by Margaret Way
"Can't see how you'd do that, Miss Sam," Joe replied after a minute or two's consideration. "I think you're a very sensitive young lady who might well be able to see and understand our magic. I have many many myths and legends I can tell you. So much is being lost. Maybe you can save a little bit of my culture."
"That's a very great compliment, Miss Langdon," Ross said, intrigued by the whole thing. Miss Samantha Langdon was far from being just a pretty face, she fell into the multitalented category.
"And I'm duly mindful of it." Samantha returned his sidelong glance, accepting the fact this man thrilled her to her core. Did he know it? She hoped not. She had to be very, very careful he wouldn't latch on. But oh, he left her shaken. Just being beside him produced a degree of sexual amusement hardly imaginable with anyone else. Nothing much she could do about it either. Her body was releasing a whole host of biochemicals causing this tremendous rush of sensations she rationalised. It mightn't have been love at first sight given the curious sexual hostility both had experienced when they'd first met-but it was something momentous. She'd had her share of boyfriends, some good, some not so good, but never had she felt this intense attraction. Even intense didn't come close. Knee buckling was better.
She had to set her mind to something else. Why not a Dreamtime series of children's books? That seemed like a good idea. Her style was particularly adapted to magical themes.
Matt Howarth, his hazel eyes like stones, was sitting in the back seat of the second 4WD cursing his luck.
This wasn't going a bit the way he intended. Up front Dave and Sunderland's beautiful iceberg of a sister were working their way through a whole range of subjects, Dave's travels, his shock encounter with a drug lord, her encounter with a ruthless tycoon who gave every appearance of wanting to separate her from her husband but definitely wasn't Robert Redford, what was happening around the globe, what governments were going to do about it, Dave even told her stories from when he'd started out as a photographer filming interiors for which he'd been in great demand, then gardens, even food. He'd done a stint for a well-known gourmet magazine. They appeared to be getting on famously, whereas he was locked into a sickening bout of jealousy. Being separated from Sam was like a slap in the face to him.
From time to time they tried to include him in the conversation but his responses were such they must have concluded he was finding the humid heat enervating. Dave's glance was even a bit anxious. Dave was a kindly guy, but then he had seen and photographed so much human suffering. It had had its effect. Dave championed the underdog, the underprivileged, the downtrodden. Just when he thought he'd been presented with a marvellous opportunity to launch his campaign for winning Samantha over, along came the Great White Hunter with his bloody commanding height and film star good looks. And those assessing light eyes. Who had eyes that colour apart from his sister? Matt had the distinct impression Sunderland was trying to split him and Sam apart. Did he want her himself`? The very thought turned his stomach.
The whole thing looked like being intolerable. The dynamics were all different having Sutherland along. Matt's resentments festered. He'd confidently expected he and Sam would be sharing the back seat instead just as Sam went to slide in beside him giving him the most delicious shivers of anticipation, Sunderland had cut in coolly, without waiting for her reply:
"You're riding with me." Arrogant bastard!
His reaction had been so violent it had winded him. This was no ordinary guy like he'd been expecting. Tough, yes, but a bit of a bush whacker. No such luck! The cattle baron was upper crust. Everything had to be done his way. Lived like lords these cattle barons. It made his skin prickle with heat. They didn't act like normal people. They were nobles, no less. What they were doing was important. Anyone would think the country couldn't survive without them. So they had pioneered the Never Never. Who cared? They were rich enough weren't they in their bloody great homesteads. He wasn't going to lose Sam to any cattle baron. No, sir! He was in so deep he could never ever look at another woman again.
He'd known Sam now for a couple of years, but despite his best efforts, and reading up surreptitiously all the right things a guy should do, he was still no more than a friend. He couldn't possibly push it with Dave around. Dave doted on his little sister. Just a handful of times she'd accepted his invitations, a rock concert, cricket match, football final, race meeting, things like that. Open air, crowds, nothing remotely romantic. But he'd managed to kiss her lovely lips. Nothing more, but he'd lived on it. Was still drunk on it for that matter. She was an angel with that glorious exuberant mane of hair. But Sam seemed to place a higher value on him as a friend and her brother's assistant than a would-be suitor. What would she think if she knew he had taken hundred of photographs of her? Most of them when she didn't even know he was around. Some people might think he was a stalker but he wasn't. He was deeply in love with her. The last thing in the world he meant Sam was harm. Why the walls of his apartment were decorated with beautiful shots of her, walking, talking, laughing, pensive, huge blow-ups of her lovely face, so ripe and alive begging for him to touch her. She had such a luscious mouth under that small pert nose. Technically he supposed the woman in the front passenger seat, the Great White Hunter's sister, was more beautiful, but her features had the remote perfection of a classical statue. The black hair and the ice-aqua eyes only served to complete the picture. Give him Samantha's ever changing expressions, her wonderful bright colouring every time. For all her nice manners and upper class voice he thought the rumours about Isabelle Hartmann were bound to be true. Her husband was reputed to have been a very nice guy not some dissolute playboy. You wouldn't have to look too closely to see she was a cold bitch underneath. He knew from experience women found Dave absolutely charming. He could reach them somehow. He was certainly getting a response from the Snow Queen.
Buy hey, he was attractive to women too. Don't let's forget that. He dressed well, worked out, was nice looking, mannerly, thoughtful. He'd had a pretty lousy time of it going back a bit, but he was climbing the ladder. He was no loser. He could have lots of girls if he wanted but the truth was Sam had ruined him for the rest. His mother-he took good care to keep away from her-always said he had an obsessive nature as though that was something for her to worry about. Why not obsess when you had something to obsess about? It meant he was wonderfully loyal.
He had a lot of time for Dave. Dave was a good bloke. He'd been very good to him, very supportive after his layoff-a slight breakdown actually call it what you like. They'd overworked him at the TV channel not that he'd shed any tears over getting the sack. Pompous old McCutcheon had a spot of abuse coming. He had explained it all to Dave who gave him a chance. He had a B.A. in photography not that he was one to boast. Surely Dave would welcome him as a brother-in-law? He would love Sam as she had never been loved. Work hard to keep her safe. She was so lovely, lovely. With Sam he knew he could become as steady as a rock.
CHAPTER FIVE
FROM long experience Samantha knew her brother would go to any lengths to get the shots he wanted. He was the true professional dedicated to his craft which he had turned into art. She also knew he took no account of fatigue, hunger, intense heat, even personal danger. Over the next two days she and Isabelle were left alone for hours while the men went in search of sites Ross Sunderland and Joe Goolatta brooded over before pronouncing it too arduous a trek for the women especially in the steamy heat.
"He's treating us like cream puffs," Samantha fumed.
"Maybe a little bit," Isabelle conceded. "But you wouldn't enjoy trekking through the mangroves which is where they're heading today. The mozzies are merciless. They'd love your skin. And mine. Don't forget it's a place where the crocs still attack but they'll be extra careful. Joe has a thing going with the crocs. That's his totem. Don't fret. We'll see plenty."
"I've already seen plenty," Samantha responded, suddenly repentant. "In fact I'm immensely grateful I'm here. And it's all due to you. Your dear brother would never have taken
me."
Isabelle smiled at the sarcasm. She could see the way Ross and Samantha struck sparks from each other and she wasn't unhappy about it. "I think you've shown him you're made of the right stuff." A little pause. "Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if you and Matt have a history?"
Samantha gasped. "Honest answer?"
"Please."
"No." Samantha slapped at an insect. "I've known Matt for as long as he's been David's assistant. He lectures at an adult learning college at night and he does private photographic work. Weddings, studio portraits that sort of thing. David told me Matt had a breakdown a few years back. Overwork, lost opportunities, hassles with his superior at work. Matt doesn't talk about it. Especially not to me. He likes to present himself as a guy who's getting it all together."
Sitting beside Samantha beneath a shade tree a little distance from the camp, Isabelle turned to her. "You know he's in love with you?"
Samantha groaned. "Oh, don't say that!" Isabelle was quite right and she'd have to face it.
"Surely you know?" Isabelle asked quietly, alerted by something in Matt's manner. Something secretive. Something hidden. She knew all about manic upsurges in men. Matt harboured resentments, though on the surface he tried hard to be pleasant. "He never takes his eyes off you." Isabelle made the judgement from the depths of her own bitter experience.
Samantha sighed deeply. "That sounds like a warning, Isabelle. I haven't given Matt any reason to believe we could become more than friends."
"Does he need a reason?"
"Probably not being what we are. Is something worrying you, Isabelle?" For that matter Samantha had noticed Matt never looked at Ross with liking though his responses were courteous enough.
"D'you think he's becoming a little jealous?"
Samantha flushed. "Of Ross?"
Isabelle nodded. "He's very edgy when Ross is around. They're so different in style. In fact a complete contrast. Ross and David had instant rapport which has only grown, but it's not the same with Matt. It seems to me he's increasingly looking for conflict where there is none. He has to be needed. Some men are like that." A remembering chill struck her bones. "I could be overstating it but it seems to me Matt's starting to act as if he's being left out."
Spot on. "And you think it's because of me?" Samantha asked unhappily.
"Well you're the one he cares about. He was very peevish wouldn't you say last night when you and Ross dropped the sparring and carried on the conversation in perfect accord." In fact to Isabelle's discerning eyes jealousy had been coming off him in waves.
Samantha made a little grimace. "Well for all our little clashes, I agree with Ross about so many issues. However, I did notice Matt had his nose out of joint. I don't know what I can do about it though."
"Be on your guard," Isabelle suggested. "I don't mean to suggest for a minute Matt could present a danger, but maybe a little problem. Being included in David's book is important to him, I know. He wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize that." She leant forward to retrieve the coffee mugs she had laid on the ground. "What about if you and I do a little exploring on our own, this afternoon?"
"And risk the Boss Man's ire?" Samantha asked blithely.
"So that's what you call him?" Isabelle looked across with a smile.
"And don't you dare tell him," Samantha said, scrambling to her feet. "I haven't got a way with your brother, have I?"
"Really?" Isabelle raised an arched brow. "I thought you had."
Which was precisely what was putting Matt Howarth's nose out of joint.
The afternoon's rigours gave Samantha a hearty appetite. The men returned full of the day's exploits. Or rather Ross and David talked as if they'd had a glorious time, thoroughly successful, while Matt's chief concern was his mosquito bites which were giving him noticeable gip.
"You'll have to stop scratching, Matt, you could get a secondary infection. I've got a good hydrocortisone cream I can give you," Samantha tried to console him. "As a matter of fact I'll get it now. See any crocs today?" she asked, as they walked to the tent she and Isabelle shared.
"Plenty," he grunted finding it difficult to control his feelings. "I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there." He gave a genuine shudder, his terror still not evaporated. "Sunderland dragged us through the swamps. They're overflowing with everything. Dank and steamy with awful muddy soil, snakes and all kinds of insects and tree roots that are only there to trip you up. By the time it was all over I could have yelled bloody murder."
"But isn't that what David wanted? The swamps may be difficult and dangerous but they're the central element in the coastal ecosystem. I bet he took some wonderful shots. I know my brother. He comes up with something entirely different from the pack. That's why he's famous. It's the special way he sees things."
He grasped her arm, detaining her. "David is my friend."
Samantha disengaged herself, feeling dismayed. "Of course he is. What's the matter, Matt. We're only a few days into the trip yet you seem right out of sorts. I thought you were really going to enjoy this trip. I'm loving it and we've travelled a long way for it. It's not too late to go back if you feel so strongly. I daresay we can manage with one vehicle."
That she could say such a thing caused him physical pain. "Is that what you want, for me to disappear?" To his horror, his voice broke.
"Listen, Matt, today upset you. I can see that. But you'll have to settle down. Ross is looking this way."
"To hell with Ross!" Matt exploded, his heart thumping wildly. "Is that supposed to make me cringe?"
Samantha walked on, anxiety flooding her. "I don't want to see you lose control, Matt. I thought you were going to be as excited about this as the rest of us."
"Excited?" His tone leapt. "You wouldn't feel so excited if you'd been eaten alive by mozzies. They're as big as helicopters."
"I'm sorry. So sorry," Samantha said gently. "Wait here a moment and I'll get the cream."
Instead of waiting as she asked, he pushed into the tent behind her. "What was really exciting me, Sam, was the opportunity for you and me to be together."
Studying his tormented face Samantha felt the last thing she could do was humiliate him. "Matt, dear, aren't we comfortable being friends?"
"You know I want more," he said passionately, reached out for her arm.
Why have I realised too late where all this was going, Samantha thought wretchedly. "Friendship is all I can offer, Matt," she said with great compassion.
Incredibly he began to laugh. "It's Sunderland isn't it? I've got eyes. I can see. The two of you keep up the sparring, but it's only a smoke screen for something else."
"You're talking nonsense, Matt," Samantha took a step backwards. This was a Matt she had never seen."I think not." His eyes were liquid with emotion.
"Just don't forget in a very short while he'll be out of the picture altogether, the arrogant bastard."
Samantha counted ten before she answered. "I think you're mistaking a natural superiority-he is after all, a high achiever-for arrogance. You see him with Joe. Would an arrogant white man treat an aboriginal employee like family? I don't think so. Anyway why don't you take it up with him, Matt?" Samantha swooped on the cream which mercifully was to hand and passed it to him. "I hope this helps."
He realised too late he had overplayed his hand. His only option was to act out remorse. "I'm sorry, Sam." He hung his head contritely. "Of course I'm not being fair. He's Someone, even I can see that... But if you could just give me a chance?"
Samantha stood there pitying, but adamant. "You're my friend, Matt. I'm sorry, but I can't offer anything else. The others will be waiting for us. We'd better go." She went to brush past him but he startled her by caching her around the waist.
"Please, Sam."
In the blink of an eye he felt like he hated her.
Sensing something was not right Samantha twisted away.
"Everything okay here?" a vibrant voice asked. In the opening of the igloo like tent stood a ta
ll, muscular figure caught in a freeze frame. Ross ducked his dark head and stepped inside, the glow from the gas lamps throwing his shadow high on the nylon mesh side. In that confined arearoughly one hundred square feet-generous enough for a two-person tent, he appeared quite dramatically larger than life.
Samantha had never been so glad to see anyone. "We were just coming," she said, taking a few swift paces towards him like he was her saviour. "I gave Matt some cream for his mosquito bites."
Sunderland continued to stand with his tall shadow on the wall. "They wouldn't have been nearly so bad, Matt, had you used the spray I offered you this morning." He stood aside so Samantha could exit the tent. "Next time you'll use it."
A seething reply rose to Matt's lips, but he bit it off. Much as he disliked him, Sunderland wasn't the man to tangle with. Matt too left the tent, stalking off towards where the others were seated around the camp fire. Fury at Sunderland's reprimand was burning in his chest.
