Jacto’s lids veiled his eyes. “You could give up. After all, you are only a woman. No one expects you to undergo such discomfort.”
Manda lifted her head like a racehorse who had just heard the bell at the starting gate. “What do you mean, only a—” She stopped and began to chuckle. “Lord, I must be more tired than I thought. I almost rose to the bait. You’re a wicked old man, Jacto.” She took another sip of tea. “And I’m a fool to get upset when I’ve scarcely begun to search. Right?”
The faintest trace of a smile deepened the corners of the Aborigine’s lips. “I do not presume to judge.”
Manda slowly shook her head, her amber eyes once more snapping with their customary good humor and vitality. “Not verbally anyway. You just sit there behind that inscrutable mask, and let me talk myself in doing exactly what you want me to do.”
“What you want to do,” he corrected her mildly. “Your treasure has no value to me. However, I find it interesting to watch you search. You are usually not this … intense.”
He realized at once he had used the wrong word. Manda was always intense about everything she did, every project she undertook. Yet her intensity always held an element of joyousness, as if the journey itself were as thrilling as reaching the final destination. But, the joyousness she usually felt was missing during this particular quest. Manda, despite her wanderlust, was very close to her family, and he should have known she would not take her father’s plight lightly. No, the word he should have chosen was desperate.
“I’m frightened,” she said with childlike simplicity. “Nothing has ever meant this much to me before. Dad has always given me whatever I needed—love, security, understanding. Everything. He’s never really needed anything from me, and now that he does need something, I’m scared to death I won’t be able to give it to him.” She shook her head. “I guess I have trouble understanding people who think their world will stop spinning if they lose a piece of land, a house, a particular possession that’s important to them. People are important, but things … I just can’t understand it. There are so many beautiful places to see, so many wonderful roads to travel, why kill yourself trying to hold on to possessions? Who knows? Maybe what you’ll find ahead is better than what you have at the moment.”
“Your father does not think as you do.”
“No.” She drew up her knees, rested her chin on them, and gazed thoughtfully at the flickering flames of the campfire. “He loves every inch of Killaroo. It nearly destroyed him when he lost that land.” She was silent a moment. “He wasn’t always so devoted to the land, you know. Before he married my mother, he traveled all over Australia from Tasmania to Queensland to Western Australia. He used to tell me such wonderful stories about his travels when I was a little girl.” A tiny frown knotted her brow. “He … changed.”
“People do change.”
“Why?” she whispered. “He was so happy. You should have seen his face when he was telling me about rafting down the Murray River. He was blazing with happiness. Do you know what I mean?”
Jacto knew very well what she meant. He had seen the same blaze burning bright within Manda on many occasions. “Yes.”
“I don’t change. You don’t either, Jacto. I don’t understand why other people do.”
“Perhaps someday you will understand.”
“I don’t know if I want to. I don’t want to be driven like my father. I don’t want to be caught in the trap of caring about possessions.” She shifted her shoulders as if a burden weighed upon them. “I want to enjoy life.” A sudden smile lit her thin face with warmth. “We do enjoy life, don’t we, Jacto?”
“Yes.”
“You’re about as communicative as a baobab tree tonight.”
“How do you know a baobab can’t communicate? It is a spirit tree. Perhaps you haven’t listened to its message.”
“Is that statement supposed to have some hidden meaning? I’m too tired to decipher your cryptic little puzzles tonight, Jacto.” She smothered a yawn. “I think I’ll try to sleep a little before dawn. I’m not looking forward to doing the preliminary exploration on the next tunnel, and there’s some lumber blocking the entrance that will have to be removed.”
“I will do it while you sleep.”
She shook her head. “Wait for me. It’s too much for one person to do alone. You do too much for me as it is. When I asked you to come along, it was for your company, not for your strong back. This is my job.” The firelight danced in the golden waves of her thick and vibrant hair. “Even if I am ‘only’ a woman, I believe I can handle it by myself.”
“I will think about what you have said.”
“Now, don’t give me one of your noncommittal answers. I know damn well you mean you’ll think about what I said and then go ahead and do whatever you want to do anyway. I want your word you won’t—” She broke off. “What on earth is that?”
Jacto looked over his shoulder to follow her gaze from the ridge on which they were sitting to the horizon. “Lights,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I know they’re lights,” she said impatiently. “I have eyes.” She set down her cup and jumped to her feet, watching the thick veil of dust which was rising into the sky. “Good heavens, it looks like a caravan. There must be at least a dozen cars and trucks coming this way. What could they be doing out here in the desert in the middle of the night?”
“The fact that it’s the middle of the night means nothing. Most work and travel is done at night to avoid the heat. You know that, Manda.” Yet it was like Manda to have conveniently forgotten that information; it would have detracted from the intriguing possibilities she saw coming toward her. “We will find out soon enough. The road leads only to Deadman’s Ridge.”
“Oh, Jacto, how can you be so calm?”
“Oh, Manda, how can you be so excited?”
“I’m going down to meet them.” She was already running toward the road, which was several hundred yards away.
“Be carefu—” He stopped. It would be of no use to caution her. She wouldn’t listen. Something new and different was on the horizon and Manda was running to meet it.
Jacto reached over and picked up his hunting knife from beneath his bedroll. He stood up with an effortless flowing motion and sauntered after the swiftly flying figure of Manda Delaney.
“Good Lord, why on earth did you decide to come out here to the back of beyond?” Brent Penrose slowly shook his head as he gazed gloomily at the flat brown desolate land around him. The ancient desert was stark, bare of vegetation except for an occasional bearding of wheat-colored spinifex scrub. “I’m warning you, Roman, I have a clause in my contract that holds you liable if we fall off the edge of the world.”
Roman Gallagher’s lips twitched as he glanced at the man sitting beside him in the open Jeep. “Now I wonder why my lawyers didn’t bring that clause to my attention.”
“Small print.” Brent coughed. “There’s another clause regarding dust asphyxiation. You should have passed out gas masks before you started this safari into hell.”
“I’ll remember to do that next time,” Roman assured him solemnly. “I forgot how fragile the Homo Hollywoodantes could be. Now, let me see, in your last picture you clawed your way up the wall of a cliff, swung from the yardarm of a schooner, and—”
“You mean my double did. Do you think I’d risk my valuable neck on stuff like that?”
“Yes.” Roman’s dark eyes narrowed with sudden shrewdness. “You perform all your own stunts. You also do summer stock for which you are paid peanuts, so that you can take a stab at acting in Eugene O’Neill’s and Tennessee Williams’s plays. Don’t try to feed me your phony Hollywood image. When you came to me and asked for this part, I made damn sure I knew exactly who and what you were. I always look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Brent pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. “I’ve heard you did, but I wasn’t aware you were quite so thorough.” He had heard a hell of a lot more about Roman Gallagher. He was sai
d to be a workaholic who expected his team to follow his example or drop by the wayside. He was supremely cynical and could be obstinate as the devil. He also had a passionate hatred for the paparazzi and was the despair of his studio’s publicity department. On the plus side, he was brilliant, perhaps the best director since John Huston, absolutely professional, and capable of drawing Academy Award-winning performances from even the most mundane actors. “Sorry. My line of bull has become so ingrained, it has a habit of tumbling out automatically.” He suddenly sounded weary. “Sometimes I myself forget what’s real and what the press has cooked up.”
Roman smiled grimly. “Well, you won’t have to worry about newspaper reporters at Deadman’s Ridge. I don’t allow reporters on any of my locations.”
“Deadman’s Ridge.” Brent savored the words with obvious enjoyment. “It does have a certain ring to it, but it sounds more like a setting for a horror film than for a historical drama.”
“At the turn of the century this area had its share of horror stories. Only the opal field at Lightning Ridge had a history of more violence. Greed, murder, and a struggle against the elements—who could ask for better ingredients for a major motion picture?”
“Going fishing for another Academy Award?” Brent asked, grinning. “I hope to hell you catch the big one because I’m going to be right behind you with a net to gather anything you might want to throw back.”
“I’ll let you worry about the awards,” Roman said. “I have enough to do just trying to make a decent film.” Having his film Fulfillment win the Best Picture award the previous year had stunned Roman, but he didn’t fool himself into believing the award meant the picture was any better than the one he’d done the year before. Studio politics and public sentiment could make all the difference in a film’s success or failure. He’d learned a long time ago it was safer to put a personal sense of creative achievement before the accolades of his peers. “The Ridge is going to be a damn fine film, Brent. Count on it.”
“I am,” Brent said soberly. Then a roguish smile lit his face. “Even to the point of giving up wine, women, and song.” He shifted in his seat. “My hind quarters are getting numb. How close are we to this haven of inspiration you’ve chosen as our home away from home? Didn’t anyone ever tell you a star is entitled to a Rolls-Royce limo, not a Jeep with no damn shock absorbers?”
“We’re climbing Deadman’s Ridge right now. When we scouted this location, we found a place to set up the trailers and equipment on the east ridge. The opal field itself should be around the next turn.”
“I can hardly wait. I’ve always wanted to see a deserted opal field at three o’clock in the—”
“What the hell! There’s a woman standing in the middle of the road!” Roman’s foot stomped on the brakes of the Jeep. The vehicle swerved and then skidded to the side of the road. He could hear the screech of brakes from the long column of trucks and trailers he was leading. The sound was immediately followed by the blistering curses of the drivers.
“Well, there goes tomorrow’s shooting.” Brent gingerly touched the bruise he’d just acquired on his forehead from banging his head on the dashboard of the Jeep. “Unless you’d care to write in a barroom brawl. I’m going to have a devil of a bruise on my matchless profile.”
“I told you to wear your seat belt.” Roman’s tone was impatient as he unbuckled his own belt and stepped out of the Jeep.
“Who would have expected an accident in the middle of the desert?” Brent asked plaintively. “You were surprised too.”
“Are you all right?”
The breathless question came from the woman who had run up to the Jeep as soon as it had come to a halt. Her cinnamon-colored hair shimmered in the headlights, sparkling as though touched by a golden hand. Roman was fascinated for a fleeting instant by that brilliant halo of color. He shifted his gaze to her face. “What the hell did you think you were doing? I almost ran over you.”
“Lord, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were going so fast. I just wanted to …” Her eyes widened in amazement. “You’re Roman Gallagher. How wonderful. I’ve always wanted to meet you.”
“Yes.” Hell, not another would-be starlet he thought. He’d had his fill of actresses throwing themselves into his path in the hope of getting a part in one of his films. His lips curved in involuntary amusement at the aptness of the thought. This particular woman, he had to admit, was more enterprising than most. Not everyone would go to the bother of throwing herself in front of his Jeep to feign an accidental meeting in the middle of the desert. She had obviously planned her little charade down to the last detail. Her cut-off jeans were sun-faded and a little soiled, and her white tennis shoes were scuffed and dusty. Her sleeveless, low-necked white T-shirt was dampened in places by perspiration and clung to her full breasts. His gaze also clung to her breasts, and he was startled to feel a hot ache in his loins. It didn’t make a damn bit of sense to him. She wasn’t even sexy. Yet his reaction had been unmistakable. A tingle of annoyance went through him.
She smiled, and he inhaled sharply. Warmth. Lord, her smile illuminated her thin face like the Southern Cross illuminated the night sky.
“I love your films,” she said. “I thought Fulfillment was terrific, and I’ve seen all your documentaries. My favorite was the one you did on the Barrier Reef.”
He tried to mask his surprise. She had clearly done her homework. He hadn’t done a documentary in seven years, and at that time his audience had been extremely small. “Thank you. I enjoyed filming it, even though the subject of the reef had been done a hundred or so times before.”
“But not like you did it. The underwater scenes were …” She took an eager step closer, her amber eyes shining in the reflected beam of the headlights. She met his gaze and suddenly her eyes widened in curious surprise, and she forgot what she wanted to say. Then she shook her head as if to clear it and laughed uncertainly. “There aren’t any words to describe that film. I wanted to hop on the next boat to the reef.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t.”
She whirled to her left, and faced the man who had just stepped down from the truck directly behind the Jeep. She squinted into the shadows as she tried to match a face with the familiar voice. “Dennis?” Then, as the man came into the perimeter of the headlights, his gray-flecked sandy brown hair and rough-hewn features became clearer. She flew across the road and into his arms, and gave him an enthusiastic hug. “Dennis Billett, what on earth are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” His hazel eyes were twinkling down at her. “Except I’ve given up being surprised at the places you turn up. Nowadays I just accept the fact that if there’s excitement or trouble or danger around, sooner or later you’ll be there.”
“I hate to interrupt this reunion, but I have a location to set up.” Roman’s tone was caustic. For some irrational reason he was displeased at the sight of her in Billet’s arms. “You know this woman, Dennis?”
Dennis nodded. “We go back a long way.” He placed his arm companionably around her waist as he turned to face Roman. “Manda Delaney, this is my boss, Roman Gallagher.”
Manda was frowning. “Location? You’re going to set up a movie location here? But you can’t do that!”
“I have a drawerful of permits back in Sydney that says the opposite.” Roman’s lips tightened. “I’d better damn well be able to do it. Are you saying you have a prior claim?”
“No, not exactly.” She ran her fingers through her shining hair. “I tried to get one, but the authorities said the entire area had already been leased. I thought it was a mistake. No one comes to Deadman’s Ridge anymore. There haven’t been any opals found in this field for over twenty-five years.”
“Which is why I had no trouble obtaining a three-month lease on the ridge.”
“You’re going to be here for three months?” The dismay on her face was unmistakable. “Look, can’t you go somewhere else? I know I don’t have a legal permit, but I was here fi
rst, and my business is very important.”
He was staring at her in disbelief. “Do you realize how much money I’d lose per day looking for another location?”
She made a face. “No chance?”
“No chance.” His eyes narrowed. “May I assume you’re not an actress then?”
“Me?” She was astonished. “Why would you think I was an actress?”
He stiffened. “What’s your business here? Are you a newspaper reporter?”
“What is this? Twenty Questions?”
His lips twisted. “I know you people consider questions the perogative of the press, but you should have thought of that before you decided to trespass on my land. Lord, I thought I’d gotten away from vultures like you.”
“I’m not a reporter.”
“Then just what is your business here, Miss Delaney?”
“Manda.” She smiled and again he felt warmth radiate through him. “I’m afraid my business is of a private nature. However, I assure you it’s most urgent. I promise I won’t get in your way if you let me stay.” Her voice dropped to wheedling softness. “I know you’ll understand.”
Dennis Billet suddenly burst into laughter. “Manda, you never change. Be careful, Roman, she’ll be talking you out of your mobile home in another minute.”
She had come very close to getting what she wanted from him. Roman felt a flare of anger when he realized that if he hadn’t been jarred by Dennis’s obvious amusement, she would probably have done so. “I can’t help you. I’ve made it a rule to close my set to outsiders.” Roman got back into the Jeep and started the ignition. He noticed Dennis’s arm still held the woman in a casual embrace, and he found his pilot’s familiarity with Manda Delaney oddly annoying. The woman was obviously an accomplished charmer and accustomed to getting her own way with men. Well, she would find he distinctly disliked being used by anyone, women in particular, “I’ll give you one day to pack up and get off the property.”