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CHAPTER ONE
BINDI TAKAO PRESSED her foot on the gas pedal and urged the car to go faster. She was going to be late. Her yellow Ford ute, nearly as old as she was, rattled and complained as it built up speed, not used to hurtling down the road so fast. Her side window, open to let in the breeze, began to rattle alarmingly inside the door frame, and the noise was enough to bring Bindi back to her senses. Even though the road was dead straight, it wouldn’t do to kill herself just to get there on time. Releasing her foot, she unclenched her white-knuckle grip from the steering wheel, and leaned one elbow out the open window. She just had to accept her fate. Bugger. She really didn’t want to miss Daisy’s bridal shower lunch, but a quick look at the clock on the dash told her she was already running half an hour behind time.
Dry scrubland flashed past on either side of the car, the view familiar, relaxing her a little. The rains would come soon and turn this brown land to verdant green. But Bindi loved this country, no matter the weather. Each season had its own issues, the dry brought heat and dust and desiccation, and the wet brought impossible humidity and flooding, but also renewal. So completely different from the cooler climate of the mountainous landscape in her home country of New Zealand.
All the women at Stormcloud Station had been looking forward to this event for weeks. Bindi couldn’t remember a time when the entire cohort of ladies at Stormcloud had been on an outing together; perhaps it’d never happened before. Daisy’s marriage to Dale at the end of the month was a huge occasion.
Bindi could hardly believe it; she was wearing makeup for the first time in forever. And a skirt. Short and floaty with hot-pink stripes. Up until now, she’d had no occasion to wear it, and it’d hung in her wardrobe with the tag still attached. She tamped down on the uncomfortable knot twisting in her guts. She was twenty-five years old; it shouldn’t be this hard to wear a skirt. Give her jeans and boots any day of the week. Simple and practical, they were the two mottos she liked to live by. Put her in a dress and she somehow felt vulnerable. Thankfully, she wasn’t one of Daisy’s bridesmaids—that job had been given to Skylar and Julie—and Bindi didn’t envy them one bit. The dove-gray, silk dresses Daisy had picked out for them looked wonderful, but Bindi just knew she’d be having heart palpitations if she’d had to wear that kind of slinky sheath.
Everyone else had gone into town an hour ago, Skylar detouring past the outstation to pick up Daisy. But Bindi had stayed behind to put the finishing touches to lunch. Everything was ready to be served to the guests, the meal was a simple one, idiot-proof, as Skylar so bluntly put it. Bindi almost had to push Skylar out the door, she was such a perfectionist; she hated to leave her kitchen in anyone else’s hands. Bindi didn’t blame her, Skylar was an amazing chef, and her creations were renowned across the top end of Queensland as some of the best gourmet food to be found anywhere.
Bindi had left the meal in the hands of Alek and Dale, with strict instructions on the timing and order of service. Surely they couldn’t muck it up too badly. Could they?
A curve appeared in the road ahead, and Bindi slowed her vehicle to take the bend. She was nearly halfway to town, only twenty minutes and she’d be on the main street of Dimbulah. Should she call Skylar and let her know she was running late? A quick glance at her phone in the cradle on her dashboard told her there was no reception, so that was out of the question. Cell phone coverage out here was patchy, at best.
Something caught Bindi’s eye. What was that? A shape struggling beside the road. All long legs and bony head.
Oh, no.
An animal was caught in the wire fencing beside the road.
As Bindi slowed her car, she saw it wasn’t just any animal.
A young foal struggled feebly as a mare stood by, showing the whites of her eyes and pawing at the ground. It was Madonna and her new filly, Melody. They’d gone missing two days ago, and all attempts to find the pair had been fruitless. Until now.
Madonna should be renamed Houdini, because she had a knack for getting out of her stable, lifting latches, and biting through ropes.
Bindi slammed on the brakes, and her car fishtailed to a stop. She pulled onto the verge and was out the door before she had the seatbelt all the way off. And nearly fell on her ass as her sparkling, silver heels caught in the gravel. Bugger, what a day to be trapped wearing her new heels and a skirt. The next time she went to a fancy luncheon with the girls, she was going to wear her boots, Skylar and her airs and graces be damned.
But wait.
She ran back to her car, and rummaged around on the floor of the passenger seat amongst the discarded wrappers, a couple of unwashed T-shirts, two travel mugs, and a six-pack of water bottles and found her old pair of cowboy boots. There were holes worn in both soles, and she’d thrown them into her car until such a time as she could find the money to fix them. They might be worn, but she loved these boots. The leather was soft and comfy, and they fit her feet perfectly.
Her fingers fumbled with the straps of her sky-high heels, and she hopped first on one foot and then on the other as she dragged on her boots.
“Hang on Melody, I’m coming,” she called to the distraught filly. A scorching breeze tugged at the long strands of her loose hair, but she had nothing to tie it back with, so, she swept it into an unbound ponytail and tucked it down the neck of her sleeveless, silk shirt as she took off across the road again.
Skidding to a halt a few feet in front of the fence, Bindi dragged in deep breaths as she surveyed the scene. The poor animal had her head thrust through two of the strands of wire near the top and every time she reared back in fear, the wire caught in her short, little mane. But even worse, two of the wires at the bottom had snapped and one strand was wrapped tightly around the filly’s front fetlock, and as she struggled, it bit deeper into her tender skin. These fences were meant to keep in cattle, not horses. The Stormcloud horses were all held either in the stables at the back of the lodge, or in a specially built paddock with wooden railings to keep them from hurting themselves. How in God’s name Madonna and Melody had found their way into this paddock was beyond Bindi’s reasoning.
She reached a hand out and the foal showed the whites of its eyes and whinnied with fear, Madonna answering with her own snort of unease.
“Oh, no, you poor baby,” Bindi crooned, keeping her voice low and comforting. Melody was a month old and had only been halter-broken so far. Bindi wasn’t even sure how she was going to get close enough to the filly to help her. She was still a little wary around most humans. And neither of the horses were wearing a halter now, so how was she supposed to lead them, even if she did get the filly free?
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement farther up the road. A sleek, black pickup truck was barreling toward them. It slowed as it approached, pulling off to park in front of her yellow ute. This was no local farmer stopping to lend a hand, not by the looks of that vehicle. Great, this was the last thing she needed, tourists—or even worse, city slickers, stopping to gawp at her misfortune. She gritted her teeth and stood up, ready to ask them politely to be on their way. Nothing to see here. They’d only get in the way and upset the horses even more.
Instead of the gaggle of brightly dressed sightseers, however, a tall figure eased out of the front seat, dressed in black jeans, black-collared shirt and, most surprising of all, a black cowboy hat to finish the ensemble.
What the…? Well, he might not be a tourist, but he sure wasn’t dressed like any farmer she knew around here. He looked more like the cocky cowboy out of an old-style western movie.
“Everything all right?” he asked in a low, gravely voice, an obvious American twang adding to his drawl.
“No, everything is not all right,” she said tersely. “You wouldn’t happen to have a pair of pliers on you?”
The man considered her for a few seconds and for some stupid reason, she felt her face heat as his stare travelled the length of her body.
“Well, have you got a set of pliers, or not?” she barked, her mind already spinning with other ideas on how to free the filly. Now was not the time to be wondering if he liked what he saw.
Rather than answering, he turned and paced back to his pickup and Bindi snorted her disapproval. The guy was leaving. Well, good riddance. Putting the stranger out of her mind, she swiveled to look at Melody again, cooing more mindless noises, while she tried to work out the best way to get her free.
