brows rising, he squatted to reach for the calf. Holding its head above the mud he said, ‘I hope this isn’t one of my calves.’
A spasm of apprehension tightened her nerves another notch. More mildly she said, ‘Yes, it’s one of yours. If you can lift her enough to get her belly free of the mud, I’ll slide the rope under her.’
Be careful, she told herself as he crouched down beside her. Clamp your mouth on any more gauche remarks, and remember to be suitably impressed by his strength and kindness once the calf’s out of the swamp.
This man could make her life extremely difficult. Not only did she lease ten vital hectares from him, but her only income this year was the money she’d earn from that contract. As well, sole access to her land was over one of his farm roads.
With two rescuers, one of them impressively powerful and surprisingly deft, freeing the calf turned out to be ridiculously simple. Curt McIntosh moved well, Peta thought reluctantly as they stood up, and he was in full control of those seriously useful muscles. She was no lightweight, and he’d saved her from falling flat on her face in the mud with an ease that seemed effortless, then hauled the calf free without even breathing hard. Clearly he spent hours in the gym—no, he probably paid a personal trainer megabucks to keep him fit.
Ignoring the odd, tugging sensation in the pit of her stomach, she bent to examine the calf, collapsed now on the ground but trying to get to its feet.
‘Where do you want her?’ Curt asked, astonishing her by picking up the small animal, apparently not concerned at the liberal coating of mud he’d acquired during the rescue.
Infuriatingly, the calf lay still, as though tamed by the overwhelming force of the man’s personality.
And if I believe that, Peta thought ironically, I’m an idiot; the poor thing’s too exhausted to wriggle even the tip of its tail.
She’d been silent too long; his brows lifted and to her irritation and disgust her heart quickened in involuntary response. The midsummer sun beat down on them, and she wished fervently she’d worn her old jeans instead of the ragged shorts that displayed altogether too much of her long legs.
‘On the back of the ute.’ She led the way to the elderly, battered vehicle.
He lowered the calf into the calf-cage on the tray of the ute. ‘Will she be all right there?’
‘I’ll drive carefully,’ she said. The manners her mother had been so fussy about compelled her to finish with stiff politeness, ‘Thank you. If you hadn’t helped I’d have taken much longer to get her out.’
He straightened and stepped back, unsparing eyes searching her face with a cool assessment that abraded her already raw composure. ‘So we meet at last, Peta Grey,’ he said levelly.
Pulses jumping, she could only say, ‘Yes. How do you do?’ Mortification burned across the long, lovely sweep of her cheekbones. Bullseye, she thought raggedly; yet another supremely sophisticated bit of repartee!
He smiled, and she almost reeled back in shock. Oh, hell, she thought furiously, he could probably soothe rattlesnakes with that smile—female ones, anyway! ‘How do you do?’ he replied courteously.
Just stop this idiocy now! she ordered herself. Your heart is not really thudding so loud he can hear it.
But perhaps it was, because when she looked up she saw his eyes rest a second on the soft hollow at the base of her throat. Thoughts and emotions jangling around in turbulent disarray, she went on painstakingly, ‘And I believe we’ll be seeing each other tomorrow night at your sister’s barbecue.’
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Curt McIntosh said, somehow managing to turn the conventional response into a threat. He looked around at the paddocks that belonged to him. ‘Your lease is up for renewal, I believe.’
It wasn’t a question; of course he knew it was due for renegotiation. Foreboding brushed her skin like a cold feather. Seriously unnerved, she evaded his gaze and looked past him to his mount. With lowered head, the big black animal was cautiously inspecting Laddie. ‘In a month’s time.’
‘I’ll give you fair warning,’ he said, still in that pleasant tone, although now she recognised the steel beneath each word.
Defiantly, she lifted her head to meet his eyes. Cold blue had swallowed up the grey rims, and they were too keen.
The hollowness beneath her ribs expanding into a cold vacuum, Peta braced herself. ‘Warning of what?’
Instead of answering Curt McIntosh whistled; Laddie frisked across to his frozen owner while the horse—a gelding, Peta noted tensely, not a stallion—paced with measured strides towards the man who’d summoned it.
He swung up into the saddle and gathered the reins in one lean, mud-stained hand, examining her with an unsparing gaze. She took an involuntary step backwards. Horse and rider seemed to blot out the sun.
All trace of emotion gone from his face, from his voice, Curt said, ‘I’m in two minds about renewing it.’
Panic kicked her brutally in the stomach. Peta looked him full in his starkly powerful face and tried to hide the thin note of desperation in her voice. ‘Why? It would cost you a lot of money to build a bridge across the gully and link it to the rest of the station.’
He didn’t tell her that money was the last thing tycoons lacked, but she saw the glint of mockery in the depths of his eyes when he said negligently, ‘That’s my worry.’
One glance at that formidable face told her that pleas wouldn’t work. Swallowing, she said, ‘I was informed that it would be all right…’
Her voice tailed away when she realised that he was once more looking at the long line of her throat. Her breath blocked her airways. Then he raised his eyes and she had to stop herself from flinching because dark fire flared for a second in the blue depths.
‘Then whoever told you that made promises he knew he might not be able to keep. I have plans for this land.’
Without waiting for an answer, he made a soft, chirruping noise. Obediently the gelding picked up its hooves and turned away.
Motionless, her mind darting after thoughts like a terrier after rabbits, Peta watched them go. Of course the children of rich parents had advantages, and learning to ride as well as you could walk was just one of them. She’d never learned; her father hadn’t seen the necessity.
But then, he hadn’t seen the necessity of a lot of things. After he’d died she’d relied on her neighbours’ offers of lifts into Kowhai Bay until she’d learned to drive.
And Curt McIntosh was another dominant male who thought he had a God-given right to make decisions and control people.
Slowly, stiffly, she got into the ute, but once in its stuffy interior she sat with hands gripping the wheel while she stared unseeingly ahead.
On the rare occasions they’d met, Gillian Matheson had spoken of her brother—so strong, so clever, so drop-dead stunning that women fell at his feet! But Gillian was a restless, dissatisfied woman, and often her words had seemed to be aimed at her husband; although Peta had listened politely, she hadn’t believed in this paragon. After all, extremely powerful magnates were by definition
