The Cattleman. Margaret Way

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СКАЧАТЬ He had treated Robyn’s mother, Sharon, like the village idiot. His own mother, who had won the love and admiration of everyone around her, had apparently been highly successful at standing up to her autocratic husband—a man given to unpredictable bouts of black moods—but a riding accident had claimed her when Cy was ten and away at boarding school. A riding accident, when she’d been a wonderful horsewoman. Cy was constantly struck by the great ironies of life.

      On that last bid for freedom he’d been gone only a couple of months when his father had come after him. It’d been a huge backing down for B.B., who’d come as close to begging as that man ever could. After he’d had a chance to cool down, B.B. had seen the wisdom of not letting him go. For one thing, for B.B. to deny his own son would go down very badly in the Outback. Even he, Outback legend though he was, was afraid of that. And for another, B.B. knew that Cy was not only the rightful heir to the Bannerman empire, but he was needed. Cy’s skills had been tested and proven. Many thought him the man of the future, serious, influential people who for years had muttered about B.B. and his ruthless practices. Things could be done right without throwing honesty and justice aside.

      The conniving Robyn, though she was an excellent businesswoman and owned a very successful art gallery and a couple of boutiques in Darwin, couldn’t hope to replace him. Though she’d try. Robyn wasn’t a Bannerman, though she bore the name and fully took advantage of its clout. Robyn had a real father around someplace, but no one had heard of him for years. She was a year younger than Cy. She and Sharon had come to Mokhani two years after his own mother’s death. Sharon had been sweet and kind. Robyn was anything but, though she trod very carefully around B.B. It was no big secret to insiders that Robyn’s greatest ambition was to somehow usurp Cy and inherit Mokhani. He, the heir apparent, was the only obstacle in the way. Once, a good friend of his, Ross Sunderland, looking uneasily at Robyn, had suggested he watch his back. “Robyn likes shooting things, Cy,” he’d said.

      Cy had responded with a practiced laugh. The reality was he’d been watching his back for years. Right from the beginning, Robyn had been a strange one. Cy had divined even as a boy that in Robyn he had an unscrupulous rival.

      But for once, he and Robyn had joined forces against B.B.’s decision to hire Ms. Tennant. His decision had been based on Jessica Tennant’s age and inexperience, not her gender; his own mother, after all, had been a very creative woman. But Robyn was violently opposed to the idea of having another woman do the job she’d tried to convince B.B. she could do. She had reacted with the bitterest resentment not even bothering to conceal her hostility from B.B. A big mistake.

      “Be careful, Robyn. Be careful.” B.B. had turned on her coldly. “I have hired this young woman. I don’t want second best.”

      Finality in action.

      THEY WERE MAKING their descent into Darwin airport when the slightly tipsy nuclear physicist beside Jessica leaned into her to confide, “We’re landing.”

      “Yes, I know.”

      “Darwin airport has one of the longest runways in the southern hemisphere.”

      “Really? I’m not surprised to hear that.” She kept staring out the porthole. The guy had been hitting on her in an in-offensive way ever since they’d left Brisbane. At one point she’d even toyed with the idea of asking the flight attendant to move her, but the plane was full. In a few minutes she’d be able to make her getaway from Mr. Intelligence.

      It was not to be. He followed her every step of the way into the terminal, making like an overzealous tour guide, pointing out areas already clearly marked. He topped it all off by offering to give her a lift to wherever she wanted to go.

      “Thanks all the same, but I’m being picked up.”

      “You never said that.” He turned to her with such an aggrieved look the image of Sean floated into her mind.

      “No reason to,” she smiled. “Bye now.” If her luck held…

      It didn’t. “At least I can help you with your luggage.”

      Drat the guy! He was as hard to brush off as a bad case of dandruff.

      “So what say we meet up for a drink sometime?” he suggested. “I live here. I can show you all the sights.”

      “That’s kind of you, but I’ll be pretty busy.”

      “Doin’ what?” He looked at her as though she were playing hard to get.

      Irritation was escalating into her as much as the heat would allow when she suddenly caught sight of a stunning-looking guy, head and shoulders over the rest, maybe twenty-eight or thirty, striding purposely toward her.

      It was to her, wasn’t it? She’d hate him to change his mind. What’s more, the milling crowd fell back as though to ease his path. How many men could carry that off?

      “For cryin’ out loud, you know Bannerman?” Her companion did a double take, his gravelly drawl soaring toward falsetto.

      Bannerman wasn’t Count Dracula surely? She nodded.

      “He’s a friend?”

      This was starting to belong in the too-hard basket. “He’s meeting me,” Jessica said.

      “Well, I’m movin’ outta here.” Her annoying companion, a full six feet, all but reeled away. “I wouldn’t want to get in that guy’s way. Good luck!”

      Jessica held her breath. So this is Cyrus Bannerman, she thought tracking his every movement. This was as good as it gets. The fact that he was so striking in appearance didn’t come as a surprise. Broderick Bannerman was an impressive-looking man—she’d seen numerous photos. Obviously good looks ran in the family. What she hadn’t been expecting was the charisma, the air of authority, that appeared entirely natural. Obviously Cyrus Bannerman was ready to take over his father’s mantle when many a son with a tycoon for a father finished up with a personality disorder. Not the case here, unless that palpable presence turned out to be a facade.

      He was very tall, maybe six-three, with a great physique. The loose-limbed, long-legged stride was so graceful it was near mesmerizing. It put her in mind of the sensuous lope of a famous Pakistani cricketer she’d had a crush on as a child. Bannerman, as well he might be, given his lifestyle, was deeply tanned. In fact, he made everyone else’s tan look positively washed out. He had thick, jet-black hair, strong distinctive features, his eyes even at a distance the bluest she had ever seen. “Sapphires set in a bronze mask,” the romantically inclined might phrase it, and they’d be spot on. She knew instinctively she had better impress this guy with her professional demeanor. No contract had been signed as yet.

      “Ms. Tennant?” Cyrus, for his part, saw a young woman, physically highly desirable, with a lovely full mouth and a mane of ash-blond hair springing into a riot of curls in the humid heat. Her tallish, slender body was relaxed. She had beautiful clear skin. Her large green eyes watched him coolly. Young she might be, but there was nothing diffident about her. She looked confident, clever, sizing him up as indeed he was sizing her up. They could have been business opponents facing each other across a boardroom table for the first time.

      “Please, Jessica,” she said. Her voice matched her appearance, cool, confident, ever so slightly challenging.

      “Cyrus Bannerman. I usually get Cy.”

      “Then Cy it is.” Though every instinct shrieked a warning, she offered him her hand. СКАЧАТЬ