OUTBACK BABY TALES
Newborns, new arrivals, newlyweds

In a beautiful but isolated landscape, three sisters follow three very different routes to parenthood against all odds and find love with brooding men…

Discover the soft side of three rugged Outback cattlemen as they win over these feisty women and a handful of adorable babies!

Your journey through the tears and triumphs began last month:

ONE SMALL MIRACLEMelissa James

The pitter-patter of tiny feet continues this month with:

THE CATTLEMAN, THE BABY AND MEMichelle Douglas

And next month there’s a motherhood miracle in:

THEIR NEWBORN GIFTNikki Logan

The Cattleman, The Baby and Me

By

Michelle Douglas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

At the age of eight, Michelle Douglas was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, ‘A writer.’ Years later she read an article about romance-writing and thought, Ooh, that’ll be fun. She was right. When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English Master’s programme for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero—husband Greg, who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings. Michelle would love you to visit her at her website www.michelle-douglas.com

Recent titles by this author:

BACHELOR DAD ON HER DOORSTEP

THE ARISTOCRAT AND THE SINGLE MUM

To Mum, with love.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘THAT’S the Jarndirri out station down there.’

At the pilot’s words Sapphie Thomas turned from the baby sleeping beside her to stare out of the mail plane’s window. Anna and Lea Curran—her best friends—had grown up on Jarndirri. Sapphie had spent a lot of time there herself. She’d deftly fed that piece of information to Sid, the pilot, earlier. Sapphie didn’t get into small planes with strange men without them knowing she had friends in high places—friends who could come to her aid in a flash if the need arose.

She stared down at the out station and longing and pain hit her in equal measure. Her chest tightened. ‘You’re not going to land, are you?’

Her chest tightened even more. She didn’t want Sid to land. She didn’t want to step foot on Jarndirri at the moment. For lots of reasons—not least being the letter she’d received two days ago.

She pushed that thought away. She didn’t have time to dwell on it. Instead, she thought how a landing might wake Harry, and she didn’t want that. Her twelve-month old nephew, it seemed, hated flying. He hated landings and take-offs. He hated the dust and the heat and the flies. He hated the glare of the sun in its cloudless sky, and hated Sapphie trying to change his nappy in the close confines of the plane. He hated it all—with a capital H—and he had the lungs to prove it. Sapphie had wanted to wail right alongside him.

She’d wanted to wail because Harry hated her too.

During the long, hot five hours they’d so far endured on the plane he’d only stopped crying when she’d given him his bottle—most of the contents of which he had then thrown up all over her shirt. Finally, through sheer exhaustion, he’d fallen asleep. She didn’t want him woken for any reason whatsoever. So not landing at Jarndirri would suit her perfectly. She waited for Sid’s answer.

‘Nah,’ Sid drawled. ‘They radioed through earlier. They don’t have anything for me to collect. And as I don’t have anything for them…’

Sapphie gulped back a sigh of relief. In the next instant her shoulders went all tight again. ‘What about the main Jarndirri station? Will you be landing there?’ The Jarndirri homestead was several hundred kilometres northeast of the out station, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t on Sid’s mail route.

Don’t be an idiot, she chided herself. You’re not going to accidentally bump into Anna or Lea out here. Neither was currently in residence at Jarndirri. Anna was in Broome with Jared, and Lea was at Yurraji—the property in the far north that her grandfather had left her.

And Bryce had died six years ago. She wasn’t going to run into him.

The plane bounced as it hit a pocket of turbulence. Sapphie’s stomach churned and bile rose up to burn her throat. Normally she was a good flyer.

Normally? Ha! Normally she wouldn’t be flying over the northwestern corner of the Australian continent—one of the most remote regions in the world—without any form of invitation. And if she did it would be to see Anna or Lea, not to track down some man she’d never met in her life before.

There was nothing normal about the turn her life had taken in the last two days.

‘The main Jarndirri station is on a different mail run,’ Sid said. ‘Mail delivery to this part of the Kimberley’s on a Thursday. Mail delivery to that part of the Kimberley’s on a Tuesday.’

Sapphie closed her eyes for a moment, beyond grateful that she’d arrived in Broome yesterday. If she’d left it another day then she would have had to wait an entire week to catch the mail plane to Newarra. Broome was small. Anna would have heard that Sapphie was in town, and…

And that didn’t bear thinking about.

Beside her, Harry stirred. Sapphie held her breath. When he didn’t wake, she let it out in one long, slow exhalation. Please, please, please let him sleep for a bit.

He needed the rest.

He needed the peace.

And she needed to think.

What a mess! She’d have dropped her face to her hands, only she didn’t want Sid to see how desperate she was.

‘You’re looking a bit peaky,’ he said anyway.

She had a feeling that as far as descriptions went ‘peaky’ was being kind. She wrestled for a smile. Sid had been kind. ‘Perhaps because I’m feeling kind of peaky.’

He jerked his head in Harry’s direction. ‘Hardly surprising.’

A surge of protectiveness washed over her. Harry might hate her, but she’d fallen in love with him from the first moment she’d clapped eyes on him. ‘He’s not a good flyer,’ she murmured.

‘Lots of kiddies aren’t.’

‘I’m sorry, Sid. This must have been the flight from hell for you, and—’

‘There’s nothing to apologise for,’ the pilot said gruffly.

Yes, there was. There was a wealth of things to apologise for.

Sapphie’s eyes burned. She closed her hand gently around Harry’s foot. How could she make up to him for everything that had happened? How could she help him feel loved and secure again? There weren’t enough apologies in the world to make up for the fact that Harry had been lumped with her instead of someone who would know what to do, who would know how to comfort him properly and ease his fears…someone who deserved the right to look after him. That person wasn’t her.

There was no one else.

‘Oh, Harry,’ she whispered, bending over him and pushing the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. ‘I’m sorry.’

She’d found out about Harry’s existence two days ago, when her nineteen-year-old sister, Emmy, had been arrested on drug charges. Two days ago…The day Sapphie had turned twenty-five. The same day she’d discovered Bryce Curran was her biological father.

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She’d spent the last three years searching high and low for Emmy. With no success. When Emmy had rung two days ago Sapphie had thought it the best birthday present she’d ever received.

But her little sister hadn’t rung to wish her a happy birthday. She hadn’t even remembered it was Sapphie’s birthday. She’d rung from Perth Central Police Station—‘I need help.’ When Sapphie had arrived, Emmy had pushed Harry into her arms with a fierce, ‘Promise me you’ll find his father.’

Sapphie had promised. What else could she do? Somehow she’d let her little sister down in every way that counted. She would not fail her on this. She would find Harry’s father.

She knew what it was like to grow up without a father, always wondering who he was, never knowing his identity. She would not let that happen to Harry.

Unbidden, a ripple of relief speared through her. There was someone other than her who could take responsibility for Harry, and she thanked God for it. Emmy had given her dates, locations…and a name. ‘Liam Stapleton—a cattleman in the Kimberley. You’re familiar with the area. Anna and Lea Curran will help you if you ask them.’

Sapphie had to wrestle with the bile that rose through her. She couldn’t ask them. Not now. Not knowing what she knew. If Anna and Lea ever discovered that Bryce had been unfaithful to their dying mother…and that Sapphie was the result of that infidelity…

‘You going to be sick?’

Sapphie started, pulled in a breath and shook her head. She fought to find another smile. And won. ‘No, I’m just a bit worn out, that’s all.’

‘Why don’t you get some shut-eye like that littlie of yours? Do you the world of good.’

Littlie of hers? She swallowed back the hysteria that threatened to swamp her. She didn’t have the energy to correct him. If she’d made a different decision seven years ago she might have a littlie now, but…

She shied away from the thought. She couldn’t follow it. Not today. Not for as long as she was responsible for Harry.

A weight slammed down on her so hard she half expected the plane to lose altitude. She gazed at Harry and a lump lodged in her throat. At eighteen she’d lacked her little sister’s courage. I’m sorry, Harry. I wish there was someone better to step up to the plate for you. I wish…

‘It’ll be another forty minutes before we reach Newarra.’

Newarra—Liam Stapleton’s cattle station. Sapphie closed her eyes. ‘Thanks, Sid, a catnap might be just the thing.’ She had to save her energy. She’d need it all once they landed if she was to fulfil the promise she’d made to Emmy—to see that this Liam Stapleton accepted responsibility for his son.

A wave of exhaustion hit her. It would be no easy task. Not when Liam Stapleton was as ignorant of Harry’s existence as Sapphie had been two days ago.

‘You did say Liam was expecting you, like—right?’

‘That’s right.’ Sapphie kept her eyes closed in case they betrayed her lie.

‘Looks like he’s waiting for you.’

Her eyes flew open. They were flying over Newarra right now? She pressed her face to the window and took in the golden-green grasses and low scrub below, a stand of boab trees and the glint of a river in the distance. An enormous homestead emerged beneath them, the cool white of its weatherboards and the greenness of its surrounding gardens crisp and inviting in the harsh sunlight.

And then the airstrip came into view. Waiting to one side was a white four-wheel drive ute. The air left her lungs on a whoosh. Emmy hadn’t lied. It appeared that Harry’s father was in charge of a cattle dynasty that rivalled Jarndirri’s in size and scope.

The plane descended. She stared at the white ute and her stomach started to churn. She hadn’t rung Liam Stapleton. She hadn’t sent a telegram or an e-mail or anything. She hadn’t wanted to give him a chance to surround himself with lawyers, to fob her off—to fob Harry off.

The plane touched down and she fought back the panic scratching at her throat. Staring down at a sleeping Harry, she squared her shoulders. She was doing the right thing. Harry belonged with his father. After his initial shock, Liam Stapleton would see that too. He would do the right thing by Harry. She’d make sure of it.

Sid jumped out of the plane the moment he brought it to a halt. Sapphie glanced at Harry, who’d remained sleeping. She bit her lip and then glanced back outside. She wouldn’t be far away. If Harry woke, she’d hear him. Filling her lungs with air, she scrambled out of the plane after Sid.

‘G’day, Liam,’ Sid drawled.

‘Sid.’

Sid hitched his head in Sapphie’s direction. ‘Got your visitors here in one piece.’ He rubbed one ear. ‘Not sure about meself, mind.’

A pair of the most startling eyes Sapphie had ever seen swung around to survey her. Blue. Bright blue. ‘Wasn’t expecting visitors, Sid,’ he drawled. All the same he pushed away from the ute towards her.

Sapphie forced herself forward, hand outstretched, though for the life of her she couldn’t seem to find a smile. ‘My name is Sapphire Thomas, Mr Stapleton.’

Long, lean, work-roughened fingers closed about her hand. He was so big! She stared up into his face. She had to throw her head back to do so—he stood at least six feet two inches. It was a hard face, grim and lean, tanned, but it didn’t frighten her. Just for a moment she let the relief trickle through. If he’d frightened her she’d have had to climb back on board the plane and fly back to Broome and leave all this up to lawyers. She always followed her instincts.

Always.

‘Should I know you?’

The dry, rough drawl skittered along the surface of her skin and for a moment she thought it might raise gooseflesh. She let out a breath when it didn’t. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Mind telling me what you’re doing here?’

It almost made her smile. Kimberley cattlemen—they didn’t waste their words.

And then, just like that, it suddenly struck her. She’d spent the last two days thinking Liam Stapleton would try and duck out of his responsibilities and reject Harry, but the longer she stared up into this man’s face the more convinced she became that he would do no such thing.

He pushed the brim of his hat further back, as if to give her a better opportunity to study his face.

A face like that—grim and stern—it could do with some joy.

A child was a joy.

A child was a gift.

‘Well?’ he drawled.

The worry and stress of the last two days all suddenly seemed worth it. A smile broke through her. ‘Mr Stapleton, I’ve brought you your son.’

Liam planted his hands on his hips, told himself to breathe deeply. ‘Did you just say son?’ He uttered the words with cutting precision.

The ridiculous smile that lit up Sapphire Thomas’s face started to slip. ‘That’s…that’s right.’

He hadn’t left Newarra in nearly two years. He hadn’t been with a woman at all during that time. He’d never met this woman in his life. He’d have remembered if he had. He folded his arms, raised an eyebrow. ‘And how old is this particular son of mine?’

Anyone who knew him would know from the tone of his voice that now was the time to back off. Sapphire Thomas didn’t.

‘Twelve months,’ she said, without so much as a blink of her eyes.

Anger, swift and hard, punched through him. With the effort of long practice he reined it in. ‘Ms Thomas, I do not have a son.’ His ex-wife had made sure of that.

‘But—’

‘No buts!’

He let some of the anger from the black pit of his heart reach out to touch her. Her eyes widened. She swallowed and took a step back. Good.

‘So you can haul yourself back on that plane and return to wherever it is you come from.’

Her mouth opened and closed. ‘But—’

Liam turned away, told himself he didn’t care. He would not be the fall guy for a desperate woman ever again.

‘Twenty-one months ago at the Perth agricultural show you met my sister—Emerald Thomas.’

Her words rang clearly in the still air. They sounded formal, with the same tone a judge would use when casting sentence. They sounded rehearsed, as if she’d gone over and over what she was going to say countless times. His lips twisted. They sounded fake.

‘You spent a week together at a resort on Rottnest Island.’

Against his will, he spun around. Rottnest Island! His heart pounded loud in his chest.

The Thomas woman raised an eyebrow. The gesture seemed somehow wrong in the white pallor of her face. Her eyes flashed green, and it occurred to him she should be called Emerald, not her sister.

If there was a sister.

‘Rottnest Island,’ she repeated. ‘Ring any bells?’

Yes, damn it. His hands clenched. But…

A baby’s screams suddenly and abruptly split the air. Sapphire Thomas swung away to dive inside the plane in instant response. She emerged a moment later with a baby capsule cradled in her arms. He found his anger again. Lies! These were all lies, and cruel ones at that.

One thing was clear—this child was not his. This woman could take this baby, get on the plane, and slink back into whatever hole she’d crawled out of. He would not let her take advantage of his family’s grief.

‘Hey!’ he shot at her when she lifted the child from the capsule. ‘I told you to get back on that plane.’ He stabbed a finger at her. ‘You can take your baby and get back on that plane, because there’s no way—’

The baby turned to stare at him.

‘No way that—’

The baby’s face crumpled. It leaned so far away from him it was in danger of falling right out of the woman’s arms.

But that baby. It…

She balanced the baby on her hip and half turned, shielding him from Liam with her body. ‘Don’t you go scaring him, you big, horrible bully.’

Liam couldn’t move. All he could do was stare. At the baby. A baby who was the spitting image of Liam at the same age…of Lachlan…

A baby who was the spitting image of Lucas!

The resemblance had to be a coincidence. He hadn’t fathered this child. But…

What about Lachlan or Lucas?

His stomach turned. No, not Lucas. Lucas had been dead for…

She’d said twenty-one months ago.

Lucas had been alive twenty-one months ago. And able-bodied. He hadn’t yet had the accident that had crippled him.

Twenty-one months ago Lucas had still been able to walk, ride…and presumably make love. Not that Liam had kept track of his trysts. But…

She’d said Rottnest Island, and—

His hands clenched. Anyone who knew his family, anyone who’d known Lucas, could spin a story like this.

But when he stared at the child it didn’t feel like a story.

She backed up a step and a shudder rocked through her. ‘What kind of man are you?’ she whispered.

He barely heard her. Lucas had gone to Perth for the ag show. He’d stayed at Rottnest Island—Liam had the postcard to prove it. This child…could he be Lucas’s son?

A lump tried to lodge in his throat, but he forced it back, refused to allow it to fully form.

Sapphire Thomas speared him with those amazing green eyes. ‘Look, let’s get one thing clear. I am not letting you abandon Harry—got it?’ She lifted her chin. ‘We can deal with this like adults or we can leave it to the lawyers. It’s your call.’

He shifted his gaze from the child to her. She didn’t look like a liar or a cheat, but then neither had his ex-wife.

It would be better to let the lawyers deal with it.

Under his continued scrutiny she turned a shade paler, and then she reached up and fastened the top button on her oversized and decidedly rumpled shirt.

He blinked.

‘And you can stop looking at me like that,’ she said, in a voice so acid it would dissolve the rust from weathered corrugated iron. ‘I haven’t slept in two days. I’ve been stuck in that shoebox of a plane for over six hours. I’ve been weed on, vomited on, it’s as hot as blazes, and the dust is driving me mad! If I look like a bag lady, then—’

‘You don’t look like a bag lady.’ He didn’t know what had possessed him to say that. Only she didn’t look like a bag lady. And if she was feeling the heat, why wasn’t she undoing a few buttons or taking that long-sleeved shirt off instead? Even with the baby cradled in her arms he could make out the lines of the T-shirt she wore beneath it.

She continued to stare at him. Her chin didn’t drop. As a ploy to force him to confront her claim, it worked. Her sister and his brother? He tried to weigh it, assess it.

Why hadn’t she said Lucas was the father, then?

His gut clenched. The day darkened. Given all he’d found out about Lucas after the accident, it made an uncanny kind of sense. It could all still be a pack of lies, of course, and Sapphire Thomas might still be a liar and a cheat. Or her sister might have taken advantage of her and spun her a whole pack of lies. Those things were just as possible.

Something hard and heavy settled in his gut. He averted his eyes from the child. Regardless of how much he wanted to, he could not dismiss this woman’s claims. They warranted investigation. He owed Lucas that much.

And much, much more.

One thing was clear, though. He had to disabuse this woman of the misapprehension she was currently labouring under. ‘Ms Thomas, I know when I said this before that you didn’t believe me, but I am not that child’s father.’

‘But—’

‘I have never met your sister, and I have never been to Rottnest Island. I certainly haven’t taken a holiday—not there, not anywhere—in the last five years.’

Her green eyes darkened in confusion. ‘But—’

‘He ain’t either,’ Sid piped in. ‘It’s become a bit of a joke in these parts.’

Liam had no reason to lie. If he had a son, he would never turn his back on him. His hands clenched. Never!

All the blood drained from Sapphire’s face. Liam pushed his more sombre thoughts aside and braced himself to move forward and steady her if she started to sway. From somewhere, though, she found the strength to stiffen her spine and lift her chin. The lines of exhaustion that fanned out from her eyes tugged at him.

‘But Emmy named you. She…She said…’ She swallowed, obviously trying to come to terms with his revelation. Bruised eyes met his. She recoiled from him as if he’d threatened to strike her…or worse. ‘You’d deny your own son?’

‘No!’ The word broke from him, harsher than he’d meant it to. ‘I wish—’

He couldn’t finish that sentence. ‘I’m not his father.’ He dragged in a breath. ‘But I think I know who might be.’

Her jaw dropped. He took advantage of her momentary silence to cast a sidelong glance at Sid, and hoped that she’d interpret it correctly—he didn’t want to discuss this any further in front of the other man.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Do you? Or is this just a way of putting me off?’

‘I’m not trying to brush you off, Ms Thomas. You’re right—we do have a lot to discuss.’ He glanced at the sky. The afternoon was lengthening. ‘Where are you staying?’ It wouldn’t do to let this sit. He wanted to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible.

‘Oh, I…’ She blinked, as if she hadn’t expected him to be so reasonable. ‘I’m staying at the Beach View Motel in Broome.’

‘Not tonight, you ain’t,’ Sid said unceremoniously, shuffling forward. ‘I’m having a lay-over in Kununurra. You didn’t say this was a return trip. You just said you wanted a ride to Newarra,’ he added, when Sapphie’s jaw dropped.

‘But—’

‘I’m not heading back to Broome for another two days.’ Sid glanced at Liam, grimaced. ‘And the yearling sales are on.’

Which meant every available room in Kununurra would be booked out. Liam bit back something rude and succinct. He didn’t want a woman at Newarra. He didn’t want a child there either—reminding him, taunting him, plaguing him with all that he’d lost. Not even for two days.

‘There’s nothing for it.’ Sid clapped Liam on the back. ‘You’re going to have to put Ms Thomas and her baby up.’

If the woman hadn’t been standing within hearing distance he’d have let fly, told Sid exactly what he thought of that plan. His lip curled. Sid was trying to protect his bachelor pad in Kununurra, that was what. A makeshift bachelor pad in an airplane hangar, Liam reminded himself. It was no place for a woman or a child. And he could hardly blame Sid for that when it was exactly what he was doing too. Trying to do.

He reminded himself of all he owed Lucas.

‘What’s he talking about?’ the Thomas woman snapped.

Liam planted his hands on his hips. ‘You’re going to have to stay here tonight.’

She stiffened. ‘I don’t think so. I’ll book into a motel or a B&B in Kununurra.’

‘Ms Thomas, with the yearling sales on you won’t get a room in Kununurra.’ He swept out an arm to indicate the emptiness of the landscape. ‘It’s not like we’re exactly teaming with other options out here, you know?’ Kununurra was nearly four hundred kilometres away. Broome was closer to six hundred. Newarra’s nearest neighbour was a three-hundred-and-fifty kilometre drive. He bit back his impatience. ‘You don’t have any other choice.’

She backed up a step. ‘A woman always has a choice.’

Her words came out low and vehement. She reminded him of a spooked heifer. He pursed his lips, adjusted his hat. He worked at keeping his voice low and easy. ‘I guess you could camp out if you wanted. I could lend you some gear.’ He lifted a deliberately casual shoulder. ‘But my housekeeper would have my hide if I let you do any such thing.’

There was no chance he was letting her camp out on his land. Who knew what trouble she’d get herself into? But long practice told him it would be better for Sapphire Thomas to come to the conclusion about the best course of action in her own time. Women were like that—contrary. High-maintenance. Trouble.

‘Beattie’s cookin’ is a real treat too,’ Sid added.

As Liam had hoped, her shoulders relaxed at the mention of his housekeeper. He forced himself to glance at the child nestled in her arms. ‘And there is the child to consider.’

She blinked. Her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips—a gesture that betrayed her nervousness. Then her chin shot up and Liam had to own she hid those nerves pretty well. Against his will, something akin to admiration warmed his veins.

‘Harry,’ she shot back like a challenge. ‘His name is Harry.’

The warmth fled. His throat went dry as sawdust. ‘Harry,’ he forced himself to say, ‘might prefer a cot to a tent.’

She chewed her bottom lip.

‘Of course there’s also the added bonus of hot water and electricity up at the homestead.’

He could see her almost salivate at the mention of hot water. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. ‘I’ll need to make a couple of phone calls.’

‘We have a satellite phone. You’re welcome to use it.’

Finally, she lifted one shoulder. ‘I suppose if there’s no chance of getting a room in Kununurra…’

‘No chance at all,’ Sid said cheerfully. He touched her arm, then tried unsuccessfully to chuck Harry under the chin. ‘Liam’s a good man. You’ll be okay here.’

She swallowed and nodded. She met Liam’s eyes. ‘Then thank you. That’s very kind of you.’

‘Not kind. Necessary,’ he shot back, disturbed by the flash of vulnerability he’d sensed in her. ‘We have a lot to discuss.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘I WON’T let you down, Harry,’ Sapphie whispered against Harry’s hair, her arms tightening around him as she watched Liam and Sid unload her and Harry’s things from the plane. For the first time in two days Harry didn’t try to push away from her.

He must be exhausted. And scared.

She rummaged through their bags until she found Horsie—a stuffed toy from her own childhood, and the only toy she’d had in her house to give to Harry. She held him up for Harry to see. Harry didn’t smile even when she pressed the toy’s face lightly to his cheek and made loud smoochy kissing noises, but he did wrap one arm tightly about Horsie’s neck. Then he stared up at Sapphie with eyes so wide she couldn’t help it. She had to drop a kiss to his brow.

‘I promise you,’ she whispered again. ‘I won’t let you down.’ When Sid left, Liam would tell her who Harry’s father was, and then she could start her search anew.

She turned. Liam had carried all their bags to his car in one go. If there was a spare ounce of flesh on the man, she couldn’t see it. He wore a long sleeved khaki workshirt tucked into his jeans, and although she could make out the breadth of his shoulders all the honed muscle beneath was hidden. She knew it would be honed.

He was so…big! Tall…broad…strong. A woman wouldn’t stand a chance if he…

An icy prickle crawled across her scalp. She grabbed hold of the panic before it could spiral free. There was a housekeeper at the homestead. She wouldn’t be alone with this man.

Besides, instinct told her he wasn’t the kind of man who would take advantage of a woman’s vulnerability. She paid close attention to her instincts. He might be as unforgiving and elemental as the land he worked, and she’d be crazy to underestimate him—only a fool would cross him—but, like the land, he lacked deliberate malice. She stared at the rugged angles of his face. He had a savage grandeur that was grim and beautiful at the same time, like the amazing landscape of the Kimberley region.

Still…a woman could never be too careful. She would ring Anna this evening.

‘Whenever you’re ready, Ms Thomas.’

Sapphie blinked at the dry drawl before heat invaded her cheeks. How long had she been staring at him? Her hand flew to her top button. A sigh juddered out of her when she found it firmly done up.

‘Sapphie,’ she said. ‘Please call me Sapphie.’ And then, ‘Do you know the Currans of Jarndirri?’

He swiped his brow with his forearm, then shrugged. ‘I’ve met Jared West a few times. I knew Bryce Curran.’

Yeah, well, he was my father. She didn’t say the words out loud. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to let him know she had connections out here. ‘My mother used to work at Jarndirri as a station cook during muster. Anna and Lea Curran are my dearest friends in the world. We went to school together.’ She added a lie for good measure. ‘Anna’s expecting us for dinner this evening. That’s why I need to use your phone—to let her know where we are. So she won’t worry.’

At first he didn’t say anything, and, while his eyes might be the most amazing blue she’d ever seen, it didn’t mean she could read them. And then, ‘You’re trying to tell me you’re not a stranger out here?’

That was exactly what she was telling him. ‘You needn’t worry I’ll wander off and get myself lost. And I do know the difference between a King Brown and a Taipan.’ She had a healthy respect for snakes—especially those two varieties.

‘That’s good to know.’

His eyes held a hint of…something. Amusement? Was he laughing at her? Not that she minded if he was—amusement was something she could deal with. Besides, a smile would soften the line of his mouth. A laugh might well transform his face entirely.

Not that his amusement, if that was what it was, manifested itself into anything as outwardly betraying as a smile. It was becoming all too apparent that Liam Stapleton was a self-contained man. She wondered what it would take to smash through those barriers and unleash the man within.

She shivered at the thought. It wasn’t something she was ever likely to find out.

Not that she wanted to. She was here for Harry. That was all. She’d find out who Harry’s father was, and then she would leave again. Simple.

Funny, but it didn’t feel simple as she lowered Harry to his capsule.

Harry started to cry. He held onto Horsie tight and snuffled his face against the toy’s softness. It shocked her how that action pierced straight to her womb. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away. ‘Shh, Harry, it’s all right.’

Only they both knew it wasn’t. His mother was facing a three-year jail sentence, and his father was…Who was his father? Exhaustion swamped her, the sun beat down, and she could feel herself start to sway.

Liam moved forward, touched her arm. ‘Let’s get you both up to the homestead. You can freshen up and then we can talk.’

She nodded, then gestured to the capsule and Harry. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to sit in the back with him.’

‘Do whatever you need to do. We’re only a couple of kilometres from the homestead, so it’s not going to take long.’

The big cattle and sheep stations in the Outback placed their airstrips several kilometres from their homesteads as a fire precaution. She slid onto the back seat beside Harry with a grateful sigh. She was glad they didn’t have too far to go. She wasn’t sure she was up for much more travelling today.

Liam paused in the act of closing her door, another frown in his eyes. ‘When did you last eat?’

Food! Sapphie’s eyes lit up and her mouth started to water. ‘Ooh, ages and ages ago. Harry and I, we’d kill for a Vegemite sandwich—wouldn’t we, Harry?’

Harry didn’t smile, but he bobbed his head up and down in imitation of Sapphie.

A minor victory!

Unbelievably, Liam laughed.

A major victory! Sapphie tried not to gape. It made him look younger—a lot younger—and milder, in the same way the cliffs and valleys in the Kimberley ranges lost all their hard edges at twilight.

‘I’m sure we can rustle you up a couple of Vegemite sandwiches,’ he said before closing her door.

Sapphie did her best to catch her breath. She tried to convince herself it was the heat and dust that made it hard to breathe.

As she’d seen from the plane, the Newarra homestead was big…grand. The coolness of the white weatherboard was welcoming. The broad grandeur of the six wide stone steps that led up to the double front door hinted at a stability she had never experienced, of a home lovingly crafted to provide more than just shelter for its occupants. The shadiness of the deep verandas with their simple wooden balustrades beckoned.

A sigh whispered out of her. Everything about the homestead, even down to the rose garden, was designed to refresh and please the eye. The height of summer was long gone, but Sapphie could imagine the cool promise of the homestead shimmering in the heat of a midday sun, when temperatures soared in excess of forty degrees and dark clouds gathered oppressive on the horizon.

A square of lush green lawn surrounded it all. Bore water, Sapphie guessed, because no farmer out here would waste precious water resources on a lawn and garden.

Unless he had a wife and it meant a great deal to her. And he loved her very much.

Sapphie glanced at Liam. He brought the ute to a halt at the edge of the lawn. He didn’t drive around to the collection of buildings behind the homestead. She glanced back at his home. Did he have a wife?

He’d only mentioned a housekeeper. When she turned back, she found him watching her in the rearview mirror. ‘Your home is beautiful.’

‘It’s been in the family for generations.’

‘Do you have any family living with you at the moment?’

‘Getting nervous?’

It sounded like a taunt. She lifted her chin. ‘Just wondering what to expect, that’s all.’

He pushed out of the car, turned back and leant down to say, ‘It’s a bit late for those kinds of considerations, don’t you think?’ and then closed the door.

Sapphie unbuckled Harry’s capsule and climbed out too, met Liam’s eyes across the roof of the car. ‘It’s never too late to take other people’s feelings into consideration.’

He stilled, but with the sun in her face, and the brim of his hat shading his, she couldn’t see his expression let alone try and decipher it.

Before he could make any answer, an older woman—in her fifties, Sapphie guessed—came bustling out from the house. ‘Did my wools arrive?’ She pulled up short when she saw Sapphie.

‘Beattie, this is Sapphie Thomas and Harry.’ He glanced at Sapphie, but not at Harry. ‘They’ve come to stay…for a bit.’

Sapphie gulped. For a bit. She hadn’t thought how long this might take. As usual she’d leapt into action without thinking it through properly. But whenever she stopped to think things through—big things—she froze. Like she was doing now with Anna and Lea. She couldn’t afford to freeze where Harry was concerned.

She glanced down at him and he lifted his arms to her. Perhaps surrounded by strangers he now saw her as his only ally. ‘Oh, Harry,’ she whispered. How could she tell him he was putting his faith in the wrong person? She wanted to weep for him.

She lifted him out, cuddled him close.

Liam gestured. ‘This is Mrs Beatson—the housekeeper here at Newarra.’

She pasted on a bright smile when the older woman started across the lawn. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Beatson.’

‘Call me Beattie, my dear, everyone does. Mrs Beatson was my mother, God rest her. It’s lovely to have visitors.’ Her eyes lit up when they landed on Harry. ‘Ooh, and you’ve brought a littlie—what fun!’

But as she reached out a hand to Harry he threw his face into Sapphie’s neck with a cry. Sapphie wanted to apologise, but she didn’t get a chance. With a sympathetic tsk-tsk, Mrs Beatson murmured, ‘Poor little tyke. He’s all worn out.’ And she promptly set about abusing Liam for keeping Harry and Sapphie standing in the sun for so long.

Sapphie only had time to grab the bag containing Harry’s essentials before Mrs Beatson had taken her arm and was propelling her up the path towards the house. ‘Oh, but shouldn’t we help unload the car?’

‘Nonsense, dear, it’s what men have muscles for.’

That made Sapphie grin. All the same, she turned back to glance at Liam.

‘Beattie will show you to your room.’ His lips twisted. ‘Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready.’

With a quiet nod, she turned and followed the housekeeper.

She let out a sigh of pure pleasure when they crossed the threshold. ‘Oh, Mrs Beatson—Beattie.’ She corrected herself at the housekeeper’s frown. ‘What a lovely home.’

Dark waxed floorboards and antique furniture greeted them, the dim shade a distinct relief after the glare of the sun outside. An overriding sense of peace and calm stole over her. It was ridiculous, she knew, but it felt as if nothing bad could happen in such a lovely place.

‘It’s so…big!’

‘It is at that.’ Beattie chuckled.

Sapphie swallowed as she followed the housekeeper into the kitchen—state of the art. Beattie set a kettle on to boil.

Sapphie moistened her lips. ‘It’s way too big for one person. Does Liam live here all by himself?’

‘He does at the moment, dear.’ Beattie turned pensive. ‘This is the family home, mind, so the rest of the family all have rooms here, but they haven’t visited in a while. At Christmas it can get quite rowdy, but…well, not last Christmas.’

Before Sapphie could ask why, Beattie beckoned to a door off to the left.

‘Those are my rooms down there if you need to find me. Now, let’s get you and this little man here settled.’

She led Sapphie down a long corridor—more waxed floorboards, softened by a Persian carpet runner in burgundy. She threw open a door at the end to reveal a beautifully appointed room with moulded cornices and French doors leading out to the shade of the veranda.

‘And here’s the attached nursery,’ Beattie said, leading her through an adjoining doorway.

‘Oh!’ Sapphie turned on the spot. Everything she and Harry could possibly want, even down to an antique wooden rocking horse, was here. ‘It’s lovely.’

Beattie gave a satisfied sigh. ‘This nursery has seen four generations of Stapleton children. Liam and Belinda had it redecorated.’

‘Umm…Belinda?’

Beattie shook her head. ‘Sorry, dear, I’m prattling on, aren’t I? We haven’t had visitors in an age and I’ve forgotten how to act.’ Her voice lowered a notch. ‘Belinda was Liam’s wife. They divorced a few years back. He’s a good man. He didn’t deserve that.’ She stared at Harry and her smile broadened again. ‘Oh, my, but it warms the heart to have a child in the house again, let me tell you. And don’t you worry, dear. Nobody will disturb you down this end of the house. Liam hasn’t visited these rooms since—’

She broke off. Sapphie had to bite her tongue to stop from asking Since when?

‘You’ll have to excuse an old woman’s ramblings. ’

‘There’s nothing to excuse,’ Sapphie said with a determined smile and a shake of her head.

‘Now, the bathroom is just down the hall. And don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything.’

‘Thank you.’

Beattie disappeared, leaving Sapphie and Harry alone. And it suddenly occurred to Sapphie that not only was Liam not Harry’s father, but he no longer had a wife either, which meant he was a single man.

Her mouth went dry. She eyed the phone on the bedside table, bit her lip. She didn’t want to talk to Anna—not yet, not after everything she’d just found out. But for safety’s sake someone needed to know where she and Harry were.

She hauled in a breath and forced herself to pick up the receiver. As long as she didn’t have to look Anna in the eye, she should be able to lie convincingly enough. If Anna sensed that something was wrong, Sapphie could simply say she was worried about Harry and Emmy. Which was the truth. In part.

Sapphie bathed Harry and dressed him in clean clothes. He didn’t exactly co-operate, but he didn’t fight her either.

She tried telling herself it was an improvement, a step forward for little Harry. Common sense told her he was just too tired at the moment to kick up a fuss.

She had to find his father. She had to find someone who could look after him properly and give him everything he needed. She had to remove herself from his world before he started to rely on her…before she tainted him too. She wasn’t the kind of woman who should be trusted with the care of a child.

A lump lodged in her throat as she stared at him. He was so little. He was such an innocent. And he didn’t deserve any of this! Longing welled through her. She did what she could to banish it.

With a gulp, she kicked herself back into action—showered in double-quick time, pulled on clean clothes, and then towel-dried her hair, tugged a comb through it. Neat, tidy, clean—that was all the occasion called for.

She started towards Harry, who lay in the middle of the queen-sized bed. She pulled up short, bit her lip, cast a glance at the door. Not the smallest spark of sexual interest had lightened Liam’s eyes when they’d rested on her. Not at the airstrip. Not in the car. And she’d like to keep it that way.

She pulled a cotton sweater from her suitcase, tugged it on over her head. She adjusted the long sleeves, fastened the three buttons at the collar. Jared, via Anna, had told her Liam was a good man. Beattie and Sid had both said the same thing. It was what her instincts told her too. She prayed that none of them had been deceived.

Liam shot to his feet the moment he realised Sapphie hovered in the doorway. He wasn’t sure what had alerted him to her presence. Her fragrance, perhaps? She smelt of peaches.

‘Come in.’

She took a few hesitant steps into the living room. Her hair was damp, as if she’d just showered. Perhaps she used peach-scented shampoo?

She wore a clean pair of jeans and a shirt that had to be at least three sizes too big. She balanced Harry on one hip and clutched a baby bottle full of milk in her other hand. With a piece of terry cloth in the most vivid orange tossed over her shoulder she shouldn’t look sexy.

She didn’t!

He pushed the thought right out of his head as soon as he was aware of thinking it. He didn’t give two hoots what Sapphie Thomas looked like.

He gritted his teeth. He didn’t need a woman like this at Newarra. He didn’t need any woman. He forced himself to focus on the bright cloth and nothing else.

She reached up a hand to finger it. ‘Do you know they make nappies in the most amazing range of colours now? I like them loads more than the plain old white ones, don’t you?’

He didn’t know what to say. A nappy was a nappy, as far as he was concerned. ‘You need to change him?’

She shook her head. ‘This—’ she pulled the nappy from her shoulder and glanced around the room at its vast array of sofas and armchairs ‘—is to save your furniture.’

‘It’s survived generations of children. No doubt it’ll survive generations more.’

‘Yeah, but only through the hard work of women like Beattie. If I can save her any work, then I will.’

For some reason that made him want to smile. ‘She’d think it a small price to pay for having a child in the house again, believe me.’ He glanced at Harry, and any desire he had to smile fled. He didn’t need a child at Newarra either. ‘You didn’t want to put him down for a nap?’

Her gaze darted away. ‘He’s unsettled. I wanted to keep an eye on him.’

He took a step towards her, noted the dark circles under her eyes and remembered how she’d said she hadn’t slept in two days. Suddenly he wished she could have all the sleep she needed. He could go and work on that new brumby for a couple of hours, as he’d planned before she’d turned up on his doorstep…or rather airstrip. They could talk once she was rested.

He opened his mouth, but she got in first. ‘May I take a seat?’

He deliberately hardened his heart, warned himself against going soft…especially where a woman was concerned. He and Sapphie Thomas had too much to sort out. He had too much to find out.

‘Of course…please.’ He motioned her further into the room and pointed to a sofa. ‘That one is particularly comfortable.’ And, from his armchair, it would afford him a good view of her face.

He watched her settle Harry back against the cushions, the orange nappy arranged around him. Liam kept his eyes on Sapphie’s face. It was easier than looking at Harry. His jaw tightened. The furniture at the Newarra homestead might survive several more generations of children, but none of those children would be his.

Some of the tension seeped out of him, though, as he continued to watch Sapphie. She was easy on the eye. She might not be conventionally beautiful—her mouth was too wide and her jaw too square—but her features were mobile and constantly changing, a play of light and shadow. Though perhaps there was more shadow than light at the moment. He frowned.

If she was aware of his scrutiny she gave no sign of it. Oversized sweater, buttons fastened again. She was telling him in no uncertain terms—hands off.

His lips tightened. That suited him fine. She didn’t need to tell him twice.

She showed Harry his bottle…smiled and talked nonsense…sighed when he didn’t respond. Harry took his bottle, though, rolling onto his side and suckling eagerly. Which reminded Liam…

‘Beattie made us a pot of tea and some Vegemite sandwiches.’ He lifted the plate of sandwiches towards her.

‘Ooh, yum!’ She seized one and bit into it. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, because I mean to eat this with more gusto than grace,’ she said, mouth half full.

He’d have smiled, but as he watched her devour half a sandwich and then reach for another his heart started to burn. ‘When did you last eat?’

‘Last night.’

He leapt up. ‘That’s not—’

He broke off when she put a finger to her lips and gestured to Harry. The child’s eyes were closed. In repose, Harry’s face lost its wariness. Liam’s heart burned harder. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch the child—make sure he was real. The greater part of him shied away.

Sapphie’s voice hauled him back. ‘When I found out the mail plane was doing its run today I didn’t have time for breakfast. And, while I grabbed plenty of supplies for the trip, both Harry and I felt a bit queasy on the plane.’

Liam opened his mouth, but she’d pre-empted his next question. ‘And, yes, we both drank plenty of water. Neither one of us is dehydrated.’

He sank back into his chair. Then slid forward to pour the tea. If she hadn’t eaten since last night…‘How do you take your tea?’

‘White and two, thanks.’

He handed her a cup, and then watched in fascination as she swallowed it down in three swigs. Beattie had used the good china—the cups were tiny. He poured her a second cup as she finished the rest of her sandwich. He held out the plate towards her again.

She took the cup with a murmured, ‘Thank you,’ but declined another sandwich. He set the plate back to the coffee table, aware of a vague sense of disappointment—it had given him a certain satisfaction to feed her.

She took a measured sip of her tea, eyeing him over its rim, and then straightened as if refusing to surrender to the sofa’s beckoning softness. She set the cup on the coffee table. ‘Liam, who do you think is Harry’s father?’

She didn’t want to make small talk, and he didn’t blame her. They didn’t have anything small to talk about. Harry might be small in stature, but not in any other sense of the word. She wanted answers.

Who did he suspect was Harry’s father? He dragged a hand down his face. Lucas, that was who. He bit back an oath. What a mess!

He stared back at her, tried to keep his voice measured, his breathing even. ‘I suspect that the child there is my nephew.’

CHAPTER THREE

SAPPHIE stared at him—nephew? He thought Harry was his nephew? She didn’t know whether to laugh in relief that her search hadn’t taken her too wide of the mark or not. One look at Liam’s face and she decided not to. She bit her lip. From what Beatttie had said none of Liam’s family was currently in residence at Newarra, but surely a simple phone call would solve everything?

And then Harry would have his daddy.

She pressed her hands to her heart, willing it to slow, and slumped back against the sofa’s softness. ‘What is your brother’s name?’

‘Lucas.’ The word scratched out of him, barely audible. He cleared his throat. ‘Lucas,’ he said again, this time louder.

‘Lucas?’ she whispered, remembering the betrayal that had stained Emmy’s eyes when she’d said, ‘He promised to come back for me.’ ‘Why do you think he’s Harry’s father?’

Liam started to rise, then stopped, as if he thought any sudden movement might startle her. ‘Can I show you the family album?’

He was treating her the same way Bryce had treated a frightened colt. She didn’t mind. It suited her purposes perfectly for the moment. She didn’t want Liam taking her assent about anything for granted.

At her nod, he strode across the room to a bookcase. He was just a little too lean and broad and hard for a woman’s peace of mind. It would suit her just fine if he kept his distance.

He came back, laid a heavy photo album across her knee and retreated to his chair. She opened the first page and just stared. She turned to the second page…went back to the first page…turned to the third. And it suddenly fell into place—why Liam had broken off mid-tirade and stopped threatening to throw her back on the mail plane. The faces of the babies staring out at her from the album were identical to that of the baby sleeping beside her.

‘Harry is…’

‘The very image of me and my brothers,’ Liam confirmed, his lips twisting.

She stared at him, willing him to show just a little bit of joy at discovering he had a nephew. She understood that he might still be wrestling with the magnitude of the surprise, but…

She swallowed and shook herself. ‘Who’s this? And this?’

Liam leant across the arm of the sofa. He touched one brown finger to a photograph. ‘This is me…That’s my brother Lachlan, my sister Lacey…And this here is Lucas.’

Until around the ages of three, the photographs of Liam, Lachlan and Lucas seemed identical. They still looked like brothers after that, but their individual differences started coming to the fore. Not just physically either. In every photograph of him after the age of five Liam stood with his back ramrod-straight, staring intently at the camera. Lachlan, with a grin full of mischief, was usually showing off. And Lucas, when he wasn’t laughing, had a tendency to duck his head—a little uncertain, a little shy.

They were gorgeous kids. And they had all grown into seriously gorgeous men.

As Sapphie turned the pages of the photo album, a picture formed of a close-knit family bound by love and laughter and mutual respect. Longing yawned through her. She’d spent her whole life wanting to belong to a family like this.

She glanced down at Harry. Could all this history and heritage be his?

Finally she handed the album back to Liam, and thankfully he moved away, back to his armchair, where his heat and his scent couldn’t beat at her. He smelt of horse and leather and native grass—scents she associated with the Kimberley and with good times. For as long as he’d sat so close she’d had to fight the urge to lean into him. She swallowed and told herself to stop being so fanciful.

‘The resemblance is remarkable.’

‘Yes.’

If the photos were any indication, Lucas laughed a lot. He looked as if he’d make a wonderful father—full of fun and laughter…and love. The opposite of the man sitting across from her.

Her instincts told her Liam was a good man, but nobody could accuse him of being a barrel of laughs, could they? The lines around his eyes and mouth grew more pronounced. She wished he’d smile. She should have known the moment she’d clapped eyes on him that Emmy wouldn’t mess with a man like Liam. He wasn’t the kind of man one messed about with.

‘You should probably have a look at this.’

He held something out to her. A postcard. She couldn’t decipher the emotion that momentarily twisted his features, but an icy premonition suddenly seized hold of her. She didn’t want to read that postcard. She knew that with every atom of her being. She forced her nerveless fingers to take it. A postcard from Rottnest Island. She turned it over. It was signed by Lucas. The date was twenty-one months ago. She frowned. It seemed innocuous enough.

Liam held up two sheets of paper. ‘This is Lucas’s credit card statement from twenty-one months ago. Multiple transactions were made at a resort on Rottnest Island. It appears he was there for about a week.’

Just as Emmy had said. But…

She stared at Liam, at the credit card statement he held, and her mouth suddenly went dry. ‘Liam, where is Lucas?’

He stared back at her with eyes as dark as tar. ‘Lucas is dead. He died eight months ago.’

All the strength drained from Sapphie’s arms and legs. She stared at his white-lipped face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

He gave a curt nod.

She found it hard to bear witness to such naked grief. She knew Liam would resent the fact that she’d seen it, and would reject any attempt at comfort she made, so she turned to stare at Harry. Her throat went tight and her eyes burned

Poor Harry!

No! She refused to believe it.

‘The resemblance—it could be a coincidence! It doesn’t mean—’

‘We’ll have a DNA test done to make sure. It’ll put everyone’s minds at rest.’

‘But if Lucas was Harry’s father…’ She let the sentence trail off because she couldn’t bear to finish it.

‘They’ll be able to tell from my DNA how closely related I am to Harry.’

‘No! It doesn’t make sense.’ She had to find Harry’s father. She had to!

‘Emmy said you were Harry’s father, not Lucas. Why would she say that if…?’

He rested his head in his hands, suddenly looking as old as the ranges on the horizon.

Her fingers curled into her palms. ‘What?’ she whispered.

‘Lucas had me on a bit of a pedestal.’ The word ground out of him as if he loathed it. ‘He was only twenty-three when he died—fourteen years my junior. Our mother always called him her happy accident.’

A mother who had lost her son. For a moment Sapphie could barely see Liam through the sheen of her tears. She gulped them back.

‘After his accident, when we were at the hospital, I did hear that when Lucas went out on the town he’d sometimes introduce himself as me.’

She stared. ‘But why?’

He lifted one shoulder. ‘I never asked him. At the time there were more important things to worry about.’ He scowled, dragged his fingers back through his hair. ‘At the time I figured he was playacting at being the manager of Newarra—it was what he wanted more than anything. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he deliberately set out to deceive your sister.’

‘But it still doesn’t mean he’s Harry’s father! This could all be a mistake.’

‘For the last four years Lucas was the family’s representative at the Perth Agricultural Show. He was definitely on Rottnest Island at the time you claim Harry was conceived.’

‘But—’

‘I know this isn’t the scenario you were expecting, or hoping for, but taken all together the facts tell their own story.’

All she could do was stare at him—this man who spoke such hard, unrelenting words. A tremble ran through her. Her fingers started to shake, and then her hands, her arms, her shoulders—she couldn’t stop them. The postcard fluttered to the floor. Harry’s father was dead.

No!

She stared at Liam and shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. Harry’s father was supposed to step forward and claim him, love him.

‘I’m sorry, Sapphie.’

Her shaking grew so violent she thought it might shake her bones from her skin. She’d failed Emmy. She’d failed Harry. She’d change places with Lucas in an instant if…

She dropped her head to her knees and let the shaking overtake her. Liam leapt to his feet, but she held up a hand to ward him off. With a muttered oath, he fell back into his chair.

Finally, when the trembling had subsided, she lifted her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re exhausted!’

His words came out harsh, almost angry. She didn’t blame him. She and Harry being here had raked up the most painful memories for him.

They were both silent for a moment. Liam finally roused himself. ‘Is Harry an orphan?’

It took her a moment to realise what he was asking. She stiffened. ‘No!’

‘Then where is his mother? Why isn’t she here with the child?’

She wasn’t quite ready to tell him that. ‘She’s…indisposed at the moment.’

He surveyed her for a long moment. ‘What does she want? Why are you here, Sapphie?’

Sapphie’s mouth went dry. She wanted to pick Harry up and cuddle him close. ‘Emmy wanted Harry’s father to take over full custody of him.’ But that was an impossible dream now.

Liam’s head shot up. ‘Why?’

The single word reverberated around the room. That wasn’t a question she was prepared to answer yet either, so she just shook her head.

Liam shot to his feet. ‘I need to water the horses.’ The words left him abrupt and hard. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’ He started for the door.

‘Liam?’

He stopped. Turned.

She swallowed at the grim cast of his mouth. ‘What happened to Lucas?’

His face shuttered closed. ‘He died.’ Without another word he disappeared through the door at the far end of the room.

Sapphie closed her eyes. She opened them a moment later to stare down at the child sleeping beside her. Nausea rose through her. She’d just run out of options for this innocent child and there was nothing she could do about it. She pressed a hand to her mouth. Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry.

Sapphie surged out of bed and into the nursery the moment Harry’s wails broke through the sleep fog of her brain.

‘Oh, Harry!’

She picked him up and tried to cuddle him, but he wouldn’t let her. Any momentary sense of connection or trust he’d felt towards her earlier was gone.

She bounced him in her arms, rubbed his back and tried to soothe him, but he refused to be soothed. ‘Did you have a nightmare, beautiful boy?’

She had to gulp then because his waking, daytime world must seem the real nightmare to him—missing his mum, in the care of a virtual stranger, with any routine he’d had tossed out of the proverbial window.

She changed his nappy—no easy feat when he kept trying to twist away. Especially when she was no expert at nappy-changing. She checked his temperature, checked him over for rashes…for anything that might be causing him pain or discomfort.

She came up with a blank. Just as she had last night. Just as she had the night before that.

He could be teething…

She glanced at the clock—eleven p.m.

She tried playing silly games with Horsie to distract him, singing nursery rhymes, walking to and fro with him in her arms and rubbing his back.

He screamed through all of it.

Finally Sapphie sat him in the middle of the queen-sized bed and dragged her hands through her hair. Think! She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to help him, how to comfort him. A mother would know what to do.

She swung away to wring her hands. She didn’t deserve to be a mother. She’d known that for the last seven years. If there were anyone else…

How did she make amends for what she’d done?

It suddenly hit her. That was exactly what she was trying to do now. She hadn’t done right by her own child, the child she’d aborted, but she’d make sure she did right by Emmy’s. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, but it was something.

She stared at Harry. His cheeks were hot and red with crying, misery and bewilderment were leaking down his face, and her throat thickened. She deserved all this. But Harry—he didn’t!

Food. The thought slammed into her and her back straightened. He’d had a bottle this evening, but he hadn’t kept much else down throughout the rest of the day. Could that be it? ‘Are you hungry, Harry?’

She picked him up and raced down the hallway to the kitchen. She heated his bottle. She grabbed a tin of chocolate custard.

He refused both.

She even tried giving him his bottle on the same sofa he’d curled up on earlier in the day, hoping it would hold some familiarity or positive association for him.

Nothing doing.

Fighting back tears of her own, she walked him up and down the length of the living room. ‘Oh, Harry, Auntie Sapphie wishes she could make things right for you. She’d do anything to make it right for you.’

He kept right on crying. His screams tore at her. If she were a different kind of person, a better person, he wouldn’t have to go through this. She was inadequate, pathetic, worse than useless—all she could do was stay awake and bear witness to his distress.

‘What’s wrong with him?’

The voice from the doorway didn’t even make her jump, which was testament to her exhaustion and her growing sense of desperation. But when she cast a glance back over her shoulder her host’s bulk, outlined by the light of the lamp, made her swallow. She automatically checked the neckline of her shirt.

Stop it! She didn’t own anything with a plunging neckline. This shirt, teamed with a pair of baggy tracksuit pants, could hardly be called beguiling in anyone’s language.

‘Is he ill?’

‘I don’t think so.’ She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice. ‘He doesn’t have a temperature or a rash or…or anything that I can see.’

Liam took a step into the room, then another. He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. He obviously hadn’t gone to bed yet.

‘How long has he been crying?’

‘What time is it?’

‘Just gone midnight.’

She stifled a sigh. ‘About an hour.’

‘An hour!’ Liam jerked and stiffened to his full height. It made her aware of just how tall he was…how broad. ‘Something must be wrong with him.’ He started for the door at the far end of the room. ‘I’ll radio the flying doctor service.’

‘No.’ Sapphie shook her head. It felt unutterably heavy on her shoulders.

He swung back. ‘But an hour. It’s—’

‘It’s nothing. We did this for four hours last night. Then we had a three-hour break before doing it all over again for another two hours.’

He stared at her, visibly appalled. ‘But…Have you tried giving him his bottle?’

Frustration hit her, low and hard. ‘What do you think?’ she all but growled. ‘I’ve tried everything!’ She held Harry out towards him. ‘You want to give it a go?’

Liam backed up, raised his hands. ‘He doesn’t know me. I’ll frighten him.’

‘So? He’s only known me for two days!’

As if to prove Liam’s point, Harry screamed louder. Sapphie pulled him back in close. ‘Oh, Harry, Auntie Sapphie’s sorry. She didn’t mean to scare you.’

Harry did his best to twist away from her. She swallowed down a lump. It bruised her throat and lodged as a dead weight in her chest. He didn’t want her touching him. He knew what she was. What further proof did she need that as a mother substitute she was the worst?

She tried to fight the blackness that threatened to descend around her, the tears that clogged her throat. And then, amazingly, Liam moved forward and lifted Harry from her arms. And suddenly she could breathe again.

Harry didn’t stop crying, but his sobs no longer tore at her chest or rang so loudly in her ears. She fell into the nearest chair—Liam’s armchair—and just stared at man and child.

Liam didn’t know what to do with the squirming, screaming bundle he held. It was just he hadn’t been able to bear the look on Sapphie’s face any longer. She’d looked as if she’d been about to break. And if she’d had to deal with this for six hours last night…

He couldn’t regret trying to ease her burden, but now that he’d taken the child he didn’t know what to do with it. He glanced at her. Maybe she’d give him a hint?

She smiled. He marvelled that, given her exhaustion and her concern for the child—not to mention how upset she’d been earlier to learn of Lucas’s death—she’d found the strength for even the smallest of smiles.

‘Your arms are going to get dreadfully tired, holding Harry like that,’ she observed.

His arms were held out at a straight ninetydegrees from the rest of his body. Harry dangled at their ends, securely clamped beneath his armpits. Gingerly, Liam pulled the child in close against his chest. Harry didn’t stop crying. As he had with Sapphie, he tried to twist away. For something so small, he sure had some strength in that little body of his.

Don’t drop him!

Liam promptly sat. In the very middle of the sofa. Shored up by the plump softness of cushions on all sides.

He tried jiggling Harry on his knee. Harry would have none of it. The volume of his cries had tension coiling tight in Liam’s stomach and knotted his shoulders. Sapphie had done this for six hours last night? He’d held his nephew for less than two minutes and—

Don’t panic. You’re a grown man. Harry is just a baby and—

Just a baby? He had to clamp down on the harsh laugh that threatened to burst from him. Five years ago he’d have done anything for a baby, and now here he was holding one in his arms—admittedly it was his nephew, not his son—and he didn’t have a clue what to do.

As if she sensed his growing sense of inadequacy, Sapphie slid off her seat, collected a soft toy from the floor and knelt down in front of him and Harry.

‘Hey, Harry,’ she crooned, prancing the toy from one end of the sofa to the other, dancing it across Harry’s feet and Liam’s legs along the way. It seemed strangely intimate, though he knew she hadn’t meant it to be. ‘Horsie hates to see you so sad.’

Harry didn’t stop crying, but he did stop squirming. And then he leant forward and seized the stuffed horse and buried his face in it. Liam’s gut twisted and turned. Poor little kid. He was tired and out of sorts, and Liam didn’t know how, but he wanted to make things better for him.

‘It gets under your skin, doesn’t it?’ Sapphie whispered.

As his nephew’s warm weight filtered into his consciousness, Liam found he couldn’t speak. All he could do was nod.

Sapphie gulped, her eyes suspiciously bright. ‘Okay, so far we’ve tried his toys, his bottle, and walking up and down. We’ve changed his nappy, changed his clothes. We’ve tried cuddles, silly faces, silly voices…chocolate custard. If there’s anything else you can think of…?’

Liam went to drag a hand down his face and then thought better of it, kept it anchored around Harry instead. ‘Have you tried singing to him?’

‘I tried nursery rhymes.’

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, and for a moment Liam was tempted to haul her up onto the sofa beside him and order her to rest.

‘Oh, Harry…’ She pulled her hands away. ‘You know what your Grandma Dana used to do when I was sad?’

Harry barely paused for breath between wails. Liam hadn’t known a baby could cry for so long without pause.

‘Your Grandma Dana, she’d sing ABBA songs to me and your mum.’

At the word ABBA, Harry stopped mid-wail. Sapphie’s jaw dropped. Liam straightened. He stared down at Harry. Harry’s face screwed up again. ‘Sing an ABBA song,’ Liam ordered.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.