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CHAPTER TWO
MACK DIAZ GAZED into Bindi’s thick-lashed eyes, trying to decide if they were merely brown, or something darker, like perhaps ebony. She was so much smaller than him, petite, with heavy, straight, black hair hanging down, partially covering her dark, exotic features.
That short little skirt. God, she was killing him with those taut, brown legs that never seemed to end. And the sleeveless, silky top that clung to her curves, highlighting breasts that would—
“You’re going to do what?” Her sharp words brought him back with a jolt. She was still staring at him. The makeup and the party clothes—marred only by a battered pair of boots—couldn’t hide the fact that she knew her way around the horses, her work-calloused hands a testament to hard work. And was that a scar he saw high up on her left shoulder? Interesting. He’d like to know where she came upon a scar like that.
He eased his leg beneath him, working out the twinge in his thigh. He’d been driving too long without a break. It always ached after long periods of inactivity.
“I’ll sit in back, while you drive.” It seemed the only logical way to do things. She knew the roads and the way back to the station.
“It’s a long way to lead a horse…” She looked unsure.
He couldn’t help it, his gaze traveled to that delicious mouth as her top teeth bit down on her bottom lip.
“It’ll be fine. And the mare will follow us just about anywhere, as long as her foal is in the back of the car.”
The look on her face went from unsure to determined. “You could be right,” she mused.
Of course, he was right. Growing up on a ranch in Montana, he’d spent his life around horses and cattle. He didn’t want to make a bad impression on his first day, however, especially on someone as pretty as Bindi. Striking, dark eyes fixed on him as she considered him for another moment. A flash of light sparkled off a tiny diamond nose stud as he she turned to stare back down the road, as if willing someone else to come along and help her. Anyone but him, it seemed.
He studied her while she hesitated. Cute. She was sassy and gorgeous, and he decided he might like working at Stormcloud a little better if she was there. Before he returned to Montana and the Pro Bull Riding circuit, that was.
Six months. That’s what he’d promised Dean. Well, Dean had said six to twelve months, but Mack was set on the minimum stay. His boss at Stargazer Ranch had cajoled and sweet-talked, and even threatened until Mack had finally agreed. They were short a stock hand at Dean’s sister’s ranch in Australia, Stormcloud, Dean told him. Their leading hand, a guy named Wazza, had left a few months ago, and they hadn’t had a chance to replace him. Dean had said it’d be good for Mack, give him a new perspective, give him time to heal—which Mack didn’t need, he was healed enough to do what needed to be done. Mack knew his father was behind the plan to send him to Australia. Dean and his father were good friends, it was one of the reasons Dean had employed him at Stargazer, as a favor to Mack’s father. Which still grated; he didn’t need anyone’s charity. But he and his father had fought constantly when he’d returned to the family ranch to recuperate after the accident. They’d almost come to blows a few times, so Mack had begrudgingly agreed when Dean had offered him a job as a horse wrangler on his luxury ranch. That’d been a year ago, and even though Mack wouldn’t admit it, his time at Stargazer had been beneficial to him, both physically and mentally. He wasn’t so sure how this stint at Stormcloud would turn out, however.
“Here, you can use this as a lead rope.” Bindi handed him a coil of leather. He’d been so caught up with his musings, he’d hardly noticed her walk to her door and pull out the…he uncoiled the leather to see it was some sort of bullwhip, if he wasn’t mistaken. Impressive. It’d be even more impressive if she knew how to use it. He raised an eyebrow in her direction, but she was already stalking toward the driver’s door. “I’ll stay as close as I can to the fence line. Madonna should follow us to the gate. I just hope she doesn’t try and jump over it or something stupid.”
He hoped the same thing. Bindi started up the battered old car—Mack thought it might even be older than him, the color reminding him of a ripe banana—and he glanced at his sleek, black truck. But seeing as how he’d only passed one other car on the road since he’d left the last town in his wake, he thought it’d be pretty safe. He hoped it’d be okay to leave it there, all his prized possessions were in that car, including his chaps, protective vest, bull rope and bells.
He’d bought the truck sight unseen before he left Montana. Had the guy deliver it to the Brisbane airport for him. It was everything he liked and trusted in a vehicle; a large, black, shiny Chevy Silverado, a truck he recognized from home. But the farther north he drove after leaving Brisbane behind, along the country highways and back roads, the more he got the feeling his car didn’t really fit the vibe out here. Too late, he’d bought the car, and he wasn’t about to swap it out for one of those smaller, dirty-white utes that everyone seemed to drive.
He watched Bindi through the thin slit of the rear window between the cab and the tray as she turned on the ignition and put the car into gear. Her long hair had come loose from the neck of her shirt, hiding her features behind a curtain of black silk. For a fleeting second, he wondered if her hair would be as soft as it looked. What would it feel like if he tangled his fingers at the nape of her neck, bunched that hair into his fist so he could tug her head back and kiss that pouty mouth of hers? He bet she’d taste good. All clean and wholesome, but with a hint of spice.
Bindi eased the pickup—were they called pickups here? He had no idea—around in a gentle U-turn, and drove along the gravel edge of the road, as close to the fence as she could get without dropping her tires in the shallow ditch running alongside. Madonna trotted toward the car, nostrils flaring as she caught the scent of her filly. Arching her neck, she lifted her legs and frisked along the other side of the fence, tossing her head to show her displeasure at being on the wrong side. The mare was a gorgeous, rust-red color, almost too red to be called a chestnut. With large, muscular forequarters and long slim legs, she was the perfect picture of a horse in her prime. Although he’d never seen one in person, Mack guessed she was one of the famed Australian Stock Horses bred to withstand the tough Australian conditions. Dean had mentioned that his new boss, Steve, bred these horses. He wondered if he’d be allowed to ride her. He’d love to see how different she was to the quarter horses they used at home. The filly was a similar color, although slightly lighter, and her hide shone like copper in the sunlight. They made a beautiful pair, mother and daughter.
His gaze traveled past the horse jogging beside them, out to the flat, open plains beyond. This sort of reminded him a little of the grass plains of Wyoming, but it was so much more…untamed. And with stunted trees breaking the skyline now and then. This country was parched, almost hungry. Dean had warned him that North Queensland went through something called a wet season around this time of the year. But he was yet to see any sign of rain. It was as dry as a chip. And as hot as a blasting oven. It got hot in Montana during summer, but nothing like this. It was going to take some getting used to.
The car came to a slow halt, and the filly made an effort to sit up at the change in motion. He lay a hand on her bony shoulder, holding her down until she stopped struggling. Bindi leapt out of her car to open a rusty gate and he only had time to briefly appreciate her gorgeous legs beneath that skirt, before she had his belt wrapped around the mare’s neck and was holding her hand out for the bullwhip.
Bindi handed him the makeshift lead rope once it was attached, and he let the mare dip her head into the tray to sniff her foal. Once she was satisfied her baby was safe, she lifted her head, liquid, brown eyes holding his as she lipped at his outstretched palm, showing him she trusted him. Horses were special creatures. As long as you had their trust. He liked most horses more than he liked most people.
“You’re good with her,” Bindi said, almost as if she hadn’t believed him earlier. “She likes you.”
“I know.” He tipped his hat and raised a cheeky eyebrow.
Bindi huffed out a small snort and said, “I’ll drive slowly. Just tap on the window if you need me to stop.”
“Will do,” he replied, settling himself more securely beside the foal. There wasn’t a lot of room on the bed with the filly’s long body and spindly legs taking up most of the space. He kept most of his concentration on the mare as Bindi moved slowly onto the road, making sure the horse would lead properly. But she came willingly enough, trotting steadily beside the car, ears pricked forward and head held high. She really was a gorgeous piece of horseflesh. Mack was keen to meet his new boss, Steve. If he could produce this sort of premium stock, he was a man after Mack’s own heart.
The trip took around thirty minutes, the mare trotting obediently along beside the car. She’d hardly even raised a sweat by the time Bindi turned the car down a wide, well-graded driveway. Mack was fleetingly diverted by a set of impressive, wrought-iron gates marking the entrance to Stormcloud Station, but then he was nearly tugged from the truck bed as the mare took it into her head to pull away; obviously sensing they were nearly home and eager to get back to her stable and a fresh bag of hay.
The driveway curved through more open woodland, and went up over a small rise and suddenly the land turned green and vigorous. A large body of water sparkled off to the right, surrounded by lush vegetation and tall trees. Peeking through the thicker vegetation, Mack made out the shapes of a couple of small cabins scattered along the length of the lake. Then the main lodge appeared at the top of a green expanse of lush grass leading down to a modern pool set at the edge of the lake. Dean had told him that Stormcloud was the Australian equivalent of his own luxury ranch. The station had twenty luxury cabins and enough activities and gourmet food to fulfill their rich guests’ every whim. This lodge wasn’t on such a grand scale as at Stargazer, only a single story instead of double, and a less-flamboyant soaring roofline, but it fit perfectly into the landscape, its wooden walls and subtle lines echoing the low hills and red earth surrounding it.
The road curved past the front of the lodge and a man suddenly appeared at the top of a wide set of stairs, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, a dishcloth in his hand, and an apron tied around his middle. The guy was young, about Mack’s age, taller and broader in the shoulders. He took in Mack and the mare he was leading in one sweeping gaze. Mack worked through all the names Dean had given him and decided this was probably the owner’s stepson, Dale, the leading hand. But if that were the case, what was he doing in the kitchen?
“Bindi, what’s going on?” the other guy demanded, never taking his eyes off Mack.
Bindi stopped the car and called through the open window. “I found Melody stuck in a fence. Her front leg is pretty cut up. Can you let Steve know? I’ll take them both up to the stables and meet him there.”
