"WHO'S that?"
The woman on the stool beside Kane McKinnon gave his thigh
an impatient squeeze as she squinted towards the bar-room
doorway.
"Who's what?" Kane refused to look and took a lazy sip of
his beer instead.
"That girl, of course." She tugged at Kane's jeans and he
knew she wanted him to turn and join her in a scrutiny of
someone who'd just come into the Mirrabrook pub.
Perversely, he let his gaze linger on his glass.
There was nothing on earth quite so important as the first
icy-cold drink on a stinking hot day, especially when a
man had been out in the bush on a cattle muster for three
weeks. Besides, Marsha's possessive touch was bugging him.
Admittedly, he'd been in a bad mood all day, thanks to the
shocker of a bombshell his little sister had dropped that
morning.
He and his brother, Reid, had arrived back at Southern
Cross homestead just after dawn, ready for breakfast,
their stomachs primed for a good feed of steak and eggs,
and they'd been greeted by a cold, empty stove and a note
propped against the sugar bowl in the middle of the
kitchen table.
They'd read their little sister's note twice before it had
sunk in that Annie had taken off to the city for a week โ
maybe twoโฆfor a date with destiny, she had written. But
don't worry about me, I'll be quite safe. I'll be staying
with Melissa Browne.
It was totally out of character for Annie to up and leave
them without warning. Not that the kid didn't deserve a
trip to the city now and then, but she knew that her
brothers would need time to find a replacement housekeeper
while she was away.
As it was, Kane had been forced to waste a good few hours
driving into Mirrabrook today to track down someone to
help them out at short notice. And, damn it, there was no
one available.
At least, there were no 'safe women' avail-able โ sensible
women, who wouldn't view a chance to work at Southern
Cross for the McKinnon brothers as an open invitation to
start dreaming about a long white dress and a trip to the
altar.
"I've never seen her before, have you?" Marsha was still
talking about the woman who'd just walked in and her voice
sounded as disgruntled as Kane felt.
He shrugged. Marsha regarded every woman as competition,
which perhaps explained why her shorts kept getting
shorter and her necklines lower. The top she was wearing
today wasn't much bigger than a Band-Aid.
It was another thing that added to his irritation. He
didn't like women to be prudes, but Marsha's recent taste
in clothes and her increasingly possessive body language
smacked of desperation. And that was a definite turn-off.
"Why is she staring at you?" Marsha hissed.
"I have no idea." Kane sighed, hoping she would catch his
not so subtle hint that he found her question tedious.
"Well, you're about to find out."
Slipping from her stool, Marsha moved close, so close that
her bosom bumped against Kane and he turned to see why she
was making such a fuss.
Struth.
Every sunburned, jeans-clad local in the Mirrabrook pub
was gaping at the newcomer.
And Kane saw why.
To start with, she was wearing a dress โ a soft, summery,
knee-length number, the colour of ripe limes. And her skin
was milk-white, her hair long and wavy, the colour of
expensive brandy.
Against a backdrop of empty beer glasses, bar-stools and
outback ringers draped over a pool table, the young woman
looked as if she'd walked off the set of an elegant, old-
fashioned romantic movie and found herself in the wrong
scene.
But the most surprising thing about her was that she was
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.
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