Claiming the Cattleman's Heart. Barbara Hannay

was ask for it. And, when he did, Lily Halliday would be the last person he’d turn to.

      Unfortunately.

      Over lunch, conversation was limited to ‘Pass the bread, please’ and ‘Do you have milk with your tea?’—and Lily grew uncomfortable again.

      She had always prided herself on being open and friendly and easy to talk to, and she found Daniel’s reluctance to open up disturbing. It seemed odd to her that he would go to the trouble of offering to help her, even share a meal with her, and yet remain so reserved and secretive.

      Her harmless question about whether he lived alone seemed to have silenced him.

      It was odd. It didn’t feel right. People in the Outback were famous for going out of their way to be friendly, weren’t they?

      She started thinking again about all the closed doors only a few steps down the hallway. What was hidden behind them?

      ‘How anxious are you to get to Gidgee Springs?’

      Lily jumped and looked up at him, to see his attractive blue eyes on her.

      ‘Sorry. I was daydreaming. What did you say?’

      ‘I was wondering if you’re in a hurry to get to Gidgee Springs.’

      ‘Why—um—why do you ask?’

      ‘I’m concerned about the young heifer,’ he said. ‘I’d like to hang around a bit longer. Just to make sure she’s OK.’

      Lily lifted her hands, palms open. ‘Don’t let me stand in the way of a safe delivery. I’m keen to get to Gidgee Springs, but as long as I can collect my car in daylight it should be fine.’

      ‘I promise to get you to town well before dark.’ He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, and almost smiled at her. ‘Thanks for understanding.’

      ‘That’s OK. Thanks for your help.’

      Jerking his head in the direction of the paddock, he said, ‘I’ll head off, then. You’re welcome to stay here at the house.’

      ‘No, thanks,’ Lily said quickly. Somehow she didn’t fancy being left alone with all those closed doors. ‘I’ll come with you. I’ve never seen a calf being born.’

      ‘You might not enjoy it.’

      ‘I’m not squeamish.’

      He stared at her for a moment or two, and Lily could feel his blue eyes piercing her, taking her measure, trying to decide if she would be in the way. At last he said, ‘Come on, then.’

      As she followed him, she remembered the succession of pregnant women who’d visited her mother in their tiny cottage in Sugar Bay.

      Lily had been a child at the time, but, as far back as she could remember, the women had come, all looking alike in floating tie-dyed cheesecloth maternity dresses. And they’d always sent for Fern’s help when it was time for their babies to be born. Usually Lily had been taken to stay at a friend’s house, but occasionally she’d been allowed to play in another room in the house where the births took place.

      She had grown up assuming that all babies arrived surrounded by the smells of scented candles, incense, and soothing massage oils, and accompanied by the gentle sounds of warm baths running, soft flute music and quietly issued instructions about breathing.

      Of course, she knew better now. But Fern had helped dozens of women to have beautiful home-birth experiences, and they’d always shown their gratitude by bringing gifts—fresh eggs, fruit, vegetables and herbs, homemade jams or soaps and woven shawls.

      Now it was Fern who needed their help, but her friends were an itinerant lot, and nearly all of them had drifted away from Sugar Bay.

      The heifer was lying down by the time they reached her. Daniel retrieved a length of binder twine from the back of the ute. Lily wondered what it was for, but she didn’t ask.

      At the fence, he paused and held down two rungs of barbed wire with his boot, then offered a hand to help her over. Her legs were only just long enough for her to clamber over the fence without scratching her bare thighs, and she wished she was wearing jeans.

      It didn’t help that Daniel seemed rather distracted by her shorts. She felt a little flustered as she landed on the other side, and she had to grip his hand tightly to keep her balance. And then her hat fell off.

      With an easy swoop of one long arm, Daniel retrieved it, and at first she thought he was going to pop it casually on her head. But she should have known there was nothing casual about Daniel Renton.

      He hesitated, and then handed the hat to her rather formally. But his smile was so unexpectedly shy and enchanting that she wondered why there weren’t a dozen or more females buzzing about his property, offering to clean his house and to clear his lantana, or to fix him something more substantial for lunch than bread and cheese.

      However, his smile vanished just as quickly as it had come, and he turned his attention to the labouring heifer.

      The poor thing’s sides were inflated as if she was holding her breath, and two little black hooves protruded from her rear end.

      Making soothing noises, Daniel examined her with gentle hands, murmuring something Lily couldn’t quite catch, before he began to tie the twine around the protruding hooves.

      ‘It’s just as I thought,’ he said. ‘The calf’s a bit big for her,’

      Lily winced, thinking of the pain. ‘Poor darling.’

      ‘I think she’ll be OK with a little help.’

      To Lily’s surprise, he planted his booted foot on the heifer’s hindquarter, gained leverage, and then began to pull down on the twine, easing first one little hoof and then the other.

      The air was very still and hot out in the middle of the paddock, and Lily was grateful for her shady hat. The rest of the cattle were some distance away, grazing quietly, and all Lily could hear was an occasional chomp as they chewed at tufts of grass. And then the heifer bellowed sharply.

      Lily watched the muscles in Daniel’s forearms stand out as he hauled on the rope. She found herself holding her breath as she watched him strain, until at last the calf’s gangly legs emerged. And then its head.

      The little wet calf had a dark-red face like its mother, but there was a white blaze on its forehead. It looked so sweet. And then it blinked. Goodness, it was still in the process of being born, and it had actually blinked its cute brown eyes. Unexpected emotion choked Lily.

      ‘That’s a good, brave girl.’ Daniel’s voice was deep and calm as he spoke to the heifer while he hauled again on the twine, and the calf’s shoulders inched forward. After several more firm tugs, the shoulders were cleared.

      Again Lily held her breath, but it was only seconds later that the rest of the calf’s body slipped out, and an involuntary cheer burst from her. Daniel sent her a quick, relieved grin and she had to swipe at unexpected tears.

      ‘Oh, wow. Well done,’ she said between sniffles. She stared at the newborn form. It was lying very still. Actually, the calf’s eyes were closed now, and its chest wasn’t rising.

      Oh, no. A few minutes ago it had blinked so sweetly. How awful if it hadn’t made it after all.

      ‘It’s not breathing,’ she whispered.

      Without a word, Daniel knelt beside the inert body. He broke off a piece of dried grass and calmly tickled the calf’s nose with it. Lily couldn’t help thinking how nice his hands looked—workman’s hands, strong and callused, yet long-fingered and gentle. Hands that fostered life.

      The calf gave a little snort and then another. Finally it lifted its head, and Lily gave a cry of delight. The new mother struggled to her feet and began to lick her offspring.

      Still kneeling, Daniel looked up at Lily, his face alight, and she could see how very happy he was—almost