The Cattle Baron's Bride. Margaret Way
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Dear Reader,
It is with much pleasure that I welcome you to my four-book miniseries, MEN OF THE OUTBACK. The setting moves from my usual stamping ground, my own state of Queensland, to the Northern Territory, which is arguably the most colorful and exciting part of the continent. It comprises what we call the Top End and the Red Center—two extreme climatic and geographical divisions. This is what makes the Territory so fascinating. The tropical, World Heritage–listed Kakadu National Park, with crocodiles and water buffalo to the Top, and in the Center the desert—the “dead heart” that’s not actually dead at all—only lying dormant until the rains transform it into the greatest garden on earth.
The pervading theme of the series is family. Family offers endless opportunities for its members to hurt and be hurt, to love and support, or bitterly condemn. What sort of family we grew up in reverberates for the rest of our lives. One thing is certain: at the end of the day, blood binds.
I invite you, dear reader, to explore the lives of my families. My warmest best wishes to you all.
MEN OF THE OUTBACK launched with The Cattleman, Superromance #1328
Look for
Her Outback Protector, Harlequin Romance, #3895
“The moment I saw you…” Ross stopped dead before she prized it out of him.
“Yes?” Samantha caught her breath as if on the brink of a revelation.
There was a recklessness in his blood he knew was getting the better of him. She had insinuated herself into his dreams.
He looked at her through the mask he affected. “I knew then I’d have need of protective armor.” He turned away, knowing he was leaving her baffled.
“I’d love to know what you were really going to say.”
“The fact I even said that makes me wonder.”
“It would be really something to see. You losing control. You are such an enigma, Ross Sunderland.”
“And you’re desperate to solve the mystery.”
The seductive note in his voice roused her so much he might have suddenly begun to trail a hand over her body.
The Cattle Baron’s Bride
Margaret Way
Margaret Way takes great pleasure in her work and works hard at her pleasure. She enjoys tearing off to the beach with her family on weekends, loves haunting galleries and auctions, and is completely given over to French champagne “for every possible joyous occasion.” She was born and educated in the river city of Brisbane, Australia, and now lives within sight and sound of beautiful Moreton Bay.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
BY THE light of the stars alone in a situation fraught with difficulties and dangers Sunderland and his tracker Joe Goolatta led a traumatised jackeroo missing since late afternoon the previous day back through dense tropical jungle to the safety of the savannah. The forest floor was alive with activity. All sorts of nocturnal creatures, some with malevolent eyes, pounced on prey or scuttled under foot hunting for food. Forest debris crashed to the ground as the countless legions of possums with their thick pelts ripped up leaves and twigs or made their prodigious leaps from tree to tree sending down a hailstorm of edible berries and nuts. Huge bats hung upside down assuming the appearance of vampires. Other dark forms flapped over head. Monstrous amethyst pythons growing to twenty feet long wrapped themselves around branches close over head, while the brown snakes and their brothers the deadly black snakes moved slowly, sinuously through the trees guided not by sight but smell as they stalked sleeping birds. Now and again a night bird shrieked an alarm at their presence as they trekked through the forest galleries. Giant epiphytes clung to the buttresses of the rain forest trees, staghorns and elkhorns; all kinds of climbing orchids glimmered in the starlight. Now and again Sunderland slashed at something. Probably the Stinging Tree. Brushing up against the leaves could inflict extreme pain. Sunderland and the tracker scarcely made a sound. They might have spent their whole lives living in this overwhelming stronghold of Nature among the community of rain forest animals. Ben Rankin, the jackeroo, seventeen years old moaned and groaned, his every movement jerky and slow as he stumbled over thick woody prop roots and fallen branches, vines that grew in wild tangles, letting out high pitched nervous cries to rival the shrieks of the night bird.
“Get a hold there, Rankin,” Sunderland clipped off, not impressed by the lad’s behaviour. He grasped the boy’s arm for perhaps the hundredth time giving him a helping hand. “We’re nearly there.”
How could he possibly know? Ben marvelled. The Boss’s night vision was awesome.
Finally they emerged into a clearing having walked unerringly to the very spot where a station jeep was parked. Who would believe it?
“Made it!” The old aboriginal stockman spoke with satisfaction. “Must be four, thereabouts,” he growled, looking up at the lightening sky. “Not far off sunrise.”
“Almost time to start work again,” Sunderland said wryly, pushing the hapless jackeroo into the back seat of the jeep where the youngster collapsed into a heap. Ben’s whole body was shuddering. He was physically and mentally spent now his ordeal was over. “Oh God, oh God!” he sobbed, covering his head with his hands. “I’m such a fool.”
“Too right, little buddy!” the old aboriginal said, making his disgust clear.
Sunderland showed no emotion at all as though it were a sheer waste of time. He put light pressure on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ve had a bad experience. Learn from it.”
“Yes, sir.” Ben’s breath came out like a hiss his jaw was clamped so tight. “Kept thinking a bloody great croc would get me.”
Goolatta snorted.
“We’re nowhere near the river. Or a billabong for that matter,” Sunderland pointed out matter-of-factly, not having a lot of time for the boy’s distress either. Rankin like all the other recruits had been obliged to sit in on lectures regarding station safety. He had been warned many times never to hare off on his own. Most had the sense to listen. Territory cattle stations were vast. Some as big as European countries. It was dead easy to get lost in the relatively featureless wilderness. Obeying the rules made the difference between living and dying. A few over the years had disappeared without trace.
“When you realised you were lost you should have stayed put instead of venturing further into the jungle,” Sunderland told him. “We would have found you a whole lot quicker.”
“I’m sorry. Sorry,” the jackeroo moaned, appalled now at his own foolhardiness. “What a savage place this is. Paradise until you step off the track.”
“Remember it next time you fell like pulling another dare-devil stunt.” Sunderland told him bluntly. “Joe and I won’t have the time to come after you. You’ll have to find your own way home.” Sunderland raked a hand through his hair, looked up at the sky. “Let’s move on,” he sighed, listening carefully to something crashing through the undergrowth. A wild boar? “You can rest up this