Free The Socialite and the Cattle King by Lindsay Armstrong Page A

Incidentally, what’s for dinner?’
    Sarah grinned her infectious grin. ‘Would you believe? Roast beef!’
    ‘Standard cattle-station joke—roast beef for dinner,’ Brett said to Holly as they climbed into a sturdy, high-chassis four-wheel-drive utility vehicle. Holly had brought her camera.
    She laughed, but said, ‘Look, I’m really surprised at how few people you have working here. From memory you run ten-thousand head of cattle; that sounds like a huge herd to me, and Haywire covers thousands of square kilometers.’ Holly said.
    ‘That’s because you probably don’t know much about Brahman and Droughtmaster cattle.’
    ‘I know nothing,’ Holly confessed.
    ‘Well—’ he swung the wheel to avoid an anthill ‘—Brahmans come down from four Indian breeds; they were first imported here from the USA in 1933. Droughtmasters are a Brahman cross, developed here. They’ve all adapted particularly to this part of the world for a variety of reasons. They’re heat-and-parasite resistant, they’re mobile, good foragers and they can survive on poor grass in droughts. They have a highly developed digestive system that provides efficient feed-conversion.’
    ‘They sound amazing.’
    ‘There’s more,’ he said with a grin. ‘The fact that they’re resistant to or tolerant of parasites means they don’t require chemical intervention, so they’re clean and green,’ he said humorously. ‘The cows are good mothers; they produce plenty of milk and they have small calves, so birthing is usually easy, and they’re renowned for protecting their calves. All of that—’ he waved a hand ‘—means they require minimum management. In answer to your question, that’s why we don’t need an army of staff.’
    Holly looked around at the now undulating countryside they were driving through. It was quite rocky, she noticed, and dotted with anthills as well as spindly trees and scrub. The grass was long and spiky.
    ‘But this is only one of your stations, isn’t it?’ she said.
    ‘Yes, we have two more, roughly in this area, andone in the Northern Territory.’ He drew up and pointed. ‘There you are—Brahmans.’
    Holly stared at the cream and mainly brown cattle with black points. They were gathered around a dam. They had big droopy ears, sloe eyes, dewlaps and medium humps. ‘They look so neat and smooth.’
    ‘It’s that smooth coat and their highly developed sweat glands that help them cope with the heat.’
    ‘Do they come in any other colours?’
    ‘Yes, grey with black points, but we don’t have any greys here on Haywire.’
    ‘It’s so interesting!’ She took some pictures then folded her arms and watched the cattle intently.
    Brett Wyndham watched her for a long moment.
    In her yellow singlet top, her jeans and no-nonsense shoes, she didn’t look at all out of place in the land-scape. In her enthusiasm, she looked even more apt for the setting; with her pale skin, that cloud of fair curls and no make-up, she was different and rather uniquely attractive.
    He thought of her in her swimming costume only this morning: very slender, yes, but leggy with a kind of coltish grace that he’d found quite fascinating. Then again, in all her incarnations he’d found her fascinating…
    He stirred and glanced at his watch. ‘Seen enough?’
    Holly turned her head and their gazes clashed for a moment. She felt her skin prickle as an unspoken communication seemed to flow between them, one of mutual awareness.
    Then he looked away and switched on the engine, and the moment was broken, but the awareness of BrettWyndham didn’t leave her as they bounced over the uneven terrain back to the compound.
    Quite unaware that her thoughts echoed his thoughts, she remembered him all sleek and tall in the waters of Palm Cove that morning. She recalled how easily he’d picked her up in his arms and carried her up the beach. She shivered inwardly as she remembered the feel of her skin on his skin.
    Brett parked the ute