Cattle Baron Needs a Bride

by Margaret Way

  Zara could hear her father’s voice as though it were yesterday. “Dad said I might encounter the same difficulties falling pregnant as my mother—the same physical type, genetics, whatever. The Rylances don’t have families as such. They have dynasties. He implied it could be a disaster if, in the event Garrick and I married, I mightn’t be able to provide sons.”

  Helen was so angry she stuttered, while she looked Zara square in the eyes. “I—I—I’ve never heard so much rubbish in my born days! The truth was something your father didn’t concern himself with. I’m sorry to have to say this, Zara, we are talking about your father, but I’m certain whatever he told you was for the express purpose of splitting you and Garrick up. Whilst you’re at it, you might tell me what other falsehoods he had to spout?” Helen’s blue eyes blazed.

  Zara pressed her palms together. “Helen, it was as much my fault as his. I believed him. I believed I might not be cut out for childbearing, or easy childbearing. According to my father, Mummy couldn’t bear the thought of facing another pregnancy. That’s why there were only two of us. I believed him when I adored my mother. I believed—just as he intended—I wouldn’t make Garrick a suitable wife for when the time came and he inherited Cooranga. Sally Forbes seemed so much more the sort of woman he needed. Dad called me a ‘hothouse flower, just like your mother’.”

  Helen shook her head in arrant disbelief. “A hothouse flower he couldn’t wait to possess,” she said strongly. If only Garrick had read those letters.

  All the if onlys in the world!

  “You don’t need to blame yourself for anything, Zara,” Helen continued, grasping Zara’s hand in a gesture of reassurance. “You were only twenty-three years old and, in many ways, you’d led a very protected lifestyle. Your father knew well how to choose his victims.” Helen’s mouth tightened.

  “And the scars haven’t mended, Helen.” Tears filled Zara’s eyes. “Garrick should have had more trust in me.”

  “He should—he should!” Helen agreed. “But he no more understands what was happening now than then. You must see, Dalton was very clever. So was Leila. It suited their purpose whenever they saw my son on the odd occasion to give him a whole lot of misinformation. Though Garrick was always on your side, he did consider that you might not have made any attempt at making friends with Leila. You know how charming she could be when it suited her. We knew both you and Corin were deeply hostile to her. Took me no time at all to realize why. Perhaps unfortunately for you and Garrick, I gave vent to my feelings after your mother died. Dalton was not a man to forgive any form of criticism or, as he saw it, interference. I admit I went overboard. I was so upset. Daniel did warn me—but I cared deeply for your mother. So…are you going to tell Garrick all this?”

  Something distant came into Zara’s beautiful dark eyes. “No, I’m not, Helen.” She shook her head. “Garrick might have suffered. But so did I. I can’t believe at some point he didn’t want to know what was in my letters. If he had opened them he might have been able to see the truth—but he said he burned the lot.”

  “I’m afraid he did, my dear,” Helen sadly confirmed. “Daniel and I didn’t interfere, not even when he got himself engaged to Sally. But we knew, of course, he’d been madly in love with you and we didn’t believe he had fallen out. The reverse side of love they say, is hate. Not that he has ever hated you. Or could. Nor did he ever speak about what happened between you. But, without question I regret to say, he blamed you for the breakup. I guess he played out what happened between you over and over in his head. But there’s always a solution to a problem, Zara,” she said, quietly optimistic.

  “Not this time.” Zara shook her head. “Not unless Garrick can recover his trust in me. Wounds are wounds. I couldn’t take Garrick mistrusting me in such a way again. There’s no balance!” Her voice broke with emotion. “He should be back by now, surely? I think I’ll go down to the airstrip and wait.”

  Such a gulf between the heart and the mind, Helen thought. “If you want to, dear,” she said. “Don’t panic. This is the Outback. Things happen all the time. Garrick will be back as soon as he is able.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE helicopter appeared as a speck in the peacock blue sky.

  Thank God, thank God!

  Zara had been trying to keep her anxieties within bounds, but the way her parents had died kept coming back to confront her—a tangible reminder of the transience of life! She wondered, if only for a heartbeat, if she should forgive Garrick for not having had enough belief in her, but the thing was done. They had lost valuable, irreplaceable years of their lives. It was her biological clock that was ticking. Men fathered children well into their seventies. The hurt Garrick had caused her was so bad she still wasn’t over it. Neither was he. He had made that perfectly clear.

  Her success in business had given her much needed confidence. The fact that a man like Sir Marcus Boyle had believed in her, given her a top spot in his team had acted as a spur. But then came Konrad Hartmann. The furore surrounding his illegal activities and her alleged relationship with him had caused her to slip right back. She had to ask herself—why had she become even lightly involved with Konrad? She had. The answer most likely was that powerful men had overshadowed her whole life. Powerful men took what they wanted and to hell with the consequences.

  Zara watched as the rotors spun slowly to a stop. Moments later, Garrick was walking towards her, looking as vital as any man possibly could. “Zara?” His expression changed as he recognized the strain in her face. “What is it? What’s the matter? Why are you wait—”

  She cut him short. “Nothing’s wrong, Garrick,” she said, betraying the fact that her nerves were strung out like wires. “You could have let us know you were going to be delayed. You were supposed to be back by midday.” It came out like the accusation it was.

  Garrick’s vivid blue eyes narrowed slightly. “You were worried?”

  “Of course I was worried,” she snapped. Her heart began to race, as a sudden surge of adrenalin swept through her body.

  “What do I make of that, then?” he mocked, a twist to his handsome mouth.

  “Make what you like—” she began angrily, but he reached for her. His arm closed around her back, slipped to her waist, enough strength in it to crush her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “There was really no time.”

  “You don’t look sorry.” She tried to ease the tension that racked up in her.

  “What is it you want from me, Zara?” he asked.

  “God knows!” Her eyes suddenly brimmed with over-wrought tears. “Forgive me. Forgive yourself. I wasn’t the only one who made the biggest mistake of their life, Garrick. You did too.”

  “Stop. Stop now.” He pulled her so tight every inch of her body was fused to his. “The last thing I wanted was to put extra strain on you. I see I have. You’re not used to this way of life, Zara. Lots of dramas, I’m afraid. And after your father…”

  “I know.” She shuddered.

  “Oh, Zara!” His hand closed hungrily around the back of her neck. He bent his head to kiss her. The degree of emotion that flared between them was more powerful than either could withstand.

  “I have to come to you tonight,” he muttered against her open mouth, his breath labouring under the burden of longing. “I can’t go on like this, Zara. Having you so near…”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she became aware that one of the station employees, a mechanic, was emerging from the hangar, wiping his grease-covered hands on a grey rag. “Someone is coming, Rick,” she warned him, her heart going like a trip hammer.

  He stepped back a little, still keeping his arm around her. “No problem,” he said, turning his head to see who it was. “I want to have a word with Maurie anyway.” Without haste, he dropped his arm, moving off to speak to the mechanic. Zara was made fully aware he wasn’t in the least embarrassed by anything the man might have seen.

  When he rejoined her, she went to get behind the wheel of th
e jeep, but he shook his head. “I’ll drive.”

  “Okay, Boss!” She raised her hand in mock salute before sliding into the passenger seat. Just one kiss and a fine sweat had broken out on her face, her neck, funnelling into the cleft between her breasts. She began to cool off as the air conditioning kicked in.

  “I have some bad news,” he said when they were underway.

  She felt her skin tighten. “O’Donnell?”

  “No easy way to put it. Patrick arrived at the point where he felt life was no longer worth living.”

  Zara felt a great wrench of pity and sadness. “Ah, no!” she moaned. “You mean he’s dead?”

  “I found him near a waterhole, still holding the rifle.” Garrick said very quietly. “He had gone a good distance from the bungalow. The boys had made a ground search. Naturally, I had to wait until his body was airlifted to Base Hospital.”

  “Oh, my God, how awful! That he should think, This is it! I have to die! I’m so sorry, Garrick. I should never have—”

  “Forget it,” he said. “I’m not going to tell Dad. I don’t think he could handle it in his state of health. He hasn’t got long. He’s dying.”

  “I know.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Garrick released a sombre breath. “I meant what I said, Zara. I want you with me tonight.” He reached out to close his hand around her wrist. “No need for you to be concerned about Ellie and Dad. It’s an open secret that they mean to bring us together.”

  “So what do we mean?” She turned her head to stare at his handsome profile, sculpted in bronze.

  “What can I say?” he answered quietly enough. “I don’t want you to go away.” She knew he was feeling the emotion, the tension of remembering. “Do you love me, Garrick?” she asked before he could throw up any more defences.

  “What do you expect—a simple yes or no?” he retorted, blue eyes blazing over her. “If love means wanting you more than anything else in the world, I guess the answer is yes. But it’s not about me, Zara, is it? It was never about me. I might have the effect on you of a magnet but are you a stayer? That’s the thing. We mightn’t have your father around to contend with. He called, you jumped. But I won’t go through the same experience as last time. You’re either with me or you’re not! And I’m not going to give you all the time in the world to decide.”

  “And you’re sorry for nothing?” she shot back, thoroughly on edge.

  “Sure I’m sorry,” he said.

  She forced herself to pause and take stock. A man—a young man—had died, for God’s sake! A young man who had woken up that morning and made a wrong final decision. “You’ve had a bad day, Garrick,” she said, humble apology in her voice. “This isn’t the time to speak about our problems. They never seem to go away. You’re going to tell your mother about Patrick?”

  He nodded wearily. “Of course. Ellie is the very last person to want to upset Dad. I’ll just say O’Donnell quit. That’s what he did, didn’t he?” He threw her a glance full of the awareness of inescapable human suffering. “He simply quit. I suppose his girlfriend won’t even remember him in a year’s time. Maybe less.”

  Zara looked down at her linked hands, needing to say something for this woman who couldn’t yet speak for herself. “You don’t know that, Garrick,” she said. “There are always reasons why things don’t work.”

  “I suppose,” he groaned. “I’ve become very cynical, God help me!” He turned his head to pin her dark lustrous gaze. “Come down to me tonight. Or I’ll come and get you.”

  Excitement was in the acceleration of her heartbeat. “You’re not going to allow me to make the decision?”

  “No,” he said. He couldn’t have sounded more emphatic.

  There was something about the expression in Daniel Rylance’s eyes that spoke of many long years of experience and understanding of the human condition. They had finished dinner; now they were sitting in the Garden Room, where the housekeeper had served coffee.

  “O’Donnell didn’t quit, did he?” Daniel focused on his son, who had actually been waiting for one of his father’s direct questions.

  Garrick lowered his coffee cup very slowly. “Never could fool you, Dad.”

  “The truth, son. The truth about what happened.”

  “I won’t have you upset yourself, Daniel,” Helen strongly intervened.

  “Hush, woman. I can handle it,” Daniel told his wife gently.

  Zara had had exactly the same thought as Helen, but Garrick acceded to his father’s request.

  “I thought he’d be up for it; up for the challenge,” Daniel said when Garrick had finished an account that left out the worst moments.

  “He would have been, Dad, only none of us realised how far this thing had gone between him and his girlfriend.”

  “The poor girl has to be notified,” Helen said. Zara had since been told that Patrick had never known his white father. His mother, part Aboriginal, had long since disappeared from his life. Coorango had been his home since the age of sixteen. “Patrick may have contributed to the cause of the break up. He did have his problems. We can’t blame the girl.”

  “Well, we might never know,” said Daniel. “I don’t say this against poor Patrick…” He stopped mid-flight, his expression full of sorrow. Then he continued. “Daniel came to us a homeless boy. He was happy here for years, an excellent worker. Then he finds a girlfriend who maybe, just maybe, makes him feel like nothing. God, I don’t know. But it seems to me young people these days don’t seem to have the fight in them that we did. One can’t get through life without obstacles getting in the way. For some people it’s on a daily basis. One obstacle after the other to hurdle. No use to duck them. Better face them head on. You’ve told the men?” He looked to Garrick.

  Garrick nodded. “Believe it or not, the Aboriginal stockmen already had wind of it,” Garrick said. “Now, you must leave everything to me, Dad.”

  Daniel frowned, shook his head imperceptibly, then he nodded. “Will do, son.”

  Zara could see herself standing like a hapless virgin in the hallway outside Garrick’s suite of rooms. She really did need help. She was making no move to go closer, to knock on his door. In fact, she was beginning to feel light-headed. Should she go back the way she had come? No point in that. Garrick had said he would come looking for her. He would. God knew, she wanted to be found. Warily, one step at a time, she drew closer. What was wrong with her? If it weren’t so pathetic it would have been laughable. She and Garrick had made love countless times. But that was years ago. Their coming together after the wedding and into the early hours of the next day had been a passionate, borderline furious attempt to wrest something from the other.

  Poor old you! The promised happy ever after never came about.

  She was wearing an exquisite ivory satin nightgown and a matching satin robe, very luxurious and sensual. She might as well have been naked, so conscious was she of her flesh stirring. Garrick’s parents occupied a suite in the west wing. Garrick’s suite of rooms was entirely private in the east wing of the huge homestead. There were five double bedrooms to each wing. In the old days before Daniel’s horrendous accident there were always guests at Coorango. There would be guests for the Trophy weekend when Garrick’s ex-fiancée who was having marital problems would be in residence. Helen seemed to think Sally might make an advance or two. Would she? There was no accounting for what men and women got up to. Illicit relationships were legendary.

  Daniel and Helen had long since retired. The homestead was in darkness. Yet she crept along the wide gallery, a spectacular part of the house, as though the bedrooms were occupied and guests would open their doors to question where she was going.

  If one wanted the truth, she had to work exceptionally hard at being a femme fatale. She couldn’t believe the London press had labelled her that. A femme fatale! They couldn’t have been more off track. Any chance she might have had at being a femme fatale had been destroyed early on. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say her fa
ther had done his best to put a blowtorch to her self-confidence. Physical abuse was horrible. Emotional abuse had serious consequences as well.

  God, I’m so nervous!

  Miranda had once told her that when she was nervous she tried whistling. Even thinking of Miranda made her smile. She couldn’t whistle in any case. Whistling wasn’t one of her skills.

  No need to knock hard on the door. Tap. It wasn’t as though she was arriving unannounced. Only it was a very heavy mahogany door. Would he hear? She was a seething mass of insecurities. Too much vulnerability, especially for a woman her age. She knew the outside world saw her as one thing—a young woman with everything she could possibly want. Had they ever seen inside her highly dysfunctional family, it might have been quite an eye-opener. No one needed a father who lived to intimidate.

  Just as she was staring at the gleaming door knob, one hand poised to grasp it, the door suddenly opened wide. Garrick stood with his back against the light—very tall, blazing blue eyes offset by his dark colouring and bronze tan, his physique little short of magnificent. He was still wearing what he had on at dinner—a collarless ice-white linen shirt, albeit most of the buttons now undone, long sleeves rolled to the elbow, narrow dress jeans and hand-tooled boots. He might have been a movie star cowboy, purring masculine sexuality. “You weren’t thinking of staying out there, I trust?” he asked, putting a hand to her arm.

  “Actually, I was in two minds.”

  “Were you indeed?” He drew her into his bedroom, which could have been split into two huge rooms. It was very much gentleman’s quarters, all gleaming dark cabinetry and furnishings, the timber offset by lots of white. A spirited desert wind was blowing through the open French windows, making the sheer white inner curtains dance. Scorchingly hot by day, the desert cooled off fast at night. The breeze was delicious, the scent of the native boronia rising like incense.