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

by Margaret Way

  “Could I make you pregnant?”

  She felt like laughing madly, headily, in delight. “It’s possible—but you should have made me pregnant long ago.” Emotion so stirred her body she felt it like an expanding force.

  He drew back to stare down at her. “No regrets?”

  She clutched at him. “I thought we weren’t going to talk?” Her eyes blazed, invited, challenged.

  “Come to me now and I’ll never let you go,” he warned, even then feeling the panic of losing her.

  “When are you going to understand, Mitch? I love you. Only you,” she said very seriously, touching his mouth with delicate fingers. “Lay down all your fears. They’re unfounded. I’m home to stay.” She raised her arms, all woman.

  He picked her up, his tenderness grown a little fierce. The roar in his heart was like the roar of a lion.

  He issued himself a stern order: let go of the rage and the heartbreak of the past. The old dreams that didn’t come true. All his doubts had to stop if they were to make up for lost time. Suffering might even have been necessary in order to feel this incredible rapture. There seemed no limit to it. He would never allow her to forget her promise. It had restored him.

  Mitch laid her on the bed, cascades of dark silky hair sliding all over the pillows and cushions. He turned her beautiful body this way and that, so fluid, so satiny soft, while he stripped off the silver-blue coverlet.

  Finally he levered himself over her, glorying in her naked body beneath him, tantalising her, so desiring, so easy to arouse—withholding his manhood though she gave little cries of entreaty. He wasn’t ready to enter her until he’d given her as much pleasure as she gave him.

  The more he gave her, the more she wanted. She unfolded her whole body to his hands and his mouth. She was woman. His mate. She wound herself around him, whispering endearments. The sheet got all tangled and he threw it away. She climbed over him. Fell on him. He withstood the ravishing torment as long as he could, rotating her luscious body, his hands at her waist, spanning it, while she arced up and down.

  Enough! He was fully aroused. He spun her like a ballerina onto her back, groaning with unparallelled sensations. His blood was exploding with a million fiery sparks.

  “W-wait!” Her voice was low, shaken, yet incredibly erotic. “I’ll t-tell you.”

  He forced himself to hold back for the briefest of white-hot moments, until they were moving rhythmically together, perfect partners in a love dance. It was unbearable, but then it was glorious. His strong heart was fluttering. She was denying him nothing. He knew a moment’s shame for ever having doubted her.

  “My beautiful Chris!”

  He couldn’t hold back a millisecond longer. His hunger was devouring him. He sank into her, plunged deeper and deeper, feeling her open and welcome him, her body closing on him, holding him exquisitely tight. Such pleasure was almost an agony, and his heart lurched and his head spun.

  Finally she bucked against the mighty force of his impending orgasm, herself on the verge—coming…coming… He was so attuned to her he was listening for it as he would listen for a signal.

  The flare of excitement was so powerful she wanted it to last forever. The flames shot higher and higher. Enduring flames that had never gone out. They were like one body, one mind. They shared the same intense hunger. Her breathing became ragged as she simply gave herself up to bliss.

  Those high little keening cries were her own, she realized dazedly.

  Sweat sizzled off her hot skin. She was circling higher and higher. Right into the eye of the sun. She was melting, insubstantial…

  “Oh, yes!” The words burst from her in ecstasy.

  He needed no second entreaty. His own momentum, muscular and powerfully strong, carried them into a new dimension of bright radiance where all needs and hungers were satisfied and all conflicts were laid to rest.

  Separated in the past, they would never be parted again.

  EPILOGUE

  FROM the open French doors Christine could see the wedding guests moving all over the wide green lawns. There was a gentle breeze blowing in from the desert, muting the effects of the hot Outback sun. It fluttered the women’s skirts so they looked like brightly coloured ribbons. Manicured hands reached up to anchor expensive wide-brimmed hats in a range of colours, decorations and styles, lest they be caught by the wind. The home gardens, watered by bores, were in full fragrant bloom, coaxed along by a team of gardeners so everything would be perfect for this very special day.

  From where she looked out Christine could see the huge white marquees that had been set up in the grounds, the great shade trees lending additional protection. Everything was as beautiful as promised. This was Kyall’s and Sarah’s wedding day. The communion of two beautiful people. Two people she loved.

  Love was moving inside her like a sensation of heavenly light. Since she and Mitch had become engaged she felt as if she’d been reborn. On a spontaneous impulse she lifted her ring to her mouth and kissed it.

  It was so very, very beautiful—a symbol of their love, a glorious square-cut sapphire flanked by diamonds. Mitch had given it to her that very special night, when the two of them had made their decision to be together forever.

  She knew in committing to Mitch she was doing the right thing. She had no qualms about turning her back on her career. There were no words to describe the great joy, the sense of security, the vision, that had come with that choice. Christine Reardon, twenty-eight, now wanted with every particle of her being not to be a supermodel, but a wife and mother and a full partner in their marriage.

  They planned to have four children. They could afford them. No decision could have been easier. Mitch professed in triumph to being the luckiest guy in the world, and in a few short months they too would be married. It would be her wedding day, and if possible she would be even happier than she was on this wonderful day.

  She’d already begun to make plans: daydreaming about her wedding gown and veil, the favourite designer who would make it, what her bridesmaids would wear, the colours, the ceremony—she thought a temple in the garden—the reception, the food they would eat. But first she and Mitch would have to give all these guests time to recover from this day of days.

  “Chris? What are you doing?”

  A young excited voice called from outside the door.

  “It’s open, sweetie. Come in.”

  Suzanne, bursting with happiness and looking entrancing in flower-sprigged lilac, with miniature white and mauve orchids artfully tucked into her chestnut curls, burst into the room, hand in hand with Christine’s niece, Fiona. Fiona looked lovely too, in her pink-tinged cream silk bridesmaid’s gown, cream roses catching back the abundant blonde hair so like her mother’s.

  The two girls stood there and stared at Christine as though she looked at least a billion dollars.

  Their gazes held love, approval, admiration. Heart melting, Christine circled slowly, inviting their inspection. She was wearing something from her own wardrobe. No one had seen it. It was an original; a famous couturier had actually fitted it on her. It was made of whisper-fine gold lace over silk, embroidered with sapphire-blue beads and crystals. In her hair, worn full and loose, was a single ornament—a sapphire flower, its gold stamens quivering with crystals. On her feet she wore high-heeled gold brocade pumps. In an effort not to eclipse anyone in the bridal party—certainly she couldn’t overshadow the beautiful bride—she had elected to come just as “family”.

  “Oh, Chrissy, you look gorgeous! Absolutely great!” a glowing Suzanne said enthusiastically. She came to Christine and hugged her carefully, so as not to muss her. “You are so beautiful. Why can’t I look like you?”

  “Why would you need to, sweetheart?” Christine scoffed, encircling Suzanne with her arm. “You have a lovely look of your own. That dress is just perfect.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Suzanne responded with a flush of pleasure. “You chose it. And doesn’t Fiona look wonderful?”

  �
�She does indeed!” Christine held out her other arm. Kyall’s beloved daughter, her niece Fiona, was so much like her mother, Sarah, it would have been laughable—only it was so heart-stopping it brought tears to Christine’s eyes.

  “Thank you, Chris. Thank you.” Fiona’s velvet-brown eyes were shimmery as she looked up at her new-found aunt. “Thank you everybody!”

  High with excitement, she broke away and began to waltz around the room, before sinking into a deep curtsy that earned her Suzanne’s and Christine’s applause. Much to everyone’s delight the cousins had bonded at first sight, eager to have one another’s friendship and support. It was a state of affairs that was destined to be a great comfort and support throughout their lives.

  “There are hundreds of people outside,” Suzanne announced, running to the French doors and looking out at the beautiful sun-kissed scene.

  “Isn’t it the most wonderful thing I’m part of it all? Like a miracle!” Fiona looked overwhelmingly happy. “One day,” she said solemnly, “I might write a book about it.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Christine predicted. “You know you’ve inherited all your mother’s beauty. In fact both of you have grown into stunning young ladies. Now, I suppose we’d better go out and join the party.”

  “Just wait until Mitch sees you!” Suzanne’s face grew rosy with excitement. “Everyone will be turning to stare at you.”

  “Everyone will be too busy staring at the bride.”

  “We’ve seen her. She looks like an angel!” both girls said together.

  “Mother is so happy she’s glowing,” Fiona said emotionally. “I have to say I’m a bit nervous.”

  Christine squeezed her hand. “You’re going to be just fine,” she promised, letting her love shine.

  “Everything’s got to be perfect.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you came to us, Fee!” Suzanne’s happiness was making her bloom like a rosebud opening under the warm sun. “I didn’t know how beautiful life could be.”

  Hours later bride and groom stood on the verandah, facing their multitude of guests. They looked out on a sea of smiling faces, everyone sharing in the great joy. Shortly they were to fly away on the first leg of their honeymoon, but now seemed like a very good time to throw the bridal bouquet.

  The bridesmaids were laughing, playfully enjoying themselves, gently jostling one another, and Christine was standing off a little to the left, with Mitch at her shoulder. Mitch, resplendent in his beautifully cut wedding suit, had been Kyall’s best man. She was so full of bubbles, caused by happiness as much as the French champagne that had hit her bloodstream, and was so busy smiling meltingly at her fiancé, Mitch, she was unprepared as Sarah’s exquisite bouquet soared towards her.

  “You’d better catch that, Chrissy,” Mitch urged, his voice full of love and pride and a certain challenge. “This one has been a long time coming, but it’s definitely for you!”

  “How true!” She laughed in triumph, her long arm shooting up as the bouquet drifted on the buoyant air.

  One of the wedding guests, with her eye on one of the Saunders brothers, made a valiant effort to catch it. But it sailed over her head as though it had a pre-ordained destination.

  It landed in Christine’s outstretched hand.

  “Me!” she cried, her voice sparkling with elation.

  Everyone started to clap. It was fantastic! She turned to look at Mitch, her face radiant over the top of the bouquet of fragrant flowers, reading his unswerving love in the brilliant sea-blue eyes.

  “Congratulations, my love,” he whooped, causing everyone to beam at them as though they’d helped plan where the bride’s bouquet would land.

  This was the greatest day Koomera Crossing had experienced in ages. Kyall McQueen and his beautiful Sarah were at long last married, rejoicing in their beautiful daughter who had been taken from them and miraculously returned.

  And finally, after another interrupted relationship, the tremendously popular Mitch Claydon and their own homegrown celebrity Christine Reardon were back together again. It left the closely knit Outback town with a good feeling. A feeling that their great pioneering families stood united. They were an inspiration beyond dreams.

  Weddings were perfect for bringing harmony.

  Margaret Way

  Outback Surrender

  Shelley Logan was no longer the cute little teenager Brock remembered.

  She’d matured. She had a woman’s sensitivity and perception and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Back then she’d been way too young for him, but in the interim the rosebud had opened up velvety perfumed petals.

  Brock continued to stare at her, holding her gaze captive. Despite the poise he hadn’t been prepared for, Shelley was flushed with color. Her wild red-gold hair lay loose around her shoulders. Her beautiful eyes were large and lustrous, her mouth sensitive and her chin prettily pointed.

  If it wouldn’t have jeopardized their old easy friendship, Brock would have told Shelley she looked damned sexy!

  Dear Reader,

  Shelley’s story is the fourth book in my KOOMERA CROSSING miniseries, which chronicles the lives of people who live and love in Australia’s great Outback. The setting for my series is Queensland’s Channel Country, a riverine desert and the home of the nation’s cattle kings and big mobs. It’s a fabulous place, rich in aboriginal Dreamtime legends, full of stark, truly mystical grandeur—bleached cruelty under drought and heart-stoppingly beautiful after the rains when the desert blazes into the greatest gardens on earth.

  Shelley Logan and Brock Tyson are both rebels, both hurting from their families’ power struggles. Both forever reaching up and outward, reaching for one another and what ultimately is life’s greatest prize—enduring love. This is their story. I had to write it.

  The first book in my KOOMERA CROSSING miniseries was the Harlequin Superromance® title Sarah’s Baby. This was followed by Runaway Wife and Outback Bridegroom in Harlequin Romance®. Look for Home to Mara, a further KOOMERA CROSSING novel, coming soon in Harlequin Superromance.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  SHELLEY hit the pavement with a fast light step that belied her tiredness. It was late Friday afternoon and she’d all but completed her list of “must-dos” in the town of Koomera Crossing. Her first meeting, with the bank manager, hadn’t gone too badly, but the meeting with her father’s solicitor—the only one in the town—had not been so good. She’d then ordered fresh food supplies from the general store, where they always did a marvellous job. That had been the most important and most pressing need. Supplies had to be ordered in to accommodate a small party of Japanese guests due in a month’s time. Those supplies would be airfreighted out to the station before the tourists’ arrival.

  She’d stocked up on all the non-perishable items, and now she was going to buy a few little treats for herself, just to keep her spirits up. Toiletries, mainly. Soaps, shampoos, creams, a bit of make-up and the like. Usually she spent very little on herself, only peanuts on clothes and cosmetics, but she made sure she looked after her hair and skin. Those precious assets had to last her a lifetime, after all.

  She was dog-tired even for a girl with plenty of go, and she had to force her legs to see out the distance. She’d started out from home, Wybourne Station, in the pre-dawn, making a fairly quick trip—some three hours over rough Outback roads—before she hit Koomera Crossing, the nearest thing to civilisation in this part of the world.

  South-West Queensland really was the Back O’Beyond, but she loved her desert home with a passion. Nowhere else could offer her such peace and freedom, such vast open spaces. This was the Timeless Land, sacred to all aborigines. Shelley too revelled
in her extraordinary environment—the living desert, with its vivid pottery colours, undulating red sands and surreal rock monuments. There was nowhere quite like the Outback for mystique. Its very antiquity gripped the soul.

  It also kept her close to Sean, her guardian angel, her twin brother. Sean had drowned when they were six. Even now she remembered the sound of his sweet voice calling to her as she’d run madcap in the homestead’s rambling, overgrown garden…

  Shel…Shel…Shel…

  Sean had always run to her, his twin, for love, for reassurance and comfort, rather than to their older sister, Amanda, or even their mother. And even after the terrible day of the accident, of which Shelley had no clear recollection but of chaos and high, screaming voices, Sean had still accompanied her on her childhood adventures. Hadn’t he woken her every dawn of her life, patting her forehead and pulling her ear? “Wake up, Shel. The sun’ll burn a hole in you.”

  Sean! Always destined to remain a beautiful little boy, Titian curls his halo, rosebud lips moving soundlessly, his eyes like shining jewels, a gauzy white radiance all around him.

  That was what twins were like. They shared a bond that meant they were never parted, not even in death. Still, heartbreak was never far from Shelley. Her memories of her little brother were bittersweet, but the power and magic of their love for each other sustained her even now.

  She walked on briskly, calling a pleasantry here and there. Nearly everyone in the town was as well known to her as she was to them.

  She had no intention of returning to Wybourne tonight. She couldn’t possibly find the strength for the long drive after hoofing around the town for hours, always trying to find shelter under awnings from the dry, burning sun.

  It was the greatest mystery to her and to everyone else—and sometimes she thought her older sister Amanda was secretly outraged by the fact—but she didn’t have a single freckle. She the redhead with the untameable firewheel mop. Her skin was often referred to as “porcelain”. She had to thank her darling now deceased maternal grandmother Moira, born in County Kerry, Ireland, for that. Ditto the rose-gold mane, the green eyes and, it had to be said, the Irish temper when aroused.