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

by Margaret Way

  I could be a prize cow, Shelley thought angrily. Why don’t I try mooing? She wondered when they would start haggling over her selling price. I’m not a human being at all. I have no mind of my own. It wouldn’t even matter if I disappeared under the table or got up and screamed blue murder. All that was needed was for Philip to propose. Her family was giving him every possible indication that he would be welcomed with open arms. They didn’t care a whit about her. She was the means to an end. She could see by the look on Philip’s face he knew what was expected of him. There was a price to be paid but he was willing to pay it. He was, after all, master of Mulgaree—the flagship of the Kingsley chain.

  She knew then that her position at home was untenable. Unless she did what they all wanted and agreed to marrying Philip her life would be made a misery. The truth was it had been a misery for years. Misplaced love and loyalty had bound her to her family. Now their total disregard for her wishes had set her free.

  She had no real place on Wybourne. It wasn’t hers and it never would be. It was her father’s. She couldn’t stop him from closing down her operation. He’d already done one dreadful thing by cancelling a booking out of hand. The agency had been very disappointed in her when she’d spoken to them and she didn’t blame them.

  Finally anger overcame her embarrassment. She desperately needed to get away. To be on her own to think. She would spend a few days in the town. The pub would put her up. But would her father let her take the truck? For all the hard work she’d done and the money she’d brought in, she didn’t own a damned thing. She’d have to think of something. Be inventive! She could say she had to approach the general store to see if they’d take some of their supplies back. Her father would go along with that.

  In one way or another Rex Kingsley’s death had forced decisions on them all. Her father had made his, and once his mind was made up there was no power on earth that would shift it.

  She just couldn’t stay.

  Shelley didn’t even remember making the long, hot trip into Koomera Crossing. Her mind was preoccupied with all the remarkable events of the past few days. Her father had made little fuss when she had asked for the four-wheel drive. She’d kept to the excuse that she was returning a lot of the supplies for refund, plus she had to pick up a few odds and ends for herself. She’d told them she might stay a day or two. She had a lot of things to think over.

  Her father had nodded at that, as though he knew that given time and the proper reflection she would come to the right decision about Philip’s offer of marriage. After all, she owed him. She had lived when Sean hadn’t.

  Afterwards she had gone to her room and packed a small suitcase, carrying it out through the rear door to the large shed where the station vehicles were garaged.

  No one had waved her off.

  She arrived in the town mid-afternoon, exhausted, eyes sore from the glare even with good sunglasses, her back, neck and legs aching. She parked the vehicle at the back of the pub, checking in a few minutes later.

  “Would you like the same room, luv?” The publican, Mick Donovan, asked her.

  “Fine, Mick. I’m used to it.” She smiled and waved as she made her ascent up the curving wooden staircase.

  An hour later she was back on the main street after a quick word with Annie Hope, the woman running the general store. Mercifully Annie agreed to take back all the non-perishable supplies she’d ordered in.

  The talk in the town was all of Rex Kingsley’s death, following so closely as it had on that of Ruth McQueen, the late matriarch of the McQueen dynasty, a woman as ruthless in her fashion as ever Rex Kingsley had been. Two peas in a pod. Two products of an era. No one in Koomera Crossing as yet knew which way the will went—evidently Shelley wasn’t expected to know—but the betting was that justice would be done to Brock. The whole town was behind him.

  Leaving the general store, she heard footsteps rushing up to her, then felt a hand on her shoulder. “Shelley, the very person I need to see!”

  Shelley turned, her face wreathed in smiles. She’d recognise that voice anywhere, the honeyed American accent that overlaid native Australian.

  “Christine, how lovely! Hi, how are you?”

  An extraordinarily stunning, tall young woman stood before her, the picture of happiness and glowing health, unbelievably chic in long tight-legged jeans, a low-slung turquoise studded belt, blue tank top, midnight-blue akubra and high boots. Christine Claydon, ex-international fashion model, now wife to Mitch Claydon of Marjimba Station.

  “I’m fine. Never better.” Christine rolled her beautiful sapphire-blue eyes. “I’ve got some wonderful news for you. I can’t wait to tell you. Could we grab a cup of coffee?”

  “Great!” Shelley felt a rush of pleasure. She would have loved to have had a sister like Christine, someone so warm, so friendly, so supportive. “I could feel the good vibes coming off you. You look gorgeous. Married life is agreeing with you.”

  “I’m so happy,” Christine said in a near reverential tone. “True love is a miracle, Shelley. I’m going to pray you’ll find it.”

  “Maybe I already have.”

  “Are you serious?” Christine grasped Shelley’s arm, looking into her face very searchingly.

  “I’m serious.” Shelley smiled, albeit wryly.

  “Oh, honey, you’ve got to tell me more.” An expression of great interest passed across Christine’s beautiful face.

  A few minutes later they were seated at a window table in the town coffee shop, a couple of cappuccinos and a plate of delectable little pastries before them.

  “Your news first,” Shelley prompted, settling her shoulder bag on the floor close to her.

  “It has to be—it’s so extraordinary! You’ll never believe it.” Christine broke into a little excited laugh. “We found the treasure. Claydon’s Treasure.”

  Shelley blinked, feeling a shower of sparks. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  “This very morning.” Christine began to tuck in to a tiny caramel tart. “I called Wybourne straight away and Amanda told me you’d gone into town. I’m so damned excited and thrilled and it’s all because of you. Mitch persuaded Kyall it was worth a shot to have another look for it. Both of them have been stuck with so much work they couldn’t do a thing about it before this, but they decided to follow your hunch.”

  “And it worked out?” Pleasant little shocks were coming in billows. “This is amazing. And all because I thought a line representing a billabong was in the shape of a turtle. It only occurred to me because I draw. The actual map-drawing was very elementary.”

  Christine nodded, her eyes flashing a brilliant blue. “Turtle Creek. That’s where the Claydon Treasure was buried. Right under the family’s nose, so to speak. Of course they took advantage of a metal detector, which was an enormous help, but even then they had to sweep both lines of the creek. About two hours on they began to get hits, then they decided to go to work with the shovels. And bingo! The digging revealed an old, very rusty metal box.”

  “And what was in it? Was it worthwhile?” Shelley felt her friend’s buzz right down to her toes.

  “Gold is gold, honey,” Christine said in a bright, teasing voice. “Gold and jewels. Mitch said it was quite an extraordinary feeling. He and Kyall started to whoop and jump around like a couple of kids. I can’t tell you what a kick we all got out of it. Sarah and Kyall, Mitch and I. Not to mention his parents. The great mystery has been solved and all because of you.”

  “This is really, really exciting,” Shelley said, colour flaring in her cheeks. “I’m so pleased for you all. The story of the legendary cache was right after all.”

  “And we’re so grateful to you!” Christine leaned over to squeeze Shelley’s hand. “But that’s not the end of it. We’re all determined you’re to have your reward. A nice little nest egg like you thoroughly deserve. Everyone wants to speak to you, but as the first one to see you I’ve got in first.”

  For a moment Shelley could scarcely control her
breathing. “Christine—” embarrassed, she began to play with her spoon “—that’s very kind, but you don’t owe me any reward.”

  “Hey, kiddo, you’re going to get it. Fair’s fair. Mitch is going to confirm it. The treasure would never have been discovered without you and it’s very valuable.”

  “All I did was point out something to Mitch. You’re my friends.”

  “And we love you,” replied Christine, clearly meaning it. “We owe you as well. I’ll let Mitch explain it. We want you to visit Marjimba soon. Stay a few days. Mitch will collect you. You only have to say when it suits.”

  “I’d love to come, Christine,” Shelley exclaimed. “In fact I’m really touched. I can’t believe I’ve run into you today of all days. I badly need someone to talk to. Someone I trust.”

  “Then fire away.” Concern clouded Christine’s face. “Is it about your family situation?”

  Shelley swallowed. “You know Rex Kingsley died?”

  “Sure. It’s all around the town. Say, Brock doesn’t come into this, does he?” Christine made a shrewd guess. “I heard he’s back. He always was quite a guy!”

  Shelley felt herself flush.

  “So, Shelley, what’s been going on?” Christine asked, fixing the younger woman with a kindly, experienced eye.

  Shelley told her.

  “Surely Rex Kingsley didn’t tell Brock one thing then do another?” Christine said finally. “That’s particularly cruel, even for him.” She gazed out of the window, thinking hard. “Brock has a strong case if he goes to litigation. It seems harsh to say this, but I can’t see Philip cutting it as a cattle baron. And that’s awful, your family putting pressure on you to marry him. Can’t Philip take no for an answer?”

  “Wishing makes it true.” Shelley shrugged.

  “What about Brock?”

  Shelley let out a long sigh. “I couldn’t help falling in love with him, Chris.”

  “If he’s the guy I remember…” Christine grinned. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe I’m being incredibly naïve?” Shelley looked over at her friend. “Maybe I’m setting myself up for a lot of pain? Brock’s told me he has to put his life in order. That he can’t make plans.”

  “You don’t think he’s using you? Brock was a regular ladykiller, as I recall.”

  Shelley shook her head. “No, I don’t think that. Brock is tough, but he doesn’t have a callous hand. He’s actually very sensitive. I think he’s a little in love with me as well, but I don’t want him to feel trapped. He’s very bitter and angry about his grandfather and the way he and his mother were treated.”

  “He has every right to be,” Christine said flatly. “Rex Kingsley was a tyrant. Not that my family missed out on tyrants. My own grandmother tried to control everyone and run their lives, remember? Too much money and too much power can be a very bad thing. Gran and old Kingsley were two of a kind, yet they loathed each other They must have recognised their own worst traits in each other! Brock had a very bad time growing up. It must have left a lot of scars.”

  “It has.” Shelley answered, sadness in her voice.

  Christine put out a hand to cover Shelley’s with her own. “But you’re a girl with the healing touch. I think of you that way. You’re brave and resourceful, not to mention lovely and capable. What more could the man want? Is he coming back to stay?”

  Shelley shrugged. “Who knows. I don’t think I could bear it if he went away. I imagine it all depends on the final outcome of this will.”

  “Would you go away with him if he asked you?” Christine gave her friend a gentle look.

  “To the ends of the earth,” Shelley said simply. “There is nothing for me on Wybourne. The only way I can redeem myself with my parents is to marry Philip Kingsley and I can’t do that. Even if there were no Brock, I couldn’t do it.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Christine stared at her. “You can always come to us while you think things through. It must be awful at home.”

  “It’s not the best place to be.”

  “Well, my offer stands. As I said, Mitch is insistent that you visit. You can come with me now if you like. We really care about you, Shelley,” Christine said with affection. “And there’s tons of room.”

  Shelley bit her lip. “I really appreciate the offer, Christine. Let me think about it.”

  “Sure.” Christine smiled with compassion and understanding. “You’ve put up with a lot. Who knows? It might work out with Brock.”

  “Reckon I’m woman enough for him?” Although Shelley laughed there was naked vulnerability in her eyes.

  “I’d say you’re just the sort of woman he’s been searching for,” Christine said supportively. “So act totally cool.”

  “Not easy when one’s in love and uncertain of the outcome.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Christine smiled wryly. “All I can tell you is if you truly love him go after your dream.”

  “Even when circumstances are loaded against me?”

  “Am I correct in believing you’re a fighter, Shelley?” Christine looked encouragingly into the younger woman’s lustrous green eyes.

  “I hope so.”

  Christine smiled. “Then that’s part of the job. Convincing Brock he needs you.”

  “Eula’s in town,” Mick Donovan informed her when she came down the next morning for breakfast. “Thought you might want to know, seeing you’re friendly. You might be able to get a word out of her. I can’t. She’s very close-lipped about her employers is Eula. But she ordered up big at the store. Annie told me not a minute ago. It’s hard to believe the larder is empty. Either that or they’re going to give a big party now the old boy’s gone.”

  “Maybe the wake?” Shelley suggested.

  It was mid-morning before she actually saw Eula Martin, Mulgaree’s housekeeper, grey head burrowed down, coming out of Imprint, the small, well-patronised store that sold materials and patterns.

  “Eula!” she called, and watched the woman look up, her kind, jovial face breaking into a wide grin.

  “Shelley, love. Don’t you get around, now?”

  “You don’t exactly stay put yourself.” Shelley went to her quickly, taking over some of the housekeeper’s large number of parcels.

  “Mrs Kingsley sent me in just when I was keeping an eye on things,” Eula confided, lowering her voice. “Seems to me she doesn’t want me around the place.”

  “So who dropped you?” Shelley asked.

  “One of the men. It’s a hell of a trip. I tell you, Shelley, I just can’t understand Mr Kingsley doing what he done. Even given he was a wicked old devil, God rest his soul. Her ladyship couldn’t wait to rid herself of me presence. I don’t like the chances of holding onto me job now she’s in charge.”

  “Let’s go and have a cup of tea,” Shelley suggested.

  “Exactly what I wanted m’self,” Eula said, then dropped her bombshell. “I shoulda told Brock before this, but I took a copy of that will.”

  Shelley stopped dead in her tracks. “Wh-a-a-t?” She caught Eula’s arm. “Which one?”

  “’Struth, love!” Eula looked at her in astonishment. “The one I signed only the other day. I expected Mr Kingsley to change everything but the cruel old tyrant didn’t. Don’t like his chances of gettin’ through the Pearly Gates.”

  Shelley scarcely heard her. “Did I understand you to say, Eula, you took a copy of the will you witnessed?”

  Although Eula’s plump cheeks reddened, her voice was unashamed. “I don’t feel guilty and I don’t feel I done nothing wrong. Mr Maitland asked me to find a manila envelope for the will—scrawled it, if you ask me, terrible handwriting—and took off down the hallway to speak to her ladyship, who seemed real upset. Hello, I said to m’self. Something’s come as a shock. I acted fast. I’ve got ESP, I reckon. I took off for the study and ran a copy of the will on the fax machine.”

  “And you weren’t caught?” Shelley stared at her, her mind a riot
of jumbled hopes.

  “No.” Eula shook her soft grey head. “They were too busy talking. Thick as thieves, those two. Don’t like ’em. He’s a real fox behind those white teeth. And she’s plain awful. They weren’t worried about me. I’m a good cook and a good housekeeper, otherwise I’m a halfwit—in case you haven’t discovered yet.”

  “Listen, Eula, you’re as sharp as a tack.”

  “No, I’m not, love. I have to remind m’self of things all the time. I’m goin’ to have a long talk to Dr Sarah about it. You know what they call it?”

  “It won’t hurt to talk to Sarah,” Shelley said, “but I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with you, Eula. It’s common to become forgetful as we get older.”

  “Older? You cute little thing. How old are you now? Twenty-one? What is it they call that memory disease again?”

  “Do you mean Alzheimer’s Disease, Eula?” Shelley asked in concern. “From what I know of you, you’re in the clear. People do gradually lose the excellent memory they had in their youth, but it’s not abnormal. Just part of ageing.”

  “I hope so, love. I don’t want to finish up senile.”

  “Did you read the will, Eula?” Shelley asked, starting to move towards the same café she and Christine had visited the day before.

  “Dear girl, would I do such a thing?” Eula made a business of rolling her eyes.

  “Did you?” Shelley knew better.

  “Never had enough time, love,” Eula confessed. “Plus the fact I didn’t have m’glasses. I’m blind as a bat without ’em.”

  “Did Mr Kingsley sign the will in your presence?”

  “’Course he did,” Eula said grimly, looking Shelley right in the eye. “Wasn’t he supposed to? I couldn’t witness nuthin’. I’m not a rocket scientist but I’m fairly bright.”

  For a few stunned moments Shelley was silenced. “And where’s the copy now? Surely you’ve read it in the meantime? What does it say about Philip inheriting the lot? About Brock missing out?”