by Margaret Way
She let her fingernails dig into her palms. Stop now. Keefe is right. Instead, with the inbuilt perversity of women, she went at it. A fully fledged accusation. “So you can’t have us both. Is that it, Keefe? Is that what’s gnawing away at your heart? I can see you’re upset. I understand it but I won’t allow Scott to come between us. Some part of you thinks I have. That’s the truth, isn’t it?” She whipped out the challenge. “It will always be the truth. Scott won’t change. We’ll all die hoping.”
His eyes burned over her and settled on her beautiful mouth. The most seductive woman’s mouth he had ever seen. “Skye, please…let it go,” he begged. “I can see all Scott’s faults and failings but I love my brother. We’re the same blood.”
“What if I turn out to be the same blood?” She was passing beyond caution. “You’re none too sure, are you? You and your grandmother.”
That too she hadn’t intended to say, but what the hell! She was in desperate need of reassurance. Torn between love and pride.
Keefe moved to her side, taking her firmly by the shoulders. “I’ve told you. I don’t give a damn who you are. You’re my Skye, my sun, moon and stars, my woman. You dazzle me. I love you more than anyone else on earth.” He knotted a thick swathe of her hair around his hand, tipping back her head, hunger for her a different kind of torment. What was happening inside her he wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was she was frantic about Jack and his well-being, just as he was worrying terribly about that crazy spontaneous vow she had made about giving him up as some sort of bargain with a God he didn’t know if he believed in. The terrifying thing was, Skye did.
“I’m taking Dad back to Sydney,” she told him quickly, the words crowding into her mouth. “You said he could have some time off.’
Keefe beat off frustration. He wanted her so badly he was in physical pain. “Of course he can. The break will do him good.”
“We can get the paternity test done there.” She was dismayed by the glacial tone of her voice. “Should take less than five working days. Then comes the denouement. He’s my dad—the man who raised me, but not my biological father. I couldn’t keep the results from him. He would want to see the results with his own eyes.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, let there be an end to it, Skye,” Keefe raged. “This has to be settled once and for all. The not knowing is far worse than the knowing. I don’t expect any revelations. Jack is your father. He knows how much you love him. I believe he’ll hold up whatever the outcome.”
“Then you’re a darned sight more certain than I am. But, then, you’re always so sure. Outcomes have to be what you want.”
Her upraised hands were fluttering like agitated birds. He caught them. “I’m sure you love me, Skye. Nothing can obliterate that. But you’re just superstitious enough to abandon me if you don’t hear what you want. It’s been a bad time for us both. I lost Dad. I’m trying to keep it all together. Then we lose Scott. It’s you I can’t lose. Is that clear? I can’t bear to argue any more with you. There are supposed to be two theories for arguing with women anyway. I know from long experience of you that neither of them work. Life is full of obstacles. Together we can overcome them. No matter this business with Jack, what could be worse than for us to be parted?”
“Well, Jack’s not your father, is he? Your answer seems to be that we just don’t talk too much!” She was trying to tamp herself down, but fear and the heat of irrational anger was in her throat. Getting angry was a harsh relief. If only this whole business of paternity was a bad dream. She had no real faith her father could accept a negative outcome with any degree of serenity. An unwanted truth could kill him. Second time around. There was so much confusion in her mind, yet as they stood locked together, like a man and woman in combat, sizzling heat waves were rising all around them. The sparks could only billow into flame.
Keefe locked a steely arm around her, his eyes with a diamond-hard glint. “We don’t talk,” he muttered fiercely. “Talking is getting us nowhere. We make love.”
She flung her long hair over her shoulder. “Go on, then! Shred my heart!”
So it was wordless, the well of desire bottomless.
Then came the gasps, the sharp little cries, the moans that went hand in hand with sexual excitement. He worked her out of her clothes, kissing every part of her creamy flesh as it became exposed. Tears streaked her cheeks. He licked them off. Each time her entered her, it was different. Nothing was quite like the last time. He was the most marvellous, accomplished lover, always astonishing her, showing her more and more things about herself, and her own body. Their love-making was becoming a long journey she hoped would never end. Two people could make their own magic; shut out the world.
The scent of him! The sweet, sweet flavour of his skin. Enormously complex feelings went into her surrender to the all-dominant male. He smelled tantalisingly of wood smoke and burnt eucalyptus leaves. She stared up into his brilliant eyes as his lean body covered hers, bearing down on her with a powerful, exultant rhythm. Her breasts, so satiated with feeling, were crushed beneath him. Her trembling legs were locked tight around him. She didn’t know where she ended and he started. There was no distinction. They were two people, but one flesh. It was so piercingly perfect, nothing else mattered…
When it came time to leave Jack decided it was his duty to remain on Djinjara.
“Keefe needs me, sweetheart,” he told Skye, an element of bravado in his voice. “Too much is laid on him. It’s a killer job. I’m the overseer around here. I value my position. Besides, I’m as fit as a fiddle. You can see that. You go off with your samples and in due course you’ll let me know.”
Some note in his voice brought tears to her eyes. “Well, if that’s what you want, Dad,” she said gently. She could read his suffering.
“It is, love.” Jack patted her shoulders with hands scarred by years of roping, fencing, mustering and other hard physical work. “I’m going to leave everything to you. I don’t think I could bear the hanging around waiting, anyway. Far better for me to get back to work.”
“If that’s your decision, Dad. But you have nothing to agonise about. You’re my dad, pure and simple. Don’t fail me, Dad. I need you.”
“Whatever the outcome, sweetheart, “Jack said, “I’ll reconcile to it.”
Except Skye knew he wouldn’t.
Keefe had organised a private jet charter company to fly her back to Sydney, clipping hours off her time. Take-off was scheduled for 8:30 a.m. Another blazing blue day. Keefe drove her to the airstrip, which had been upgraded to accommodate small- to medium-size jets. The jet she was flying on could comfortably seat six passengers. There was to be one stop at Myall Downs to pick up a party of three cattlemen, all known to Skye, all Outback identities.
There was no exuberant display of love and affection between them. Rather an inflamed awareness and tension. Neither had the power to alter the outcome of this testing to suit their purpose. She felt perhaps unfairly that Keefe was scornful of the appeal she had made to the Almighty to save her father, and her subsequent vow. He might as well have been an atheist for the incredulous view he took of it. He wasn’t bothering over much hiding it from her.
“Promises are often made under terrible stress. What sense is there in trying to hold to them?”
“I’d come with you if I could.”
She shook her head. “You can’t possibly get away. Look after Dad for me?”
“Jack is stronger than you think, Skye.” He bent to kiss her, catching a burst of her special fragrance, wildflowers and sunshine. “Let me know the minute you have the results. Before Jack, naturally.”
She gave a taut little smile. “We’re all on tenterhooks about this, aren’t we, no matter what we say?”
Keefe shook his head, crisply businesslike, if only on the outside. “No doubts or bothers from me. I love you. I need you. I refuse to let you go. I’m sure the Almighty has handled a lot of broken promises in His time. We have to put the past behind us, Skye.”
/> Only the past would never die.
She delivered the samples for testing the same day. She had used this particular laboratory several times. It had an excellent reputation, fast, accurate and completely confidential.
“We’ll have the results back to you by Friday, Ms McCory,” the technician, Sarah, told her in her friendly fashion.
“I’d appreciate it.”
She arrived back at the city building that housed her law offices, only to be confronted by a very angry-looking, burly middle-aged man, fast losing his hair.
God, here’s trouble.
It never rained but it poured. His face looked familiar. Not a good face. An alcoholic’s face. Ah, yes, Gordon Roth. A mean man. There were dangers that went along with representing women in distress. Like violent husbands who terrorised their wives and kids.
“Skye McCory?” He caught up with her, faded eyes glaring. “You’re the one that’s been representing my wife, Emma. Emma Roth.”
Skye stepped back a pace. “What is it you want, Mr Roth? You really shouldn’t be talking to me.”
“So high and mighty!” he sneered. “Think you’ve won over my wife, don’t you? She wants a divorce. Good for you. Bad for me. You’ve made bad blood between us, lady. I can tell you that. Emma loves me. We can get back together.”
Did such men ever learn? “I doubt very much if your wife is going to give you a fourth or is it a fifth chance, Mr Roth. And you can’t tell me anything, so please step aside. Your wife has a restraining order in place against you for domestic violence. You had your chance to be heard at the court hearing. A judge decided to grant the restraining order to your wife. That could become permanent if you violate that order. You cannot harass or stalk me. You must understand that. Break the law and you could face imprisonment.”
“The law! What’s the law?” he shouted, waving his arms and drawing immediate attention to the two of them standing at the entrance to the building. “Stinking, rotten solicitors, the whole legal system is geared against men,” he raged. “I’m no threat to Emma. Or the kids.”
“Were that only true, Mr Roth. Allegations of abuse have been proven in court,” she pointed out in a toneless voice. “Now, I really must go, but with a warning. Don’t attempt to harass me. I promise you, you’ll be sorry.”
He gave her an evil look. “I know where you live.”
One of the senior partners of the firm, coming out of the building, sized up the situation in an instant. “On your way, whoever you are!” she called in her most carrying, magisterial voice. “Skye, are you okay? Is this man harassing you?”
“He’s on his way, Elizabeth. Aren’t you, Mr Roth?”
He swore and made a crude gesture in their direction by way of goodbye.
“Sometimes we really do need protection,” Elizabeth Dalkeith said very quietly and seriously, taking Skye’s arm. Elizabeth had never fully recovered from seeing a family court judge shot dead right in front of her. “If that man gives you the slightest trouble—even a phone call—you’re to let me know immediately.”
“I will, Elizabeth. I promise.”
Silently Skye prayed Gordon Roth would never show up again.
She had trouble concentrating on the outstanding files on her desk. Friday couldn’t come soon enough. She knew it was normal enough to start harbouring doubts, especially when lives hung in the balance. Nevertheless, what she thought of as her disloyalty upset her intensely. She really was giving herself hell over all this. Keefe might believe—or chose to believe—his much-valued overseer could survive a tremendous emotional blow. She was far from sure. Another source of deep shame. She had started calling her dad Jack in her mind. Maybe with all this worry she was becoming very slightly unhinged?
Only there had been something between her mother and Jonty McGovern. Lady McGovern, a shrewd observer, couldn’t have been that far out. What was more telling, Lady McGovern all these years hadn’t let go of her belief that her son, Jonty, dead at twenty-two, had fathered Skye. Had no one else noticed an involvement? Keefe’s father, Broderick? The rest of them, Keefe, Scott and Rachelle, had been children. She knew Keefe was deeply stressed when he allowed very little to stress him. He had a big job running the McGovern empire. He had also suffered the double loss of his father and brother.
Where had the idea of a conspiracy started? With Lady McGovern, of course. And yet Jack was convinced Cathy had loved him. Jack in his youth must have been a handsome man. He was still a man women found attractive. There didn’t have to be a conspiracy behind it. Through the days and the long restless nights she couldn’t stop herself from going over and over different scenarios. Keefe wanted to marry her no matter what the outcome of the DNA testing was. There was no impediment after all, but her heart and soul were sore and shaking.
They had rescued Jack once. Would they be called on to do it again? Jack’s whole life would implode with a negative outcome. So would hers, but such was her love for him that it was Jack she agonised about. Whatever the outcome, he, not Jonty McGovern, was her dad.
The results were delivered to her office in a large manila envelope marked Confidential. She heard voices in the corridor, a couple of her colleagues, so she rose swiftly and closed her door. She wanted no interruptions. She was far too much on edge to begin to hide it. Bracing herself, she opened the envelope. Her head was spinning dizzily. Too much coffee. Too little food.
She began to read. As she neared the bottom of the document, her nerveless fingers let go of the pages.
Skye bowed her blonde head and wept uncontrollably. Nobody could argue with a paternity test when it had a probability rating of ninety-nine point nine.
Keefe rode down to the yards where Jack and his aboriginal offsider, Chilla, were breaking in the best of the brumbies. Where Jack was tall and whipcord lean, Chilla was a small wiry man, both with a wonderful way around horses. They made a top team. The brumby they were breaking in when he arrived, a ghost grey, the sunlight dancing off his unkempt coat, was one of the mob that they had allowed to escape the day of the lightning strike. It was smallish in size, short legs, but powerful enough through the hind quarters. He waited until Jack had the quivering animal standing calmly on the sand, before gesturing to his overseer for his attention.
Jack ducked between the rails and came towards him, his lean, weathered face shadowed by the wide brim of his battered old Akubra, a flash of brilliant red from the bandana around his throat. “Yes, boss.”
“I have some news for you, Jack.”
“Oh, Gawd!” Jack’s face started to work. But he stood in place, ramrod straight, a man receiving sentence. Normally so laid back, Jack was having the greatest difficulty gaining control of his emotions. Keefe put him out of his misery.
Jack swept off his dusty hat, throwing it so high in the air that several things happened at once. The brumby plunged, causing a lounging Chilla to spring to attention; scores of Technicolor parrots rose shrieking from the trees and a little mob of wallabies nearby bounded frantically to higher ground.
“Goddamn right!” Jack yelled. “I knew it. I knew it. My little Cathy would never have betrayed me.”
Keefe put out his hand. Jack shook it. “You can’t get anything clearer than that, Jack,” Keefe said, enormously relieved to be the bearer of good news. “No argument from anywhere. Your belief in your wife—Skye’s mother—has been totally vindicated. I’ll have to talk to my grandmother. Set things straight. All these years she has laboured with entirely the wrong scenario firmly entrenched in her head. It’s quite tragic.” He gave a rueful smile.
“But now we know,” Jack said, his expression so full of life and elation he looked ten years younger. “It was Jonty, you know, that was keen on Cathy. Not that I blamed him. She was like a ray of sunshine. He was so young. We were all so young. Poor Jonty!”
Keefe sighed. How little anyone knew what lay ahead in the future. “Let me say again how sorry I am my brother had to upset you.”
Jack ducked his chin.
“Upset us all. He sure did, boss, but that’s over. I really appreciate you coming to tell me. How’s my girl?”
“My girl too, Jack.” Keefe flashed a smile. “We talked for a long time on the phone.” Indeed, their long conversation would always remain in his memory. The joy and the enormous relief in her voice, the outpouring of love. “I’m taking the weekend off to join her,” he said, hugging the thought of their passionate reunion to him when in his own way he had been through hell. “Want to come along?”
Jack laughed aloud. He knew the score. “You don’t need me,” he said jovially. “I’ll be seeing her soon. Give my beautiful girl—our beautiful girl—my love.”
“Will do, Jack,” Keefe said with a backward wave. He remounted his horse, riding away while Jack, on a wave of euphoria, turned back to his mate Chilla, calling, “Get the big one in here, Chilla, the roan. He’s the pick of the bunch. Between the two of us we can turn him into a darned good working horse.”
CHAPTER TEN
HE HAD to wait longer than he expected. It was dark now and the tenants who worked had had ample time to make their way home. Consequently, there was no movement around the entrance. He planned on slipping through the security door, either when someone entered or left the building.
Startling him—he was so engrossed in his plan—a taxi pulled up with a screech directly in front of the swish apartment complex. A young man on the hippy side got out, calling to someone still inside the taxi. “Check with Thommo. See you all around eight!”
While he watched and awaited his chance, the young man loped towards the entrance and Gordon Roth, waiting in the garden shadows, closed in quickly.
The security door opened at the click of a button. The young man became aware of the burly guy standing just behind him, almost breathing down his neck, definitely invading his space. Where in the heck had he come from? “You goin’ in, mate?” He kept his tone relaxed. One didn’t mess with a guy with a face like that.
