Probably just cut it, he thought. Unceremoniously with a pair of nail scissors like an expression of rebellion.
“I am an employee,” he pointed out.
“Hey.” She shrugged. “I said you can call me Sandra.”
“How very egalitarian. Dan Carson.” He introduced himself. “I’m your overseer on Moondai and your chauffeur for the day. I’m here to transport you to the station.”
“Transport?”
He saw her gulp. “Now why make it sound like you’re going on a road train?” he chided gently. Road trains that transported anything from great numbers of cattle to petrol were an awesome sight on Outback roads.
“I was worried about the word, transport,” she said smartly.
Her voice all of a sudden had an unexpected bite to it, an adultness that had him re-evaluating her. “Set your mind at rest. We go by helicopter,” he told her. Could there be a trace of hostility in those bluer than blue eyes? “I had to drop my leading hand into RDH for a minor op so it was convenient to pick you up and bring you home.”
“How kind.” The expressive voice turned sweetly acid.
“Only Moondai’s no home of mine, Mr. Carson.”
“Please—Daniel.” He dipped his head. “I’m not in my element with Mr. Carson.”
“Great! I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out.”
So it was antagonism.
“Actually I thought Christian names might be beneath you.” She was desperate to cover up the fact she felt as if she’d been struck by lightning. Daniel Carson, her overseer, was a marvellous looking guy with Action and Adventure emblazoned all over him. He’d make the perfect hero in some epic movie, she thought. Dark, swashbuckling good looks, splendid body, commanding height. The aura was mesmerising, but his manner was definitely nonthreatening.
“Nothing so old-fashioned,” he mocked gently, looking towards the luggage carousel. It was ringed by passengers all staring fixedly towards the chute as though willpower alone would cause the luggage to start tumbling through. Every last one appeared to be in a desperate hurry to be somewhere else.
“The baggage hasn’t started to arrive as yet,” he commented, unnecessarily, just making conversation. “How many pieces do you have?’
“Just the one,” she murmured, so overloaded by his presence, she transferred her attention to the milling crowd. Multiracial. Multilingual. English predominated; a variety of accents, Aussie, Pommie, New Zealander, American. Lots of backpackers. A group of handsome Germans, speaking their own language, which she had studied for four years at high school; Italian, Greek, Scandinavian, ethnic groups from all over the South-East Asia region.
As the gateway into Australia, Darwin, named in honour of Charles Darwin, the famous British naturalist, was a real melting pot; a far more cosmopolitan city than her home base, Brisbane. In fact it had the feel and even the smell of Asia. Hot, my God, how hot and such humid air! Almost equatorial but somehow vibrant, the scent of jasmine, joss sticks, spices; beautiful golden skinned Asian girls, dead straight shining hair sliding down their backs, strolling by in little bra tops with tiny shorts, a trio of older Asian women wearing gorgeous silk tunics over trousers.
She saw her overseer, Dan Carson, pause to smile at an attractive flight attendant who came over all giggly and flushing. Who could blame her, Sandra thought, wanting to put an instant stop to it. “Hi, Dan!”
“Hi, Abby!” His eyes eventually moved back to Sandra’s small censorious face. Mentally he began to rearrange his first impressions. Young she might be, but she was as sharp as a tack. “You believe in travelling light?”
“Surely it’s one of the great virtues,” she told him loftily, shocked by that irrational flash of jealousy. Where in the world had that come from?
He digested this by compressing his quirky mouth. “Not especially in women. They generally travel with mountains of luggage.”
“You’d know, would you?” Another haughty look as like a replay, two more attendants smiled and wiggled their fingers at him while he grinned back, saluting them with a forefinger to the broad brim of his hat already tipped rakishly over his eyes. Not only her overseer but a playboy of sorts though there was something almost mischievous in those grins.
“I’d say so.” He turned back to her.
He used that flashing, faintly crooked white smile like a sex aid she thought looking on him sternly. “Well I’m not staying long.”
“How totally unexpected.” He couldn’t keep the mockery out of a baritone that flowed like molasses. “Seeing you’ve inherited the station and all.”
Sandra’s eyes glowed the blue of a gas flame. “So what are you saying, that’s amazing?”
He shrugged. “No more than if you said you’d climbed the Matterhorn on your own. Still, I’m sure your grandfather had his reasons.”
She gave a cracked laugh. “He did. He hated me. Now he’s gone he wants Moondai to go to wrack and ruin. Then again, my grandfather never could miss an opportunity to cheat the family out of their expectations. How did he come to hire you?” She met his eyes squarely, not bothering to conceal the challenge. “Surely there’s Uncle Lloyd and cousin Bernie to take charge?”
“Both of whom prefer a different lifestyle,” he returned blandly. “No, actually the job got dumped on me.”
“You don’t sound as though you expect to lose it any time soon?” she cut in.
Pretty perceptive! “Now this is the tricky bit,” he explained. “Under the terms of your grandfather’s will I can’t check out for at least twelve months.”
“What?” She rammed both hands into her jeans pockets. Her waist was so tiny he knew he could span it with his two hands.
“You didn’t know about it?” The way she tossed her head reminded him of a high stepping filly.
“My mind went blank after the first few minutes of hearing the will read.”
“Pays to listen,” he commented briefly. “Ah, the baggage is starting to come through. Let’s go.” He grabbed hold of her soft leather hold-all and slung it over his shoulder. “You can point out which suitcase is yours when it arrives. Or is it a backpack?”
“It’s a designer case,” she said flatly.
“Sweet Lord!” Try as he might he couldn’t prevent a laugh.
“Envious?”
“Not at all.”
“You’ll be happy to know it’s not mine,” she said waspishly. “A friend of mine lent it to me.”
“That surely means your friend likes you?” he asked, amused by their disproportionate heights. She was a tiny little thing. He could fit her into his back pocket.
“He loves me.” She stared straight ahead, almost trotting to keep up with him and his long, long legs.
“Loves you?” he repeated, as though amazed she was ready for romantic love. “Would this friend be your fiancé?”
“He’s gay,” she said quite patiently, considering how she felt. Outside, all mock toughness and tart banter. Inside, a throbbing bundle of nerves.
Daniel took up a position beside the carousel as the throng miraculously parted for him like the Red Sea for Moses.
“He’s nearly eighty,” she continued, trying to keep her attention on the circling luggage when she felt like flopping in a heap. It had been a long, long trip from Brisbane. Another one faced her. She was terrified of light aircraft and helicopters. With good reason. “He has his Abyssinian cat, Sheba, and he has