Table Of ContentALONG THE RIBBONWOOD
TRACK
Mary Moore
"You were advised not to come," Craig had told Joanne when she arrived at the
New Zealand Farm she had inherited, to which she replied, " I was never madly
good at taking advice." It was obvious that Craig was lead to do his best to make
Joanne sellout, but something made her equally determined to stay. .
CHAPTER ONE
J J breathed a sigh of relief as she completed the Customs
OANNE ARDEN
formalities at Harewood Airport, and followed the stream of passengers into the
huge foyer of the terminal building. Well, she had made it. All by herself. The
thought gave her much satisfaction.
She was an attractive girl of medium height, with honey-blonde hair, and long
well-shaped legs. Her grey-blue eyes were serious as she struggled with the
problem of managing one large case, an overnight bag and a portable typewriter.
'Miss Jarden?' said a deep attractive male voice from somewhere above her head.
Joanne gladly put the cases down. She smiled up at the tall suntanned man.
There was an infectious quality about Joanne's smile. Her large mobile mouth
was cut for laughter, and very few people could resist its appeal.
But this man could. His blue eyes flicked coldly over her from her bright head to
her pencil-slim blue suit down to the small neat feet without the glimmer of an
answering smile.
'Craig Armstrong.' He indicated the luggage. 'Is this all you have?'
The smile faded from Joanne's lips as she nodded her head. What an abrupt
young man! He had not even offered to shake hands. Of course, she had not
exactly expected the red carpet treatment, after receiving his letter telling her not
to come. But still, he could have been polite.
'Right, follow me. The car is out in the car park. Your plane was an hour late.'
He scooped up her cases without effort and walked away without a backward
glance.
Joanne followed. She noted that the cases didn't give him any trouble. They
wouldn't dare. She firmly repressed the desire to giggle. If he looked back and
caught her laughing at him he would be even more grim.
Fancy blaming her for the plane being late! Was she supposed to trot along to
the pilot of the jet and ask him to put his foot down, or whatever pilots do? This
time she could not stop the laughter that bubbled up inside her. Luckily Mr Craig
Armstrong just kept walking. Rather breathlessly she followed him out across
the car park. Even carrying those heavy cases didn't affect his long-legged stride.
How on earth had he known she was the one he had to meet? She would not give
him the satisfaction of asking. Even the brief glimpse she had had of him made
her think he was one of those people who did everything well. There was an air
of purpose and assurance about him. He would do what he had to, even if it
killed him and/or anyone else. Probably finding her among the hundreds of
people at an international airport had been mere child's play for him.
He stopped beside a long sleek wine-coloured station wagon and put her cases
in, then turned and held the door of the front passenger seat open for her. Joanne
slid in and before she had time to say 'thanks' he slammed the door and walked
around to the driver's seat.
What a super car! Marvellous. She watched him start up and reverse, and as he
sped out of the airport she said, 'Thank you for meeting me.'
No answer. Pity. He must be one of the strong silent types. She had never met
one of them before and had a strong feeling she wasn't going to enjoy the
experience.
She looked out at the bright sunshine and admired the attractive houses and well-
laid-out gardens. What a beautiful place! She hugged herself a little. She was in
New Zealand. It was madly exciting.
'Isn't it a wonderful morning?' Joanne tried again.
Still no answer.
She answered herself, 'Yes, Joanne, it's a lovely morning. I'd like to welcome
you to New Zealand. What sort of trip did you have?'
A smile curved the corners of her mouth. That ought to shake him!
His dark blue eyes flicked across her face with such a look of contempt that
Joanne was shocked into complete silence. He really disliked her. For a moment
Joanne was upset. Then she was annoyed. What right had he to be so high and
mighty? Okay, what if she had gone against his advice? It was her farm. She had
done nothing criminal. If he did not want to talk, she was not going to force him.
He could sit in dignified silence ... she amended her thoughts ... bad-tempered
silence, if he wanted. She would not let it spoil her pleasure.
But she couldn't help turning slightly to watch him curiously as he guided the big
car expertly through the busy traffic. There was a hardness about this man. Lean
and hard. He was not handsome, but he had a strong face, a good wide brow,
straight nose and determined chin. I wonder how he got those lines etched so
deeply in his face, Joanne speculated. Her eyes took in his thick reddish-brown
hair and his well-groomed appearance. Obviously he wasn't short of money.
Her idle deliberations were cut short as Craig swung the big car into the kerb
beside a large park and braked. He walked around and opened her door. 'This is
Addington Saleyards. I have some stock being sold and want to be there ... that
is, if I'm not too late already. You can come with me or you can wait under the
shade of those trees.'
So that was why he was so annoyed. She had made him late for the sale. 'I'll just
sit in the car, thank you.'
'You can't. It's too hot. You'll bake to death if you sit here for an hour or so.
Well, make up your mind.'
Intuition told Joanne that he preferred her to stay in the Park, so obstinately she
said, 'I'll go with you and see the cattle sold.'
His expression tightened. 'Of course, I should have guessed. You're pretending
to be interested in farming.'
As he locked the car he took a slightly disreputable panama hat from the back
seat and offered it to Joanne. 'Put that on. The temperature is in the nineties.
You'll look like a lobster in a very short time if you don't wear a hat.'
'No, thanks.'
'Please yourself. Burn if you want to.' He stepped forward and placed the hat on
her head at a rakish angle and walked off across the street with a long swinging
stride.
Of all the ill-mannered, arrogant ... Joanne dragged the hat off and toyed with the
idea of throwing it down in the dust. But that would make her as rude as he was,
so instead, still clutching the offending hat in her hand, she hurried across the
street trying to catch up with Craig.
He walked in through an opening in the high boarded fence, and she followed a
short way back. She would not walk with him, the miserable wretch, yet she was
scared to fall too far behind in case she lost sight of him. Joanne had never seen
so many sheep. Pens and pens of them. Thousands. And the noise ...! Dogs
barking, sheep calling, men talking, and the auctioneers babbling away in what
seemed to be a foreign language.
Craig did not stop at the sheep pens, but kept going with his energetic stride
through another gateway and along a paved brick walk between pens and pens of
huge angry-looking cattle. He never once turned to check if Joanne was keeping
up. She was half running, her high-heeled shoes hampering her on the rough
uneven surface. Then she saw him step up on one of the high wooden covered
walks that ran at intervals between the cattle pens. She slowed her pace. It was
so hot. Not a breath of wind ... and dusty. She could feel the perspiration beading
on her face.
Suddenly without warning a gate further up the race opened and out came a
bunch of long-horned cattle, pushing and shoving at each other, being driven
towards Joanne.
She stood frozen to the spot, rigid with fright. Someone yelled for her to climb
up on the rails, but she couldn't move. Then she felt herself caught in iron-strong
arms and swept up on to the catwalk just as the cattle crowded by. Looking up
into Craig's dark eyes she didn't care how angry he was. She clung to him even
after he put her down. She was shaking with shock.
'You're okay now.' His voice was not unkind. 'If you'd kept up with me you
would have been all right.'
Joanne gasped, 'Thank you for coming back for me.' Her smile was a trifle
wobbly. 'I've never been so close to a bull before. They looked so big and wild.'
'They weren't bulls. They were steers,' Craig told her smartly. 'Now for
goodness' sake put on your hat and keep up.'
'They looked like bulls,' muttered Joanne, but he was gone. She put on the
despised hat and hurried after him, determined not to be left. She did not let him
get more than a couple of inches away from her. She would have put out her
hand and held his jacket tail if she hadn't been so scared of his sarcasm.
They walked the whole length of the catwalk, descended again on to the paved
brick race, then up again on to another catwalk. Joanne caught her heel between
two widely spaced planks and was held.
Exasperated, Craig turned back. He jerked her shoe loose and put it back on her
foot. Joanne was sorry she was being such a trouble to him. Cattle yards
definitely weren't her bag. It was nice to know that he wouldn't leave her again.
Consoling.
Breathlessly she followed him. When he did stop, it was so abruptly that she
bumped her nose on his broad back. Thankfully she realised that they had
reached their destination. She watched him lean on the rail, his intent gaze on the
auctioneer. Slowly she got her breath back.
Below here were the cattle in pens. She felt quite safe. They could not possibly
climb up here. On the high rails around the cattle pens three or four men stood.
One was the auctioneer. He was calling, 'Forty dollars ... forty dollars ... forty ...
forty ... forty ... Hup! Fifty ... I've got fifty dollars ... fifty dollars ... fifty ... fifty,
fifty ... Hup!'
Joanne was fascinated. She tried to see who was bidding, but although she
studied the crowd of buyers carefully not one of them seemed to move an eyelid.
How did the auctioneer tell who was bidding? Joanne was very careful not to
move her hands. Imagine if she got landed with those eight tremendous
bullocks! Could she ask Craig to put them in the back of the station wagon? She
smiled at the thought. She really would have to control her ridiculous sense of
humour. It always got her into trouble. She could remember one irate teacher
writing on her school report, 'Has an extremely annoying tendency to laugh at
inappropriate moments.'
She turned her attention back to the men on the high wide rails. The auctioneer
was the king-pin. Two of the others were his sidesmen. They had notebooks and
wrote in them, and pointed out different bids. Three other men had long sticks
with which they prodded the cattle.
As each pen was sold the auctioneer moved on to the next pen and his henchmen
followed like satellites in orbit round the moon. The buyers and spectators kept
pace along the catwalk.
Joanne was enjoying it all so much she forgot that she had made up her mind not
to talk to Craig. She tugged his sleeve. 'Which ones are yours?'
Craig looked down at her small eager face alight with enthusiasm. 'The
Shorthorns. Three pens along ... the roan-coloured ones.'
When they reached the roan cattle Joanne thought that Shorthorn was the wrong
name for them. They had no horns at all. But she felt quite excited as the bidding
started, as if she had a personal interest in the price they would bring. That was
ridiculous ... but perhaps not... if they brought a good price Craig might not be
quite so hostile and angry.
She watched the men poke the cattle around. She tugged Craig's sleeve again and
hissed, 'Why don't you stop those men from hitting your cattle with those sticks?'
'Shhh! They're turning them round so that the buyers can see them to better
advantage,' Craig said quellingly.
'Those other two might be, but that skinny little man with the big hat is hurting
them. He likes hurting them. He's cruel!' Joanne had been watching him for a
while and was quite indignant. 'If I were you, I'd push him off the rail.'
Craig's mouth quirked. 'You know, I have a horrible idea you might do it. Just
remember that women are barely tolerated here, not welcomed. So behave
yourself.'
The big sleek round Shorthorns brought the highest price yet, and Joanne glowed
with satisfaction, and then laughed at herself. She watched several more pens
sold, then her attention was caught by two men laughing. She saw they were
pointing at another man in the crowd who was wearing a pair of new khaki
pants, and he had left the four-inch-square maker's label on them. One by one
other people noticed and laughed. They were mean! Why didn't one of them tell
him instead of laughing at him?
She touched Craig's sleeve, 'Look at that poor man! He doesn't know that he's
left the label on. The others are laughing at him. You go and tell him, Craig.'
'Tell him yourself,' Craig said indifferently after a quick glance. 'Although I
think you'd be wise to mind your own business.'
Joanne hesitated, still feeling annoyed with the other men, but not quite sure
what the man's reaction would be if she told him. It might embarrass him more
to have it pointed out by a woman. Then she was relieved to see a friend of his
come up and rip the tag off with a chuckle and hand it to the man.
The label wearer turned on him angrily, 'Damn it all, why don't you mind your
own business? I grabbed these from the store this morning and they aren't the
right size. I was going to take them back after the Sale and change them, but
now, thanks to you, I'll have to buy them!'
Joanne hoped Craig had not heard, but glancing up she caught the sardonic glint
in his eye. She looked away. Okay, she had got the point. He thought he was
always right, not about the label, but about advising her not to come here to New
Zealand. She would prove him wrong. In time.
When Craig had seen all the cattle sold, he retraced his steps back to the pens of
sheep. Joanne followed like a faithful shadow. Out here there was no roof to
protect her from the blazing sun, and she soon wilted in the intense heat. She lost
interest quickly as she moved along from pen to pen, hot and tired and suddenly
very hungry. It was twelve-thirty by her watch.
'Are you selling sheep too?' she asked Craig, who didn't seem to be bothered by
the heat.
'No.'
'Are you buying some, then?' she persisted.
'No.'
'Well, what are you doing?'
'Just looking. Getting the tone of the market.' He moved away from her
impatiently.
Joanne doggedly followed him, limply perspiring.
After some time he swung on his heel. 'Right, I've seen enough. Let's get
something to eat.'
'I've seen more than enough,' Joanne muttered, under her breath as she limped
along the brick path trying not to sprain an ankle. Sheep she did not dig. They all
looked exactly the same to her untutored eye. It was a delight to find herself in a
spotlessly clean, air-conditioned restaurant at the end of the yards.
At the counter, Craig thrust a wooden tray into her hands, 'Will ham and lettuce
salad suit you?'
'Lovely!' Joanne's face lit up with a wide smile. Life was looking up.
Craig filled his tray and hers, adding a plate of apple pie and whipped cream
further down the counter.
It was heaven to sit down. Keeping a watchful eye on Craig, she thankfully
eased her shoes off under the table, and felt the exquisite relief of putting them
