Книга - The Cattle Baron’s Bride

The Cattle Baron's Bride
Margaret Way


The wilderness at the heart of the Australian Northern Territory was no place for delicate city beauty Samantha Langdon.Cattleman Ross Sunderland wouldn't have agreed to act as guide if he'd known Samantha had signed up for the trip. Their one meeting had sparked an overwhelming attraction and, determined to resist her, loner Ross had vowed to avoid her at all costs. Sam could see in his hard, handsome face that Ross didn't want her along.But they were seduced by the danger and primitive beauty around them, and raw instinct took over as their passion could no longer be denied….







Dear Reader,

It is with much pleasure that I welcome you to my four-book miniseries, MEN OF THE OUTBACK. The setting moves from my usual stamping ground, my own state of Queensland, to the Northern Territory, which is arguably the most colorful and exciting part of the continent. It comprises what we call the Top End and the Red Center—two extreme climatic and geographical divisions. This is what makes the Territory so fascinating. The tropical, World Heritage–listed Kakadu National Park, with crocodiles and water buffalo to the Top, and in the Center the desert—the “dead heart” that’s not actually dead at all—only lying dormant until the rains transform it into the greatest garden on earth.

The pervading theme of the series is family. Family offers endless opportunities for its members to hurt and be hurt, to love and support, or bitterly condemn. What sort of family we grew up in reverberates for the rest of our lives. One thing is certain: at the end of the day, blood binds.

I invite you, dear reader, to explore the lives of my families. My warmest best wishes to you all.






MEN OF THE OUTBACK launched with The Cattleman, Superromance #1328

Look for

Her Outback Protector, Harlequin Romance, #3895




“The moment I saw you…” Ross stopped dead before she prized it out of him.


“Yes?” Samantha caught her breath as if on the brink of a revelation.

There was a recklessness in his blood he knew was getting the better of him. She had insinuated herself into his dreams.

He looked at her through the mask he affected. “I knew then I’d have need of protective armor.” He turned away, knowing he was leaving her baffled.

“I’d love to know what you were really going to say.”

“The fact I even said that makes me wonder.”

“It would be really something to see. You losing control. You are such an enigma, Ross Sunderland.”

“And you’re desperate to solve the mystery.”

The seductive note in his voice roused her so much he might have suddenly begun to trail a hand over her body.




The Cattle Baron’s Bride

Margaret Way













Margaret Way takes great pleasure in her work and works hard at her pleasure. She enjoys tearing off to the beach with her family on weekends, loves haunting galleries and auctions, and is completely given over to French champagne “for every possible joyous occasion.” She was born and educated in the river city of Brisbane, Australia, and now lives within sight and sound of beautiful Moreton Bay.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN




CHAPTER ONE


BY THE light of the stars alone in a situation fraught with difficulties and dangers Sunderland and his tracker Joe Goolatta led a traumatised jackeroo missing since late afternoon the previous day back through dense tropical jungle to the safety of the savannah. The forest floor was alive with activity. All sorts of nocturnal creatures, some with malevolent eyes, pounced on prey or scuttled under foot hunting for food. Forest debris crashed to the ground as the countless legions of possums with their thick pelts ripped up leaves and twigs or made their prodigious leaps from tree to tree sending down a hailstorm of edible berries and nuts. Huge bats hung upside down assuming the appearance of vampires. Other dark forms flapped over head. Monstrous amethyst pythons growing to twenty feet long wrapped themselves around branches close over head, while the brown snakes and their brothers the deadly black snakes moved slowly, sinuously through the trees guided not by sight but smell as they stalked sleeping birds. Now and again a night bird shrieked an alarm at their presence as they trekked through the forest galleries. Giant epiphytes clung to the buttresses of the rain forest trees, staghorns and elkhorns; all kinds of climbing orchids glimmered in the starlight. Now and again Sunderland slashed at something. Probably the Stinging Tree. Brushing up against the leaves could inflict extreme pain. Sunderland and the tracker scarcely made a sound. They might have spent their whole lives living in this overwhelming stronghold of Nature among the community of rain forest animals. Ben Rankin, the jackeroo, seventeen years old moaned and groaned, his every movement jerky and slow as he stumbled over thick woody prop roots and fallen branches, vines that grew in wild tangles, letting out high pitched nervous cries to rival the shrieks of the night bird.

“Get a hold there, Rankin,” Sunderland clipped off, not impressed by the lad’s behaviour. He grasped the boy’s arm for perhaps the hundredth time giving him a helping hand. “We’re nearly there.”

How could he possibly know? Ben marvelled. The Boss’s night vision was awesome.

Finally they emerged into a clearing having walked unerringly to the very spot where a station jeep was parked. Who would believe it?

“Made it!” The old aboriginal stockman spoke with satisfaction. “Must be four, thereabouts,” he growled, looking up at the lightening sky. “Not far off sunrise.”

“Almost time to start work again,” Sunderland said wryly, pushing the hapless jackeroo into the back seat of the jeep where the youngster collapsed into a heap. Ben’s whole body was shuddering. He was physically and mentally spent now his ordeal was over. “Oh God, oh God!” he sobbed, covering his head with his hands. “I’m such a fool.”

“Too right, little buddy!” the old aboriginal said, making his disgust clear.

Sunderland showed no emotion at all as though it were a sheer waste of time. He put light pressure on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ve had a bad experience. Learn from it.”

“Yes, sir.” Ben’s breath came out like a hiss his jaw was clamped so tight. “Kept thinking a bloody great croc would get me.”

Goolatta snorted.

“We’re nowhere near the river. Or a billabong for that matter,” Sunderland pointed out matter-of-factly, not having a lot of time for the boy’s distress either. Rankin like all the other recruits had been obliged to sit in on lectures regarding station safety. He had been warned many times never to hare off on his own. Most had the sense to listen. Territory cattle stations were vast. Some as big as European countries. It was dead easy to get lost in the relatively featureless wilderness. Obeying the rules made the difference between living and dying. A few over the years had disappeared without trace.

“When you realised you were lost you should have stayed put instead of venturing further into the jungle,” Sunderland told him. “We would have found you a whole lot quicker.”

“I’m sorry. Sorry,” the jackeroo moaned, appalled now at his own foolhardiness. “What a savage place this is. Paradise until you step off the track.”

“Remember it next time you fell like pulling another dare-devil stunt.” Sunderland told him bluntly. “Joe and I won’t have the time to come after you. You’ll have to find your own way home.” Sunderland raked a hand through his hair, looked up at the sky. “Let’s move on,” he sighed, listening carefully to something crashing through the undergrowth. A wild boar? “You can rest up this morning, Rankin. Back to work this afternoon. That’s if you want to hold onto your job.”

The jackeroo tried desperately to get a grip on himself. To date he had never found anyone better. Action. Adventure. A fantastic guy for a boss. A real life Indiana Jones. Sunderland never showed fear not even in the middle of a stampede that could well have been Ben’s fault though no one blamed him. Well maybe Pete Lowell, the overseer. Not too many chances left he thought, his heart quaking. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he muttered. The last thing he wanted was for Sunderland to get rid of him. All the same it had been terrifying his endless hours all alone in the jungle. The ominous weight of the silence that was somehow filled with sound. He had actually felt the presence of the mimi spirits greatly feared by the aboriginals in this part of the world. Not that he was ever going to tell anyone about his brush with psychic terror. It had seemed so real. All that whispering and gibbering, ghostly fingers on his cheek. He would never be such a fool again. He just hoped Sunderland would never find out about the bet he’d had with his fellow jackeroo Chris Pearce.

“Want me to drive, boss?” Joe asked quietly, as always looking out for the splendid young man he had watched grow to manhood.

Sunderland shook his head. “Grab forty winks if you can, Joe,” he advised, slinging his lean powerful frame behind the wheel. “It’s going to be one helluva day and I have an appointment in Darwin tonight.”

“The photographer guy? Big shot.”

“That’s the one. A showing of his work. I’ve actually seen some at a gallery in Cairns. Wonderful stuff. Very impressive and very expensive. The asking price for many of the prints was thousands. He was getting it too. Photography is supposedly so easy especially these days but I’ve never seen images quite so extraordinary or insightful. It must have been difficult trying to get the photographs he did. Difficult and dangerous in untouched parts of the world, waiting around for the precise time and conditions, hoping the weather will stay fine.”

“So what’s he want to do now? The Top End?”

“Why not? The Top End is undoubtedly the most exotic part of Australia. It is even to other Australians a remote and wild world, frontier country, a stepping stone away from Asia. The Territory is the place to wonder at the marvels of nature. Kakadu alone would keep him busy. It’s a world heritage area, of international significance as are the cultural artworks of your people, Joe. I don’t know if he wants to get down to the Red Centre, Uluru, Kata Tjuta and the Alice but if it’s the whole Territory he intends to cover then the Wild Heart is on his itinerary.’

“Nobody could be that good they’d capture my country,” Joe Goolatta said, fiercely proud and protective of his heritage.

“I guess you’re right, Joe,” Sunderland said.



They swept across the rugged terrain the jeep bouncing over the rough tracks heading towards North Star homestead. The first streaks of light lay along the horizon, lemon, pink and indigo prefacing dawn. Soon the little Spinifex doves would start to call to one another, music from thousands of tiny throats and the great flights of birds would take to the skies.

“Think you’ll help him out?” Joe asked, after a pause of some ten minutes. He was leaning his head, covered in the snow white curls that contrasted so starkly with his skin, against the headrest. He was bone tired, but well into his sixties he was still hard at it.

“Don’t know yet,” Sunderland muttered, still toying with the idea. “His first choice for a guide was Cy.” Sunderland referred to his good friend Cyrus Bannerman of Mokhani Station. “But Cy is still in the honeymoon phase. He can’t bear to be away from his Jessica. Can’t say I blame him.” He saluted his friend’s choice. “It was Cy who suggested me.”

“Couldn’t be anyone better,” Joe grunted. “However good Cy is and he is I reckon you’re even better.”

“Prejudiced, Joe.” A beam from the head lights picked up a pair of kangaroos who shot up abruptly from behind a grassy mound, turning curious faces. Sunderland swerved to avoid them muttering a mild curse. Kangaroos knew nothing about road rules.

“Thing is whether you’ve got the time,” Joe said, totally unable to fall asleep like the kid in the back who was snoring so loudly he wished he had ear plugs.

“If I did go I’d take you with me,” Sunderland said glancing at his old friend and childhood mentor.

“Yah kiddin’?” Joe sat up straight, an expression of surprise on his dignified face.

“Who else will take care of me?” Sunderland asked.

Joe’s big white grin showed his delight. “I was afraid you might be thinkin’ I’m getting too old.”

“Never!” Sunderland dropped down a gear for a few hundred metres. “You’re better on your feet than a seventeen-year-old. Besides, no one knows this ancient land like you do, Joe. Your people are the custodians of all this.”

“Didn’t I teach you all I know?” Joe asked gently, thrilled their friendship was so deep.

“It would take a dozen lifetimes,” Sunderland said, his eyes on a flight of magpie geese winging from one lagoon to another. “But we’re learning. This land was hostile to my people when we first came here. Sunderlands came to the wild bush but managed to survive. As cattle men we recognize the debt we owe your people. North Star has always relied on its aboriginal stockmen, bush men and trackers. Elders like you, Joe, have skills we’re still learning. I only half know what you do and I’m quite happy to admit it. In the beginning my people feared this land as much as it drew us. Now we love it increasingly in the way you do. We draw closer and closer with every generation. There’s no question we all occupy a sacred landscape.”

“That we do,” Joe answered, deeply moved. “So you think you could go then?” Now that he knew he might accompany the young man he worshipped he was excited by the idea.

Sunderland’s smile slipped. “I’m a bit worried about leaving Belle at home. She’s had a rotten time of it. I can’t just abandon her, even if it’s only for a couple of weeks.”

“Take her along,” Joe urged. “Miss Isabelle is as good in the bush as anyone I’ve seen. She could be an asset.”

Sunderland shook his dark head. “I don’t see Belle laughing and happy any more, Joe. Neither do you. I know your heart aches for her as well. My sister is a woman who feels very deeply. It’ll take her a long time to get over Blair’s death. She’s punishing herself because his family, his mother in particular, appeared to blame her for his fatal accident.”

“Cruel, cruel woman,” Joe said. “I disliked that woman from day one.” He stopped short of saying he hadn’t taken to Miss Isabelle’s husband either. Good-looking guy—nothing beside Miss Isabelle’s splendid big brother—but as big a snob as his mother—aboriginal man too primitive to look at much less to speak to. No, Joe hadn’t taken to Miss Isabelle’s dead husband who had died in a car crash after some big society party. Miss Isabelle should have been with him but the awful truth was they had had a well publicised argument at the party before Blair Hartmann had stormed out to his death.

“Dad and I never took to her either,” Sunderland sighed. “Incredibly pretentious woman. But Blair was Belle’s choice. You know what she was like. As headstrong as they come. Blair was such a change from most guys she knew. A smooth sophisticated city guy, high flyer, establishment family, glamorous life style, family mansion on Sydney Harbour.”

“Dazzled her for a while,” Joe grunted. “But that wasn’t really Miss Isabelle.”

“No,” Sunderland agreed with a heavy heart. “I expect she was acting out a fantasy. She was too young and inexperienced and he was crazy about her. So crazy he practically railroaded her into it. I somehow think she’d never choose someone like Blair Hartmann again though she won’t hear a word against him. I don’t think I could convince her to go although I know she can handle herself. Hell she was born to it but on principle I don’t like women along on those kind of trips. Most of them are trouble. They can’t handle the rough. They put themselves and consequently others at risk. It makes it harder for the men.”

It took another few minutes before he came out with what was really bothering him. “If Langdon suggests his sister comes along I’m walking.”

“Langdon? That’s the photographer right? And the sister was the bridesmaid at Cy Bannerman’s wedding?” Joe flashed him a shrewd glance. Joe had never met the young lady but unlike everyone else Joe found it easy to read the man he had known from infancy. “I thought you took a real shine to her?” He chuckled and stretched but Sunderland refused to bite.

“How would you know?”

“I know.” Joe smiled.

“Pretty weird the way you read my mind. You’re a sorcerer, Joe Goolatta.”

Joe nodded. “Been one in my time.”

“Think I don’t know that.”

Joe closed his eyes.



The memory was seared into his brain like a brand.

The first time he laid eyes on Samantha Langdon she was running down the divided staircase at Mokhani homestead one hand holding up the glistening satin folds of the bridesmaid dress she had just tried on. He and Cy had picked that precise moment to walk in the front door after a long back breaking day. He’d been helping Cy out with a difficult muster, riding shot gun from the helicopter to frighten a stubborn herd of cleanskins out of the heavy scrub. That’s what friends were for. He and Cy went back to the toddler stage. He was Cy’s best man. Cy would be his if he ever got around to getting married. The floating apparition—that was the only way he could describe her—was a close friend of Cy’s bride to be, Jessica, a beautiful young woman, clever, funny with something real to say. Samantha Langdon was the chief bridesmaid. One of four. They were to have a rehearsal later on after the men had washed up and had time to catch a cold beer…



The vision laughed, spoke, the words tumbling out as if she were unable to help herself.

“Oh goodness, we didn’t think you’d be back so soon!”

She spoke the words at Cy, but rather looked at him as though he possessed some kind of uncommon magnetism. He remembered he just stood there, in turn, mesmerized. In the space of a few seconds he was overcome by feelings he had never experienced before. Hot, hard, fierce. They swirled around him like plumes of smoke. The sweat on his body sizzled his skin. It wasn’t just her beauty, so bright he felt he had to shield his eyes; it was the way she moved. Grace appropriate to a princess and something more. Something that arrested the eye. He supposed ballerinas had it. He wanted to reach for this gilded creature. Close his arms around her. Find her mouth, discover the nectar within.

Then all at once he pulled himself together, regaining his habitual tight control, shocked and wary at her impact. Lightning strikes didn’t feature in his emotional life. Why would they? He knew what sorrow a man’s obsession bred. He couldn’t trust a creature as fascinating as this. The lovely laugh. The teasing voice. The grace and femininity she used to marvellous effect. Not after what had happened to his family. He and Belle had been devastated by their parents’ divorce. Their much loved and revered father had never recovered. The wrong woman could destroy a man. He had long assured himself it would never happen to him.



The vision came towards them in her lovely luminous gown, the power to captivate men probably born in her, a creature of air and fire. Her shoulders were bare, her hair a glorious shade of copper streamed down her back. She had beautiful creamy skin, the high cheekbones tinted with apricot almost the colour of her heavy satin gown. He had to tear his eyes away from the slope of her breasts revealed above the low cut bodice. This was a powerful sexual encounter. Nothing more.

“It’s Ross, isn’t it?”

Not content to hold him spellbound her charm and breeding was about to reduce him to an oaf.

Cy smiling, started to introduce them with his engaging manner. He on the other hand must have appeared an ill mannered boor by contrast, stiff and standoffish. A consequence he knew of his strong reaction A man could drown in a woman’s eyes. Large, meltingly soft velvety brown eyes with gold chips in the iris. He knew the colour in her cheeks deepened when he looked down at her. Stared probably, not doing a good job of covering his innate hostility. He remembered he made some excuse about not taking her hand, standing well back so the dust and grime off his work gear wouldn’t come into contact with her beautiful gown. He knew he looked and felt like a savage. He found out later there was a dried smear of blood on his cheek bone.

She had endured his severity well. Right through that evening and the great day of the wedding. It was all so damned disturbing. He wasn’t usually like that. Looking back on his behaviour he cringed, cursing himself for his own susceptibility. It was a weakness and it pricked his pride. Maybe the Sunderlands weren’t fated to have happy emotional lives. His dad, then Belle. The very last thing he needed was to be enslaved by a woman. The secret he was convinced was never to lose sight of himself.



“Hey, where dja go?”

Joe’s voice broke into his troubled reverie, sounding a little worried.

“Just thinking.”

“About that girl?” Joe studied the strong profile in the increasing light.

“About Belle.” He had no trouble lying.

Joe took it Ross didn’t want to talk about it. “Hell, man, better Miss Isabelle don’t mope about the homestead,” he said. “Is she gunna go with you tonight?”

Sunderland shrugged as if to say he wasn’t sure. “My sister at the great age of twenty-six has reached a crisis point in life. I’m just grateful she chose to come home. It was bad enough losing Dad the way we did. Two years later Belle loses her husband.”

Joe wondered as much as anyone else what exactly that last argument between husband and wife had been about. Miss Isabelle hadn’t just been grieving when she returned to the Sunderland ancestral home. She was and remained in a deep depression which led Joe to remembering what a glorious young creature she had been. The apple of her father’s eye, Ross his great pride. The Sunderlands had become a very close family after the children’s mother, Diana, who had been a wonderful wife and mother to start with fell in love with some guy she met on a visit to relatives in England. In fact a distant cousin. Within a month Diana had decided he meant more to her than her husband back home in Australia. She’d had high hopes of gaining custody of her children but they had refused to leave their father. Ewan Sunderland was a wonderful, generous, caring man. An ideal husband and father. He had idolised his beautiful wife. Put her on a pedestal. At least it had taken her all of fourteen years to fall off, Joe thought sadly. Such a beautiful woman! She laughed a lot. So happy! Always bright and positive. Wonderful to his people. Then all of a sudden put under a powerful spell. Love magic. Only this time it was black magic.

All these years later Joe’s eyes grew wet. Her defection had severed Ewan’s heart strings. The children had suffered. Three years apart. Ross, twelve, Isabelle only nine. Joe still couldn’t fathom how Diana had done it. The cruelty of it! Now Ewan Sunderland lay at peace struck down by a station vehicle that got out of control. A bizarre double tragedy because the driver, a long time employee had died as well, a victim of a massive heart attack at the wheel. The shock had been enormous and none of them had really moved on. Ewan Sunderland was sorely missed by his son and daughter and his legion of friends.



Isabelle woke with a start. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. The room was dark. There was no sound. Her heart hammering she put out a hand and slid it across the sheet. Nothing. No one. A stream of relief poured through her.

Thank God! She pressed her dark head woven into a loose plait back into the pillow, her feeling of disorientation slowly evaporating. She lay there a few minutes longer fighting off the effects of her dreams, so vivid, so deeply disturbing she felt like crying. The same old nightmares really. She could feel the familiar fingers of depression starting to tighten their grip on her, but she knew she had to fight it. No one could cure her but herself. There were still people who loved her—her brother most of all—but she had to solve her problems on her own. Another approach might have been to talk to a psychologist trained to deal with women’s “problems” but she was never never going to tell anyone what her married life had been like. The truth was too shocking.

Her bedroom was growing lighter, brighter. Soon the birds would start their dawn symphony. Did those wonderful birds know how much emotional support they gave her. The beauty and power of their singing cut a path through her negative feelings, the grief, the anger, the guilt and at bottom the disgust she directed at herself.

Determinedly she threw back the light coverlet and slid out of bed her bare toes curling over the Persian rug. A glance at the bedside clock confirmed what she had guessed: 4:40.

Oh God! So early, but there was no way she could go back to sleep. In her dreams Blair slept with her, a hand of possession on her breast. That’s what she had been to him. A possession. Some kind of prize. He put a high value on her. Her looks and her manner. He had even insisted on coming with her to buy her clothes. Only the best would do. Roaming around her, viewing back and front, giving his opinion while the sales-woman beamed at him, no doubt fantasizing what life would be like with a rich handsome loving husband like that.

If only they knew!

Fully awake now, she tried to shrug off the memory of Blair’s voice. It still had the power to resound in her ears. So tender and loving, so full of desire. That alone had filled her with trepidation. Then as predictably as night followed day, full of a white hot fury and the queerest anguish, berating her. His hand against her throat while she froze in paralysis.

You make me do this. You just don’t understand, do you? What it’s like for me. You cold neurotic bitch! What have I got to do to make you love me? What, Isabelle, tell me. I can’t put up with any more of your cruelty. You will understand, won’t you? I’ll make you!

Then a blow that made her double over. Who could have dreamed such a charming young man could be capable of such behaviour? Cushioned in normality, the love of her father and brother and then Blair. In a single day everything changed.



What have I got to do, Belle, to make you love me? For all the very public displays of loving and remarked generosity Blair was what her grandmother would have called “a home devil.” Correction. Blair had been a home devil. Blair was dead and a lot of people blamed her. Probably they always would. Certainly his family, especially his mother, Evelyn, who had bitterly resented being ousted as the number one woman in her only son’s life. But then, she was to blame. How could anyone think otherwise? Maybe things in her own past—her mother’s destruction of a marriage and the childhood trauma she had suffered had played a part in the calamity of Blair’s death. Maybe her mother had passed on her destructive genes to her? This feeling was especially strong in her. A sense of guilt. Yet it could be argued she was being very unfair to herself. She used to be such a positive person. Not now. Being with Blair had poisoned her. She had never told a soul of his psychological cruelties, the little mind games, much less the unpredictable rages when he had resorted to physical blows, trying to pummel her until she found the courage to fight back. Sometimes it happened he came off second best. She reminded herself she was a Sunderland. She told him it had to stop. It was so demeaning. She wouldn’t tolerate it. She would leave him.

No joke, Blair, she told him when he began to laugh, swinging around on him, picking up a knife. No joke!

Something in her eyes must have warned him she was in deadly earnest. After the confrontations, the usual deluge of apologies. Van loads of red roses. Exquisite underwear and nightgowns he loved to tear off. Blair down on his knees begging her to forgive him. He idolised her. She was everything in the world to him. He despised himself when he lost his temper. Hated what he did to her. But didn’t she realise it was her fault she made him so angry? She deliberately provoked him, always trying to score points like a skilled opponent with an inexperienced adversary. It hurt him desperately the way she flirted with other men. People talked about it.

How could they? She never did…

And why did she have to go on about a baby for God’s sake? Wasn’t he enough for her? She had already stopped talking about a baby. Honest with no one else—her damnable pride again, her blind refusal to admit she had made a terrible mistake—she was honest with herself. The days of her marriage were numbered. Almost three years on, she wondered how she had married Blair in the first place.

Well, she had paid the price. Far better that they had never come into one another’s lives. She knew Ross thought she had been in deep mourning these past months. Well she had in a sense. Mourning the waste of a life. What might have been. It was her failure to be able to mourn Blair’s removal from her life that was the problem. She hadn’t deserved his treatment of her—no woman did—but she did deserve her crushing feelings of guilt. It was what she had said to Blair that last night of his life that had sent him on his no return journey to death.

Isabelle showered and dressed then went downstairs to prepare breakfast for her brother. The best brother in the world. She loved him dearly. When she thought about it they had never had a single fight right through their childhood and adolescence which wasn’t the norm in a lot of households. Ross’s aim had been to love and protect her just as it had been their father’s. Both men in her life had tried their hardest to make up for the painful loss of a mother. They couldn’t bear to see her cry and after a while she had stopped. She was a Sunderland.

So many losses she thought. Mother, father, husband. Losses aplenty. Plenty of bad memories. Plenty of scars.



She heard Ross come in and moved into the hall to greet him, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Find the boy?”

He nodded. “I don’t think he’ll pull that stunt again. Had some bet with young Pearce he could make it back to camp on his own. The only thing is he headed in the wrong direction.”

“Easy enough to do if you’re stupid.” Isabelle gave a half smile. “Ready for breakfast?”

“In about ten minutes okay?” Ross needed a shave and a shower. Out all night he showed no signs of strain or tiredness. “You don’t have to get up this early, you know,” he turned back to tell his sister gently.

“My sleeping habits aren’t what they used to be,” Isabelle answered. In truth she was immensely grateful to sleep alone.

Her brother heard the sorrow behind the words and misconstrued it.



Isabelle let him make inroads on a substantial breakfast, sausages, bacon, eggs, tomatoes a couple of hash browns, toast, before starting any conversation. She smiled at the enthusiasm with which he attacked his meal. She couldn’t fill him. Never could. A big man like their dad. Six three, whip-cord lean with a wide wedge of shoulders. His down bent head gleamed blue black like her own. His fine grained skin was a dark gold. His eyes like hers were a remarkable aqua. Their mother’s eyes. Otherwise they were Sunderlands through and through. When they were just little kids people had often mistaken them for twins, but Ross grew and grew while she stopped at five-eight, above average height for a woman.

“So have you made up your mind about tonight?” She poured them both a cup of really good coffee—a must—hot, black and strong the way they liked it. None of that milky stuff.

He didn’t answer for a moment, absently chewing a piece of toast. “I don’t know.”

“Hey, they’re expecting you,” she reminded him, knowing full well he didn’t like to leave her. “Cy and Jessica will be there. After all, Jessica was the one who arranged it all. It’s Robyn’s gallery.” Robyn was Cy’s rather difficult stepsister married to a big developer. “You’ll see Samantha again.”

His lean handsome features tautened. “Who said I wanted to?”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to pry.” Isabelle considered for a moment. “She got under your skin didn’t she?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly. “I don’t like women getting under my skin.”

It was no revelation to his sister. “We’ve paid heavily for our past, haven’t we?”

“Sure have.” His eyes reflected the grimness of his thoughts.

“The past can spoil relationships.”

“I know. It’s all patterned and planned and destined.” He looked at her. Always slender Belle was close to fragile. There were shadows under her eyes from many hours of lost sleep and probably bad dreams but she was indisputably beautiful. That was the main reason Hartmann had wanted her. For her beauty. It had woven a spell around him. With so many other things about Belle to appreciate and admire, her intelligence, her talent, her sheer quality Hartmann had seemed to ignore all that. If indeed he even saw it. Poor Belle! She had rushed in to a marriage that probably wouldn’t have endured even if Blair had lived.

“Talk to me, Belle,” he found himself pleading. “I’m here to listen. Tell me what went so terribly wrong in your marriage?”

“I’m a tough nut like you. I keep it all locked up.” Isabelle stirred a few more grains of raw sugar into her coffee.

“It might help to talk don’t you think?”

What could she say? Good-looking, softly spoken, Blair had been abusive? What an upsurge of rage that would arouse! It was unthinkable to tell her brother, just as she had never been able to tell her father. It was all so demeaning. Both Sunderlands big strong tough men living a life fraught with dangers and non stop physically exhausting work, would have cut off a hand before lifting it in anger to a woman. Her father had never so much as given her a light slap even when she got up to lots of mischief. Ross was intensely chivalrous. An old word but it applied to him and a great many Outback men who cherished women as life’s partners and close friends. Blair could have considered himself done for if she had ever told her father or brother of her treatment at his hands. But for all his insecurities, cunning Blair had known she would never expose him. In exposing him she would be devaluing herself. Pride, too, was a sin. There was just no way she could tell her brother her terrible story. He would wonder if she had been in her right mind not seeking her family’s protection.

“Well?” Ross prompted after a few moments of watching the painful expressions flit across his sister’s face. “He adored you, didn’t he? I mean he was really mad about you. It might seem strange but Dad and I never thought he plumbed the real you. Was that it? Terrible to speak ill of the dead and the tragic way he died so young, but Blair gave the impression he was extraordinarily dependent on you. Needy I suppose is the word. You couldn’t walk out of the room ten minutes before he was asking where you were. Who you were with. You don’t have to tell me but I know he was terribly jealous. Even of our family bond. Did it become a burden?”

She couldn’t meet her brother’s eyes. “We had problems, Ross.” She concentrated on the bottom of her coffee cup. “I imagine most married couples do, but we were trying to work them out.”

“What problems?” Ross persisted, knowing there was a great deal his sister wasn’t telling.” I know you wanted to start a family. You love children. Every woman wishes for a baby with the man she loves.”

Only I didn’t love him. Blair was the baby. Blair wanted a real baby to stay away. His mania was her sole attention.

“There’s no point in talking about it now, Ross,” she sighed. “I feel terrible Blair had to die the way he did. Such a waste of a life!”

His brows drew together in a frown. “Surely you mean you find it unbearable to be without him?”

“Of course. We both know what it’s like to lose someone we love.”

“But you can’t despair, Belle. You’re young. In time you’ll meet someone else.” Someone worthy of you, Ross thought. “I realise the fact the two of you had an argument before Blair left the party is weighing heavily on you. His mother’s attitude didn’t help but she was so intensely possessive of her son she would have blamed any woman who was his widow. Grief made her act so badly.”

By and large Evelyn Hartmann was right. She had sent Blair to his death.

“Evelyn wasn’t the only one to assign the blame to me. Blair’s whole family did. A lot of our so called friends looked at me differently afterwards. There was a lot of talk. I couldn’t defend myself. I was the outsider. Everyone looked on Blair as the most devoted of husbands.”

“But wasn’t he?” Ross asked, hoping he could get to the truth. Did the truth set you free or make matters worse?

“He adored me just as you say, Ross.” Isabelle spread her elegant long fingered hands. “I know you’re trying to help me but can we get off the subject.” Stay away from it entirely. “Samatha Langdon now. I’d like to meet her. I missed out on Cy’s and Jessica’s wedding. Impossible to go under the circumstances.”

“Cy and Jessica understood,” Ross assured her. “If you really want to meet Samantha Langdon why not come along with me tonight? We’ll take the chopper into Darwin late afternoon. You’ll need to book an extra room at the hotel. I think it might do you good to get out of the house.”

Would it? All the hurtful rumours and she supposed she hadn’t heard the half of them had given her a strong feeling of being separated from other people. Her problem—early widowhood and ugly spate of rumours—wasn’t their problem, thank God. She knew all the gossip would be doing the rounds of Darwin but then she wouldn’t be on her own. Nevertheless she said: “It’s just that I don’t think I can, Ross.” She began to gather up plates remembering how Blair in one of his moods had smashed their wine glasses, deliberately dropping them on the kitchen tiles, then laughing as she shrunk back wondering seriously if he were mad. Certainly there had been a demon in him.

“Look Belle, I’m not pressing you but I know there’s a heck of a lot you’re not telling me. Just remember, you’re not alone. A lot of people love you. You’re my baby sister. I’d lay down my life for you.”

Tears rushed into her eyes and she turned away.

“So it would mean a great deal to me if you made the effort to come. Jessica likes you a lot.”

Isabelle had composed herself enough to turn back. “We’ve only met a couple of times but Jessica is a lovely person and Samantha is a close friend. Would Jessica have a friend who wasn’t a nice person?”

Ross stood up, shoving his chair beneath the table. “I never said she wasn’t nice.” God, nice hardly described her. “It’s David Langdon we’re there to meet anyway. Say you’ll come, Belle.”

“You need protection?” She gave a glimmer of a smile.

“Nope.” He moved his wide shoulders restlessly. “Getting hooked on a woman like that would be as dangerous as catching a tiger by the tail.”




CHAPTER TWO


THEY slipped into an animated crowd, most with champagne glasses in hand, and waiters circling with delicious looking finger food. There was a buzz of a hundred voices. Isabelle spotted Cyrus Bannerman first because of his commanding height and presence. Half hidden by the breadth of his shoulder was his beautiful wife of several months Jessica, her magnificent mass of ash-blond hair radiant in the bright fall of skylights. The interior of the gallery was divided into three spacious rooms interconnected by wide arches. The lights were trained on a large collection of photographs, most colour some black and white that took on a rivetting quality to rival paintings. Someone had taken the trouble to hang the prints perfectly on the white expanse of walls.

Jessica looked up and waved, a lovely welcoming smile on her face. Cy turned around to follow his wife’s gaze, beaming too. They watched him glance back at the group he was with, obviously making their excuses, before he tucked his hand beneath Jessica’s elbow steering a path towards Ross and Isabelle who were also being greeted on all sides. The big cattle families were outback royalty. The Sunderlands were as well known as the Bannermans though the late Broderick Bannerman, an immensely wealthy man had not scored anywhere near the late Ewan Sunderland’s high approval rating. Mercifully both sons and heirs were held in high regard.

“Hi!” The women brushed cheeks, smiling into one another’s eyes. The men, looking very pleased to see one another settled for affectionate claps on the shoulder.

“I’m so glad you could come, Isabelle,” Jessica said with complete sincerity. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you. So do you.” Isabelle, who appeared so poised was actually quaking inside. She was grateful for the compliment. Jessica’s warmth and friendliness steadied her. It was a long time since she had ventured out. Blair’s death had put such a contagion on her.

Jessica smiled. “It’s a brilliant collection.” She turned her head over her shoulder. “I know you’ll both love it. David is being feted in the next room. Sam is with David’s assistant, Matt Howarth. A very pleasant guy. Come and meet them. David is an extraordinary man. You’ll like him, Ross. We know he’s very keen on meeting you and hopefully having you for a guide.”

“Piece of cake!” Cy assured his friend.

“I don’t know that I’ve made up my mind, Cy,” Ross said, sobering a moment. Sam was with Matt Howarth? What did that mean? What do you think it means he thought a hard knot in his stomach.

“You want a break. You work too hard,” Cy urged him, forging a path through the throng.

“You should talk.”

“It’s not like it’s going to be for long. Belle would love it.” The old Belle, Cy thought. Knowing her from childhood he recognised and understood Isabelle’s fragile state of mind.

Jessica made a little surprised gesture, looking towards Isabelle. “What a marvellous idea!”

“I couldn’t, Jessica,” Isabelle said quickly, touching the other woman’s arm. “I beg you, don’t say anything.”

“Of course not!” Jessica promised hurriedly seeing the tension in Isabelle’s face. She knew Isabelle’s tragic story and she was full of sympathy. How did a woman cope with losing a be-loved husband? Jessica found herself giving an involuntary shudder. Her own days were filled with ecstatic fulfilment. To lose Cy would be like a descent into hell.

Someone came out of the crowd, a stylish, sweet faced woman in her fifties who grasped Isabelle’s arm. “Isabelle dear, what an extraordinary surprise! I’d heard you were home.”

“Mrs. Charlton, of course.” Isabelle’s face lit up. She allowed herself to be detained. “I’ll catch up with you,” she called to the others.

Ross relaxed when he heard the comfortable note in his sister’s voice. He didn’t know the woman, although he was sure he had seen her some place. So many of Isabelle’s so called friends had betrayed her taking the opinion she somehow had played a role in her popular husband’s death.

The next room was even more crowded. A lion of a man with a large handsome head covered in thick tawny waves and strongly hewn features was holding court. The several women around him were staring up into his face, magnetised, their expressions buoyed up, obviously excited.

Jessica laughed a bit, “Starstruck.”

“Extraordinary guy,” Cy answered. In fact very few in life had that impact he thought.

But Ross saw no one but her. The same galvanising jolt passed through him as the first time he’d laid eyes on her. A sensation he had tried—how unsuccessfully—to erase from his mind. And then, tensing, the man standing too close at her shoulder. Early thirties, slight of build, thin sensitive face, nice smile. Matt Howarth. It had to be. His attitude, the way he was standing flashed an unmistakable message. They shared a relationship, or at the very least an understanding. Surely he hadn’t imagined she would be unattached. A beautiful creature like that! Hell he couldn’t even allow himself to think of her, but the knowledge he wouldn’t succeed was there.

Tonight she was wearing a slip of a dress of a golden hue that complemented her colouring. High heeled gold sandals were on her feet. Her beautiful hair was centre parted falling like a bolt of bright copper satin down her back. Even her skin looked gilded. He could actually feel its smoothness under his hand. Cool and satiny when the very thought of touching her heated his blood.

You want her. You know you do.

He heard that inner voice, the voice that wouldn’t be silenced, whispering in his ear.

Their eyes met. He realised with a sense of crushing mortification he’d been standing once again transfixed. Hell! Acting foolish wasn’t his style. He found himself wondering if the others had noticed he was rooted to the spot. Yet she too, seemed shocked, her beautiful doe’s eyes widening, as if electrified by the intensity of his hunter’s gaze.

Immediately he was seized with the fierce desire to turn around and leave. This woman was temptation. The sort of challenge any smart man would step free of it. No way could he guide this expedition if Samantha Langdon was to go along. He hadn’t the slightest desire to allow a woman to play him like a clown. Woman magic. Sometimes he thought he could never wipe away the bitter taste of his father’s betrayal at the soft hands of his mother. That’s what lay behind everything he thought, abruptly sobering. A man could be shackled by adoration. His beloved father had gone about his life but both of his children had known inside he was shattered. That’s what women were capable of. Leaving a trail of destruction.

He looked away at the brother, David Langdon, thinking with a vague sense of astonishment he liked the man on sight. Brother and sister shared a resemblance—not as marked as his and Belle’s—mostly the colouring. She looked very delicate beside him, ultra feminine. Long, light beautiful bones. The brother was a big man, well over six feet like himself, but strapping rather than lean, very fit and strong looking. His hair was a tawny mix of dark blond to bronze, his eyes a pronounced shade of topaz. Both had generous well defined mobile mouths.

Cy introduced them. The two men shook hands then Langdon speaking easily—he exuded charisma—introduced his assistant, Matt, who regarded Sunderland somewhat warily as if he thought this was someone who could turn dangerous and he was already aware of it.

“I’m looking forward to us all having dinner together,” Langdon said after a few minutes of exchanging social pleasantries. “Meanwhile I hope you enjoy the showing. I have to circulate, it seems.” Cy’s stepsister, Robyn, the owner of the gallery, looking very glamorous in black and white was beckoning to him pushing forward a distinguished looking elderly man. “Excuse me, won’t you?” Langdon’s manner was so warm and charming Ross thought the man would have no difficulty selling heaters to the nomads in the desert. David Langdon had every appearance of a man you could trust with your life.

They all began to study the remarkable array of photographs, moving about the room in procession. Ross listened to the comments of his friends as they talked. Jessica, the creative one, was very knowledgeable. She was just right for Cy he thought. Lucky guy! He wondered where Belle had got to. Ah, there she was, standing with a red-haired woman, seemingly at ease. He stopped for a moment to read a CV of Langdon’s work. Very impressive. He’d spent time in the war zones, East Timor, Afghanistan, Iraq. He was very widely travelled. A great deal in South East Asia. Thailand, Cambodia, Indonesia, Malaysia, Papua New Guinea. Ross had seen his marvellous impressions of that little known country although it lay on Australia’s door step. Separated momentarily from the others—so many people wanted to meet Jessica—he studied the shots of the Great Barrier Reef and the glorious tropical islands. Langdon must have spent hours and hours flying around trying to find the exact spots. Probably in a helicopter or a light plane, door open, strapped in tightly so he could film. Perfect crystal clear waters, cobalt skies, pure white sand ringing jade islands.

He wouldn’t mind a few weeks on a tropical island. He could almost feel himself there. His eyes dwelt with pleasure on a magnificent shot of the Outer Reef shot from the air. The deep channel was a deep inky blue, the waters a deep turquoise, with channels of aquamarine. The fantastic coral gardens were in the foreground, an anchored boat and a group of snorkellers swimming off the reef wall lending perspective. Moving on, he recognised Four Mile Beach at Queensland’s Port Douglas, the purple ranges in the background, luxuriant palms and vegetation wrapping the wide beach, sun worshippers like little colourful dots on the sand. A marvellous, marvellous shot of a small sand cay covered with nesting crested terns, the deep turquoise waters rippled with iridescent green like the heart of a black opal. He felt like he was in the middle of the ocean.

“These are good,” he found himself murmuring aloud.

“You sound surprised?”

He straightened and turned slowly before answering, giving himself time to suppress the involuntary electric thrill that flared along his nerves. As a consequence his voice came out in that strange arrogant fashion. “That wasn’t my intention. Your brother is more than a fine photographer. He’s an artist.”

“He is,” Samantha said with complete conviction, her cheeks flushing a little at the curtness of his tone. Her powerful attraction to this man shocked her. Not Mr. Nice Guy that’s for sure. Formidable. “I run the Sydney gallery for him. Of course you know that. We’re thinking of opening another one here in Darwin.”

“And what do you suppose Robyn will think about that?” Incredibly in his imagination he was pushing her low necked dress down from her shoulders. She had beautiful breasts. She had teased him with their beauty at the wedding, smiling into his eyes, provoking him to dance with her. Of course he was obliged to. They were after all chief bridesmaid and best man.

She was shrugging lightly as if to show she was unfazed by his scrutiny and the challenge of his comment. “There’s plenty of room for another gallery. Robyn specialises in paintings and sometimes sculptures. Hopefully one gallery will be a spin off for the other. There are always a great many tourists in town.”

“Yes,” he agreed briefly, feeling as though he was drunk on some rich potent wine. That was the effect she had on him. But no way, no way, was he about to fall to his knees.

She was returning his gaze equably, so gracious when he always acted the complete boor around her. He suspected she was doing it deliberately.

“I’m wondering why you don’t like me, Ross?” she inquired softly. “No, don’t throw up your head.” Which he did in that high mettled way. “Don’t deny it. We both know it’s true. Remember how it was at the wedding?”

As if he had forgotten.

“I didn’t imagine your…what can I call it? Animus, antagonism? Was it something I said? Something I did? I seem to have gone over it many many times in my head. But it’s still there tonight. The thing is, David and I are so hoping you’ll act as our guide. It would be awkward if there remained difficulties between us.”

He frowned, giving her a look that both smouldered and sparkled. “You intend to go along then?”

“I’ve never seen a man with aquamarine eyes.” She was so unnerved she didn’t answer his question, but said the first thing that came into her head.

“It runs in the family.” He returned carelessly. “Lest you deflect me, I’ll ask again. Do you intend to go along on this trip?”

There was no mistaking the opposition on his hard, handsome face. “I’m thrilled David wants me,” she said, feeling the friction between them like a burr against the skin. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed the little texts beneath the photographs. I was responsible for them.”

It was a reflex to compliment her. He had thought they were Langdon’s; a few lines, often poetic capturing the very essence of the scene. “Very good.”

“I don’t think you know—I made such a poor impression on you at Cy’s and Jessica’s wedding but I write and illustrate children’s stories as well as managing the gallery. They’re for children with vivid imaginations. They’re starting to do very well. Jessica and I took a Fine Arts Degree together, but I’m not nearly so gifted as she. It won’t be too long before Jessica gives an exhibition of her paintings. She not only fell madly in love with her Territory Man, she fell in love with the Territory. So far David hasn’t photographed the Top End or the Red Centre which has been widely covered of course. He likes to capture his subject matter in a new light.”

“And it works.” He tried hard to lighten up but that was difficult when he was standing less than an arm’s length from her. “You realise a trip into Kakadu wouldn’t be a picnic?”

She tilted her chin, hoping her eyes weren’t betraying her reactions. This man attracted and daunted her in equal measure. “I know it’s a great wilderness area.”

He nodded, his black hair sheened with purple highlights like the sky at midnight. For a cattle man used to working gear, off duty he was very stylishly groomed. Dark cream linen suit. White shirt with a brown stripe the top button casually undone. Silk tie with alternating white and brown stripes. Sexy enough to take her breath away.

“Have you ever got up close and personal with a twenty foot croc?” he asked with light sarcasm.

“I’d make sure you were in front of me.” She tried to joke.

“It’s no joke,” he told her, his lean features taut.

“I’ll have you know I’m serious.” She looked directly at him, feeling on her mettle. “What is it, Ross? Have you written me off as a bimbo? Someone who’ll turn into a quivering liability?”

“I have to tell you I wouldn’t be happy to take you,” he said bluntly.

“Samantha,” she prompted. “That’s my name. Sam, if you like.”

“Sam is just too quaint.” Anyone less like a Sam he had yet to see. He gazed into her dark doe eyes, bright with little golden motes.

She could have hit him. Damaged her hand. Herself. “Actually I was hoping your sister, Isabelle—she’s so beautiful—might be persuaded to come along with us. Station bred she’d be an enormous help to me.”

He could only warn her off. “Belle wouldn’t be interested, I’m afraid. She lost her husband not so long ago.”

Samantha dipped her head, her nerves tightening. “Jessica told me. I’m so very sorry. She’s so young. Mightn’t it help her to get out though, don’t you think? Nature is a great healer.”

Very deliberately he cut off that line of thinking. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Samantha.”

The effect of her name on his lips was extraordinary. How strange it was to be excited by a man and thoroughly disconcerted at the same time. “Don’t be like that,” she pleaded.

“Like what?” He was sizzling with sexual energy. A male aggression that appeared to possess him in her presence. Chaos threatened when he liked order.

“Arrogant, actually,” she told him quietly, feeling a twist of desire deep inside her and nothing she could do about it. “Unpleasant as well when Cy thinks you’re the greatest guy in the world.”

“Maybe I’m a lot more used to dealing with men than women. I’m sorry. I apologise.”

His sudden smile made her suck in her breath. It bathed his rather severe handsome features in dazzling light. “That’s not what I’ve heard either,” she found herself saying.

“Meaning what?” He shrugged, a surprisingly elegant movement.

“There are a lot of girls hung up on you I was told. I suppose that’s a good sign. Then again a lot of women are attracted to men who have little use for them.”

“And you’re assuming I’m that kind of man?”

The colour of his remarkable eyes was a source of wonder. “Aren’t you?” Her every instinct had warned her this man was trouble yet she plunged ahead angered by his resistance, almost dismissal. It wasn’t something she was used to.

“I love my sister,” he pointed out.

“You certainly should. You had to stick together.”

His expression tightened. “Cy told you my life story?”

“What’s wrong with that? I was interested. He filled me in a little way. I know your parents divorced when you were twelve and your sister a few years younger. Don’t feel overly bad about that. Our mother and father split up when I was still at school and David had already left home. Both of them are re-married. David and I have two stepbrothers—my dad’s. Things like that.”

He was surprised. He had thought her the most cosseted of creatures. Daddy’s little princess. A most beautiful little girl. But there was a sudden haunting in her eyes. “You can’t quite cover up the fact you’d been praying they’d stay together?”

“Absolutely, but they’d hit a very bumpy ride. In fact it’s put me off marriage.”

“True?” He let his smile loose again.

Another thrill. That alone shouted a warning. “I’ve already decided you have a lot against it.”

“Really?” He looked down his straight nose at her. “You don’t know me.” Even if you are trying to lead me on.

Her heart gave a wild flutter. She couldn’t believe the arrogance of his manner could be a seduction. But it was. “I’d like to know you better,” she said, something she’d discovered the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

“So you can dig out my weaknesses?” He willed his blood to stop racing. There was a tremendous exhilaration in this sparring. It was like being caught up in an electrical storm when at any moment danger could be inflicted on a man.

“I didn’t imagine for a moment you had any,” she answered with faintly bitter sweetness.

“As many as the next man.” He shrugged. “But I work hard to keep them under control. I had the impression you and your brother’s assistant were close?”

A flare of something, was it anger? deepened the apricot colour in her cheeks. “Now how on earth did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“Are you telling me it’s not true?” Sad if he was giving himself away.

“I’m not telling you anything,” she said crisply, knowing with every passing minute getting involved with this intoxicating man would be a terrible mistake. “I’d like to see you less sure of yourself and your opinions.”

“And you’re the one hoping we can be friends?” he scoffed.

Think, Sam. Try to clear your head.

Yet all her pulses were drumming in double time. “Not friends so much,” she successfully mustered her poise. “I don’t believe we could ever be friends, not unless you undergo a radical change, but colleagues of sorts. I know you’d prefer Men Only, women being such nuisances, but I’d endeavour to keep out of your way.”

“Fine,” he drawled, staring down at her mouth with her small teeth like prize pearls. Her lips were full, luscious, incredibly tempting. He’d like to crush their cushiony softness beneath his. Teach her a lesson. “But not exactly easy if we had to share a tent?”

She battled the shock wave. “We wouldn’t have to do that. Would we?”

For the first time there was genuine amusement in his jewelled eyes. “Not your idea of fun? It could get worse.”

She was still seeing them sharing a tent. “Like dodging crocs and pythons that devour you at a gulp?”

“Lady, there’s so much I’m not telling you.” It came out with a flicker of contempt.

Use your head. Go!

She had to make her escape before she said something she would regret. Ross Sunderland was dynamite. Exciting yes, but one of the dangerous men of this world. He drew her so much it was scaring her badly. “Anything to put me off,” she managed lightly. “I think I’ll have a word with Isabelle if I can find her. You’re a terrible man.” She half turned away.

“Knowing that at the start will save you a lot of trouble,” he called after her.

“To be frank I knew it the instant I laid eyes on you.” She turned back to confront him, long silky hair swirling, flame bright in the strong lights.

His mouth curved in a challenging smile. “Then you know we’re not fated to be friends.”

“That sounds so much like a dare?”

They were caught in a tableau, neither moving until a very pretty brunette dressed in show stopping red broke it up by rushing between them, ignoring Samantha as though she weren’t there. “Ah there you are Ross, darling!” She grabbed his arm. Held on for dear life. “I didn’t think this was your scene. Mum and I have only just arrived. Come and join us. We were just saying we should have a good party. It’s seems like ages since we got together.” She began to pull him away.

Samantha didn’t wait to see them move off. She was cursing herself for allowing Ross Sunderland to get to her. No way either was he going to block her path. Her company and contribution were important to her brother. She was determined not to be left behind.



David Langdon took a long slow breath then decided to catch up with the woman he’d spent so much time watching. Albeit out of the corner of his eye. A beaute fatale. Of course he had known she was beautiful. In fact she was more beautiful in the flesh than she was in the photographs he had seen in the papers and the few times they had captured her on television always hurrying away, head bent, one hand trying to cover her face like the tragic Princess Diana. For a while the media had hounded her. That must have been a bad experience. He knew who she was of course. Isabelle Hartmann, Blair Hartmann’s young widow. She couldn’t be more than mid-twenties and her beauty hadn’t even reached its zenith. She still looked as though she was hurting badly.

David hadn’t even told his sister how much he had learned about this near notorious young woman over the past months. Mostly from people supposedly in the know. Little of it good. It seemed to him a shocking thing to condemn her out of hand. Who knew exactly what went on within a marriage? Closer to the truth he’d been seized with a fierce desire to protect her which was quite odd since he had never managed to meet her. Not that he wasn’t in and out of Sydney all the time but he made a point of avoiding the big social functions unless they were in aid of charity. His deep seeing eyes, trained eyes, had divined the torment in her.

A lot of the rumours and gossip had their origins in plain jealousy. He’d come to that conclusion. Men he’d found were far more reluctant to put any blame at all on her though all were in agreement Blair Hartmann had been a nice easy going guy, maybe a little light weight, spoiled outrageously by his wealthy mother. Everyone knew that. It was women, especially Evelyn Hartmann’s circle, fuelled by envy and resentment and fearing to cross such a formidable figure in society as Isabelle’s ex-mother-in-law, who claimed Isabelle was an altogether different person from the one who appeared in public. For one thing she had been near arctic to the husband who had adored her. There was even talk she had refused him a child no doubt to preserve her willowy figure, selfish creature. She was terribly vain they reported, obsessed with herself and her clothes.

At least they couldn’t say she had married Hartmann for his money. The Sunderlands were a highly respected pastoral family wealthy in their own right as the press had easily uncovered. The fierce argument between the two, husband and wife had of course found its way into print. Speculation had been rife. Something Isabelle Hartmann had said had caused her late husband so loving and appreciative of her, to storm out of the party. Worse, perhaps caused him to be careless of his own life.

Whispers still followed her. He had overheard a few this very night. Blessed or cursed by such physical beauty she was bound to be a cynosure of attention. But no one he had noticed had been so careless as to give rein to gossip with her brother in earshot. Ross Sunderland was a man with fire in his remarkable eyes. Even the way he stood near his sister, sometimes with his arm carelessly around her, told the world not to be surprised if he retaliated on his sister’s behalf. Langdon had been told and had since witnessed the two were very close. My God, didn’t he feel the same about his own little sister, Samantha, nearly seven years his junior who had borne the brunt of their parents’ undeniably bitter break up with Sam the pawn in the middle. On his world travels at the time he had since done his level best to make it up to her.

Seeing Isabelle Hartmann alone for a moment that beautiful face cool, passionless as a statue, he made his way towards her, gesturing with a smile he’d get back to a couple who surged across the room to gain his attention.

“Good evening, Mrs. Hartmann. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself for some time. David Langdon.”

She turned to him quickly, staring up into his face. “Of course, Mr. Langdon.” Some emotion stirred in her, swiftly crossed her face, then disappeared. She gave him her hand, silky soft, slender quite lost in his bear grip. He fought down the powerful urge to carry it to his lips.

“My pleasure.” She smiled, finding something incredibly mesmeric about this big, dynamic man. “And it certainly has been. I’ve so enjoyed your showing.”

“I’m glad.” Was it his imagination or was she trembling?

“I’d have met you much earlier only I got caught up by friends who haven’t seen me for a while. You’ve been so much the centre of attention I didn’t want to intrude.” The fact was both Cy and Jessica, then a little later Samantha followed by Ross had insisted they introduce her—it was high time—but for some reason she had made the excuse she would wait a while until all the adulation died down. It still hadn’t stopped.

“The gallery shuts its doors at ten.” He glanced over her satin smooth dark head. She wore her hair in a style he particularly liked if the woman could get away with it. A classic chignon that emphasized her enchanting swan neck. “I sincerely hope you’re going to join us at dinner?”

She pressed her fingers to her temple.

“Please don’t claim a headache,” he begged, smiling into her eyes. “I promise you you’re going to enjoy yourself. I’ve already met Ross, of course. I feel already he’s just the right man to lead our expedition.”

She allowed her eyes to appraise his height and his broad shoulders. A gentle giant but she had no doubt he could be incredibly tough when he had to be. “You don’t strike me as the sort of man who needs anyone to lead him.”

He gave her another charming smile. “As much as I hate to say it I’d definitely need an expert to guide me through Kakadu. This is your part of the world.”

“Yet you’ve visited other extremely remote places. Very dangerous places as well.”

“And I’ve counted on good people who know what they’re about for survival.”

She braced herself a little. He was very close, towering over her. So big, so solid, but marvellously nonthreatening. She had made a horrendous error in judgment with Blair but she knew in her bones this man would always deal with women gently. “I’m not exactly sure Ross has made up his mind, Mr. Langdon,” she warned him.

“David, please.”

“Isabelle.” She spoke almost shyly, her creamy white skin colouring slightly. It was enormously appealing. Rumour had painted her a vain self centred creature who lived only for her own pleasure and conquest. He saw none of it. Perhaps tragedy had destroyed her confidence.

“It suits you,” he remarked, his voice deep with more than a polite veneer. If he had to visualise Shakespeare’s Dark Lady of the Sonnets, it would be Isabelle Hartmann. He surprised within himself not only fascination but a curious tenderness for this young woman with the purity and loveliness of a lily. She was wearing white to enhance the effect, one shouldered, a fluid column, no jewellery except for pendant earrings. Lustrous South Sea pearls appended from a diamond cluster. She wore no rings on her long fingered hands. No engagement ring. No wedding ring. Pearl painted nails. There again a puzzle. Would a woman so recently widowed remove clear evidence of her marriage? What did it say? She had gained no comfort there?

His topaz eyes glowed like a cat’s without giving anything away, but Isabelle was aware he was noting every last little thing about her. Extraordinarily she welcomed it. One of the paradoxical facts of life. As big and masculine as he was, he didn’t threaten her. Rather she felt in the presence of some powerful creature who for his own reasons had taken her under his protection. She had already noticed there was something distinctly leonine about him even to the tawny mane. She realised she too was taking stock, wondering how those thick waves would feel beneath her hands. To grasp them! To tug gently. It would be quite wonderful.

My God, she had to be mad!

“That’s great! You two have finally met.”

Each was so engrossed in the other they actually started when Samantha appeared at her brother’s side, smiling her pleasure. She glanced at her watch excitedly. “Ten minutes to go then we can all get to know one another better. I have to admit I’m hungry. What about you, Isabelle?”

It was her moment to say she had a slight headache and would be returning to the hotel only someone as radiant and friendly as Samantha Langdon was hard to resist. David Langdon said nothing, quietly waiting for her answer. She was forced to admit the fact he was going to be there had a huge bearing on her decision. She couldn’t bring herself to ask why. Better that way.

“Perhaps a little,” she smiled. “But I warn you. I’m not going to talk. I’m going to listen.”



They all sat round a circular table, paired off as if it would have been obvious to an onlooker that Isabelle and Ross and David and Samantha were closely related. David’s assistant Matt had a previous engagement to meet up with a friend staying at the Holiday Inn so the numbers were even. The restaurant was nowhere near as opulent as the restaurants Isabelle had frequented with Blair and their circle of friends. His friends really, part of the Establishment, grown up together, gone to the same schools and University, but the food was every bit as good. Over the last dreadful months it had been difficult just trying to swallow enough to stay alive but tonight sitting between David Langdon and her brother Isabelle found herself surprisingly hungry. Even the air around her had taken on a different quality. Maybe sanity wasn’t staying away from people but joining them.

They all had different things for an entrée, though she and Jessica shared a range of appetisers, crudités and quails eggs and a beautiful Haloumi that came from Kangaroo Island and was much better than the imported. Samantha had sea scallops wrapped with bacon with a red wine sauce, David, pan fried prawns in potato waistcoats, Cyrus decided on abalone with shiitake and young salad leaves served in its beautiful ovoid shell and Ross stayed with one of his favourites, rice noodle cannelloni stuffed with the superb blue swimmer crab meat.

It was difficult not to mellow under the influence of such beautiful food and the excellent chilled chardonnay that accompanied it. Seafood figured heavily for the main course, magnificent lobster caught that very morning, coral trout off the Reef, and the superb eating fish barramundi for which the Top End was famous.

Ross glancing across at his sister found it deeply heartening to see her eating with apparent enjoyment, smiling frequently at something David Langdon said to her, obviously at ease with him. It was almost as if he had brought her to life. There was colour in her cheeks. She looked very beautiful but still dangerously vulnerable. Well, Langdon was a kind man. He could see that. A gentleman. He was also very amusing, very knowledgeable, and Ross had had ample evidence women found Langdon extremely attractive. David Langdon had to be one hell of a catch. It didn’t occur to Ross that people said exactly the same thing about him.

Dessert was out of the way—the men had wanted it—the women protested they had to mind their figures but Langdon persuaded Isabelle to try a lime and ginger crème brulee. Coffee after that, and the real discussion began.

Here it comes Samantha thought. He’s going to make it perfectly plain he doesn’t want me along. The Great White Hunter on his men only expedition. Men she had to admit had a special camaraderie. In the space of a couple of hours she could see her brother and Ross Sunderland had made a good connection. Something she could hardly say for herself and that complicated man. It was easy to see both men would get along indeed all three men had a lot in common, essentially men of action living their lives outdoors for most of the time. Of course women formed extraordinary bonds but in different ways and usually it took longer. She and Jessica were long time close friends but she could see she couldn’t intrude on Isabelle’s space no matter how much she liked her. Isabelle had lost her adored husband and she was wrapped in sadness. Nevertheless it was lovely to see her responding to David’s gentle masterly hand. Her big brother was simply the best. There had been women in his life of course, but apparently nothing so intense it had made him want to enter into marriage. Marriage didn’t always culminate in happily ever after anyway. Before their parents had been divorced they’d become bitter enemies. Two bitter enemies who had together created herself and David. When did a marriage go wrong? What happened to the spoken vows of love and commitment? In the end the only thing possible was for each to release the other. A sane person would stay away from marriage entirely.

She moved on to Ross Sunderland who knew all about parental marriage bonds broken and the grief that attended it. Certainly he was relaxing his guard. In fact he was showing himself to be excellent company but when his eyes fell on her she couldn’t miss the challenging glint that sent tingles chasing down her spine. That in itself was unsettling. How could one be attracted to a man with an irresistible need to snap one’s fingers at him at the same time?



Talk of Kakadu, the great national park brought the men alive. Twenty thousand square kilometres of crocodile infested rivers, low lying flood plains, rocky outcrops, waterfalls rain forest and woodlands dominated by the magnificent buttress of the Arnhem Land escarpment that ran for six hundred kilometres across the tropical Top End, one of the last great world wilderness areas. It had been established aboriginals had inhabited Kakadu for fifty thousand years. Neighbouring Arnhem Land was still inhabited by large numbers of Australia’s indigenous people indeed Kakadu was under the custodianship of the traditional owners.

Ross and Cy were telling David about the world famous rock galleries of Nourlangie and Ubirr estimated at around twenty thousand years old and of great archaeological importance.

“Most of the paintings at Nourlangie are in the X-ray style,” Ross said, leaning towards David like a man on a mission to sell the Top End. “Two phases descriptive and decorative. Extraordinarily these X-ray drawings depict the subject’s internal anatomical features. Ibirr is another treasure house you’d need to see. You’ll find the Mimi spirits depicted there. The aboriginals believe they live in the caves, even in the little cracks and crevices.”

“To them, the Mimi are terrifying creatures,” Cy eased in the comment.

Ross nodded. “Namargon, the Lightning Man is represented, stone axes growing from his head, arms and knees to strike the ground. He appeared when the region first experienced the great electrical storms of the Wet. The rock art is the region’s major cultural heritage. It can’t be missed.”

“Take me there,” David smiled. “I’m sold.”



They got through almost another hour talking. David Langdon asked a great many questions. Cy and Ross answered them, taking turns, sometimes speaking together their enthusiasm was so great. Isabelle sat back quietly. Jessica smiled lovingly at her husband, Samantha inwardly was on tenterhooks. She couldn’t bear to think for once she would lose out although Sunderland hadn’t as yet agreed to act as their guide. His purpose on the whole seemed to be that of an arm chair guide, pointing out the very special areas of interests, the sacred sites, the extraordinary land forms and the spectacular escarpment country and the various hazards along the way which included the immensely dangerous giant saurians of the Alligator River, North and South, and the numerous billabongs and wetlands. Both he and Cy maintained if you treated the crocodiles with respect and didn’t intrude foolishly on their territory no harm would come to you.

Samantha took that as a very good reason for being allowed to go along. It wasn’t as though she was planning to come within patting distance of their hideous snouts. They weren’t cuddly koalas, though even koalas being wild animals could inflict a lot of damage if they felt threatened.

David gave a satisfied sigh. “So are you going to be free to take us?”

For one dreadful moment it looked like Sunderland was about to say, no, only Samantha breathed a sigh of relief when his sister caught his eye and smiled. Isabelle knew he wanted to go. Ross loved being out in the wilderness. There were a few pressing commitments he would have to attend to before he went. Afterwards for the space of a few weeks of the trip he could delegate. Their overseer, Pete Lowell, was a good, dependable man. Their father had trained him.

“All right,” Ross agreed, returning his sister’s smile with some wryness. “I’ll take you. That would be Matt, your assistant and yourself, I take it?”

Well you take it wrong, Samantha thought smartly, catching her brother’s eye.

“I was hoping, Ross, Samantha could come,” David said sounding thoroughly persuasive.

It was quite clear that didn’t work on Sunderland. The animated expression on his lean handsome face changed abruptly. Samantha willed him to give in but he shook his head. “That would well and truly be bending the rules, Dave. It will be far from easy getting to the places you’d want to get your shots. I’ve seen your work. I know danger entices you. It’s the same excitement as a safari only we don’t get to kill magnificent wild animals as they did in the bad old days.”

“What if we established camps?” David suggested, seeing Sunderland’s point of view.

“And leave your sister on her own?” Sunderland’s black brows shot up.

I’m not even Samantha, Sam thought. I’m “your sister.”

David’s topaz eyes moved to the silent Isabelle. “What if Isabelle came along? For all her lilylike appearance I expect she’s a woman who could handle herself in the bush.”

Yes, oh yes!

Samantha, mindful of what Isabelle had said to her, managed to hold her tongue but instead of shrinking away from the idea, Isabelle glanced down, her long lashes dark and heavy on her cheeks. She knew Ross had made it clear he didn’t want Samantha on the trip which in all fairness she had to admit was in the wildest least explored area of the continent. On the other hand she could see Samantha had a positive yen for adventure.





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