The Cattleman, The Baby and Me

by Michelle Douglas

  As if to imitate her, Harry leant back against Liam’s chest, nestled into him and closed his eyes. Liam’s heart expanded to fill the hole left inside him five years ago. A hole he’d spent the last five years trying to ignore.

  Belinda’s inability to fall pregnant had devastated him. He’d tried to hide it. He’d tried telling himself that it was the events that had occurred afterwards that had really torn his heart out. But he wondered now if that were true. Was it Belinda’s betrayal that had hurt him? Or the fact that he’d been denied a child—children—of his own?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LIAM slammed to a halt at the edge of the vegetable patch, stopped in his tracks by the sight of Sapphie pegging out washing. Strands of purple and green reached out to flick his arm from a nearby plumbago bush. Bees hummed and the sun shone down with cordial abandon.

  He recognised the shirt she’d worn when she’d arrived yesterday, moving gently on the line to the same rhythm as the plumbago. The shirt she’d said had been weed on and thrown up on. It had definitely showed evidence of both. Yesterday.

  But it wasn’t the sight of her newly washed shirt and jeans, but the tiny shorts and T-shirts pegged up beside them—ludicrously tiny—that brought him up short, that twisted his gut with such an unexpected cramp of longing he had to clench his hands and lock his knees to stay upright. And the nappies, those crazily coloured nappies, that flapped in the breeze, taunted him with all he didn’t have.

  Sapphie bent down to the washing basket and then straightened, her hair flashing gold and chestnut in the sun. He blinked. She was pegging out one of his workshirts!

  The world tilted. He gritted his teeth and forced it to right itself again, to set itself in the straight lines he’d fixed for it five years ago. It might all look like a picture of domestic bliss, but he knew it for what it was—an illusion. And he refused to be seduced by it.

  He dragged a hand down his face. In all fairness, Sapphie Thomas wasn’t trying to manipulate him. She might be struggling, but she hadn’t asked him for anything.

  It was clear she’d been landed with her sister’s child out of the blue. Two days. That was how long she’d said she’d known Harry. There was a story there, but he suspected she wasn’t ready to tell him what it was. There was no denying, however, that she was doing her best for Harry…and probably for her sister as well. He’d be struggling in her shoes too.

  A grin hit him. They should be blue suede shoes. That ridiculous dance of hers last night. She’d thrown herself into it with her whole heart. And in return she’d won Harry’s heart.

  That ache of his started up with renewed vengeance, and the knowledge that had been building in him ever since he’d held his nephew’s warm weight in his arms last night burst through him now.

  He wanted Harry as a part of his life. He wanted to plug the gaping hole left by Belinda’s betrayal. Liam’s hands clenched.

  He owed it to Lucas. He owed it to his entire family. Harry would heal more than just his heart. The blood pounded at his temples. Harry could help him make amends.

  He and Sapphie had to talk!

  ‘Hello, there.’

  He started, and found her staring at him, the now empty washing basket clasped against one hip. She must be on her way back to the house.

  She fingered her top button. ‘Hiding in the bushes?’

  ‘I was…uh…admiring the view.’

  She blinked. He smothered a curse and waved to the clothesline.

  She turned and then laughed. ‘Doesn’t it look wonderful?’

  Bright orange, lime-green, cobalt blue and hot purple nappies flapped like pennants.

  ‘Very festive,’ she pronounced, turning back.

  He forced himself forward—out of the bushes, so to speak. ‘It took me by…surprise.’

  He didn’t know what he’d said that was so funny, but her lips started to twitch. ‘You’re back early. Beattie said we wouldn’t see you till lunchtime.’

  ‘I wanted to check that you and Harry were okay.’

  ‘Absolutely! We slept like logs when we finally made it to bed. Did us the world of good too. We slept in till eight o’clock!’

  He found one corner of his mouth momentarily breaking free from its usual confines and hooking upwards. ‘Scandalous,’ he teased.

  ‘Hey, I know what hours you guys keep out here. You and Beattie would’ve been up at five or five-thirty.’

  ‘Yeah, but we’re getting ready for muster.’ She didn’t need to keep those hours.

  ‘Muster?’ Her eyes danced. ‘What fun.’

  The other corner of his mouth kicked up too. Muster was the busiest time of year. It was a logistical nightmare, chaotic, and at times dangerous. And, like most cattlemen, he loved it. Her grin told him she knew it too.

  It struck him then that Sapphie looked at home out here. More at home than Belinda had ever done. He rolled his shoulders, shoved his hands in his pockets. If Sapphie had spent time at Jarndirri then that would explain it.

  ‘Liam, about last night?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I just wanted to say how much I appreciated your help with Harry. I was at my wits’ end.’

  ‘It wasn’t a problem.’ And after his initial awkwardness it hadn’t been.

  He thought about her ridiculous dance, glanced at the coloured nappies flapping in the breeze and recalled the sense of well-being that had flooded him as he’d sung ‘Fernando’. He remembered the weight of his nephew resting against his chest. Something dead in him had come alive.

  And that something now noticed how a good night’s sleep in combination with the sun and fresh air had painted new colour into Sapphie’s cheeks. She had hair the colour of honey, and skin the colour of honeycomb. He found himself measuring the plump fullness of her bottom lip and wondering if she’d taste like honey too. Or peaches? That fragrance reached out to wrap around him now.

  Emerald eyes widened at whatever they saw reflected in his face. Those generous lips parted the merest fraction.

  If he…

  Green fire suddenly snapped out at him. Those lips formed a hard, tight line.

  He blinked.

  She backed up a step, pointed behind her, her gaze sliding away. ‘I, umm, should really go check on Harry. He went down for a nap right after breakfast and he’ll probably wake any moment now.’

  She turned and set off for the house. Fast. Beneath that oversized shirt of hers Liam could make out the outline of her backside. Something inside him stirred. He swung away with an oath. That was precisely why he didn’t want a woman here at Newarra.

  Trouble with a capital T.

  Sapphie clocked the exact moment Liam pushed his plate away. He’d be gone again soon, and then she could breathe easier again.

  ‘Thanks, Beattie, that hit the spot.’

  Beattie glanced up from loading the dishwasher. ‘Young Sapphie there’s the one you should be thanking. She insisted on taking care of lunch. She helped me with the baking this morning too. She’s a dab hand in the kitchen, she is.’

  When Liam turned his gaze to Sapphie, she did her best not to fidget. ‘Thank you, Sapphie.’

  She shrugged and wiped the Vegemite smears from Harry’s face and hands, tried to ignore the way Liam’s voice had lifted all the hairs on her arms. ‘It was nothing. Just a few sandwiches.’ She leapt to her feet. ‘I’d best fix Harry’s bottle and put him down for a nap.’

  Liam didn’t rise. He didn’t leave the table. Her skin prickled some more. She rubbed Harry’s back while she waited for the milk to warm, but she wasn’t sure who she was trying to reassure—Harry or herself.

  She jumped when the microwave dinged. Clutching Harry and his bottle, she fled to the sanctuary of the nursery.

  ‘Here we go, Harry.’ She laid him in his cot. He clutched Horsie close and stared about the room with wide, wary eyes. When she started to sing his eyes fastened on her face. He took his bottle then, and with a sigh closed his eyes. His breathing grew rhythmic, his hold on
the stuffed horse eased.

  ‘Sleep tight,’ she whispered, her heart aching, still bruised and raw from the news that Harry’s daddy was dead. She brushed a lock of hair from his face.

  Liam rose the moment she re-entered the kitchen. It made her heart beat a little harder, a little faster. She’d thought he’d have returned to work by now. Had hoped he would. She’d been too aware of him during lunch. Uncomfortably aware. Beneath her long sleeves her skin prickled.

  ‘I was hoping we could have a talk.’ He didn’t smile. His big body didn’t unbend.

  A talk? With photographic precision, she recalled the look he’d sent her earlier in the yard—awareness and approval turning to hunger. Blood thundered in her ears.

  She didn’t want that.

  She didn’t want that with any man.

  Do you really think he’d force his attentions on you?

  No. She drew the admission from the depths of herself—reluctantly but honestly. That didn’t stop her heart pounding harder and faster whenever he was near, though. It didn’t stop her from not wanting to be alone with him. He upset her equilibrium in a way no man ever had, and at the moment she needed to keep her balance—for Harry’s sake.

  ‘Sapphie?’

  She realised she’d been staring at him. She moistened her lips. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

  ‘Harry.’

  Oh!

  ‘Beattie has made us up a tray of coffee. She took it through to the living room.’

  He motioned that she should precede him. There was nothing for it but to surrender. She led the way, settled on the sofa. Liam lowered his big frame into his armchair, steepled his hands beneath his chin. Neither one of them made a move to pour the coffee.

  ‘You said you wanted to talk about Harry?’ she prompted. The silence was drawing her nerves tight. The longer she looked at him the harder it was to drag her gaze away. There was a certain pleasure to be had in…in looking at him. But she didn’t trust in it.

  ‘Yes.’ He paused. When he spoke again, his words reverberated in the quiet of the room, even though he spoke softly. ‘Sapphie, I’d like you and Harry to stay on for a bit.’

  The very quietness of his words carried an impact that had her momentarily speechless. She didn’t know why he wanted them to stay, but she could see how much it meant to him.

  ‘Please consider it,’ he continued. ‘We need to organise DNA tests, and there’s Harry future to consider.’ He leant forward, held her gaze. ‘I would like an opportunity to get to know my nephew.’

  It was a reasonable request. She bit her lip. Her financial situation wouldn’t allow her an extended visit. ‘How long are we talking, here, Liam?’

  ‘I’d like you to stay for at least another week, but if you could see your way clear to stay for a fortnight…?’

  A fortnight? That would be pushing her resources to the limits. But for Harry’s sake…

  ‘You see, a fortnight would see me out of a bind.’ He grimaced. ‘In fact, you’d be doing me a favour.’

  ‘Favour?’

  He rose and checked through the door before returning to his chair. ‘I don’t want Beattie overhearing.’

  She frowned. ‘Beattie? Why?’

  ‘Has she told you her daughter is pregnant?’

  She grinned as she remembered Beattie’s excitement earlier that morning. ‘She can’t wait to be a grandma again. She said she’s taking leave to be there for the birth.’

  ‘Yeah, in a fortnight.’ He paused. ‘Did she tell you there’ve been complications with this pregnancy?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Nothing too serious,’ he assured her. ‘But I know both Beattie and her daughter would feel a whole lot better if Beattie were there with her now.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she go?’

  He scowled. ‘Some nonsense about refusing to leave me alone in the house. Apparently I’ll brood myself into an early grave, or some such garbage. My head stockman and his wife are moving into the homestead from the out station when Beattie takes her leave, but I can’t ask them to move in here sooner, because we’re mustering at that end of the property at the moment. If Beattie knew you and Harry would be here for the next fortnight, she’d go off to her daughter’s with an easy mind.’

  ‘You’re offering me the post of housekeeper for a fortnight?’

  ‘I am. You have experience of a large cattle station. The pay’s good—includes food and lodgings—and the work isn’t too onerous. You’d be doing a good thing for Beattie and her daughter and…’

  ‘And?’ she prompted.

  ‘You’d be doing a good thing for me too.’

  She leant forward. ‘This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?

  ‘Yes.’

  One word. But such a wealth of meaning behind it. It suddenly hit her—could she give Liam the chance she’d never had with her own child? She would never deny anyone that opportunity. She certainly couldn’t deny it to Harry’s uncle.

  Or Harry.

  Her heart started to pound. If Bryce had come forward when she’d been a child and claimed her as his daughter it would have made all the difference in the world to her. But he hadn’t, and she’d grown up without a father. Even now she could feel that lack in her life. Liam wasn’t Harry’s father, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t become a father figure to Harry, did it?

  New hope sprang to life inside her. ‘Why is it so important to you, Liam?’

  He was quiet for a long moment. ‘You said your sister wanted Harry’s father to take over his care.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘She wants to give up all access to him? All claim on him?’

  She swallowed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  His frown didn’t make his face look grimmer, just…bewildered. A weight settled on her shoulders. Her temples started to pound. ‘She thinks it’s what’s best for Harry.’

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Right.’ He pulled his hand away. ‘Sapphie, are you planning to adopt Harry?’

  She flinched away in horror at his suggestion. ‘Me? No!’

  An ache grew so big inside her she thought it might swallow her whole. Over the course of the last few days she’d grown to love Harry more than…more than she’d thought possible. She’d lay her life down in an instant to protect him if she had to—without hesitation. His happiness and his welfare—they were all that mattered.

  She swallowed back a wall of panic. It would not be in Harry’s best interests for her to adopt him. She’d had an abortion, and she didn’t deserve—

  And look at what a hash she’d made of raising Emmy. What further proof did she need? Oh, no, she was the worst person in the world to take over Harry’s care.

  Liam shot forward on his seat to stare at her, colour slashing high on his cheekbones. ‘Why not?’

  His words were bullets, tearing through the sorest places in her heart. For a moment it hurt too much even to breathe. When she was sure she wouldn’t cry, she lifted her chin. ‘I’m not adopting Harry, Liam. Just leave it at that.’

  He stared at her for a long moment, and then his eyes blazed. ‘Fine. Then I will. I’ll adopt Harry.’

  Sapphire gulped. Why did his words leave her stomach churning? Why did she suddenly want to race into the nursery, snatch Harry up and hold him close?

  The fire that raged in Liam’s eyes was too much, too intense. And she didn’t understand it.

  ‘Why would you want to adopt Harry?’ she whispered. ‘What makes you think you’re capable of giving him what he needs?’ Her fingers curled, her nails biting into her palms. He had to see exactly what adopting Harry would mean. She had to force him to see it. ‘Liam, you can’t even talk about what happened to Lucas.’

  His head reared back. ‘What does that prove?’

  She stared at him for a moment, then swallowed. ‘You even need to ask?’

  He shot to his feet. She heard the curse he let fly even though he covered his mouth with the back of his han
d.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and paced the length of the room, paused, and then paced back again. He fell into his chair, and was quiet for so long she didn’t think he was going to say anything. Then, ‘Twenty months ago Lucas was involved in a car accident. My mother had organised a party here at Newarra. She’d invited all the local debutantes. She was playing matchmaker.’ He paused. ‘I was divorced five years ago. She was hoping I’d find myself a new wife. I was far from impressed.’

  The twist of his lips told her he hadn’t been the least interested in finding a new wife.

  ‘She ordered me to collect a carload of guests, all women, from a neighbouring property—a six-hour round trip. I talked Lucas into going instead, saying there was too much work to do around the station.’

  He paused. ‘The accident report said Lucas swerved—trying to miss a roo, probably—and that the car rolled. He broke his back.’

  She closed her eyes. She knew where he was going with this. She’d played this game too.

  She opened her eyes again. ‘Do you blame your mother for Lucas’s accident?’

  His head shot up. ‘No!’

  ‘Then you can’t blame yourself.’

  ‘I was a better driver than him, and—’

  ‘And what if…? All the what-ifs in the world won’t bring him back. It doesn’t make you responsible for his accident.’

  He stared at her, but she didn’t think he actually saw her. ‘The accident left him crippled and in a wheelchair. He spent nearly ten months in hospital before coming home to Newarra. He was only home for six weeks when…’

  She moistened her lips. ‘When what?’

  He pushed out of his chair. ‘I should’ve seen what was happening to him.’

  She watched him pace and her chest started to tighten. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Depression.’ He flung an arm out. ‘I should’ve seen it coming. He was always so active, and all of a sudden he was stuck in a wheelchair. The family—we all tiptoed around him. But I should’ve given him something to do, made him feel useful again, but he was still recovering from the accident and I wanted to protect him. I thought there was plenty of time, but…’