Michelle Douglas - The Cattleman's Ready-Made Family

Praise for Michelle Douglas

“Douglas’ story is romantic, humorous and paced just right.”

—RT Book Reviews on Bella’s Impossible Boss

“Laughter, holiday charm and characters with depth make this an exceptional story.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Nanny who Saved Christmas

“Moving, heartwarming and absolutely impossible to put down, The Man Who Saw Her Beauty is another stunning Michelle Douglas romance that’s going straight onto my keeper shelf!” —CataRomance

At the age of eight MICHELLE DOUGLASwas asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, ‘A writer.’ Years later she read an article about romance writing and thought, Ooh, that’ll be fun . She was right. When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English Masters programme for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero—husband Greg, who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings.

Michelle would love you to visit her at her website: www.michelle-douglas.com.

Michelle Douglas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To the Valley Girls for the support, the laughter and the champagne.

ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A TREE CHANGE?

Do you long for fresh air and birdsong?

Do you relish fresh-picked produce?

Do you hunger for a gentler pace of life?

RENT A FARMHOUSE FOR $1 A WEEK!

If you’re a community-minded family, why not rent a farmhouse for $1 a week in beautiful Bellaroo Creek?

We can promise you a fresh start and genuine country hospitality.

CAMERON MANNING PACED from the fence to the empty farmhouse and back again. He checked his watch. The second hand hadn’t moved much from the last time he’d looked. With a curse, he threw himself down on the bench, squatting beneath one of the Kurrajong trees that screened this farmhouse from the rest of his property, and drummed his fingers against his thigh.

Where was the woman?

The slats of the bench, badly in need of a nail or ten, bit into his back. It would’ve been more comfortable to sit on the veranda, but here the deep shade screened him. It’d give him a chance to contemplate his new tenants unobserved.

He scowled. If they ever turned up.

To be honest, he didn’t much care if they did or not. All he wanted was Tess Laing’s signature on his contract so he could hightail it out of here again. He had work to do. Serious work.

He leaned forward, steepling his hands under his chin as he glared at the farmhouse. Now that he had the cattle station on the western edges of his property sorted and in the capable hands of an under-manager, and he and station manager Fraser had dealt with all that needed overseeing for the operation of the sheep station and the planting and harvesting of the wheat crop, the only item left remaining was the canola contract.

He needed that locked in.

Once it was he’d be free to leave this godforsaken place. He’d shake off the dust of the poisonous memories that not only plagued his dreams at night but his waking hours too.

He leapt up, a familiar bitterness coating his tongue and the blackness of betrayal settling over him like a straitjacket. For the first time in his life he understood his father’s retreat from the world. He recognised the same impulse in himself now. He gritted his teeth. He would not give into it.

Blasting out a breath, he glanced at his watch. 3:30 p.m. The woman had said she’d arrive somewhere between two and three o’clock. He slashed a hand through the air. Lucky she wasn’t an employee.

Lucky for her, that was. He could fire an employee. He wrenched his gaze from the forty hectares of lovingly improved land that stretched out behind the farmhouse. Land he’d spent the last two years painstakingly improving—turning the soil, digging out rocks, fertilising…backbreaking work. And now…

He seized the contract he’d tossed onto the bench, rolled it up and slapped it against his legs. Once it was signed he could shake the dust of Bellaroo Creek from his feet for good. After that, his mother could deal with the new tenants.

And good luck to them.

He paced some more. He threw himself back to the bench and kept his gaze firmly fixed on the road and not on those contentious forty hectares. Finally a car appeared at the end of the gravel road, moving slowly—a big, solid station wagon.

Cam didn’t move from his spot in the shade, not even stirring when the breeze sent a light branch dancing across his hair, but every muscle in his body tightened. He dragged in a breath and counselled patience. He would explain the inadvertent mix-up to Tess Laing. He would patiently explain that a mistake had somehow seen his forty hectares included in her lease on the house. He would get her signature to turn those forty hectares back over to him. End of story.

If the mix-up had been inadvertent—an honest mistake. Bile burned his throat. Honesty and his family didn’t necessarily go hand in hand. He expected betrayal from Lance. His nostrils flared and his lips thinned. He would never underestimate his little brother’s treacherous resentment again. He would never again trust a word that spilled from Lance’s forked tongue. But his mother, had she…?

An invisible hand tried to squeeze the air out of his lungs, but he ignored it to thrust out his jaw. Mistake or not, he needed that land. And he would get it back. He’d talk this woman out of whatever ridiculous hobby farm idea she’d come out here with. He’d offer her a fair price to lease the land back. He’d make whatever bargain he needed to. His hand curled around the contract. Once he had her signature, Kurrajong Station’s obligations would be met. And he’d be free to head off for the far horizons of Africa.

Lance, Fiona and his mother could sink or swim on their own.

The car finally reached the farmhouse and pulled to a halt. He rested his elbows on his knees, eyes narrowed. Would she be some hard-nosed business type or a free-spirited hippy?

Three car doors were flung open and three passengers shot out from the car’s interior like bottled fizzy water that had been shaken and then opened—a woman and two children. All of them raced around to the front of the car and bounced from one foot to the other as if they’d been cooped up for too long.

He studied the woman. She didn’t look like a hard-nosed businesswoman. She didn’t look like a nature-loving hippy either. She looked…

In her red-and-black tartan skirt, thick black tights and black Doc Martens she reminded him of a ladybird. Her movements, though, were pure willy wagtail—light, graceful…cheeky. In fact, she looked like a university student. He sat up straighter. She couldn’t be old enough to have two kids!