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He could be casual and relaxed, could he? So, she could be too! Deliberately she took off her jaunty Dutch cap and dropped it on the floor, then ran her fingers through her red-gold hair and patted it into shape, before taking her cup from Mrs Niven.

‘Why, how exceedingly kind of you, Mrs Niven. That’s exactly how I like my tea ... not too weak, not too strong.’ Katriona smiled sweetly at the housekeeper. ‘Those scones look absolutely delicious, may I try one?’

‘Certainly. Kind of you to say so, Miss ... er... Miss …'

‘Katriona,’ Katriona offered with the same sweet smile, taking a scone.

‘Katriona,’ Mrs Niven grabbed gratefully for the name. ‘Now I’ll leave you two to enjoy yourselves.’ She left the room hurriedly.

Katriona placed her cup and saucer on the small occasional table beside her, eased herself back in the large leather chair, and casually crossed her legs before regaining her tea. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked across the broad expanse of the desk at her father.

‘A pleasant woman, Mrs Niven. Is it difficult to get staff out here in the back of beyond?’ It was a phrase she had borrowed from her companion on the plane, Sylvia.

For an instant she saw a hint of admiration in those cold blue eyes. Good enough. She had hardly expected him to gather her in his arms muttering emotional greetings, but surely there was somewhere between that and his present stance. The gleam in his eye showed he was not unaware of her tactics. Morgan had called him good and kind.
Kind!
Someone to cross the river with! Katriona felt that at this moment if they were in a good deep river he would probably hold her head under the water, the way cruel people did to stray kittens.

‘No, we don’t find it terribly difficult to get staff here or to hold them. We’re a bit isolated, but much depends on how you treat staff, and of course how you pay them. We’ve always had a good track record.’

Katriona was tempted to say that she’d like a position on the staff, say that she’d heard there was a vacancy for an appointment of daughter of the house. She bit her lip and firmly repressed the desire to be sarcastic. ‘You have a beautiful home here, Mr Carmichael. I love the use you’re making of natural wood ... such warm tones ... and those panels are superb.’ It hurt, having to call him Mr Carmichael, to be so formal, when Mrs Niven could Comfortably call him Ross.

‘Yes. I’m justifiably proud of it. Pity I didn’t have it completed before your arrival. Still, Morgan said he put your cases in at the homestead, you’ll be comfortable there. Traditionally that’s the manager’s house. I was living there when I married your mother.’

‘So you believe I’m your daughter?’ Katriona turned her attention to her scone and tea, feeling she could not watch him at this crucial moment.

There was such a lengthy silence on the other side of the desk that eventually she was forced to look across at the tough old man.

He met her gaze quite steadily, almost indifferently. ‘Yes, you are my daughter. Morgan was convinced of it when he returned. You made quite an impression on him, I gather, and as far as women go he’s a very hard man to impress.’

‘You flatter me,’ Katriona replied smoothly. Her thoughts ran riot, as she thought of Morgan coaxing her to come here, when he must have known she was not wanted. No wonder he threw her into this lion’s den and went rushing off! She vowed to herself that she intended to make a much more lasting impression on him the next time she saw him.

‘I wasn’t flattering you, only stating a fact. I would have said he was completely immune to any woman’s attractions. Up till now none of them have managed to make a
dent in his protective armour, and believe me, plenty have tried.’

‘I have no doubt of it,’ Katriona replied with vigour. ‘He’s a very conceited young man.’

‘And you have a very sharp tongue, young lady,’ her father spoke sharply.

Katriona grinned. Strike one! He doesn’t like his favourite young man criticised. Well, he’d have to put up with a lot of that if she stayed around here.

Almost reluctantly her father smiled back at her, then his expression returned to a bitter brooding one. She felt if she could break through that tough steel barrier of indifference which he had erected around himself, she could learn to enjoy her father. She sighed deeply. She doubted if it were worth the effort, and it would take a
mighty effort to gain recognition for herself as a
person, and then as a daughter. He had no reason to look on her with joy. He had not wanted a daughter all these years the way she had wanted a father.

She could not blame him for not wanting to become involved in her life. She was a complete stranger. Her mother by her behaviour years ago had destroyed any hope of their embarking on a good relationship. It was all such a pity. He could only feel anger and bitterness for the hurts he had suffered long ago, and it was natural to associate her with her mother. Poor man, maybe he was wondering if she really had come to grab for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the rich man’s daughter trying to cash in on her inheritance.

The thought was unbearable. Placing the empty cup on the table very carefully, Katriona stood up. Then she saw her cap on the floor and grabbing it she stuck it on at a crazy angle before facing her father.

‘You said it was a real pleasure to meet me at last, but you don’t look pleased. You look completely indifferent. I don’t blame you.’ Katriona’s small slender figure had a certain dignity as she drew herself to her full height, even if her voice was slightly husky with emotion.

She tried to swallow away the lump in her throat, and kept on speaking. ‘I can say with all honesty that it was a pleasure to meet you. All my life I’ve wanted and needed a real father. I’ve had several substitute ones, and sometimes they were good to me, but they were substitutes. You see, all my life I’ve believed I was illegitimate. I know in this day and age it shouldn’t count, but with me it did. I must have only been six or seven when I overheard two teachers discussing my report, saying something about a poor something background and no father image. I know now they didn’t mean what I thought they did, but I felt crushed and humiliated, and I never grew up enough to put it behind me.’

Her father leaned forward in his chair ‘Look, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I do apologise …'

‘Don’t apologise,’ Katriona interrupted fiercely. 'You have
nothing
to apologise for. You didn’t even know that I existed. I haven’t come here to cause you trouble, I was just curious. And Morgan said you wanted to see me too. Surely you can allow me that much ... to see you, to speak with you, to see where you live, where I would have lived ... I want nothing from you. I think we could have been friends. I think we could have been a ... a comfort to each other all these years, but my mother’s actions have effectively washed out any chance of that. You can’t look at me without feeling pain and resentment. I was stupid to have come. I’ll find Morgan and get him to take me to the nearest town. Goodbye.’

She walked swiftly from the room without looking back. She half ran down the steps, then set off in die direction of the homestead. She was burning up with all sorts of emotions—sadness, disappointment, anger, resentment, and most of all indignation at Morgan Grant. He must have known what her reception was going to be, and he had just pushed her in and cleared off. Well, she would let him have a piece of her mind before she made him drive her to Hanmer Springs. How dared he place her in this impossible situation!

She marched up the path to the homestead and into the kitchen. Ignoring Mrs Niven’s surprised expression, she demanded, ‘Where will I find Morgan Grant?’

‘He’s away at the moment. They’re having some trouble down by Horseshoe Lake and he’s gone over to give a hand. He should be up in about an hour with the cattle. You’ve had a
long tiring trip, you must be very weary. Morgan has put your cases in your room and I’ve made up the bed. He said you’ll be staying for a
while. How about a nice shower to freshen yourself up, and a
wee rest?’

‘You’re very kind,’ Katriona could barely control her voice, ‘but Morgan gave you false information. I’m leaving immediately, so he’ll have to carry my cases out again. Now is there a short cut to where he’s working?’

Mrs Niven hesitated for a
moment, but after a searching glance at Katriona’s strained expression, she said with a
hint of compassion in her voice, 'Take my car—the red Cortina, here’s the keys.’

Katriona shook her head, feeling the tears threaten at such kindness. ‘Sorry. It’s very good of you to offer me the car, but I can’t drive.’ She could see the long road out to the front gate, and the twisting, turning main highway disappearing behind the far hill, and felt she just could not walk that distance. Yet she must get to Morgan. It was a matter of extreme urgency. She could not be here when her father came back from the new house. Oh, Morgan Grant was going to pay for what he’d done to her!

‘Please, there must be a short cut?’ she asked almost desperately.

Mrs Niven looked troubled. ‘I’d love to help you. Could I get one of the boys to take you down? Or Ross himself would, I’m sure ...’ She stopped, seeing Katriona’s expression. ‘All right, my dear. See the woolshed over there ... no, that’s the cookhouse and men’s quarters. To your right ... yes, see the sheepyards ... good. I’ve heard the men say they can drop down over that bank behind the yards by the poplars, and get across to the Lake, but I’ve never been that way myself. Look, there’s a swamp and they’re handling wild cattle. If you’d wait...’

But Katriona was not waiting, she was running down the path and across the yard. She battled to open a heavy iron gate only to find it padlocked. Angrily she threw herself over it, badly barking a shin-bone in the process. Oh, Morgan Grant was going to pay ... and pay! She ran along the side of an enormous building which was obviously the woolshed, then over another gate, past a small neat building and then over to the towering line of poplars behind the yards.

Standing on the edge of the terrace which overlooked a bank of tangled undergrowth and trees, she stopped and stared across to the large scrub-covered flat through which meandered a stream on its way to the Hope River. It looked wild, rugged, rough country and she felt slightly daunted. Then a stockman’s whistle split the quiet evening air and across the gully from the picturesque Horseshoe Lake came the sound of dogs barking and cattle roaring. Morgan Grant. Immediately her temper flared again. A few wild cattle and a swamp would not keep her from that man. Even if the path was guarded by fire-eating dragons and peppered with volcanoes, she would still take it, she vowed extravagantly. Oh, Morgan Grant was going to get his due when she reached him! His good looks and superficial charm would not save him.

With that thought in mind she plunged headlong down what she took to be a well-used sheep track, and the shortest possible route to that wretched man. The track was steeper than she expected. Stumbling and falling down the steep incline, she kept losing her footing and, bruised and muddied, she arrived at the bottom angrier and more determined than ever to face up to Morgan. The trail became worse and she was soon surrounded by bush ferns, dead and decaying windblown willows overgrown with vines, wild gooseberry bushes and swamp.

No thought of turning back entered her head. Jumping from knob to knob, sometimes missing her objective, she emerged on firmer ground with her well-cut jeans liberally coated with slime and mud. Dishevelled, with her long red hair strewn damply across her determined face, she marched on like some slender avenging angel, her hair glinting in the last rays of the setting sun and her vivid blue eyes fixed on the tussock hill by the lake, each bump and hurt adding fuel to her anger.

The rocky river bed was strewn with briar and thorny matagouri bushes which tore and scratched her clothes and bare hands, but she was getting closer to the sound of the bellowing cattle and barking dogs.

Suddenly, out of the stony creekbed, the cattle burst from the scrub, the mob of long-homed animals heading directly towards where Katriona stood with no tree or fence for miles. Pale-faced, she watched the dogs vainly trying to head the charge, and was vaguely aware that several horsemen also appeared on the scene, but they were too far away to do her much good. She was sick with dismay as she realised how stupid she was and what danger she was in as the maddened cattle slashed at the dogs with their horns. Their red eyes and frothing mouths warned her they were very dangerous. They were so close to her now that she could see the steam rising from their sweating flanks. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run to ...

‘Katriona! ’

She turned towards the shout and saw a rider on a magnificent grey horse come racing towards her. Cutting fast between her and the leading bull, he wheeled about and leaning from the saddle swept her into his arm, spurring his horse to safety. Katriona could only cling to him, feeling herself pinioned to his chest by the steel-like grip of his arm. He hoisted her up in front of him on the saddle and she could feel his heart pounding in tune with her own.

‘You okay?’

Katriona nodded, keeping her head buried in his jacket, ashamed to let him see just how frightened she had been.

‘Great riding, Morgan.’ She could hear the other riders coming close as Morgan reined in. ‘Didn’t think you’d risk a valuable animal like Somali to save anyone’s life. She must be really special... don’t we get an introduction?’

‘Come on, little Red. Tell me what was so important to you that you had to risk your life and mine to get to me?'

Katriona’s eyes flicked open to find his face only inches from her own, his grey eyes laughing down at her, wickedly teasing as if he knew that it was not only fear which was making her heart race in such an erratic fashion. Yet how could he know? She had just this minute discovered why she had followed him thousands of miles across the world. It was as if she had known what heaven it would be to be held close in his arms, to lean against his chest as if she belonged, to feel through the thin silk top the rapid beat of his heart.