In Bed With...Collection. Emma Darcy
she answered, casting a chiding look at the man beside her. “Though I’m not really into clawing.”
“Oh, boy, this is good! This is really good!” Sam enthused, then turned an arch look to Tommy who had apparently taken the news with bland equanimity. “Looks like you’ll have to make do with Celine thinking you’re adorable. And that will only last until she hooks up with Jared in Broome and gets her lustful little hands on him.”
“I couldn’t give a damn about Celine,” Tommy retorted with a bored look. “It was just part of the game.”
“And you’re such a good game player!”
Sam stepped off the verandah and pasted a brilliant smile on her face for Nathan and Miranda. “I’m glad for both of you.” She clapped Nathan’s shoulder in passing. “I’ll try to get Miranda to let her nails grow, Nathan. If ever a man deserves what he wants, it’s you.”
With that final little snipe at Tommy, she walked off jauntily, leaving him glaring after her.
“One of these days when that little witch gets off her broomstick…”
“You’ll beat her with it?” Nathan drily surmised.
Tommy huffed feelingly. “You couldn’t even beat submission out of Sam.”
“You don’t want submission, Tommy,” Nathan said knowingly.
It won a crooked smile. “No, but a bit of respect would go a long way.” His eyes flashed satisfaction. “Which is what I taught Hewson. As well as ramming it home that nobody does us a damage without paying a price.”
“I haven’t had a chance to thank you for taking over for me, Tommy,” Miranda breathed, acutely aware of what she owed both brothers.
His face broke into a cheerful grin. “One of the best moments of my life…Nathan actually asking me to stand shoulder to shoulder with him against the enemy. For that alone, you’re always going to be special to me, Miranda.”
He stepped back and waved them onto the verandah. “Let’s go inside and park your bag. Time’s moving on. I’ll have to be leaving myself in a minute.”
“Not before you tell us the nuts and bolts,” Nathan said as they entered the homestead.
“Just got to collect my stuff from the office.”
“Tommy…”
“Now, Nathan, give me credit,” Tommy crowed, wagging an admonishing finger as he headed them towards the hall leading to the administration wing. “I can spin a story better than most.”
“True.”
“And our guests love outback stories.” His eyes twinkled with teasing triumph. “So over dinner on Saturday night, I regaled them with the legend of Lachlan’s law.”
“Lachlan’s law?” Miranda queried.
Tommy waved dismissively. “Nathan can tell you.”
“A marked change of attitude on Sunday?” Nathan quizzed his brother.
“Like magic it was,” Tommy assured him. “Sam had the highly questionable pleasure of being the Hewsons’ guide all day Sunday, and she reported there was no further mention of Miranda and no digs about management. Of course, I did finish up my story with the reflection that you, Nathan, were made in the same mould as our father and held in the same regard by Albert’s tribe.”
“Albert?” Miranda couldn’t help asking, not understanding what the Aboriginal guide and didgeridoo player had to do with this.
“A particularly vivid touch of reality to the story since they’d met him that morning,” Tommy remarked smugly. He grinned at Nathan. “Then last night I laid the pearls on Celine, shovelling the pitch that her skin was made for them, the perfect sheen for her beguiling perfection, etcetera etcetera and offering up Jared to show her the best in the world. And that, my dear brother, is guaranteed to cost Hewson many, many thousands of dollars.”
“The price of pride!” Nathan said, and laughed. “I salute you, Tommy. Forget the shoulder to shoulder. You can stand in front of me any time.”
“I shall take that accolade and shove it down Sam’s throat on some appropriate occasion,” Tommy said with relish. “Meanwhile—” he lowered his brows at both of them as they turned into the administration wing “—am I going to have to rearrange management here?”
“You can count on one season, Tommy,” Nathan answered. “The rest is up to Miranda. Her choice.”
“Right!” he said in some relief, halting at the office door and gesturing them on to Miranda’s private quarters. “I’m off then. No playing on my time, Nathan.”
“Your time is much appreciated.” A pause for a warm handshake. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Tommy disappeared into the office and Nathan walked on with Miranda who was silently rejoicing in how clearly and openly he had declared his interest in her, both to Sam and to Tommy. One season…then the choice was hers. No backing off from him. This wasn’t pillow-talk. This was real.
She unlocked her apartment door. Nathan followed her in with her bag, moving to place it on the bed, ready for her to unpack.
“What was Lachlan’s law?” she asked, closing the door to seal the privacy she wanted for just a few more minutes before taking up the reins of management again.
He set the bag down and turned around, a curious, assessing look on his face as though wondering how she would react to it. “Our family has a long history of driving serpents out of Eden, Miranda,” he said, eerily conjuring up the thought she’d had about Eden on her journey here.
“In the old days, there was no law in these parts, except what we instigated and practised ourselves,” Nathan went on. “For any isolated community like a cattle station to work well, a harmony had to be maintained on all levels. That remains true. Always will.”
She nodded. “It’s true of this resort, too, maintaining a good morale amongst the staff. I appreciate how important it is, Nathan.”
“Critical to holding the right balance,” he agreed. “The outback strips us of easy escapes. We have to live with what’s here. And from the beginning, the Kings forged a close connection to the local tribe of Aborigines. It was of mutual benefit. They were always assured of food and shelter, and having a natural affinity to the land, they were by far the best stockmen we could have working the cattle.”
“This is Albert’s tribe you’re talking about?”
“Yes. Twenty-seven years ago, Albert’s father was the foreman at the station, a highly respected tribal elder whom my father trusted to carry through any task. A drifter arrived one day, asking for a job, said he was a trained mechanic. My father set him to work repairing machinery. A few weeks later, when the men were out at the stock-camps, he broke into the supply store, stole a bottle of whisky, got himself drunk, then bashed and raped Albert’s mother.”
“Oh, no!” Miranda groaned, hating the thought of any woman being so brutally victimised.
“Albert, who was eight at the time, helped her up to the homestead. My mother took her in, and sent both Albert and me out riding for my father. All the men came in because justice had to be seen to be done, especially when it involved a white man against a black woman. The rapist displayed the attitude that any abuse against Aborigines was acceptable and shouldn’t be punished.”
“How can people think like that?” Miranda cried.
“It was not how any of us thought on the station and if a strong stand wasn’t taken on it, there would have been a very serious breach of trust amongst our people. I hope you can see that, Miranda, because King’s Eden runs on the understanding—forged through generations—that the Kings look after