The Cattleman's English Rose. Barbara Hannay
table and handed out glasses, she eyed them both with a sweet-and-sour smile. They thanked her and took their time sampling grateful sips of their cold drinks.
The silence was broken by the clink of ice against glass and then another sigh from Charity. ‘I know I must look like a fussy mother hen, but I can’t help worrying,’ she said. ‘Tim’s so young. He’s only just turned nineteen.’
There was a short gasp of surprise from Marsha. Kane shot her a sharp, silencing frown.
‘Out here, if a boy’s nineteen, he’s old enough to vote, old enough to drink and old enough to fight and die for his country,’ he said.
‘That may be so, but I intend to find him. If you can’t help me, could you suggest where I should start looking?’
He shrugged. ‘He could be anywhere.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sure you can do better than that.’
Kane sighed. He should have known from the moment she walked in that this girl was a crusader who wouldn’t give in easily.
‘Okay, I’ll give it to you straight.’ With a forefinger, he ticked off the fingers on his left hand. ‘Your brother could have taken another mustering job on a property farther out, or he could be droving cattle up north in the Cape, which would mean spending six or eight weeks on horseback. He could be fishing for barramundi up in the Gulf, or he could be on a prawn trawler out of Karumba.’ He eyed her slowly. ‘You want some more?’
When she didn’t answer, he gave a slight shake of his head before continuing. ‘He might be gold prospecting out the back of Croydon, or fossicking for sapphires down at Annakie, or he could be sitting on a bar-stool chatting up a Swedish backpacker on Magnetic Island.’
As she listened to his list she chewed her lower lip—her soft, petal-pink lip—and he couldn’t help staring.
She shook her head. ‘But if Tim was doing any of those things he could have phoned us, emailed or written a letter.’
Kane shrugged again. ‘I’d say he’s too busy, or too remote.’
Charity stared into her glass, swilled the ice cubes and took another thoughtful sip of her drink.
‘Trust me,’ Kane said quietly, keeping the expression on his face deadpan. ‘Your brother’s okay.’
‘But how do you know that?’
Abruptly he drained his second beer. ‘Look, you don’t want to hang around here. This isn’t the place for you. You should head back to the coast. Why don’t you see a bit of Australia? Have a bit of a holiday while you’re out here. I have Tim’s home address. I’ll contact you if I hear something.’
He knew she wouldn’t be happy to be dismissed so soon, but she’d asked her questions, he had answered them and now he wanted her to leave.
To his surprise she accepted this.
With a series of nervous gulps she finished her gin and tonic. ‘Thanks for the drink,’ she said. ‘I was hoping you could help me, Mr McKinnon, but as you can’t I’ll try to find someone else in this district who might have known Tim.’
Then she jumped to her feet and was just a little unsteady. How much gin had Marsha put in that drink?
Holding out her hand, she said, ‘Thanks for your time.’
‘Just remember my advice,’ he said. Her hand felt soft and he was conscious of her delicate bones as he clasped it. ‘Don’t hang around here. Get back to the coast and have some fun.’
She turned to Marsha, who looked decidedly chipper all of a sudden. ‘It was nice to meet you, Marsha.’
‘You, too, Charity,’ she said, giving a little wave.
Holding her head high, Charity turned and walked very carefully across the bare wooden floor to the bar’s entrance. Kane remembered the conviction in her eyes when she’d entered the bar not so long ago, and he wasn’t proud that he’d managed to knock the stuffing out of her so easily.
Thanks for nothing, Mr McKinnon.
As soon as Charity reached the little foyer at the front of the pub, she slumped on to a wooden bench, swamped by anger and disappointment.
She’d come all this way and she’d pinned so much hope on Kane McKinnon’s help and all he would tell her was to get out of the district.
There’d been an air of secrecy about him that disturbed her. Was it a natural reticence or a wall of defence because he had something to hide? She couldn’t shake off the feeling that he’d been warning her off or, worse still, that his words had been a threat.
But if he wouldn’t help, where else could she go for assistance? The police had been next to no help and she had no one else to turn to. She was in a strange country as vast and alien as the moon and she couldn’t think what to do next.
Kane McKinnon had suggested that Tim was having such a wonderful time that he’d simply forgotten to keep in touch. Could that be true? Had she been expecting too much of her brother? Perhaps the boy had fallen head over heels in love. It was possible, but it didn’t really explain his silence.
‘Your Tim was a cutie.’
Startled, Charity turned to see Marsha. ‘Oh, hello.’
‘He was a real gentleman,’ Marsha said, stepping closer. The huge silver loops in her ears made soft tink-tink sounds when she moved.
‘Did you know Tim very well?’
‘Well enough.’ The woman’s face was a picture of sympathy as she plonked down on the seat next to Charity. ‘To be honest, I thought Kane was a bit rough on you. After all, you’ve come such a long way and you don’t know anyone here.’
Charity’s eyes widened, signalling her deepening surprise.
‘Why don’t you come with me? We can have a nice little chat about your problem. Girl to girl.’
‘That’s kind of you,’ said Charity, trying to hide her surprise.
Marsha was very different from the kind of women who normally befriended her and the last person she’d expected to offer the hand of friendship was Kane’s woman. At least, she assumed Marsha was Kane McKinnon’s girlfriend. No doubt he had a string of girlfriends. She supposed that most women would find his silver-blue eyes and hard packed, lean body attractive.
Marsha smiled. ‘Why don’t we go and have a quiet drink in the beer garden?’
‘Oh, thank you…’
How could she refuse? She had so few options it would be foolish to do so. Charity rose and followed the other woman through a side door into a surprisingly pretty, shaded courtyard. The area was paved with black and white tiles and protected from the sun by a vine-covered pergola. A border of huge fern-filled hanging baskets made the area feel very secluded.
‘It’s quieter out here,’ Marsha said, nodding towards the only other couple, who were seated at a far table.
‘It’s lovely.’
‘You take a seat while I get us another drink.’
‘Please, let me pay.’ Charity pulled her purse from her handbag, but Marsha dismissed her with a wave of her hand. ‘You can get the next round,’ she said with a grin.
Charity doubted that she could handle a third round. Perhaps it was the heat, but the first drink had left her feeling just a little unsteady but, before she could say so, Marsha disappeared.
She returned very quickly. ‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass against Charity’s.
‘Cheers.’ Charity took a small sip. ‘Do you work in Mirrabrook?’
‘Sure do. I have my own hairdressing salon. I’ve stacks of clients. Most days I’m run off