‘A month? You’re asking me to stay for a whole month?’

‘You’d enjoy it.’

‘I—I—’ Nell took another huge gulp of wine and tried to think straight. ‘You’re not serious, are you?’

‘Why not?’

‘You can’t just drop out of the sky and into my life and say: Hey, come live with me—as if the past twenty years haven’t happened.’

‘I realise that.’

‘What are you saying, then?’

Jacob’s smile did wicked things to Nell’s stomach. ‘I’m saying that we’re grandparents of a baby boy who needs us. We’re both very keen to be a significant part of his life, and it’ll be damned difficult to do that if we’re living thousands of kilometres apart. So my invitation makes good sense.’

Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane, and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy.

In 2007 Barbara won the Romance Writers’ of America RITA® Award for Best Traditional Romance with CLAIMING HIS FAMILY.

To catch up on all Barbara’s latest news visit www.barbarahannay.com

Dear Reader

I eventually married the lovely man who was my boyfriend when I was nineteen. But most young people of that age move on to form new relationships, and the old boyfriends disappear, never to be heard of or seen again.

In many cases, that’s probably a good thing. But I’m sure there are occasional wistful moments when some women wonder What if…?

What if I saw him again after all these years? Would he recognise me? Would he have changed? Would there still be a spark?

What if…? is the question writers ask all the time. It’s how we come up with stories. So I guess it’s hardly surprising that we love reunions. They’re so brimming with tension and questions and romantic potential.

When I first started on this plot possibility, I never dreamed I’d end up writing about Nell and Jacob being brought together by a twist of fate to care for their baby grandson! But the temptation to try something quite different is very alluring, and I was delighted that my editor loved the idea, too.

I hope you enjoy Nell and Jacob’s journey to happiness.

Warmest wishes

Barbara

BABY ON BOARD

From bump to baby and beyond…

Whether she’s expecting or they’re adopting—

a special arrival is on its way!

Follow the tears and triumphs as these couples find

their lives blessed with the magic of parenthood…

Look out for more bumps and babies

coming soon to Mills & Boon® Romance

ADOPTED: OUTBACK BABY

BY

BARBARA HANNAY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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PROLOGUE

A SUMMER’S morning at dawn.

Nell and Jacob met at their secret place on the sheltered river bank, the only safe place for the boss’s daughter and the hired help.

Arriving by separate tracks, they tethered their horses at opposite ends of the clearing. Nell was nervous and Jacob was on tenterhooks waiting for her news, but he came towards her proudly, striding through the misty morning light with his shoulders back and his head high, as if he owned the earth.

A metre from her, he stopped and she read the silent question in his serious grey eyes.

Too anxious to speak, she simply shook her head, watched the movement in his throat as he swallowed.

‘You’re pregnant then,’ he said quietly.

Nell dropped her gaze to her clasped hands. ‘I’m almost certain.’ She heard his sharp indrawn breath and whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’ And she realised for the first time that she was a little afraid of this tall and ruggedly divine young man.

Suddenly, she felt as if she didn’t really know him, in spite of the many stolen hours she’d spent with him here during the long, hot weeks of her summer holiday. Pregnancy changed everything, changed something precious and perfect into a shameful mistake. And it forced the two of them to consider a future they weren’t prepared for.

More than anything, Nell was scared of what her father would do when he found out. His bad temper was beyond volcanic. He would never forgive her for this and she was certain that he would offer her only one option.

She trembled at the thought, drew a hasty breath for courage. ‘My parents will want me to have an abortion.’

Jacob’s frown was fierce. ‘You don’t want that, do you?’

No. She couldn’t bear the thought of terminating a baby they had made. She shook her head.

‘You mustn’t do it then, Nell. Don’t even think about it.’ He reached for her hands, threaded his strong, work-toughened fingers through hers and she felt the familiar rasp of the callus on his right palm.

Beside them, the river chattered carelessly and the scent of eucalypts and sheoaks hung heavy in the air.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered again.

‘Don’t be.’ Jacob gave her hands a gentle shake. ‘Don’t apologise.’

Tears stung her eyes. She knew apologies shouldn’t be necessary. From the moment she and Jacob had met on that first afternoon, when she’d returned to Half Moon from university, the blame had been equally shared.

She’d seen him tending her father’s horses and Cupid had started firing those dangerous little arrows. Their over-the-top attraction had blinded them to anything else, especially to common sense. They hadn’t taken precautions that first time.

Now, Jacob gathered Nell in to him and his big hand cradled her head against his shoulder. She adored the smell of him—musky and warm and clean—and something very masculine that she couldn’t identify.

He kissed her brow. ‘Will you marry me, Nell?’

She gasped, feeling hot and cold with excitement. This was what she’d been longing for, the words from Jacob she’d been silently praying for, secretly clinging to the hope that Jacob would want her and his baby. It was the only way she could possibly face up to her parents.

With trembling fingers, Jacob traced the curve of her cheek. ‘I’ll look after you, I promise. We’ll be all right.’

Oh, yes. They’d be all right. Nell had no doubts. Jacob was an excellent stockman, brilliant on horseback, with a deep love of the land. He would find work anywhere in the Outback. She wouldn’t mind too much about giving up her studies and she wouldn’t mind about being poor, not if she was with him.

Her parents were the only problem.

They were such painful, painful snobs. They’d only sent her to university to snare a rich husband and World War Three would erupt if Nell announced she was marrying their cook’s son.

She needed to consider Jacob too, needed to be sure that he was being completely honest. He’d told her about his long-term plans to have his own cattle empire, but that was in the distant future. An early marriage hadn’t figured in his scheme.

‘Are you sure about this, Jacob?’

With his arms about her waist, he leaned back to look at her and he frowned as if this were a matter of life and death. ‘I’ve never been surer, Nell. I know I don’t have much to offer you. You deserve an educated husband, someone rich.’

It was exactly what her parents might say but, coming from him, it sounded wrong. She opened her mouth to protest, but Jacob hurried on.

‘I love you, Nell, I swear. And I promise I’ll look after you. I’ll work hard. I’ll get two jobs. I’ll make enough money for you and the baby and one of these days we’ll have our own place. A big property like Half Moon.’

He was so determined and defiant and Greek god gorgeous he banished her fears as easily as the sun scattered mist.

He said again, ‘I love you. You must know that.’

‘Yes.’ Smiling through happy tears, she wrapped her arms tightly around him. ‘And I love you so much it hurts.’

Nell lifted her lips to meet his and they kissed deeply, hungrily. She clung to Jacob, confident that his hard, lean strength would protect her for ever.

‘Everything’s going to be wonderful,’ she said and his face broke into a beautiful grin.

‘So you’ll marry me?’

‘Oh, yes, please. Absolutely.’

‘Yes!’

His sudden, joyful whoop startled a flock of finches in a nearby wattle. With another loud shout of triumph, he hoisted Nell high and their laughter mingled with the birds’ cries as he spun her around and around in happy circles.

They were going to be married. With their baby, they would be a little family. No one would stop them. All was right with their world.

Jacob slowed before Nell got too dizzy and he let her back to earth, let her body ride slowly…slowly down his muscled length till she reached where he was hard and she almost burst into flames.

Again their mouths met, hungrier than ever. Nell poured her heart and soul into the kiss, wanting him to be certain of how intensely, wildly, completely she loved him.

His hands slipped under her shirt and skimmed lightly over her skin, giving her exquisite shivers.

Abruptly, the stillness of the summer morning was broken by the sound of a cold metallic click.

They froze.

Nell felt Jacob’s heart leap against hers as they turned.

Her father stood in the shadows, his face flushed with red fury as he shouldered a shotgun and took aim.

CHAPTER ONE

THE service was over.

Nell knew she must get up and walk outside, but she wasn’t sure she could trust her legs to carry her. She had never felt so bereft, didn’t know how to cope with the sense of loss.

It was so much worse today than twenty years ago, when they’d taken Tegan away from her. She had been in hospital then, too ill and medicated to fully understand what was happening. This week, a highway smash that rated a thirty-second mention on the six o’clock news had taken her daughter away from her for ever. Today there was nothing to deaden Nell’s pain.

Her memories of Tegan were so few. And so cruel. The newborn bundle in her arms, the strong little limbs kicking against the tightly wrapped blanket, just as they had kicked in her womb. The little face and bright, dark eyes. The soft cap of dark hair, the tiny red mouth. The unique, newborn smell of her.

The memories cut into Nell and she wished she could gather her pain around her and disappear completely. It was a blessing, at least, that everyone’s sympathy had been showered on Jean and Bill Browne, the couple who had adopted Tegan. Nell knew she must go and speak to them, just as soon as she regained her composure.

‘Nell?’

Nell turned stiffly and saw Jean approaching the end of her pew, twisting a damp handkerchief as she peered at her anxiously.

‘Jean.’ With a hand on the back of the pew for support, Nell struggled to her feet. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to you yet.’

The two women—adoptive mother and birth mother—stood, facing each other. Jean Browne looked exhausted, her pale blue eyes rimmed with red, her short grey hair flat and lifeless.

‘Please—’ The women had met before, on the day after the accident, but now, unable to think clearly, to find the right words, Nell clung to formalities. ‘Please accept my condolences.’

Jean’s pale eyes swam with tears. ‘This is hard for you, too.’

‘Yes.’ Fighting a dull headache, Nell gathered up her handbag and continued along the pew on unsteady legs. ‘I’ve mentioned this to you before, but I want you to know that I’m very, very grateful to you and Bill. You gave Tegan a wonderfully happy home and—and everything she needed.’

Jean nodded, sent Nell a fleeting, watery smile, then her face crumpled. ‘You were such a help the other day. I’ve been hoping to speak to you. About the baby.’

Nell pressed shaking fingers to her mouth. She’d broken down completely during the eulogy, when the speaker had mentioned Tegan’s little son, born just a few short weeks ago.

‘I had to leave Sam with a sitter today,’ Jean said. ‘But I knew that you would like to see him again, especially as Mr Tucker’s here as well.’

‘Mr Tucker?’

‘Tegan’s father.’

If Nell hadn’t been clutching the back of the pew, she would almost certainly have fallen.

Jacob Tucker was here?

Had he been here throughout the funeral?

An unbearable, thrilling, panicky terror gripped her as Jean flicked a sideways glance back down the aisle. Like the needle of a magnet, Nell whirled around and there was Jacob, standing at the back of the chapel, near the door, tall and stern, with his shoulders back.

His face was partly in shadow but there was no mistaking his chiselled features. All trace of the smooth-skinned boy had vanished, but his strong brows and nose, the handsome cleft in his chin, were still, after twenty years, painfully familiar.

He was wearing a dark suit but, despite the city clothes, the Outback clung to him like a second skin. It was there in the tan on his skin, in the hard-packed leanness of his body, in the creases at his eyes, in the way he stood, poised for action.

And there was a roughness about him now that was unsettling. Devastating.

Nell could still remember with perfect clarity the first time she’d seen him in her father’s stables, remembered the shock of attraction that had startled her, enslaved her. She remembered, too, the awful morning on the river bank, the last time she had seen him.

Apart from the occasional photo in cattlemen’s magazines—and yes, she’d scanned them regularly, hungry for any news of Jacob Tucker—she knew next to nothing about his life. He’d become a very successful grazier, but there had been no contact between them in twenty years so his private life was a blank.

‘I’ve already spoken to Mr Tucker,’ Jean said.

On cue, from the back of the chapel, Jacob offered Nell an unsmiling, almost imperceptible dip of his head.

Her heart pounded. Now she could see the expression in his eyes, the way he looked at her with a mixture of pain and contempt.

She tightened her grip on the back of the pew. With another despairing glance at Jacob, she turned back to Jean. ‘I’m sorry. What were you saying?’

‘I thought Mr Tucker might like to meet Sam. And I wanted to talk to you both, if possible. I have a problem, you see.’

A stranger, a woman in a green felt hat, bustled into the chapel. ‘Oh, there you are, Jean. Sorry, we thought we’d lost you.’

‘I won’t be long,’ Jean told her, then she turned quickly back to Nell. ‘I can’t talk for very long now. I’ve got to take Bill home and collect the baby from the sitter. But there’s something I need to discuss with you. And Mr Tucker.’

‘I—I see.’

Jean blew her nose and darted another glance in Jacob’s direction. And now, as if he’d been waiting for some kind of signal, he began to walk towards them.

Nell’s breathing faltered. She’d forgotten how big he was, how broad-shouldered and tall, and as his long strides closed the gap between them, she had to look up to see his face. She saw signs of strain in the bleakness of his eyes and in the vertical lines at either side of his grim mouth.

‘Hello, Nell.’

‘Jacob,’ she managed, but her mouth began to tremble. She was exhausted and dazed and seeing his stern face was almost too much.

He said, ‘Mrs Browne has kindly invited me to meet our grandson.’

Our grandson.

Nell wasn’t sure which word shocked her more. Our suggested that the two of them were still united in some way. Grandson hinted at an intimate connection over many, many years, but they were strangers. And not yet forty.

‘Maybe this is the wrong time,’ Jean said, eyeing them both and sensing their tension. ‘I—I have to go. But I couldn’t let you both take off without speaking to you.’

‘I’m so glad you did,’ Nell said, clasping the woman’s hand. ‘And I’d adore seeing Sam again. That’s very kind. We—’ She swallowed to ease her choked throat.

‘Perhaps you’d rather come separately?’ Jean suggested, darting a glance of sharp-eyed curiosity from one to the other.

Nell felt her cheeks grow hot.

‘I think we should come together.’ Jacob spoke directly to Jean, as if Nell wasn’t there. ‘You won’t want too many interruptions.’

‘It would certainly be easier if I could discuss my problem with both of you.’

What was this problem that needed discussing? Nell wished Jean wasn’t so evasive, but it certainly wasn’t the time to challenge her.

‘Would tomorrow morning suit?’ Jean asked. ‘Will you still be in Melbourne, Mr Tucker?’

‘Yes, I’m staying for a few days.’

‘At around eleven?’

‘Eleven suits me fine.’

‘And me,’ Nell agreed.

Jean shoved her damp handkerchief into her handbag and snapped it shut as if, somehow, the gesture ended the matter. ‘I’ll see you then.’

With that she turned and scuttled out of the chapel, clearly relieved to leave Nell and Jacob alone.

Jacob stood at the end of Nell’s pew, blocking her exit. She took two steps towards him, as if she expected him to be a gentleman and make way for her, but she was out of luck today. He’d been to hell and back in this chapel, saying farewell to a daughter he had never known, had never held, hadn’t so much as touched.

No one here could have guessed or understood how he had loved and missed Tegan, without ever knowing her.

And this woman, whom he’d loved and lost in one short summer, had given their daughter away. So why was she here now, pretending she cared?

‘I didn’t expect you to be here,’ he said between tight lips.

Nell shook her head and she was so close to him, he could smell her perfume, elusive and sweet and unbearably intimate.

‘Why wouldn’t I come?’ Her voice was so choked he could only just catch the words. ‘This is our daughter’s funeral, Jacob.’

‘But you gave Tegan away.’

‘No.’

No?

How could she lie? Jacob wanted to confront her, to demand that she retract her lie, but, heaven help him, she looked so vulnerable and tired. Too pale.

Growing paler…

To his dismay, Nell swayed on her feet and sank down on to the pew, closed her eyes and hunched over, pressing her fingers to her temples. He stared at the top of her golden head and at the play of jewelled lights from a stained glass window throwing red and blue patterns over her.

Her hair was incredibly shiny and so much neater than he remembered. As a girl it had flowed in rumpled waves loose to her shoulders. He reached out a hand, but he didn’t touch her. ‘Are you OK?’

With her eyes closed, she nodded her head. ‘Just tired and sad.’

A moment later, her eyes opened and she turned her head slowly, carefully, almost as if her neck were stiff, and looked up at him. Her blue eyes were lovely—even lovelier than he’d remembered. Looking into them, he felt punch-drunk.

‘I really need to go home now,’ she said.

Her weakness launched him into gallantry. The questions consuming him would have to wait. ‘Of course.’

This time, when he reached down, he touched her sleeve at the elbow. ‘Let me drive you.’

Pink stole into her cheeks. ‘That’s not necessary.’

‘Did you bring your car?’

‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘I came by taxi.’

‘Then there’s no argument.’ His hand closed around her arm and he watched the colour in her cheeks spread. ‘Come on.’

To his surprise, she didn’t pull away from him, but rose obediently. Everything felt unreal as they walked together out of the chapel into sunshine and fresh air. The mourners had disappeared and the late model Mercedes he’d hired stood alone in the car park.

From a distance of ten paces, Jacob unlocked it. Its lights blinked and Nell gave a little mew of surprise.

‘Nice car.’

‘It’s only hired.’ He walked to the passenger’s side and opened the door for her, watching every elegant movement as she ducked her head and sat, drawing her slim legs neatly inside. Grimly, he closed her door, walked around the car and got in beside her, wishing he could feel calm.

Keep your mind on the traffic. Forget that it’s Nell. And don’t think about the past. No sense in dragging her into an argument now.

‘Where to?’ Jacob asked, forcing cheerfulness into his voice. ‘Would you like to go somewhere for coffee?’

Nell shook her head. ‘I just need to get home, please.’

‘That’s in Toorak, right?’

‘No.’ She quickly donned oversized dark glasses that hid her expressive eyes. ‘I don’t live there now. I’m in Williamstown.’

Jacob frowned as he started the car and joined the steady stream of traffic. Williamstown was an attractive bayside suburb, but it didn’t really make sense that Nell and her barrister husband had moved there. Why would they leave their exclusive address at Toorak, the Melbourne suburb synonymous with opulence and gracious living?

While he was musing over this she asked, ‘Where do you live these days?’

‘I’m based up in Queensland. Near Roma.’

‘That should be good cattle country.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘You’ve done well.’

Unsure if this was a statement or a question, Jacob didn’t respond and he drove for some time in uncomfortable silence. Nell sat very straight and still with her hands in her lap, while he kept his gaze strictly ahead.

As they reached the Westgate Bridge arching high over the Yarra River, she asked, ‘Did you know about the baby—about Tegan’s baby? Before today?’

Jacob turned to her sharply. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I had no idea. Did you?’

She nodded. ‘Jean contacted me the day after the accident. She seemed to be struggling with it all and I went over to see if I could help. I saw Sam then. He’s very cute.’

‘I only found out about Tegan six weeks ago.’ It was difficult to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

‘So Tegan did write to you?’

‘Yes. Quite a long and chatty letter.’

‘It must have been a shock.’

He cracked a bitter smile. ‘That’s something of an understatement. It took me almost a week to recover before I sent my reply.’ He paused. ‘And then, two days ago, there was another letter from Jean.’

‘About Tegan’s accident.’

‘And details of the funeral arrangements.’

‘A much worse shock.’

‘Terrible.’ After a bit, he said, ‘Tegan didn’t mention that she was pregnant.’

‘But I’m so glad she wrote.’

Jacob frowned. ‘You sound as if you were involved somehow.’

Nell dropped her gaze to her handbag—genuine crocodile skin, if he wasn’t mistaken. ‘Not really.’

‘Not really? What does that mean?’

She played with the handle of the handbag, running the tip of her forefinger over the stitching. ‘Tegan wrote to me and told me she wanted to make contact with you. I told her what I knew, which wasn’t much more than your name and your age. She did the rest. You know how clever young people are on the Internet these days.’

‘But she’d already had contact with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘How? Through an adoption agency?’

‘Yes.’

Jacob’s hand clenched around the wheel. ‘That doesn’t make sense. Why couldn’t the agency give her my name too?’

When Nell didn’t answer, he lost patience. ‘Why the hell did my daughter have to go to you to find out my name?’

‘Jacob, be careful!’

A car horn blasted beside them and Jacob realised he’d swerved dangerously close to the next lane. Teeth gritted, he corrected the steering. And then he repeated his question. ‘Why did Tegan have to ask you for my name?’

He sent another sharp glance in Nell’s direction and, despite the obscuring sunglasses, he saw that her cheeks were flushed, her mouth contorted, embarrassed.

‘That’s because your name—’ The stain in her cheeks deepened. ‘Your name wasn’t on the records. You—you weren’t listed on Tegan’s birth certificate.’

‘What?’ The word exploded from him, making Nell flinch.

Too bad, if he’d upset her. She’d upset him. Twenty years of physical exclusion and now the news that there had never been any recognition of his link to Tegan. Father unknown. Anger roiled through him, gathering force, an avalanche of emotion.

Beside him, Nell clutched her handbag against her stomach and sat very straight. ‘Jacob, we shouldn’t discuss this sort of thing while you’re driving.’

She was probably right, but his only response was an angry hiss. Jaw clenched, he checked the rear-vision mirror, switched lanes in readiness for the Williamstown exit, and tension, as suffocating as smoke, filled the car’s interior.

Five minutes later, Nell directed him into a quiet street a block back from the waterfront.

‘My house is the little one over there with the blue door,’ she said, pointing.

His anger gave way to bafflement as he pulled up outside a quaint but modest colonial cottage with a front hedge of lavender, a flagstone path and yellow roses over the door. It was the kind of old-fashioned cottage and garden his mother adored, but he’d never dreamed that Nell Ruthven and her husband would live in a place like this.

‘Thanks for the lift,’ Nell said quietly.

‘My pleasure.’ Jacob couldn’t keep the brittle note out of his voice.

Her fingers sought the door catch.

‘Shall I pick you up tomorrow morning to go to the Brownes’?’

After a slight hesitation, she said, ‘Thank you. I suppose it makes sense if we travel together.’

‘We should talk, Nell.’ His mind was still seething with angry questions.

Her eyes met his and he saw a heart-wrenching mixture of sorrow and bewilderment and something deeper he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

‘After all this time, we have things to say to each other,’ he said.

‘I can’t talk now, Jacob. There’s no point in even trying to talk today. We’re both too upset and tense.’

Although he was desperate to get everything out in the open, he had to admit that he felt wrung out. And Nell looked far worse.

She pulled the catch, the door clicked open and the scent of lavender drifted in to him on a light sea breeze. In the distance he could hear a seagull’s cry.

‘It must be very pleasant living here,’ he said in a more conciliatory tone.

‘Yes, I love it.’ She turned to speak over her shoulder, without quite looking at him. ‘Why don’t you come early tomorrow? We can talk before we go to the Brownes’?’

‘Great idea. We can go for coffee somewhere in the city.’

‘We can talk here if you like.’

Jacob frowned. ‘Are you sure your husband won’t mind?’

He was watching her profile carefully, saw her mouth curl into a complicated, off-kilter smile. ‘That won’t be a problem. There will only be the two of us. What time would you like to come?’

‘Nine? Half past?’

‘Make it half past. I’ll see you then.’

Nell got out and closed the door behind her and Jacob watched her through the passenger window as she crossed the footpath and opened the front gate. A sudden breeze gusted up the street, shaking the heads of the lavender and, as she walked up the path, the wind teased a bright strand of her hair from its braid and lifted the collar of her jacket against her neck. Her high heels made a tapping sound on the paving stones.

Framed by cream and yellow roses, she stood on her front porch in her neat, dark suit and fished in her handbag for her door key, and she looked beautiful and citified and completely removed from the horse-riding country girl he’d known for two months of one summer twenty years ago.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow he would be entering that house, talking to Nell at last, discovering the truth he both longed for and feared.

He flipped the key in the Mercedes’s ignition so hard he almost snapped it in two.

CHAPTER TWO

TWO o’clock in the morning found Jacob awake in his unfamiliar hotel bed.

A picture of Tegan had been displayed at the funeral—his first, his only sight of his daughter—and it haunted him.

She’d been dancing on a sunlit beach and wearing a blue cotton dress that was a perfect match for the bright summer sky. Her feet had been bare and sandy, her tanned arms uplifted, her skirt billowing behind her in the wind. She’d been laughing and her long brown hair had streamed like a dark ribbon. Her eyes had sparkled with the sheer joy of being alive.

Jacob had been startled by how intensely and immediately he’d felt connected to her. The bond had gone beyond the uncanny likeness to his family in the darkness of her hair, the strong lines of her cheekbones, her straight, dark eyebrows. He’d felt it deep in his bones, in his blood, in his breath.

He had, of course, seen Nell in Tegan, too. She’d been there in the tilt of the girl’s head, in the slender shapeliness of her long legs. And that led him to thinking about Nell Ruthven née Harrington, about their meeting today. After so long.

He’d been way too tense. Everything about it had been wrong.

So many times during the past twenty years, he’d imagined a parallel universe in which he’d met Nell again. He had never deliberately sought her out, not once he’d learned she was married, but he’d imagined a scenario where they would bump into each other quite by chance. They would drop whatever they had planned for that day and go somewhere just to talk.

They’d smile a lot and chat for ages, catching up. Their reunion would be so poignant that time and Nell’s marriage to another man would become meaningless.

‘I want to go on seeing you,’ he’d say.

She’d smile. ‘I’d love that.’

Problem was, this fantasy was based on the twenty-year-old assumption that Nell had been wrong about her pregnancy, that it had simply been a case of a late period. Jacob knew through gossip his mother had passed on that Nell’s adult life had never included a child and he’d never dreamed their baby had been given away for adoption.

Tomorrow was going to be difficult. He had questions that demanded answers, but it would also be his one chance to enter that parallel universe, to reconnect with Nell’s world. And, even if it was only for a day, he didn’t want to get it wrong.

It would be easier to stay calm if he wasn’t plagued by bitter-sweet memories of their amazing, devastating summer at Half Moon, if he couldn’t still remember painful details of those two short months with Nell, right back to his first sight of her.

Home from university, she had been riding Mistral, a grey mare, and she’d come into the stables where he’d been working. Her cheeks had been flushed from the wind, her eyes bright and she’d been dressed like a glamorous, high-society equestrian in a mustard velvet jacket, pale cream jodhpurs and knee high, brown leather boots.

The fancy clothes had fitted her snugly, hugging the roundness of her breasts, cinching her waist and accentuating the length of her legs. Her pale hair had rippled like water about her shoulders and her eyes had been as blue and clear as icy stars. She had been beautiful. So incredibly beautiful…

But what had happened next was one of those unbelievably zany moments that should only have happened in B grade movies. Nell was leading her horse when she saw him and stopped. And instead of exchanging polite hellos, they’d stood there, open-mouthed, staring at each other, while Jacob’s blood had rushed and roared and his heart had become a sledgehammer.

Looking back, he guessed they must have spoken, but the rest of that afternoon was a blur to him now. Much clearer was their meeting the next morning.

He’d gone to the stables just after dawn and noticed immediately that Mistral was missing. He’d guessed that Nell had taken her for an early morning ride and within a dozen heartbeats he’d mounted another horse and taken off.

Half Moon was a huge property and he had no idea where Nell was, but he’d been quite sure at the outset that he would find her, that she’d wanted him to find her. Perhaps the mysterious sixth sense that the gods bestowed on destined lovers had whispered that she would be waiting for him.

It wasn’t long before he’d found her horse tied to a tree beside the river where white mist lifted in curling, wispy trails from the smooth, glassy surface of the water.

‘Hey there, Jacob.’

Nell’s voice seemed to come from a paperbark tree and when he peered through the weeping canopy he saw her sitting on a branch overhanging the water. She was wearing a blue checked shirt and ordinary blue jeans this morning, and dusty, elastic-sided boots. Apart from the golden gleam of her hair, she looked more like the everyday Outback girls Jacob was used to.

‘G’day,’ he called up to her as he tied his horse’s reins to a sapling. ‘Looks like you’ve found a good perch.’

‘It’s gorgeous out here. Come and see for yourself.’

He laughed and shook his head. ‘I don’t think that branch would hold the two of us.’

She bounced lightly. ‘Oh, it’s strong enough. Come on, the river looks so pretty at this time of the morning and I can see right around the bend from here.’

Talk about spellbound. There was no way he could have resisted Nell’s invitation.

Knot-holes in the tree’s trunk made it easy for Jacob to climb to her branch. He stepped on to it gingerly, pausing to test that it could take his weight. So far, so good, but the branch narrowed quickly.

Nell smiled, her blue eyes dancing with merriment, her white teeth flashing. ‘Dare you to come right out.’

She was flirting with him.

And he loved it.

Arms extended for balance, he made his way along the branch. His extra weight sent the leaves at Nell’s end dipping into the tea-coloured water, but she only laughed.

‘No fancy jodhpurs this morning?’ he asked as he got closer.

She screwed up her nose. ‘They were a birthday present from my parents. I only wore them yesterday to please them, but they made me feel such a poser.’

‘You looked terrific,’ he insisted, taking another step closer. ‘You’ll wear them to the picnic races, won’t—’

A loud crack sounded and the branch exploded beneath them, sent them plummeting into the river.

It was summer so the water wasn’t very cold. Jacob fought his way to the surface, looked about for Nell and panicked when he couldn’t see her. Heart thrashing, he dived again into the murky green depths. Where was she? He prayed that she hadn’t been hit by the falling tree branch.

Lungs bursting, he broke the surface again. Still no sign of Nell. Was she pinned to the river bed?

Once more Jacob dived, groped in the grass and the submerged branches at the bottom, desperate to find her, but again he was forced back to the surface, empty-handed.

‘Jacob!’

Thank goodness. He turned to see her breast-stroking towards him.

‘I’ve been looking for you,’ she said. ‘I was worried that you’d drowned.’

‘I thought you’d drowned. I was looking for you.’

They swam to the bank. Jacob reached it first and, because it was steep and bare, he offered his hand to help her out. She accepted gratefully and they began to climb.

The bank quickly turned slippery beneath their wet boots and they had quite a scramble. As they neared the top, Jacob grabbed at a sapling for an anchor and pulled Nell towards him.

She came faster than he expected, bumped into him, in fact, and suddenly they were clinging together, her soft curves pressing in to him through their wet clothes. Her clear eyes and parted lips were mere inches from his and, despite the wet hair plastered to her skull, she was beautiful. Breathtakingly so.

She smiled. ‘Now this is a new way of breaking the ice. My college social club would be impressed.’

He wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but he understood very well the invitation in her eyes. And so he kissed her.

It wasn’t a long kiss and it shouldn’t have been a sexy kiss. Their lips were cold from the river and Jacob was clinging to the sapling’s trunk with one hand while he held Nell to prevent her from falling.

But it was a kiss Jacob would never, to the end of his days, forget. From the moment their lips met, he adored the feel and the taste of Nell, loved her response—so feminine, so…right.

Too soon their wonderfully intimate hello was over and he boosted Nell up over the rim of the bank and came after her, tumbling on to the grass.

He might have kissed her again, but they were apart now and he lost his nerve, remembered that she was the boss’s daughter and he was the cook’s son.

Instead, they lay in the grass at the top of the bank and let the morning sun stream over them, and Jacob contented himself with admiring her breasts, gorgeously outlined by her wet shirt.

‘So tell me about your college social club,’ he said.

‘Oh, they’re always coming up with new ways to get everyone to mix.’ Nell sat up and lifted her wet hair from the back of her neck. ‘They’ve run a series of cocktail parties where girls and guys can meet, but we’re only allowed eight minutes or so to chat with each person and to tell them about ourselves—just enough time to figure out whether people click.’

‘Sounds…racy.’

Nell grinned coyly, leant sideways and squeezed water from her hair into the grass. ‘Not really. It’s only chatting, after all.’

Considering that he’d just kissed her, he supposed she had a point.

‘So when you were at one of these parties,’ he said, ‘you would have said something like—I’m Nell Harrington, I’m nineteen and I’m studying Arts. I like horse riding, apple crumble with cream and sitting in trees.’

Her blue eyes widened. ‘How did you know about the apple crumble?’

‘My mum was asked to make it especially for your homecoming.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. I like Maggie. My mother says she’s the best cook we’ve ever had.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

Suddenly the stupidity of this meeting hit Jacob like a smart bomb. What in blue blazes was he doing here chatting with Nell Harrington? Her father would have him neutered if he ever found out.

He jumped to his feet, grabbed his horse’s reins. ‘I have to get to work.’ With luck, the sun and a fast ride would dry his clothes and no one would be any the wiser.

Nell smiled up at him, all sweetness and dimples. ‘Do you think we should try for another date?’

That moment had been his chance. He should have told her, No, not on your Nelly, and changed the course of their history, saved decades of heartache. Should have got the hell out of there.

Now, twenty years later, Jacob winced as he remembered how crazily spellbound he’d been.

‘I’ll see what I can manage,’ he’d said.

Nell studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Jacob would be here in five minutes and she looked a fright. The ordeal of yesterday followed by a sleepless night had left her pale and haggard, as dreary and limp as wet seaweed.

Dabbing concealer into the shadows under her eyes, she told herself that it didn’t matter what she looked like. Jacob’s regard for her had disappeared long ago, well before the turn of the twenty-first century.

Despite his controlled good manners yesterday, he’d made it painfully clear that he blamed her, probably despised her. She’d seen it in his eyes, had heard it in his voice and when he’d accused her of giving Tegan away, she’d been too stunned and numb to defend herself. Now he believed he had the high moral ground. For that reason alone she needed to gain some self control. And she needed to look OK.

Taking more than usual care, she lengthened her lashes with mascara, applied blusher to bring colour into her cheeks and selected her favourite lipstick. She ran her fingers lightly through her freshly washed hair, letting it fall loosely to her shoulders, took a step back from the mirror and drew a deep breath.

Her make-up and hair were OK and her floral top and blue skirt were cheery and feminine.

‘You’ll do,’ she told her reflection. She actually looked close to normal now.

If only she felt composed. She was no more prepared to ‘chat’ with Jacob today than she had been yesterday after the funeral. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. About Tegan. About Tegan’s baby, Sam.

Her mind buzzed like a bee in summer, darting frantically with no clear course. One minute she was drowning beneath the loss of her daughter, the next she was wildly, guiltily excited about the reappearance of Jacob after twenty years, and then she was sobered by the thought of her baby grandson and Jean Browne’s mysterious need to discuss something.

Nell had telephoned the Brownes the day after Tegan’s death. Desperately distressed, she’d needed to talk to them and she’d found comfort from being able to offer help. Bill Browne had suffered a stroke a few months earlier and poor Jean was carrying a huge burden, dealing with her grief while caring for him and the tiny baby, Sam.

Nell had done the little she could—a chicken casserole, help with finding a solicitor. She’d even minded Sam while Jean had dealt with the funeral directors. In a bonding moment over a cup of tea in the Brownes’ kitchen, she’d told Jean the circumstances of Tegan’s birth.

They’d cried together.

If Jean needed more help now, Nell knew she would be happy to lend a hand. She was less certain about Jacob.

Overnight, every forbidden memory of her youthful lover had shot to the surface—memories of the river, of the endless conversations she and Jacob had shared, of that first morning, sitting on the tree branch, falling into the water.

She and Jacob had even read poetry together. Fresh from her first year at university, she’d been mad about Yeats. She hadn’t expected a rugged cowboy to be interested in poetry, had been gobsmacked when Jacob had brought a copy of Yeats that had belonged to his father. They’d read selections to each other and she’d loved listening to Jacob’s deep voice rumbling sexily against a backdrop of chuckling water and softly piping finches.

Good grief. She shouldn’t be remembering such things after all this time. But every memory of Jacob Tucker was alive and vivid in her head—his shy, serious smile, the sexy power of his body, his gentle hands.

When she closed her eyes she could still see him lying in the shaded grass, one arm curved above his head, throwing a shadow over his beautiful face. She could see him looking at her from beneath heavy lids. Could see the thrilling intensity of his grey eyes, feel the warmth of his lips on hers.

Nell forced her eyes open again, blinked hard, shook her head. It was both fruitless and painful to revisit the past.

She and Jacob had each gone down separate paths. She’d married Robert Ruthven and Jacob had acquired a cattle kingdom. They’d grown older, richer, wiser and had become very different adults.

Yet here they were, brought back together by the very thing that had separated them in the first place.

Their daughter.

The front doorbell rang and she jumped. That will be Jacob.

She wondered what they were going to talk about till it was time to go to the Brownes’, and cast another frantic glance at the mirror.

Come on, Nell, you have to try harder than that. Chin up, back straight. Smile.

The smile was problematic, but at least her reflection looked a tad more determined as she hurried to open the door.

Jacob stood on her front doorstep. ‘Good morning,’ he said, smiling.

Nell’s insides tumbled helplessly. ‘Morning.’

Silly of her, but she’d been expecting him to look the way he had yesterday, all formal and serious and nudging forty. Today he was wearing faded jeans that clung low on his narrow hips and a navy-blue T-shirt that hugged his whipcord muscles. Apart from the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and the tiniest smattering of grey at his temples, he looked dangerously—way too dangerously—like the nineteen-year-old she’d fallen in love with.

‘How are you feeling today?’ he asked.

‘Much better, thanks.’ She almost confessed to not sleeping too well, but decided against giving too much away.

With an offhand smile, he held out a brown paper bag. ‘Some comfort food from the bakery.’

‘Oh, thank you.’ As she took the bag his fingers brushed hers and the brief contact sent a strange current shooting up her arm. Get a grip, Nell. Now wasn’t the time to become girlish and coy.

‘Take a seat in here,’ she said, indicating the cosy living room that opened off her front hallway. ‘I’ll make some tea. Or would you prefer coffee?’

‘Tea’s fine.’ Jacob ignored her instruction and followed her down the hall and into the kitchen.

Flustered, Nell rushed to fill the kettle. It felt so strange to have Jacob Tucker in here, leaning casually against her butter-yellow cupboard with his long denim legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his strapping chest.

He looked about him with absorbed interest. Or was that amused interest? Was that a smirk she detected? What was so funny? Why couldn’t he have waited in the living room, as she’d asked?

Lips compressed, Nell grabbed scarlet and yellow floral mugs from an overhead cupboard and set them on a wicker tray. She shot him a curious glance. ‘Is something amusing you?’

‘I was just revising my impressions of you. You haven’t changed as much as I thought you had. Yesterday you looked so different in that efficient suit and with your hair all pinned up, but today you’re more like the girl I used to know.’

His thoughts were so close to her own that she almost blushed. Her hand trembled as she reached for the teapot. Don’t be fooled. Remember, this isn’t a proper reunion. Jacob’s filling in time till we see Sam. Nothing more.

She turned and fetched milk from the fridge, filled a small blue jug. ‘I don’t think the girl you remember exists any more,’ she said quietly.

‘I guess looks can be deceiving.’

I should remember that, too.

Nell selected a pretty plate and arranged the biscotti he’d bought at the bakery, set it with the other things on the tray. Turning to him, she said, ‘Can you take this tray through to the living room? I’ll bring the teapot in a minute.’

‘Sure.’

As he left the kitchen, she drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Behind her the kettle came to the boil.

* * *

One look at Nell’s living room and Jacob knew that something very important was missing from Koomalong, his Outback homestead. He’d paid a great deal of money for a top Brisbane decorator to furnish his home and she’d gone to enormous trouble to give it a ‘masculine edge’.

‘A man like you needs an environment that screams alpha male,’ the decorator had insisted.

He’d always lived alone, changing women as often as the seasons, so a ‘masculine edge’ had made sense. But, despite the expense and the Brisbane decorator’s expertise, the so-called alpha male decor hadn’t really worked for him. His place didn’t feel like a home; it seemed to belong in a glossy city magazine.

The Ruthvens’ cottage, on the other hand, felt very homelike indeed. There was something about Nell’s living room, about the lounge furniture upholstered in muted creams and dusty reds, that invited him in. The slightly cluttered casualness, the deceptively careless mix of colours and florals and stripes enticed him to relax, to feel welcome.

No doubt the cosy effect was completed by the marmalade cat curled in a sunny spot among fat cushions on the cane sofa beneath the window.

Jacob set the tray down beside a vase of red and cream flowers on an old timber chest that apparently served as a coffee table. A thick paperback novel had been left there and, beside it, elegant blue-framed reading glasses.

Nell wears reading glasses now.

He knew that shouldn’t bother him, but somehow he couldn’t help being saddened by such a clear marker of the passage of time.

The cat opened its pale yellow eyes and stared at him as he selected one of the deep and friendly armchairs and sat. Almost immediately, the cat rose, stretched its striped orange back, then leapt daintily off the sofa and crossed the floor to jump into Jacob’s lap.

As a general rule, he preferred dogs to cats and he eyed the animal dubiously as it balanced on his thighs, a small claw penetrating his denim jeans.

‘Don’t expect me to let you have this milk, mate.’

In response, the cat dropped softly into his lap, curled contentedly and began to purr, adding the final brushstroke to Jacob’s impression of Nell’s cottage as cosiness incorporated.

Unfortunately, he was particularly susceptible to cosiness. His childhood had been lonely. He and his mother had lived in a series of workers’ cottages on Outback properties and he’d longed for the permanence of a cosy family home. There had been several times during the past twenty years when he’d been on the brink of getting married simply so he could enjoy the pleasures of a comfy home and family life.

But whenever he’d come to the point of proposing marriage, something had always held him back—a vital, missing something.

‘Oh, heavens, Ambrose, what do you think you’re doing?’ Nell came into the room carrying a blue china teapot. ‘I’m sorry about the cat,’ she said. ‘Shoo, Ambrose. You should have sent him away, Jacob.’

‘I would have if he’d bothered me.’ Jacob watched the cat return to the sofa, tail waving sulkily. ‘Perhaps he’s mistaken me for your husband.’

A strange little laugh broke from Nell as she set the teapot down beside the tray. ‘No, I’m sure he hasn’t. Robert and Ambrose never got on.’ She looked flushed and avoided meeting his gaze, rubbed her palms down the sides of her skirt as if they were damp. ‘How—how do you take your tea?’

‘Black, no sugar.’

‘Oh, of course, I remember now.’

As she said this, she looked dismayed and he was dismayed too, suddenly remembering the camp fires down by the river when they’d made billy tea, hastily putting the fire out as soon as the water boiled so that the smoke wouldn’t give away their hiding place.

There was a tremor in her hands as she poured his tea and set the mug in front of him. She was nervous and he wanted to put her at ease.

‘This is a lovely home,’ he said. ‘Did you decorate it?’

Nell nodded and concentrated on pouring her own tea, adding milk and a half teaspoon of sugar.

‘You must have an artistic eye.’

‘Actually, I do seem to have a way with fabric.’ She smiled as she settled into the other armchair. ‘I make quilts and I sell them.’

‘You sell them?’

‘Yes. There’s quite a demand for my work, actually. It keeps me rather busy.’

Jacob swallowed his shock. But perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, apart from the gossip his mother gleaned from the social pages, he knew next to nothing about Nell Ruthven. He’d always supposed she was a carefree and idle society wife. One of those ladies who lunched.

But Nell Harrington, the girl he’d loved, had been crazy about poetry, an artistic soul.

‘Your husband must be very proud of you,’ he said cautiously.

Looking more nervous than ever, Nell picked up her mug of tea, then seemed to change her mind and set it down again.

‘How Robert feels about my quilting is irrelevant,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s not my husband any more.’

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