Margaret Way - Cattle Baron - Nanny Needed

“Ms Wyatt, isn’t it?” His voice, as classy as the rest of him, broke into her speculations.

“Round one to you. I can’t for the life of me figure out who you are and I’m really trying.” Though she spoke banteringly, she felt like a butterfly about to be pinned for his private collection. Indeed her heart was fluttering like a butterfly trapped in a cage. He had a beautiful mouth. How odd that she should even notice. Firm, very clean-cut, the rims slightly raised. He was someone Zee would describe as drop dead sexy . She was almost on the point of conceding that herself.

She wondered what he would look like when he smiled. Teeth were important to her. Good teeth. Even on this humiliating day, a woman publicly scorned, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off a perfect stranger. But then that was her training, she reassured herself. Her life as a journalist was spent checking people out, remembering faces. She was naturally observant.

“Cal MacFarlane,” he introduced himself. “I’m the bride’s cousin.”

Her heart shook. But she wasn’t ready to buckle. Instead, she levelled him with a dubious stare. “Really? You don’t look in the least like her.” He looked more like that British actor Clive Owen. The same uber-male aura.

“I’m a MacFarlane, but we do share a grandfather, Sir Clive Erskine.”

“Ah, yes, Sir Clive.” She nibbled on her lower lip as her memory bank opened up. “You’re the Cattle Baron, right?” She was tuned in to a degree.

“Exactly.” Amusement cut sexy little grooves into the corners of his mouth. “You’re awfully audacious coming here, aren’t you, Ms Wyatt?”

She decided to wing it. After all, he couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure. “How do you know Sean didn’t send me an invitation? We were very close up until very recently.”

“So you intend to go out in a blaze of notoriety?” Her skewed gallantry smote his hard heart.

“Mr MacFarlane, I don’t know what you mean.” She let some of the sweetness slide. “I’m dedicated to doing the right thing. Or I have been up to date. And where did it get me? Lighten up. I promise I won’t cause any real bother.”

“You’re causing it already,” he told her very dryly. “This isn’t a joyous occasion, is it? Not for you and not particularly for me. I think, ultimately, my cousin is going to have to pay for marrying Sinclair in more ways than one.”

Amber’s brows rose. “Sweet Lord!” she said reverently. “You’ve got Sean’s measure already! It took me ages.”

“How that must lacerate you.”

“It does. I take it you don’t like him either?”

He inched her further away from the front doors. “I only met him last night. I fear he may be totally unscrupulous which is one reason why I’m standing here with you instead of ushering you out the back.”

Her gaze turned appealing. “Come on, you wouldn’t do that?”

“Not if we can work something out.”

“Actually, I was hoping you wouldn’t interfere.”

“Haven’t I just told you I’m family?” He smiled down into her face.

“Well, I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.” God, what a smile!

“I’m not sorry for you. I think you’ve had a lucky escape. So what are we going to do? Team decision. The bride will be arriving any minute.”

“Why, take our seats, of course.” She tried to peer around those wide shoulders.

“Tell you what, I’ll sit beside you.” Humour hovered around his mouth. “How’s that?”

“But I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from the bosom of your family Mr MacFarlane.”

“No problem. On second thoughts, I think we might slip up to the choir loft.” He cast a quick glance upwards. “We can’t be standing here when Georgie and her entourage arrives. By the sound of the clapping outside, it’s about to happen.”

“I do love it when they clap,” she said bleakly. “Supposing we stand here and goggle. After all, your cousin is the wittiest, prettiest, richest girl in town. And the most underhand. She stole my fiancé—such as he is—right from under my nose.”

“And I understand your hurt. But my guess is you’ll live to thank her. I suggest the choir loft. Now . Move it, Ms Wyatt. I’m quite capable of picking you up.”

“What, and fling me over your shoulder?”

“If I have to.” He slipped an arm around her waist and steered her towards the curving flight of wooden steps.

“I don’t know that I want to.” She was endeavouring to resist him but not making much headway.

“I don’t care what you want. Just do it. Sinclair might deserve a bloody good fright but he’s not worth it.”

“Why don’t we get married?” she turned her head over her shoulder to ask with biting sarcasm.

“Well, you were about to do a hell of a lot worse.”

The organist and the well known lyric soprano who had been hired to sing a selection of the bride’s favourite hymns looked around, startled, as they made their unexpected appearance in the spacious loft.

“Go ahead. Don’t take any notice of us.” Amber wiggled her fingers when she really wanted to scream. The cattle baron could ruin everything. “You have a lot to answer for, forcing me up here.” She kept it to a mere whisper. His ears were set beautifully against his shapely head. Sean’s weren’t. That was why he always wore his hair full and floppy.

“You’ll thank me in the end. Why don’t we find somewhere safe and sit it out? Unless you really do want to see the bride arriving?”

“Don’t you?” She was taken aback. “I mean, you’re family.”

“So I am,” he reminded himself. “You look beautiful, by the way.” As exquisite as a long-stemmed rose. “All things pass, Ms Wyatt. I’m merely preventing you from making a spectacle of yourself. You could lose your job, do you know that? My grandfather has influence everywhere. I believe he was impressed with the way you’ve handled yourself up to date. Don’t give him cause to damage your career,” Cal warned. “My grandfather can be ruthless when opposed or seriously displeased. In coming here today, you’ve run a big risk.”

“Get a lawyer. Sue me.” She broke off as the organist started up with a great ear-splitting fanfare that had her instinctively wrapping her ears with her hands. “God, that’s worse than a car alarm,” she muttered.

Even the cattle baron, used to stampedes, was looking aghast. “I’m tempted to go over to the balustrade and throw something.” The organist, on a roll, belted out the triumphant opening bars of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March . Why, oh why, did organists have to hit the keys so hard? Pianists didn’t hit the keys like that, even at a double forte.

“One can only wonder how the soprano will compete when her time comes,” Cal observed sardonically.

“How corny can you get? Mendelssohn!” Tears sprang into Amber’s eyes.

“No time to cry,” he warned her.

“Mr Tough Guy.”

“No, I’m a softie at heart. And no point in taking it out on the composer. Poor old Mendelssohn had to work like everyone else.”

“Except your cousin,” she reminded him tightly. “She must have fallen through the cracks. So are you going to take a peek at what she looks like? The dress is said to have cost thousands and thousands. I’ve heard she’s carrying a teeny bit of excess weight.”

“And who knows how long her pre-wedding diet will last?” He glanced down at the jilted Ms Wyatt, seeing the combination of delicacy, strength and intelligence in her features. He also saw the tremendous upset. She was very lovely. Beauty could sometimes be severe. She was beautiful in a tender way. Not even an old cynic like him could view such a woman with indifference. “Now, don’t go worrying about me. I’ve been to a thousand weddings.” He took a firm hold of her hand, just in case she decided to storm the balustrade.