The Cattleman, The Baby and Me

by Michelle Douglas

  During her fierce little speech he’d dangled his free hand in the water. He lifted it now, and dragged it down his face, but the cool wetness did nothing to ease the pounding at his temples.

  Sapphie loved Harry. She just didn’t believe she could have him.

  Because of Emmy? Because she thought she’d ruined Emmy’s life?

  ‘Even if I could have Harry, Liam, I can’t give him what you can.’ She stood and spread her arms out to encompass their surroundings. ‘I can’t give him this wonderful station to grow up on, or the kind of financial security you can.’

  ‘There’s more to bringing up a child than money,’ he snapped.

  ‘Yeah, well, you try bringing one up without any!’

  She planted her hands on her hips. Beneath her shirt—shirts, he amended—her breasts rose and fell. He dragged his gaze back to her face and gritted his teeth.

  ‘Are you telling me you can’t love Harry as much or as deeply as me?’ she demanded.

  ‘No.’ The last half-hour had taught him that. He glanced down at his nephew and a fierce surge of protectiveness engulfed him…and something strong and clean and pure—love?

  ‘Do you believe you can love Harry like your own child? As well and as deeply as the children you wished you could’ve had with Belinda?’

  It hit him—the knowledge, the realisation—just like that. ‘Yes.’ The word rang loud in the clear air. And then he remembered something Sapphie said to him. Harry is not a replacement for Lucas.

  A replacement? He frowned. No… His mouth went dry. From the very first moment he’d held his nephew all he’d focussed on was what he’d get if Harry stayed: the healing of his own wounds and those of the rest of his family. What he should have been thinking about was Harry—what was best for him.

  He recognised now, with a clarity he’d lacked before, all the reasons behind Sapphie’s reservations. Harry wasn’t a replacement—not for Lucas, and not for the children Liam had never had. Harry was Harry—he was himself. And Liam loved him for it.

  He met Sapphie’s eyes. ‘I couldn’t love a natural-born son more than I love Harry.’

  The tension left her shoulders.

  ‘Harry is not a replacement or a substitute or an alternative. He’s a gift.’

  She nodded. ‘That’s all right, then.’

  He stared at her, amazed. He knew she loved Harry as strongly as he did. Could he be that generous if their situations were reversed?

  He glanced back down at Harry, to find his nephew surveying him. Harry gurgled and smiled. A thrill shot through Liam’s entire body. Here was Harry, with his chubby cheeks and his big baby smile and his wonder, and it was all directed at him. At him.

  He knew he’d fight any fight to keep Harry now. Harry was a part of him. Harry was a miracle—a second chance, his family.

  As if she’d read his mind, Sapphie said, ‘You can give him something far more important than financial security.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A family. A big, lively, loving family who will embrace him and support him and love him. That has to be worth its weight in gold.’

  She was right. And it was a family, he suddenly realised, that he’d neglected since Lucas’s death. He’d thrown himself into the running of the station, hiding away with his guilt and his regret. His parents hadn’t lost one son, but two.

  He dragged that hand down his face again. He stared at Sapphie and tried to imagine how she must feel. ‘I don’t know how to make this process easier for you,’ he finally admitted.

  She stumbled, as if his words had knocked her sideways. ‘You don’t need to worry about me. I’m a big girl. I’ll survive. I’m used to taking care of myself. It’s Harry we need to make things easy for. I’ll just content myself with being his favourite auntie.’

  As she spoke, she moved down to where he and Harry sat. He lifted Harry out of the water, balanced him on his hip, uncaring about the wetness that soaked into his shirt. He hooked his other arm around Sapphie’s shoulders and drew her in close for a hug. For one brief moment she sank against him, as if she’d like nothing more than to rest her head on his shoulder, and for that brief moment the world felt strangely right and complete. But then she stiffened and pulled away.

  ‘What was that for?’

  ‘I think you’re one of the most courageous women I know.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ She raked him up and down with a glare. ‘I think you’ve had too much sun. C’mon—if you and your men are hoping to get lunch today, then it’s time we made tracks.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LIAM pushed his plate away and patted his stomach. ‘They were great—thanks, Sapphie.’

  She’d made sandwiches for lunch—doorstop slabs of bread and thick slices of roast beef with a generous slathering of pickles. Now she cut a fat slice of sultana cake and set it in front of him, before putting the jug on to boil and making a pot of tea.

  He took a bite. ‘The men will enjoy this.’ It was one of the ringers’ duties to cook breakfast and dinner for the men, but the homestead provided lunch. Sapphie had the knack of knowing what would satisfy a man’s hunger and keep him going for an afternoon of hard work.

  ‘Dana’s recipe. Again. She taught me them all.’

  And he was looking forward to sampling the lot. Mention of Dana, though, had him thinking about the rest of Sapphie’s family. He knew so little about her—except that she was brave and generous. And that she loved Harry.

  ‘Tell me about your other sister. The one who was on IVF.’ He’d earlier formed the impression that Emmy was her only sibling.

  She spun round and turned so deathly pale he shot to his feet and reached for her, his hands curving around her upper arms as he led her to a chair and urged her to sit.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I must’ve had a touch too much sun today.’

  ‘You’re a rotten liar.’ He pushed a glass of water into her hand. ‘Drink.’ Wouldn’t she ever trust him?

  She eyed him warily. He crouched down in front of her. ‘You demand to know all my history, but you won’t tell me anything of yours?’

  Sure, she’d told him why she couldn’t raise Harry, but she still hadn’t told him why Emmy wanted to relinquish Harry. He was sensible enough not to push her on that front, though. He’d wait until she was ready to tell him.

  ‘I’m not the one being vetted to see if I’ll make a good mother to Harry.’

  She’d make a great mother. The best. She was young, lovely. She’d meet someone and have children of her own eventually. He didn’t know why, but the notion burned a path of resentment through him. Stupid! He wasn’t interested in travelling down that particular path again.

  Sapphie would never betray a man the way Belinda had betrayed him.

  He tried to shrug the thought off. It didn’t make a jot of difference.

  Suddenly, though, he wasn’t so sure. He forced himself back to his own chair. It was no more than three feet away, but the metaphorical distance seemed vast…and Sapphie looked so lost and alone. ‘You don’t need to prove yourself, Sapphie. Not to me, not to anyone. But there are other reasons for sharing confidences.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘What about friendship?’

  Her eyes softened. ‘Oh!’ she said. It was all she said.

  He tried again. Gently. ‘I thought Emmy was your only sister?’

  She pulled in a breath that made her whole frame shudder. ‘So did I.’

  She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. He wondered if he’d measure up. He wanted to measure up.

  ‘You ever have one of those days that changes your whole life?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ve had a couple.’ The tension inside him started to ease. He found he could even smile after a fashion. ‘The most recent being the day a rather determined woman jumped out of the mail plane and presented me with my nephew.’

  That made her smile too. ‘Mine came a couple of days earlier than that—on my twenty-f
ifth birthday.’

  ‘When you were landed with Harry?’

  ‘The same day I received a letter from my mother.’

  ‘But she’s…’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ She glanced down at her hands. ‘She’d left instructions with her solicitor that a letter be delivered to me the day I turned twenty-five.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  She lifted a shoulder, gave a funny little smile that tore at his heart. ‘That Bryce Curran was my biological father.’

  His jaw dropped. He hauled it back up and let loose with a whistle. ‘That’s some clanger, Sapphie.’ He made the next leap. ‘So Lea and Anna Curran—they’re…’

  ‘My half-sisters,’ she whispered.

  He sat back and stared. ‘Why all the secrecy?’ he finally asked. To find out all this, on top of Harry…

  ‘I was conceived when Bryce’s wife was still alive.’

  Liam had heard about Karen Curran’s long, drawn-out illness. He also knew how much Bryce had reportedly loved his wife. And yet he’d…

  He shook the thought off. ‘That might explain why he didn’t come forward when you were a baby, but what about later?’

  ‘I don’t really know.’ He watched her swallow and his hands clenched. ‘I think he thought it would hurt Anna and Lea too much.’

  What about Sapphie? Who’d been thinking about Sapphie? Taking care of her needs? Providing for her wants?

  ‘And what do you think?’ he demanded.

  She shrugged, as if what she thought didn’t matter. His gut tightened. It mattered all right!

  She lifted her chin. ‘I would never do anything to hurt Anna or Lea.’

  Hurt them? If Anna and Lea had half the heart of the woman in front of him they’d be overjoyed to discover she was their half-sister. He leant forward, intent and earnest. ‘Sapphie, you have to tell them the truth.’ He sensed how much she loved them. ‘You told me they’re your best friends.’ Loneliness stretched across her face and he had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms. ‘They love you too, you know?’

  ‘It’s one thing to be someone’s best friend. It’s an altogether different thing to discover she’s your half-sister.’

  She was afraid that in Anna and Lea’s eyes she wouldn’t measure up. That was crazy nonsense! He’d only met the Curran girls a couple of times. They were closer in age to Lacey than to him, but he was sure Sapphie was wrong.

  ‘Are Anna and Lea preoccupied with money and status?’ he demanded. Jarndirri was a huge station, worth millions.

  She glared at him. ‘Of course they’re not!’

  ‘Do they have that streak of meanness in them that some people have? Do they hold a grudge? Can they be spiteful? Are they—?’

  ‘Get over yourself, Liam! They’re my friends!’ She shot to her feet, her hands clenched into fists. He tried not to grin. ‘They work hard for everything they’ve got. They’re loyal and kind. They’d never do anyone a bad turn and they’re great to have around in an emergency. What’s more, they’re smart and funny and the world is a whole lot better off for having them in it!’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He watched as realisation dawned in her glorious green eyes. ‘Oh.’ She dropped back into her chair.

  ‘Sapphie, you’ve been given a gift. I had a brother who died. Losing him was hell. But I had twenty-three years with him. I wouldn’t swap that for anything.’

  ‘Lucas?’ she whispered.

  ‘Lucas,’ he agreed.

  He leant forward. She was only a fingertip away. ‘Promise me that when you leave here you’ll arrange to meet Anna and Lea and that you’ll tell them the truth. They deserve to know. They deserve the chance to love you like a sister.’

  Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t spill onto her cheeks. She smiled, clasped her hands beneath her chin, and he’d never seen anyone look more truly lovely. ‘I will if you promise me something in return.’

  ‘What?’ He almost added, anything, but he remembered himself in time.

  ‘I’ll talk to Anna and Lea if you promise to invite your entire family to Newarra for Christmas this year.’

  He sat back. ‘I…’ Last Christmas had been awful. Awful because Lucas had been gone…awful because the family hadn’t had the heart to gather together.

  Or because he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of holding the traditional family Christmas?

  He thought about it. Slowly he nodded. ‘Deal.’

  That night, Liam fed Harry his tin of chocolate custard. Sapphie watched him out of the corner of her eyes whilst she prepared Harry’s bottle. When he’d finished, he rose, dropped the empty tin into the kitchen bin and left the kitchen.

  Without a word. As he’d done every night so far this week.

  Sapphie bit back a sigh. He still hadn’t volunteered to help put Harry down for the night. He still avoided the nursery.

  She couldn’t push him. The final decision rested with him. But if he couldn’t overcome that particular hurdle…

  She glanced at Harry and her chest started to cramp.

  ‘I…uh…’

  She spun around to find Liam standing in the doorway, holding his guitar! She held her breath.

  ‘I…uh…thought…’He started again. ‘If it’s all right with you and Harry, I could play the guitar for him when you put him down for the night?’

  It was more than all right! She did her best to temper her excitement. Liam would not welcome the fuss. ‘Of course it is.’ She kept her voice brusque, as if he made the offer every other day. But she suspected her smile threatened to split her face in two. ‘What do you say, Harry?’

  Harry gurgled and lifted up his arms.

  Sapphie led the way to the nursery, almost preternaturally aware of the man behind her—of his heat and his lean promise. The blood in her veins thickened, making her movements slow and clumsy, making her feel as if she were wading through warm honey.

  They entered the nursery. She wanted to cast a glance behind her, to make sure Liam was okay, but she forced herself forward, forced herself to keep this normal…or at least as normal as she could.

  She settled Harry in his cot with his bottle. Only then did she glance across at Liam. He hovered in the doorway in all his heart-stopping, heat-inducing male glory, but beneath those broad shoulders she sensed his awkwardness. The vision of the queen-sized bed in the adjoining room hit her.

  What would it be like to make love to this man? Excitement, not fear, rushed through her at the thought.

  She gulped and waved him to the sofa. She stayed by the cot, leaning down to coo at Harry. Looking at Harry meant she didn’t have to look at Liam.

  Talking to Harry was easier than talking to Liam too. ‘Uncle Liam is going to play us a song. A quiet song,’ she added quickly.

  ‘“Fernando”?’

  She had to glance up at that. ‘What’s your favourite music, Liam? Maybe you should create your own traditions and history with Harry?’

  He paused. ‘This was one of Lucas’s favourite songs,’ he finally said.

  He played a slow, sweet song, a beautiful song, and an ache as big as the Kimberley opened in Sapphie’s chest. She remained beside Harry’s cot, but her heart followed every lift and dip of the melody that Liam played.

  ‘That was lovely,’ she whispered, when it came to an end.

  The only light in the room came from a lamp by the door, and the play of shadows on Liam’s face gave him an otherworldly look. He could be a devil…or an angel.

  Stop being fanciful, she chided. He was a flesh-and-blood man.

  Hot-blooded and firm-fleshed.

  For heaven’s sake, she had to get her mind off that!

  ‘Come over and sit here with me.’

  She gulped. ‘But Harry’s eyes are still open.’

  ‘Sapphie?’ He held out his hand to her, a devil or an angel sent to tempt her.

  She did as he asked. She told herself she didn’t really want to, but that was a lie. She wanted to d
o a whole lot more than just sit beside him. But she couldn’t afford to be quite that candid.

  Not with the lights so dim.

  Not when such romantic music poured from Liam’s fingertips. She wasn’t ready for that.

  She nodded towards Harry. ‘You think I’m fussing, don’t you?’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Maybe I am. But…but I want to protect him from everything that might hurt him.’

  His fingers closed around hers, squeezed gently. ‘I know. But there’s nothing in this room that can hurt him.’

  She knew what he was saying—that he’d protect Harry with his last breath if he had to, that he’d never hurt him. And she believed him. The silence between them stretched. He still held her hand.

  She gulped and tugged it free. ‘Play another song,’ she whispered, not wanting to give the heat building through her a chance to ignite.

  He did. She didn’t recognise the song, but it soothed her.

  When he’d finished, he rose and went to the cot. Sapphie had to grip her hands together to fight the over-protective urge to join him there. He turned with a finger to his lips, then pointed to the door. She nodded and followed him out.

  Neither one of them so much as glanced at the queen-sized bed as they passed it.

  When they reached the kitchen, Liam snagged Sapphie’s hand and swung her around to face him. ‘Sapphie, thank you.’

  Relief poured through him. Relief that he’d been able to enter the nursery and stay there. Relief that failure and misery hadn’t swamped him. Relief that he could do it after all—be a good and proper father to Harry.

  Her eyes went wide. ‘For what?’

  ‘For not pushing. For making it all as easy for me as you could.’

  ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’

  It suddenly hit him that that was exactly what he’d thought. But Sapphie wasn’t Belinda. She wasn’t like any woman he’d ever met.

  And he owed her so much!

  Gratitude welled through him, mixing with his relief and bubbling up into a heady sense of optimism. Before he could think better of it, he leant forward and kissed her.