The Ultimate Choice

by Emma Darcy

  Danger prickled down Kelly's spine as she remembered Uncle Tom's warning. Maybe she had gone too far. 'Our solicitor is dealing with that. The point is… that parcel of land belongs to Grandpa. He cleared it, fenced it, worked it and built it up. Everyone in Crooked Creek will attest to that. He might not have legal title to it at the moment, but don't think we'll stand by and let you take it away from us. We'll fight you every inch of the way.'

  Justin St John moved. Kelly instinctively stepped back, then berated herself for cowardice. He might be strong and threatening, but she had right on her side and she wasn't going to budge until he had heard her out. She placed her hands on her hips in a belligerent pose.

  He eased his legs over the edge of the table and sat up, grimacing at the pain it cost him to do so. There was a tired sickness in the eyes that swept up to hers again, but Kelly stubbornly ignored the stab of sympathy she felt.

  'Miss Hanrahan…' His mouth took on an ironic twist. 'You're quite exceptionally beautiful when you're angry.'

  She flushed with indignation. 'Don't think you can soft-soap me!'

  'No. Perhaps not.' He gave a thin smile. 'You have the advantage over me. Could you bring yourself to oblige me with your first name?'

  'Kelly. Kelly Hanrahan,' she answered proudly.

  'Very Irish.'

  Kelly instantly bridled at the comment. 'Yes!' she snapped, remembering his family history from the newspaper article. A St John had been a marine captain in the First Fleet in 1788. Eventually he had been granted land in the new colony. The St Johns of this world had always had it far too easy. It infuriated her further that this St John thought he could lord it over her.

  'We came out here during the potato famine of 1848, when the English left us to starve in our millions. They don't have much of a record of treating the Irish fairly, do they?' she taunted.

  'That was a long time ago.'

  'You're still inflicting pain!'

  He eyed her consideringly. 'It would seem my solicitor has been over-zealous in carrying out my orders,' he said with measured deliberation. 'I told him I didn't want tenants and to handle the legal problems involved, and to buy out all the leases. I did not realise, nor was I told, the circumstances pertaining to this matter. I'll order a report on the situation tomorrow. Does that satisfy you?'

  'That you order a report?' Kelly whipped back at him scathingly. 'Of course I'm not satisfied! You're killing my grandfather, and you want to fob me off with a promise to look into it?' She looked at him with utter contempt. 'You wealthy people are totally unscrupulous!'

  'Why should I trust your word?' he countered, his eyes hardening into steely cynicism. His gaze flicked down to her feet and up again with deliberate provocation. 'I'm too old to be easily taken in by a beautiful face and a delectable body. I know no more about you than what you've told me. Why should I believe you? What if you're just acting this out?'

  'Oh! Oh…' Momentarily robbed of speech, Kelly stamped her foot. Then, absolutely steaming with outrage, she turned her back on him and stomped over to the window. She stared blindly out at the croquet lawn, tears of frustration burning her eyes.

  She should have known it was no use speaking to him. Uncle Tom had told her.

  'Kelly…' The unexpectedly soft intonation of her name sent a queer little shiver down her spine. 'If what you say is true, a little time for me to investigate is not unreasonable.'

  She clenched her hands and whirled on him. 'If you were reasonable, you would have investigated in the first place, instead of…' To her intense mortification, tears rushed into her eyes. 'My grandfather doesn't have a lot of time!' she stormed over the lump in her throat. 'He's eighty-four years old and he doesn't have the… the will to keep going any more. That's what you've done to him with your damnable… damnable…'

  She took a deep breath to steady her quivering lips, and smeared the tears away with a quick swipe of her hand, no longer caring what Justin St John thought of her. She was determined to speak out even if it was futile.

  'It was terrible when Henry Lloyd died. He and Grandpa had been such close friends all their lives. They'd shared each other's joys and griefs all these years. And Henry Lloyd always wagered that Grandpa would die first, that he'd outlive him by a decade or two…'

  Her voice hardened into bitter accusation. 'Then you come and take the heart out of him. What was left of it. One killing blow after another. The shock of having his home threatened on top of the grief of losing Henry. The stress of having to go to the solicitors. Henry Lloyd would turn in his grave if he knew. You're a no-good…' She was lost for words to describe him.

  And he wasn't listening, anyway. He seemed to be staring straight through, her. There was a frozen look about his face, as if he had completely withdrawn to another time and place.

  Hopelessness dampened the rebellious fire that had driven her so far. It had all been a waste of time and energy coming here. She forced herself to move back to the table which held her equipment. There was nothing she could do but pack up and go.

  'What is your grandfather's name? His full name?'

  'What does it matter?' she muttered resentfully, ignoring him as she put the oil and tissues back in her bag.

  There was a slight rustle of cloth as he pushed himself off the table. A hand closed around her arm and swung her around to face him. The impact of him-so near, so threateningly male in his semi- nakedness-tripped her heart and caught the breath in her throat.

  'Tell me!' he commanded, taking hold of her other arm in an imprisoning and punishing grip.

  Her pulse leapt in wild agitation, but a surge of defiance forced her to meet his eyes in angry challenge. Yet something in their expression-a pained, haunted look-startled her into answering him.

  'It's Michael. Michael O'Reilly.' Her voice came out husky, strange to her own ears.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. He withdrew one hand from her to rub at his eyelids with finger and thumb. 'I'm sorry,' he said on a note of deep regret. 'I didn't think… it's so long ago…'

  The last words were expelled on a ragged sigh, and Kelly didn't know what to make of them. Nor did she think to ask. The play of emotion on Justin St John's face held her mesmerised. She had judged him as unfeeling, yet she found herself caught up in the pain that emanated from him.

  He dropped his hand to her shoulder as his eyes opened, and they were the washed grey of a bleak winter, shadowed by dark elements that instantly encompassed her and struck a quivering uncertainty in her heart. His fingers squeezed a light reassurance, but she didn't feel reassured. He was a stranger to her, yet somehow… they were not the hands of a stranger.

  'I am sorry to have caused you both so much distress,' he said in obviously sincere apology. 'I was…preoccupied with other things and neglected to check on what was happening.' He grimaced, then took a deep breath. 'Tell your grandfather… assure him that I will not contest his ownership of the portion of Marian Park that he has always occupied. I will instruct my solicitor to give him legal title to it so that no question about possession will ever arise again. However; should either he or you ever wish to sell, I would like first option to buy.'

  She stared at him blankly, not believing the words he had said, looking for the trick, looking for the lie.

  His mouth tilted. 'Is that enough? What more can I do?'

  'It's unbelievable,' she whispered, bewildered by his about-face. 'Do you know my grandfather?'

  'No. Not personally. A long time ago I had a connection with the Lloyd family. What you said about the relationship between your two families stirred a recollection. And I'd forgotten that your grandfather's name is not necessarily your own. I apologise again… for doubting you.'

  His expression changed to one of whimsical tenderness. A glow of warmth dispersed the shadows in his eyes, and the harsh lines of his face smoothed and took on a boyish charm. 'You obviously love him very dearly.'

  Again Kelly found herself oddly breathless. A feeling of pleasure tingled th
rough her veins and her heart was pumping with extraordinary vigour. 'Yes,' she said in that husky voice that didn't seem to belong to her. 'My parents died when I was two years old, and Grandpa brought me up.'

  'I see,' he murmured.

  The hand on her shoulder slid to the curve of her neck and slowly curled around it. His thumb brushed down her jawline in a tingling caress. Kelly swallowed to counteract a sudden dryness in her throat. It was madness-absolute madness to think what she was thinking: he was nearly twice her age-she had hated him only a few minutes ago- and whatever was throbbing between them couldn't be what she thought it was.

  A sense of shifting… to a complete understanding. That was what it had to be. A relaxation from all the emotion spent. A new appreciation of each other.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth.

  Her lips actually parted in anticipation.

  Her heart thundered.

  His head started to bend.

  Madness, her mind screamed.

  She closed her eyes tight and willed her mouth to speak. 'Please let me go.'

  The words were hardly more than a whisper.

  She heard his sharp intake of breath. The powerful link-whatever it was that had bound them together in those few electric seconds-was broken even before he withdrew his physical hold on her. She was aware of a sharp, bereft feeling in herself. Her eyes flicked open in the quest for understanding, but she caught only a fleeting glimpse of tearing conflict on his face before he turned away from her.

  'I'll call Roy to come and carry your equipment out for you,' he said in curt dismissal, and walked stiffly to the table, where he picked up a telephone and punched a number on the house intercom.

  Kelly suffered a rush of emotions that kept her tongue-tied as he spoke to his secretary. Embarrassment that she might have misread his intentions was uppermost. Her own reaction to him didn't bear thinking about. Shame squirmed through her. She had been so wrong about him. He was being more than fair with Grandpa. And she had said such dreadful things…

  He replaced the telephone and threw her a tight, bleak look. 'He'll be right down. If you'll excuse me…'

  'Wait!' she cried as he stepped towards the bathroom.

  She sensed his reluctance, but he turned to face her. All the harsh lines were back-no boyish charm now. His expression was one of cold, tight reserve, and the tension emanating from him almost strangled her vocal cords.

  'I'm sorry for having thought so badly of you,' she croaked.

  'That's immaterial now, Miss Hanrahan. I will have the title papers delivered to your grandfather. Please don't come back here again.'

  'But…' His hardline rejection of any more personal communication between them was shocking and surprisingly hurtful. 'You haven't let me thank you,' she finished limply.

  'I don't need to be thanked for doing what should have been done in the first place.'

  Still she struggled against his edict, driven by a tumult of feelings that she didn't stop to define. 'The physiotherapy…I could come back tomorrow and…'

  'No! I don't want you here!' he said savagely, and the flicker of revulsion on his face left her with no argument. It was all too plain that he didn't want her anywhere near him.

  And she knew then… knew that he had wanted to kiss her, and was appalled at himself for having felt such a desire. He would rather suffer pain than be confronted with such a desire again.

  And hadn't she herself known it was madness? Even worse madness to wish it had happened! Where could it possibly lead…to get mixed up with him?

  A knock on the bedroom door broke the tension between them. Roy Farley entered and Justin St John waved him towards the equipment. 'We're finished,' he said, then limped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him without a backward glance.

  Roy Farley handed Kelly a cheque for her professional services. It felt wrong to take it, but she shrank from facing the questions her refusal would inevitably raise, and she had given Justin St John some treatment. Nevertheless, guilt added more entanglement to her confused emotions as she packed up to leave.

  Roy Farley carried the interferential out to the car. Kelly thanked him distractedly and climbed in behind the wheel. It wasn't until she was driving away that she realised she had said nothing about the horses.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kelly frowned over the unresolved problem, then shrugged it aside. She would tackle Justin St John about the horses another time. She had saved Grandpa from having to fight eviction. His land and home were now secured. That was the important thing! What Justin St John felt about her and what she felt about him… even the horses…they were pale considerations against what had been achieved.

  Nevertheless, it was difficult to block out the mixture of emotions that Justin St John had evoked in her. He was certainly different from what she had expected. Different and… strangely compelling. She felt a distinct sense of loss at the way their meeting had ended.

  But the loss was quickly counterbalanced by the surge of well-being she felt as she drove out of the pine forest and headed down the road that cut through the grazing pastures of Marian Park. This place was so much a part of her life that Kelly couldn't imagine belonging anywhere else. And now she never had to leave it. She drank in the scene around her with a heady sense of exhilaration.

  The merino sheep that dotted the fields were the best in the world for their wool; descended from Saxony and Silesian strains that could be traced back to the Escurial flocks of the Spanish kings, and the Rambouillets of Louis the Sixteenth, but now bred into a unique strain that was unequalled outside of Australia.

  The whole national flock-over a hundred million sheep-had their genetic make-up determined by just twenty-one parent studs, of which Marian Park was undoubtedly the best-in Kelly's opinion. After all, how could it be less than the best when it could boast ownership of Octavian Augustus the Fourth, the cream of the industry's elite rams? Henry Lloyd had been offered a quarter of a million dollars for him, but no way would Henry have ever countenanced Octavian Augustus the Fourth's leaving Marian Park.

  This was home to the prize ram. Just as it was home to her and Grandpa, even if that claim could only be made in a subsidiary sense. To be part of this property in any way at all was a matter of intense pride. Marian Park was real quality-one of the great stud sheep showplaces in the world-on a par with Haddon Rig and Falkiner's.

  Of course, Grandpa's flock wasn't in the same class and was never meant to be. He was in the business of breeding fat lambs for eating. Merinos crossed with Border Leicesters or Romney Marshes were good producers. Sometimes he cross-bred with Corriedales because they combined fine mutton with a high class of wool. They all had their place in the sheep industry. And, of course, Marian Park always received the best from him.

  That was how it had always been. And how it would now continue to be. The O'Reillys and Hanrahans kept their agreements.

  Kelly smiled as their house came into view-their home for as long as they wanted it to be. It was nothing grand like the Lloyd mansion, but it was a good solid house in the Australian colonial style: white-painted weather-board, verandas all around, and a green corrugated iron roof with the bull-nosed eaves that were becoming fashionable again.

  Grandpa would never have to leave it now, and Kelly felt a thrill of triumph at what she had achieved.

  She zoomed through the gateway and didn't bother to drive down to the shed to put her car away. That could wait until later. She was eager to tell Grandpa the good news.

  She pulled up beside Judge Moffat's car, raced up the front steps and burst into the kitchen where the two old men were still sitting over their dinner. 'Guess what I've done?' she cried, beaming her exhilaration at them.

  Both men appeared too sunk in gloom to lift anything but glum faces to her. Although Kelly would have relished drawing out the news for its maximum impact, the need to inject some cheerful optimism had top priority. She related her confrontation with Justin St John and its happy outcome in as few
words as possible, and had the pleasure of seeing ten years lift from her grandfather's face.

  His surprise and relief gradually settled into a righteous satisfaction. His eyes sparked with new life, his sunken cheeks puffed out, his jawline firmed, and his shoulders lifted. He was no longer the impressive figure of a man he had once been, he had grown thin and wiry with age, and was almost bald, but the old strength of character rose out of the lines in his face and Kelly silently rejoiced in his rejuvenation.

  'At least he's seen one of his mistakes!' Michael O'Reilly declared with ringing satisfaction.

  'He actually said he would hand the title deeds over?' Judge Moffat questioned sharply, wary of accepting what Kelly had told them at face value.

  He was a big man in his late sixties, florid of face and with a distinguished thatch of snow-white hair. His light blue eyes narrowed in speculative thought at Kelly's insistence that Justin St John had given her his solemn assurance.

  'Well, I'd have to mark that in his favour-if he carries through on it-but I wouldn't be counting your chickens before they hatch, Michael,' he advised her (grandfather heavily. 'Not after what I heard from Tom Kennedy down at the courthouse this afternoon. Justin St John is very slippery. In my experience, a man like that cannot be trusted.'

  'What did Uncle Tom say?' Kelly asked, confident in her own mind that Justin St John would keep his word.

  'It's about the sheep,' her grandfather answered with a disapproving frown. 'The most terrible thing, Kelly! He's selling us out. He's selling the country out. He's selling everybody out.'

  'A traitor! We've got to find a way to stop him,' the judge rumbled. 'If we don't, we're all going to lose a lot of money. The Russians won't even want to look at my rams, let alone buy them. He's a traitor, all right. A traitor to everyone!'

  'What's going on? What's he done?' Kelly demanded impatiently, finding the accusation distinctly unpalatable.

  Judge Moffat huffed. 'You know the government will only allow five hundred rams to be exported overseas each year…'

  'Yes, of course. It's an enormous concession. Our wool per sheep is almost double the world average. Why should we give that advantage away?'