by Anne Hampson
'Did someone say that?' she asked indignantly, for the kookaburra had been her favourite bird of the Outback since, on the very first morning at High Creek, a pair had come down from the eucalypt at the back of the homestead and began laughing their heads off, seeming to be telling the girls not to despair, for there was always a funny side to every situation, no matter how grim it might appear at the moment. The size of crows, they were buff and brown in colour, with long tails flecked with rust and enormous bills. Kate had since learned that they were members of the kingfisher family and lived on frogs and snakes and lizards, although, being exceptionally cheeky birds, they were often seen swooping down on the quarry already captured by another bird. 'Who was it?' inquired Kate, still indignant.
'One Marcus Clarke, who came here when he was eighteen. But he wasn't the only one to disparage our jackos. They've had all kinds of unflattering descriptions from your pommies.'
Kate's chin lifted.
'The pommies to which you refer,' she told him with well-feigned censure, 'were among your illustrious ancestors.'
'Agreed, my dear Kate,' he returned, smiling suddenly and leaning over to place a hand over hers as it lay on the arm of the chair. 'We Australians tend to forget our origin.'
She looked at his long brown hand, toughened, with fingers made hard by the build-up of protective skin. She felt its strength… but it was of his brother she was thinking, his twin brother who—at least for Kate—possessed something which Paul lacked. And yet Paul was perfection too, and Kate knew for sure that to the right woman he would quite easily acquire the position of an idol. What was the difference? And why did it have to be Mark—Mark who was so out of reach? Why couldn't it be Paul, who was obviously attracted to her? She glanced round, taking in the modern luxury of furniture and decor. Kate gave a tiny sigh and asked if she could go into the kitchen and do something useful until it was time for Cherry and herself to be taken back to High Creek, Lin of course using the horse, as usual.
'If you wish,' Paul agreed, but added, 'You didn't come over here to work, Kate. We could ride over and join the men for smoko.'
'All right,' she agreed after a pause, but said she would just go and have a word with the others, if he did not mind.
They were in the thick of preparing vegetables; Lin, peeling onions, looked up and said through her tears:
'Correct me if I'm wrong, but do I recall once saying that life in the Outback would be leisurely and slow of tempo?—that there would be nothing to do but supervise fifty or so handsome rugged stockriders—and hope that one would sweep me off my feet?'
'Off your stallion,' mildly from Cherry as she added another peeled potato to the hundred or so lying in a huge earthenware bowl half-filled with water.
'And I said you were definitely to receive the same money as you'd been paid for your teaching.' Quiet tones, apologetic and contrite. The other two jerked their heads.
'We persuaded you, remember,' said Cherry, repeating what she had said a long while ago. 'Lin and I still have no regrets, and I don't believe you have either.'
Kate shook her head.
'I love it here, but—'
'Then there's no need for buts,' interposed Lin, dragging a handkerchief from her pocket and drying her eyes. 'We're doing fine. And there's still a chance I'll find my rugged ideal somewhere in this place. I've hinted already that I'd like to ride out there and take a dekko at those stockmen of Paul's.'
Kate and Cherry laughed, although Kate's thoughts went instantly to James, who had sat with Lin last evening, and talked a lot to her. Lin had made no mention of him at all when, after Paul had dropped them, they spent a few minutes discussing the dinnerparty and the people they had met. It seemed as if Lin was determined not to talk about James, and a tiny sigh escaped Kate. What a mess they were all going to find themselves in if they fell in love with men who did not want them! It was a contingency that none of them had even thought of on making their decision to come out to Australia.
Paul was waiting for her when Kate came from the kitchen back into the hall and within a short time they were sitting with the station hands, on a small elevation above the creek—the same creek which ran so close to Kate's holding—drinking tea which had been made by the men. The billy was kept boiling and more tea was continually being brewed. The sun was high already, and very hot; Kate pushed back her wide-brimmed hat and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. Her shirt sleeves were rolled up to above the elbows and she could feel the fierce heat on her arms. They were deliciously tanned and so were her legs, although just now she wore slacks, knowing she would be trying out the horses which Paul had ready for her.
The men looked curiously at her now and then, and she sensed the amusement hidden beneath those rugged impassive faces. She could understand their humour, working as they did with thousands of animals, seeing them fattened and then sent by the cattle truck trains over the beef roads whose construction had overcome the stupendous distances from Outback to town. And there was she with her original two cows and calf, and the several larger calves which she and the girls had bought from Paul. Yes, it really must be extremely amusing to these men whenever they thought about it.
'Here comes your friend.' Paul's words brought Kate from her musings and she glanced away to where the rider moved with graceful speed against a background of gentle green hills. Kate watched him as she sipped the hot tea, a man at ease in the saddle, just as if he had been born there almost. He was on the chestnut gelding—Red Shadow was its name—and it snorted a little as, reaching them, Mark dismounted. His hand slid in a sort of caressing movement over its back before he tethered it to the tree where Paul's and Kate's horses were tethered. Tea was handed to him instantly by one of the stockmen and he sat down a little distance from Kate.
'So you've started to ride already?' His eyes slanted from her to Paul, an odd expression in their depths. 'Enjoying it?'
'Yes, thank you.' She knew her cheeks were flushed and hoped he concluded that it was the result of her ride. 'It's nice to be riding again.'
'You rode regularly at home?'
Kate shook her head.
'Not recently; the cost became too high.' Her eyes moved to Paul's face. Faint amusement was portrayed there, as if he concluded that she was having difficulty in being polite to his brother.
'Summer Song's a gentle animal,' Mark observed, glancing across to where it stood, cropping the tall grass growing by the trees. 'You'll enjoy riding him.'
Kate nodded, and drank her tea. Mark passed some comment to his brother about the mustering and branding which was to be carried out shortly and Kate sat there, listening to the men's slow Australian drawl and trying to fathom why one should sound so much more attractive than the other. Faintly she smiled to herself, fully aware that it was only to her ears that Mark's voice was so different from that of his brother.
Her gaze wandered to the green hills along the foot of which Mark had just ridden. Above and behind them, and a long way distant from them, low mountains, stripped of any soil covering they might once have possessed, shone with a ferric radiance under the fierce Australian sun. She allowed her thoughts to recapture some of the things Cherry had told her about this great continent which had no extremes of temperature, no towering massifs or fearsome ravines. Such natural phenomena as volcanoes and typhoons never disturbed its peace or its citizens. In over half the continent there was not one permanently-flowing river. Only in the Wet did the streams rampage, fed by the tropical storms which brought the dormant succulents to life and watered the thirsty land. But most of the water went underground, seeping through the permeable rocks to become the artesian water which was then pumped to the surface, stored, and piped to the cattle troughs. Because of its great age the landscape of the continent was relatively low, and thinking about this Kate wondered why it wasn't a gentle landscape, like the low undulating hills of southern England, for instance. On the contrary, it was a harsh intractable land of vast expanses of semi-desert and scrub, a l
and which had challenged the white man from the beginning and would continue to do.
It was a beautiful land for all its drawbacks, and men like Mark and Paul Copeland could never be happy anywhere else. And often of late Kate had fallen to wondering if she herself could be happy anywhere else. The throbbing immensity, the subtle theme of colour contrasts, the exceptional clarity of light that sometimes brought the mountains into strolling distance—all these contributed to the beauty which had enthralled Kate from the moment she had witnessed her first Australian sunset.
Her musings came to an abrupt end as Mark and Paul rose to their feet. Mark had come over to see his brother about a business matter and they were going back to the house.
'Are you coming with us?' Paul asked, 'or do you want to go back to High Creek?'
'I'll go back,' she said, feeling shy all at once, and very small beside these two giants who towered above her. 'I'm dying to have a good long ride on Summer Song.'
To her surprise a frown appeared on Mark Copeland's face.
'You'd better not ride alone until you know the way a little better.' Soft tones, yet imperious too, and Kate glanced up, examining his features. They were hard and set. Nevertheless, she said, confidence in her tone:
'I've been in the car a few times, so I'm sure I know the way. If Lin can do it then so can I.'
'Someone went part way with Lin,' said Paul. 'I sent one of the men to show her the way.'
Kate nodded; she had forgotten about that. Lin had mentioned it at the time and had gone on to admit that she could quite easily have got lost had she not been accompanied by the stockman. Once she had been shown she was all right.
'If you wait about half an hour I'll come with you,' offered Mark, but Kate shook her head. Too dangerous, riding with Mark in the lonely, romantic bush. Far more prudent to go alone, when her thoughts would be fully occupied in finding her way home.
'I'd rather go now,' she said, hoping she sounded neither ungrateful nor stubborn. Mark's frown deepened, but after a small moment of indecision he shrugged.
'You must do what you please,' he said indifferently, and swung up on to Red Shadow's back. Paul was already mounted; he shook his head in a faintly censorious way but, like Mark, he gave a shrug of his shoulders.
'Thank you very much for the loan of Summer Song,' she said, fluttering a smile at Paul. 'I'll take good care of him.'
About two hours later she was staring around, wondering how she had managed to take the wrong track. So short a distance and to get lost. It was ridiculous, and yet she recalled again that Lin had admitted that the terrain around here was tricky.
'I can't be lost,' Kate murmured angrily. 'Those are the High Creek Downs cattle over there in the distance.' If only she had watched the track more carefully when travelling with Paul in the car— What was the use of indulging in a contemplation of what she should have done? The important thing was to find her way home before Cherry and Lin arrived. It would be too humiliating to own that she had got lost, and especially after refusing Mark's offer of assistance.
Another three-quarters of an hour went by and still Kate was riding around in circles. The homestead must come into view some time, she told herself, knowing full well that she wasn't any great distance from it. But it was elusive, hidden either by small rises or trees, and at last Kate stopped again, taking a rest under the trees, while the horse grazed close by. Suddenly she heard the dull sound of galloping hooves and impulsively called out at the top of her voice. Within seconds she was looking up into Mark Copeland's face, feeling her cheeks beginning to burn. Had she stopped to think she would have surmised it would be he, and in spite of her unpleasant position she would undoubtedly have allowed him to pass by.
'Something wrong, Miss Beresford?' inquired Mark with faint satire, and Kate swallowed hard before she said in a rather subdued voice:
'I'm—I'm afraid I did get lost, after all.'
His eyes swept her coolly as he dismounted.
'You know what your trouble is, don't you?' His back was to her now as he tethered Red Shadow to a tree. 'You're too darned pig-headed for a woman. It's out of place in the weaker sex.' He turned, in time to note the sudden sparkle that turned the hazel eyes almost to green. 'And don't lose your temper,' he warned, actually wagging a finger at her, 'or I might decide to curb it for you.'
Kate's eyes opened very wide at that. She said in a voice edged with ice:
'And how, might I ask, would you go about it?'
Mark stood looking down at her, feet slightly apart, one hand tucked into the belt at his hip. His eyes, narrowed against the sun, actually laughed as he spoke.
'Would you like me to demonstrate?' he invited softly, yet with a strange sort of threat which brought even more colour flooding into Kate's cheeks.
'If you would kindly direct me to High Creek,' she began, getting to her feet, 'I shall be most grateful, Mr. Copeland. And also, I shan't waste any more of your time.' As she came up so Mark took a step towards her and she found herself far too close for comfort. She stepped back, catching her foot on a small boulder which set her off-balance. Mark's hand shot out as she would have tumbled over sideways and with a jerk she was brought close to him again.
'You bad-tempered little wretch,' he murmured, and before she could even grasp what he was about she was in his arms, pulled against a body hard as steel, and although she struggled instinctively, twisting her head in a desperate endeavour to escape his mouth, her chin was grasped in a vice and hard, sensual lips were pressed to hers. Her futile struggles succumbed to his strength as he took his fill. Kate had been kissed before, but this was a revelation in male mastery, for there was neither gentleness nor persuasion in his kisses; on the contrary they were as primitive and demanding as the bush and merciless as the heat that poured down from the fierce Australian sun. Kate went limp, feeling helpless and small as a baby. Even stooping as he was, with his head bent over her face, Mark stood head and shoulders above her.
She did not move when at last he decided to release her—not entirely, for he still retained a hold upon her shoulders—but looked up into those intense blue eyes, her own eyes filmed with moisture produced by heightened emotions and by shock. Her beautiful lips trembled, rosy from his kisses, but feeling swollen and bruised. Silence reigned and everything was still over all the wide plains and hills where a heat haze quivered and cattle grazed under a sky of periwinkle blue. Swallowing convulsively, Kate continued to stare up at Mark, whose expression was unfathomable but whose manner was still one of mastery—of domination almost. She sensed a repressed anger and wondered at the reason for it.
'Yes,' he murmured at last, his gaze taking in everything on the surface and more besides. Kate felt he was probing her very mind and heart and soul, so piercing were his eyes. 'Yes, you're a bad-tempered little wretch… but tempting for all that.'
'Tempting'? What did he mean? she wondered, automatically glancing around as if she might by some miracle see a third party suddenly appear, just to make her position safe. 'Wh-what do you m-mean?' By all that was logical she should be demonstrating her anger, producing a show of indignation and informing him that his conduct was disgraceful. Instead, she was still standing there, allowing him to hold her arms without making the least effort to twist away.
Mark laughed without humour at her question and said:
'Afraid?' A lean brown hand left her shoulder to make a comprehensive sweep. 'No one, Kate. No one to hear you if you cry for help, no one to interfere… whatever I might decide to do.'
Jerked into action by this half-threat, Kate pivoted round, out of his grasp, but her wrist was caught and imprisoned and she found herself facing him again and looking up with bewilderment and pleading in her lovely eyes. Another interlude of silence was broken by the whinnying of Summer Song; Mark bent his head again and his lips claimed hers. Ardency this time, increasing in strength until Kate felt she must surely lose her senses if he did not soon desist.
'Why are you doing this to m
e?' she managed when after an eternity she was free. 'You're—you're—despicable!' Why no vehemence in her tones? But Kate was shaken to the depths by what had occurred. His reason was obscure, but not her own feelings. In fact, clear and stark revelation could not now be repelled; it swept in on her consciousness and she knew she was hopelessly in love with this formidable man from the Outback, this man who had heartlessly allowed her to make a complete fool of herself—and derived an excessive measure of enjoyment from her subsequent discomfiture.
'Why am I doing this to you?' with that lazy drawl edged with satire. 'For my own enjoyment, of course.'
For his own enjoyment… Not for any other reason. But of course she had known there was nothing sincere in the action, simply because of the lack of gentleness and lover-like persuasion and finesse. The kisses were those of brute force, the kind a man takes and promptly forgets. The moisture in her eyes in-creased to real tears, which she held back, blinking rapidly and biting her underlip hard. His eyes took on an odd expression and there was a sudden element of softness in the way his strong hands slid from her arms to her waist, encircling it without any trouble at all. Feeling she must make some show of indignation, however belated, Kate angrily drew a hand across her bruised and swollen mouth.
'Well, Mr. Copeland, if you enjoyed the ridiculous performance I did not! Kindly let me go—I'll not remain here with you a second longer!'
No reaction for a long moment, but those blue eyes glinted and Kate guessed at a return of the anger she had previously suspected. It was not long before her suspicions became a certainty.
'Ridiculous performance, was it?' with an unexpected gritting of his teeth. 'And you didn't enjoy it?' His dark face came close; she saw the pulsating movement in his throat as a nerve became out of control. Fear possessed her and her eyes darted about again, the last thin film of colour draining from her face. He looked ready for murder… or something worse… 'Had it been my brother you'd have liked it well enough, wouldn't you?' She could only stare uncomprehendingly, and Mark shook her violently. 'Wouldn't you? Answer me!'
