Her Cattleman Boss. Barbara Hannay

Derek Jenkins, was a rising star in London banking and Kate was quietly confident that she was over Noah. Completely and permanently over him.

      When she saw him again, she would be as reserved and polite as he’d always been with her, and the only emotion she would show would be her grief over Angus’s passing.

      Now Kate marched resolutely across the final stretch of dirt to the front steps, where an elderly cattle-dog, sleeping beneath the low veranda, lifted his head and blinked hazel eyes at her. He rose stiffly and approached her, his blue-and-white-flecked tail wagging.

      Kate stopped. She hadn’t had much experience of large dogs, and she expected him to bark, but he remained utterly silent, watching her keenly.

      ‘Is anyone home?’ she asked.

      The dog gave another lazy wag of his tail, and then retreated to the shade beneath the floorboards, like a pensioner allowed to enjoy the shade after a lifetime of hard work.

      Kate couldn’t blame him for keeping out of the sun. Already she could feel it stinging the back of her neck. Sweat trickled into the V of her bra and made her skin itch. She hurried up the short flight of timber steps into the welcome shade on the homestead veranda.

      And stopped dead.

      The very man she’d been fretting over was sprawled in a canvas chair. Shirtless.

      Kate gulped. And stared.

      His face was covered by a broad-brimmed akubra, but she couldn’t mistake that long, rangy body and those impossibly wide shoulders. His bare chest was bronzed and broad, and it rose and fell rhythmically.

      By contrast, Kate’s breathing went haywire.

      It was the shock, she told herself, the shock of finding Noah Carmody asleep at midday. The last, the very last thing she’d expected.

      She’d invaded his privacy, but, heaven help her, she couldn’t stop staring.

      She took another step and the veranda’s bare floorboards creaked, but Noah didn’t move. Her gaze fixed on his hands, large, long fingered, suntanned and beautiful, loosely folded over the belt buckle of his jeans.

      Carefully, she set her suitcase down and continued to stare. His hips were lean, his thighs strong, and his blue-jeans-clad legs seemed to stretch endlessly in front of him. He’d removed one riding boot and kicked it aside, and his right foot now looked strangely exposed and intimate in a navy blue sock with a hole in the big toe. No doubt he’d fallen asleep in this chair before he’d got the other boot off.

      ‘Noah?’

      Kate’s lips formed the word, but no sound came out. She sent another hasty glance beyond the veranda, to the wide expanse of dry, empty plains spreading to infinity in every direction. She’d get no help from out there.

      The house was silent, too. The front door was slightly ajar, offering a hint of a darkened and cool interior, but no sounds came from inside. Beside the door, an old hat with a battered crown hung on a row of pegs, and next to it a horse’s bridle and a leather belt with a pocket-knife pouch. The possibility that her Uncle Angus had left them there, planning to use them again, burned a lump in Kate’s throat.

      She took another careful step towards the door. Someone must be awake—Noah’s wife, or a housekeeper at least. But if she knocked she might disturb Noah. To Kate’s dismay, her confidence shrank to zilch at the thought of that tall, muscle-packed, bare-chested man waking and setting his cool grey eyes on her.

      She could avoid waking him if she went round to the back door. Then she would find the housekeeper in the kitchen. It was almost midday, for heaven’s sake, and someone should be up and about. No doubt that someone should wake Noah…

      Turning carefully, she began to tiptoe, retracing her steps over the creaking veranda floorboards to the steps. Halfway across the veranda, she heard a deep, gravelly voice.

      ‘Kate?’

      She spun around.

      It was just as she’d feared.

      Noah was out of his chair, standing tall. So tall. And heart-stoppingly attractive with a day’s growth of dark beard shadowing his jaw. His eyes narrowed against the sun’s glare. ‘It is you, Kate, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes.’ Little more than a squeak emerged from her tight throat. ‘Hello.’ She swallowed awkwardly. ‘Hello, Noah.’

      ‘Yes. Of course it’s you.’ His teeth flashed white in his suntanned face as he grinned. ‘No one else has that colour hair.’

      He crossed the veranda swiftly, and Kate thought, for a pulse-raising moment, that he was going to hug her. Her mind galloped, and with alarming ease she prepared herself for being hauled into his arms.

      His bare chest would be warm and solid, and his satin-smooth skin would be stretched over muscles that were whipcord-hard after so many years of working in the Outback. Those amazing, strong arms would be about her once more. So sexy. And comforting, too, after her long and exhausting journey.

      But Noah didn’t hug her. Of course. She should have known he’d be careful and distant.

      He held out his hand and shook hers formally. ‘This is a surprise—a nice surprise—Kate. I’m afraid I—I’ve been in a bit of a mess since Angus’s death. But it’s good to see you.’

      ‘You too.’

      Shadows lingered beneath his eyes and his cheekbones seemed more prominent than they’d been nine years ago.

      She said, ‘I was terribly shocked to hear about Uncle Angus.’

      Noah shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. ‘It was so sudden.’

      His light grey eyes assessed her, taking in her too-fair skin and her travel-rumpled clothes, her pale-red hair, already limp after little more than an hour in the Outback’s heat.

      He lowered his glance to take in his own shirtless state and his mouth tilted sideways in an apologetic smile. Turning quickly, he snagged his shirt—faded blue cotton—from the back of the chair and he shrugged it on, his big shoulders straining its seams.

      Covertly, Kate watched the fluid, deft movement of his fingers as he closed the buttons. Starting from the bottom, inch by inch, like a striptease in reverse, his hunky brown torso disappeared beneath the thin fabric. She hoped she didn’t sigh, but she couldn’t be sure.

      Noah sat down again to pull on his abandoned boot. ‘As you can see, I wasn’t expecting you. I’m sorry. I’m afraid the wake went rather late last night.’

      ‘The wake?’ Kate frowned in puzzlement.

      ‘We held a wake for Angus in the Blue Heeler pub in Jindabilla. A huge crowd came. People from all over the Channel Country.’ Noah’s eyes lightened momentarily. ‘We gave him a great send off.’

      ‘But—but—’ Kate couldn’t hold back the tremor in her voice. ‘But you don’t usually have a wake before the funeral, do you?’

      At first Noah didn’t respond.

      His mouth pulled in at the corners and his bright gaze narrowed. ‘No, not usually.’ His voice was cautious and quiet, and his hand came up to scratch the side of his neck. ‘Hell,’ he whispered.

      ‘What? What’s the matter?’

      He looked pained and rubbed at the side of his forehead, and she wondered if he had a headache. A hangover?

      ‘You’ve come for the funeral.’ He spoke softly, without looking at her, almost as if he was talking to himself.

      ‘Well, yes. Of course that’s why I’ve come.’

      He almost winced as his gaze met hers. ‘I’m sorry Kate. I’m afraid the funeral was yesterday. Yesterday afternoon.’

      She stared at him in disbelief.

      His