A Man Called Cameron Read online

  The actual house was something to surprise her again and caused her to draw a sharp breath. Set apart from the rest of the homestead, it was a long, two-storied dwelling with trees clustered behind it and wide lawns in front. These were fenced at regular intervals by white rails and posts, giving a neat, attractive impression. Even from outside the house spoke of comfort and a certain affluence, even if its rather formidable, sweeping lines hinted mysteriously at danger. Of this, along with the apprehensive fluttering of unsteady nerves, Petra forced herself to take no notice. Wasn’t it sufficient to realise that her father must have been correct in believing Neil Cameron to be a man of means?

  Beyond the house, as they approached, she caught a glimpse of other buildings, among which would be the bunkhouse and probably cabins for the married couples. From her vantage point, high up in the saddle, she could see people moving leisurely about, as if most of the day’s work was over.

  Then, as if hypnotised, her wandering eyes returned to Neil Cameron’s house. ‘It’s—it’s very impressive,’ she exclaimed, with something like awe in her voice. The place attracted her in a way she had never expected to feel again, not after their lovely old manor at Redwell.

  The man’s voice behind her seemed like an unwelcome intrusion on her dreamy surveillance. ‘You’re impressed?'

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Her resentment quickly forgotten, there was no thought of deviation. Yet she was immediately embarrassed by her undeniably warm tones. ‘I have—I mean I did live in a larger one, of course.’

  ‘Sure,’ he drawled maddeningly, ‘I might almost have guessed. It’s something you’re quite used to.’

  ‘No, I mean yes,’ she stuttered unhappily, wishing for about the hundredth time that she could stop letting this tall stranger confuse her to this extent. Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to see more of him. Stirring uneasily, she tried to release herself from his arms as they swung around by the front door. David, she saw, was already standing on the ground waiting. Jake was back on his horse again and looking enquiringly towards them.

  ‘You go ahead, Jake, I’ll join you later,’ Petra’s escort gave the order, crisp and clear with authority.

  Jake, after only a slight hesitation, obeyed, leaving Petra to exclaim hastily, ‘There was no need for that! If you’d just let me down you can go with him.’

  ‘Really, Petronella,’ the man grinned dryly, ‘you’re in an awful hurry to be rid of me. Is it that you don’t trust me?’

  ‘Trust you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She could feel his mocking glance searing her averted face. ‘You’re afraid I’m about to repeat everything you’ve been talking about, should Cameron appear.’

  ‘Of course I’m not. How ridiculous!’ Intentionally she forced a disdainful note to her voice, although her heart beat fast with fright when she considered what he had said. If Neil Cameron did appear just what was she going to say? What would this man say? If only she could have had a short time to pull herself together. None of her carefully rehearsed speeches seemed feasible now, but she had nothing to put in their place.

  ‘You could sound too adamant,’ he drawled laconically, controlling the restive animal beneath them with a slight tightening of the reins. ‘What is it you’re after lady, I wonder?’

  ‘All I want is to be put down!’ Petra insisted, totally alarmed by something indefinable in his last dry observation. ‘I’d like to get tidied up as soon as possible and my brother attended to.’

  David, as she might have known, was giving her no immediate support. He was gazing around anxiously but obviously not in any hurry to do anything, or paying his sister any helpful attention.

  ‘Your heart’s beating like that of a captive bird,’ the man mocked, ‘I can feel it. I’m not sure you’ll be able to stand on your feet.’

  His fingers moved again, slightly upwards, and, panic-stricken, she moved restively. Whatever else this man lacked it wasn’t nerve! David had turned towards them, waiting with the kind of adult patience that sat so oddly on his young shoulders and which Petra deplored. She found it rather frightening without quite knowing why. The man who held her followed her bewildered gaze and after a very few seconds slid thoughtfully off his horse before holding up his arms for Petra. The wince she gave as her left wrist caught his as she came down did not escape him, although the only outward indication he gave of being aware of it lay in the slight narrowing of his eyes.

  From nowhere a young cowboy appeared and was ordered to take care of the horse. It occurred to Petra that this was why the man had taken so long to dismount. He intended coming into the house with them and he couldn’t just turn the animal loose.

  Taking no notice of her cold stare, he said mildly, ‘I’d better come in with you. I can show you where to wait for Cameron. I’ll see to it myself that he’s with you very shortly. His old housekeeper is inclined to be deaf and might not hear you. Beside, she’ll be cooking his dinner.’

  ‘I see.’ There seemed nothing to which she could reasonably object and dejectedly she followed as he led the way through the wide door. David ambled after her, keeping close to her side.

  The man strode across the wide hall as if he knew exactly where he was going. There was a thick carpet on the floor and the panelling on the walls had a lovely mellow sheen to it. A fireplace on a side wall was filled with huge logs, as if ready for winter, and a portrait of a man above it looked down on them as they passed. Petra glanced at that portrait in startled amazement. That, if nothing else, convinced her that she had arrived at her destination!

  The man paused by an open doorway about halfway down the hall. ‘If you wait here,’ he said, ‘you should be quite comfortable.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Petra whispered, wondering how he dared stride around them with mud positively dripping from his clothes. The poor housekeeper wouldn’t thank him for it! Yet, despite this, she knew a moment of panic as he turned to go and had to bite her lip to stop herself from asking if she would see him again. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, her voice stronger, ‘for what you’ve done for us.’ She might have hoped for a glimmer of a smile, but not even a muscle moved on his mud-caked face.

  Oh, well, Petra shrugged as she turned away herself, he might be right in thinking he had a grievance. She hadn’t been particularly gracious and he must be the kind to hold a grudge. Much better to forget about him.

  ‘Come on,’ she cried immediately to David, as soon as he left, and the door closed behind him, ‘I must see if I can’t tidy you up. It really is important that we’re accepted now. No car and obviously no kind of public transport! We must do our best to make a good impression, darling.’ Trying to sound happier than she felt, she was rewarded by David’s tentative smile. Whatever happened she must manage an invitation from Cameron to stay, if only for one night. Suppose she had to go down on her hands and knees and promise anything? David, she could see, was putting on a brave face, but underneath he was as apprehensive as she.

  ‘Didn’t those men look peculiar covered with mud? I wonder what they are like underneath?’ he pondered, his attention not wholly on what his sister was saying.

  ‘Quite ordinary, really,’ Petra returned vaguely as she searched swiftly through the pile of items in her bag for a comb, this seeming more important right now than David’s idle queries. ‘Not as ordinary, though, as we shall look if we don’t get tidied up before Cameron arrives. Here,’ she passed him the comb, ‘you’d better use mine. Yours will still be in your luggage. I can wait.’

  While she waited, in order to resist the temptation to tidy his hair herself, which she realised was bad for him, she concentrated on the room. It was of medium size and comfortable, as the man had said, with deep chairs and carpet and a fire flickering at one end. Against one of the walls was a mirror and she wandered over to take a look at herself. Rather startled by her own reflection, she stared into the shining glass. Her face was stark white, flecked with blood from her wound, and above it, looking entirely incongruous, there was still the large cotto
n square she had tied around her head. She had forgotten all about it, having put it on in the first place to protect herself from the dust and sun. Now she took it off, the pins she had secured it with being difficult to remove with one hand, but at last she succeeded, the release of the tight band worth the effort it had taken.

  Next she dived into her bag again for a clean handkerchief, regretting the box of tissues she had left in the car. Silently, while David still tugged at his long-suffering hair, she scrubbed, attempting to remove some of the dried blood but not making much impression. If only she could have had a bowl of water! Eventually she gave up, deciding instead to concentrate on her hair. This she had plaited neatly that morning, binding it tightly, which could be contributing to the persistent ache in her head. With a sigh of relief she released it, and, as David gave her back her comb, she ran it through the honey coloured strands until they flowed in a heavy, burnished cascade over her shoulders.

  She felt far from satisfied, but it would have to do. Her hair, if she kept her head bent slightly forward, would curve her cheek and neck, hiding the paleness of her face. Although the ache in her head had lessened fractionally the pain in her wrist would probably give her little respite before morning.

  Again she tried to make light of it as she turned to David, who, having obviously completed all he considered necessary, was watching her with what seemed to be becoming a habitually worried frown.

  ‘How do you feel now?’ she asked quickly. Then, before he could reply, ‘We are a pair of idiots, really. We arrive on Cameron’s doorstep covered in bruises and blood. No wonder those two men looked at us the way they did!’

  David’s bottom lip wobbled suspiciously. ‘I bet Mr. Cameron won’t be very happy to see us either!’

  About to deny this lightly, Petra hesitated. David wasn’t exactly a baby any longer, to be put off with a few inconsequential remarks. Protective she might still feel, but she must allow she could only deceive him so far. ‘You’re probably right.’ Like his, her voice faltered miserably, and together, as if unable to find any more reassurance for each other, they wandered apprehensively to the wide window and lingered there, gazing out. This room appeared to be at the back of the house, facing the tall stand of timber she had noticed when they had arrived. From here, past the side of the trees, there were glimpses of the high Rockies, the giant crags and low foothills which sloped down to the plains. The awesome splendour of the mountain ranges seemed to be everywhere, inescapable, their blue cragginess broken on the higher pinnacles by white veins of snow, even at this time of year. Lower down the blueness of the rock was shadowed in places by the dark greenness of spruce forests and aspen groves. The tree line, Petra imagined it would be called, feeling a greater affinity for the mountains than for the vast, empty prairies below.

  Yet while such a view might compensate for much, perhaps because of the continuing pain in her hand, other things obtruded. Thoughts of a hot bath and bed, in that order, took over almost completely. In a hotel she might have demanded them, but the most she could ask for here, immediately, would be for a quick wash of their hands and faces. Even before she met Neil Cameron the situation began suggesting things she hadn’t thought of before.

  Her brow creased as her good arm went, naturally caring, around David’s shoulders, and so silently did they stand that when he did come Neil Cameron did not take them by surprise. They heard his footstep approaching seconds before the door, on which their eyes were apprehensively fixed, opened and he walked in.

  Petra stared at him as he carefully closed the door behind him before walking towards them. He was tall and big, she unconsciously registered that, but she was really only aware of fierce blue eyes under black brows, of a faint smile lurking at the side of his strong mouth. There was something frightening yet immediately familiar about him. He was like the portrait in the hall and the one she had herself. It was rather like watching an inanimate object coming to life, although she didn’t think this man, with his decisively alert dark face, would welcome such a comparison. Undoubtedly he was Neil Cameron, an autocrat, she summed him up, to the tips of his long, steely fingers. She could take no comfort from the thought that he would be a man not easily fooled, especially when she must try to do so. His age? She suddenly realised someone, somewhere had been guilty of misjudgment. He would be in his thirties, maybe over rather than under thirty-five, but certainly far from middle-aged!

  If she had been studying him rather closely he was doing the same to her. Black curved brows rose slightly above his cobalt-blue eyes as if he was no less surprised than herself. Forgetting to keep her gaze down as she had intended, Petra threw back her head to look at him, her throat, long and smooth, balancing her small head perfectly and throwing into relief her huge grey eyes and wide, soft mouth. Her brow above her haunting eyes was smooth and pale and her thick, lustrous hair tumbled heavily across her slender shoulders. Even in her crumpled, now dirty skirt, she gave, had she but known it, the impression of being supple and slim, her waist tiny, her legs long and delicately formed.

  The silence lengthened as if Neil Cameron found the tableau they made, Petra and her young brother, interesting. ‘I believe,’ he spoke coolly at last, ‘you wish to see me. Won’t you sit down?’

  Apprehensively Petra tried to smile, tearing her eyes from his smoothly expressionless face to grope rather blindly for the nearest chair. Her hand, which still gripped David’s shoulder, pulled him along with her so that he remained by her side. If she had a peculiar feeling she had met Neil Cameron somewhere before it could only be because of the portrait. Or perhaps because his voice vaguely resembled that of the man who had rescued them? ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, aware of a flooding confusion as she scarcely seemed able to manage even that!

  Cameron smiled again, enigmatically, as he waited until she straightened. ‘My name, as you obviously know, is Cameron, Neil Cameron, but I’m afraid, so far as you’re concerned, I feel completely in the dark. I’ve been told you claim to be my cousins.’

  He did not offer to shake hands, which might have helped, but continued to survey them, almost as if they were a kind of curiosity he had never come across before. He studied them closely yet made no comment on the state of their clothing or the blood on Petra’s face.

  Strangely resentful, as she felt in need of the sympathy which was obviously not forthcoming, Petra forced herself to speak calmly. ‘I’m sorry if I seem somewhat at a loss for words. No doubt your man would explain that we had a rather unfortunate accident which shattered us a little, mentally, at any rate. You really are our cousin, but I’m afraid I was led to believe you’d be older.’

  ‘I see!’ his exclamation was mild enough. ‘Would it be pertinent to ask why you should be looking for me at all? It seems you have more knowledge of me than I have of you. In fact, I’ll be completely frank and say I never knew you existed. I don’t even know your name.’

  Petra swallowed, finding his last remark incomprehensibly startling for some reason she couldn’t make out. She was too busy regretting that she must be presenting the worst possible image! If wily she’d had the opportunity to clean up properly. Other men had found her extremely attractive, and this without any effort on her part. Given the chance she might have made sure that Neil Cameron would have welcomed them in any capacity at all!

  David, meanwhile, seemed to feel he must make up for his sister’s ill manners. As he had done before, he said gravely, ‘I’m David Sinclair, sir, and this is my sister Petronella.’

  ‘How do you do,’ Neil Cameron returned, with equal gravity. He shook David’s hand but made no attempt to touch Petronella’s.

  Which seemed to proclaim louder than words that he doubted her story before it had even begun. Desperately, in a positive anguish of uncertainty and pain, Petra launched out rather wildly, ‘You might not believe me, Mr. Cameron—Neil, but we do happen to be your cousins and we decided to drop in on you.’ The use of his name, like that, had taken more nerve than she had anticipated,
and, from the way his eyes sharpened, it seemed he considered she possessed more than enough of it.

  A light sarcasm crept into his well-modulated voice. ‘Maybe you’d be good enough to explain? I might add that I’ve never heard the name of Sinclair before, although I do know a bit of my family history.’

  Petra stared at him, a peculiar feeling running right through her as her grey eyes met his, but she was too consumed with anxiety to take much notice. Her lips parted, words tumbling, eagerly breathless. ‘I have a letter with me in which my solicitor confirms this relationship. He has all the facts. My father employed a quite famous genealogist whose findings coincided and added to those which my father had already gathered.’

  ‘Really, Miss Sinclair,’ his positive brows lifted again, ‘you appear to have gone to considerable lengths! Why?’ Such hard abruptness did nothing to help Petra’s hoarsely labouring breath. This man was altogether different from the one whom she had visualised. He was too ruthless—too young...! Inadvertently she uttered the last two words aloud.

  ‘Who is?’ he caught her half despairing exclamation like a ball which he threw straight back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she stuttered, her grey eyes clouding, ‘I imagined, somehow, you’d be elderly and that it would be something of a kindness to visit you.’

  ‘Really!’ his brief ejaculation was slightly incredulous. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.’

  ‘It was only an idea.’ A sob thickened her throat, her distress something she tried to keep from him, in view of her future plans. ‘My father, you see, went in for this kind of thing. It was a hobby. Otherwise we might never have known.’