Steve said irritably, ‘This is Ryan Winters, Chattie. You met his mother and father last night.’
Ryan stuck his hand out to Chattie. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am, a real pleasure.’ They shook hands, then Ryan noticed Bridget.
It was a different Bridget from the one who had climbed off the plane. She’d changed into jeans, a figure-hugging cyclamen jumper, her hair was tidy, and although she wore no make-up she looked exquisite.
So it came as no surprise to Chattie to see the shire chairman’s son do a double take rather as his father had done.
He said, ‘Bloody hell, Steve, no one told me you had a harem of housekeepers from heaven!’
‘I don’t,’ Steve replied abruptly. ‘Bridget is Chattie’s sister. What can I do for you, Ryan? You surely didn’t drive all this way just to check out my housekeeper?’
‘It was an incentive, I cannot deny,’ Ryan said genially, ‘but the main thrust of my visit is that piece of spraying equipment you promised to lend Dad last night.’
Steve grimaced. ‘Have you ever used one of them before?’
‘Nope. Thought that was the object of the exercise—if we find it practical and easy to use, we’ll invest in one of our own. You got a minute to give me a demo?’
‘Yes, he has.’ Chattie found her voice at last. ‘Dinner won’t be ready for an hour.’ She glanced at her watch and looked surprised. ‘At least an hour,’ she added. ‘So I’ll have to get cracking. Bridget, you can come and give me a hand. Nice to meet you, Ryan!’ And ignoring Steve’s mockery-laden gaze, she swished out of the room.
Bridget followed her into the kitchen looking confused.
‘You don’t really have to help,’ Chattie said. ‘I want to talk to you. Like a cuppa?’
‘Thanks, yes, but I don’t mind helping. Chattie, what is going on?’
Chattie boiled the kettle and, while she waited for it, got some peas for Bridget to shell. ‘Sit down,’ she advised. ‘You can do them at the table. And just let me do this…’ She put some wood into the stove, made the tea and took a cup to Bridget. ‘And this…’
Several trips to the cold room and dry goods store yielded the ingredients for her dinner—a rack of lamb, a container of frozen soup, flour, sugar and butter to make an apple pie.
Bridget watched her narrowly as she sipped her tea, then she started to shell peas with a thoughtful frown, as if mentally viewing her sister through quite new eyes.
But Chattie, as she worked on the rack of lamb, inserting cloves of garlic and adding sprigs of rosemary, felt herself soothed and capable of starting to think straight for the first time for what seemed like hours. She put the lamb in the oven, the soup in a saucepan and got the rolling-pin and a pastry board.
‘So he’s not so bad, Mark’s brother?’ Bridget said tentatively.
‘He—no.’
‘Have you really fallen in love with him?’
Chattie measured flour and butter into a bowl and started to rub the butter into the flour. ‘We—do seem to have clicked,’ she said cautiously, ‘but it’s all so new and unexpected…’ She gestured with floury fingers.
Bridget smiled faintly. ‘You’ve been swept off your feet?’ she suggested.
Chattie looked rueful. ‘If you mean it’s a reverse case of the pot calling the kettle black, perhaps. Bridge—’ her busy fingers stilled and she looked across at her sister ‘—everyone here seems to think that Mark has gone back to his ex-fiancée, who lives in Broome of all places.’
‘That’s only because he doesn’t know,’ Bridget replied intensely.
‘Honey,’ Chattie sighed, ‘I hate to be the one to say this, but I think we have to take into account the possibility that Mark won’t be best pleased with your news. And we have to think of an alternative for you.’
‘What do you mean?’ Bridget asked, her eyes filling with tears.
‘I mean we can’t force Mark to marry you although Steve has indicated that they would provide some support and Mark would be recognized as the baby’s father.’
A look of terror came to Bridget’s eyes. ‘But I don’t want to do this on my own, Chattie!’
‘You’ll never have to do that. I’ll always be there—’
‘But I won’t be able to work and you can’t stop working—what kind of support?’
‘Monetary,’ Chattie said.
Bridget shivered. ‘That sounds so cold and—’
‘It’s better than nothing,’ Chattie pointed out.
Bridget laid her head on the table and started to weep.
Chattie went to the sink and washed her hands, then came back and put her arm around Bridget’s shoulders. ‘Please don’t,’ she said quietly and looked across the kitchen with unseeing eyes for a long moment. Then, much as Steve had said to her earlier, she said, ‘There is another way.’
‘What’s that?’ Bridget hiccupped.
Chattie drew out a chair and sat down. ‘The one reason that would stop me from marrying Steve is you,’ she said carefully.
Bridget sat up and licked some tears from her lip. ‘Why?’
‘Well, it would be the perfect solution in most respects. Steve has said you and the baby could have a proper home here whatever happens with Mark. We’d be together, you and I. But, much as this place appeals to me—’
‘I thought it must have,’ Bridget broke in breathlessly. ‘The last time you rang I got the feeling you were loving every minute of it. That’s another reason I decided to come up.’
‘Yes. Well. The downside, though, is how much it would appeal to you. It is isolated—’
‘Chattie,’ Bridget said tragically, ‘ever since I found out I was pregnant I’ve felt as if I’m in…Siberia. Nothing could be as isolated as that feeling.’
Chattie’s eyes filled with compassion but she knew she had to soldier on. ‘The other thing is, if Mark doesn’t want to marry you—’ She held up a hand. ‘I know, you don’t even want to contemplate that, but we have to. If he doesn’t—how hard will it be for you to live here?’
Bridget put her hands on her stomach and said nothing for almost a minute, but several expressions chased through her eyes. Then she drew a deep breath. ‘Even if he doesn’t want it, to know his baby has a home and at least some part of its heritage would be such a load off my mind. Oh, it would be hard, I guess, but I would do it for my baby.’
CHAPTER NINE
IN THE event, Chattie had to stretch her dinner because the Cooks popped in on their way past just as Steve came back from demonstrating the spray equipment.
She’d already experienced the hospitality the outback was famous for—although it obviously didn’t extend to Ryan Winters and she wondered why—but it came as no surprise to hear Steve invite them to stay for dinner. No surprise, but quite some relief.
Mind you, she pointed out to herself, it’s only delaying the evil moment.
But at least it provided some relief and normality from the tension, however temporary.
Bridget was introduced and Lucy Cook was delighted to meet Chattie’s sister—it turned out that Lucy was an avid follower of fashion and dying to hear of all the latest trends.
It also, Chattie realised rather darkly, gave Bridget the opportunity to sum up Steve discreetly and be impressed as the meal progressed leisurely, companionably and with lots of laughter as Ray and Steve traded stories about the fixes cattle could get themselves into.
In fact she could see her sister relaxing visibly beneath the civilized aura of the evening—was she deciding that Mount Helena was not quite as isolated as she’d suspected and might even be a more enjoyable place to live than she’d thought? Chattie wondered.
But like all good things it came to an end. Bridget helped her to clear up, then yawned hugely, so Chattie sent her to bed in the guest room next door to her own bedroom.
She was giving Rich a last walk in the garden when Steve found her. Rich had taken his time about bestowing his approval on Steve Kinane but he now walked up to h
im for a pat, wagging his tail, causing Chattie to wonder if it was some kind of an omen.
It was a crisp, clear night with a pale sliver of new moon, but the stars were huge and a lemon ironbark bush was scenting the dewy air.
‘Quite a night,’ he said.
‘It’s lovely,’ Chattie replied, but pulled her jumper more closely around her.
‘Quite a day, come to that. Do you often get these premonitions?’
She grimaced. ‘No. Thank heavens.’
‘Are we—talking to each other or not?’
She glanced at him. He’d leant his shoulders against the trunk of the ironbark, shoved his hands in his pockets and was regarding her thoughtfully. Throughout dinner he’d been perfectly normal towards her except for a couple of occasions when she’d discovered his dark eyes resting on her enigmatically.
‘Steve…’ she hesitated ‘…when did you plan to tell me about your ex-wife?’
‘Right now, as a matter of fact—I had no doubt you’d already heard of her. I happened to overhear Merlene about to embark on that bit of gossip a couple of nights ago.’
Chattie frowned and remembered when she was making egg and caviare canapés. ‘So that’s why you were in a bad mood! I did wonder.’
‘One of the reasons.’
‘But—’
‘Chattie, there is only one version of it you need to hear and that’s mine,’ he interrupted. ‘As a matter of interest, who else has taken it upon themselves to enlighten you about Nadine?’
Chattie absolved Merlene, explained about Joan Jackson finding her in the music room and finding the wedding photo, but at the last moment decided to hold her peace about Harriet’s two-bit worth. She finished by saying, ‘I believe she was not suited to this kind of life.’
‘No. She wasn’t.’
‘I can’t help wondering if it’s left you rather battle-scarred,’ she said slowly.
‘In what way?’ He raised an eyebrow at her.
‘Well, blackmailing me into a marriage of convenience could be a symptom of it, for example.’
‘It wouldn’t only be that, as you very well know.’
She shivered.
‘Nor am I still in love with Nadine, I got over it years ago and she’s remarried but, yes,’ he said, ‘I did swear that if I ever married again, I’d be a whole lot more practical about it. I would have thought that might appeal to you because you’re such a practical person yourself.’ He raised an eyebrow at her.
How to tell a man you were harbouring a secret little hope that he would fall madly, passionately and quite impractically in love with you? Chattie wondered, but couldn’t find the answer so she said nothing.
‘Besides which,’ he went on after a long moment, ‘I’m tired of being a bachelor. I’d like to have my own kids rather than using Brett as a surrogate son. I’d like to have someone to make plans with, someone whose company I enjoy and who enjoys this place, someone who’ll keep me from becoming a dried-up, boring old cattle-man. You.’
Chattie felt her heart move in her breast because he’d spoken quietly but she got the feeling he meant every word and she couldn’t help being curiously moved.
‘And that’s all without what we do to each other physically.’ He straightened and she tensed but he made no move towards her. ‘Would it be so inconceivable?’ he asked.
Not at all, if I didn’t suspect you’re still angry with me, might never fully trust me or—could just say three little words—I love you, it ran through her mind.
Her next thought was that if it was so important for her to hear those three words, could she any longer doubt that she’d fallen in love with him?
‘Steve—’ She broke off.
He surprised her. ‘Sleep on it,’ he said, and this time he did move towards her, but only to take her face in his hands and add barely audibly, ‘I think you’d make a wonderful wife, Chattie Winslow.’
He released her after a long, shared and searching glance, and walked away.
They were alone at breakfast the next morning.
‘Morning—how is Bridget?’ were his first words to her as he sat down to bacon and eggs.
‘Dead to the world so I’ll let her sleep in,’ Chattie replied.
He studied her in a pair of caramel cord trousers and a pink crinkly cotton blouse with a drawstring neckline as she brought the toast. For some reason her hair was severely tamed into a tight-looking knot and there were faint blue shadows beneath her eyes as if she hadn’t slept too well.
He waited for her to sit down before he said simply, ‘So?’
Chattie reached for the butter. ‘Thank you, the answer is yes.’
Their gazes clashed and for a moment Chattie was convinced she was right about something that had popped into her head during a long and difficult night. That this was some kind of a test, this proposal of marriage from Steve Kinane, a test she would fail if she agreed to marry him…
He went to say something but appeared to change his mind and said instead as he got up, ‘Stay there.’ And left the kitchen.
When he came back he had a small, old, leather-bound box in his hand. He flicked it open and put it beside her plate.
Chattie’s eyes widened—it was an engagement ring. Obviously not new, it was nevertheless quite lovely, an oval ruby surrounded by tiny diamonds to make a flower shape and set on a gold band.
‘But…whose…what…?’ She looked up bewilderedly.
‘It was my mother’s.’
‘Didn’t…I mean your first wife, didn’t she—?’
‘No. My mother was still alive then,’ he said, and, putting his hand over hers, drew her to her feet. ‘This may not be the most romantic setting,’ he added as he took the ring from the box and slid it on her finger, ‘but my mother would have approved of you very much.’
It was all so unexpected, Chattie raised her grey eyes to his and they were deeply bewildered.
How had he managed to bridge the chasm that existed between them? A chasm caused by her deceiving him over Bridget and resulting in this proposal being made in the form of blackmail. Or rather, she thought, why was he doing it this way now? Had the cynicism he’d displayed yesterday dried up or was she being lured into a false sense of security?
‘It’s normal to kiss the bride-to-be in this situation,’ he said softly and traced the outline of her mouth. ‘Would it be permissible?’
She swallowed.
‘Do you like the ring?’
‘It’s lovely.’ She looked down at it on her finger. ‘Uh—thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’ He enfolded the slim length of her against him. ‘Mmm…you smell nice.’
She looked surprised. ‘Must be my shampoo, I haven’t used any perfume.’
‘Might just be the essential you but, talking of shampoo, what have you done to your poor hair this morning?’
‘I decided to look practical.’
Their gazes caught and his eyes told her he’d registered her attempt at a shot against him, but he was too clever for her. He countered it by fiddling with the bobbles restraining her hair until he got it free in all its fair, curly splendour.
‘There, that’s how I like it,’ he murmured. ‘Wayward and gorgeous, like the rest of you. In fact so much so I can no longer restrain myself from doing this.’
He put his arms around her again and lowered his mouth to hers.
Chattie thought of resisting but he foiled that too as his hands moved on her body to cup her breasts and trace the outline of her hips, then slide along the satiny skin of her upper arms—and she was lost.
Her nipples started to direct a stream of sensuous traffic throughout her slim figure, not only beneath the feel of his hands on her, but also the hard, warm feel of his body against hers. All sorts of secret areas of her body clamoured for his attentions and her breathing grew ragged as she felt herself budding and flowering like a thirsty garden crying out to be nurtured by Steve Kinane and Steve Kinane alone.
Then he untied the dr
awstring of her blouse and pulled it apart to reveal a hyacinth-blue bra trimmed with white and green flowers.
‘It gets better and better,’ he said against the corner of her mouth, and started to kiss the soft hollows at the base of her throat.
Chattie felt herself melting against him and she made a husky little sound of sheer need.
‘Mmm, I’m rather a fan of it myself.’ He pushed the shoulders of her blouse further down, then cupped her hips to him as he kissed, tasted and literally set her on fire as his mouth moved down towards her breasts.
From somewhere it came to Chattie that they were on a course they wouldn’t be able to deflect themselves from very soon, unless she made a supreme effort.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t go there,’ she whispered.
He raised his head and there was a wicked little glint in his eyes. ‘No?’
‘No. They seem to have a mind of their own as it is, but with your encouragement…’ She trailed off.
‘I like the sound of that.’
‘All the same, perhaps this isn’t the time or the place.’
‘There are six bedrooms in this house,’ he reminded her.
‘I meant,’ she said, barely audibly because it was difficult enough to talk, let alone going to be incredibly difficult to disengage from Steve Kinane now, ‘I think we should wait until we’re married.’
Surprise, or something, held him silent for a beat. Until he said. ‘The sooner the better, then.’
And Merlene’s motor bike made itself heard approaching.
He grimaced. ‘Saved by the bell maybe. Because I get the feeling wherever we “go” in this manner could be problematic for us now.’
She licked her lips and tried to calm her breathing as well as all the lovely sensations running through her while he tied up her blouse. Then she realized he was watching her intently and expecting some kind of a response, some confirmation that they were in this together and there was no way—much as some instinct told her she might regret it—she could deny him that confirmation.
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