that glorious hair of hers. It was always bundled up into a rough pony-tail, then shoved under a dusty brown stockman’s hat. Lipstick never graced her deliciously full mouth. And the only scent he ever smelt on her was leather and horses!
But it was her manner that rankled William the most. Not quite as aggressive and opinionated as her mother, she was still far too tactless with people. And bold in her attitude all round. Bold as brass!
Of course, it wasn’t her fault. Hilary had raised Courtney as though she were a boy, letting her run wild from the time she was a tiny tot. He could still remember the day he’d driven out to Crosswinds, when Courtney had been about eleven or twelve. She’d met him at the gate, riding a big black colt with a crazed look in its eye and wide, snorting nostrils. Far too much horse for a man, let alone a wisp of a girl.
‘Race you up to the house,’ she’d shouted from where the horse had been dancing around in circles, obviously eager to get going. ‘Last one there is a rotten egg!’ And, nudging the huge beast in the flanks with her heels, she’d taken off at a gallop, hooping and hollering like some bush jockey on picnic day.
Though appalled at her unladylike antics, he’d still gunned the engine and had chased after the minx, certain in the knowledge that any car could easily outrun even the fastest racehorse in the long curving uphill driveway.
And what had she done? Jumped the darned fence and gone straight across the paddocks, scattering mares and foals as she’d leapt fence after fence like the mad dare-devil she was. She’d been there waiting for him when he’d finally rounded the circular gravel driveway in front of the house, her dark eyes sparkling at him.
‘You’ll have to drive faster than that next time, Bill,’ she’d teased. ‘Or get yourself a sports car!’
It was the first time she’d called him Bill. Before that, he’d at least been Mr Sinclair.
When he’d spotted Hilary standing on the veranda of the house, glaring down at her daughter, he’d experienced some satisfaction that the brazen creature would be suitably chastised for her cheek and foolhardiness.
But what had Hilary done?
Chided the girl for losing her hat!
‘Do you want to end up with skin cancer?’ she’d snapped. ‘Go back and find it and put the thing on, girl.’ At which, the bold hussy had whirled her horse and, with another hoop and holler, set off exactly the way she’d come, jumping fence after fence.
When William had dared make some critical comment himself about the girl’s recklessness, Hilary had levelled a steely gaze his way.
‘Would you have said that if she’d been a boy?’ she’d challenged. ‘No! You’d have praised a boy’s horsemanship, marvelled at his nerve, been impressed by his courage. My daughter needs those qualities in even greater quantities than any boy if she is to take over from me when I’m gone. The world of horse-breeding is a man’s world, William. Courtney needs a loose rein to become the sort of woman who can survive in such a world. There’s no room for sissies around here. As my heir, she will need more than a man’s name. She will need a man’s spirit. A man’s strength. A man’s ego. I aim to make sure she acquires all three.’
And you did a good job, Hilary, William thought now. The girl certainly has courage. And character, for want of a better word. But will she have enough to get out of the spot you left her in?
William gave it to Courtney straight, as requested.
Courtney listened to the very very bad news. Not only had her mum borrowed to buy Goldplated, as she’d feared, but to buy Four-Leaf Clover as well. And that horse had cost a small fortune! Worse, it turned out Four-Leaf Clover had not been insured, so when he’d died, the loss had been total and none of the original loan repaid.
‘Your mother didn’t believe in insuring anything against death,’ the accountant informed Courtney, ‘and I could never persuade her otherwise. As you know, she carried no life insurance herself.’
Courtney nodded. ‘Yes, I know,’ she said, a lump forming in her throat as the reality of her mother’s death washed over her again.
Hilary’s heart attack had come as such a shock to everyone, despite her being seventy last birthday. She’d always seemed so strong…
Courtney frowned. Had this escalating debt been a contributing factor in her mother’s coronary? Had she been worried sick about the loan?
She’d never said a word. But then, she wouldn’t have. She’d have been too proud to admit to being so foolish.
Thinking of her mother again brought a lump to Courtney’s throat and a stinging to her eyes. She coughed, blinked, then gathered herself. Her mother had always hated her to cry. Tears achieve nothing, girl. Get out and do something to fix whatever’s bothering you. Don’t sit there blubbering and feeling sorry for yourself!
‘Exactly how much money do I owe?’ she asked brusquely.
The way Bill cleared his throat before answering was not a good sign. ‘Er…three million dollars, give or take a thousand or two.’
Three million!
Courtney struggled to hide her shock. And, somehow, she managed.
‘Never let the bastards know what you’re thinking and feeling,’ Hilary had told her more than once. ‘Let your guard down, and they’ll take advantage of you.’
The bastards, Courtney knew, were all men. And whilst she had not grown up to be the rabid man-hater her mother had been, she was learning to appreciate, firsthand, where her mother had been coming from when she’d lectured her daughter over the predatory nature of the male sex.
The month since the funeral had been an education, all right. She couldn’t count the men who’d come out of the woodwork since she’d inherited Crosswinds, smarmily flattering her and asking if there was any way they could help, now that she was all alone in the world, poor little thing.
Courtney’s thoughts turned wry. They wouldn’t come sniffing around if they knew this poor little thing was three million dollars in debt!
Pity she couldn’t tell them.
Pride, however, would keep her silent on the subject. Pride and loyalty to her mother. Hilary had spent a lifetime earning the respect of her peers in the horse-breeding world. No way would she let them laugh at her now, especially the men.
But what on earth was she going to do?
‘I know it’s a lot of money,’ Bill said gently. ‘I did try to advise your mother not to borrow any more, but she simply wouldn’t listen to me.’
Courtney nodded. She understood exactly how stubborn her mother had been, and was determined not to do the same. Bill might be getting on in years but he was an intelligent man, with an old-fashioned integrity she both admired and respected. He would never try to take advantage of her, or give her bad advice. He wasn’t one of the bastards. Courtney liked him enormously.
‘Is the bank calling in the loan, Bill? Is that it?’
‘No. They’ve been amazingly patient, and suspiciously generous in lending your mother more money, possibly because she had such excellent collateral against any loan. They can’t lose,
