The Cattleman's English Rose. Barbara Hannay

hollow, deep inside her.

      ‘I came out to find my hairbrush,’ she said, sounding more panicky than she meant to. No man had ever looked at her with such unsmiling, focused attention. At home in Hollydean she’d had a few boyfriends—some unimpressive, others a little more serious. There’d even been a marriage proposal. But none of those men had made her feel so—so aware.

      She dashed to her handbag, grabbed her hairbrush and hurried back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her again.

      Safely inside, she used the electric hair-dryer to blow her hair dry. At home she usually let her hair dry naturally, encouraging it to fall into soft waves, but today she didn’t care if it went as straight as sticks as long as it stopped Kane McKinnon from looking at her that way.

      The intensity in his eyes had awoken a strange longing deep inside her—a need so acute that it left her with the fear that it might never be eased.

      Shocked by her reaction, she wound her flamboyant hair into a prim knot and secured it with several pins before she ventured back into the bedroom.

      ‘Now you look like a Sunday school teacher,’ he said, and she was relieved to see that his eyes were less intense.

      ‘Perhaps that’s because I am a Sunday school teacher,’ she replied with necessary dignity.

      ‘Fair dinkum?’

      ‘Yes. I’m a genuine Sunday school teacher.’

      He cocked his head to one side and studied her. ‘What else do you do?’

      What else did she do? Annoyed by the underlying taunt in his manner, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin to an even more dignified angle. If only she could offer this man an impressive answer. If only she could manage to lie without feeling guilty.

      What else she did was less than impressive.

      While most of her school chums had gone away to travel, or to university, or to jobs in London, she’d stayed behind in Hollydean to help her father and Tim. Whenever her friends came home, they took pains to point out that she’d been living in a time warp since she left school.

      She knew Kane McKinnon wouldn’t be impressed by the news that she played a vital role in the parish—taking care of the rectory household, accompanying the choir practice, teaching at Sunday school, visiting the elderly and the sick…

      And it was of no use to point out to him that she was so indispensable to the running of the parish that the ladies in the Mothers’ Union had organised themselves into a roster to take over her tasks while she was away.

      Nevertheless, her green eyes flashed and she cast him a look ablaze with haughty pride. ‘I am an excellent housekeeper,’ she said.

      His lips pursed as he released a low whistle. ‘Are you now? That’s very interesting…’

      Letting out an impatient huff, she folded her arms across her chest. She’d had enough of his teasing. ‘I seem to remember you mentioned breakfast?’

      ‘That’s right. I did. Are you ready?’

      ‘I could be if I knew what you’ve done with my shoes…’

      Bending down, he fished for something under the end of her bed, then he straightened and held out her sandals, dangling them by the straps. ‘These do?’

      ‘They’ll be fine, thank you.’ With icy composure she accepted them and slipped her feet into them, but she felt strangely self-conscious and fumble-fingered while he waited and watched her lean down to do up the buckles.

      ‘Now I’m ready,’ she said crisply.

      ‘Good. Let’s go down to the dining room.’ He opened the door and stood aside to let her past. ‘Once you’ve got some decent tucker inside you, we should have a chat. I’ve got a suggestion that might interest you.’

      ‘Your housekeeper?’

      The way she said the word your set Kane’s teeth on edge. She might as well have come right out and said she’d be happy to take care of any other house on the planet—except his.

      ‘It makes sense, doesn’t it?’ he said, spearing a juicy sausage with his fork then attacking it with his knife. ‘If you’re going to insist on looking for your brother, you need somewhere to stay, and Reid and I need someone to cook and do the housework.’

      ‘It would probably do your brother and you the world of good to fend for yourselves for a week or two,’ she said in a preachy voice that he supposed she’d perfected during her years as a Sunday school teacher.

      ‘It would probably do your brother the world of good if he was left to carry on with his life without his sister breathing down his neck.’

      ‘You don’t understand.’

      ‘And neither do you.’

      They scowled at each other across the table, green eyes and blue sparking with equal ferocity. Then Kane gave a resigned shrug and resumed eating while Charity pushed the food around on her plate. Apart from sipping daintily at her pineapple juice and nibbling at her toast, she’d hardly touched the rest—only a little of the mushrooms and tomatoes.

      ‘You may as well eat up,’ Kane said. ‘A big pile of greasy food is good for a hangover.’

      She looked ill, but he ate steadily on, relishing every speck of food on his plate—softly scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and sausages with tomato sauce, a lamb chop, mushrooms—

      ‘Very well, I’ll do it.’

      Her sudden statement caught him by surprise. He looked up to find her watching him with a deadly earnest expression.

      ‘I’ll take the job as your housekeeper because it serves my purpose as well as yours,’ she said. ‘But I’m putting you on notice, Mr McKinnon. The only reason I’m coming out to your homestead is because I need accommodation and because I believe that someone in this district will be able to explain my brother’s disappearance.’

      ‘I can’t promise you anything on that score.’

      ‘I know you’ve tried to deter me, but that doesn’t change my opinion.’

      Kane shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

      ‘And I’ll come to look after your home on the strict condition that you—’ In mid-sentence her composure crumpled. A tide of colour swept up her neck and into her cheeks.

      Not for the first time, Kane wondered how a clergyman’s daughter could have such pagan prettiness. This girl’s lissom figure, vibrant hair and dewy green eyes would distract any red-blooded man.

      And now this rosy blush…pretty as a sunrise. A Sunday school teacher out of her depth shouldn’t look so damn appealing.

      His throat seemed to close and he had to swallow. ‘What was that? You mentioned a strict condition.’

      She took a sip of pineapple juice and looked at him over the rim of the glass and her eyes seemed to plead with him to understand.

      ‘What condition?’ he repeated.

      She still didn’t answer. But, as her blush deepened, Kane understood.

      Pushing his plate to one side, he propped an elbow on the edge of the table and rested his chin on his hand. ‘Perhaps I should explain my conditions,’ he said.

      ‘You have conditions?’

      ‘Naturally.’

      ‘Then by all means, please explain.’

      ‘There are very few women I would ask to move into my home.’

      Her eyes were huge and she nodded without speaking.

      Leaning forward, he said quietly, ‘Apart from Annie, there are no women living on Southern Cross. There’s an old stockman who looks after the yard and he and my