imagine is going to steal a crashed car in that condition, out here?’
‘In what condition?’ Finding herself cold with apprehension, she forgot to be indignant over his easy use of her nuisance of a name.
‘Doors crumpled, wheels possibly twisted, windows shattered. I didn’t look closely, but I should imagine repairs could cost a few dollars.’
Repairs! Petra’s heart thudded with apprehension. Was it, was she insured against something which might be proved her own fault? ‘If there’s anything to pay then Mr. Cameron must see to it,’ she cried, fright making her reckless. ‘After all, if he can’t control his animals he must be prepared to account for the damage they do!’
Her voice spluttered off and she felt his long arm tighten, his fingers actually digging into the soft skin of her waist, yet his reply was not laced with any of the anger she felt in his hand. ‘Steers and women, Petronella, are not easy to control at the best of times. Insurance companies usually take this into account.’
‘Women?’ she retorted. ‘I wasn’t talking about women!’
‘No,’ he agreed contrarily, ‘neither was I. I was merely pointing out that Mr. Cameron might have more success in that direction. At least he doesn’t have to chase them.’
‘Oh...!’ Stunned into silence, Petra contemplated, the problem of the car momentarily removed from her mind. Wasn’t it amazing what one discovered indirectly? Of course she might have guessed, seeing that she had known Neil Cameron was a middle-aged bachelor. As such, he wouldn’t allow her to criticise the no doubt experienced methods he employed to enable him to enjoy to the full all the privileges for which other men were usually obliged to marry! However, if, as seemed apparent, this Cameron was susceptible to female charms, much as she shuddered against it, would it not make her own task that much easier? Exactly how, she declined to work out, telling herself evasively that this must naturally wait until she had actually met him.
There followed a twinge of disquiet, when, much as she disliked questioning this ranch-hand, she felt an urgent need to know more. ‘You can’t have many close neighbours here. Do you mean Mr. Cameron keeps women at the ranch?’
The steely fingers dug cruelly deeper, forcing her spontaneous protest, ‘You’re hurting me!’
‘Sorry, Petronella.’
Petra had a feeling he wasn’t!
‘I wouldn’t want you to fall to the ground, Petronella,’ he added glibly. ‘That would hurt more.’
‘I’m not likely to, am I?’ she muttered angrily, ‘seeing how you’re holding me like a vice.’
He did relax fractionally and when he didn’t say anything more she decided to let the matter drop. In fact she was glad to. It could be wiser not to pursue it. Now that her nervous excitement had subsided a little she felt a disturbing shiver of regret. It could have been better not to have passed several of the remarks she had already made. She could only think the shock of running off the road must have been responsible for such stupid indiscretion. Surely she hadn’t come all this way to spoil everything at the last minute by not being prudent? She must learn in future to guard her tongue! This man on his splendid black stallion, with his somewhat comforting breadth of shoulder, didn’t strike her as being the type to make trouble. Maybe she could appeal to him? It might work if she tried nicely.
In a small, husky voice she said, ‘I don’t want Mr. Cameron to think I’ve been curious about his romantic diversions.’ Her eyes fixed anxiously on David’s small figure some way ahead. She must do better than that, for his sake. ‘I’d be grateful, I’d even make it worth your while not to mention anything I’ve said.’
The horse reared sharply, surprising Petra. It appeared to be spirited, but absolutely under this man’s iron control.
‘You heard what I was saying?’ she asked quickly when again he made no reply.
‘No, miss,’ he agreed eventually, his voice so expressionless that she had no clue as to what he really thought. ‘Mr. Cameron might be upset.’
‘Does he get easily upset?’ She forgot her resolutions of a moment ago not to ask any more questions. Well, she didn’t exactly forget, but this last could be important.
‘On occasion, Petronella, he can be quite terrifying when sufficiently provoked. But then if you’re just passing through you are not likely to see it.’
‘I see ...’ As Petra silently digested this the queasy feeling inside her grew, yet wasn’t it better to know what she was up against? ‘Thank you,’ she breathed at last. ‘And if he’s sensitive about his affairs I’ll certainly not allude to them. Poor man, I expect he’s more to be pitied than teased. Being middle-aged and probably unable to find a wife could have twisted his character a little.’
‘Ma’am!’ The ache from the cut on Petra’s brow was worsening, which might have accounted for the mildly explosive quality in that one bitten-off word. She was sure her waist would be black and blue from the increasing pressure of his hand, but instead of frightening this time it made her feel strangely safe. ‘Don’t you think,’ he tacked on for full measure, ‘you’d better shut up?’
Loyalty to the boss, Petra supposed, was an admirable thing. This man emanated it, with his respectful ‘Mr. Camerons’! It didn’t please that he chose to call her mostly by her first name. Resentment smouldering, Petra quite forgot she had refused to give him her last one. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, belatedly offering the apology for which he obviously waited. She would have needed to have been made of wood not to have felt the grimness moving within him.
He said nothing immediately, and, as she tried to shrug her stiff shoulders indifferently, she was again conscious of the hardness of his chest against which she rested. This, and the fragrant male scent of him which seemed compounded of leather and sweat. Wryly, not really aware of what she was doing, she turned her head sideways and wrinkled her small, proud nose.
He apparently interpreted her reaction to be one of distaste. ‘You’ll be telling me next I’m not as nice to be near as your boy-friends in England,’ he jeered, pulling her, it seemed, deliberately closer.
‘I don’t suppose you can help it,’ she mumbled, wanting to turn and glare at him sharply but unable to do so, clamped as she was to him with her head almost wedged beneath his jutting chin. ‘You must work hard, but I expect you have bathing facilities,’ she stammered, suddenly confused as she wondered desperately how such a crazy conversation could be taking place. This man seemed able to make her talk as she never remembered talking in her life. There was something about him, or something between them, she didn’t know which. It was like a tangible cord against which they were both pulling. A mild hysteria seemed in danger of rising to Petra’s throat again. Where were such stupid, naive impressions coming from? What did she care if he never washed!
‘We always have the creek,’ he was informing her, almost as if he wished to unleash further indiscretions.
Fortunately she sensed this and bit back another too impulsive rejoinder. He could be simply passing a boring hour by baiting her. The countryside, what she could see of it thro
ugh the gathering dusk, was wild, and they might still have some way to go. Curiously, for all he goaded her, she wasn’t anxious that he would break his word and repeat anything to Neil Cameron. Instinctively she felt now she could trust him. The pain in her arm and head was beginning to pound and she still had Neil Cameron to face. First impressions—his of her—could possibly make or break the scheme she had in mind. She must conserve her strength, her wits, instead of wasting them on one of his cynical employees.
Cameron’s foreman! Suddenly she was aware of his breath on her bare nape, of his hands moving slightly on her narrow waist, as if he would have liked to explore both above and below it. Her cheeks flamed and she went rigid again as her whole body responded in a wholly unfamiliar way, as if it actually enjoyed the sensations her resentful mind rejected. At once she told herself she was being stupid, that she was simply imagining things. This man didn’t even like her, he had made this quite clear. Besides, didn’t she intend selling herself dearly? Certainly not to any rough, mud-splattered cowboy, no matter how charming he turned out to be!
CHAPTER TWO
The sun had long since disappeared behind the mountains by the time they reached the ranch. The ranch lay in the foothills of southern Alberta and Petra found herself continually struck by the magnificent beauty of the landscape when she had been expecting only rolling, treeless prairie. The warm, dry Chinook wind played on her expressive face as she gazed about her.
A Man Called Cameron Page 2
