“Then he ought to hit on some motto—like Be A Man. Simon has to develop a little backbone, Alana,” he offered crisply, wondering if Simon had ever worked up enough courage to kiss her.
“That’s all very well for you to say. Simon is scared of his mother.” She hesitated a moment, then soldiered on, “You know Rose quite likes Simon …”
The brackets around his mouth deepened in amusement. “I can see the wheels turning in your golden head. But you can’t play matchmaker.”
“Why don’t you try your hand at it, then?” she shot back. “You’re so highly successful at everything you do.”
“Okay!” He leaned back, considering, linking his strong tanned arms behind his crow-black head. “Why don’t I show a little interest in you?” he suggested.
The expression on Alana’s face abruptly changed. “What? Pretend a romantic in … ter … est?” She stumbled over the word.
“Why make it sound like there’s more chance of getting struck by lightning?” His tone mocked. “Surely it wouldn’t be all that difficult? You’re a smart girl.”
“Men don’t like smart girls,” she said bluntly.
‘Ah, yes, but you’re as beautiful as a dream. That helps.”
Her eyes looked frightened. “Would you like to walk that by me again? I’m beautiful?”
“Would you settle for sexy?”
His gaze tantalised her. “Thanks, but no, thanks, Guy.” She whirled up from her chair. “I’ll do anything in the world for Simon except fall in love with you.”
Kieran was greeted by the incomparable aroma of rich, dark roasted coffee. Alana had made a stack of sandwiches that looked really good, as well as producing a plate of triple chocolate brownies she had made only the night before. Alana was a good cook. Their mother had seen to that. The brownies were a favourite with their father, who nowadays mostly preferred to drink than eat.
Kieran poured himself a cup of coffee, then sat down beside his sister. The pair of them were so golden they delighted the eye. “It’s good to see you, Guy.” Kieran spoke with warm sincerity. “You don’t get over often enough.”
“Things will start to slacken off as winter approaches,” Guy said. “I was admiring your new landscape in the hallway. It’s quite something.”
“It’s yours!” Kieran declared, strong white teeth biting into a ham sandwich with relish.
It was just as Guy had expected. “I’d be very happy to own it, Kieran, but I’m speaking to you as a buyer. I’d like to pay for it.”
Kieran shook his leonine mane. “That’s not going to happen. You’ve been too good to us, Guy.”
“Could you elaborate on that?” Alana looked quickly from one to the other.
“Haven’t you noticed all the nice things I do?” Guy told her smoothly. “I’ve lent you various equipment from time to time. I’ve sent wine, table grapes, our very best extra virgin olive oil. I’ve given Kieran here plenty of advice when he’s asked.”
Kieran spread his arms wide. “You’re brilliant, Guy. No wonder Lana’s little puppy dog Simon calls you The Man. If you like the painting, Guy, it’s yours. I can knock up another one.”
But Guy was minded to be serious. “You know you have a considerable gift?”
Kieran’s smiling face sobered. “My talent for painting won’t keep Briar’s Ridge going, Guy. You know that.”
“But your talent for painting might carry you far.”
“You sound just like Alex.” Kieran gulped rather than sipped at his steaming hot coffee. “If Alex had her way I’d be mounting an exhibition before the end of the year. She’s guaranteed me a sell-out.”
“Alex knows what she’s talking about,” Guy pointed out, in his quiet, authoritative voice. “She can help you.”
Kieran kept silent.
How mysterious were the connections of the heart, Guy thought.
Alana looked across the table, feeling bewildered. “Do you two know something I don’t?”
Guy managed a lazy smile. “Lots of things I expect.”
Kieran too grinned. The smiles didn’t fool her. Alana turned to her brother. “Are we in deeper than you’ve told me?” she asked, sounding worried.
“We’ll know more after the sales, Lana.” Kieran picked up another sandwich.
She drew a quick breath. “I’ve spoken to Guy about my idea of turning Briar’s Ridge into a show farm, like Morgan Creek.”
Kieran glanced across the wide pine table at Guy, then back at his sister. “Lana, we’ve been over this. It might work with a big influx of money, but even if by some miracle we could borrow it, Dad wouldn’t sit still for it. You know that. He wouldn’t want people wandering around the property. He’d hate it.”
“So we go under? Is that it?” She blinked furiously, amazed she was so emotional these days.
Kieran laid an arm around his sister’s shoulders. “We haven’t gone under yet, kiddo!” Brother and sister stayed that way for a moment, then Kieran rose, pocketing a couple of brownies. “That was great. Just what I needed.” He looked at Guy with his extraordinarily blue eyes. “Dad’s in the Second Paddock, if you want to find him. We’re supposed to have a meeting with Bob Turner at three.” Bob Turner was the local wool representative. “Want me to drop you out there?”
Guy shook his head. “I won’t keep you. I know you’ve got plenty on your hands. Any of the other locals been around yet?” he asked. The local wool growers usually turned up to check out the quality of their neighbours’ clip.
Brother and sister nodded golden heads in unison. “Harry Ainsworth and Jack Humphrey,” Kieran said. “The stack’s growing, but it’s nothing like our best quality. Dad is disappointed, though he really should have been expecting it. I’m keen to see what’s happening on Wangaree.”
Wangaree’s clip always attracted enormous interest. At the important wool sales in Sydney buyers representing the leading woollen mills and the famous fashion houses of the world usually found their clip close to perfection, which meant Guy had a good idea of what Wangaree’s clip would bring even before it was auctioned off. No matter the slump in prices, wool of the quality produced by Wangaree could be eagerly snapped up.
“Why don’t we make it one day next week?” Guy suggested. “The clip will have grown even taller by then. It’s superfine, and unbelievably white. Bring Alana. Stay to lunch. Your father is very welcome too, but I’ll speak to him myself when I drive out to see him.”
Kieran moved off with the grace of a trained athlete. “That’ll be great! By the way, I meant what I said about the painting. It’s yours. I refuse to take money for it.”
“Then I’ll just have to find another way to pay you back,” Guy called after him. “I’ll have it framed.”
“Sure.” Kieran waved a hand. “I couldn’t run to a frame. Good ones cost the earth.”
“After which I’ll hang it in a prominent place at the house,” Guy promised. “In the years to come I’ll be able to say,