Australian Bachelors, Sassy Brides

by Margaret Way

  “As you say, here I am.” Nyree gave Brant’s woman a sunny smile. “And I’m here to stay.”

  “Surely not?” Lana Bennett’s expression said, Oh, my God! “A young girl like you? You couldn’t possibly live at that derelict farmhouse. Certainly not by yourself.”

  “Why not?” Nyree kept a charming smile in place. “I’m looking on this as a great adventure. I intend to do the farmhouse up. And I’m going to get myself two big guard dogs,” she confided. “Rottweilers, maybe. Or German Shepherds—Dobermans, that kind of thing. Good company.”

  “She’s joking, isn’t she?” Lana, who appeared to be breathing a little harder, turned to Brant for confirmation.

  “Don’t ask him,” Nyree insisted. “His name is Hollister.”

  Lana’s blue eyes turned to ice. “I beg your pardon?”

  “He may be the most splendid person in the world to you, Ms Bennett, but we both know he wants the farm. My farm.”

  “And you think trying to make a home for yourself out there is better?” Lana asked incredulously, a disapproving frown in position.

  “You don’t have to answer that, Nyree,” Brant broke in smoothly. “Why don’t you sit down?” He pulled out a chair for her. It was a wonder he didn’t press her into it. “We won’t keep you now, Lana.” He turned back to his friend. “You told me you had many things to do. So, see you tonight.” He bent his dark head to brush the cheek she proffered.

  A token kiss, Nyree decided, watching. Just an air peck, really. Was she his girlfriend? Lana Bennett definitely thought so. And they were meeting up that night!

  “Nice to meet you,” Nyree piped up from her chair, playing the good just-out-of schoolgirl role he seemed determined to cast her in.

  “If you need any help, call me,” Lana Bennett told her crisply. “Brant will give you my phone number.”

  “Thank you so much,” Nyree responded, knowing she wasn’t going to be calling Ms Bennett any time soon.

  “Your girlfriend doesn’t like me,” Nyree leaned across the table to whisper.

  “What’s not to like?” he answered nonchalantly. “Lana is a close friend. I’ve known her all my life. She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “But you’re close? You can tell me how close. I won’t tell anyone else.”

  “What are you going to have?” He ignored her question, picking up the menu. “The seafood is local. Always superb.”

  “Let’s talk about the paintings,” she said, still whispering. So many people had smiled and waved to him. He was the North’s Crown Prince. “Where’s Dolly?”

  “She hasn’t come in yet,” he said. “Why don’t you let me handle this for you?”

  “You don’t think I can handle it myself?”

  “You should watch that temper of yours,” he told her, busy checking the menu.

  “I didn’t know I had one until I met you.”

  “Which is only today.” His eyes glittered, mocking.

  She sat back in wonderment. “You’re right! Now, isn’t that strange?” She realised she was behaving as though he had always been in her life. So, for that matter, was he.

  “Strange indeed,” he agreed, pinning her startled gaze. He wasn’t about to tell her he had been drawn to her at first sight. “Now, what about some seared scallops in the white truffle sauce to start. Then I recommend the barramundi. Can’t do better. Or maybe the Red Emperor. Both superb reef fish.”

  “Don’t encourage me unless you’re paying,” she said, picking up her own menu. “I’m not some little cousin from Brisbane.”

  “You might as well be. I’m so enjoying your company.” He gave her a lazy smile, though she swore she saw something flare at the back of those turquoise eyes.

  “You don’t have to pretend you like me,” she warned.

  “Why should I pretend?”

  A waitress zoomed in on them, an infatuated smile on her pretty face. And why not? “I’m awake to your wicked wiles. I know what you’re playing at.”

  “Then you know a damned sight more than I do,” he returned bluntly.

  They had finished a delicious meal and were drinking coffee—amazingly good—when…enter a gypsy woman! A bodacious woman. She really should have been heralded by a ripple of flamenco music, Nyree thought. She was maybe on the wrong side of sixty, but she was amazingly colourful, with real presence. A silk scarf was arranged gypsy fashion over her forehead and tied back over a plethora of dyed ebony waves and curls. Big gold hoops swung from her ears. Real gold, judging from their lustre. She wore a scarlet blouse tucked into a skirt printed with brilliant tropical flowers gone wild. Lots of baubles that picked up the various colours were draped over her exuberant chest, tumbling into her still remarkable cleavage.

  Maybe that was how she came by her name, Nyree thought, dazzled by the theatrical entrance. It couldn’t be anyone else but Dolly—her late great-uncle’s long-term lover. What a woman! She had swept in like the Queen of the Gypsies, and she was heading directly for them. Brant stood up as she sailed majestically towards their table.

  “Brant, my darling, how lovely to see you!” The voice was a lush contralto. The words were more sung than spoken. She planted a kiss fair and square on his handsome mouth. “And this beautiful little lady is…?” Black kohl-enhanced eyes surveyed Nyree with extreme interest. “Isn’t she a little young?” She gave Brant a hard nudge in the ribs, laughing with real enjoyment.

  When she finds out she’ll tell you to go away. Go on. Beat it!

  “A little surprise in store for you, Dolly,” Brant said, looking very much as if he wanted to laugh right back. “This is Nyree Allcott—Howard’s great-niece.”

  Dolly gaped at him as if he’d gone crazy, then back at Nyree. “It can’t be.”

  Nyree came respectfully to her feet. “It is, Ms—” God, she’d nearly said Parton. “Great-Uncle Howard left me the farm. He left me his paintings too. I see you’ve very kindly looked after them for me by hanging them on your walls. Thank you so much.”

  That astute but diplomatic little speech gave Dolly no cheer. Her attitude turned confrontational. She swung her head Brant’s way, setting the gold hoops in motion. He pulled out a chair for her. “I hung them on the wall, my dear,” Dolly announced when she was settled, “because they’re mine. Howard owed me.”

  C’mon!

  Brant eyed her. “Unfortunately, Dolly, he didn’t put them in your name before he died. You’ve only just hung them up, surely? They weren’t there a fortnight ago, when I was last in.”

  Nyree, with her tender heart, interrupted. “You wanted the room to look beautiful, didn’t you, Ms Dryer?” Miraculously she dredged up the name. “I had no idea he was such a wonderful artist.”

  Dolly covered eyes black as night with such a heavily be-ringed hand Nyree started to count them. “He could have been a big name!” she burst out in an operatic lament. “He was in so much pain. His only way of letting it out was his painting. Poor Howie!”

  Nyree quickly shifted to the adjoining chair. “You loved him, didn’t you?” she said very gently, taking Dolly’s hand.

  Dolly lifted her head, her be-ringed fingers curling around and cutting into Nyree’s with long painted nails. “You’re a nice child,” she crooned. “I did love Howard. But he didn’t love me. He didn’t love anyone. It wasn’t that he was cruel. He wasn’t. Some woman had stolen his heart. Left him bereaved and without one. Maybe someone who looked like you?” Black brows knotted, she stared intently into Nyree’s face. “You have the sort of face a man never forgets. The sort to launch a thousand ships. Maybe your grandmother?” Dolly’s hand tightened, as though she could wring the answer out of her.

  “Not my grandmother, Dolly,” Nyree said, vaguely shocked. “Take my word for it. Not even my grandad loved her.”

  “But you’ve got two grandmothers, child,” Dolly persisted. It was as if at long last she had set foot on a hitherto undiscovered track.

  “Please—I didn’t know the other one, Dolly,”
Nyree said, looking anxiously to Brant for support. Slowly she managed to remove her crushed hand.

  “How can that be?” Dolly demanded, rolling her kohl-lined eyes to the ceiling.

  Brant intervened. “Nyree hasn’t had an easy life, Dolly,” he said. “She lost her parents not all that many years ago. I’m sure when you two get to know one another she’ll tell you more. But for now, what about the paintings? They are Nyree’s. Howie left them to her. It’s all legal. And Nyree loves paintings.”

  “Why wouldn’t she? Look at her. She’s a Donatello angel!” Dolly cried, throwing up her hands.

  “I would love to give you one, Dolly.” Nyree hit on a solution, lured in by this strange, bold woman. “The one you love best. Or two, if you can’t decide between one and the other.”

  Knowing Dolly, a tough-nosed businesswoman, Brant had been expecting the mother of all histrionic displays. Instead young Nyree appeared to be reeling her in.

  Dolly scrunched up eyes that were working sure and fast. “Do you think I could have the big canvas on the back wall?” she asked, reaching for Nyree’s hand. “I would miss it dreadfully if you took it away. Howard painted it during our best year together.”

  Nyree flashed a glance at Brant. His striking face gave nothing away. No help there. “You mean the big island landscape between the silver leaf sconces?”

  Dolly nodded. “I was lying naked beside him when he painted it,” she lied. “Of course I was in better shape then.”

  Brant laughed. He couldn’t help himself. To counteract that, Nyree answered Dolly kindly. “Of course you may have it, Dolly. I may call you Dolly?”

  “It’s really Delilah,” Dolly confided, lying yet again. She smiled, showing one gold-capped tooth. “I was very beautiful when I was young. I stopped being Delilah around forty-five, when I started to lose the first flush of youth. Sure enough Howie took it upon himself to rename me Dolly. So Dolly I became.” Her black eyes made a full circuit of the dining room. “If you could find it in your kind sensitive heart—one so young—I’d also like the abstract—Pearl in the Ocean.”

  Now Brant chose his moment to speak up. Pearl in the Ocean was arguably Howard Allcott’s finest abstract work. “I’m sorry, Dolly, but the abstract spoke to Nyree the minute we walked in. Didn’t it, Nyree?” He slanted a speaking glance at her, daring her to deny it.

  He was spot-on. “I really love it, Dolly,” Nyree said, enormously grateful Dolly hadn’t settled on it as her first choice. “Can you not choose another?”

  “I believe Dolly will be very happy with the Orchid Island landscape,” Brant said, leaning back comfortably in his rattan chair.

  Even Nyree could see that his brilliant turquoise eyes said, And that’s all you’re going to get!

  Brant knew, if Nyree didn’t, that Dolly had amassed quite a few of Howie’s paintings over the years, without really asking. She wasn’t about to take the pick of them from Howie’s young heiress.

  Day one and he had squared up perfectly as Ms Nyree Allcott’s protector. Clearly her youth and inexperience had got to him. He didn’t want to think about her other kind of impact on him. This tremendous urge to touch. Hell, he wasn’t a vulnerable man. He managed his emotions extremely well. But this young woman’s sexual aura, innocent or not, was both dizzying and disarming. Add to that, he really liked her. It was a whole combination of things he had never experienced before.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BACK on the leaf-canopied street, with the tropical sun blazing down on them and troops of tourists jamming the sidewalks, he walked towards a tall timber hat stand that had been strategically placed outside a gift shop. The stand was decorated with an amazing display of straw hats, caps and hand-printed scarves—clearly for the tourists to buy.

  “Come along. Come along,” he said, as Nyree dawdled. “You’ll be needing one of these.”

  “Yes, Cousin Brant.” She matched her tone to a goofy expression.

  He laughed, then after a moment’s hesitation picked one out. “Try this on.”

  “You’ve got good taste,” she said. She would have picked that one herself.

  “Of course I have. Brilliant taste. Here—take it.”

  “I do have hats, you know.” She took the ultra-wide-brimmed straw hat, soft and floppy, from him, twirling it with pleasure. One side was weighed down with silk hibiscus in burnished shades of yellow and orange. She knew it would suit her and her colouring.

  “I’m sure you could do with another one,” he said. “Put it on.”

  “You know what? You’re a bully.” She settled the enormously flattering straw hat on her head, then gave him a smile. “How do I look?” She tipped her head this way and that, an unconscious coquette.

  A man could go to hell and back for a smile like that, he thought, experiencing a solid jab to the heart. It was the first real smile she had given him.

  “Brant?” she said uncertainly. He had such a strange expression his face.

  “That’s fine. You’ll do,” he said briskly. “Wait here while I pay for it.”

  “Don’t you dare!” She began to rummage in her tote.

  “Pay me later,” he said, moving away from her into the shop.

  They’d turned in to Coral Fields Estate. Obviously an estate at the very top end of the market. And why not? Spectacular luxury homes sat facing a sea of incredible blue, the water glittering crystal-clear in the shallows so one could see the white sand.

  “To think people like me don’t have to pay a penny to enjoy such a glorious view!” she exclaimed, staring out enraptured as the Mercedes cruised the long upward drive. “Do you have a beach?” Excitedly she turned her head.

  Everything about her was getting to him. They weren’t easing into some kind of friendship. They had made an instant powerful connection. Mysterious were the ways of a man with a woman.

  “Of course we have a beach—very private. You’ll love it. It’s a good thing you have olive skin. Not that you’ll be able to go without sunblock at any time.”

  “You’re going to make a great hands-on dad,” she said, going back to staring out. “No need to tell me which house is yours.”

  “They’re all mine, in a way,” he said casually. “I designed the lot of them. I’m an architect.”

  “So you are!” She applauded him. “And an engineer. I’m very impressed.”

  “As you should be. It took infinite hours of hard work, study and work experience from the bottom up. I needed to have an overall view of operations.”

  “Well, I have to say you look like you have limitless reserves of energy,” she told him sweetly, peering ahead. “That’s your place right at the top, isn’t it?”

  A splendid house stood on a promontory between two pristine secluded bays. She could see the shimmering white sand, fringed with magnificent tree ferns, and coconut palms growing at extraordinary angles, a host of cabbage tree palms.

  “It looks enormous! Napoleon and his army could lose themselves there.”

  “Napoleon who?” he joked. “The house was built with many functions in mind. My grandmother lives with us. She has what is virtually her own house. As do I. As does my dad—when he’s home. We’re together but apart. If you know what I mean. It’s the way we all like it. We’re a very close-knit family, but Dad and I don’t need to have Alena right under our nose.”

  “Just like me?” she scoffed cheekily. “Your much-loved grandmother must be in her seventies.” How lucky, lucky, lucky he was to have one! “Would she have known Great-Uncle Howard?” She swung her caramel head, nursing her new hat in her lap as if it were precious.

  “Alena knows everyone,” he responded without expression. “She knew Howard Allcott quite well. He painted her portrait.”

  “Wh-a-t?” That piece of information floored her.

  “And did a wonderful job of it,” he said, ignoring her little screech. “My grandfather commissioned it. Alena was at the height of her beauty.”

  “I don’t believe this,”
she said with immense disgust. “Why didn’t you tell me before? There’s a connection.”

  “So there is,” he said flatly.

  It was more like a great enclave than a house, Nyree thought, studying the front façade. It appeared as more a series of sculptural interlocking villas than one house, each villa standing three storeys high, each complementing the other marvellously. Nyree was speechless. She had never seen anything like it. No wonder he thought the farmhouse was only fit to be knocked down.

  “I’ve used a reinforced concrete construction everywhere,” he said, amused by her ever-changing expressions. “The house will withstand the fiercest cyclone.”

  “I bet!” Instantly her brain conjured up a great hurricane of unbridled ferocity, the storm lashing the sea at the foot of the great bulwark of a house to a fury. “You must be very proud of it,” she said in an awed voice. “You’re so clever!”

  “Now, there’s a surprise! Something about me you like.”

  She flushed. “I admire your gifts. I didn’t say I liked you personally. No, wait. That’s very ungracious. I do appreciate what you’re doing.”

  “Which is?”

  “Why, taking me in, of course. Just a night or two—until we can get people in to tidy up the farm,” she added hastily. “This is an extraordinary place. It suits you. Just like the farm suits me. It’s mine!”

  “It’s really scheduled for demolition.”

  “No way!” She shook her head. “It’s like I said. Having a place of my own means a great deal to me.”

  “It might come as a shock to you, but I do understand. Now, come inside.”

  He stretched out a hand. Excitement started up again. Wonder of wonders, she gave herself up to it. Life, she was finding, had become a real adventure.

  “Where are you going to put me?” she asked as they walked through massive double doors giving on to a marble-floored space large enough to hold a ball. “I’m sure your broom closet is bigger than the farmhouse.”

  “What broom closet?” he said. “We have guest suites. People are always staying with us. Many overseas visitors, friends, business associates. I have a suite in mind for you.”