Cattle Baron Needs a Bride

by Margaret Way

  “You love me better this time around?’ he asked in a gentle but undeniably ironic voice.

  “I love you. Love you.” Her retort was uncharacteristically fierce. Her flawless white skin filled with colour. “You haven’t forgotten, have you, we pledged ourselves to marriage before…before…” She couldn’t go on. “I’m tired of this, Rick. Do you think without that promise I might let the whole thing go? Is that it? You’d think I was a serial bolter. The runaway bride!”

  He let his gaze rest on her. “And what a beautiful and wonderful bride you’ll make. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you went away, because I’d come after you. I’d bring you back. ‘

  “Same old thing, isn’t it? Same old thing!” she said in a driven voice. “Some things obviously get trapped in our brains.”

  “The answer to that, quite bluntly, is yes. It happens all the time. Most people hold on to issues from the past. It seems to be the way we’re made. The human condition. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

  “You have a gift for it!” The words leapt off her tongue.

  He laughed without humour. “We can’t wake the household, Zara.”

  “As if they could possibly hear us, even if we shouted. This is a huge house.”

  “Indeed it is. Very few people could afford such a house.”

  “You should talk!” she returned with sarcasm. “Cattle Baron. Master of Coorango and your million plus acres.”

  “Oh, come off it!” he groaned. “These things we were born to, Zara. God, I never sit down and think, look at me, I’m a cattle baron, any more than you think, I’m an heiress. It’s so much a part of us we discount it. Let’s stop now. We’ve both had a long day.”

  She was standing beneath the big contemporary light-fitting that hung from the high ceiling and held her in its radiance. She was hugging herself tightly, as if cold, her slender arms wrapped protectively around her body “Forgive me,” she said more quietly. “I have to admit to being a bit wound up.” In fact, to her chagrin, she was on the brink of tears.

  “Zara, please,” he implored. “Don’t cry.” High emotion turned his voice unintentionally harsh.

  She took it for male impatience, stopping her tears by swallowing them down. “No tears. No tears,” she exclaimed, her lovely speaking voice off-key. “I know what a terrible thing it is to lose a parent. I know what you’re going through, Rick. But you can’t possibly believe I allowed myself to be manoeuvred like a pawn across the board.”

  His groan was deep and heartfelt. “You’re a very compassionate woman, Zara. You and Dad grew very close in his final days. Difficult, not to say impossible, to refuse the request of a dying man.”

  She could see he had given a good deal of thought to this. “I gave you my hand,” she told him in an impassioned voice. “My heart was in my hand. That heart is for you. Does that answer your question?” Having made her declaration, she spun on her high heeled slippers, moving swiftly towards the door. “Goodnight, Rick. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “That you will!” he agreed. There was such a decisive cutting quality to his voice that she turned to look back, her dark eyes like saucers in her pale face. “I’ll be the first thing you see.” A man of action, he went after her, this woman who filled his every need. His heart was pumping with the force of his powerful desire. He lifted her slender body high, walked a few feet, then lay her down on the bed. His bronze torso had tensed; his burning gaze pinned her to the double mattress.

  Zara had to wait a breathless second before she found her voice. “I’ll call for help!” Hard to say why exactly she said it! Female perversity, possibly.

  “Call away. You said yourself no one can hear us.”

  “Oh, you’re clever!’ She threw her arms above her head, her dark hair fanning out on the crisp white pillow slip.

  “No, I’m a man madly in love,” he contradicted. “Cleverness has nothing to do with it.” He stripped off his shirt, then sank down beside her, grasping a fistful of her silken hair and turning her face to him. “There’s no other woman in the world for me, Zara. No one at all. Understood?”

  “But you still think I might run away?” She whispered it, but there was challenge in her eyes and in her voice.

  “I’ll make you pregnant. I’ll make you pregnant with our beautiful baby. I just might keep you pregnant.” His blue eyes glittered.

  “Boy first, right?” Her long fingernails were digging in a little to the firm flesh of his long strong back.

  “What is this business of boy, girl?” he asked with extreme impatience. “I’ll adore our baby as long as she looks like you!” His hand sought and found her naked breast. It only just filled his strong male hand, but her breasts were perfect to his eyes. To his touch. The nipples were already as erect as a tiny ripe fruit.

  “I never defaulted the first time, Rick.” She still carried the scars of his lack of belief.

  That didn’t console him. He was older, wiser. It had been perhaps, a young man thing—he had only turned twenty-five. Besides, he wanted no ghost of her father to come between them. Passionately, he set his mouth on hers, taking in her little moaning breaths.

  One kiss was all it took to release the torrent of passion that drove every other issue from their minds.

  It never failed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MIRANDA was delighted to have Zara’s company. There seemed nothing they couldn’t say to each other. No words were needed for Miranda to declare her love for Corin, Zara’s brother. It shone out of her eyes. It put the lilt in her voice. Happiness radiated from both of them like rays of bright sunshine. It was obvious that Corin’s foremost thought was for his wife, Miranda’s for her husband. “Sometimes I think we’re one person, not two!” Miranda exclaimed, showing her inner elation.

  “So you lay in wait for him, landed on his lap the minute he got into the limo and the rest, as they say, is history!” Zara smiled. She had heard in detail the whole story of that momentous meeting.

  Miranda laughed, then momentarily sobered. Both of them had taken a refreshing dip in the pool. Now they had sought refuge from the hot sun in what had to be the ultimate in pool houses. Miranda went to the bar fridge, took out two small bottles of lemon-flavoured mineral water and passed one to Zara. “Garrick doesn’t know as yet of my connection to Leila?”

  “Not as yet,” Zara, unscrewing the bottle, kept her eyes on her sister-in-law.

  “He has to be told.”

  “When you think the time is right, Miri,” Zara replied diplomatically, pouring the cold drink into the tall glass on her side table.

  “I’d say the time was right now, wouldn’t you? Garrick means everything to you, I know. He worships you.”

  Zara wanted to cry, an uninhibited yes, yes, yes, but the words wouldn’t come, such were the niggling anxieties skulking around in her. “I don’t know that worship is the right word,” she said, looking wry.

  Miranda sat up straight on her recliner staring back intently. “Whatever do you mean? He adores you, really and truly.”

  Zara heaved a sigh. “I’ve never mentioned this before—some deep disappointment, I suppose, that I haven’t been able to conquer—but I sent many letters to Garrick after I left Coorango, admittedly in unseemly haste. But the truth of it is, my father ordered me home. In those days I did exactly as my father said. He was a tyrannical man.”

  Miranda didn’t look astonished. She nodded. “I’ve heard. Corin and I have long talks. Your father inflicted a lot of damage.”

  “That he did,” Zara agreed quietly. “Corin was always brave. Standing up to him. I tried—I so wished for him to love me—but every time he laid eyes on me he turned away.”

  “Guilt,” pronounced Miranda.

  Zara lifted her dark eyes. “You mean over my mother?”

  Miranda picked her words carefully. “Zara, no way am I saying what caused your mother’s car crash was anything but a terrible accident. But there’s no question your father accepted,
even if he never acknowledged, some of the blame. Don’t let’s talk about Leila.” She smiled thinly. “Only we have to talk about her, don’t we? We’re family. Quite apart from the fact you’re kin, you’ll be marrying Garrick, the love of your life.”

  “The only love,” Zara said.

  “So, what about these letters—” Miranda followed the subject up “—obviously they have a huge bearing on your frame of mind?”

  “He didn’t read them,” Zara said starkly, heartbreak in her voice. “He didn’t read any of them.” She stared away into the shimmering gardens with the magnificent turquoise pool set down like a jewel.

  “He was too upset by your departure?” Miranda hazarded. “You only have to look at him to see Garrick is a man of strong passions.”

  “And a proud man,” Zara said. “He could have read one. I poured out my heart and he never read a single word. For years he remained convinced I had betrayed him. I believe that thought still lingers. He loves me. But he’s not sure of me. That hurts. Because Rick was so proud, we lost valuable years of our life. I want children. As you do. I want our child before I’m too much older.”

  “And you’ll be the most wonderful mother,” Miranda proclaimed stoutly. “Why are you letting this tear you apart, Zara? You’re such a loving person. Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive the man you love?”

  “Maybe it’s because I love him so much!” Zara agonized. “And the issue keeps popping up. He burned my letters, by the way—the sad outpourings of a traumatised woman. My father once told Rick I was the perfect daughter.”

  Miranda snorted in disgust. “He really was a total bastard. Corin could put Garrick straight.”

  “No, no!” Zara’s protest was vehement. “I’m not going to draw Corin into this. If Garrick truly loves me he should trust me.”

  “Have you ever met anyone who hasn’t made a mistake?” Miranda asked gently. “I haven’t. We all make mistakes. Hopefully, we learn from them and move on.”

  “I know. That’s the best way,” Zara agreed. “Sometimes I think we spend more time looking back than looking forward.”

  “Then so many wonderful opportunities could be missed.”

  Zara smiled. “You have such an inner toughness, Miri.”

  “And I learned it the hard way. Can’t you tell Garrick now?”

  Zara gave a little wince. “Not good timing, I’m afraid. We had a visit from his ex-fiancée and her husband when you were away. The annual polo final and afterwards the celebration Ball.”

  “It wasn’t a success?” Miranda’s turquoise eyes opened wide.

  Zara’s smile was strained. “It was a great success in many ways, only Sally took the opportunity to vent her anger and jealousy on me. She still loves Garrick.”

  “Ooh!” Miranda pursed her lips. “How terribly unfortunate for her husband.”

  “And he’s such a nice person too. But perhaps not tough enough for Sally. Under the bright, confident façade, Sally Draper is one tough cookie. Her outburst was so bad one might have thought she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

  “Then obviously she must go after professional help. So she married on the rebound?”

  “I almost feel sorry for her.” Zara sighed. “I don’t know how her husband missed it. If she’d given her marriage a proper go she might have gained a different perspective.”

  “I’m assuming she told you a pack of lies?” Miranda studied Zara over her tall frosted glass.

  “I’m horribly afraid I took a few of the things she said on board.”

  Miranda understood instantly. “So you had it out with Garrick?”

  “Garrick is the sort of man you don’t have it out with,” Zara confessed wryly. “If you start talking what, in his view, is nonsense, he hasn’t the patience to hear you out. His verdict on Sally was—zonked-out!”

  Miranda guffawed. “I can just hear him saying it! Garrick would have a short fuse with ravings. Some people have this dreadful destructive streak. You can’t ruin your life over a sheaf of letters, Zara. I’m sure Garrick deeply regrets not reading them now. Going over and over this thing in your head accomplishes exactly nothing. What happened, happened. My mother deserted me as an infant, as you know. I grew up believing my grandparents to be my parents. Much as I loved her, I couldn’t really forgive my grandmother for the lifelong deception. But I’m older and wiser now. I accept my grandparents did what they did because they believed it was in my best interests. Your best interests, Zara, are to move forward onto solid ground. Garrick is your love, your life. Coorango will be your home. Beyond doubt, Garrick adores you. What else is there to know?”

  Zara turned her dark head, smiling with great affection at the younger and, in her view, wiser woman. “Are you my sister or my shrink?” she asked playfully.

  “I’m both,” said Miranda, reaching out to take Zara’s hand.

  Garrick sat behind the massive desk in his father’s book-and trophy-lined study, looking with a sense of sadness and loss around him. This room was so much his father. His father hadn’t wanted the big portrait of himself that hung behind him. His mother, so proud of her handsome, greatly admired husband had insisted. When his mother insisted on something she got it. It was a splendid likeness but he couldn’t swivel around in the plush leather chair and look at it now. Grief, of course. Nothing unusual about that.

  He had been blessed with wonderful parents. Zara and Corin hadn’t been nearly so fortunate. A stable childhood, he had increasingly come to appreciate, was very important. Maybe critical. He had genuinely believed that, no matter his faults, Dalton Rylance had truly loved his daughter. The sick realisation that Dalton had played him for a gullible fool cut deeply. Of course Dalton had had his reasons. He was coming to a full understanding. When his beloved Zara had most needed his support, there he was, drowning in self-pity.

  He sat there beneath the portrait of his father, clenching and unclenching his right hand. Zara’s betrayal—that was the way he had seen it—had nearly broken him. He had believed with all his heart that they belonged together. Hence his bitter rejection of those follow-up letters that were still causing them problems. He had thought they would be the Dear John sort of thing, persisting in her attempts to get a response; the woman having the last word. His face set in a frown of self-disgust.

  To distract himself, he began looking at the many silver-framed photographs that stood on the antique mahogany cabinets that supported the glass-fronted bookcases. There were many of him, mostly on horseback, playing polo and whatever. Almost as many of Julianne beaming at the camera. A lot of his mother and father taken with various VIPs and, in a place of honour with a widely smiling Prince of Wales with his then wife, the beautiful Princess Diana, when they had visited Australia. Life could be a terrifying business, he thought, Diana’s tragic death in mind. Without a word of warning, death could reach out of the darkness and take the people one loved. His once splendidly fit father had been left a shell because of a piece of random stupidity. No use to think of that now!

  Lowering his head, he began to trawl through a pile of paperwork awaiting his attention. Once he’d had a good look at the contents, he would pass the pile back to Col Rourke, the station’s office manager. Col was super-efficient but “the Boss” had to vet things first. Col couldn’t make decisions, in any case, certainly not major decisions regarding the running of the station, but he kept the wheels well oiled and running. Col was an accountant. So was his wife, Felicity—everyone called her Flick—they worked together as a team. His father had employed them over ten years before. They were very loyal employees with their future carved out on the station. They had two children now, both boys, attending the station “one room” school. When the boys were old enough they would go to boarding school in Brisbane. He doubted if those boys would ever leave Coorango. They thrived on Outback life. Little bushmen almost from the time they could toddle. After a time, Garrick set aside the tall pile with penned instructions to be acted on, clipped
it, put it into a folder.

  Only a few days, yet he missed Zara so much she might have been gone for months on end.

  You’re lonely, man. Terribly, terribly lonely without her.

  He had heard from his mother and Julianne several times. Both had sounded loving and upbeat. That had soothed his heart. All was going well with Jules.

  We can’t wait for Elliot Mastermann III to make his appearance. Hello, world!

  Personally, he didn’t go along with tacking numbers after a boy child’s name, but whatever pleased Jules and Elliot; it was their decision. The Mastermanns were a distinguished family anyway. Garrick knew his mother had missed her only daughter. He missed Jules too. He wouldn’t be in the least surprised if Ellie didn’t spend a lot of time in the United States in future. He and Zara would certainly find the time to make their own trip over. He had plans! Big plans—and they all revolved around Zara and their future.

  The yards were so full of fat cattle on the cool calm nights he could hear the lowing and bellowing from the house. Even after long exhausting days of dragging, earmarking and branding clean skins, he couldn’t sleep. He was forever tossing and turning. When he did drift off, it was to wake abruptly, searching, arm outstretched, with the knowledge that Zara wasn’t lying in the bed beside him. Difficult indeed for a man to settle without the woman he loved.

  The night before Zara was due back—he was to fly to Longreach to pick her up—he decided to shift a few things out of his father’s study and into his own. For a little while at least he had to reel back the grief. His study wasn’t as spacious or anywhere near as grand as his father’s but he planned on doing a few things to brighten it up. Zara had been talking about getting back to her painting. He knew she was a gifted artist who had turned her back on that gift for a career of rising brilliance. Her former career was over. She assured him she had no regrets. Time for her to take up her work again. He planned on hanging some of her paintings on his study walls. They could replace his collection of antique firearms, most of them untouched, from the eighteen-hundreds—totally legal—and his stockpile of silver cups and trophies. So many, since his boyhood, that his mother had put a lot of them into storage. As a family they were great collectors.