“I used to hero-worship you,” Storm found herself saying haltingly.

“Then all at once things changed,” Luke replied. “I’m here for you, Storm. Any chance we could start again?”

“No, I just can’t,” she said in a passion. “Too many years have gone by.”

“What are you frightened of, Storm? Why are you so frightened of me?”

“Such arrogance!” Her voice rang out caustically. “I’m not frightened of you at all. What do I have to do to prove it?” She stood there in an attitude of defiance he had witnessed countless times over.

“Why don’t you let me show you?”

“Don’t you dare touch me, Luke,” she warned.

He gave a challenging shake of his head. “I’m genuinely amazed I haven’t tried it before. For years you were too young, but you’re old enough now.”

Margaret Way takes great pleasure in her work and works hard at her pleasure. She enjoys tearing off to the beach with her family at 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.

Outback Fire
Margaret Way

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

THEY rode out at dawn. Their mission was specific. To hunt down “Psycho” the wild bull camel that was harassing the herd and attacking anybody unfortunate enough to come on it unawares. The situation had become so dangerous it was now necessary to kill the beast. Only a few days before one of the stockmen mustering clean skins on the desert fringe had encountered the raging animal and paid the price. Psycho had attacked without provocation kicking the stockman in the chest. The consequences had been serious. The man had to be airlifted to hospital and was still in a critical condition. He would have been dead only for the arrival of three of his mates who had startled the ferocious beast into slewing off.

When the rogue came on season, for it was the male camel instead of the female that came on heat, Psycho would pose even more of a threat. He had a fearful reputation for attacking other male camels with passionate fury, his strength and wildness driving them away to leave him with a harem usually twenty or more females he jealously guarded and impregnated.

Of recent times Psycho had taken to making open-mouthed dives at the tribal people who crisscrossed the station on walkabout. McFarlane had been informed of the attacks. His people were frightened and wanted protection.

Camels weren’t indigenous to Australia. They and their Afghan handlers had been imported into the country in the early days of settlement to transport goods all over the dry trackless regions of the Outback; camels were ideal beasts of burden in just such conditions. Their wild descendants, some quarter of a million and they lived several decades, were a dreadful menace. They roamed the desert from one end to the other doing considerable damage to the fragile environment. McFarlane tolerated them. By now they were part of the Outback and there was a certain romance to the sight of them silhouetted on top of a sand dune at sunset. Unfortunately the time had come for Psycho to be destroyed before he turned killer.

Six of them made up the party that morning. McFarlane, his overseer, Chas Branagan, Garry Dingo, the station’s finest tracker, two of his best stockmen and the boy, Luke. Fourteen years old but already judged by the others to be a man. The boy stood six feet, a superb athlete, with an excellent head on his shoulders. He was a fine shot, a talent he had been born with, as well as having extraordinary endurance for his age. In fact he was well on his way to becoming a consummate bushman like his father, Chas. He had the same remarkable sight, hearing and sense of smell. Skills that would be needed on the hunt.

McFarlane realised he had become very fond of the boy. Indeed he was coming to look on him as the son he might have had. The tragedy was his wife; the one woman he had ever truly loved had died in childbirth leaving him with the precious legacy of a daughter. His beautiful Storm. While her mother slipped prematurely out of life, Storm had come into the world at the height of one of the fiercest tempests that had ever passed over his land.

Tragedy and triumph. Sometimes the two went hand in hand. Like Storm and high drama. Storm had never been an easy child. Tempestuous and outspoken she spent her young life rebelling against his dictates when he had only put them in place to protect her. Freedom was what she wanted. Total freedom. The right to roam the station at will. “Like Luke does.” That was the catch cry “Like Luke does.”

There were always outbursts against Luke. Big flare-ups of jealousy and resentment.

“You treat him like a son! He’s not your son. He’s not my brother.”

How many times had he heard that? Storm fought his affection for Luke every step of the way. She overplayed her little princess and the pauper act most times the two of them were together. Luke being Luke, was gentle and tolerant with her, unfazed by her histrionics.

As for Storm, the light of his life, didn’t she know her father adored her? When Storm was sweet, she was very, very sweet, irresistible like her mother. If she’d had her way she’d have joined them this morning. Imagine! A girl barely twelve, even if she could ride all day. Storm couldn’t accept the confines of her femininity. She lived in a man’s world and she wasn’t about to come to terms with it. His difficult little Storm. How could it be otherwise? This was a child reared without a mother’s gentling touch.

They skirted around the lignum that rose up like jungle walls, the party dividing up as they rode into the desert, ringed by heat waves that danced in the blinding glare. No tracks so far but then they had to contend with the rising wind that wiped them out almost as soon as they were made. Such a place of desolation this no man’s land! The great flights of budgerigar that flashed green and gold overhead and the marauding hawks were almost the only living things. The grazing cattle had stripped the perennial cover from the slopes here and the blood-red sand moved at will.

Sand and spinifex.

This year of drought, even the spinifex wasn’t so dense. Other years it covered the sand like a bright golden carpet.

After two hours or more of fruitless search the party broke up, frustrated but not willing to give up. Psycho should have been spottable but he wasn’t. Wild animals had a way of disappearing into the landscape. Chas and two of the stockmen took off for the low eroded foothills, shimmering in the quicksilver light of the mirage. McFarlane, Luke and Matt, the other stockman, worked the undulating dunes, so red they were alight. It was getting hotter and hotter, the sun scorching out of a cloudless blue sky. So hot in fact McFarlane knew he was losing concentration. Not yet fifty he had lived a hard, dangerous life, and it was taking its toll. Broken ribs, a bad leg injury years back in Vietnam that still gave him a lot of pain especially if he was too long in the saddle. A tired man became careless. Matt had dropped back, skirting the mounds of dried up springs. He rode ahead with Luke a few feet from his shoulder.

Everything was silence. Infinity. The blood-red dunes ran on forever in great parallel waves; the tall seed stems of the spinifex called up glittering aboriginal spears. Nothing to signal the presence of the camel as it watched them, its shaggy, dull ginger coat an excellent camouflage. It stood within its crude shelter of desert acacias, its dark crested humped outline hidden by the thick gnarled trunks and weight of branches. McFarlane saw the wild camel as his quarry. Psycho in a particularly vicious mood saw McFarlane as his.

With extraordinary cunning the rogue camel waited for the optimum moment to break cover. It gathered itself for the charge then galloped directly at McFarlane with terrifying speed, its hump grown massive over the years, swaying, drumming through its nostrils its blind rage at the threat to its territory. In the crystal clear air of the desert the sound was deafening, travelling far. McFarlane slumped half sideways in the saddle trying to ease the pain in his leg, felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. For an instant he was deadly afraid then he wheeled his horse sharply but that stout hearted animal quailed in the face of the camel’s blazing charge. It reared then thundered to the ground throwing the unsettled McFarlane out of the saddle and onto the sun-baked earth.

The boy, Luke, looked on in horror, a cry caught in his throat. For a split second he was frozen, then all thoughts of his own safety left him. He was ice cool, bracing himself for what lay ahead. This wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Every lost second almost certainly meant tragedy. There was only time for one shot. It had to be perfect. Clean. Humane. Conclusive.

Eye to the sight, finger on the trigger Luke waited…waited…his handsome young face strong and resolute. He was already beginning to squeeze the trigger. The camel was slobbering hugely, saturated in foaming fury. Its rank smell pervaded the air.

The shot cracked away echoing across the desert and bouncing off the boulders strewn about like giants’ marbles. The camel died in mid-flight. It crashed to the ground, thrashed for an aftermoment then rolled motionless to one side, its body making a deep impression in the sand.

Urgently Luke dismounted and rushed to McFarlane’s prone figure. Perfectly in control one minute, he was now uncertain. Anxiously he went down on one knee, eyes checking. “Mr. McFarlane?” he cried hoarsely. Every last man, woman and child on the vast station depended on this man. To many of them he was their guardian.

McFarlane lay for a moment, racked in pain and panting, thick dark hair and deeply tanned skin clogged with red dust, his grey akubra lying a foot away. Eventually, with air in his lungs, he managed a quiet “I’m fine, boy. Fine. No need to worry. That was a close one.”

Luke nodded, shoving his hat to the back of his dark auburn head. “Any closer and you’d have been trampled.” Now the danger was over, his voice broke with emotion.

“No way! Not with you around. You’re a man and I’m proud of you.”

McFarlane heaved himself into a sitting position, wincing as he reached for his wide-brimmed hat. He settled it on his head, then allowed the boy to help him up. A fine boy. Brave and loyal. “I guess you could say you saved my life,” McFarlane pronounced, his deep voice showing an answering emotion. He rested one large, strong hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You stood your ground in the face of fear. I promise you I won’t forget it.”

The colour flushed into the boy’s dark cheeks. He murmured something inaudible. Nevertheless it was one of those moments in life that are never forgotten.

CHAPTER ONE

BY THE time they finished yarding the brumbies every crinkle, every crevice of his face was ingrained with red dust. After a day of intense heat and real feats of riding through the rough country Luke was desperate for a shower and a long cold beer. He was due up at the homestead this evening for dinner and a game of chess. The Major loved his chess. He loved the right company. They were both accomplished players and they had long enjoyed an easy companionable relationship.

Nowadays Athol McFarlane, for so long a lion of a man, was going downhill right in front of the younger man’s eyes. It deeply pained him. After the deaths of his parents Athol was all he had. He owed everything to the Major. Everyone on the station called him that. A carryover from his early days as a much decorated army officer in Vietnam. It was a term of affection now. No one was sure who started it. It certainly hadn’t been Athol McFarlane. Those were the days he didn’t care to talk about. Ever. Still only in his early sixties the Major had ongoing problems with his leg, an injury he had sustained in the war. What exactly those problems were, Luke never could find out, and he sure as hell had tried, but the Major didn’t like to talk about his state of health although it was obvious to everyone who cared about him that he was deteriorating. And Luke suspected in constant pain, though there was never a word of complaint. The only complaint that passed the Major’s lips were: “When is Storm coming home?”

He knew the old man missed her terribly. He missed her, too. Sometimes he thought like a hole in the head. Other times like a hole in the heart. He never could contend with his feelings about Storm. He only knew it didn’t pay to delve too deeply. She was beautiful. He had a vision of her out riding, cloud of sable hair flying—she hated wearing a hat even in the intense heat—not that it had affected her flawless ivory complexion, green cat’s eyes sparkling with life and health.

He knew she was clever. She designed and made exclusive jewellery that sold as far away as New York. Necklaces, pendants, bangles, rings. You name it. And the beautiful people flew from all over just to have a piece designed by Storm McFarlane. Not bad to have an enviable reputation at twenty-seven. No husband. Two fiancés that never managed to get her to the altar. High time she was married, the Major said. He wanted to set eyes on his grandchildren before he died. So far Storm hadn’t obliged. What was she waiting for? Superman? Only a rare man could satisfy her, he thought with black humour. Storm always had been damned near impossible to please. Certainly he had never succeeded except for those odd times when they acknowledged a bond. More than a bond. God knows what it was.

When he reached the comfortable overseer’s bungalow that had once housed his small happy family, Luke went straight to the bathroom, stripped off his dusty clothes and ran a warm shower. After such a day, it took a while to feel completely clean. He had to soap his hair as well to rid it of the dust, then he allowed the water to run cold, luxuriating in the blessed sensation of feeling cool. Here he was twenty-nine and one of the greatest things in life was a shower!

My God!

Not that he hadn’t had his own little romantic flutters. A few months of thinking maybe this is it, then the initial burst of interest and excitement drained away like the water in a clay pan. A few of his ex-girlfriends still hung in there. That was the amazing thing. He hadn’t really lost a one. Carla was the most persistent without a doubt. He really liked Carla. She was good company, good-looking and she was good in bed. What the hell was the matter with him? Like Storm it was high time he was married. Deep inside he mourned the loss of his family. He had to make a family for himself. With the right woman. But who? A woman like Storm, who never failed to move and outrage him was out of the question. Storm McFarlane was trouble with a capital T.

Luke towelled himself off and slicked back his hair. Now and again he caught glimpses of his father in his mirrored reflection—the high cheekbones, the set of the eyes and mouth. But his colouring was purely his mother’s. Though the worst of the pain had banked down to liveable he missed his parents every day of his life. He remembered as though it were yesterday getting the message to go to the headmaster’s office. He sensed it was something important but never in a million years did he expect to see the Major, handsome and dignified seated in the headmaster’s study.

The Major had come personally to break the terrible news. His parents had been killed in a three-car collision driving back from Alice Springs. One of the cars driven by a tourist was found to have been travelling on the wrong side of the road. His parents had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was then fifteen years old and a boarder at one of the country’s most prestigious private schools. His parents had been determined he would have a good education but they could never have afforded that particular school with its proud tradition, splendid amenities and brilliant alumni that read like a Who’s Who. The Major had seen to it. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Wore Luke’s dad down.

After the accident the Major had flown Luke and Storm back to the station for the funeral. Storm had insisted she be picked up from her boarding school so she could be there. Although her hang-ups had always centred on Luke she had been great friends with his mother and father. Particularly his mother who thought the world of “the little princess.”

As a mark of deep respect his parents had actually been buried in the McFarlane family cemetery on Sanctuary Hill, some five kilometres from the homestead. He remembered how Storm had stood white-faced beside him holding his hand. He remembered how she had given him real comfort for once, hostilities set aside. He hadn’t forgotten. Although Storm had to return to school he had stayed up at the Big House with the Major trying to master his terrible grief, but never coming to terms with it, then he, too, had to return to boarding school. After that, university.

Luke had graduated from college with an OP1, the top score, something else that had set Storm off. She had scored an excellent OP3. After that, the Major insisted he, along with Storm, go on to higher education which after all he had wanted himself. Luke’d worked hard and made the Major proud, picking up an honours degree in Economics. He’d been free to choose his own life after that but all he had ever wanted was to be a cattleman like his dad. Running a huge operation was big business these days, not just learning the game. Luke revelled in Outback life. It was in his blood and he had never felt truly at home in the city. He’d told the Major this in a long discussion. It was then the Major had confounded him by offering him his father’s old job. Overseer of Winding River Station. A top job with big responsibilities. The two outstations now came under his jurisdiction.

These days he was the Major’s right hand man. Visitors to the station, those not in the know, often mistook him for McFarlane’s son. His rise had been meteoric but no one in a tough competitive world had ever questioned his ability. To prove it the Major was leaving more and more to him to the point where he was virtually running the whole operation.

Dressed in a clean shirt and jeans he walked up to the Big House pausing outside to admire it. He always did. It was a magnificent old house completed in the late 1870s by Ian Essex McFarlane a wealthy pastoralist who had come from the colony of New South Wales to take up this vast holding in South West Queensland. The house had been planned on a grand scale, all the more extraordinary for its remote desert setting, two storeyed, built of warm golden sandstone with a slate roof, its deep verandahs supported by slender white pillars with unusual lotus capitals forming a striking colonnade, the upper verandahs encased in white wrought-iron lace with very attractive fretwork. Semicircular stone steps led to the deeply recessed front door and he took them two at a time, passing into the spacious entrance hall its parqueted floor strewn with oriental rugs. Noni Mercer, the housekeeper, came out to greet him, smiling up into his face. “Hi there, Luke. Hot old day!”

“You want to try running down brumbies,” he answered, returning her smile. Noni was a thoroughly nice woman. He was fond of her and had good reason to be. In her late fifties, short and compact, with a great heart, she had a bubble of grey curls and contrasting snapping dark eyes. “I have to tell you, Noni, I’m ready for your cooking.”

“Aren’t you always!” Noni blushed with pleasure. She ran her eyes appreciatively over Luke’s rangy figure. He stood straight and tall, superbly built, a few inches over six feet. She had watched him grow up. Watched him turn into this almost unbelievably handsome young man with hair like a dark flame and those miraculous blue eyes. His lovely little mother, Rose, God rest her soul, had had just that marvellous colouring.

Noni had a very soft spot for Luke Branagan who never once used his high standing with the Major for his own gain. Straight as a die was Luke. How he and Storm weren’t the greatest friends Noni could never understand. She had an idea Luke secretly carried a torch for the tempestuous Storm, though he would never let on, even under torture. Sadly, in Noni’s opinion, and she cared deeply for Storm, that young woman had her feet set on a different path. Yet when she saw them together? Noni heaved a soft sigh, which made Luke dip his handsome head to look into her eyes.

“What’s up?”

For such a big strong, dynamic guy Luke was in touch with women’s feelings. “Nothing, dear,” Noni evaded, then felt compelled to burst out with what was on her mind. “When is Storm coming home?”

His handsome face tautened. “Hell, Noni, why ask me? I’m not one of Storm’s favourite people. You know that.”

“She’s been running with that for a long time,” Noni gruffly scoffed. “Personally I don’t think it’s true.”

“Well she sure doesn’t love me,” Luke’s vibrant voice deepened. “And she doesn’t confide in me, either.”

“More’s the pity!” Noni regretted. “The Major hasn’t been terribly well today, but he’s so looking forward to seeing you. You’re not far off the son he never had.”

“Maybe that’s the problem, Noni,” Luke’s expression turned a shade bleak. “Storm hates to see it that way.”

Noni couldn’t do other than nod her agreement. “I just wish she’d come home.” She turned her head quickly as slow, heavy footsteps sounded along the upper gallery. “That will be the Major now,” she said softly. “I know Storm has a busy life. She’s so successful and that’s wonderful. She always was a clever little thing. Remember how she used to collect all those little bits of opal and quartz around the station?”

Luke’s handsome mouth compressed. “I distinctly remember finding a lot of it for her. She was in heaven when the Major used to organize those prospecting trips to the gemfields for us. I made quite a few finds myself but I always handed them over to Storm.”

“You would,” Noni said. For all her tantrums Luke had always been honey-sweet to that little girl. Sweet and calm and understanding. Maybe he should have told her off. He was well capable of telling off the toughest and the roughest.

“Agate, amethyst, carnelian, garnet, sapphire, topaz, beryl,” Luke was saying, his brilliant blue eyes reflective. “That’s what started her off on her career. The Major always encouraged her. Now she’s getting to be a big name.”

“It’s marvellous,” Noni a recipient of several beautiful little pieces, smiled. “Storm is delighted when people fall in love with her work.”

“She’s not happy with guys falling in love with her,” Luke commented dryly. “Two fiancés to date. Neither could get her to the altar.”

“You’re not married, either,” Noni pointed out slyly. “You’re quite a pair!” Personally she thought each had ruined relationships for the other.

As they were speaking Athol McFarlane appeared at the top of the central staircase then came very slowly down towards them. He was leaning very heavily on his stick but Luke and Noni knew better than to go to his assistance. The Major scorned help. He was independent to a fault.

“Well, Luke,” he boomed, and his gaunt face lit up. “Come tell me all about your day. Noni has been fussing for hours lining up all the things you like to eat.”

“She spoils me,” Luke grinned, knowing it was true.

“And you’re worth every bit of it.” The Major nodded his thatched grey head that once had had Storm’s raven sheen. “You’ve been the greatest help to me these past years. Devotion and dedication. Not a lot of men are as capable of it as you, son. You keep bringing your dad to mind. A splendid man. Not that I had any illusions he wouldn’t have wanted to strike out for himself one day. With my blessing, mind, but that was not to be.” Athol McFarlane’s expression grew grave and introspective. “Come along now into the study. You might have to fly over to Kingston at the end of the week. About time to pay them a surprise visit. Noni will let us know when dinner is ready.”

“Will do, Major,” Noni gave a comic little salute and made off for the kitchen, thanking God Luke was around to ease the Major’s pain and loneliness.

Above the fireplace in the Major’s book-and-trophy-lined study hung a painting of Storm. It had been commissioned on the eve of her twenty-first birthday. He found himself looking up at it with a brooding silence. No lavish ball gown for Storm. No deep décolletage that would have shown off her beautiful shoulders and breasts. But the painting, like Storm, compelled attention. She was wearing riding clothes, white silk shirt and close-fitting beige mole-skins, a fancy belt with a heavy silver-and-opal studded buckle she had designed herself around her narrow waist. Her long black hair was blowing free, her head slightly profiled, skin luminous, her almond-shaped eyes the same rich emerald-green as the bandanna that was knotted carelessly around her throat. One beautiful long-fingered hand was on her hip, and the other clasped a white akubra with a wide snakeskin band. How many times had he seen her stand like that? Maybe a thousand. As a background the artist had used the wonderful colourations of the desert; the cloudless cobalt-blue sky, the purple hills, the gleaming gold of the spinifex dotting the red ochre plains. The setting lent the painting a kind of monumentality. The young woman up there looked so vivid, so real he had the sense she could very easily step from the frame.

Into his arms?

And then?

He never saw it without getting an erotic charge. He was under no illusion Storm couldn’t move him powerfully. Nothing easy or relaxed about it. Blinding pleasure and sometimes more than its fair share of sexual hostility.

The Major, observing Luke quietly but intently, took his usual seat waiting for the young man to join him. “Could I ask you something very personal, Luke,” Athol McFarlane queried, meeting that direct sapphire gaze.

“Sure, Major, as long as you leave Storm out of it,” Luke returned deadpan.

McFarlane laughed. “What impresses me most about you two is neither of you can find anyone else while the other’s around.”

Luke, taken by surprise, didn’t answer immediately. “You’re suggesting a love-hate?”

“More often than not it’s Storm waging the war,” McFarlane answered ruefully. “I would have thought she’d be long over it by now.”

“She’ll never be over it,” Luke answered, a mite tightly.

“I can’t accept that,” the Major growled. “I want to see her, Luke.” It came out far more plaintively than he ever intended.

Luke stared across the table, perturbed by the Major’s tone. “What’s up? What’s the matter? I wish you’d confide in me.”

“Nothing to confide,” McFarlane lied. He wanted desperately to tell Luke he was dying but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t even tell Storm. “I’m just feeling tired and old and lonely except for you,” he evaded. “You’re my adopted son, Luke. You know that.”

“If there was anything badly wrong you’d tell me?” There was a serious almost stern expression in Luke’s face.

“Sure I would.” McFarlane tried to lighten that gaze.

“Why don’t I believe that? I’m here to help you, Major.”

The Major responded by grasping Luke’s forearm. “Don’t you think I know that, son? But it’s four months at least since Storm was here.”

Four months, one week and three days. “She leads a full life,” Luke pointed out. “Even I’ve picked up the magazines Noni leaves lying around the place. She’s beautiful, gifted, she has a fine family name. It’s only to be expected she’d get invited everywhere. And she has her work. Her commissions.”

“She could do them here.” The Major’s heavy eyebrows drew together. “I’ve offered many times to convert a couple of rooms into a studio, workshop, whatever she wants. God knows there are enough rooms empty.”

“Have you told her how you feel?” Luke asked.

McFarlane sighed. “Yes.” It wasn’t strictly true. He always played hardy when she rang.

“And she still won’t come?” It was hard to keep the censure out of his voice. Storm had plenty of time for parties and all the social functions.

“Maybe I haven’t asked the right way.” McFarlane dropped his gaze evasively, sighing heavily.

“You must know it’s on account of me.”

“I don’t accept that, Luke.” McFarlane shook his head.

“I think you might have to, Major,” Luke countered knowing the Major had been living with the fiction one day he and Storm would get together. God, could you believe it? “Storm has always seen me as the usurper,” he added with quiet force, opening up his own wounds.

“Rubbish! That’s irrational.” The Major’s protest was overloud.

“Aren’t human beings irrational when their deepest emotions are involved?” Luke held the Major’s gaze until he blinked.

“You’re a man of integrity, Luke,” McFarlane said. “Storm knows that in her deepest being.”

Luke’s expression became sombre as he studied the other man’s gaunt face, thin body and arms. “Would you like me to go to Sydney and fetch her?”

McFarlane looked up quickly. “You’re far too busy to do that,” he protested but his face brightened and he squared his shoulders.

“Everything is in hand,” Luke pointed out. “I’ve got Sandy well trained. He can stand in for me for a day of two. Of course if you want me to check out Kingston?” Luke referred to a Winding River’s outstation.

“It can wait,” McFarlane said without a second thought.

“Actually it can. I’ve got the situation sorted out. Webb was the troublemaker.”

McFarlane scarcely heard, his voice picking up strength. “When will you go?” Luke studied him. It sounded as if time was of the essence.

“When would you want me to go?” Luke watched him carefully, evaluating the change.

“What about Friday?”

The day after tomorrow. Luke’s mind worked overtime. The Major hid his desperation well but Luke sensed, no knew, there was something terribly wrong. He wished he could talk to Tom Skinner, the Major’s doctor. Get things straight, but the Major would never forgive him for going behind his back. He had tried to get something out of Tom, to little avail. Whatever the true state of McFarlane’s health the file was confidential. But there was the evidence of his own eyes. The Major was a sick man. He knew it. Storm knew it. Where the hell was she? Surely her concern for her father would outweigh every other consideration? Her long-running cold war with him?

“So?” McFarlane asked as the young man opposite him fell silent.

“No problem!” Luke flashed his white smile. The smile everyone waited for. “I won’t let Storm know I’m coming in case she jumps town, though I will check to see she’s in residence.”

“What about young Carla?” the Major suddenly sidetracked.

“You could give me a clue?” Luke drawled, not wanting to discuss Carla.

“Dammit, Luke, you know what I mean. You and Carla used to be close. Is it still on?”

Luke picked up a paperweight and palmed it. “On and off. Carla and I are friends.” He set the crystal paperweight down.

‘You’re a darn sight more to her than that, my boy,” the Major scoffed. “I’ve got eyes. The girl is head over heels in love with you. Her dad would be thrilled to have you for a son-in-law. Like me he only has a daughter to inherit.”

Luke, a generation younger, was very much attuned to women’s issues. “Don’t underestimate Carla,” he said. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She knows the business as well as her dad. She could take over.”

The Major shrugged. “It’s too hard a life for a woman, Luke. You know that. It’s tough, dangerous and you want a man as boss. Even Storm realises that. Accidents happen all the time around stations especially remote ones like ours. What woman is willing to put herself through that? I’m only trying to find out what the position is with you and Carla.”

“Why exactly?” Luke asked, with a look of dry humour.

The Major blew up. “Hell, son, you’re as close-lipped as I am. I care about you, that’s why. I like Carla, too. She’s a smart girl and a looker but I think you can do better.”

“Such as Storm?” Luke asked directly.

“Surely you can understand that,” McFarlane asked. “Your lives are entwined. No matter what, there’s that bond. Nothing in this world would make me happier than to see you and Storm together.”

Luke gave a hollow laugh, his eyes drawn to Storm’s portrait. “It would take an eternity for Storm and I to patch up our differences,” he said thinking Storm’s childhood had been damaged by the desperate need to be the only one in her father’s life. She should have had brothers and sisters. She should have had anyone, except him. In his own way, without warning, the Major had set them both up.

Now the Major was saying very seriously, “I know Storm has given you a rough time—and you’ve let her. She’s the only one who could get away with it, but she knows your worth. She knows, Luke, even if it would kill her to admit it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Luke quipped. “It’s just a dream of yours, Major. An impossible dream.”

“But you care about her?” McFarlane challenged. “You can’t look me in the eye and tell me you don’t. I know you too well.”

“Then you’d know I would never waste time wanting a woman who didn’t want me,” Luke said emphatically. What the hell else was he doing if not that?

“Just bring her home, Luke,” McFarlane begged with overwhelming intensity. “That’s all I ask. If there’s a God in his heaven he’ll make things come right.”

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS getting on towards late afternoon before he touched down at Sydney’s light aircraft terminal taking a cab into the city where he booked into a hotel. Storm herself had rung her father only the night before, in the course of the conversation letting it be known she wasn’t going out of town that weekend. She was to be chief bridesmaid to Sara Lambert, a young woman the Major knew from her occasional visits to the station. Luke knew Sara, too. At one stage she’d had quite a crush on him that mercifully passed. So with any luck he would find Storm at home. Or if she did happen to go out for the evening, which he was sure she would, he would sit it out until she arrived back. In a curious way he realised he was elated at the thought of seeing her again. A good idea to check the hype now. Storm could be in one of her moods. Moods or not he was certain of one thing. This time she was coming back with him before something bad happened.

When he arrived at her seriously up-market apartment block he had no difficulty getting past security. The man at the desk knew him after seeing him a few times in company with Storm and the Major. In fact the man appeared to think he was Storm’s brother.

“Go right up, Mr. McFarlane,” he said breezily. “I saw Miss McFarlane come in a couple of hours ago. Didn’t see her go out, though I’ve been away from the desk on and off.”

He waved his thanks and moved towards the lift amusing himself by thinking Storm most probably would be overjoyed to see him.

As it turned out Storm wasn’t in but a very smart-looking older woman dressed in a blue suit emerged from the adjoining apartment to tell him Storm had left for a party at the Drysdales.

“You know them?” She must have been bored because she looked as if she was ready for a chat.

“Heard of them certainly,” he replied. Every year the Drysdales made The Rich List. “I’m here on an errand for Storm’s father.” He smiled.

“Then you’ll be waiting a long time,” the woman said almost flirtatiously. “Those parties go on all night. Then there’s Sara Lambert’s wedding tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know Sara,” he said, unaware he was frowning.

“Look here, why don’t you simply turn up?” the woman said. “I’m sure the Drysdales won’t mind. Not if you’re a friend of Storm’s. They adore her.”

“Who doesn’t?” he said with the faintest edge of irony.

“You know Storm obviously.” The woman’s bright eyes were agog.

“I grew up with her.” He told her casually, then lest she got the wrong impression: “I’m the overseer on the McFarlane station, Winding River.”

The woman stared at him as if transfixed. “Really? It must keep you very busy?”

“It does. I don’t have a lot of time. I should fly back tomorrow. Sunday by the latest.”

“So go along to the party,” the woman suggested, sensing his urgency.

“What, in this?” He pulled at the sleeve of his leather bomber jacket.

“My dear, you look marvellous,” the woman breathed and gave him the address.

The Drysdale mansion was right on Sydney harbour, which was to say on one of the most beautiful sites in the world. The imposing Italianate-style house with matching landscape grounds was ablaze with lights. There again he had no difficulty in gaining entrance. Like a gift from heaven, Sara Lambert, Storm’s friend, had been invited to the party. They caught sight of each other as they approached the massive wrought-iron gates, open but flanked either side by attendants to vet the guests.

No male was dressed casually as he was. They either wore dinner jackets or well-tailored suits. Sara didn’t appear to take much note of that. She rushed to his side, grabbing hold of his arm.

“Why Luke!” she carolled. “How lovely to see you! It’s been ages and ages.”

“Sara.” He bent to brush her flushed cheek. “Your big day tomorrow. I wish you every happiness.”

She beamed up at him, a very attractive blonde with sky-blue eyes. “I’d have sent you an invitation only you might have put me off going through with it,” she said roguishly. “Only fooling. I love my Michael.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Storm didn’t tell me you were coming tonight?” She took his arm affectionately, as though they were the greatest of friends.

“Actually, Sara, she doesn’t know.”

The blue eyes rounded. “You can’t be serious?”

“I’m absolutely serious. I’m here on behalf of her father. Literally a flying visit. The Major’s not well.”

“Oh!” Sara kept moving toward the gates where an attendant smiled and nodded to her then let them through. Easy as that! “I’m so sorry. I do know the Major has ongoing problems with his leg. Storm keeps me informed. A lovely man, the Major.”

“I think so.”

“And he thinks the world of you,” Sara told him warmly.

“Unlike Storm,” he said in an easy, languid drawl that masked a lot of hurt.

Sara laughed. “Maybe she’s in denial. You two go back a long way.”

“That we do.” He left it at that.

Moving in line, they were almost at the front door: Luke without an invitation, Sara waving to other couples who had not yet worked their way into the house.

“I really don’t think I should go in, Sara,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind telling Storm I’m here? I’d like to speak to her for a few moments, then I’ll be off.”

“Oh for God’s sake, stay!” Sara turned up her face to him, tightening her hold on his arm. “You’re going to have to tell me what’s been happening in your life. How’s your girlfriend, Carla?”

“She’s fine. I won’t go in, Sara,” he said firmly. “Apart from the fact I wasn’t invited, I don’t look the part.” Not that he cared but he was old-fashioned enough not to want to gate-crash.

For an instant there was the same old hero worship in Sara’s tone. “You look terrific! Like an ad for Calvin Klein. Great jeans and a cool leather jacket go anywhere.”

Despite his wishes they were somehow through the grand double doors urged on by the press of guests to the rear. The entrance hall to his eyes was overly resplendent, more like the foyer of some sumptuous European hotel. Huge, even allowing for the swirl of laughing, chattering guests, all beautifully dressed, the women flashing spectacular jewellery. He presumed the handsome middle-aged couple in the centre were the Drysdales; something Sara immediately confirmed.

He moved back, to one side, taking Sara with him. “If you could just find Storm. I’d appreciate it.”

Sara all but ignored him. “Don’t you want to meet Stephanie and Gill?” she asked.

“Oh God! I think I’m about to,” he said, watching the hosts break away from their other guests and walk towards them, looking highly interested.

“Sara, darling!” Stephanie Drysdale cried.

Lots of Euro kisses.

“This is Luke,” Sara offered brightly. “Luke Branagan. He’s Athol McFarlane’s right hand man. Storm’s father.”

“Of course!” The hosts, husband and wife started to beam. Handshakes all round.

“Forgive me for gate-crashing your party,” Luke smiled, “if only momentarily. I’m in Sydney to see Storm. I have a message for her from her father. It won’t take long but it’s important. Hence the flying visit. I’m needed back on the station. The Major hasn’t been well.”

“Nothing serious I hope?” Stephanie Drysdale asked, waiting on the answer.

“His health is a matter of concern, Mrs. Drysdale,” he said.

“Well we must get Storm for you.” Stephanie Drysdale turned to her husband. “Gill, why don’t you show Mr. Branagan into the study while I find Storm. You’ll want to be private.” She hesitated a moment. “Are you going on anywhere else this evening, Mr. Branagan?” she asked.

“Luke, please.” He gave her a smile. “I might catch a movie while I’m in town.”

“Goodness! In that case we’d love you to stay.” She flashed a glance at her husband, who nodded his handsome head in agreement. Sara, too, smiled excitedly.

“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” he pointed out amusedly, glancing down at his jeans and high boots.

“Don’t worry about that. You look fine.” Actually Stephanie Drysdale was thinking she had never seen a man looking so utterly divine.

Gilbert Drysdale led him off to the study while his wife and Sara went in search of Storm. Guests were wandering around everywhere, champagne glasses in hand, laughing, talking, relaxed. They continued through one of the opulent reception rooms along a corridor until they came to the darkened study.

Drysdale switched on the lights, illuminating a very functional, very masculine room in complete contrast to the rest of the house. Gracious like his wife, Drysdale stayed on for a moment to ask more of Athol McFarlane’s health then he excused himself saying he had better get back to his guests. Luke took an armchair, upholstered in a rich dark green leather, allowing his eyes to wander casually around the room, his mind preoccupied with this coming meeting. Four long months since he’d seen Storm. It felt like years. Sick of her, sick with her. Hell it was like a disease!

He heard the tap of her high heels along the corridor, an excitement in itself as he forcefully inhaled a lungful of breath. She was there! Sweeping into the room in a cloud of some beautiful elusive perfume that made him flare his nostrils, a subtle blend of gardenia, orange blossom, freesia? What would a man know? What would a mere male know about the miracle of Woman? She bedazzled him in her sexy little sequined top in lime-green with a long side split ruffled skirt that had to be chiffon over silk, the tiny green iridescent beads that were sewn all over it catching the light. Her thick raven tresses were dressed more elaborately than he had yet seen, the volume increased so it winged back from her forehead and cheeks and spilt over her bare shoulders. Knowing her so well, he could see she had gone pale, her green eyes glittering like the emeralds she wore in her ears.

So near, yet so far! She made his head reel and she was using up his life.

“Luke, what is it? What’s the matter?” she asked urgently, closing the study door behind her and leaning back against it.

It was quite a pose, a sizzler, but he knew it was unconscious. “Hi there, Storm,” he said, getting slowly to his feet. “I’m really happy to see you, too. No need to panic. Your father sent me.”

She could hardly speak for her surprise. Luke, as handsome, as inflammable as ever. “About what? Has he taken ill?” Though her heart quickened with fright, it came out like a challenge.

“You mean you didn’t know?” he clipped off, his mood darkening. “Your father has been ill for years.”

She couldn’t bear the censure in his beautiful blue eyes. “I only spoke to him last night. He was perfectly all right then.”

He could feel the familiar tension invading his body. “Don’t be absurd, Storm. His leg gives him hell as you know.”

That had its effect, too. “What are you accusing me of, Luke?’ she asked heatedly, wondering if their clashes were to be repeated forever.

“Well, now we’re on the subject, I’m accusing you of neglect.”

She flushed, the upsurge of colour increasing her beauty. “Don’t you always pick the right words,” she said bleakly. “I love my father. I ring him regularly.”

“But you don’t visit.”

She shook back her long hair. The overhead light had burnished the ebony waves with purple. “I have a career, Luke. Can’t you understand? I have commissions I must complete. And I get them from people with the money to afford them. Like the people who are here tonight. I just can’t rush off at a moment’s notice.”

He looked at her unsmilingly. “Well you’re going to have to. Your father wants you home. I think you should come.”

She laughed. It was almost certainly not humorous. “You think…you think. Oh, yes, you decide what’s best.”

“Don’t start,” he begged. “I’ve had just about enough. You know and I know that you stay away because of me.”

“How you kid yourself!” The truth didn’t lessen the pain.

“I don’t. You can’t put anything over me. I’m not your father to be wound around your little finger. Busy or not I want you to come back with me. You have the wedding tomorrow, but Sunday.”

She stared at him, absorbing the aura of power that surrounded him. “You can’t be serious?”

“I’m always serious with you. Your father wants you.”

Anxiety was like a knife against her heart but she knew her father. He thought bringing her home was his right. Twenty-seven and he still treated her like a child. “It can’t be that serious, Luke. He would have told me.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“So you’re calling the shots now?” She was as defensive as ever. There was so much bottled up inside her it might never get out.

“I always act in the interests of your father. It’s over four months since you’ve seen him. I have to tell you he’s gone downhill since then.”

“Oh God!” She all but swayed into a chair, the slit in her long skirt revealing one long, slender leg. “I ring him every week without fail. Why does he never say anything? Why is everything so secret?”

“You know your father,” Luke sighed. “He plays it close to the chest. Besides the last thing he wants to do is cause you anxiety.”

“And what about you?” There was the pain again. Not jealousy. Rejection. “You’re always there aren’t you? He has you to confide in.”

“Well he doesn’t,” Luke responded curtly, all the feeling he had about her cruelly twisting. “I tried to speak to Tom Skinner but Tom clams up.”

“Do you really think I haven’t tried to speak to Tom myself?” Storm flung up her head. “Tom does what Dad tells him. Just like everyone else. Including you.”

“And you of course are the rebel?” He let his blue eyes wander over her body, so beautiful and so insufferable. “I’m sorry if it interferes with your professional and social life but I feel you should come home if only for a few days.”

“Is that an order?”

“It’s a request. Don’t close your heart, Storm.”

“Then it’s that bad?” Her almond eyes glittered with unshed tears.

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise. We’re never going to be friends, Storm, but I do care about your father,” he said, fighting down the mad desire to crush her in his arms.

“And he loves you.” She had been exposed to that early. “What is it about you men that you value your sons above your daughters?”

“I don’t accept that,” he said, thinking to have a little daughter like Storm would be utter joy.

“It’s true in Dad’s case. I spent years of my childhood wishing I were a boy. Wishing I were you.” She shook her head. She had been wounded in so many ways perhaps no one would understand.

The pathos of that stung him. “I’m sorry, Storm. I never asked for any of it.”

“Of course not.” Her smile was bitter-sweet. “It was your destiny. What are you really after, Luke. We both know you’re ambitious. Is it Winding River? I swear you’ll never get it.” Her feelings for him, so complex, manifested themselves in inflicting hurt.

His eyes flashed. “If anything happens to your father, Storm, I’m out. Nothing on God’s earth would persuade me to work for you. And you couldn’t run the station yourself. You’ve taken no interest in it for years.”

“Who needed my interest?” she said, in reality a victim of her father’s blind injustice. “Who needs me when they’ve got you?”

“God, Storm, I’m not a monster,” he rasped. “I’m no substitute for you when it comes to your father. He idolizes you, but you’ve always been too hot-headed to accept that. So he’s one of the old school who thinks women have to be protected and provided for; shielded from the harsh realities of life. I understand perfectly how important your career is to you. I applaud you. But your father has given you everything you’ve got including your apartment.”

That he knew was a double blow. “You know that?” she asked.

“You just told me.” He moved restlessly, rangy and powerful. “How could you have afforded it anyway? It’s only these last few years you’ve been making real money. I expect that your father makes you a handsome allowance. That dress must have cost a fortune.” It was exquisite revealing her beautiful shoulders and the swell of her breasts. “The sandals. The emeralds in your ears.”

“My mother’s emeralds, Luke,” she pointed out dryly. “Columbian. Real emeralds are very hard to come by. You don’t know everything.”

He drew a deep steadying breath. “Look, why don’t we put our little range war aside. I didn’t come here for you I came for your father. Because I care about him. Like you he’s given me just about everything but I work very hard to repay him. In fact I break my back.”

“It’s just like I said, Luke,” she continued with the right mix of irony and humour. “You’re hero material. The son Dad always wanted.”

“And therein lies a lifetime of grief.”

“I don’t think it would be excessive to say you stole my birthright.”

“That cuts deep. You know I didn’t steal anything,” he retorted with some passion. “Chance affected our lives.”

“It certainly put paid to any civilised relationship between us,” she said, hiding her sick regrets. “I used to think when I was just a girl the two of you deliberately tried to exclude me.”

As a man he could understand that. “Now you know better.” His expression gentled.

“Maybe I can’t see the light even yet.” Abruptly her tone changed. “Did you fly Dad’s Cessna?”

He responded curtly to the near taunt. “The quickest way to get here.”

“When do you intend flying back?”

“As soon as you’re packed.”

She searched the eyes that blazed out of his tanned skin. “You truly think it’s that urgent? Dad likes to keep hold of us both. He says he’s proud of my success but he’d have been far happier if I’d stayed at home dancing attendance on him. No, don’t shrug it off, Luke. Listen. ‘You’re an heiress. You don’t have to work!’ What he really meant was he wants me to be financially and emotionally dependant on him. I’m not such a fool I don’t know my own father. He’s an important man, much respected, everyone speaks of him with such admiration—the way he reared me single-handedly.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Dad is first and foremost the big man in a man’s world. He’s lived like that all his life. Athol McFarlane, the cattle baron. The Major. A man among men. He’s always said he never married because of his grief. He could have had any woman he wanted. He didn’t have to marry a one of them, and you know there were a few. Dad didn’t really want to remarry. He might have been having second thoughts about a son but you came along. Ready-made. To make the grand plan complete, you lost your parents.”

He thrust a hand through his hair, the light above him capturing its dark fire. “I don’t appreciate your talking about my parents.”

“Why not?” she flared. “You talk all the time about mine. Anyway I was close to them, Luke. Don’t forget that. Your mother used to call me Princess even if it was a joke.”

“It was no joke,” he told her. “You gave her joy.”

Storm’s green eyes turned deeply reflective. “Some people might think my father was rather cruel. Maybe unknowingly, he’s not the most sensitive of men, but he never for one minute sees a woman as an equal.”

It was perfectly true. Women to the Major were ornaments to be worn on a man’s arm. “That might be, Storm,” he agreed, saddened all at once. “But in his own way he loves you dearly.”

She pressed back in the armchair. “That love has been a bit destructive, wouldn’t you say? I’m also thinking this could be just a stunt to get me home. Since he’s been so inactive Dad sits around making plans. Much as I love him I know he manipulates us both.”

“Agreed. I’m no fool, either.” The muscles along his chiselled jaw bunched. “I can only give you my spin on this. Your father is genuinely ill. Noni agrees with me. God, Storm, I didn’t fly all the way here for a psychological analysis, informed as it may be. You’re bitter and you feel betrayed. Maybe your father is ruthless but in the most benign way.”

“As though there’s any such thing.” She half smiled, a poignant movement of her lovely full mouth.

He had to look away. “If you love your father as much as you say, you’ll come. No one is asking you to bury yourself in the wilds. A few days. Hell, can’t you spare him that?” An image of the Major’s gaunt face filled his mind.

Storm winced at the implication she was pitiless. In truth she felt defeated. Defeated by her love for her father, defeated by the messed up feelings she had for Luke. It seemed to her she had fought the both of them for most of her life.

“All right, you both win.” She rose in one graceful movement, holding his eyes. Eyes that had haunted her every move. “It won’t be easy but I’ll be ready on Sunday. Does that suit?”

“That will be fine,” he said. “You won’t regret it.” He was struggling not to stare at her, but the compulsion to do so was too strong for him. Her green almond eyes were so brilliant they might have had tears in them. “I should go,” he said, keeping a safe distance from her with the pure force of his will.

“Actually Stephanie is determined you stay. You could be the toast of the evening if you wanted to.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous,” he answered shortly, hostility flickering back and forth between them.

“That’s a good thing about you, Luke. You have no vanity.”

“Go on, anything else?” She had begun to walk to the door, now he followed her up.

“Surely Carla tells you how wonderful you are?” She swept about unexpectedly the sarcastic comment dying on her lips when she found him so close. Their bodies were only inches apart. Taller than average, Storm always felt at such a disadvantage with Luke towering over her. The physical shock of those blue, blue, eyes. That rich red hair! My God! It was like a detonator going off. Her heart quickened and she felt this great surge of what could only be excitement. This was a man. She felt his sexuality in every cell of her body.

“I wonder what would happen if we were cast up together on a desert island?” He gave her a mere shadow of his illuminating smile. Yet it drugged her. “No Major. No Winding River?”

“No past,” she added as her defence mechanism kicked in. “We can’t escape it.”

His expression that had created such an erotic disturbance in her changed. “I’ll go.” Their relationship had not developed as other relationships did. He would be a fool to think anything could change. “Would you thank Mrs. Drysdale for her kind invitation but explain now you’re coming back with me I have more things to attend to.”

Incredibly she felt keen disappointment. “Don’t let me put you off. Sara may be getting married tomorrow but I think she’s reliving the intoxication of her holidays on the station. And you didn’t even kiss her. Or did you?”

He dipped his dark red head. “I have to say I don’t remember. There are so many girls I’ve kissed.”

“I know,” she answered. “You’re notorious for getting women to fall in love with you.”

They were making their way down the corridor when a tall, well-built young man with floppy blond hair dressed in immaculate dinner clothes, trailing Sara in his wake, approached. “Storm darling! I’d been looking for you everywhere until Sara told me you were trapped in the study.”

“I did not!” Sara didn’t hesitate to say indignantly.

“Good grief isn’t that Alex, the ex-fiancé?” Luke murmured, lowering his head to be close to Storm’s ear. “Pain in the neck, as ever.”

The ex-fiancé had recognised Luke, too. “Well for goodness’ sake!” he cried, without enthusiasm, “if it isn’t…” He pretended to think for a moment. “Luke?”

As though he didn’t know. Storm had brought him to the station several times during their year-long engagement. Luke nodded amiably. “I’ve been called that all my life. How’s it going, Alex?”

“Great! Just great.” Alex and Sara drew closer. “I thought Sara might be pulling my leg when she said you were here.”

“Surprise visit.” Luke offered laconically.

“Oh, what for?” Alex zeroed right in, his expression challenging but a mite troubled.

“Family matters, Alex,” Storm said in a cool voice. “It’s not Luke’s job to explain.”

“No, no, of course not,” Alex smiled at her backing off. “Nice to say hello to you, Luke. I expect you’re off now, message delivered?”

“As a matter of fact he’s staying!” Sara tripped over to Luke and clung to his arm. “Stephanie took quite a fancy to him. On sight.”

“This guy is clever!” Alex feigned admiration, at the same time noticing Branagan looked extraordinarily good. “I have to say he does bring in a whiff of the great outdoors.” He gave a condescending smile.

“Well now you know what a cattleman looks like.” Sara smiled brightly. “Pretty terrific, I’d say. Everyone seems impressed. Except, maybe you, Alex,” she added, taking a shot at him.

“Not at all. You misunderstand me,” Alex dropped his languid tone, moving toward Storm and taking her hand. “Storm, dearest, can’t I carry you off? Everyone’s missing you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she gave a little laugh, gently withdrawing her hand. “I must see Luke to the door. We have a few things to finalise.”

“You’re not going surely?” Sara looked up at Luke’s handsome profile, her sweet expression registering acute disappointment.

“You heard the lady,” Luke mocked, glancing towards Storm. “I’m being shown the door.”

“Of course you aren’t.” Storm shook her head.

“No, actually, Sara, I do have things to attend to, but it’s been great seeing you.” Luke bent to kiss her cheek. “Every good wish for tomorrow. You’re going to make a beautiful bride.”

“Yes, I am!” Sara beamed. “Why don’t you come along? You’re here not a thousand miles away. We can always fit in one more friend of the bride. It would be lovely wouldn’t it, Storm?” She glanced at her friend. “You should see the dresses. They’re gorgeous. Storm, as my dearest girlfriend is chief bridesmaid. She’s wearing a beautiful gold matt satin and guipure lace gown. She’ll look out of this world.”

Luke nodded. “She’s got a talent for doing that. Don’t worry. I’ll see it in the papers and magazines. It doesn’t take all that long for them to reach us. Thank you for the thought, Sara, but I must decline. There are errands to run for the Major.” True enough but the thought of seeing Storm in her bridesmaid’s finery was more than he could bear.

“How is the Major?” Alex asked belatedly. This when he’d been shown lavish hospitality on his visits.

“Not as well as we want,” Luke said, then sketched an attractive little salute, more to Sara than Alex. “I’ll say good night. Enjoy yourselves.”

“Hurry back, Storm,” Alex pleaded.

“Bye, bye, Luke,” Sara called as he moved away with Storm at his shoulder.

“You’ll make my excuses to Mr. and Mrs. Drysdale, won’t you?” Luke double-checked as they arrived at the front door. Guests crossing from one splendid reception room to the other glanced at them with bright curiosity but Storm didn’t appear to notice.

She indicated they step outside, the night breeze lifting her hair and wafting her perfume to him, an alluring intoxicant. “Of course,” she promised, then as an afterthought. “How are you getting back into town?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he mocked, gazing back at her while he moved down a step. “Same way I got here. By cab. I’ve got my mobile or I might just keep walking. It’s a beautiful night and it’s not that far.”

“Too far for most people,” she smiled, thinking how they both had been raised. Alex fit as he was, would never have considered it. “What time Sunday?”

He shrugged his wide shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, expelling sex appeal in every pore. “I’d like to make it early but I doubt if you’ll be ready for an early-morning start. Not after the wedding.”

She responded from long habit as if she’d been challenged. “You think I’m going to get drunk?”

“No more than usual, but I think you’ll be tired. It’s a late-afternoon wedding. The reception will go on for hours. Is the ex invited?”

“What do you think?” Paradoxically she wanted to reach out and touch him. The night around them was playing tricks.

“It sounds as though it might be on again.” He launched into an excellent imitation of Alex’s well-bred languid tones. “Storm, darling! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“You always did have a gift for mimicry. Remember when you—” She broke off. “It isn’t on again with Alex. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“No more than your inquiry about Carla,” he returned directly. “We have to stop off briefly at Mingari by the way. I have some freight to unload.”

“Sure it’s not just an excuse to see Carla?” She shot him a glance; the greenest flame. “How is she anyway?”

“You’ll be able to see for yourself,” he returned mildly. “She always asks after you.”

She smiled without humour. “Do you know I think that has something to do with you? So what time in the morning?” She didn’t look at him but stared over his head at the starlit night.

He took the rest of the steps with two easy strides, looking back at her, her lovely figure silhouetted against the light from the great chandelier in the entrance hall. Such a complicated existence he led. This was one woman denied him. “I’ll be outside your apartment block at eight o’clock and that’s a concession,” he said more crisply than he intended.

“You really believe I still can’t get up at dawn?”

“A rhetorical question, Miss McFarlane.” He bowed. “Let me say instead I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. Not that it always works. To put it bluntly you’ve made as many mistakes as I have. Good night. Enjoy the big day tomorrow.”

“I will.” She remained still where she was watching him stride down the drive. Where Luke was concerned she was very, very vulnerable. It was something she had known all her life.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE was ready waiting for him at the front of her apartment building when he arrived in a hired car he must have organised the day before.

“All set?” He was out of the car moving towards her, perpetually virile, vivid, dynamic. She had to concede a glamorous figure with that superb lean body that made the most casual clothes look great.

“Two pieces of luggage,” she said, colourful enough herself in a violet silk shirt tucked into skinny black trousers, high black boots, an Armani leather jacket draped around her shoulders. It was late winter in Sydney but it would be a lot hotter where she was going; except at night when the desert gave up its heat and the temperatures dropped dramatically.

Both looked and sounded brisk. A feat for Storm because she had quite a headache from the wedding. It had gone off so wonderfully well it had turned into a bit of a circus towards the end. She told Luke this in answer to his questions while he loaded her expensive luggage into the boot, then she slipped into the front passenger seat, trying to disengage herself from all physical sensation. Luke’s aura was so powerful it scarcely let her breathe. In fact she reasoned she had spent most of her life fighting to get out of the shadow of the two most influential men in her life. Her father and Luke. God knows what she thought she had been doing getting herself engaged; first to Patrick, some ten years older and a very successful lawyer, then to Alex, more her own age who worked for his father in a leading stock broking firm. Alex couldn’t fight out from under his father’s shadow, either. She didn’t think he ever would, but she was doing all right. Her name was a current buzzword since she was a finalist in the De Beers Diamonds International Award. It had been won by a fellow Australian—a brilliant young man with his amazing diamond mask. Not bad for more than 25000 entrants worldwide. Her father had told her he was thrilled for her when she rang to tell him the exciting news. Her piece, an elaborate creation for the hair, when elaborate jewellery was the fashion, her father, strangely enough had never asked to see it. She had heard much later that Luke had told her father it was an “incredible honour and he would have loved to travel to see the piece.” He never had. A pity!

“What in the world’s wrong with you?” Luke asked eventually as they approached the freeway. It was fairly early on Sunday morning and things were blissfully quiet. No crowds, no traffic jams to contend with.

“Lost in my thoughts.” She glanced at him for a fraction of a second, not wanting him to intrude too much on them.

“You’re not interested in conversation?”

“I thought you had me under heavy fire, Luke.”

“Not at all.” He shook his head. “I just want you to see your father face-to-face. I want you to give me the benefit of your opinion. I also want you to give him the comfort only you can bring.”

“You should have been a politician,” she said dryly.

“I’ve never wanted to be anything else but a cattleman like my dad. One of these days when I’m no longer needed on Winding River I’m going to start my own operation.”

“Are you really?” she asked somewhat cynically when she knew perfectly well Luke was indispensable on Winding River. Highly intelligent, well educated, Luke at twenty-nine was no pale substitute for her father. He was an extremely astute businessman, which he had to be these days in a fiercely competitive market. As well he was a consummate cattleman, and a born communicator. Luke was Luke. Dammit, Luke was unique.

“It’s my dream to run my own show.” Luke was almost talking to himself. “The Major and I see practically eye-to-eye on most issues, but occasionally I would have preferred to back my own judgement.”

“Good grief, a criticism of Dad.” She gave a little laugh, flinging her glossy hair over her shoulder.

“Think about it, Storm,” he urged. “Don’t I always say what I think, but you have to remember the Major has been too good to me to ever forget it.”

Couldn’t Luke see her father, in lavishing so much attention on him, had taken it from her? Storm sighed and gazed down at her ringless hands. She could have Alex’s ring back anytime she wanted. “The thing is, Luke, Dad knew what he was doing. You always had that marvellous potential. That quality that sets men apart. You don’t think Dad missed it. He always had you lined up for a top job. He thinks ahead. He has to after all, but he manipulates people. He manipulates lives. I’m not trying to make him out any sort of a monster or exorcise my own personal devils but I wouldn’t need to be a genius to work Dad out.”

He frowned as though the Major could do no wrong. “Since you’re being so candid, could I say sometimes you sound like you hate your own father?”

“You’re out of your brain,” she said wearily, her equilibrium destroyed. Wasn’t that the reason she stayed away?

“Am I?” Luke asked ironically. “There’s a whole lot of angst there.”

“I have to agree with you,” she said sweetly. “Put it down to the way I was raised.” Storm put her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She was a woman of intuition after all. She knew in her bones, even if Luke, blinded by devotion to her father, didn’t, the Major was planning something that would involve them both. Whatever it was they would be expected to obey.

After hours in the air they finally landed on Mingari Station’s airstrip, Luke making a perfect touch down despite the strong cross-winds. He was as good a pilot as he was everything else, she thought, yielding to admiration. Magnetic to women. All of her women friends had noted his brief appearance at the Drysdale party, professing their amazement some lucky woman hadn’t snaffled him up. A lot had tried, she’d replied. Storm had her pilot’s licence, too, but she hadn’t been keeping up with her weekend flying times as much as she should have been. She’s been too darn busy. The Mingari hangar was coming up.

My country! She thought as she gazed out the window. This infinite red land shimmering beneath the blazing blue vault of the sky. The liberating feel of it! The scent of the bush, the sunlit trees, the sight of horses and stockmen, working dogs, great herds of cattle. This was where her heart was and she had been driven away. It was like a great weight on her heart the way her father had cut her out of what she always thought of as her heritage. He had excluded her from all station business. He’d never discussed with her anything pertaining to the McFarlane operations, which were big. Women weren’t supposed to bother their pretty little heads with such things. A woman’s job was to look after her man. Have the babies. Run the homesteads. There a woman could reign supreme. She could be as active as she liked in women’s affairs, but she shouldn’t aspire to learning the business.

For years she had tried, bewildered by her father’s attitude in this day and age. She had a good brain—she had to accept there were a few limitations attached to her sex—but letting her into the charmed circle, the men’s club, would have made life tolerable. Why were heirs much more valued than heiresses? she agonized. She couldn’t understand it. For years it had made her singularly unhappy. Sometimes when she faced the naked truth she saw clearly that Luke had always treated her as an equal. Maybe even put her up on pedestal. Instead of being a comfort, it had made her resent him. Other feelings she had for him were so subterranean she had even managed to keep them from herself.

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.