The Cattleman's English Rose. Barbara Hannay
heading straight for him, her smoky green eyes resolute and unflinching, and Kane thought of Joan of Arc facing up to the Brits. A woman on a mission.
He felt an urgent need to slide off the bar-stool and stand tall. His right hand was damp from the condensation on his beer glass and he gave it a surreptitious wipe on the back of his jeans.
‘Kane McKinnon?’ the girl said when she reached him. With only a slight nod of acknowledgement towards Marsha, she held out her slim white hand. ‘I’m Charity Denham. I believe you know my brother, Tim.’
Tim Denham’s sister. This was a surprise. Her green eyes were watching him carefully, but Kane made sure his gaze didn’t falter. She didn’t look much like her brother, although they both had the same well-bred English accents.
‘Tim Denham?’ he said. ‘Sure, I know him.’
They exchanged cautious handshakes.
‘I understand that Tim worked for you on Southern Cross station,’ she said.
‘That’s right. He was on one of our mustering teams. Are you out here on a holiday?’
‘No.’
She dropped her gaze and pressed her lips together, as if she were gathering strength for what she had to say next and he decided that her bravado had been a front. Then she looked up at him again.
Her eyes were the dusky green of young gum leaves and her skin so fine and pale he could almost see through it.
‘I’m looking for my brother,’ she said.
‘Any special reason?’
She seemed startled by his question, as if the answer was as obvious as Marsha’s cleavage. ‘Tim’s missing. My father and I haven’t heard from him in over a month.’
Beside him, Marsha let out an impatient snort. ‘A month? That’s nothing. Tim Denham’s old enough to look after himself. He doesn’t need his sister chasing halfway across the world to look out for him.’
‘Let me introduce Marsha,’ Kane cut in.
The two women exchanged cool, cut-glass smiles.
‘Can we get you a drink?’ he asked.
‘A lemon lime and bitters would be nice, thank you.’
‘I’ll get it,’ offered Marsha.
Her eagerness surprised Kane, but he pushed some notes towards her from the pile of change on the table. ‘Thanks, Marsh.’
As he drained his glass, Marsha said to Charity, ‘You don’t want that drink. I’ll get you a gin and tonic. That’s what you English girls drink, isn’t it?’
‘Oh.’ There was a momentary hesitation. ‘Well, just a small one then, thank you.’
Marsha sashayed off to the other end of the bar and the English girl watched her thoughtfully.
‘Pull up a pew,’ Kane said, nodding towards a bar-stool.
She sat on it gingerly and kept her neat white hands folded demurely in her lap, while he resumed his usual position, with the heel of one riding boot hooked over the rung of the stool and the other leg stretched out comfortably.
‘How did you track me down?’ he asked.
‘I asked for directions to Southern Cross at the post office. The woman there told me you were in town today and that I’d find you here.’
That would be right. It wasn’t possible to blow your nose in this town without Rhonda at the post office knowing about it and passing the news on to everyone else.
‘Mr McKinnon.’ The determination in the girl’s voice suggested that she planned to interview him rather than conduct a pleasant conversation. ‘I’m hoping that you can help me to find my brother.’
‘You shouldn’t worry about him. He can look after himself.’
‘But we haven’t heard anything in over a month and Tim knew how much Father and I would worry. Father made him swear on the Bible that he’d keep us posted about his whereabouts.’
‘On the Bible?’ Kane had difficulty in hiding his surprise.
‘Didn’t Tim tell you that our father is the rector of St Alban’s, Hollydean?’
‘Ah—no.’
‘Father only agreed to pay Tim’s airfare to Australia on the condition that he stayed in touch. And up until a month ago we received regular updates, but since then there’s been total silence.’
‘You mustn’t worry. He’s okay.’
Excitement sparked in her eyes. ‘Do you know that for sure? Do you know where he is?’
He winced. ‘What I meant was Tim’s an okay bloke. He can look after himself.’
‘But he knows so little about Australia.’
‘You underestimate your brother. When he worked for me he picked things up quickly and he fitted in well. Of course, he copped a bit of a ribbing from some of the boys about his toff accent, but he’s a good worker. He was good with horses.’
‘But where did he go from here? When did he leave?’
‘He took off about four or five weeks ago, but I can’t tell you where.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
Her quick question almost caught him off guard. Almost. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he said in a take-it-or-leave-it tone. ‘All I know is he’s left the district.’
She frowned. ‘It just doesn’t seem right. Didn’t Tim tell you anything about where he was going, or what he was going to do?’
Kane shrugged. ‘This is a free country.’
She shook her head and dragged in a deep, dissatisfied breath through her nose.
‘Out here, people can come and go as they please,’ Kane said in defence. ‘It happens all the time. Isn’t that what travelling is all about? Being free to take up whatever opportunities arise?’ He shot her a deliberate, searching glance. ‘Maybe your brother wants to cut the apron strings.’
Her response was to glare at him, but he merely smiled.
‘You can’t keep a young bloke like Tim on a short chain for ever.’
She gave an impatient toss of her bright brandy hair. ‘That’s more or less what the police said, but I won’t accept that.’
‘So you’ve already been to the police?’
‘Of course. I spoke to them in Townsville. They’ve listed Tim as missing, but they were far too casual for my liking. They spun me the line that young people go missing all the time. They said that most of the youngsters are deliberately running away, but I know that Tim wouldn’t do that.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
There was a warning flash of green fire in her eyes. ‘I know my brother. I’ve raised him since our mother died when he was seven years old.’
This time Kane couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘You must have been very young to take on that kind of responsibility.’
‘I was fourteen.’
‘You’ve done a grand job.’ He switched his gaze from her earnest face to the bottom of his beer glass. ‘So what else did the police tell you?’
She sighed. ‘Not much. They’ve checked Tim’s bank account and there haven’t been any withdrawals. They say that’s good, because his account hasn’t been stripped and that suggests that there hasn’t been foul play. But if Tim hasn’t used his money, couldn’t it mean that he’s had an accident? He might have perished somewhere and no one knows about it.’
‘I