Argentinian in the Outback & Cattle Rancher, Secret Son: Argentinian in the OutbackCattle Rancher, Secret Son

by Margaret Way

“My family will have their say of course,” he admitted without hesitation. “All families do—especially one as close as mine. But I make the decisions. Besides, you are an angel.”

  “No, I’m not!” Her jewel-like eyes blazed. She didn’t want Varo to put her on a pedestal.

  “Not you’re not!” he agreed gently in his throat. “You’re a woman. All woman. My woman.”

  His dark, dark gaze was ardent, diamond-bright. In one smooth motion he had her blue and white striped cotton shirt free of her jeans, easing it off her shoulders.

  Was it her over-active imagination or was the cavern lit in a golden glow?

  “You’re feverish!” His mouth was gliding all over her satin smooth exposed skin. Shirt and flimsy stretch lace bra had since fallen to the sand.

  “On fire,” she whispered back.

  Very tenderly he lowered her to the sand. It didn’t feel crunchy at all. It felt more like a velvet quilt. He couldn’t leave her after this. He couldn’t. This was not only a ravishing physical experience. It was spiritual.

  Varo bent his head to kiss the tears away from her eyes. “We pick our path, my beautiful Ava. Nothing feels wrong to you, does it?” he asked with marked tenderness.

  “How could anything be wrong when we are together.”

  Ava knew now she would put up the fight of her life to hold on to her love.

  Varo.

  She had been too malleable too much of the time. Too afraid to reach out. She wasn’t there yet. But she would be. That was her vow.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HE HAD little difficulty chartering a flight to Kooraki Station from the domestic terminal at Longreach. It cost him, but Luke had never felt so determined on something in his entire life. He wanted Ava back. He was going to get her back. And, by God, he would make her suffer when he did. Not physically—never physically. He was after all a gentleman. But he had special psychological powers over his wife.

  She had as good as accepted she hadn’t been a good wife to him. In his world, the real world, the man reigned. He had quickly learned how to control Ava’s spirit. She was too gentle by far, too tender, too sensitive. She had always been frightened of conflict. That old bastard Gregory Langdon with his Midas touch must be answering for a lot, he thought with intense satisfaction. Ava had been terrified of her grandfather. And she hadn’t been the only one. Most people had. Except for Amelia’s beautiful conniving mother, who had been left a considerable fortune by her long-time lover. Great to know she was an outcast now, shunned by all.

  There was no one about when he landed. He waited on the tarmac until the pilot turned the nose of the Cessna about. Then until he was taxiing down the runway to take off. He hated flying in light aircraft. As far as he was concerned light aircraft had a bad reputation.

  Two sulphur-yellow helicopters were grounded to the right of the giant silver hangar emblazoned on its roof with the station’s name. He strolled over to a station Jeep, saw with relief the keys were in the ignition. Why not? Who was there to steal the vehicle? The Langdons ruled this Outback kingdom. James Devereaux Langdon, his revered brother-in-law, wore authority like a cloak. Quickly he pitched his suitcase in the back, then climbed into the driver’s seat. No way was he going to walk up to the homestead. It was a hell of a distance, and he had always hated the dry inland heat. The Jeep was a gift.

  He had a plan in place. The Argentine was still there—a favoured guest. Elizabeth and Erik Langdon were back in Sydney. Karen always had kept him well informed. Pity she wasn’t more attractive. Well, she was in her way, and extremely smart, but her fine-boned featured face was a bit too much on the hard side. Actually, Karen Devereaux was a genuine bitch. No friend to Ava, but she had come in handy over the years when he needed information.

  His idea was not to confront his wife in anger. Dear me, no! He had to get this de Montalvo guy on his side. Perhaps Ava hadn’t done anything wrong. Perhaps the Argentine hadn’t done anything wrong either. To split them, thus bringing any budding relationship to a halt, he intended pouring his husbandly woes into Montalvo’s ear. By and large he was the innocent party. He, the long-suffering husband. Ava had led him an excruciating emotional dance. Ha-ha—not the tango. He had accepted all the punishment she had meted out. The thing was he loved her. He adored her. He saw no life, no future without her.

  He had few peers when it came to winning people around. He was, he knew, an unsung genius. He had a top job. No one was about to steal his wife away from him. Certainly not a South American gigolo.

  The housekeeper was at the front door to greet him. No, greet wasn’t the right word, he quickly saw. From the expression on her dark-skinned face she was tossing up whether to slam the door on him or reluctantly admit him. She ought to be dismissed.

  Her liquid black eyes bored into his. “Ms Ava is not at home,” she announced, clearly challenging him to dispute it.

  For a moment he felt like giving her a good shove out of his way. Rude bitch! He had encountered her before. “That’s all right,” he returned very mildly, as though he had plenty of time. “Where is she? It’s Mrs…isn’t it?” He couldn’t for the life of him think of her name.

  She didn’t supply it. For God’s sake, didn’t she know how a housekeeper was supposed to behave?

  “I’m hoping to stay for a few days,” he said, preparing to sweep past this formidable woman. “My wife and I need to talk. Perhaps you could show me my room? When are you expecting my wife back?” he asked, playing up the wife for all he was worth. They had been estranged for more than nine months now and time was running out. This surprise visit was very serious.

  The woman gave a twirl of her hand. “I have no idea. Miss Ava is not on Kooraki at this time. She is showing a guest around Alice Springs and our most famous desert monuments.”

  He forced an untroubled smile. “That’s nice. The Langdons are extremely hospitable people. I’m in no hurry. I have a week off to expedite a couple of outstanding matters. I’d like to see my room now, if it’s no trouble? It was a long trip getting here. Lunch would be nice—in, say, an hour?”

  With hidden amusement he watched the housekeeper inhale hard through her wide nostrils. But what could she do? Throw him out? He was Ava’s husband, after all. He was being perfectly respectful. He had deliberately used the word expedite. To all intents and purposes he was here to agree to a divorce, throwing no objections into the pot. It was all politics. He spent much of his time pretending this and that.

  * * *

  Ava and Varo flew back into Kooraki late afternoon the following day. Nula Morris hadn’t wasted a moment leaving a message for Ava at the hotel where they’d been staying—in separate rooms—so they were prepared for a confrontation of some sort. Luke Selwyn would never have dared to set foot on the station with the Master of Kooraki at home, but Dev and Amelia were currently in Rome.

  To Varo it was quite simple. He was here to keep Ava from all harm. He wasn’t concerned about Ava’s husband. From what he had gleaned from Dev and Amelia, and around the station, Luke Selwyn was held in poor regard. He had been judged by one and all as an unsuitable husband for Ava. They had all known Ava had been desperate to escape an unhappy home life. But her hopes of happiness had sadly unravelled along the way.

  Nevertheless Varo had not been prepared to meet such an outwardly pleasant and good-looking man. He resembled an English actor whose name eluded him—the one with the floppy fair hair and earnest blue eyes. It was obvious Luke Selwyn was still deeply emotionally involved with his beautiful wife. Indeed, when he had come downstairs to greet them his blue eyes had momentarily shone with tears. He appeared to be taking Ava’s wish for a divorce with stoicism, and a considerable degree of pain that he sought to hide—or was going all out to create that impression. There was no sign whatsoever of fuming jealousy, hostility, let alone paranoid rage.
Not that Ava had spoken out against her husband. He thought Ava was prepared to shoulder her own share of blame.

  Only it couldn’t be easy to throw one’s husband aside, jettison a marriage. Selwyn would have to be some sort of ogre figure. He certainly didn’t present himself as one. And he had risked coming out here, where he clearly wasn’t wanted. But then things happened in a marriage. For better or worse.

  Ava flatly refused to sit down opposite her husband for dinner. “We’re finished, Luke,” she told him firmly. “Why are you here?” She raised her elegant brows. She knew Luke was well into role-playing and she disapproved strongly.

  “I hope it’s not an inconvenience for me to come here, Ava. I wanted to say—I just wanted to clear up a few points.”

  He thought he looked the very picture of embarrassment to the Argentine standing at Ava’s shoulder. De Montalvo was very tall and devilishly handsome, but not in any matinee idol way. He looked damned formidable. He had been hoping for a bit of a playboy. No such luck! The man had real charisma. And obviously, going on everything about him—his manner, his speech, his air of confident authority—he came from a privileged background. That was the big surprise.

  Karen had spoken about de Montalvo as though his main attraction was phenomenal sex appeal. Indeed, she thought de Montalvo so sexy she could hardly contain herself. He could see the sex appeal, all right. But daunting was a better word. De Montalvo was no one’s fool either. It would be an enormous coup to turn this man off Ava. But it was possible. Anyway, wouldn’t a guy like that, who had it all, have a girlfriend back home? Hell, a string of girlfriends. He was a hot-blooded Latin, after all.

  In the end Ava relented. He had been counting on that. They were all adults, civilised people, weren’t they? Dinner actually went smoothly, considering just the three of them sat down and there were so many subterranean currents. Nula was an excellent cook. He had to give her that. He was very particular about his food. And drink, of course. Kooraki maintained an excellent cellar.

  For starters they were served quietly and unobtrusively with crab and mango salad and wafer-thin fresh coconut slices, followed by duck breast on a bed of hot steaming wild rice. An exquisite millefeuille with passionfruit curd was wheeled in for dessert. No complaints there.

  Ava could put a decent meal together at a pinch, but she wasn’t in the same class as her mother. But she was so beautiful, with her tender, angelic face. He felt like reaching out and slapping it. Not able to do that—he could just imagine how de Montalvo would react—he continued drawing the Argentine out about life in his own country as though he were really interested. They had already discussed Uluru and the Olgas, for God’s sake. Been there, done that.

  Of course the two of them had slept together. There was no doubt whatsoever in his mind. Ava had an astonishing glow about her. A luminescence that lit up her blonde beauty. Unfaithful bitch! How he didn’t leap to his feet and savage them both with furious accusations he didn’t know. Or perhaps he did. The upshot might have been de Montalvo knocking him flat. Instinct told him the Argentine would be quite the wrong man to cross. And he looked so damned athletic—physically superior at every level.

  But did he want Ava? That was the burning question. Or did he have an affair in every part of the world he wandered into? It was hard to gauge the Argentine’s thoughts. The coal-black eyes were brilliant but quite unfathomable. Surely it couldn’t be an act, de Montalvo’s displaying interest in what he had to say? Then again, he had been told more than once he was an excellent conversationalist. De Montalvo had even asked him if he had ever played polo. He had answered regretfully that he had never had the time. What he’d actually meant was, had he ever considered playing the game of polo he would have needed his head read. Life and limb were much too precious.

  Now all he had to do was keep his cool, act brain-dead in relation to their trip together and his wife’s scandalous behaviour, and get de Montalvo alone. He wasn’t sure if he should play his trump card. It was a horrendous lie, and it could prove dangerous, but he suspected he might have to use it. He had to change the Argentine’s opinion of Ava, who was still his wife. That called for drastic measures.

  All’s fair in love and war, old son!

  * * *

  Fortune smiled on him. He had to control a mad desire to fall to his knees and give thanks. By an incredible stroke of luck one of the Langdon circle—a near neighbour Siobhan O’Hare, the one who had lusted after Langdon but lost out to Amelia—took a trip over to Kooraki to visit. No doubt to find out if the honeymooners were surviving the honeymoon, he thought waspishly. Obviously hope sprang eternal. If ever the marriage broke down, the ever-faithful Siobhan would be waiting in the wings. God knew how she thought she could ever replace the glorious, voluptuous Amelia. But most women had inferior reasoning powers.

  Juan-Varo de Montalvo, hidalgo that he was, was on hand to say hello to Ava’s visitor—who, let’s face it, looked at de Montalvo with a suspicion she couldn’t hide in her eyes. Why was the glamorous Argentine still on Kooraki? Shouldn’t he have already gone on his way?

  He knew exactly the thoughts that were ticking over in little Siobhan’s head. Ava was still married. To him. Luke Selwyn. Blue-chip lawyer. What was he doing on Kooraki, for that matter? Initially she had looked as though she had stumbled into a war zone, but with his natural charm of manner he had made it clear there was no animosity between him and Ava. She was permitted the sneaking feeling he was secretly devastated, but hiding it like a man.

  To celebrate this wonderfully timely intervention he suggested to the Argentine they take a run around the station in the Jeep that was parked out at the front.

  “Might be my last time here,” he said, with a pained air of regret. “Ava said at dinner she intended taking you out to see Malyah Man?” He had found the weird sandstone monument bloody terrifying, but he had to get de Montalvo somewhere out there, where they wouldn’t be interrupted. Malyah Man was ready to hand. “I could show you,” he said, giving the other man a friendly smile.

  Varo stared down at Selwyn, wondering what was going on beneath the convivial exterior. The man could be a sociopath for all he knew. He knew a sociopath’s destructive qualities were not easily recognised. They could be charming when required. He had heard Ava’s husband was a very self-centred man. Whatever Selwyn was, he knew he could handle him.

  “You have a camera?” Luke asked, rubbing his chin.

  “Sure.”

  “You might like to take photos,” he suggested. “It’s an incredible structure—rather like those Easter Island statues. The girls can enjoy morning tea and a chat without us around. We’ll be back in little over an hour. It really is an exceptional sight.”

  When de Montavlo went off in search of Ava he stood in the Great Hall, rocking in his boots. He had gained valuable time with his wife’s lover. He had to make the most of it. He would really like old Malyah Man to topple and fall in a great crush on the Argentine. He wouldn’t mind that at all. But he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

  * * *

  Ava wasn’t at all happy Varo had agreed to go for a trip around the station with Luke. But what could she do? If she said she didn’t want him to go with Luke, it might appear to him as if she had something to hide. Her way to prevent Luke from giving his side of the story.

  She hesitated, her mind racing. Luke was up to no good. She knew him too well. He would be out to squeeze the last little drop of sympathy he could out of Varo. That was the role he had chosen to play. The wronged husband. Helpless to keep a wife who no longer wanted him or needed him. She came from a rich family, but now she had no sense of dependency on anyone—much less her husband. Her grandfather, thinking she would never be able to stand on her own two feet, had made her totally independent for life.

  Ava’s nerves were jangling. She couldn’t help feeling a creeping apprehension.
If Luke couldn’t have her, Luke would be out to destroy her. Or her one big chance at happiness.

  “Well?” Varo questioned humorously, as she hesitated.

  “I had intended showing you Malyah Man myself.” She tried not to show any trace of her inner agitation.

  Varo shrugged. “Then Selwyn and I will go some place else. There—that’s decided.”

  Siobhan’s clear voice piped up from the seating area behind them. She could feel Ava’s tension. And why wouldn’t she be tense? It was obvious to her there was something between Ava and the dashing Argentine. Luke Selwyn must be feeling it too—not that she had ever liked him. But one could feel pity. “Oh, Malyah Man is marvellous, Varo. You must see it before you go home,” she enthused.

  Ava took a breath. “Well, I suppose if Luke wants to show you, then go by all means.”

  “Not if you’re upset about it?” Varo took no heed of the overly curious neighbour. It was all he could do not to draw Ava into his arms, hold her tight against his chest.

  Ava raised a smile. The last thing she should appear was anxious. Or, even worse, guilty. “Of course not. Don’t be long.”

  “Just over an hour, Selwyn said.”

  “Lunch at one,” she reminded him, turning to her uninvited guest, whose ears and eyes were agog. “You’re staying, of course, Siobhan?”

  Siobhan pinkened up. “Love to,” she gushed. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother all about this. The Argentine was so sexy she felt a throb in her own blood.

  Poor old Luke!

  * * *

  Blazing sunlight flooded the plains. On the far side of them the jagged outline of the ancient Hill Country stood fierily against a cobalt sky. Never until the day he died would Varo forget the sublime experiences he and Ava had shared.

  He had seen many extraordinary and extreme sights so far in his life, taken many adventurous journeys. He and two friends had once loaded their backpacks and climbed to the top of a spurting volcano, where they’d had to don masks and protective gear. With the same companions he had gone extreme white-water rafting in turbulent waters. He had visited Antarctica—amazing beyond belief—and the Galapagos Islands with their wonderful evolutionary marvel the giant Galapagos Turtle and magnificent marine iguanas—the only sea-going lizards in the world.