Книга - Outback Bridegroom

Outback Bridegroom
Margaret Way


Christine is on her way back - to a town full of bittersweet memories, but home to the only man she has ever truly loved, Mitch Claydon.Outback born and bred, Mitch is filled with anger whenever he thinks about Christine. He'd loved her - had even offered marriage - but she'd chosen to pursue a life far away from Koomera Crossing. Now she's returned, and despite his strong resolve, Mitch finds he can't keep away. Christine is as beautiful and desirable as ever….









“I’m over you, Chrissy,” Mitch said very softly, putting his hands on her shoulders, tangling his fingers in her dark abundant tresses.


“Then why kiss a woman who’s been nothing but trouble?” Christine couldn’t resist the urge to taunt him.

“Could be I just think of it as fighting fire with fire.”

“So what are you waiting for?” She felt a sudden violent rush of exhilaration in her blood as the weight of his wonderful curvy mouth came down over hers.

It was meant to be a light, mocking kiss that would convey to her she was no longer in his blood. No longer able to drive him to distraction. Only, the kiss changed character….


Dear Reader,

This third story in my KOOMERA CROSSING miniseries continues the theme of families and bonded lives, the unique relationships that are formed in isolated outback life. We all belong to a family, and how we fared in childhood and adolescence has a powerful effect on our lives. Some have the great good fortune to be reared in a loving, stable home where the young are encouraged to approach life from a positive angle and are always given a helping hand. Others are always struggling to win acceptance, to be loved, knowing it’s not going to happen. Eventually, they are forced to make a life far from their families in order to protect themselves.

Christine is one such heroine who is forced into fleeing her desert home. In running away she must leave behind the love of her life, her kindred spirit, Mitch Claydon. He nurses a bitter hurt and disillusionment while she travels the world as a glamorous fashion model, but she’s unable to forget the man she’s left behind….

The first book in my KOOMERA CROSSING miniseries was the Harlequin Superromance


novel Sarah’s Baby. This was followed by Runaway Wife in Harlequin Romance


. Look for Outback Surrender, December 2003, also in Harlequin Romance


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Outback Bridegroom

Margaret Way















CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


IT WAS funny about love, he thought. It never died. Or his particular kind of love didn’t: his was unconditional, irreversible. He’d had it once. He’d never found it again. Not since Christine. Always, always, Christine!

If he lived to be one hundred he doubted if he could ever forget his childhood sweetheart, the love of his life, the impossibly beautiful Christine Reardon. Such was their bond right through childhood and their teens—his wretched and—let’s face it—unrequited love for her was never going to leave him. He was still spellbound by the very sight of her, though she had used him shamefully. For a man with guts and pride aplenty, that made him feel really bad.

He had learned to love early. Both he and Christine were Outback born and reared. Both were the children of pastoral dynasties—bush aristocracy, as it were. That in itself had forged a powerful connective link. He was Mitchell Claydon, heir to Marjimba Station, she was the granddaughter of the so recently late, unlamented Ruth McQueen, whose wake he and half the Outback were at present attending.

The interment, under a blazingly hot sun, was mercifully over, but the wake, held at the McQueens’ historic homestead Wunnamurra, dragged on and on as it befell everyone to pay their respects to such a powerful pioneering family.

For two hours now he had stood suffering blackly—he hoped it didn’t show—longing to cool off with a cold beer, not endless cups of tea or the whisky the boys in the library were having. An irreverent thought, maybe. Ruth’s funeral was a momentous day in their part of the world—vast Outback Queensland, an endless source of fascination to most of the country who led city lives. Ruth, ex-matriarch of the McQueen dynasty, was not your normal much mourned grandmother. Ruth in her lifetime had had a patent on seriously ruthless behaviour, but she’d had the aura and financial muscle to somehow pull it off.

He’d never liked her. In fact he’d come close to loathing her, so how could he be expected to mourn her passing? Wasn’t the reason Christine had run away from him to escape her grandmother’s clutches? Or so Chrissy had claimed. One way or the other, Christine’s flight had been swift and terrible for a girl who up to that time had declared her endless love for him. The fervour with which she’d said it still rang in his heart like a bell.

“How I love you, Mitch!” That tone should have been kept for worship. Her face had been luminous as a pearl above him, her thick braid undone, silken hair glistening even in the scented darkness of their special place, a pink lily pond few other people came to or even knew. Her beautiful hands had always smelled of boronia, caressing his naked chest, spiralling downwards, in delicate stroking circles that had made his blood run molten, his body shaking with the fine tremors of blind passion.

An inferno of desire! He would have done anything for her. She had power, great power, in the age-old manner of beautiful seductive women. It was this that had mesmerized him. Kept him captive so he never saw all the other girls who tried to win his attention.

Christine. Always Christine.

Her ardent declarations had turned out to be utter lies. She had betrayed him and played him, scorning the love she’d proclaimed so sublime. The grief and the anger Mitch felt had gone so deep they still burned brightly. So why, then, couldn’t he forget her? Wash his hands of her? Get on with his life?

It hadn’t worked out like that at all. God knows he’d tried. And now he stood in Wunnamurra’s very grand drawing room watching the assembled family saying goodbye to the last of the mourners. There was much solicitous air-kissing, diplomatic condolences, though the departed Ruth had been disliked with a passion. Not that Ruth had minded while she was alive. In fact she’d actively encouraged such strong sentiments in those she considered her inferiors, and they included the entire Outback at one time.

Vale, Ruth! Arrogance and snobbery personified.

Kyall was an entirely different story. No one could tarnish Kyall McQueen’s image. Kyall had been his friend from earliest childhood, as was Kyall’s fiancée, Sarah Dempsey—Sarah Dempsey—head of Koomera Crossing’s Bush Hospital.

Ranged beside Kyall and Sarah on the fare-welling line were Kyall’s mother and father, Enid and Max, a mightily dysfunctional couple if ever there was one, and beside them Kyall’s problematic young cousin, Suzanne, dragged home from boarding school. But the ultimate object of Mitch’s attention this long, terrible day was the stunning young woman standing protectively beside Suzanne like some exotic long-legged water-bird.

Christine. His only love! Hell, weren’t they great days, when love had surged sweet and absolutely irresistible? So irresistible it sometimes seemed to him his emotional life hadn’t taken one single step forward. As for Chris? Her life had gone ahead in great leaps and bounds. It was a long hike from awkward adolescent, head ducking, shoulders slouching in an effort to hide her height, to fêted international model who regularly bagged the cover of well-known international magazines.

The moment he’d laid eyes on her that morning she’d been walking with immense style down Wunnamurra’s grand divided staircase. That catwalk training had been devastatingly successful, he’d noted cynically.

God, what a knockout! He, despite everything, felt pierced again by love’s maddening arrows. The poor schmuck who stared up at her as if she was a goddess favouring earth with a visit. Who could take that much heart-stopping beauty? He’d only stared, feeling his tormented heart banging away so loudly he’d thought it might leap from his chest. Such weakness dishonoured him. From that moment on his pride had made it easier…

“Mitch, how wonderful to see you again!” Her stunning, high-cheekboned face turned on the now famous smile. “It’s so good of you and the family to come.”

Some moments spin out forever. Memories invaded his mind, one scene opening out after the other. Always he and Chris together—riding, swimming, skinny-dipping in the creeks across Marjimba, exploring the Hill Country, exploring each other’s excitable young bodies. God knows how he’d found the gumption to move, but he had.

“Hey, we’re family, aren’t we, Chrissy?” He’d sauntered up to her, hadn’t attempted to hug her, or kiss her cheek. He’d settled for a sardonic handshake. She wouldn’t like the “Chrissy”, but he’d just wanted to let her know he’d never accept the usual baloney. “Wonderful to see you” rang ludicrously untrue after the way she’d treated him.

That had been twenty minutes before the trip to the family cemetery, where Ruth had been interred with the pomp she certainly didn’t deserve. Since then his emotions had threatened by the minute to get seriously out of hand. A big mistake. These days he was very much a man in control. He considered it a by-product of being dumped by the said Christine. He didn’t look for love any more. Love was a four-letter word. Now he settled for companionship. Sex. He was tempted, like the next man. And this way there would be no stress, no pain. Sometimes a lot of fun, but that was the end of it. Still, it was lousy when you couldn’t fall in love again.

Christine, his heart’s desire, was woven warp and woof into the fabric of his life, and it looked as if he’d have to wrestle with that one forever. She’d become so finely polished, like a diamond, he could hardly bear her brilliance. Neither could he look away. Enid’s “ugly duckling” had long since turned into a swan. He’d always known she would.

In her adolescence Enid and Ruth had hardly a kind word to say to Chris regarding her coltish, somewhat androgynous look, the insouciant “boy” in jodhpurs and shirts. Of course she’d cultivated the look deliberately, in retaliation, and quietly laughed about it as he kissed and caressed her beautiful, very feminine breasts.

Petite women, Enid and Ruth had privately and very publicly agonized over Chris’s height as though it were none of their fault. So Chris was six feet? Tall for a woman, certainly, but they had been so cruel!

Christine in those days had been like a creature of the wild trapped in a cage. And she had fled her unhappy home. Anyone who’d had anything to do with Enid and Ruth could understand that. Except she’d fled him when he’d thought they had never been more in love. Hell, he’d been five minutes away from marrying her.

She was nineteen, he just twenty-one, and stupid enough to think he was God’s gift to women. Girls had liked to tell him that. Hard to believe, but true. Not Christine. She’d called him many a nasty name, ranting and raging that she had to find herself before she could deal with him. Marriage. Kids. Had he ever considered, given their combined height—he was six-two—their children might finish up as basketball stars?

What was wrong with that? They’d fought terribly. He’d had every confidence he would win. He knew he’d acted as if he equated her pending defection to committing a serious crime. But it was the pain and the sense of loss that had enraged him. A grief so acute it had resulted in his saying a lot of things that should never have been said.

Hadn’t she promised when she turned fourteen that they were going to get married? He’d thought both of them had taken that promise very seriously. Neither of them had wanted anyone else. He realised how stupid all of that was—kids’ stuff—except his feelings had never changed. He hadn’t even learned to be truly unfaithful. The flesh was weak but the mind remained purely loyal.

Now Ruth McQueen’s death had brought Christine home. For how long? A couple of days? A week? Surely she could spare some time off? She loved her father and brother; she tried hard to love her difficult, distant mother; she seemed to have taken charge of Suzanne. She didn’t need the money—Christine had a very tidy trust fund—but she did need that sense of self her success had brought her.

Always beautiful to him, she had made big changes. Gone was the slouch, the dip of the head to make herself shorter. How often had he tried to encourage her out of that? She’d always looked great to him no matter what she wore. Easy, casual. Now her clothes were the epitome of cosmopolitan chic. Dressed head to toe in sombre black, she nonetheless resembled an elegant brolga among what was in the main a flock of dull magpie geese.

She had learned patience. She’d stood throughout the ceremony in a contemplative mood. It must have been easy enough to conjure up her never well-intentioned late grandmother of the acid tongue. She’d shown no sign of nervousness or the inattention which had warranted many admonitions in the old days. Occasionally she’d smiled. The smile, now famous, lit up her face, displaying her beautiful teeth. He still had her early toothpaste ad hidden away in a drawer. It was almost in tatters from the countless times he’d looked at it. Once he’d had an impulse to tear it up—ever after grateful he hadn’t.

Christine! What a class act.

A kind of rage fuelled him. He who loved this goddess risked losing his head. Just being in the same room with her after years of estrangement put him in a strange mood, where anger and the pain of rejection lay heavily on his heart. He was profoundly conscious time was passing. All his friends were either getting engaged or married. When the hell was he going to surrender? He had to know he wouldn’t want for prospective brides.

Christine hadn’t married either, though he hadn’t the slightest doubt her phone kept ringing off the hook. For years he’d secretly followed her career as revealed by the tabloids. Her name had been linked with several highly eligible bachelors on the international scene, including an up-and-coming American actor who apparently featured in some TV soap five afternoons a week.

Strangely enough, the actor wasn’t unlike him. His mother had pointed him out on a magazine cover. The same physical type—tall, blond hair, blue eyes. Was it possible it had struck Christine too in passing? Say, this guy looks a bit like Mitch. Remember Mitch? Your first lover. He would have fought for you. Slaved for you. Died for you. He would have sold the family farm for you. He would have done all of that. He really loved you.

In the end she had taken off. Defection. What she had left behind her was poor old Mitch Claydon with a broken heart.

Across the room his mother gave him a wave, indicating they were about to fly home. His expression, unconsciously taut, softened. He loved his mother. She was a good woman with a brightness about her. These days he did all the piloting. His dad preferred to go along as a passenger.

He and Christine had barely exchanged a word. He’d had more to say to her young cousin Suzanne, who had to be all of sixteen. In the old days he and Christine had thrown their arms around each other, kissing, hugging, even when they’d seen one another the night before. They hadn’t been able to get enough of each other. Then. Loving to spend all their free time together. They’d even had their own fairy tale going. He was to rescue her from the clutches of her wicked grandmother…

Pure wishful thinking! Now so much time had passed. Time and change and pain. Christine was back. How in the world was he going to deal with it?



Christine hoped he wasn’t aware of it, but she’d been watching him endlessly, full of aches and regrets, memories she’d never been able to put out of her mind. Years of separation might have begun yesterday. Mitch still had the same magnetic drawing power that had captured her heart in the first place.

He was hard to miss. Mitch Claydon was a legitimately dashing guy. Golden-boy handsome, compellingly heterosexual. Almost rare in her world, where good-looking male models abounded, scarcely a one of them straight. Mitch would never enter her kind of world. Mitch had grown up accomplishing things, with a wonderfully pleasing and sunny nature. Mitch was a bred-in-the-bone cattleman, from a family with a rich pastoral tradition, a family very much like her own. Except the Claydons didn’t fall into the dysfunctional category. Mitch’s parents were and remained loving partners, committed to their family, openly demonstrative.

After their big break-up, somewhere along the line Mitch had developed an air of total inaccessibility. His gaze told her very plainly, Look, I might have loved you once, but I’ll never let you in again. Even the way he’d greeted her earlier in the day had told the same story. A white smile on his golden-skinned face, eyes sea-blue, sometimes turquoise, depending on his mood, always brilliantly twinkling as if there were stars at their centre, that thick soft golden pelt a woman would die for brushing his collar, but behind the smooth façade a great big sign that said: Back Off!

It made her incredibly unhappy, but she thought she was covering it well. Her model training was the perfect camouflage. She could provide expressions on demand.

In her experience men like Mitch were outside the ordinary. They stood out in life, not simply because of their looks, which were remarkable enough, but because of their aura of self-confidence. In some it almost bordered on arrogance, except it was the arrogance of achievement, of skills beyond the norm. The McQueens and the Claydons had established pastoral empires. Men like Mitch and her brother Kyall made it work. Without them, and men like them, their considerable enterprises would go under, their properties be dispersed.

It had happened with her own father’s family, the Reardons. Such was the McQueen name, and her grandmother’s power, her brother Kyall had actually been christened Kyall Reardon-McQueen, to be universally known as Kyall McQueen by the time he was three years old. And nothing to be done about it! Whereas she, the girl, and therefore not in the running for the top job, was Christine Reardon. Extraordinarily enough, even her father understood Kyall was a McQueen, with all that entailed. She had never heard him snipe about it.

She glanced over at her parents. They were deep in conversation with the Claydons. Her heart quivered as she stared at her father. He had never had an easy time of it. Not with her domineering mother and grandmother. Things had never been good at Wunnamurra, where disharmony prevailed. She often wondered how her parents had come together in the first place, their personalities were so different. Eventually she and Kyall had decided it was more a marriage of suitable families than a love match.

Her grandmother, Ruth, had made everyone uneasy. She hadn’t attempted to disguise her contempt for her granddaughter’s “tawdry career”—and tawdry did enter into it at some points. That couldn’t be denied. Alcohol, drugs, sexual predators—even among the very people there to protect you. Some of her friends in the business found it a battlefield, but she’d always been able to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground. All that mattered was to love and be loved in return. For all her successes she had never achieved that.

Not since Mitch, who had clearly put her behind him.

Love was a beautiful plant. If it wasn’t nurtured it would eventually wither and die. She hadn’t arrived at that point. It seemed Mitch had. She didn’t blame him.

A part of her had never left her Outback home, just as a part of her had always feared to return. Too much stress she didn’t want to handle. Although she thought she had changed a good deal—certainly she had become self-reliant—she knew it mightn’t take long before the old sense of worthlessness began to pervade her. Such was her mother’s and, to a much greater extent, her grandmother’s corrosive effect on her. Now her grandmother had been removed from the scene. Laid to rest. Or she was off some place else, terrorizing people.

A warm cheerful voice spoke as a hand touched her shoulder. “Christine, we’re off! It’s so lovely to see you again, dear.” In a flurry of genuine affection Mitch’s mother, Julanne, a handsome blonde woman with beautiful skin, embraced her. “Please don’t run away too soon. It’s so wonderful to have you home. I’d love it if you could visit us for a few days. There’s so much I want to talk to you about. Please say you’ll spare us a little time?”

Out of the corner of her eye Christine saw Mitch approaching with his familiar dashing, athletic grace. “I don’t know if Mitch would like that, Mrs Claydon.” Her tone was a mix of rueful and very wary. She’d seen the masked hostility spilling out of Mitch’s beautiful light-filled eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about Mitch,” Julanne whispered back, following Christine’s glance. “Deep down you two could never be anything else but friends. I always understood why you went away, my dear.”

“I had to, Mrs Claydon. The simple, unvarnished truth.”

“I know that.” Julanne Claydon appeared to consider her next words with great care. “But things will be easier now, with your grandmother gone. She was a truly extraordinary woman, but she could cause great tension.”

Christine nodded. “She wanted perfection—or her kind of perfection. Sadly for me, I couldn’t deliver. Mum and Gran saw eye to eye on one point. They wanted a doll they could dress up.”

“And what they got was an absolutely beautiful young woman. Inside and out.”

“Thanks for that, Mrs Claydon.” Christine smiled at this very kind, supportive woman who had always been her friend.

“Julanne, please, love. No need to call me Mrs Claydon any more. I watched you grow up.”

“And up!” Christine the supermodel raised her eyes heavenward, such was the drubbing she’d received about her height.

“It’s because of your height and those lovely long limbs you’ve become so famous, dear,” Julanne pointed out. “You must know that.”

“I do.” On an impulse Christine kissed the older woman’s cheek. “I’ve never forgotten your kindnesses to me.”

“You were very easy to be kind to, Christine,” Julanne responded, remembering how Christine had been virtually ignored while all the love and attention was focused on her brother Kyall. “So you’ll come? I’m starved for some colour and excitement. Think of all the stories you can tell me.”

“Some stranger than fiction,” Christine only half joked. “Well, then, it’s a date—and thank you for always being so nice to me. Give me a little time to sort out an agenda and I’ll let you know.”

“Mitch can come for you,” Julanne suggested, never having given away her dream that some day her son and Christine Reardon would patch up their differences and make a match of it. After all, for many long years they’d been a perfect circle of four. Mitch and Christine. Kyall and Sarah.

“Mitch can do what?” There was challenge, maybe an edge of animosity beneath the silken enquiry.

She steeled herself to turn around, tension showing in every line of her body. Earlier in the day she had known moments of pure exultation when they’d first come face to face. They might never have been parted; her attraction had been running at full throttle and she’d found herself remembering all the wonderful times, the bad times, full of shouting and tears. Now, heart thumping, she looked steadily into the compelling eyes that had haunted her. “Your mother will tell you, Mitch. I fear I don’t dare.” He looked absolutely marvellous to her, even with his bronze brows drawn together.

“That’s not the Christine I knew. She wasn’t scared to say anything.”

It was out in the open. Cold war.

Julanne felt it like a stiff breeze. She took her son’s arm in her cajoling fashion. “Mitch, darling, I’ve asked—no, begged—Christine to visit us while she’s home. There’s so much for us all to catch up on.”

“That’d be great,” Mitch said in a honeyed drawl. “I suppose.”

“You don’t sound too sure?”

He pretended to think a moment. “Of course we’d love to have you, Chrissy. It’s been so very long. But we’ll take no notice of that. I suppose you’re keen to get back to the Big Apple. And that guy—what’s his name?” He made his tone admiring.

“I don’t have a guy,” Christine retorted with determined cheerfulness, recognising the taunt. How could she when the same old feelings for Mitch were smashing through her? Wave after wave of white-water thrills, going deeper and deeper into her body, leaving her feeling shaky and so vulnerable. Mitch had always been good for that. Wonderful, glorious thrills.

Now he smiled affectionately at his mother. “Let’s refresh your memory. What’s his name, Mum? You showed me his picture in some magazine.”

“Oh, sure. I know. Ben Savage,” Christine cut in, before Julanne could answer. “I don’t see Ben any more.”

“That’s sad. What happened?” He faced her, neatly trapping her gaze.

“None of your business, Mitch.”

He gave her a slow smile, dangerous, taunting. “Except there was something familiar about the guy…”

“The first thing that drew me to him was his resemblance to you.”

“Hell, I would have thought it was enough to condemn him!” The tension between them was mounting so quickly it was monstrous, nearly physical, startling them all.

“Ah, Mitch.” Christine gently moaned, she felt so bad. “Ben’s very nice. Just like the character he plays. Warm, caring, comforting.”

His eyes rested compulsively on the small velvety beauty spot high up on her right cheekbone. He’d always loved it. Nothing had changed, however much he wanted it. His heart, for all its loneliness and isolation hadn’t frozen over. “Then why the break-up?” he asked.

“When I figure it out you’ll be the first to know.”

“I’d appreciate that, Chrissy.”

“Listen, children,” Julanne intervened hurriedly, flustered by the frozen sparks, “be nice to each other. You’re friends, not enemies. I’ll leave you to say goodbye. Please be in touch, Christine.”

“I’ll call you,” Christine promised, very nervous now that Julanne had moved away.

Mitch laughed sardonically in his throat. “Some day Mum’s going to wake up to the fact we’re not kids any more. No longer girlfriend and boyfriend heading towards the altar.”

“Mothers do that all the time. Some mothers,” she added, reflecting for a minute on her own. “What about you, Mitch? How have you managed to stay a bachelor?”

“I get offers all the time,” he said flippantly.

“Have you any idea why?”

Even her voice, with its acquired layer of American accent, glittered. Just like the old days whenever he’d rattled her. “Touché!” He gave a short laugh. “I want you to know I’ll reject any offer of yours.”

“You sound like you’re expecting me to make one.”

“Believe me, I’m considered eligible and you’re not getting any younger. Must be about time to have thoughts of settling down, Chrissy. You can’t stay a top model permanently. I make it you’ll be thirty in two years’ time.”

“Did you get my card for your thirtieth?” She’d been in London at the time, for an important shoot.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Stupid me. I must have forgotten to send it.”

“Chrissy, darling, that’s bloody obvious. Hard to believe we were once best friends. I’d say lovers, only I’d bite off my tongue.”

“I haven’t forgotten, Mitch,” she said quietly, her blue eyes finding his.

“Please!” His voice had a contemptuous lilt. “Spare me the long poignant look. I’m Mitch, remember? The poor fool who used to love you? For years I couldn’t seem to stop, but eventually the heart sickens.” He could have kicked himself; it had come out way too bitterly. “I was the one left broken up, Chrissy. I figure you got what you always wanted. To be someone.”

She looked away from his taut, exciting face. The old Mitch had been so sweet, so carefree. “If you feel this bad I shouldn’t visit.”

He responded with a decided edge in his voice. “Listen, Chris, we might hate each other, but Mum loves you, and my mother is very dear to me. If she wants you to visit, I want you to visit. I swear I’ll be on my best behaviour, no matter how great the effort.”

“That might present a few problems.” Even so she knew nothing would stop her.

“A dilemma.” His agreement came swiftly.

“And to think I brought you home a present.” She had searched for something to please him.

“I swear I won’t open it.”

“Then you can burn the damned thing. Really, Mitch, I don’t mind.”

“Such a world of sorrow in a dead love!” he lamented. “Some heroine you were! Remember, I was your knight? I was going to save you from the fire-breathing dragon. Or dragoness. Your grandmother. Well, now she’s gone.”

“Poor Gran,” Christine said. “No one mourns her.”

“That would be kind of silly, wouldn’t it? She hurt so many people.”

“Of course she did.” Even now Mitch didn’t know the whole truth.

“Let’s forget Ruth, even if it is her wake. How long are you staying?”

“I’ve got nothing to hurry back to.” She wasn’t about to tell him her career had palled. Just how many designer outfits could she continue to get in and out of? How many more photographic shoots could she bear? Freezing in summer clothes in the middle of winter! That might get a cruel laugh. The old Mitch had never been cruel.

He just looked at her. “What does that mean?”

“It seems to me I’ve worked long and hard enough to deserve a holiday.” She did her best to sound casual.

“Aren’t you worried they might find a fresh face, in the meantime, a great body to match it?”

“No.” She answered with truth. “To become a top model wasn’t the reason I ran off.”

His expression was downright scornful. “Chrissy, you amaze me! I distinctly remember your saying that was all you were good for, and it was so patently untrue. It wasn’t just Kyall who shone at school. You did too. Though I know apart from Kyall and your father the rest of your family took no damned notice. You could have been anything you wanted to be. I’d have waited.”

“No, you wouldn’t!”

That burst from her, and she couldn’t call the fiery taunt back. It was her first show of anger, the first indication he was getting to her. By sheer force of will she pulled back.

“You had to have what you wanted,” she said bleakly. “It just so happened you wanted me all gift-wrapped and home-delivered. But I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t breathe. Not in my own home. Not anywhere. I was too stressed out, mentally and emotionally. You didn’t really understand. How could you? You come from a happy, loving family, full of respect and mutual admiration. You were born self-confident, sure of your place in the world. I was pretty well abandoned, just like poor Suzanne. I’ve got to do something for her.”

“Thank God she’s too short to move into the modelling world,” he retorted brutally, out of a kind of bewilderment and grief.

“You didn’t have to say that.”

‘No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. Anyway, you saved me from having a real guilt trip about not being supportive enough.”

“We were too young to get married, Mitch.” She turned her palms up helplessly, her beautiful face imploring.

“I wish my memory of it was that good.” Bitterly he concentrated on her hands, not the powerful seduction of her face. That too was a mistake. He remembered how those long fingers had felt on his skin, the way she’d used them to excite him. “Like a fool, I thought you were as madly in love with me as I was with you. You could have warned me. In those days I must have been a total dolt.”

She laughed aloud. Not out of humour. “You may not want to hear this, but, yes, you were. It was important for me to find myself. I was so immature, dependent. I couldn’t rush into marriage.”

“Very wise,” he returned acidly. “Maybe you’d be kind enough to tell me—have you found yourself now?”

“Have you?” They were two beats away from a first-class public row.

“I don’t know what I needed to find,” he answered, his voice cool and cutting. “I thought I had you. We could have taken it slowly if that was what you wanted.”

“Slowly? We were mad for each other. We made love all the time. You couldn’t wait to have me. We were bits of kids and you were pushing for marriage.”

“Weren’t you?” he asked, half savagely. “How many times did you tell me that? You couldn’t stand not being with me. You were sad and angry all the time we were apart. Was that all lies.”

“Not lies,” she muttered with quiet desperation. “I was afraid, Mitch. I had problems. I couldn’t face them at home. I had to get away. I had to be separate from my mother and grandmother. Even from you. Like I said, I had to find myself.”

“I understand a lot, Chrissy. I was there. But you had my proposal of marriage. My first and my only. I would have done anything for you. Protected you. Loved you. But you said no. That was your decision. I suppose I should say thank you for it now, but at the time it wasn’t good for a guy’s ego.”

“Not one as big as yours, Mitch Claydon—Golden Boy.” She gave him the full battery of her hostile sapphire eyes.

“What you see is what you get.” To her utter surprise he laughed. He knew of old how she used her eyes as weapons. “Now, a few people are looking our way. I don’t think this is the day for us to show animosity towards one another, is it, Chrissy? I’m a man who enjoys a peaceful life.”

“Pity you can’t get it.” She averted her head to acknowledge a departing mourner.

“Not with you around, old chum!”

“Is that what we were?” Her reaction was to stare back in open challenge. “Chums? Even when we were best friends we used to fight.”

“And forget it the next minute. We couldn’t stand to fall out.”

“I feel pretty much the same now,” she said. Mitch, with his golden mop of hair and star-spangled eyes. He had been such a handsome, engaging boy, full of vitality and high spirits. He wasn’t that Mitch any more. “I haven’t come back to upset you, Mitch.”

“Are you sure?” His voice seared.

“I’m sure.” Little ripples of excitement chased themselves down her spine, sliding over bone and muscle, reaching her legs. Excitement had always been part of their relationship.

“That’s good, because as it turns out you can’t,” he informed her. “Losing you taught me a lot, Chrissy. It wasn’t a pleasant episode in my life but it was a valuable lesson all the same. I’m damned if I’ll ever pay homage to you again.”

“When did I ever ask for it?”

“Every goddamn time you were in my arms.” Mindful of where they were, he let his voice remain low, but it was freighted with anger.

“I loved you, Mitch.” She turned her face up to his, her beautiful skin a perfect foil for the black sombreness of her outfit.

“In a pig’s eye you did,” he retorted crudely, looking at her with open disgust.

She knew she turned pale. “How can I possibly visit Marjimba with you there?”

“Hell, Chrissy, I’ll make sure we’re not alone together.” He so desperately wanted to grab her, carry her off. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Today we’re just clarifying the situation. Don’t ever give me the ‘I loved you’ bit. I fell for it once. I won’t again. Just telling you makes me feel better. I’ll be sociable when you visit. There’s no end to the things I’ll do for my mother. She always did have a soft spot for you, so please do accept her invitation.”

“In that case I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” She drew a deep, steadying breath, feeling his condemnation like a spear in the heart. “I can see hugs and kisses are clearly out of the question, so take my hand,” she said with determined civility.

For an instant it seemed he would refuse. “People are watching, Mitch. You’re one of the good old boys, remember?”

He hesitated again, taut and afraid, before he wrapped his strong golden-brown fingers around hers.

Electricity crackled, spat, burned. They might have been alone in a room where everyone else had vanished in a puff of smoke.

A great deep thrust of primitive desire slammed into his body. She had known that was going to happen. He broke contact immediately, his callused hands feeling seared. Had he really thought anything could change? He couldn’t control this. He’d wanted her then. He wanted her now. Beyond that ever more aching want.

Hell, what a sorry plight!




CHAPTER TWO


CHRISTINE’S family were at dinner after what had been, all in all, an extraordinarily upsetting day. It was strange to see her mother take pride of place in her grandmother’s huge carver chair at the head of the long antique table. Both of them small women, somehow her grandmother had dominated the large space, whereas her mother looked as if her feet dangled clear off the ground.

For once her father occupied the elaborately carved mahogany carver at the other end, having been asked by Kyall to do so. “Take your rightful place, Dad,” Kyall urged as they all went to sit down in the places Ruth McQueen had allotted them in her lifetime. “You’re head of the family. Everything about the way Gran treated you was terrible.”

His mother, ever one to hide her head in the sand, gasped aloud. “Kyall, how can you possibly say that?”

“Because it’s true, Mum,” he responded bluntly. “I’m sorry if that word isn’t in your dictionary.”

“Really, Kyall, it doesn’t matter,” Max intervened.

“It does matter, Dad.” At the end of this long strange day, Kyall’s normally controlled temper was at flashpoint. “I think we can stop all this stupid business of Kyall McQueen as well. I’m your son, Dad. I love you. I’m a Reardon.”

“Bravo!” Christine dared to put her hands together. “Then you can acknowledge I’m your sister as well.”

“Don’t be silly, Chris.”

“Don’t take it personally.” She smiled at him. “You had nothing to do with it. It was Gran and Mum.”

Enid looked angrily towards her daughter. “Excuse me, Christine, but your father and I agreed Kyall would be christened Kyall Reardon-McQueen. Didn’t we, dear?” Enid appealed to her husband as a good solid mate should.

“We did.” Max looked back down the table at her. “We didn’t plan on the Reardon being dropped, though, did we?” he pointed out gently.

“It was the town.” Enid picked up her wine glass. “The double-barrelled name was too much of a mouthful.”

“And God forbid the town should have dropped the McQueen.” Christine rolled her eyes at her brother. “After all, the McQueens own it.”

“Why is it that you always start something, Christine?” Enid asked, her cheeks flushed a dull red. “You’re only just home and you’re—”

“Leave her alone, Enid,” Max said, his handsome face composed into firm lines.

Enid’s hand, mid-way to her wine glass again, froze. “Sometimes, Max, you act like I’m not Christine’s mother,” she complained. “I’ve spent the last twenty-eight years of my life being anxious about her.”

“I wonder why, Mum?” Kyall asked bleakly. “Chris has made a big success of herself, yet you and Gran spent your time trying to convince her she was an oddity, all long arms and legs. Don’t you know how cruel the two of you were to her?”

“Please, Kyall,” implored Christine, who had inherited much of her father’s peacemaker manner. “Let it drop. We’re all upset.”

“I certainly am,” Enid huffed, secure in the mistaken belief she had taken her responsibilities as a mother seriously. “My mother has only just been buried. Did any of you notice?”

“I don’t know that burying Gran is enough for me,” Kyall said with black humour. “It’s not as though she can stop off at the pearly gates. But I’m sure she’ll work out a deal at the dark end of town.”

“Kyall!” Enid’s face was shocked. “That’s dreadful!”

“Maybe, but I don’t like her chances of going to heaven.”

“If there is such a place,” Enid responded tartly. “It seems to me we make our heaven and hell here.”



Kyall and Max went off to the library. Suzanne made a quick escape to her room. And Enid signalled by an imperious gesture of her right forefinger that she wished to speak to her only daughter.

“What do you make of Suzanne?” she asked in a worried tone of voice when they were seated in Enid’s spacious study, door shut.

“Make of her? Gosh, Mum, why throw that at me? Suzanne’s family. I mean, is that any way to put it?”

“You’ve got a better way?” Enid asked, looking as if she very much wanted to hear it.

“Keep that tone up, Mum, and I’m ready to leave,” Christine promised wryly, thinking that whenever she came into contact with her mother there was confrontation.

“Good grief, Christine, I don’t want any arguments.” Enid looked genuinely victimized. “I never know how to talk to you; you’re so different.”

“That’s why I stay away.” Christine stared around the room, cluttered with trophies and photographs of her brother. She and Kyall were so alike, but being a female was her stumbling block. It was splendid to be a male of six foot plus. Problematic in a female. For years she’d been made so self-conscious it had been all she could do to cross a room without stumbling over the furniture.

“I understood you stayed away because of your grandmother.” Enid pressed back in her comfortable armchair. “God knows, she gave us all hell—but things are different now. I want to do the best I possibly can for you, and for Suzanne. She is, after all, Stewie’s child. I loved my brother. We were such lonely, largely ignored children.”

Christine, never the daughter her mother had wanted, laughed. “Join the group. Let’s face it, Mum, beside Kyall I wasn’t worth paying any attention to. Kyall was everything. It should have made him unbearable, but it didn’t turn out that way. He’s a good man. He deserves his Sarah. As for me, I was judged exclusively on my looks. I wasn’t the lovely little doll you wanted.”

“You had no interest in clothes.” Her mother made the charge as though it were important. “Except boys’ shirts and jodhpurs. I was worried you might have ‘problems’. Why, after all this time, have you decided to tackle me about it?”

“Maybe I’m trying to work off my own hurt and angry feelings, Mum. You gave me a terrible image of myself. It took me years before I could believe what everyone else was telling me. I’m among the best in the business.”

“My dear Christine, you look fine. Is that what you want to hear? Because it’s perfectly true. At thirteen, fourteen and the rest that was far from the case. You slumped badly. I was very worried about your height and your posture. I didn’t know when you were going to stop growing. That’s the first thing people notice when they meet you for the first time. Your height. And you will wear ludicrously high heels.”

“I’ve come to terms with my height, Mum. Why can’t you? It’s so trivial, anyway. I hope there’s a whole lot more to me than my looks. They don’t last forever.”

“True.” Enid smoothed her thick, glossy dark hair, which she persisted in wearing too short. “I try to do the best I can. I was never a beauty, like Mother, but I do look good when I dress up. At any rate I won your father’s heart.”

“Oh, Mum…” Christine, who loved her father dearly and was aware of his unhappiness, almost moaned. “Isn’t it time for you to make it up to Dad? He’s never had an easy time, with Gran running everyone’s life. Why don’t you two go on a world trip? Have a second honeymoon? You’ve heard of a honeymoon, haven’t you?”

“Is there something you’re trying to tell me, Christine?” Enid demanded indignantly. A few odd remarks had come to her ears of late, but she hadn’t paid much attention. Her marriage vows were set in stone as far as Enid was concerned.

Christine tried a gentle warning. “There’s just so much you can do to make things better. A lot depends on how you act from now on.”

“Are you trying to tell me your father isn’t happy?” Enid enunciated, very clearly. “That he might leave me? That isn’t his style,” she scoffed.

“You have to give him that.” Christine sighed. “But there’s no way you can guarantee the future. All I’m saying is, this is yours and Dad’s chance at a new life. How is Kyall’s marriage going to affect you? Sarah will be mistress of Wunnamurra. You were never very kind to Sarah either. She had to live with that for years. All the snobbery!”

“Sarah has forgiven me.” Enid stirred restlessly, wanting to bury her part in Sarah’s traumas. “And Kyall will still need us to help run the station. Your father and I are very involved in every aspect of the operation.”

“Kyall could easily employ staff if you wanted to do something else,” Christine suggested.

“Naturally we want to stay here. This is my home, Christine.” Enid adopted a fervent tone. “I was born here. I don’t think I could bear to leave it.”

“How does Dad feel? How does Kyall feel? And Sarah’s viewpoint is very important.”

“We haven’t discussed it.” Enid rose as if to signify that this oppressive, unwieldy conversation was coming to an end. “And you, Christine? I’m only your mother, but may I ask your plans?”

Christine lifted her dark head. “Well, I can’t say this is my home, Mum, now, can I? Any more than I can see it as poor little Suzy’s home. You’re not about to let go, are you?”

So unexpectedly challenged, Enid looked down at her daughter with a mixture of astonishment and disapproval. “Christine, you’re meddling in matters that don’t concern you. You know as well as I do Sarah is head of the hospital. That will take up all her time.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you? Things change.”

“I don’t intend to discuss it with you. You’ve never involved yourself with the running of Wunnamurra. You left the first moment you could, and I very much doubt if, for all your travels and the glamorous people you’ve mixed with, you’ve met anyone who could measure up to Mitchell Claydon. You were very foolish there, Christine. Very headstrong. You actually had Mitchell in the palm of your hand—the entire Claydon family was on side. Even mother approved the match—such a relief—but you flung it all away. For what?”

“The word’s freedom, Mum,” Christine said quietly. “Until you begin to take a long, hard look at yourself you’ll never understand that. Or me.”

“And I’ve got something to tell you, dear,” Enid retorted acerbically, well used to having the last word. “There’s a very good chance Mitchell will never forgive you.”

Christine laughed wryly. “Whenever I need comfort, Mum, I come to you. Actually, Julanne has asked me over for a visit.”

“When was this?” Enid’s dark eyes fired with interest.

“Today.”

“Then you’ll have to go,” Enid said, feeling a wave of maternal hope. Her daughter simply had no idea how she worried about her future. “Mitchell may not have lost all feeling for you after all. Though he’s got plenty of girls after him. That silly little Amanda Logan, for one. Throwing herself at him the last time I saw them together. Can’t say I blame her. Mitchell is quite a catch. My advice to you is to try and get yourself together. Decide what you want out of life. This may be your very last chance.”

Though Christine hated to agree with her mother, it seemed all at once that it was.



Kyall stopped her in the entrance hall, where masses of long-stemmed scarlet roses sat on the circular rosewood library table. Their perfume was a real force.

“Fancy an early-morning ride?” Kyall’s smile was full of sweetness and affection.

“What time do I need to get up?” she joked.

“Six okay for you, or are you played out?”

“It’s not as though I cried buckets at the funeral.” She made a sad face.

“No.” His own expression grew bleak.

“And what’s the big secret you’ve all been keeping from me?” She looked steadily into his eyes. “I know there is one. There’s more to be told than the miracle of finding your beautiful daughter, Kyall.”

“Of course there is, but I won’t lay it on you now.”

“My God, that bad? Gran probably had a hand in it.”

Kyall shook his head quickly, as if he couldn’t bear to discuss it then. “I can’t wait for you to meet Fiona.”

She touched her brother’s cheek very gently. “I’m counting the days until I do. My niece. I couldn’t be more thrilled for you and Sarah, Kyall. For our family.”

“You’ll love her, Chris,” Kyall promised. “And she’ll love you. She’s the very image of Sarah, just as we told you.”

“And when am I to hear the whole story?”

“Tomorrow,” Kyall promised. “We’ll ride out around six. Have breakfast together when we come back.” He took his sister’s face in his hands, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “It’s wonderful to have you back, Chris. I’ve hated the way you moved out of our lives. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve missed saying your name.”

“I’ve missed you too, Kyall.” Her answering smile was misty.

“We’ve both had a hard time.” He dropped his hands slowly. “It only takes one person in a family to inflict emotional wounds. That one person in ours was Gran. Her power and influence had a devastating effect on us all. Anyway…” He sighed heavily. “Now she’s gone we can work all our problems through. What I’d really like to know is how did you go with Mitch? I couldn’t help noticing that you were very engrossed in each other.”

Christine gave a short unhappy laugh. “Mitch is never going to forgive me.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “I can understand more than most how he feels. You were always together, then you went away. Though I realize you had to make that decision.”

“Tell that to Mitch,” she said dismally.

“Do you think I haven’t? Mitch is my best friend. We’ve talked a lot about it, but when you’re in so much emotional pain it’s difficult to achieve objectivity. Everything seemed plain sailing for poor old Mitch. The two of you were going to get married eventually. You were born for each other. Born to live your lives together. You were so much in love.”

“As close as you and Sarah.”

“Both of you left and both of us kind of died,” Kyall responded with deep, remembered feeling.

“You had relationships.”

“Neither of us would deny it. We’re human. But Sarah is and always will be the love of my life.”

“I haven’t found anyone to replace Mitch either,” she confessed.

“You must have had lots of guys wanting a relationship?” Kyall considered, looking at his beautiful sister.

“I can’t commit.” She made a slight frustrated sound. “Deep down I can’t forget Mitch any more than you could forget Sarah. We’re alike in that way, the two of us. Single-minded.”

“It can make things very hard at times.” Kyall pondered. He stared down at his sister, deciding with pride she was stunning. The eyes, the mouth, the skin, the beautiful bone structure revealed by the way she had scraped her long dark mane back into a thick braid, just like she’d used to wear her hair when she was younger. But beyond all that it was a brave face. The face of a young woman who had made her own way in life. “I pray it’ll all end well, Chris. I want you to be happy. Mitch too. Both of you are very important to me. It would be wonderful if you could settle back into this life. But you have to contend with the fact Mitch is part of the land like me.”

“Do you think I haven’t taken that into account?” she answered gravely. “The land is your life. Fully and wholly. Perhaps for Mitch even more than for you. You’ve taken on so many business interests. Suppose I tell you I’ve missed my Outback home terribly. I’m like the rest of the ex-pats. I have to have Vegemite on my toast and burn a few gum leaves now and again just to recapture the scent of the bush. But you’re a man, Kyall. That was and remains the big issue. You’ve inherited Wunnamurra. I was kept out of it.”

“Would you want to run it?” he asked, prepared to extend to her all the sharing she needed.

“No.” She laughed and shook her head. “Too much back-breaking work. That’s your job, but I reckon I could help. I’ve been very good with handling my money. Among my peers I’m considered pretty smart.”

“You won’t get an argument from me.” He flashed a smile nearly identical to her own. “Listen, I’d love you to stay, Chris. You could take your rightful place. I have more irons in the fire than even you know. We’ve diversified a great deal more over the past six or seven years. We’ve moved into speciality foods and wine. We bought out Beauview Station in the Clare Valley, poured a lot of money into it, secured the services of a great wine maker. You’ll have to see it. Now you’re home I’d like to fill you in about the family holdings. I could find a nice little place for you on a board or two. I’m certain you’ve got a head for it. You should really know all about the family assets. You’re my sister.”

“And I’ve remained in the dark too long. I’d love to learn all about McQueen Enterprises. I guess that’s one reason you’re stuck with the name.” Christine considered that fact seriously. “To the Outback and the business world you are McQueen.”

Kyall grimaced. “It’s just that I feel guilty about Dad and his feelings.”

“You know Dad,” she said. “He’s accepted it. He knows the difficulties. He knows you love him. And we’re living proof of him. We have his smile, his height, and his beautiful blue eyes. It’s Mum who doesn’t fully appreciate his worth.”

“Then she might have a problem.” Kyall put his arm around his sister’s shoulders as they began to walk up the staircase.

Christine shot him a worried look.

“Dad’s seeing someone else, Chris.”

“Oh, God!” Why wasn’t she surprised? “Mum would die if he left her.”

“Ah, well! Mum’s been acting like they’re sister and brother instead of husband and wife. They have separate suites. She doesn’t push him away, and I’m fairly sure she loves him in her own way, but she doesn’t go out of her way to please him, if you know what I mean. There are plenty of women in the town who would love to have a little flutter with Dad. But he’s very careful about things like that. I think, given the situation, he’s been extraordinarily faithful, but he hasn’t had much of a life. With someone refined and discreet it’s another matter.”

“Oh, God!” Christine repeated on a soft wail. Although situations like this were commonplace, she hadn’t expected it to strike home. If her mother found out about another woman could she deal with it?

Christine didn’t think so.



Several days later she stood on Wunnamurra’s broad verandah, shielding her eyes from the brilliant light of the sun. She was waiting for Mitch to arrive, to fly her to Marjimba, having detailed one of the station hands to drive him from the airstrip to the homestead. She’d timed her visit to Marjimba to coincide with Kyall’s flight to Sydney.

His was a combined exercise—returning Suzanne to her boarding school and meeting with some new financial people—merchant bankers—McQueen Enterprises was considering dealing with.

There’d been some heart-wrenching moments an hour earlier when she’d seen Suzanne off. Suzanne had trudged down the front steps, her vision wavering with tears. The sight had upset Christine so much she’d found she had to hold back on her own.

“I hate school.” Suzanne had allowed the words to burst from her lips immediately they were underway in the Jeep.

“Sweetheart, just about everyone hates school.” Christine, at the driving wheel, gave her a sympathetic glance, “But you haven’t got much longer to go. Then it’ll be all over.”

“It’s been hell trying to hide how I feel. Everyone feels sorry for you for a while, then they forget. They have no idea what it’s like to lose your parents. You really do love me, don’t you, Chris?” Suzanne sent her cousin such an appealing look it would have melted stone.

“Hey, of course I love you.” Christine reached out her left hand to squeeze her cousin’s delicate shoulder. “You’re my little cousin. I’m only sorry I haven’t been around for you, so we could get to know each other much better and have some fun. But there’s the rest of our lives. Soon you’ll be free to launch yourself on the next exciting stage of your life. And I’ll be there to help.”

Suzanne shook her head plaintively. “I wish! But you fly off overseas all the time.”

“I’m considering staying put.”

“Are you serious?” Suzanne sounded amazed and delighted.

“Would I lie to you?”

“Actually…no.” Suzanne smiled for the first time that morning. “But what about your modelling? Don’t you have to give notice or something?”

“No, sweetie. I don’t want you to talk about this—it’s a secret for the time being—but I’ve been giving serious consideration to getting out of the business.”

“When you’re so hot?”

Christine laughed. “I’ve had quite a few years on the catwalks and magazine covers. It’s not as glamorous as you think.”

“But don’t you make tons of money?”

Christine turned her head in amusement. “Aren’t you the one who said as a family we’ve all got too much? I don’t usually dish out clichés, but money can’t buy love and happiness, kiddo. And that’s what I want for you.”

“I could be happy if you stayed,” Suzanne confided. “But what would you do?” she asked with the greatest interest. “You’ve been so famous. All my girlfriends think you’re gorgeous.”

“I work at it.” Christine smiled. “Genes and a good dose of self-discipline. I’ve been thinking I might become a businesswoman.” She slowed the Jeep as they approached the airstrip. “I have a good head on my shoulders. Kyall wants to teach me the business.”

“Oh, that would be great!” Suzanne’s soft grey eyes were huge. “You’d stay home in Australia?”

“Those are my thoughts, sweetie. I like the idea of being around for you too. And there’s Fiona. I just know you two girls are going to hit if off wonderfully.”

Minutes later Suzanne was waving happily from inside the King Air while Kyall took the opportunity to have a few parting words with his sister.

“Well, there’s a change. Suzy actually looks happy. What did you say?”

“I promised her I’m going to be around for her. She needs family badly. She’s still in terrible pain from losing her parents.”

“Of course she is, poor little mite. But how you’re going to be around for her is the burning question, given your career.”

“You’ve offered me options, brother.” She smiled into his eyes, relishing the fact he was taller. “At this point I might be ready to start another career.”

“Anything that keeps you home suits me. What’s more, you have a very good chance of landing our good friend Mitch.”

“My now-or-never chance,” she said wryly.

“Make the most of it,” Kyall urged.

“I will.” She held up her face for his kiss.

“You two were meant for each other.” Kyall’s eyes were serious. “Say hello for me.”

“Will do.”



Mitch arrived looking like the hero of some Western movie. The one who always got the girl. Irrevocably sunny-natured, with that golden shock of hair, changeable sea-coloured eyes, bold and sparkling against the smooth golden tan, and the irresistible flash of beautiful white teeth.

“Hi!” he called, slamming the door of the open Jeep and sauntering jauntily towards the homestead verandah. He’d promised himself he’d do his level best to be friendly, but he knew he’d have to work hard at it.

“Hi, yourself!” Christine had deliberately posed herself against twin white columns, trying for a touch of humour to break down the expected tensions. After all, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Indeed, it seemed they would never get back onto their old footing. Such was the price of her defection.

“Chris, you break my heart!” he responded pleasantly, sweeping off his cream akubra and holding it on cue to his chest. “You’re so beautiful, so hot, so sexy! Pity I’m not a photographer.” That came out a bit too dryly.

“That’s okay. I did dress up a bit, but not in a huge way. Like the outfit?”

“Love it.” He ambled up onto the verandah as she broke her pose. “Prairie style, is it?” he asked with mock interest.

“Say, that’s knowledgeable.” She stared down at herself. She wore jeans with a very feminine cream cotton and lace blouse, and a fancy turquoise buckled belt around her narrow waist. “How did you know?”

He allowed himself a slight laugh, though the sight of her had sharpened his nerves. “Mum has a magazine with you in it looking like some glorious frontier woman, dressed in long suede skirts and high leather boots, with big wide belts and lots of lace and pretty puffed sleeves. Did they know you can ride like the wind?”

“Didn’t you notice the one of me on the galloping horse?”

“Hell, I must have missed it.” His eyes were sardonic. “I loved the one where you were sitting under a tree strumming a guitar. Nice combination—Victorian blouse, tight sexy jeans and leather boots. But I happen to know you can’t play the guitar.”

“All right, so you can.”

“Multi-talented, that’s me.” He leaned back against a column, still studying her. She was so beautiful. But there was a wall between them he couldn’t get around or over. Nevertheless, he was determined to keep to his promise to be sociable. “Remember that stage I went through of trying to yodel?” he asked.

“I remember the falsetto.” She turned a smiling face to him, her expression soft and dreamy.

“So why did you keep telling me I could have made it big?”

“As a busker.” In fact she’d loved him crooning to her in his smooth melodious voice, her limbs curling up with pleasure. “Mum doesn’t want you to leave until you have morning tea.”

“I hate morning tea.” He mouthed the words.

“Never mind. There are some things a guy’s gotta do. Come inside. It’s all set up in the garden room. It’s abloom at the moment, with some of Mum’s spectacular plants.”

“This I’ve got to see.” He spoke smoothly. It was a good thing she couldn’t hear his pounding heart.

Enid, her fine dark eyes full of bright curiosity, was waiting for them in the double-storeyed light-filled room Ewan McQueen, Christine’s grandfather, had built onto the rear of the main house in the early days of his marriage to Ruth.

It was a striking room, distinguished by such an array of exotic plants one had the feeling of being enclosed in a sub-tropical garden. Palms soared, along with golden canes, banana trees, tree ferns, orchids, bromeliads, all kinds of lilium—white, cream, yellow, orange, shocking pink and purple—waxy, highly scented gardenias, colourful pelargoniums, and every variety of philodendron, some with enormous deeply lobed leaves. Everything was grown in pots, and the temperature of the room was controlled by air-conditioning.

As if that weren’t enough, Mitch thought wryly, a large Victorian wrought-iron central fountain had been installed, presenting the spectacle and sound of abundant water on the desert fringe. The sparkling emerald green surface was the perfect background for a flotilla of luxuriant creamy-white water lilies.

At home with the McQueens! They sure knew how to live. Whether some of them deserved it was another matter. His homestead at Marjimba, though big and pleasing, was no possible match for this. Wunnamurra homestead was regarded as one of the finest in the country, and was a showpiece; its rooms were filled with marvellous antiques, the walls aglow with paintings worth a fortune, Chinese porcelains and jade in cabinets, Oriental screens and rugs. You name it, some collector in the family had acquired it. It had been rumoured at one time that Ruth McQueen had an Egyptian mummy secreted away some place. Ruby Hall, Koomera Crossing’s resident sticky beak, had blabbed it. He believed that as much as he believed pigs could fly.

“Mitchell, dear!” Enid called to him in a cultured voice that always managed to sound patronising to his ears. “It’s so nice of your mother to invite Christine over.”

Poor, problematic Christine, he thought, with ongoing resentment towards Christine’s autocratic mother. His own home had been more of a shelter and a haven to Christine than this mansion had ever been.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Enid rose from behind a long glass-topped table, extending her hand like royalty.

“How are you, Enid?” He took it gallantly. His mother was big on manners.

She seemed to search his face for something. He wasn’t sure what. “Well, I’m doing my best.” She sucked in her cheeks. “I miss Mother terribly, of course, but I can’t let the rest of the family down. I want this to be a peaceful time for Christine whilst she’s here.”

“So how long is that to be?” He half turned, caught Christine’s eye, his expression as sardonic as hers.

“Just until Mum decides to kick me out.” Christine rocked on her boot heels, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

“Christine, the things you say!” Enid looked exasperated. “You know I hate it when you go away.”

Christine smiled broadly. “Gosh, Mum, I’ve never noticed.”

Enid waved a hand at her. “Darling girl, must we air our differences with Mitchell here?”

“He won’t stand up for me.” She shot Mitch a swift, challenging look.

“You can stand up for yourself,” he returned coolly.

“True.”

“I had such high hopes for you two,” Enid went on to reveal. “To my mind you’re perfect husband material, Mitchell.”

“Pity Chris didn’t think so,” he answered carelessly, as though it no longer mattered. “If she had, life would have taken a different turn—wouldn’t it, Chrissy?” He glanced at her with light mockery.

“I expect we’d have six or seven kids by now.”

“I guess so.” He didn’t smile, suddenly busy trying to steer out of the rapids.

“You were just too foolish, Christine.” Enid shook her head in censure.

“So why isn’t anyone desperate to marry you, Mitch?” Christine retaliated, meeting his extraordinary eyes.

“Chrissy, darling, you’re way behind the times,” he drawled. “Some very nice girls indeed are in the running.”

“Annie Oakley out there?”

“There was a time you worked hard at being that, Christine,” Enid reminded her. “The arguments we had, trying to get you to put on a dress. Let alone a bit of make-up. Now you’re plastered with it.”

Christine turned her head towards her mother in mild astonishment. “I wear very little make-up away from the camera, Mum. I’m not wearing much now.”

“In your job, I mean.” Enid clucked. “You could hardly call it a profession. I’ll be so pleased when you’re out of it. We all know the dangers. Now…come sit down, Mitchell, dear. I’m sure there’s something you’ll love here. All freshly baked in your honour. Christine, be a good girl and check if the tea’s ready.”

“Sure. I’ll nip out to the kitchen right now. You keep Mitch entertained.”

“There are just no words to describe my daughter!” Enid gave Mitch a half-pained, half-conspiratorial look, staring after the tall, incredibly elegant Christine as she glided out of the room. “How can we communicate properly when she’s always attempting to take a rise out of me?”

“I’m sure we love her all the same,” Mitch offered smoothly, staring at a beautiful, very showy orchid, its colours a combination of crimson, purple and pink. Wunnamurra had such an orchid right on its doorstep. Its name was Christine.



They had been airborne some twenty minutes when Mitch received the message that a vehicle was overturned on a bush road some forty plane-kilometres north-east of Wunnamurra station. Could he land and take a look at the scene? If there were critically injured people could he relay an immediate message to the Flying Doctor? If the occupants weren’t so bad could he fly them back to Koomera Crossing, where an ambulance and a crew from the Bush Hospital would be waiting?

“Never a dull moment!” Mitch remarked, shooting Christine a keen look. “I’ll drop altitude. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Christine nodded, anxious to do all she could.

They had no difficulty finding the site. On a straight stretch of road the vehicle, a four-wheel drive, had come to grief.

“Thank God the wind is in the right direction,” Mitch remarked, peering down at the rugged red landscape.

“You’re going to attempt to land?” Christine too stared down at the vast plains that shimmered away to the horizon.

Whirlwinds swayed and danced in the distance. The quivering mirage created an enticing chain of cool blue lagoons that many an explorer had trudged towards. Lakes that didn’t exist. Empty and remote, the Never Never wasn’t the best place to break down.

“I’ll circle. See what happens,” Mitch muttered. “If there’s no response from the ground I guess I’ll have to. The road should be just wide enough. At least we’ve got a good long straight stretch.”

“You don’t know the camber of the road,” she pointed out, her tone betraying her edginess.

“You’re not worried, are you?” He frowned, looking to her for a straight answer.

“No, Mitch. I’m as cool as a cucumber. Just like you. Of course I’m worried. There’s certain criteria for landing on a road, even a bush road with not a soul on it. There’s always a risk.”

“Chrissy, darling, spare a thought. I’m the pilot,” he said dryly. “Not you. I don’t estimate a high risk. Leave it to me. I’ve seen the Flying Doctor’s King Air—all five or six million dollars’ worth, and weighing a good five tons—land in the most amazing places. You’re talking skills. I’m not too bad myself.”

A modest understatement. Mitch was a very fine pilot; he had to be. She knew that.

Rule One when travelling in the Outback: wait with your vehicle.

As they circled the site to make any survivors of the accident aware, a woman suddenly lurched up from the scant shade of a stunted, lifeless-looking shrub, her whole body language showing her distress. She lifted both arms above her head to acknowledge them before pointing back to the vehicle, then cantered to one side to indicate the driver was unable to get out.





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