Cattle Baron Needs a Bride

by Margaret Way

  An undercurrent of friction was running between her and Garrick. They weren’t talking in a way, but they were nevertheless able to act their roles as a couple deeply in love in front of Helen and Daniel. Both were absolutely delighted that their plan to get Zara back on Coorango had worked so wonderfully well. The fallout had started when Garrick had demanded to know what had accounted for Sally’s fury. She had refused point-blank to discuss it. That hadn’t sat well with him.

  “Why are you always on your guard, Zara?”

  She had glimpsed the frustration in his eyes. But how could she bring up the enormously touchy subject of her mother’s premature death, let alone Sally’s claim that he had told her it had been suicide? Further, he had questioned her own mental and emotional stability.

  With Sally of all people! She had never met a more aggressive woman in her life. Even Leila, her stepmother, would never have resorted to any kind of physical violence. She planned on replacing the Meissen swan. She knew she would never be able to acquire another one like it, but she did have in her possession a lovely late eighteenth century Meissen porcelain basket with pierced sides, stalk handles and applied enamelled flowers. She knew Helen would love it, even though the last thing Helen would have wanted was for her to replace the swan. Maybe Sally, when she came to her senses, would think about doing something.

  Don’t count on it. But Sally was his fiancée. They would have talked. Of course they would. Didn’t the two of you talk for hours in those halcyon days together when mutual trust was implicit? Why not Sally? A lot of the talking would be done in bed. After sex, of course. No use denying that hurt. He told you himself he’d lost all faith in you. Sally would have made a very good listener. Why would a man keep secrets from the woman he was engaged to?

  Despite the voice that ran constantly in her head, she couldn’t allow that Garrick had spoken about her and her mother in that way. Visibly tormented, Sally had lashed out in malice.

  So why not tell him what she claimed? Clear it all up. Once and for all.

  She stayed for a couple of hours, transfixed by the exciting spectacle spread out beneath her. It was most apparent that helicopter mustering could be dangerous in certain circumstances, swooping in low for one, but she knew she had to overcome her nerves when she was watching Garrick in action, either on horseback or in the air. This was his life. Sooner than anyone wanted or had anticipated, Garrick would become master of Coorango. Daniel was keeping up a good front but they were all extremely worried about him. He had accepted Helen’s story about being struck on the temple by the heavy door knob. Only a few months before, one of the house girls had broken a bone in her foot when a porcelain door knob had come off in her hand and landed with some force on her instep.

  She had driven one of the station’s jeeps as far into the base of the escarpment as she could, then climbed on foot the rest of the way. It was no great distance, but a bit of a hike, especially in the heat. Going down was a lot easier. The choppers had landed. She knew the men would be taking a refreshing break—billy tea and the traditional damper with lots of home-made jam. Garrick had told her the night before that he would like her to join them. She hadn’t gone to his suite to spend the night. He hadn’t come down to hers.

  So, stalemate!

  Sally had done damage in more ways than one.

  She drove into the holding yard, where she was greeted by the loud lowing of the cattle already mustered and hand salutes and courteous doffing of Akubras from the stockmen enjoying the brief respite from back-breaking work. They were used to seeing her either riding or driving around the station although she never got anywhere near the perimeter or the desert fringe. That would have been more than a day’s drive and Garrick had told her to keep within easy striking distance of the home compound.

  By the time she was out of the jeep, he had joined her. “Thanks for coming by.” His Akubra was pushed down rakishly over his eyes.

  “You asked me to, didn’t you? Anyway, I wanted to come. I’ve always loved watching the muster. It’s so exciting a spectacle. Any chance of a cup of tea?”

  “Every chance,” he said, turning to signal to Jacky Pierce, the camp cook.

  A few minutes later and they were sitting in the shade of the wide spreading Red River Gums with their showy white summer flowering, sipping at mugs of billy tea with its distinctive flavour. “Oh, that tastes good!” Zara gave a sigh of pleasure. “Hot drink on a hot day, yet it cools you down!”

  “It sure does.” He had removed his pearl-grey Akubra, a very fine beading of sweat on his beautifully cut upper lip. She had an overwhelming desire to lick it off.

  “Going to have a slice of damper?” he asked. “I think you’d better try a small piece. Jacky is watching you out of the corner of his eye.”

  “Yes, I am going to,” she said. “I don’t need any encouragement. I know Jacky’s dampers.”

  “He’s actually a very good cook. His scones, biscuits and dampers are a big hit with the men. He even makes the jam.”

  She broke off a small piece and put it to her mouth. “I wouldn’t want to worry you, but I’m not much of a cook. In London, when we didn’t go out, Miranda did most of the cooking. She’s very good.”

  “An extremely efficient young woman. How are they?”

  Several emails were coming in every week. “Having a marvellous time. Our Miranda was the perfect choice for Corin. They complement one another beautifully. And she’s so clever!”

  “And we’re not?” He smiled. A pregnant pause. “I miss you.”

  She stared straight ahead to where a stockhorse was busy cropping over what little grass there was. “I miss you.”

  “We don’t talk like we used to.”

  “Could we ever talk like we used to again?” she asked, a melancholy note in her voice. She decided to risk it. “Did you ever talk to Sally about me? When you were engaged, that is?”

  His expression changed, hardened. “Ah, so now we’re getting to it. What did she say?”

  She expelled a quivery breath. “I don’t want to make you angry. Flying the chopper is a dangerous job. I worry about you, you know.”

  “I know you do,” he said. “But what will happen will happen, Zara,” he said sombrely. “Look at what happened to Dad. He virtually gave himself a death sentence, saving a fool jackeroo—who emerged with a broken collarbone and a few cracked ribs.”

  “You would have done the same,” she pointed out with a quiet shudder. “You look out for your people, just like your father. It’s inbred. I’m right about that, aren’t I?”

  He didn’t answer, but pinned her gaze. “So what did Sally say?”

  His polished skin seemed to have gone a deeper shade of golden bronze. It glowed. The blue of his eyes was startling. He looked stunningly vibrant and alive.

  “Come on, now. I’m not looking to upset you in any way. I’ll tell you this evening, if you still want me to. When you’ve finished work.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he said firmly. “Sounds like you think it’s going to put me in a really bad mood.”

  “Just so long as the bad mood isn’t directed at me. Sally did quite a bit of damage, one way and another. She created this undercurrent that’s running between us. Don’t deny it.”

  “Who said I was going to?” He tossed back the last of his tea. Most of the men had finished their tea break and were already on their feet, ready to resume work.

  Zara picked up her cream Akubra, adjusted it on her head. Her long hair was worn in a thick plait so the hat could sit more comfortably and more tightly. “I think I’ll get my hair cut,” she said. She had been thinking a side parted pageboy curving in under her chin. She had good thick hair to boost the style.

  He lifted one strong tanned hand, laid it down on her cotton-clad shoulder. “You’re joking!”

  “No law against a girl having her hair cut shorter, is there?” she challenged, staring into his eyes.

  “No law at all. But I don’t want you to. I l
ove your long hair. I love the way I can pull it all over my face like a scented silk veil. Very sexy. A woman’s hair is her crowning glory.”

  “You mean you’d fall out of love with me if I cut it short?” She gave him a little mocking smile.

  His answer had a faint rasp. “I’ll never fall out of love with you, no matter what you do.”

  “No need to make it sound like a life sentence.” She accepted his hand up.

  “Life is a mighty long time.” He gave her a twisted smile.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HELEN didn’t linger after dinner. “I’ll go and sit with Daniel,” she said. “Rolf will be back on Monday. He doesn’t want to stay on in Darwin any longer. He’s devoted to Daniel.”

  “He’s a seriously good bloke,” Garrick said. “I’ll look in on Dad to say goodnight.”

  “I won’t disturb him,” Zara said. “We finished our book. Both of us thoroughly enjoyed it. I think we’ll start on the next tomorrow.”

  Helen patted Zara’s shoulder as she passed. “Daniel loves your reading to him. You have a beautiful expressive speaking voice. So like Kathryn’s.”

  “No wonder Dad didn’t want to speak to me,” Zara shot back from the depth of her wounded heart. She hadn’t intended to say that. The words had released themselves as if they’d become unchained.

  “He’s no longer with us, Zara, dear,” Helen, no admirer of Dalton Rylance, pointed out with compassion. “Your life is your own. I’ll go up to my darling husband now. He never admits to it, but I know he’s in a lot of pain. He took a couple of extra painkillers on the quiet.” She tried to keep her tone level but the bleakness and intense worry seeped through.

  Worry, in fact, was tearing at all of them. Daniel appeared to be fading away in front of their eyes.

  They sat in the broad courtyard beneath a sky brilliantly encrusted with stars. The Southern Cross, with its four bright stars forming a distinctive Latin cross, was very easy to pick out. The Crux, revered in the Near East thousands of years before, had enormous significance in the cultures of the southern hemisphere. It appeared on any number of national flags—Australia, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, Samoa, as well as provincial flags of South American Chile and Argentina. It was also on the logo of the Brazilian soccer team.

  “Gauchos use it for night orientation in Patagonia and on the vast pampas,” Garrick said as Zara commented on the glittering brilliance of the red giant Gacrux at the top of the cross. “Strange to think it was last seen in the Near East at the time of the Crucifixion. We see it as a Christian symbol but our Aborigines have their own myths and legends. In the Red Centre the tribes see it as the great wedge-tailed eagle’s footprint.”

  “I like the one about Biami and Mirrabooka.” Zara smiled. “Remember, in the old days when we camped out under the stars you told me scores of the Aboriginal legends. “Biami the Sky God and the wise man Mirrabooka who so looked after the welfare of his people that Biami granted him eternal life so he could watch over them from the sky. That’s Mirrabooka up there in the sky, gazing down on us, Rick. The great Sky God Biami made it so. I think that’s lovely.” She lifted her long hair away from her neck, relishing the cool desert breeze on her nape. “All of us who live good lives will be taken into the Milky Way. Daniel has led an exemplary life. I don’t think my dad made it up there,” she said with a pang of sadness. As deeply as her father had hurt her, she couldn’t hate him. Hate twisted the soul. She wanted no part of hate.

  He studied her beautiful face, pearlescent in the soft exterior lights. “I think I’ve been patient enough. You might tell me now what drove Sally to pitching a beautiful and valuable ornament across the room. Childish is the word I’d have to use. Sounds like she’d better get help. I think Nick is having second thoughts about the woman he thought he loved.”

  “Who could blame him?” Zara sighed. “Would you want to be married to a woman who was in love with another man?”

  “You think I haven’t thought about it?” he rasped.

  “I know.” She nodded. “Sally is consumed with jealousy. How many crimes of passion can be put down to that? Doesn’t bear thinking about. I made the mistake of telling her we’ve discussed marriage. I did so because I felt provoked. She totally lost it.’

  “God, and what’s the rest?” Garrick knew there had to be more.

  “Isn’t that enough?” She looked across at his handsome face, taut with pressure.

  “Look, I can’t solve Sally’s problems, real or imaginary,” he said. “She has to work it all out for herself. Hopefully, Nick will help her. He knows it was all over between Sally and me a long time ago. He knows I love you.”

  “You could look a little more joyful when you say that.”

  A brief smile touched his mouth. “I’ll give you all the joy you could possibly want tonight.”

  She wasn’t going to deny him. She feared she needed him to keep functioning properly. Yet she said, “Our sexual relationship, Garrick, is quite wonderful. It always was. But sex, even great sex, can’t heal everything, can it?”

  “I suppose not. And healing appears to be in order. We have to expose the dark places to the light.”

  “I think so too. But I don’t want to bring up anything too problematic at the moment.”

  “There’s never a right time, Zara. Let’s hear it.”

  She experienced a sharp frisson of unease. “Did you tell Sally Draper my mother committed suicide?’

  “What?” Garrick leapt up in a single panther like spring. “God Zara, what a question.”

  “You did ask for it,” she pointed out very, very quietly. “Just a straight yes or no will do.”

  He stared down at her, a pulse beating away in his temple. “You talk about me having no faith in you. What sort of faith do you have in me?”

  “You still haven’t answered the question, Rick,” she replied.

  He sat down again, his tone firm and authoritative. “Zara, much as I love you, I refuse to be subjected to an interrogation. Can’t you find something good in me, apart from being good in bed?”

  “Words are such weapons!” She sighed. “I think the world of you, Rick. I’ve told myself over and over you would never do such a thing. But why would she say it?”

  “I would think that was obvious,” he said curtly. “To make you feel as much pain as possible. She’s hurting. Why should you be allowed to go scot-free? Envy is the same the world over. A woman’s beauty is greatly envied. Wealth is envied. You’ve got both. I’m very sorry about this, but it seems Sally is jealous to a truly sickening degree. As far as talking to her about your mother, the subject never arose. Nor would it. I hold your mother’s memory dear. You must know that. Even if it were true, and none of us know for certain, I wouldn’t dream of discussing it with anyone outside the people I love. I mean the people closest to me.”

  “But surely Sally was close to you at that time?” She sat very still, staring across at him. He had such a glamour to him—no wonder Sally was having the greatest difficulty putting the past behind her and concentrating on her future.

  He grimaced; now he was put on the spot. “In retrospect, she couldn’t have been,” he said with an element of self-disgust. “Even today, I don’t quite know how we got engaged.”

  “Mmm!” It wasn’t rocket science to arrive at the conclusion that Sally, with the coast clear, had gone all out to convince him she was the perfect choice for a wife. “What does mmm mean?”

  “It means, as a woman, I have my own view on how it happened. Which brings me to a matter of the highest magnitude. Your ex-fiancée told me you’d had serious doubts about my ability to carry out my duties as your wife. She said you feared I shared my mother’s unstable temperament. I was a femme fatale—her words—a hothouse flower—I was in no way suitable to share your way of life.”

  “Oh, how I do love women!” Garrick cried, thumping his dark head against the high-backed rattan chair as if it were a brick wall.

  “That’s not hard
to miss.” Her tone was dry.

  “I beg your pardon! I love you,” he answered flatly. “Believe Sally’s mad ramblings and you’ll believe anything. I don’t know what dirt Sally thinks she’s been able to dig up. She always presented as very bright and breezy, a thoroughly nice young woman—I’ve known her most of my life—but Sally had a darker side that used to pop out at the odd time. Let Sally get hold of a piece of juicy gossip and she was like a dog with a bone. Not my scene. I hate gossip. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a real sin to spread information that could very well be untrue. Anything else she had to say to hurt you?”

  “Well, she thought she was right on the money with this one,” Zara said crisply. “In time I’d realize I had made a bad mistake. And take off. Again. I’ll never live that one down.”

  “We have to relearn trust, Zara,” he said, his tone a little frayed.

  “And how do we make that happen?” She gazed back at him, all flawless magnolia skin and heavily lashed huge dark eyes.

  He thought those eyes held a world of sad accusation. “So we return to the whole terrible business of the letters?” he said soberly.

  “I don’t want to bring the subject up again, Rick.”

  “But it won’t go away, will it? Those letters are an emotional barrier. But they’re erected on your side.”

  That stung. “Why wouldn’t they be?” she said heatedly. “I know the way I left caused you rage and grief and frustration but, had you read even one—a miserable sentence—you might have understood my fears and taken them on board. Sally is right about one thing—I am a vulnerable woman. No getting away from it. But there are legitimate reasons for that. I had a desolate relationship with my father. Daddy issues, in the modern jargon, but I continued to love him. My stepmother, Leila, only added to my problems. You never did see that. Very cunning was Leila. I let it all spill out in my letters. But you had to go and burn them, which just goes to show what a state you were in.”