An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden

by Margaret Way

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 n
otice?”

  “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 affec
tion.

  “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.”