‘You have no idea,’ Chattie said slowly. ‘They expect to be here about mid-afternoon. Apparently this guy has flown into Helena before. He…’ she paused ‘he’s a friend of Mark’s and he has a courier-run contract.’
‘Oh, that’d be Andrew Watson,’ Merlene said blithely. ‘He often drops in with urgent packages. I still don’t see what the problem is. The more the merrier!’ she added jovially.
Chattie closed her eyes. ‘I just hope he has plenty of airsick bags.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
OF COURSE it couldn’t have happened any other way, Chattie marvelled bitterly.
Steve came back after the search-and-rescue operation had been successfully concluded and pulled the Range Rover up at the garden fence at the same time as Andrew Watson touched his smart little plane down on the airstrip.
Chattie had been alerted to its arrival when he’d buzzed the homestead and was waiting beside the strip.
Steve walked over to her with a frown as he observed the Watson Courier logo as the plane turned and taxied back.
‘I’m not expecting anything,’ he said. ‘Something I don’t know about?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Yes. But I can explain.’
He looked down into her grey eyes and his frown grew. ‘Like what?’
Chattie made a mental note to preserve how she and Steve Kinane had been in each other’s arms that morning, to capture it and store it in her heart, because she was deadly afraid she might never be so close to him again.
‘My sister,’ she said.
‘Your…’ He paused as the plane stopped, the door opened, the steps lowered and Andrew Watson, who was a burly young man in his mid-twenties, got out.
Then he turned back to hand someone down and Bridget appeared, looking a wreck. She was pale, her dark hair was mussed and her clothes crumpled and entirely inappropriate—a filmy see-through skirt and a halter-neck top. She was also not too steady on her feet.
‘That’s your sister?’ Steve said incredulously.
Chattie didn’t answer. She went up to Bridget and put her arms around her. ‘Bridge, you shouldn’t have! Are you all right?’
‘She’s been a bit sick,’ Andrew said. ‘She’s been very sick,’ he amended with a rueful glance at Steve over his shoulder, ‘but I guess that’s normal. Took my wife the same way.’
Chattie blinked at him. ‘You know?’
Bridget raised her head. ‘I told him.’ She cleared her throat. ‘He needed to know why I have to find Mark. And,’ she said, with tears falling down her cheeks, ‘I don’t care who knows now because I love Mark deeply, I’m having his baby and that’s that.’
Steve Kinane froze.
‘So all is explained,’ he said.
Chattie swallowed nervously. It was an hour or so later. Bridget had been restored with a light snack and was fast asleep in Chattie’s room. Seeing how exhausted she was, Chattie hadn’t pressed for more of an explanation than the one Bridget had repeated several times—it had just come to her that she couldn’t sit around twiddling her thumbs any longer, that she wasn’t ashamed of being pregnant or of loving Mark Kinane.
Steve had been completely inscrutable on being introduced, but not unkind. He’d welcomed Bridget to Mount Helena and suggested that she have a rest before they discussed anything.
He’d then taken Andrew aside, leaving Chattie to shepherd her sister inside. A few minutes later, the plane had taken off and Chattie had heard Steve drive away.
Fortunately, Merlene had been down at the bunkhouse so no explanations for the state of her sister had had to be made immediately.
Then Steve had come home and Chattie had girded her loins, and gone to find him.
He’d been in the lounge, pouring a drink, and he’d accorded her another inscrutable glance but opened a bottle of wine.
It was as he’d handed her the glass that he’d made his comment about all being explained.
She took the glass he handed her and sat down because her legs felt like jelly.
‘You don’t know how many times I was on the verge of telling you,’ she said, ‘but you—’ She gestured helplessly.
He sat down opposite, his eyes hard and cool. ‘So it’s my fault—is that what you’re saying?’
She took a fortifying sip. ‘No. Well, you made your sentiments so plain about your brother being trapped into marriage I—look, may I start at the beginning?’
‘Be my guest,’ he said dryly.
She put her glass down and twined her fingers. Ten minutes later she’d told him everything. How Bridget had depended on her since they’d been orphaned, how Bridget and Mark had met, the course of their affair and why, since Bridget was not only pregnant but the person she was anyway, she, Chattie, had decided to track Mark down for her.
‘I see.’ Steve swirled his drink. ‘And what do you think Mark’s reaction to this news will be?’
‘I…I have no idea. But whatever happens for them, this baby deserves his support, and deserves, at least, to know who its father is.’
‘Can we be quite sure Mark is the father?’
Chattie looked directly into his eyes with a fighting little glint in hers. ‘I have no doubt whatsoever.’
‘It’s no good getting angry with me, Chattie,’ he advised.
She stood up and paced across the room restlessly. ‘Then don’t say things like that.’
‘I—or Mark, anyway—has every right to be sure this is his child. Incidentally, did you not try to talk any sense into your sister?’ he queried.
‘I tried my level best,’ she replied grimly. Then she sighed. ‘If you ever get to know Bridget any better you’ll…well, she’s not very wise at times. That doesn’t mean to say she isn’t warm, loyal and wonderful.’
‘All of which Mark managed to walk away from with little difficulty, apparently,’ he said with considerable irony.
‘Bridget blames you for that.’ Chattie bit her lip. ‘Look, I don’t know one way or the other—’
‘You don’t know?’ he shot at her savagely.
Chattie gestured defensively. ‘I have come to wonder about it,’ she said, ‘but the fact of the matter is, Bridget is convinced—from what Mark told her, obviously—that he has an inferiority complex, that he’s all mixed-up and that he had to break up with her because you ordered him home.’
‘How convenient,’ he said scathingly.
‘You mean for Mark?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘I mean for Mark,’ he agreed. ‘Sit down, Chattie,’ he ordered. ‘I’m getting a stiff neck watching you pace around.’
She took a breath and was on the verge of telling him to go to hell but changed her mind.
‘All right.’ He finished his drink. ‘Since I’m the villain of the piece, let me tell you this. My mother tried for years to have another child after I was born. She didn’t succeed until ten years later and after several miscarriages and two live births, but she lost both of them. I think she’d almost given up hope. Then Mark came along and she doted on him and was extremely protective. Not only that, she was very artistic and he seemed to inherit it.
‘My father,’ he said, ‘resented the way she pampered him, which made for an uncomfortable upbringing for Mark and therein do lie the seeds of his restlessness. Nevertheless, I have never,’ he said with emphasis, ‘tried to make a cattleman out of Mark. Yes, when I need help, I have no conscience about roping him in and, to be honest, I don’t think it does him any harm to be reminded where his bread comes from. But I will be only too happy for Mark to find his place in life, whatever it is.’
Chattie looked troubled.
‘It could be we’re in the same boat with our siblings,’ Steve said after a moment.
She had to agree.
‘And, contrary to what you may have decided, Mark’s happiness does matter to me.’ He engaged her gaze deliberately and added, ‘What I can’t understand—OK, I may have contributed at the start—but how could you have deceived me for so long, Chattie?
’
She stared into his dark eyes and shivered because she couldn’t doubt he was deeply angry.
‘My first concern had to be my sister,’ she said quietly. ‘I wasn’t to know what kind of power you wielded over Mark or what lengths you’d go to protect him from this.’
‘Do you think he’s ready for marriage and children?’ he fired at her.
Chattie looked helpless. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I liked him but, to be honest, I think they’re two of a kind. Impetuous, immature—’
‘Did you think he was as deeply in love with Bridget as she feels she is with him?’
‘He certainly appeared to be, although…’ She paused.
‘Go on.’
‘You haven’t seen her at her best,’ Chattie said. ‘She is—gorgeous.’
Steve sat back. ‘That goes without saying. What does she do? Anything?’
Chattie swallowed her ire. ‘She’s training to be a model.’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘I might have known. So the practical, down-to-earth genes bypassed her?’
‘She is only nineteen,’ Chattie said defensively. ‘Look, this has happened. Aren’t we better off working out what’s best to be done rather than indulging in an orgy of recriminations? Believe me, it’s no more my fault than it is yours!’
‘So what are you expecting? That I drag Mark to the altar for you?’
‘No,’ Chattie cried exasperatedly, ‘not if he has to be dragged! But some help, some support for Mark’s child, some recognition.’
‘In the form of dollars and cents?’
Chattie had picked up her glass but she put it down with a snap and went white. ‘I can’t believe you said that!’
‘No? That’s strange,’ he drawled. ‘You believe a lot of other things about me. You obviously cherish the suspicion that I’m some kind of monster, not to be trusted, not to be dealt with in honesty—no wonder you had such a battle with yourself when it came to being intimate with me.’
She went from white to pink beneath his intimately assessing gaze that stripped away her clothes and dwelt, reminiscently, on her breasts.
Nor was it a charge she could deny. ‘Bridget is the only family I have,’ she said wearily, then frowned. ‘All right, I know this has come as a shock to you. When I found out I was—distraught. But if Mark and Bridget don’t get together, by far the largest part of this burden will always be on her.’
‘If they don’t get together, the only real support we’ll be able to give her is monetary,’ he pointed out and stopped rather abruptly.
‘What?’ Chattie whispered, because of the way he was looking at her. As if he was honed in on her and her alone but in a curiously predatory manner.
‘There is another way,’ he said at last.
She blinked at him.
‘You could marry me, Chattie Winslow.’
She gasped and for a moment the room spun round.
‘What’s so astonishing about that?’ he asked with irony. ‘We can barely keep our hands off each other.’
‘You…I…’
‘You’ve fitted in as if you were made for the place—in fact there’ve been times, Chattie, when I’ve seen you walk around this house as if you own it, as if you are the lady of the house.’
‘I haven’t,’ she denied huskily and looked appalled.
He smiled twistedly. ‘Believe me, you have. And it’s not only the house—I get the feeling the whole of Helena appeals to you very much.’
She knitted her fingers, then unknitted them. ‘I…I…it does, but that’s no reason to…to marry you.’
‘How about this, then?’ he said sardonically. ‘Since it weighs so heavily with you, it would secure your sister’s future.’
She could only stare at him open-mouthed.
‘Tell me this…’ he paused and watched her narrowly ‘…are we in agreement that forcing them to marry, Bridget and Mark, unless it’s what they both want, is not the solution?’
She cleared her throat. ‘Yes, but—’
‘If you married me, Chattie, Bridget and her child would always have a home at Mount Helena, the child would be recognized as Mark’s and she would be treated as part of the family.’
‘It should be recognized as Mark’s anyway,’ she protested.
He shrugged. ‘Naturally. But if Mark doesn’t come to the party, it’s not going to be of much benefit to Bridget unless you’re here at Mount Helena.’
‘But, say Mark doesn’t come to the party, how awkward will it be to have Bridget and his child living here?’
‘They’ll have to handle it as best they can but in point of fact I don’t see Mark ever settling down here. And contrary to your view of me…’ he paused and eyed her insolently ‘…I would never have consented to a Kinane simply being abandoned.’
Chattie flinched. ‘I…I still…would need to think about this.’
‘What’s to think about?’ He searched her eyes. ‘This morning—was quite a revelation I would have thought.’
‘What do you mean?’
He looked mocking. ‘You know what I mean, Chattie. You admitted you wanted me as much as I want you. Has that changed over the last few hours?’
‘This morning,’ she said with an effort, ‘we were discussing the next two weeks.’
He shrugged. ‘Your sister is the one who’s pushed us up a few gears.’
‘Steve,’ she said, and shivered suddenly, ‘how can you want to marry me when you’re…angry with me at the same time?’
His gaze clashed with hers. ‘I’m sure that will pass.’ He smiled but not with his eyes. ‘I could even tell you what would make it pass rather—delightfully. But as a business proposition it would be entirely beneficial for both of us as well as Bridget, don’t you think?’
The look in her grey eyes said it all—disbelief and growing anger plus something he couldn’t quite identify. Hurt, perhaps? he wondered, but even if it was it didn’t appear to have the power to deflect him from the course he was on. A course apparently becoming more and more set in concrete in his mind since he’d discovered how he’d been duped.
‘It’s not often one gets the opportunity to mix business with pleasure the way we could, Chattie,’ he added musingly.
That did it. The explosion he was waiting for—had even hoped to provoke?—came.
She sprang up with her fists clenched and opened her mouth.
‘Let me guess,’ he murmured and got up himself. ‘I’d be the last man on the planet you’d marry? You’d rather consort with a snake?’
Chattie closed her mouth, almost biting her tongue as he took the words out of her mouth.
‘Don’t you think you’re kidding yourself?’ he added softly but lethally as he came to stand right in front of her.
She took a distraught breath. ‘No.’
‘Well, I do.’ He reached for her. ‘This morning you told me it was rather lovely, to be in my arms. What can have changed?’
‘You’ve changed,’ she said bitterly.
‘In some essentials, not at all,’ he assured her dryly. ‘For instance—’ he drew her closer ‘—all the while I was rescuing the guys who came down in their chopper, I was thinking of this.’
Chattie’s eyes widened in disbelief.
‘I know.’ He looked momentarily wry. ‘To have images of undressing you slowly and finding out what bra you’re wearing today mixed in with the coordination of a search and rescue came as a bit of a surprise to me too. What have you been thinking about in the interim?’
Chattie closed her eyes. You, your wife, what you had in mind for us—until Bridget wiped it all out, she thought.
‘Chattie?’
She couldn’t speak as all the old magic began to course through her as his breath fanned her cheek and his hands moved slowly on her. She opened her eyes to see that he was looking down at her through half-closed lids in a way that left no doubt he desired her even, perhaps, in anger.
And she was mesmerized by that dark, intimate ga
ze to the extent of picturing him undressing her slowly—and the pleasure it would bring her. It was, in fact, almost as if it were happening so that her nipples peaked and she grew warm with her own desire. She dropped her face onto his shoulder with a husky little sound, a mixture of yearning and frustration.
How could it happen, though? How could this powerful physical force still exist between them when they were in more mental discord than they’d ever been?
Then his mouth met hers, and, if she knew anything, it was that ‘how?’ or ‘why?’ didn’t come into it—it was simply happening.
What broke them apart was a strangled gasp coming from the doorway. And the voicer of that gasp was Bridget. Who then tottered into the room to sink into a chair saying, ‘If this is what it looks to be, it’s the best news I’ve had for weeks.’
Steve didn’t release Chattie but he said to Bridget, ‘So you don’t mind me proposing to your sister?’
‘Proposing!’ Bridget’s beautiful violet eyes rimmed by thick, dark, completely natural lashes almost fell out on stalks. ‘Oh, my stars! No, of course I don’t. I was beginning to think Chattie was so darn choosey she might never—’ She broke off but began again immediately. ‘And then there’s the way she’s always lectured me about rushing into things but—no! If it’s what she wants, of course I don’t!’
Steve looked down into Chattie’s stunned eyes. ‘How say you, Miss Winslow, the elder?’
If anyone had ever been saved by the bell, Chattie was to think later, she was at that critical moment, although the irony of it was that the outcome was to be the same…
At the time, however, her bell came in the form of a visitor who strode up the front steps, calling, ‘Anyone home?’
This time Steve did let Chattie go. ‘In the lounge, Ryan,’ he called back with resignation.
The sound of boots being discarded came, then socked, though heavy footfalls padded down the hall and a large young man strolled into the lounge. ‘Good day, mate! Come to meet the housekeeper from heaven,’ he announced. ‘Holy smoke! You sly dog, Steve, me boy,’ he added as his eyes fell on Chattie and he came to a stop. ‘Thought the old man was exaggerating but for once in his life he was spot on!’
The Australians Convenient Bride Page 11