seem such sophisticated skills.’
Wrinkling her nose at the sickly perfume of candyfloss that floated over other, more earthy scents, Morna pointed out, ‘The raw materials are very basic. Precious gems and metals are gifts from the earth. And as for sophistication—who could be more sophisticated than Nick? Yet here he is, lord of the manor and thoroughly enjoying it.’
Cathy said cheerfully, ‘You know Nick—he digs really deep into anything that interests him. He’s enjoying learning about genetics, and the right swear words to use with cattle dogs, and how to put a post in.’
‘He never showed any sign of being interested in farming! We were classic city kids—didn’t even know where milk came from. And then he turned into an advertising whizzkid in Auckland’s best agency…’
Cathy filled in the silence. ‘You certainly couldn’t get more urban than that.’
‘Indeed.’ Morna wished she’d kept her mouth shut, but the past that entangled them both had a way of intruding into the present.
From somewhere close behind her, a deep, sensuous rumble of male laughter summoned swift shivers. The big, dark-haired stranger flashed into her mind. She was, she thought angrily, behaving like a hormonal teenager—it probably wasn’t the same man, and if it was, so what?
Tilting her hat so that it shaded her face even further, she said abruptly, ‘I wish we’d known each other—without Glen.’
‘You can’t change the past,’ Cathy said simply. ‘If it hadn’t been for him I probably would never have met Nick, and that would be—well, I’m so glad I did. I hope one day you meet someone you can trust.’
Morna shrugged. ‘I hope so too.’ Not that she expected it to happen. Ruthlessly she dragged the conversation back onto a previous track. ‘I’m impressed at how well Nick fits in. The men at the cattle pens treat him like an equal, yet I believe country people are notoriously hard to please.’
‘Nick would fit in anywhere.’ As always, Cathy’s tone deepened into an enviable combination of love and pride when she spoke of her husband. She sent a quick glance at Morna. ‘When I first met you, I wondered if you loved him.’
‘I do,’ Morna told her equably, ‘though not the way you’re meaning. I’d lay down my life for him, but as far as I’m concerned he’s my brother. He always has been and he always will be.’
Cathy nodded. ‘The Two Musketeers—one for both and both for one.’ She laughed wryly. ‘I was jealous.’
‘You had no need to be. We’re family. He loves you quite differently.’ She met Cathy’s eyes and smiled.
‘I love him too.’ Cathy’s fine-featured face glowed.
Morna wondered what it would be like to be as small and delicately beautiful as the woman beside her.
Not that she’d exchange her extra height and strong-boned face, but occasionally she thought it would be…well, interestingly different to have a man treat her with the intensely protective love that Nick reserved for his wife.
She moved uncomfortably, transfixed by an itch between her shoulderblades. Someone was watching her with more than ordinary interest—she could feel an intentness that set alarm bells jangling in a primitive warning.
With a swift, mischievous grin Cathy nodded behind her. ‘If you want a real lord of the manor, your next-door neighbour Hawke Challenger is the best candidate. He’s just got back from Central Africa.’
Morna turned, oddly unsurprised when she caught the eyes of the dark-haired man. Conspicuously light-coloured in his tanned face, they held her gaze for several tense seconds before releasing it to survey the woman speaking to him.
Furious at the cool assessment in that pale scrutiny, she said thickly, ‘Is that him?’
‘That’s the owner of Somerville’s Reach cattle station,’ Cathy told her, adding, ‘And the staggeringly chic, exclusive resort at Somerville’s Bay, as well as its diabolically difficult golf course.’
To cover the prickle of feverish excitement in her bones, Morna remarked flippantly, ‘How could any couple stare into the face of their newborn child and decide to lumber him with such a totally over-the-top name?’
Hawke Challenger chose that moment to smile at the woman beside him.
Morna’s heart jumped. Shocked and disturbed, she noted how a brief flash of white teeth and the relaxation of a few muscles around a strong, masculine mouth could turn an impressive mask of force and power into an outrageously handsome face.
A hot flicker of sensation twisted inside her. She was not, she realised, the only woman watching him from behind sunglasses. Such potent male charisma summoned a focused high alert from every woman within range.
Stunned by her reaction, and bleakly resisting, she concentrated on what Cathy was saying.
‘I think Hawke Challenger suits him. Anyway, he’s not the sort to be swamped by a name, however extravagant. He’s got far too much presence.’
‘You’re completely right,’ Morna said, squelching a latent huskiness in her tone. ‘Too much—too, too macho. He’s not in the least what I expected.’
The Challenger man laughed again. Instead of softening that hard buccaneer’s face, his amusement seemed sardonic—a match for his slashing profile. He was truly gorgeous, his hard-edged features underpinned by a formidable self-possession that echoed his surname.
Morna made a habit of refusing challenges, except purely business ones, and this one she wasn’t going to touch. Chills scudded down her spine, because something in that cool, impervious regard, something in the way he smiled at the woman beside him, reinforced that initial reminder of Glen.
Did Cathy not notice it?
Cathy’s eyebrows rose. ‘You haven’t even met the man, yet you’ve made up your mind not to like him.’
Clearly she liked him. ‘He’s beautiful,’ Morna drawled.
Cathy chuckled. ‘Oh, absolutely. So?’
‘Beautiful men—apart from Nick, of course—are usually self-absorbed and conceited.’ Deliberately she turned away. ‘Bet you anything you like that Handsome Challenger is checking out the best-looking women here.’
‘You do jaded and worldly so well! I do admire that curl of the lip and the bored tone.’ Cathy grinned at her. ‘And if he’s assessing the best-looking women you’ve just been elected to that group, because he’s keeping an eye on you. Without being obvious, of course—Hawke is never obvious.’
The twining heat in the pit of Morna’s stomach tightened into a knot. ‘He’s probably eyeing you up and envying Nick,’ she said uncomfortably, keeping her gaze fixed onto the slow-moving procession of animals filing past.
The younger woman snorted. ‘Not Hawke—married women aren’t his style. And why shouldn’t he be interested in you? You’ve got spirit and character written all over your face, and a body to die for. As well as that fabulous skin.’
‘Well, thank you—’
