Australian Outback Kings / The Cattle King's Mistress / The Playboy King's Wife / The Pleasure King's Bride (14 page)

Miranda's heart contracted. Was he talking about her? Himself? Bobby? She shot him a questioning glance as she rounded the bar to serve him. “What would you like?”

His eyes beamed back commanding authority. “I'd like you to seat me at the end of the dinner table with Bobby and Celine Hewson on either side of me. Right now I'll have a whisky. No ice.”

She reached for the bottle of whisky, her hands trembling a little, her mind filling with the kind of poison Bobby would pour into Nathan's ear. “Why do you want to be placed there?” she asked, as she managed to pour his drink.

“I'd also like
you
to be seated at the other end of the table, right away from him.”

Right away from Nathan, too. She wouldn't be able to hear what was going on between the two men. Which wasn't fair! How could she defend herself? She handed him the glass of whisky, hating the sense of having no control over the situation.

“What if I don't want that?” she challenged.

His eyes glittered with what looked like contempt. “You like him pawing you?”

“No!” she cried, shrivelling under the implication.

“You want to hear how much he still wants you?”

“You know I don't!”

“Do I, Miranda?” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes savagely deriding her contention. “I know nothing of what's gone on between you since he's arrived. All I know is you cut me dead out on the verandah.”

“Nothing's
gone on!
” she hissed. “And I was upset by that little tableau Bobby put on for you when you arrived.”

“Running away didn't resolve anything.”

“Perhaps I wasn't thinking clearly.”

“Undoubtedly you weren't. I see his wife is very attractive. Are you jealous?”

“She's welcome to him.”

“Then why are you objecting to the seating I've suggested?”

“Because…” Miranda clamped her mouth shut. It was madness trying to fight this. She'd been right when she'd whirled back inside. Let Bobby do his worst. Let Nathan think what he liked. She was better off out of it. “Fine!” she clipped out. “Have it your way! I hope you enjoy your dinner!”

The bar attendant was on his way back. Miranda used him as interference to avoid anything more to do with Nathan as she returned to the guests.
He
strolled back to the group and began chatting up Celine. Well, not exactly chatting up, but answering her very enthusiastic curiosity about him, and Bobby was content to stay in that little circle of charm, waiting to inject his venom when the chance came.

When it was time to usher everyone to the dining table, Miranda didn't have to do any arranging of the seating. Nathan claimed the chair at the foot of the table. Celine grabbed the seat to the right of him. Bobby naturally took the seat to his left. The others chose where they willed, leaving the chair at the head of the table for Miranda, since that was where she had sat at lunch-time.

From that moment on, it seemed to Miranda, Nathan controlled everything. He played the part of a charismatic host to perfection. He was interesting, amusing, witty, extending himself to entertain everyone, the life of the party, all the guests hanging on his words, enjoying having his company, loving every minute of his good-humoured sharing of himself and his expert knowledge of the Kimberly region.

Miranda doubted they even tasted the food they consumed. No one bothered to comment on it. They were too busy lapping up the unique experience Nathan was giving them. Occasionally he referred things to her, forcing her into the conversation, and she had to respond as a good hostess would, but she kept remembering the two dinner parties at the station homestead where he hadn't bothered to put himself out so much, and she resented this performance from him now…lording it over all of them.

It was probably sticking in Bobby's craw that Nathan was the star attraction. But so what? Did that do any good? Was this some male competition to show her he was better value than Bobby was? If this was supposed to
win
her, it was the wrong way of going about it, as far as Miranda was concerned. She would have preferred to have him sitting next to her, giving her some caring attention instead of impressing how great he was on others.

After the main course was cleared from the table, Celine took herself off to the Powder Room. A fresh coat of glossy red lipstick and a respray of perfume for Nathan's benefit, Miranda darkly surmised. One of the other women asked her about a picnic box ordered for tomorrow and the rest of the party started checking their planned activities with each other.

Miranda saw Bobby lean over to murmur something to the man who'd upstaged him all evening. Nathan's face visibly stiffened. His eyes narrowed. Then he leaned over and said something to Bobby that had her former employer straightening up in his chair.

The two men eyed each other in a long, silent duel. More inaudible words were exchanged. Nathan's expression took on a hard, ruthless cast. Whatever was going on between them was not the least bit entertaining, and Miranda had the sickening feeling she was at the centre of it.

Celine returned to her chair.

The call signal of a mobile telephone came from Nathan's shirt pocket. Conversation halted as attention swung to him, the injured stockman coming to mind again.

“Please excuse me,” he said, standing up to move away from the table.

He went out on the verandah to take the call.

The sweets course was served, providing a timely distraction. Miranda had lost her appetite for any more food, her stomach too knotted with tension to accept even a spoonful. Whatever antagonism had just been raised and aired between Nathan and Bobby was bound to make the situation worse for her, and she had to get through two more days—and nights—with the Hewsons.

Compliments about the lemon soufflé flowed around the table. Questions were asked about the chef and what other delights could be anticipated from him. Miranda assured them they would be pleased with whatever Roberto prepared but the menu often depended on the guests themselves. She smiled at the couple going fishing tomorrow and suggested they might provide their next dinner.

“Miranda…”

Her heart jumped at Nathan's call. She turned to see him standing at the opened doors to the verandah, emanating an air of authority that was not about to brook opposition.

“May I have a word with you?”

The polite but very public request could not be turned down. “Yes, of course. Please excuse me,” she said to the guests as she stood up.

Chaos tore through her again. If Nathan had received bad news he might have to go. Despite her earlier raging, she didn't want him to leave. A trembling started in her legs, and it was difficult to maintain any sense of independent pride as she crossed the room, her mind feverishly fretting over the outcome of this evening's conflicts.

He smoothly engineered her passage out onto the verandah and drew her far enough away from the doors to allow their automatic closing. His grasp on her elbow was firm, warm, and Miranda felt chilled when he dropped it. Had Bobby turned him off her, or had she done that herself? A devastating emptiness yawned inside her.

“The stockman?” she asked, unable to look Nathan in the face.

“The news was good. The spinal cord wasn't damaged.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“That's not why I called you out. Look at me, Miranda.”

A steely command.

For a moment, she looked out at the dark shape of his Land Cruiser, remembering her feelings when she'd seen him arrive, silhouetted against the sunset. There had been hope in her heart then. Now despair pressed its dark fingers on her mind. She dredged up some remnants of fighting spirit and turned her gaze to his, expecting nothing good.

His eyes blazed with relentless determination. “You cannot stay here,” he stated unequivocally. “I have called Tommy and apprised him of the situation. He'll fly in first thing in the morning.”

Alarm streaked through Miranda. What had Bobby said about her? Why was Nathan involving Tommy? Was she being fired from her position? Summarily removed because of another person's word? Though of course it wasn't just another person. It was her previous employer!

“What did you tell Tommy?” she demanded frantically, needing to know what she had to defend herself against.

“Enough to know Hewson is a threat to his business,” Nathan answered tersely. “I want you to go in now and pack a bag, ready to leave. I shall keep the Hewsons occupied while you do this.”

“But where am I to go?”
What had Bobby said? How was he a threat? And why did she have to leave?
“You can't do this to me,” she protested. “Not without telling me why. I'm entitled to an explanation.”

“I'm not
doing
anything but safeguarding you and the good name of this resort,” he retorted, frowning at her response. “As to where you're going, with me, of course. You can spend the weekend at the station homestead. Once the Hewsons are gone, you'll resume your position here.”

She wasn't being fired! “I'm to go
…with you?
” she repeated dazedly.

“Yes. I promise you will be safe with me, Miranda. Is my word good enough for you?”

“Safe…from Bobby, you mean,” she said, trying to sort through her confusion.

“From me, as well…if that's concerning you,” he said harshly.

She shook her head, knowing Nathan would not force himself upon her. But to go to such extreme measures…”I want to know what Bobby said. Why you're doing this,” she cried.

“Later.” He gestured an impatient dismissal of these concerns. “Is there anything you need to organise for the guests tonight, before you leave?” he pressed, assuming her consent to his plans.

The realisation struck she had no choice in the matter. Nathan and Tommy had already made the decisions. “No,” she answered slowly, trying to adjust her mind to this entirely new set of circumstances. “Though I usually check that they're happy with everything before they retire for the night.”

“You can do that before we leave. What about the morning? Breakfast? Activities?”

Her mind raced over possible problems and saw none. “It's all been scheduled. It should run without a hitch. There'll be a staff member on duty here.”

“Good! Then go and pack what you need. I'll hold the party together. And don't be long about it, Miranda.” His eyes flashed contempt. “I've had enough of the Hewsons to do me a lifetime.”

He hadn't been enjoying himself…

Still in a state of shock over these new developments, Miranda went back inside to follow Nathan's instructions. It took considerable effort to shake her mind free of the dark, tumultuous brooding that had possessed it since his arrival earlier this evening. However, one comforting fact did emerge. Nathan
had
come to stand by her, to protect her. And now he was taking her right out of the nightmare of having to cope with Bobby any longer.

Relief mixed with a sense of humiliation that it had come to this…taking her out…bringing in Tommy…all because of her history with a man she now despised, a past she had done everything to escape from.

Did anyone ever escape from their past? she wondered.

On the other hand, perhaps she was exaggerating her part in whatever was going on. Maybe there was some threat to the resort, competition planned by the Hewson/ Parmentier hotel connection. Bobby's request for her to show him how the resort worked might have another more devious motive than just getting her alone with him.

Assuring herself she'd find out soon enough from Nathan, and having reached her room, Miranda pushed herself into thinking of what clothes to take for a weekend at the station homestead. Except it wasn't just a place to go to, a place of refuge from Bobby Hewson. She would be spending the weekend with Nathan…in his home.

Safe
, he'd said, and his word could be trusted. Miranda didn't doubt that. The problem was…could she trust herself to keep safe from him? She hated the distance she had put between them tonight. Maybe it was a sensible distance. Maybe he no longer wanted to cross it.

What had Bobby said about her?

Her heart quivered in trepidation. Her life didn't feel her own any more. But she went through the motions of packing a bag. A weekend with Nathan should sort out something, she argued. Safe or not, it had to be better than staying here with Bobby Hewson.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

N
ATHAN HAD TAKEN
her chair at the head of the table, continuing his assumed role of host in her absence. Miranda noted he was still promoting a congenial mood amongst the guests, though keeping a physical distance from the Hewsons. She dropped her bag near the doors and crossed the lounge area to the split-level dining section, nervously wondering how he intended to direct their departure.

He rose from her chair, pushing it right back so he could gather her to his side, smiling at her as he slid his arm around her waist, deliberately coupling them to face the table guests together.

“All ready?” he asked, his eyes commanding her assent.

“Yes,” she murmured, acutely aware of his hand resting possessively on the curve of her hip.

He transferred his smile to the guests who were all watching this linking with speculative interest. “I must beg you to excuse us from the rest of this evening's dinner party,” he said charmingly. “Duty calls me back to the station and this is Miranda's weekend off. I've persuaded her to find out firsthand what the life of a cattleman is like.”

He turned an intimate grin to her and added, “I can't, in all conscience, expect her to marry me until she knows what she's committing herself to.”

Marry!

Miranda was too poleaxed to say a word. Somehow she managed to maintain the smile she'd pasted on her face.

One of the male guests laughingly remarked, “Well, that's making your intentions clear, Nathan.”