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Required: Three
Outback Brides
Cattle Rancher,
Convenient Wife

Margaret Way

In the Heart of
the Outback …

Barbara Hannay

Single Dad,
Outback Wife

Amy Andrews

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cattle Rancher,
Convenient Wife

Margaret Way

About the Author

MARGARET WAY takes great pleasure in her work, and works hard at her pleasure. She enjoys tearing off to the beach with her family on weekends, loves haunting galleries and auctions and is completely given over to French champagne “for every possible joyous occasion.” She was born and educated in the river city of Brisbane, Australia, and now lives within sight and sound of beautiful Moreton Bay.

CHAPTER ONE

THOUGH his mood was fairly grim Rory Compton couldn’t help but smile. It was the middle of the day, yet a man could fire a cannon down the main street of Jimboorie and not find a target; not even a stray dog. The broad sunlit street was deserted as were the sidewalks, usually ganged on a Saturday. No kids were bobbing, weaving, ducking about, playing some private game, while their mothers, looking harried shouted at them to stop. No one was loading groceries into the family pickup. No dusty four-wheel drive’s ran back and forth, the drivers waving casually and calling greetings to friends and acquaintances which meant pretty well everyone in town.

Seated on the upper verandah of Vince Dougherty’s pub, Rory had the perfect view of the town centre, its impressive Community Hall and its attractive park. He drained off the cold beer he’d enjoyed with the prepacked lunch Dougherty’s wife, Katie, had very kindly left him; a plate of thick roast beef and pickles sandwiches, cling wrapped so well it took him almost five minutes to get into it. He hadn’t a hope of working his way through the pile. The stray dog would have come in handy in that regard. With the possible exception of himself, the whole town had taken itself off to the big ‘open day’ on Jimboorie, an outlying historic sheep station that had given the town its name. Sitting there, his long legs resting on a planter’s chair, he debated whether to go. There was a slim chance it could boost his mood.

It was a restoration party he understood from Vince, who being a publican was always ready for a chat that naturally included dramatic revelations. The old homestead, from all accounts, once magnificent, had been allowed to go to rack and ruin under the custodianship of the former owner, Angus Cunningham. ‘A miserable old bastard! Didn’t think anyone in town was good enough to talk to!’

Of course Rory knew the name Cunningham. The Cunninghams figured among the roll call Outback pioneers. Sheep men. Not cattlemen like his own kind, their stamping ground, the legendary Channel Country, a riverine desert deep into the South-West pocket of their vast State. The new owner, a great nephew, ‘one helluva guy!’ had spent well over a year and a mountain of money restoring the place. Lucky old him! Vince had invited Rory along to the open day—‘Sure and they won’t mind!’ Vince was as expansive as though he and Cunningham were best mates.

‘Maybe,’ he’d said. And maybe not. He wasn’t in his best spirits since he and his father had had their cataclysmic row a couple of weeks back. Since then he’d been on the road, travelling from one Outback town to another in a sick, angry daze, checking out if there were any pastoral properties on the market he could afford with the help of a hefty bank loan. He couldn’t lift his eyes to the multimillion range. All up including the private nest egg his grandad, Trevis Compton, had left him he had close to two million dollars A lot of money to a lot of people. Not near enough when one was talking a halfway decent pastoral property.

‘I haven’t left your brother, Jay, anything outside the personal things he loves,’ Trevis had told him years back. They were sitting on the front steps watching another glorious desert sunset, his grandad’s arm around his shoulder. ‘Jay’s the heir. He gets Turrawin. It’s always been that way. The eldest Compton son inherits to ensure the family heritage is kept intact. There are problems with splitting it a number of ways. Jay’s a good boy. I love him dearly. But he’s not you. You’re meant for big things, Rory. A little nest egg might well come in handy after I’m gone.’

Rory could still hear his grandfather’s deep gentle voice. How could two men be so different? His grandfather and his dad? To be strictly fair his grandfather had led a charmed life with a devoted wife as his constant companion. His son Bernard, however, had his life blighted fairly early. Bitterness ate into a man’s soul. That last row had been one row too many. On both sides. His father had sent him on his way—hell he was going anyway—hurling the most vicious and unjust insults that even Rory, used to his father’s ungovernable tirades, was deeply shocked. He had passed his elder brother, Jay, his father’s heir in the entrance hall.

‘Damn him, damn him! Damn him to hell!’ Jay was muttering, white faced and shamed, furious with his father for attacking Rory but unprepared to go to his defence. Their father had turned big strong Jay into a powder puff, Rory thought sadly. Anyway Jay’s intervention would have been in vain. He was going or his own pride and integrity would be hopelessly compromised. What did it matter he ran Turrawin these days and largely for the past four years? His father wanted him out! Sometimes Rory thought his father couldn’t abide to look at him.

They had never been close. Instinctively Rory had known the reason. He strongly resembled his mother who had run off and left her husband and children when Rory was twelve and Jay fourteen. A really bad time. It had brought scandal on the family and a very hard life on Laura Compton’s two boys who had worshipped her. From that day forward their father had succumbed to the dark places that were in him. His temper, always volatile became so uncontrollable his young sons lived in a constant state of fear and anxiety. Jay was often in floods of tears after a beating with a riding crop; Rory, never which only served to inflame their father further. Both boys regarded boarding school as a god-send. By the age of sixteen and eighteen, both six foot plus, taller and stronger than their father, the beatings had stopped. Their father had been forced to turn his attention back to his whiplash tongue.

‘As soon as Dad’s dead you and I are going to be full partners,’ Jay had promised, his voice full of brotherly love and pride. Jay made no bones about it. Rory was everything he was not. ‘I won’t be able to run Turrawin without you. We both know that. The men look to you not me. You’re the cattleman. The man to save the station. Dad didn’t inherit Grandad’s skills or his leadership qualities. Neither did I. You’re the real cattleman, Rory.’

Rory sighed deeply knowing Jay would get into trouble without him. Bernard Compton had bruised his sons badly. But he hasn’t beaten me, Rory thought determinedly. I’ve got everything going for me. Youth, health, strength, the necessary skills. He’d start up his own run. Move up in easy stages. He was as ready to found a dynasty as his Compton ancestors had before him. In time—it would have to be pretty soon, he’d turned twenty-eight—he’d find himself a wife. A young woman reared to the Outback. A woman with a deep love of the land who could withstand an isolated existence without caving in to depression or a mad craving for city lights.

Romantic love wasn’t all that high on his agenda. Romance had a shelf life. That was the down side. He had to learn from experience. Most people didn’t. History wasn’t going to repeat itself with him. His best bet was a partner who could go the distance. That meant for life; a contractual sort of arrangement that the two of them would honour, working strongly together to build a future. As long as the woman was young and reasonably attractive the sex should be okay. He definitely wanted children. He knew he wasn’t and never could be a hard, cruel bastard like his old man. He would be a good father to his children, not bring them up in a minefield. The Outback certainly bred hard men, tough men. But mercifully not many like his dad.

So what to do now? Rory stood up and stretched his long arms, staring down at the empty street. He had plenty of time on his hands. Why not take a run out to Jimboorie?

He might as well. Vince had given him directions. A beautiful old homestead would be worth seeing at least. It might even offer some comfort. He’d been intrigued to learn the new owner’s Christian name was Clay. Clay Cunningham. He’d only ever met one Clay in his life, but that was a Clay Dyson, the overseer on Havilah a couple of years back. A guy around his own age held in great esteem by his employer, old Colonel Forbes, ex-British Army, now deceased, who had inherited Havilah from his Australian cousin and to everyone’s astonishment had remained in the country to work it. Colonel Forbes, universally respected, had thought the world of Clay Dyson, Rory recalled. But it wasn’t that Clay. Couldn’t be. The Clay Dyson he had known had no background of money, no family name, though the word was old Colonel Forbes had remembered him in his will.

By the time he arrived on Jimboorie, a splendid property and as far out of his reach as planet Pluto, the main compound was still crowded with people but some were starting to leave making for the parking area crammed with vehicles of all makes and price tags. During the long approach to the station he had seen more than one light aircraft airborne, heading home. He made a quick tour of the very extensive gardens marvelling at the great design and the rich variety of trees, flowering plants and shrubs he presumed were drought tolerant and could withstand dust storms.

Beneath a long tunnel of cerise bouganvillea that blossomed heavily over an all but smothered green wrought-iron trellis, he passed two pretty young women from the town who smiled at him shyly in acknowledgement. He smiled back, raising a hand in salute, totally unaware it only took an instant for his smile to light up his entire face and dispel the dark, serious, brooding look he’d worn since his teens.

Jimboorie House impressed him immensely. He’d never expected it to be so big or so grand. It was huge! It rivalled if not surpassed any of the historic homesteads he had been invited into over the years. When his mother had been with them—when they were family—they had been invited everywhere as a matter or course. His beautiful mother, Laura, had been very popular, herself an excellent hostess presiding over their own handsome homestead on which she had lavished much love and care.

Why then had she abandoned them? Didn’t God decree mothers had to remain with their children? For years he and Jay had accepted the reason their father had drummed into them. City bred their mother had only awaited the opportunity when they were old enough to renounce her lonely Outback life. As young men they came to understand what life for their mother might have been like, though their father had been reasonable enough then. Well, for most of the time anyway. He had never actually laid a hand on them when their mother was around except for the odd time when she had protested so strongly he had stopped. In any event she had remarried after the divorce. That happened all the time but it was lousy for the kids.

Their father, as was to be expected given his name, his money and influence, gained custody. He had never been prepared to share it with his ex-wife. The failure of their marriage was her fault entirely. It was one of his father’s most marked characteristics, he held himself blameless in all things. Their mother alone deserved condemnation. The sharing was a bad idea anyway. Sensitive Jay had always become enormously upset when it was time to leave her. Equally upset, though he never let on, Rory behaved badly. He had to take the pain out on someone. He had chosen to take it out on his mother. After a while the visits became farther and farther in-between, then ceased altogether.

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ their father had crowed, that hard triumphant gleam in his eyes as he started all over again to trash their mother. ‘She doesn’t want you. She never did! She’s a selfish, self-centred heartless bitch! We’re well rid of her!’

Neither of them would have won a good parenting award, Rory thought. But well rid of her? People really did die from grief. All three of them, father and sons, hadn’t been able to handle her desertion. Their father, a proud and arrogant man, had never been free of his own grief and crazed thoughts of personal humiliation. Rory’s memories of his mother were so heartwrenching he rarely allowed them to touch him. He and Jay had believed their mother to be the sweetest, gentlest, funniest, mother in the world. She could always make them laugh. It just didn’t seem possible she had been faking it as their father always claimed. Nevertheless she had left, taking no account of the devastation she left behind her.

In choosing a woman of his own, Rory had long since decided he had to make absolutely sure he kept his eyes and ears open and his feet firmly on the ground. He was as susceptible to a woman’s beauty as the next man—maybe more so he thought wryly—but there was no way he was going to allow himself to be seduced by it.

Or so he thought.

Vince Dougherty caught sight of him as he was wandering the grandly proportioned rooms of the old homestead letting it work its magic on him. Whoever had been responsible for the interior decoration—probably a top city designer—had done a great job.

‘You made it!’ Vince, looking delighted—his enthusiasm was hard to resist—made a beeline for him pumping his hand as though he hadn’t seen him for weeks instead of around eight-thirty that morning. ‘What d’yah think now? Tell me.’ He poked Rory’s shoulder which was marginally better than a poke in the ribs. ‘You look like a guy with good taste.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Vince.’ Rory’s answer was laconic. ‘It’s magnificent!’ His admiration was unfeigned. ‘Definitely well worth the visit!’

Vince looked as proud as if he were the owner, decorator, landscaper, all rolled into one. The kind of guy who changed lives. ‘Told yah, didn’t I? You should have come an hour or so earlier. Meet the Cunninghams yet?’

‘Not so far.’ Rory shook his head. ‘I only came to see the house really. I’m only passing through, Vince. Just like I told you.’

‘Well, yah never know!’ Vince’s face creased into another smile. He was hoping this fine-looking young fella would stay in the district. He glanced upwards to the gallery. ‘That’s Carrie, Mrs Cunningham up there.’ Discreetly he pointed out a blond young woman with a lovely innocent face and a radiant smile. She was standing in the midst of a circle of women friends who were laughing at something she was saying, which they obviously found very funny.

Rory could understand Vince’s look of undying admiration. ‘She’s very beautiful,’ he said. ‘The house suits her perfectly.’

Vince’s big amiable face settled into an expression of pride. ‘An angel!’ he announced. ‘Clay reckons he’s the luckiest man in the world. Now how about me taking you to find him? I reckon you young blokes would get on.’

Why not? ‘Just point me in his direction, Vince,’ Rory said. ‘I see your wife beckoning to you.’

‘My little sweetheart!’ Vince exclaimed, a tag Rory had heard at least forty times during his stay. Vince and Katie were apparently right for each other. Katie wasn’t little, either. ‘Have to get back to the pub sooner or later. Try outdoors, near the fountain. Clay was there a few minutes ago. I don’t think he’s come back into the house.’

‘Will do.’ Rory tipped a finger to his temple.

It would turn out to be one of the best moves he had ever made.

The marble three-tiered fountain, monumental in size to suit the grand proportions of the house, was playing; an object of fascination for the children who had to be dragged away from the water by their mothers before they fell in or climbed in as one daring six-year-old had already done and been lightly chastised for. At such times he always remembered how his father had used to bawl him out as a child. It seemed like he had always made his father mad. Madder and madder as the years wore on. And later after their grandad died, the blind rages that took longer and longer to blow over.

A tall, handsome young man stood like a monarch at the top of the broad sloping lawn that ran down to a sun spangled creek. White lilies were blooming all around the banks, an exquisite foil for the sparkling stream and the green foliage of the reeds and the myriad water plants. Rory walked toward him, his spirits growing lighter. Surely it was Clay Dyson? Dyson was an arresting looking guy, hard to miss. Rory let his amazement show on his face.

‘It is Clay, isn’t it? Clay Dyson?’ he called. ‘Used to be overseer on Havilah a couple of years back?’

The other man turned, his face breaking into a smile of surprise as he recognised his visitor. He walked toward Rory, thrusting out a welcoming hand. ‘Cunningham now, Rory. Cunningham is my real name by the way. How are you and what are you doing so far from home?’ he exclaimed. ‘Not that it isn’t great to see you.’

‘Great to see you!’ Rory responded in kind, returning the handshake. He hadn’t known Clay Dyson—Cunningham whatever—all that well, but what he’d seen and what he’d heard he’d liked. ‘So what’s the story, Clay? And this homestead!’ He turned to gaze towards the front facade. ‘It’s magnificent.’

‘It is,’ Clay agreed with serene pride. ‘There is a story, of course. A long one. I’ll tell you sometime, but to cut it short it all came about through a bitter family feud. You know about them?’

‘I do.’ Rory made a wry face.

‘Mercifully the feud has been put to bed,’ Clay said with satisfaction. ‘My great-uncle Angus left me all this.’ He threw out his arm with a flourish. ‘Caroline, my wife, and I have only recently called a halt to renovations. They were mighty extensive and mighty expensive. What I inherited was a far cry from what you see now.’

‘So I believe,’ Rory said in an admiring voice. ‘I’m staying at the Jimboorie pub for a few days. Vince told me about the open day out here. I’m glad I came.’

‘So am I.’ Clay smiled. ‘Have you met Caroline yet?’

‘The very beautiful blonde with the big brown eyes?’ Rory gave the other man a sideways grin.

‘That’s Caroline!’ Clay couldn’t keep the proud smile off his face.

‘I haven’t had the pleasure,’ Rory said. ‘You’re one lucky guy, Cunningham.’

‘You should talk!’ Clay scoffed, totally unaware of Rory’s changed circumstances. ‘How’s Jay isn’t it, and your dad?’

‘Jay’s fine. He’s the heir. My dad and I had one helluva bust up. That’s why I’m on the road.’

Clay was aware of the pain and anger behind the easy conversational tone. ‘That’s rough! I’m sorry to hear it.’ The Comptons had been an eminent Channel Country cattle family for generations. Where did that leave Rory?

‘It was a long time coming,’ Rory told him calmly. ‘I didn’t have any choice but to hit the road. I have some money set aside from my grandad. I guess he knew in his bones I might be in need of it sometime. What I’m looking for now is a spread of my own. Nothing like Jimboorie of course. I’m nowhere in your league, but a nice little run I can bring up to scratch and sell off as I move up the chain.’

Clay looked down to the creek, where children were running and shrieking, overexcited. ‘No chance your dad will cool off, Rory? Could there be a reconciliation?’

Rory uncovered his head, his thick wavy hair as black and glossy as a magpie’s wing. A lock fell forward on his darkly tanned forehead. ‘No way! I wouldn’t care if he did. That part of my life is over. The only thing I’m sorry about is I’m leaving Jay to it.’

Clay studied Rory with a thoughtful frown. He remembered now the Compton family history. ‘You know I might be able to help you,’ Clay confided, like someone who already had an idea in his mind, which indeed he did. ‘Why don’t you come back inside? Meet Caroline. Stay to dinner. A few friends are stopping over. I’d like you to meet them. You’re not desperate to get back to town are you?’

‘Heck no!’ Rory felt a whole lot better in two minutes flat. ‘I’d love to stay if it’s okay with your beautiful wife?’

‘It’ll be fine!’ Clay assured him, following his gut feeling about Rory Compton. This was a guy he could trust; a guy who could make a good friend. ‘Caroline will be happy to meet you. And we’ll have time to catch up.’

‘Great!’ A surge of pleasure at Clay’s hospitality ran through him. Rory whipped out his transforming smile.

Destiny has an amazing way of throwing people together.

CHAPTER TWO

RORY found it all too easy to settle into the spacious, high-ceilinged guest bedroom that had been allotted him. His room at the pub, albeit clean and comfortable was tiny for a guy his size.

‘Stay the night, Rory,’ Clay had insisted. ‘We’ll be having a few drinks over dinner. Anyway it’s too far to drive back into town. Everyone else is staying over until morning. There’s any amount of room. Twelve bedrooms in, although we haven’t got around to furnishing the lot as yet.’

His bedroom had a beautiful dark hardwood floor, partially covered by a stylish modern rug in cream and brown. Teak furnishings with clean Asian lines gave the room its ‘masculine’ feel. The colour scheme was elegant and subdued, the bedspread, the drapery fabric and the cushions on the long sofa of a golden beige Thai silk. It was all very classy. Clay had even lent him a shirt to wear to dinner. Something ‘dressier’ since he’d only been wearing a short-sleeved bush shirt. They were much of a height and build. In fact the shirt fitted perfectly.

Drinks were being served in the refurbished drawing room at seven. It was almost that now. He’d showered and washed his hair using the shampoo in the well-stocked cabinet. Now he gave himself a quick glance in the mirror aware as always of his resemblance to his mother. He had her thick sable hair, her olive skin, though life in the open air had tanned his to bronze. It was her eyes looking back at him; the setting, the colour. They flashed silver against his darkened skin. He had her clean bone structure, the high cheekbones, the jawline, stronger and more definite in him. Hell his face was angular now he came to take a good look. He’d lost a bit of weight stressing over the current situation and being forever on the road. Who would have ever thought it bad luck to closely resemble his beautiful mother? Although their old man had scarcely liked Jay more, when Jay was almost a double for their father at the same age. Jay could never be brutal. Jay was a lovely human being who really wasn’t born to raise cattle. Both straight A students at their ‘old money’ boarding school Jay had once spoken of a desire to study medicine. It had only brought forth ridicule and high scorn from their father while their mother had gone to Jay laying her smooth cheek against his.

‘And you’d be a fine doctor, Jay. Your grandfather Eugene was a highly respected orthopaedic surgeon.’

‘Stop it, Laura!’ their father had thundered, his handsome face as hard as granite. ‘Mollycoddling the boy as usual. Putting ideas into his head. There’s no place for nonsense here. Jay is my heir! His life is here on Turrawin. Let that be an end to it.’

His expression darkened with remembrance. He missed his brother. Their father would blame Jay for every last little thing that went wrong now. It was dreadful to wish your own father would just ride off into the sunset and never come back, but both of his sons were guilty of wanting that in their minds.

‘You are a sick bastard, aren’t you?’ he berated himself, making a huge effort to throw off his mood. He’d already met most of his dinner companions, which was good. No surprises there. They were all nice, friendly people around his age, maybe a year or two older. Two married couples, the Stapletons and the Mastermans and a young woman, called Chloe Sanders with softly curling brown hair and big sky-blue eyes whose face became highly flushed when he spoke to her. Perhaps she was overcome with shyness, though she had to be well into her twenties and maybe past the time for hectic blushes.

It appeared there was a sister, Allegra, who was staying over as well, but so far she hadn’t appeared. Caroline had told him in a quiet aside Allegra, recently divorced, was understandably feeling a bit low. She was staying a while with her mother and sister on the family property, Naroom, which just could be up for sale. A hint there surely? The girls’ father, Llew Sanders had contracted a very bad strain of malaria while on a visit to New Guinea. Complications had set in but by the time he was properly hospitalised it was already too late. That was six months back, around the time Allegra’s divorce had been finalised. All three women had been shattered, Caroline told him, her lovely face compassionate. The daughter who had stayed at home with her parents was Chloe. The one with the fancy name, Allegra, had flown the coup to marry a high flying Sydney stockbroker then had turned around and divorced him within a few years. Rory didn’t get it. She was too young for a midlife crisis. Why did she marry at all if she hadn’t been prepared to make a go of it? Then again to be fair it might have been the husband’s fault? If the sisters looked anything alike, and they probably did, the high flyer husband could well have found someone more glamorous and exciting?

Heaven help me, I might like a bit of glamour and excitement myself!

Rory didn’t want to know it, but he was a man at war with himself.

They were all assembled in the drawing room, chatting easily together, drinks in hand.

‘Ah, there you are, Rory. What’s it to be?’ Clay asked. ‘I’ve made a pitcher of ice-cold martinis if you’re interested?’

‘They’re very good!’ Meryl Stapleton held up her glass. ‘Clay told me his secret. Just show the vermouth bottle to the gin.’

Rory laughed. ‘I’m not a great one for cocktails, I’m afraid.’

‘A beer then?’ Clay produced a top brand.

‘Fine.’ Rory smiled and went to sit beside Chloe who was sending out silent but unmistakable signals. A man could learn a lot from a woman who wanted him to sit beside her. She flushed up prettily and shifted her rounded bottom to make a place for him. Still no sign of the sister. Perhaps she was all damped down with depression? Maybe their hostess would have to go to her and offer a little encouragement?

Greg Stapleton, a slightly avid expression on his face, immediately started into asking him if he was any relation to the Channel Country Comptons. ‘You know the cattle dynasty?’

Obviously Clay hadn’t filled him in. Rory was grateful for that. He really didn’t want to talk about his family. Nevertheless he found himself nodding casually. ‘The very same, Greg.’

‘Say that’s great!’ Greg Stapleton gazed back at him with heightened interest. ‘But what are you doing in this neck of the woods? You’d be way out of your territory?’

Rory answered pleasantly though he wanted to call, ‘That’s it!’

‘Actually, Greg, I’m looking to start up on my own.’

Stapleton look amazed. ‘Glory be! When Turrawin is one of our major cattle stations? The biggest and the best in the nation. Surely you’d have more than enough to do there?’

‘I have an elder brother, Greg,’ Rory said, making it sound like it was no big deal instead of a boot out the door situation. ‘Jay’s my father’s heir. Not me. I’ve always wanted to do my own thing.’

‘And I’m sure you’ll be marvellous at it,’ Chloe spoke up protectively and gently touched his arm. Chloe it appeared was a very sympathetic young woman. Nothing wrong with that!

‘I’m totally against this primogeniture thing!’ Greg announced. ‘It’s all wrong and it’s hopelessly archaic.’

‘Ah, here’s Allegra!’ Caroline rose gracefully to her feet, grateful for the intervention her guest’s arrival presented. Clay had told her in advance a little of Rory Compton’s story so she knew he wouldn’t want to talk about it. But there was no stopping Greg once he got started. She welcomed the newcomer to their midst. ‘Just in time for a drink before dinner, Allegra!’

‘That would be lovely!’ A faintly husky, marvellously sexy, voice responded.

My God, what a turn up!

Rory just managed to hold himself back from outright staring. He was absolutely certain this femme fatale had left not just a husband but a string of broken hearts in her wake. He had enough presence of mind to rise to his feet along with the other men as Chloe’s sister walked into the room to join them. No, not walked. It was more like a red carpet glide. How exactly did unexceptional Chloe feel about having this beautiful exotic creature for a sister? All Rory’s sympathies were with Chloe. The sisters couldn’t have looked less alike. He hoped Chloe wasn’t jealous. Jealousy was a hell of a thing to haul around.

In a split second his dazzlement turned to an intense wariness and even a lick of sexual antagonism that appeared out of nowhere. It wasn’t admirable and it stunned him. He wasn’t usually this judgemental.

She was a redhead. Not Titian. A much deeper shade. More the lustrous red one saw in the heart of a garnet, a stone he recalled had been sacred to ancient civilisations such as the Aztecs and the Mayans. She wore her hair long and flowing. He liked that. Most men would. It curved away from her face and fell over her shoulders like a shining cape. It even lifted most glamorously in the evening breeze that wafted through the French doors. Her eyes were a jewelled topaz-blue, set in a thick fringe of dark lashes. Her skin wasn’t the pale porcelain usually seen in redheads. It had an alluring tint of gold. Very very smooth. Probably she dyed her hair. That would explain the skin tones. Her hair was an extraordinary colour.

She was much taller than Chloe with a body as slender and pliant as a lily. Her yellow silk dress was perfectly simple, yet to him it oozed style. He might have been staring at some beautiful young woman who modelled high couture clothes for a living or something equally frivolous like spinning the wheel on a quiz show.

‘You know everyone except Rory,’ Caroline was saying, happy to make the introduction. ‘Allegra this is Rory Compton who hails from the Channel Country. Rory, this is Chloe’s sister, Allegra Hamilton.’

She was walking towards him, graciously extending a long delicate hand. What was he supposed to do, fall to one knee? Kiss the air above her fingers? Powerful attraction often went along with a rush of contrary emotions, or so he had read. ‘How do you do,’ she said in that husky voice, as though equally struck by something in him she didn’t quite understand, or for that matter like.

It might have been a gale force wind instead of a breeze blowing through the open doors. Rory swallowed hard on the roaring in his ears. What the hell! One could shake hands with a vision. Get it over. Life went on. He knew he hadn’t imagined the shiver of electricity. It was a wonder they hadn’t struck sparks off one another. It happened. But there was bound to be a scientific explanation. He felt more comfortable with that, though he hadn’t the slightest doubt she could cause such a response at will.

Well ma’am, I survived it!

She didn’t smile at him, coolly summing him up. He didn’t smile at her. Instead they studied one another with an absolute thoroughness that seemed to lock out everyone else in the room.

She looked away first.

He didn’t know how to interpret that. A win or a loss?

Over dinner, it turned out stunning Allegra was also smart. Pretty soon he’d be lost in admiration. Lighthearted conversation set the tone for most of the meal. They talked about anything and everything. A recent art auction, remarkable for the high prices paid for aboriginal art, music, classical and pop, favourite films, books, celebrities in the news, steering clear of anything confrontational. He liked the way she entered spiritedly into the discussions, revealing not only a broad general knowledge, but a wicked sense of humour. Now why should that surprise him? Rory had to chide himself for being so damned chauvinistic in the face of the twenty-first century. Why shouldn’t there be a good brain behind that beautiful exterior? His mother had been a clever woman, well educated, well read. Not much of a mother, however, as it turned out. Not all glorious looking women kept themselves busy luring rich guys into marriage he reminded himself.

What really struck him, was the way sweet little Chloe kept heckling her sister just about every time she opened her mouth. Heckling was the only way he could interpret it. It was all done with a cutesy smile, which he thought rather odd, but towards the end he found himself fed up with it. Sisterly ease and friendliness appeared to be a thin veneer.

On the other hand—further surprising him—there appeared to be no limit to Allegra’s tolerance. She had such a high mettled look to her and surely a redhead’s temper he had expected a free-for-all. If again that gorgeous mane was natural? But never once did she retaliate to her sister’s running interference when Rory had thought of a few sharp answers himself. There was no way Chloe could be totally free of jealousy, he reasoned. Poor Chloe. This was one of the ways she handled it.

‘And what’s your feeling, Rory? ‘Allegra startled him by addressing him directly. She looked across the gleaming table, her beauty quite electrifying amid the candlelight and flowers.

‘I’m sorry, I missed that.’ I was too damned busy wondering about you!

She smiled as though aware of it. ‘We were talking about the mystery resignation.’ She named a well-known politician who had stunned everyone including the prime minister by vacating his federal seat literally overnight.

‘He’s had a breakdown, I’d say,’ Rory offered quietly, after a moment of reflection.

‘Doesn’t look like that to me.’ Greg Stapleton’s mouth curled into a sardonic grin. ‘Could be woman trouble. The man looks great, fit and well. I saw him only recently on a talk show. He’s a good-looking bloke, happily married supposedly. One of the top performers in government.’

‘A high achiever,’ Rory agreed. ‘And he is happily married, with three children. He is a man who drives himself hard. When depression hits it hits hard. It can hit anyone. I’ve met the man and really admired him.’

‘So you think all the stress that goes along with the job—the lengthy periods away from home—got to him?’ Allegra asked, studying Rory very carefully and obviously waiting on his answer.

‘That’s my opinion,’ he said. ‘But I’m prepared to bet he is the man to confront it and win out.’

She gave a gratifying nod of approval. ‘I’m sure we all wish him well.’

Chloe at this point, not to be outdone, attempted to start a rousing political discussion, which was met not so much with disinterest but a disinclination to spoil the mood. Subdued she turned her attention back to cutting down her sister at the same time keeping her own brain underwraps. Appearances could be very deceptive Rory was fast learning. He’d initially thought sweet Chloe would make some man a good wife. Perhaps she would. Just so long as her sister wasn’t around.

Irritations aside, dinner went off very well. A roulade of salmon with a crab cream sauce; smoked duck breast as a change from beef, a lime and ginger brulée. Someone took an excellent approach to cooking. He hadn’t been eating well on the road. Clay and his beautiful wife were the best of hosts; the formal dining room recently redecorated and refurbished was splendid and the food and wine matched up.

It was well after midnight before they broke up. Rory was one of the last to make his way upstairs to his guest room because he and Clay had a private conversation first.

‘If you want I could have a word with Allegra in the morning,’ Clay suggested, drawing Rory into the book filled library. ‘There’s a possibility the Sanders property—it’s called Naroom by the way—could come on the market.’

‘You think they’re serious?’ Rory asked, staggered by all the leatherbound tomes. Did anyone read them?

‘We won’t exactly know until I broach the subject.’

‘Why Allegra, why not both sisters?’ Rory asked, fairly cautiously.

Clay’s response was dry. ‘Not to be unkind, you’ve met both sisters. Allegra is definitely the brains of the outfit.’

‘Is that why Chloe’s so darned resentful?’ Rory’s chiselled mouth twisted.

‘I’ve never seen Chloe quite so bad,’ Clay confessed. ‘You might have had something to do with that!’ A teasing grin split his face.

‘Cut it out!’ Rory’s voice was wry. ‘I’m sure Chloe can be a very nice person when she tries, but I have to say I’m not interested.’

‘What about Allegra?’ Clay continued, tongue-in-cheek. ‘She’s so much more beautiful—’

‘And brainier,’ Rory cut in. ‘Sorry, I know what a beautiful woman can do to a man. You’re one of the lucky ones.’

‘About as lucky as a man can get,’ Clay admitted with a smile. ‘Anyway, who could blame Chloe for being so miffed. Allegra has so much going for her.’

‘Really?’ Rory raised a brow. ‘I thought she’d just come out of an unpleasant divorce?’

‘So she has. I think she’s been feeling a bit down lately. Who could blame her?’

‘That must account for the way she hasn’t got around to telling her little sister to back off?’

‘It’s all about sibling rivalry, my man!’ Clay groaned. ‘Anyway if you like I’ll suss out the situation for you in the morning. No harm done one way or the other, but I’m pretty sure they’ll want to sell. I’ll see what Allegra has to say and let you know.’

‘That’ll be great, Clay. I much appreciate what you’re doing for me and thank you again for your splendid hospitality.’

‘A pleasure!’ Clay’s smile was wide and genuine.

Afterwards Rory found himself following the lingerers, Allegra and Chloe up the grand staircase quite unable to prevent himself from admiring Allegra’s long slender legs and delicate ankles. Never in his wildest dreams had he anticipated meeting a woman like this. To try to do something about it would be madness. He was a man looking for a suitable woman to make his wife. He’d be a total fool to lift his eyes to a goddess who found mortal men dull in a very short time.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts, half admiration, half remonstration, when he almost barged into her. As surefooted as a gazelle, she suddenly stumbled, throwing out a slender ringless hand he had already observed over dinner, to clutch at the banister.

‘Oh heavens!’ she gasped, sounding relieved he had broken her fall.

‘Okay?’ Rory’s arm shot out like lightning. With his arm around her, his whole body went electric with tension. He dared not even open his mouth again. Instead he stared into her disturbingly beautiful face, unaware his eyes had gone as brilliant and hard as any diamonds.

‘She’s sloshed!’ Chloe explained, looking at her sister aghast.

Rory found himself jumping to Allegra’s defence. ‘Nothing like it!’ His answer came out a shade too curtly, causing poor Chloe to colour up. Allegra Hamilton had had no more than three glasses of wine over the space of the whole evening. He knew that for a fact. He’d rarely taken his eyes off her, which could only mean he had more need of caution.

As it was, he held her lightly but very carefully, surprised the silk dress she wore wasn’t going up in smoke. He was searingly aware of the pliant curves and contours of her body. He could smell her perfume. A man could ruin himself over a woman like this. He fully understood that. He just bet she haunted the ex-husband’s dreams, poor devil!

‘Do you feel faint?’ he asked, studying her pale oval face.

Chloe looked on speechlessly.

For a moment Allegra’s dazzling gaze locked on his, then when she couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, she shook her head as if in an effort to clear it. ‘Just a little. It will pass.’

‘She doesn’t eat,’ Chloe informed him like it was an ill kept secret. Her face and neck were flushed with colour. ‘Anorexia, you know. Or near enough. So she can wear all those tight clothes.’

Now that just could be right, Rory thought. She had eaten lightly at dinner. She was as willowy as a reed. He should know. He still had his arm around her. It felt incredibly, dangerously intimate. Anyone would think he’d never had his arm around a woman in his life. He was no monk. But he was, he realised to his extreme discomfort, consumed by the warmth of this woman’s body and the lovely fragrance it gave off. It blurred his objective faculties, casting a subversive spell. Allegra Hamilton was a heartbreaker. He knew all about those.

‘Lord, Chloe, will you stop making it up as you go along. I’m not anorexic,’ Allegra sighed. ‘Though I confess I haven’t had much appetite of late. Or much sleep. Thank you, Rory. I’m fine now.’ It was said with the faintest trace of acid as though she was aware of the erotic thoughts that were running through his head. She shook back her hair, squared her shoulders and slowly straightened up. ‘It was just a fuzzy moment. Nothing to get alarmed about.’

‘How many times have I heard you say that after a dinner party?’ Chloe directed a tight conspiratorial smile in Rory’s direction.

‘The fact is you’ve never heard it, Chloe,’ Allegra answered with a kind of weary resignation.

‘I have, too,’ Chloe suddenly barked. ‘Mark was really worried about your drinking.’

Allegra laughed shakily. ‘What, Diet Coke?’

‘Why don’t I just carry you to your room?’ Rory suggested, not at all happy with the way she was near dragging herself up the stairs, one hand on the banister. He didn’t want to hear about her ex-husband, either. Not tonight anyway. ‘You’d be as light as a feather.’

‘You’re kidding!’ She paused to give him a vaguely taunting glance. ‘A feather?’

‘If I pick you up I can prove it. You look to me like you need carrying to your room.’ Before she could say another word or get out a word of protest, he scooped her up in his arms.

‘There, what did I tell you?’ His voice mocked her, but in reality he was seized by a feeling of intoxication that was enormously distracting. It came at him in mounting waves. For one forbidden moment he went hot with desire, quite without the power to cool it. Never before had a woman stirred such a response. His every other experience paled into insignificance beside this. A man of good sense should fear such things as not all that long ago men feared witches.

She caught her breath, astounded by his action. Then she gave way to laughter. ‘A woman has to be careful around you I can see, Rory Compton. I’ve never been swept off my feet before. Though it does fit your image.’

‘What image?’ He looked down at her with his brooding, light filled eyes.

‘Man of action. It’s written all over you.’

‘Look I’m really sorry, Rory,’ Chloe said, trotting in their wake. ‘Allegra is always doing things like this. It’s so embarrassing.’

‘Give me a break, Chloe!’ Allegra broke into a moan before she was overcome again by laughter. Peals of it. It simply took her over. ‘I’ve never met a man like Rhett Butler before,’ she gasped.

Though her mood seemed lighthearted, Rory had the odd feeling she was on the verge of tears. A woman’s tears could render a man very vulnerable. He knew when she was alone in her room they might flow.

With his arms around her body, her beautiful face so close, excitement was pouring into him way beyond the level of comfort. Wariness had turned to wonder. Wonder to a dark, albeit involuntary desire. She might have been naked in his arms so acutely did his senses respond.

Oh ye of little resolve! A taunting voice started up in his head. But then he hadn’t seen a woman like Allegra Hamilton coming.

What he needed now was a long, cold bracing shower. She was an incredibly desirable woman yet he was half appalled by his own reactions, the depth and dimension, the sheer physical pleasure he took in holding her. The breasts he couldn’t help but look down on, were small but beautifully shaped; her shoulders delicately feminine. Her arched neck had the elegance of a swan’s. What would a man feel like carrying a woman such as this to their bridal bed? It came to him with a fierce jolt he deeply resented the fact another man had already done so. How could that same man bring himself to let her go? He didn’t really know but he was prepared to bet it was she who had tossed her husband aside. And how many other men had she ensnared before him?

It was more than time to set her down before she totally messed him up.

Chloe ran ahead helpfully and opened the bedroom door. ‘Anyone would think she was a baby. She can walk.’ She looked up at Rory sympathetically. ‘Just put her on the bed.’

My God, didn’t he want to!

He was no damned different from all the other poor fools. Whatever his mind said, whatever his will demanded, underneath he was just a man whose fate was to succumb to woman.

‘Please, Chloe,’ Allegra laughed. ‘I’m the wronged party. It’s this cowboy who swept me off my feet.’

‘Cattleman, ma’am,’ he corrected, now so perversely hostile he barely stopped himself from pitching her onto the huge four-poster bed, its timber glowing honey-gold.

‘Rory, I didn’t mean to offend you,’ she apologised, still caught between laughter and tears.

‘Forgive me, I think you did.’ He couldn’t say he badly resented being put under a spell. He wasn’t accustomed to such things.

‘I confess I find your attitude a little worrying, too.’ From a lying position—God how erotic—she sat up on the bed, staring at him with her great topaz-blue eyes.

‘Hey, what on earth are you two talking about?’ Chloe was struggling hard to keep up. It all seemed incomprehensible to her.

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing,’ Rory said, further perplexing her. Allegra Hamilton in the space of one evening had got right under his skin. He was aware his muscles had gone rigid with the effort not to yield to the urge to lean forward, close the space between them, grasp those delicate shoulders and kiss her hard. Only desiring a woman like that was an option he simply couldn’t afford.

Maybe it was her utter unattainability that made her so desirable to him? He had to find a reason to give him comfort. On his way to the door Rory turned to give her one last glance.

A big mistake!

She couldn’t have looked more ravishing or the setting more marvellously appropriate. The quilted bedspread gleamed an opulent gold, embroidered with richly coloured flowers. Her dress had ridden up over her lovely legs, pooling around her in deep yellow. Her hair shone a rich red beneath an antique gilt and crystal chandelier that hung from a central rose in the plastered ceiling. Hanging over the head of the bed was a very beautiful flower painting of yellow roses in a brass bowl, lit from above.

It was enough to steal any man’s breath away.

‘Good night, Rory,’ she said sweetly, which he translated into, ‘Goodbye!’

He nodded his dark head curtly, but made no response.

Witch!

She was accustomed to putting men under a spell. But for all he knew she could have a heart of ice.

Coming as he did from the desert where there was a much higher pitch of light and the vast landscape was so brilliantly coloured, Rory found his trip out to Naroom, enjoyable, but relatively uninspiring compared to his own region, the Channel Country. The bones of many dead men lay beneath the fiery iron-oxide red soil of his nearly eight hundred thousand square kilometre desert domain. The explorers Burke and Wills had perished there; the great Charles Sturt, the first explorer to ever enter the Simpson Desert almost came to final grief—the German Ludwig Leichhardt became a victim of the forbidding landscape. Not only had the early explorers been challenged by that wild land, but so too were the pioneering cattlemen like his forebears who had followed. After good rains, the best cattle fattening country in the world, in times of drought they had to exploit the water in the Great Artesian Basin, which lay beneath the Simpson Desert to keep their vast herds alive. And exploitation was the word. It really worried him that one day the flow of water to the several natural springs and the artificial bores might cease. What a calamity!

To Rory, the desert atmosphere of home was so vivid he could smell it and taste it on his tongue. These vast central plains seemed much nearer civilisation. He had lived all his life in a riverine desert, bordered on Turrawin’s west by the one hundred thousand square kilometre Simpson Desert of central Australia. His world was a world of infinite horizons and maybe because of it, the desert possessed an extraordinary mystique.

It was certainly a different world from the silvery plains he was driving through. His landscapes were surreal. They seeped into a man’s soul. The desert was where he belonged, he thought sadly, though he accepted it was fearsome country compared to those gentler, more tranquil landscapes; the silvers, the browns, the dark sapphires and the sage-greens. He was used to a sun scorched land where the shifting red sands were decorated with bright golden clumps of Spinifex that glowed at dusk. Scenically the Channel Country was not duplicated by any other region on the continent. It was unique.

Unique, too, the way the desert, universally a bold fiery-red, was literally smothered in wildflowers of all colours after the rains. No matter what ailed him such sights had always offered him relief, a safety valve after grim exchanges with his father, even a considerable degree of healing. There were just some places one belonged. Fate had made him a second son and given him a father who had shown himself to be without heart. He was the second son who was neither wanted nor needed.

Well let it lie.

Clay as promised had set up this meeting with the Sanders women. Clay would have come along, only he was fathoms deep in work. Rory would have liked his company—they got on extremely well together—but he didn’t mind. It was just the two sisters and their mother. An exploratory chat. Just the two sisters? Who was he kidding? He couldn’t wait to lay eyes on Allegra Hamilton again. In fact it hadn’t been easy putting her out of his mind.

You can handle it, he told himself.

With no conviction whatever.

Clay had assured him Mrs Sanders was seriously considering selling, although the property wasn’t on the market as yet. Clay, during his conversation with the beauteous Mrs Hamilton, had formed the idea the family would want between $3.5 and $4 million, although she hadn’t given much away. Clay got the impression Allegra didn’t really want to sell.

Why not? It wasn’t as though a woman like that, a hothouse orchid, could work the place. Nevertheless Rory had already taken the opportunity of having a long, private phone conversation with one of Turrawin’s bankers. A man he was used to and who knew him and his capabilities. He had been given the go-ahead on a sizeable loan to match his own equity. Naroom wasn’t a big property as properties in his part of the world went—nowhere near the size of Jimboorie for that matter, let alone Turrawin. The property from all accounts had been allowed to run down following the death of Llew Sanders and the unexpected departure of their overseer who it was rumoured had had a falling out with Mrs Sanders. A woman who ‘kept herself to herself’ and consequently wasn’t much liked. Rory wanted to ask where Allegra had got her extraordinary looks from, but thought it unfair to Chloe who seemed a nice little thing if she could just hurdle the sibling rivalry or trade in her present life for a new one.

Rivalry simply hadn’t existed between him and Jay. They had always been the best of friends. The strong bond formed in early childhood had only grown closer with the changing circumstances of their lives. In many ways he had taken on the mantle of older brother even though he was two years Jay’s junior. He had shielded the quieter, more sensitive Jay through their traumatic adolescence and gone on to take the burden away from Jay in the running of the station. That old hypocrite, his father, had been well aware of it but chose—because it suited him—to keep his mouth and his purse shut.

Valerie Sanders walked into the kitchen in time to see Allegra taking a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, presumably to offer to their visitor with tea or coffee. Cooking wasn’t Valerie’s forte so she had left Allegra to it. Besides she had sacked their housekeeper, Beth, who didn’t know how to keep a still tongue in her head, even after fourteen years.

‘I hope you’re not going to be difficult, Allegra,’ Valerie, a trim and attractive fifty-two-year-old now said, picking up their discussion from breakfast. ‘I want the place sold. So does Chloe. Why should you care? You don’t live here. You have to stop thinking of yourself for a change.’

Allegra transferred the cookies to a wire cooling rack before answering. She had learned long ago to ignore Valerie’s perennial sniping. Crossing swords with her only reinforced it. ‘That’s a bit unfair, Val,’ she said mildly. ‘All I said was, we can’t simply give Naroom away. It’s worth every penny of $4 million even if it’s not the best of times to sell. Dad would turn over in his grave if we sold it for less. It just seemed to me you and Chloe are prepared to accept the first offer.’

Valerie’s light blue gaze turned baleful. ‘I want out, Allegra. I’ve had more than enough of life on the land and Chloe has had no life at all. I know you don’t worry about your sister. But she has to find a good man to marry and she isn’t getting any younger. You had a good man and you were fool enough to let him get away.’

Allegra refused to fire. ‘Do you actually listen to a word I say, Val? Mark was unfaithful to me. Since when are philanderers good men?’ She busied herself setting out cups and saucers. ‘As for Chloe, I used to invite her to stay with us often enough. Surely you remember?’

‘How could she stay when there was always tension between you and Mark?’ Valerie retaliated. ‘Though it must be said Mark always did his best to pretend nothing was wrong. Chloe and I have come to the conclusion you were the source of all the trouble, Allegra, however much you protest. And you’ve always gone out of your way to put your sister in the shade. You could have been a real help to her, but you live in your own little world.’

Allegra couldn’t help a groan escaping her. ‘So you’ve been pointing out to me for years and years. Now we’re on the subject of Chloe, she’s not much help around the place. I hear her complaining about putting on weight when the surefire answer is exercise. There’s plenty to do around the house since you let Beth go.’

‘We couldn’t afford her,’ Valerie said briefly.

‘She been with us for years and years,’ Allegra said, thankful she had managed to contact Beth who was now living with her sister

‘That awful woman!’ Beth, her anger up, had raged. ‘I only stayed because of your dad. It was all so different when you left home, Ally love. Personally I think your stepmother drove your poor dear father bonkers! He must have spent years of his life wondering why he married her.’

He married her for my sake, Allegra thought sadly. To give me a mother.

‘Now when this young man arrives I want you to stay in the background,’ Valerie said. ‘If such a thing is possible. Your father spoilt you terribly.’

‘I suppose he was trying to make up for you, Val,’ Allegra offered dryly. ‘I’ve always irritated the living daylights out of you.’ In fact Allegra couldn’t recall a happy, carefree period of her life; a time when she was not exposed to Valerie’s shrouded antagonism, which nevertheless Allegra was made aware of even as a child.

‘So you have,’ Valerie admitted. ‘You must have irritated the living daylights out of Mark as well. You could have held onto him with a little understanding. We all know men are in the habit of having a bit on the side But your ego couldn’t tolerate that, could it?’

Allegra considered this, aghast. ‘My ego had nothing to do with it. Dad didn’t have a bit on the side as you phrase it.’

‘No, he was faithful to the memory of your sainted mother!’ At long last Valerie gave vent to the helpless anger she’d been forced to stifle for years; anger that had at its heart jealousy of a ghost.

‘Now you’ve come out with it.’ Allegra experienced a hard pang. ‘I can see from now on it’s going to be no-holds-barred. That’s the answer to all our woes, isn’t it? I’m guilty of resembling my mother who died before she was thirty. Think about that, Val. You’re jealous of a woman who died so young? Would you have swapped places with her? It’s truly sad, but you’ve never been able to master your deep envy of her place in Dad’s life. The fact I look so much like her has only made you fixate on it all these long years. I suppose it was inevitable.’

‘Psychoanalyst now are we?’ Valerie jeered, her expression bitter. ‘Actually I’m fine. Llew is dead. Naroom will soon be sold. It was never really my home. More her shrine. No need for us to put up a pretence anymore. But don’t kid yourself. The conflicts we’ve had over the years have been caused by your pushing me or your sister to the limit. I wasn’t your darling mummy. You were such an assertive child, always demanding your father’s attention. You took your demands to the next stage with your husband. Small wonder he left you.’

‘Oh go jump, Val!’ Allegra had come to the end of her tether. ‘I left Mark. But don’t let’s upset your mind-set.’

‘Mark told me you made him feel alienated,’ Valerie persisted.

‘Since when did you become Mark’s champion?’ Allegra asked wearily. ‘He’s ancient history, Val.’

The expression on Valerie’s face was one of primitive antagonism. ‘Alienation was the cause of much of his unhappiness and his turning to someone else.’

Allegra groaned with frustration. ‘You’re talking through your hat. It was more than someone else, Val.’

‘I bet you had your little flings as well,’ Valerie quickly countered. ‘You demand constant admiration.’

‘None of which has ever been handed out by you. Some stepmothers are wonderful. Heaps of them! But your crowning achievement has been picking on me. All your love has been given to your own child. I had to lean heavily on Dad. You set out early to drive a wedge between me and Chloe. You bred your own resentment into her. As for my marriage, I respected my vows.’

Valerie gave a mocking smile. ‘The reason I understand exactly what Mark meant when he said you alienated him is because you alienate me.’

‘Then I’m sorry!’ Allegra threw up her hands, thinking her stepmother’s problems with her would never be resolved until the family—such as it was—split up. Her father had held them all together. Now he was gone. ‘I have to get changed,’ she said, moving towards the door. ‘Rory Compton should be here soon.’

‘Set to fascinate him, are we?’ Valerie called after her.

The facade of caring stepmother was rapidly crumbling.

In her bedroom Allegra changed out of the loose dress she’d been wearing since breakfast into a cool top with a gypsy style skirt that created a breeze around her legs. She slung a silver studded belt around her narrow waist and hunted up a pair of turquoise sandals to match her outfit. It was second nature to her to try to look her best no matter how she felt. For one thing her job as Fashion Editor on a glossy magazine demanded it. Besides, looking good gave her the extra confidence she needed. It helped her present her best face to the world.

Inside, these days, she felt totally derailed. Her beloved father gone. The only person in the world who had truly loved her. Val coming out into the open, spitting chips! No husband to be there for her. What does a woman do when she can’t keep her husband of three years faithful? So much for beauty! She had thought in her naivete, she and Mark would be together for life—Mark the father of her children—but she and Mark had been marching to a very different tune. Fidelity simply wasn’t in his nature, though he had given every outward semblance of it for quite a while. That was until she received in the mail a batch of photographs, stunning evidence of her husband’s betrayal. They were sent anonymously of course. Not a single word accompanied them as though the photographs said it all; which indeed they did. They were from someone who didn’t so much care about her pain as showing Mark up for what he was. Allegra had always had the idea that person was a woman. Someone who may have been a former lover of Mark’s and now hated him.

Mark’s explanation when she had confronted him with them had been quite extraordinary. He had acted calm, as though he couldn’t quite grasp her devastating shock.

‘It’s long over, Ally!’ He’d assured her in his smooth, convincing stockbroker’s voice. ‘It meant absolutely nothing. All it did was relieve a physical ache at the time. Let’s face it, my darling, I don’t get as much sex from you, as I want, though I have to admit it increases your allure. Why do women make such a big deal about men having extra needs? It’s you I love. You’re my wife. No other woman can touch you. I’ll never leave you and you’ll never leave me. I’d be devastated if you did.’

She was the one who was devastated but, God help her, she had forgiven him. It was too early in their marriage to call it a day. She certainly couldn’t go home to Val to seek advice and comfort. She told herself lots of people make mistakes. She made herself believe it had been Mark’s only infidelity. In retrospect, of course it hadn’t been. Mark was addicted to sex like another man might have been addicted to golf. It was a necessary relaxation, a fix. Mark was handsome, charming, successful, generous. Especially with his favours.

In the beginning he had been a tender, sensitive, romantic lover, eager to please her. She realised now what he had been doing was gradually trying to break her in to his little ways she found vaguely demeaning, though she tried to understand where he was coming from. It wasn’t as though there was much harm in what he wanted her to do it. It wasn’t even over-poweringly sensual. But she couldn’t help feeling titillating little games were ridiculous. Certainly they didn’t turn her on.

‘Sweetheart, you’re not a bit of fun!’

Seeing how she felt, he backed off. Overnight he rectified his behaviour, which had never been evident during their courtship, returning to the considerate, caring lover. She’d believed like a fool they had come to an understanding. Nothing further was going to be allowed to disrupt their lives. Only Mark secretly moved back to the kind of women who were up for the kind of sexual kicks he craved. The other women turned out to be married women from their own circle. Why had she been so shocked? Faithless friends made faithless lovers. All of them had been exceedingly careful, not wanting exposure or even to break up their existing marriages. There was no wild partying, no staying out overnight, much less for long weekends. Their marriage might have survived for quite a bit longer only she had returned home from work unexpectedly early one afternoon only to find Mark and a married friend of theirs chasing one another around the bedroom.

Incredibly she hadn’t been laid low. She hadn’t screamed or cried or yelled at the woman to get dressed and get the hell out of her house. For a moment she had very nearly laughed. They looked so ridiculous staring back at her. Like a pair of startled kangaroos caught in the headlights of a four-wheel drive.

‘Goodness, Penny, I scarcely recognised you without your clothes!’

Then she had turned about and walked straight out of the house, booking into a hotel.

So here she was at twenty-seven, a betrayed wife. A betrayed ex-wife. And having a hard time coming to terms with what a fool she had been. She had truly believed Mark was a man of integrity. Yet love or what she thought had been love had flown out the window. Indeed it had all but taken wing when she had first received those compromising photographs with her clever handsome husband caught in the act, his unflattering position preventing her from seeing his partner-in-crime’s face. At one stage, as she bent over the photographs, she had the weirdest notion that partner could have been Chloe—something about the slight plumpness of the legs, what she could see of the woman’s body?—but quickly rejected the idea, disgusted with herself for even allowing such a notion to cross her mind. Chloe would never do such a thing. Chloe was far too honourable.

Incredibly Mark had tried desperately to save their marriage, saying she was making something out of nothing. Just how did one define nothing? A man wasn’t intended to remain monogamous, he said. Everyone knew that. Smart women accepted it; turned a blind eye.

He obviously didn’t want to consider the innumerable crimes of passion that hit the headlines. He continued to hold to the line he ‘adored’ her. He knew he had a problem of sorts, but he would seek counselling if that’s what she wanted. They would go together.

She had declined without regrets. She had to face the dismal fact Mark was highly unlikely to be cured. Sooner or later he would break out again. He had found it ridiculously easy up to date. Almost ten years her senior and well versed in the less laudable ways of the world, he had run rings around her. Even after their divorce became final he had stalked her, telling her how ashamed he was of his behaviour and how much he desperately needed her. Didn’t he deserve another chance?

Tell me. Whatever it is you want me to do, I’ll do it. I’ve already entered into treatment.

She knew it was a lie. The only thing Mark was sorry about was getting caught.

Why had she married him in the first place? He hadn’t exactly swept her off her feet, though he couldn’t have been kinder, sweeter, or more considerate. His intellect had reached out to her. He was a clever, cultured man, highly successful with powerful friends. She went from single woman with no real home—home with Valerie and had felt like enemy territory—to married woman with a beautiful home of her own and an extraordinarily generous husband who showered her with gifts. Was that what she had really wanted all along?

A home of her own?

She never told anyone about Mark’s little idiosyncrasies. She could well be confiding in someone who already knew. She didn’t blacken his name. She knew quite a few in their circle believed she was the one to bring what had appeared to be a marriage made in heaven to an abrupt end. Mark was ‘a lovely guy!’ Everyone knew he adored her. The age difference might have had something to do with it. Or Allegra had found someone else. In her work she was invited everywhere with or without her husband—there had to be lots of temptations along the way, men and women behaving the way they did.

Allegra knew people had been talking, but there was little she could do about it but take it on the chin.

CHAPTER THREE

RORY COMPTON had already arrived by the time she made her way downstairs. She realized with a prickle of something like discomfort and an irrational guilt she had taken a few extra little pains with her appearance. She was aware too of a quickening of excitement that was gathering in strength. She hadn’t expected anything like it. Not here, not now. Not when she wanted time to re-evaluate her life. She was a woman trying to recover from a recent divorce. Sad things had happened to her, leaving her feeling low, but the advent of Rory Compton into her life had sparked off some sort of revival. Without wanting to, or without planning it, he had somehow brought her back to life. Could it possibly have something to do with the rebound syndrome? She had actually seen it at work with a friend. Women were very vulnerable after the break-up of a relationship. Was she one of them?

Since she had met him she had started to ask herself that very question. She couldn’t stop thinking of him though she had willed herself not to. But like all things forbidden he had stuck in her mind. There was just something about the man that had penetrated the miasma of grief she had been battling since the death of her beloved father and the failure of her marriage. She had been certain in her mind she wanted to remain untouchable. At least for a proper period of time. In a sense she was mourning the death of her marriage; the death of a dream.

Rory Compton had changed all that and in a remarkably short space of time. She would do well to see the danger in that. All it had needed was a glance from his remarkable eyes; the peculiar excitement she had felt when he had swept her up into his arms; the way her heart rate had speeded up. He had drawn from her not only a physical, but an emotional response. It wasn’t simply his arresting looks. She had really liked the way he had been at the Cunningham’s dinner party; his sense of humour, his broad range of interests and the sympathy and sensitivity he had shown towards the politician, a fellow man battling the depression that had fallen on him so unexpectedly.

Rory Compton was formidable, she had concluded. A real presence for a man his age. There was something very purposeful and intent about him and she had to concede a hidden anger, or at the very least brooding. He had actually made her feel like her old self. Correction. More like she was running at full throttle. Was it the adversarial look in those silver frosted eyes? Or the taunting half smile? He was physically very strong. He had lifted her as though she weighed no more than a twelve-year-old. She sensed his physical attraction to her—given that it was quite involuntary—maddened him. Here was a man who liked to be in control.

Holding her in his arms had quite spoilt it for him. The truth was—she couldn’t hide it from herself—she had been as aroused as he was. Powerful physical attraction was a daunting thing, especially when it came out of left field. She would do well to be wary of it. Once bitten, twice shy? What did she know of him after all? Her judgement had been way off with Mark. She wasn’t about to make a habit of it. She needed to know much more about Rory Compton. It would be better given her background to mistrust rather than trust.

What you’re feeling, girl, are hormones. You have to let it pass.

He was seated on the verandah at the white wicker table. Valerie and Chloe flanked him, both looking surprisingly mellow. Chloe too had gone to some pains, Allegra thought gently. Her apple blossom skin that flushed easily heightened the colour of her eyes and she was wearing a very pretty dress Allegra had brought with her as a present, knowing exactly what would best suit her sister.

Allegra paused for a moment in the open doorway, hoping she had given them enough time alone with their visitor as requested, though requested was too polite a word.

Immediately Rory Compton saw her he sprang to his feet, the man of dark compelling looks she too vividly remembered. A wedge of crow-black hair had fallen forwards on his forehead giving him a very attractive, slightly rakish look. Worn longer than was usual, his glossy, thick textured hair curled up at his nape. It would be great hair to touch. His eyes glittered against his bronze skin. Today his cheekbones looked more pronounced. There wasn’t a skerrick of weight on him. His nose was very straight above his beautifully cut mouth. Not generously full lipped like Mark’s, but firm and chiselled. He had the sort of face one wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

Despite her little pep talks to herself she forgot about betrayal, failure and the tense situation that existed between her and Valerie. She pretended she was considering a particularly sexy man to act as the foil for the beautiful female model in a fashion shoot. No question he would get the job. Two or three inches over six feet, by and large he was moving from lean to nearly thin even in the couple of days since she had last seen him. It startled her to realise it, but something about him caught at her heart. It was a sentiment that in its tenderness took her completely by surprise. This man was eating away at her defences. No wonder she felt a tingle of alarm.

As on the first occasion when they had been introduced, he didn’t smile and he had a wonderful smile. She’d seen it directed at Chloe among others. She didn’t smile, either, and there was nothing wrong with her smile. Instead she inclined her head in acknowledgement of his presence. Both of them matched up in self-protectiveness, she thought. Perversely she wondered as her eyes alighted on his mouth what it would be like to kiss those chiselled lips?

Don’t think about it!

She had nothing to hope for with Rory Compton. He was a near stranger It was the wrong time for starting another relationship anyway, though she couldn’t help but be aware there was something between them.

‘Mrs Hamilton!’ He inclined his dark head in greeting.

‘Please, Allegra.’ It came out more coolly than she intended. She planned to drop the Hamilton anyway.

‘Well now we’d almost given up on you!’ Val announced, as though Allegra was habitually late and consciously rude.

‘Why is that, Val?’

Rory held a chair for her. He hadn’t been expecting to hear her call her mother by her Christian name, or to mark the swirling undercurrents now they were together. This wasn’t one close-knit family, he swiftly intuited. Chloe had no problem with ‘Mum.’ In fact Chloe was sweetly affectionate towards her mother and her mother clearly doted on her. That wasn’t the case, it seemed, with her elder daughter.

‘Well you did tell us you had plenty of other things to do,’ Chloe started into a deliberate lie. Why did men have to look at Allegra the way they did? It brought out the worst in her.

‘Like making coffee or tea?’ Allegra looked down on her sister’s silky brown head. ‘Would you like to come and help me?’ Since when? When there was a job to be done it had never taken Chloe long to disappear. Born and reared on a working station Chloe had no love of the outdoor life or work of any kind. As a girl she had always wanted to stay at home with Mum who had never encouraged Chloe to pull her weight.

Valerie, as was her practice, jumped in on Chloe’s behalf. ‘Chloe has opted to take Rory for a drive around the property. But we would like coffee first. Coffee for you, Rory? Or tea if you prefer?’ Valerie smiled at this extraordinarily personable young man. Chloe had already told her how strikingly handsome he was. Not to mention those eyes!

Rory, however, turned to Allegra. She was so damned magnetic he decided there and then caution had to determine his every response. ‘Coffee’s fine,’ he said. ‘Sure I can’t help you bring it out?’

Some imp of mischief got into Allegra. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said gracefully. ‘Please come through.’ She turned to lead the way, but not before catching the glare in Valerie’s eyes.

Under the terms of her father’s will his estate had been split three ways, but not in the way any of them had expected. Certainly not Valerie. She and Chloe had each inherited quarter shares; Allegra half, much to Valerie’s outrage.

If I want to invite this man into the house I have a perfect right to do so no matter the scowl on Valerie’s face, Allegra thought. Her father’s will had further alienated her from her family when she had thought their mutual loss would bring them closer together.

Faint hope! She knew Valerie and Chloe believed she had received a handsome divorce settlement from Mark but she had refused to take a penny. How could she do such a thing? The choice to end the marriage had been hers. She wanted nothing of Mark’s, even the beautiful jewellery he had given her. She hadn’t even opted to take her wedding ring let alone the magnificent solitaire diamond engagement ring. He could save that for her successor.

Rory followed her into the large well equipped kitchen, definitely troubled by the undercurrents. He was surprised Allegra—who looked like she was used to being waited on hand and foot—was the one to organise the morning tea. He really had to stop being so quick with his assumptions Blame it on his unnatural bias.

‘Coffee, you said?’ She gave him a glance that just stopped short of challenge.

He understood because he felt the same powerful urge to challenge her. He didn’t understand exactly why, but he did know everything had changed since he had met her. ‘Yes, thank you.’ He looked about him. ‘You have a very attractive home.’

‘It actually needs refurbishing,’ she said, setting the percolator on the hot plate. ‘Nothing has been touched since my mother redecorated it in the early days of her marriage.’

That meant well over twenty years surely? Chloe had told him that first evening she was twenty-three to Allegra’s twenty-seven. She had made twenty-seven sound more like seventy-two. ‘She hasn’t felt the urge to try her hand again?’ he asked. ‘I thought women loved rearranging things.’

Allegra sliced into the fruit cake she had made the previous day. ‘So we do, but my mother, sadly, is no longer with us. She was killed in a car crash when I was a toddler. I would have been killed, too, only it was one of the rare times I wasn’t with her.’

Initially he felt shock, then an explanation for the things that were troubling him. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ he said with sincerity. ‘So Valerie is your stepmother?’

‘And Chloe my half sister,’ she nodded. ‘My father remarried when I was three. A lot of people think Val is my mother because she’s always been there.’

He looked at her keenly. ‘But she wasn’t the mother you wanted?’

She took a few moments to answer. ‘You’re going to psychoanalyse me?’

‘No, just a question.’

‘Why would you say that?’ She wasn’t surprised, however, by his perception.

He gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘I’m an authority on mothers that go missing. Mine left home when I was twelve and my brother, Jay, fourteen.’

‘And the reason, seeing we’re cutting right through the usual preliminaries?’

‘She couldn’t take it anymore,’ he offered bluntly.

‘She was having marital problems?’ Allegra began to load the trolley.

‘You would know about them,’ he answered in a low dark voice.

‘Indeed I do,’ she returned smartly.

‘Yes, she was having problems,’ he admitted, thinking the very air scintillated around her. ‘My father was and remains a very difficult man.’

‘You look like you might have a few hang-ups of your own?’ She stopped what she was doing and pinned him with her gaze

‘Thanks for noticing,’ he said suavely.

‘Don’t feel bad about it. I have them as well. So name one.’

‘I don’t trust beautiful women.’

Her stomach did a little flip. He could say that yet it was as if he had reached out and kissed her. ‘Never in this world?’ Somehow she managed a smile.

‘No.’ Slowly he shook his head, not breaking the eye contact.

‘Wow!’ The expression on her face was both satirical and amused. ‘We’re going to have lots to talk about. I don’t trust handsome men.’

‘I understood your ex-husband adored you?’ Now that was definitely a challenge.

‘We had different ideas about what being ‘adored’ meant. I think you actually did adore your mother?’

His eyes turned as turbulent as a stormy sea. ‘We both did. Jay and I. Seen from our point of view her leaving was an abandonment.’

‘But you see her now?’ she asked, fully expecting the answer to be yes.

He picked up three lemons and juggled them in his sure hands. ‘Not for many years,’ he said and returned the lemons to the bowl. ‘Close on fifteen.’

‘Good grief!’ She didn’t hide her surprise. ‘So you haven’t seen her since you were a boy?’ She wondered how that could have been allowed to happen.

He held aloof. ‘That’s right, Mrs Hamilton.’ He focused on watching her move around the kitchen. She was very efficient in her movements. In fact she was perfectly at home in a kitchen when he had been too ready to think she was the quintessential hothouse flower who lay about gracefully while someone else did the work.