by Margaret Way
"I take it he's decided you'd make a good wife?" His handsome face was cynical.
"I don't want it to get around, but I mightn't make a good wife for anyone," she confessed wryly.
He took her hand, leading her into the shade of the acacias, a prowling anger just beneath the surface.
"Most women would consider Philip quite a catch," he observed, his eyes on the distant figure of his cousin. "What are you waiting for, Miss Logan? A man to steal your breath away?"
"The answer to that is yes."
He shocked her by kissing her neck. "A lot of passionate love affairs end badly."
"I know that." She ought to do something. What? She couldn't move away.
"But you want it, don't you? The passion?"
"How long are you going to tempt me?"
"Maybe for as long as it takes." Again the sweep of his lips across her nape.
"You have to stop that, Brock."
"Why? You don't mind."
"I do mind." She felt so languorous she didn't think she could remain standing up.
"Do you think Philip will turn and see us?" Now he brought his arm around her, high up, beneath her breasts.
"It's not Philip who's bothering me. It's you. Your arm. You know how to touch a woman."
"You're lovely." He pulled her back against his body.
"You're not. You're a devil!"
He laughed gently, dipped his raven head and nipped her ear. "Why the hell did I bring Philip? Why the hell did you bring your sister?"
"To stop you." She could feel the warmth of his hand right through her cotton shirt. Soon she'd start sizzling. "You tell me one thing, then you do the opposite."
"You shouldn't smile at me the way you do. You shouldn't make those sharp little comments. You shouldn't smell like a flower. You shouldn't have such soft, beautiful skin."
"Oh, careful, Brock!" She grabbed the arm that encircled her. "They're coming back."
"They'll take a while. Meanwhile I'm going to hold you. I can feel your heart, just under that little pink button."
"You're getting a lot of pleasure out of this, aren't you?" She scarcely knew what was happening to her the level of excitement was so high.
"Aren't you?" he murmured, for a moment believing in simple happiness. Loving a woman. Giving her as much as she took from him.
"I'm like a cat on a hot tin roof, more like it," Shelley said, the tip of her tongue curling over her upper lip, all unaware of it.
"That's interesting," he purred. "All right, Shelley, i1 you're in so much panic and dread Philip might see you...
"Devil!" She glanced back at him, her head resting beneath his shoulder, saw a smile on his mouth.
"When I'm with you, Shelley, all my good intentions waver."
"Tell me the truth, Brock. What do you want of me?"
She searched his eyes, part of her thinking this couldn't possibly be happening.
"What if I said everything? What would you do then?" She felt seared by the taut leap of fire in his silver gaze.
"You kissed me when I was sixteen because it thrilled you. You don't even remember."
"Oddly enough, I do. I think I must have been watching you all night. You wore a green dress."
"I did. I'll had sequins, something glittery all down the front." The most exquisite yearning washed over her. "It was
the most beautiful dress I'd ever owned. I felt quite unlike myself in it. Like a princess. You could have had any girl
you wanted, but you kissed me. It was like a dream or a fairy tale."
"I'd give anything for one of those kisses now," he said, putting frustration into it as they saw Philip and Amanda begin their trek back.
"Your parents haven't gone into Koomera Crossing, have they? They're at the homestead. I admire your courage and determination, Shelley, but I think you're fighting a losing battle with your Outback Adventures scheme. It has a lot going for it, but it seems to me you're desperately under capitalized and under resourced. You must get little or no help."
She flushed, averted her head. "Listen, Brock, it may surprise you, but I can manage."
"For how long?" he countered. "I'm with Phil on this one. You'll wear yourself out and your family will let you. Phil might think you'd make the perfect wife, but he and you would be a disaster. He'd crush all the life out of you. Him and his god awful mother."
"Whom I suspect would rather have me murdered than allow me to marry her son. It's all madness anyway-" She tried to turn away from his powerful magnetism but stood hypnotised.
"And I'm not in the mood for it. I just want you, alone in this quiet, peaceful place. Life is so short and full of heartbreak. You're right about revenge, Shelley. It bums in me. After my mother died I was nearly mad for a time. I hated my grandfather. I hated Frances. I hated myself. Then revenge burned past the grief. Hating people isn't pleasant. I'm not a saint, like you."
"I'm no saint either, Brock, so get me off the pedestal."
"Compared with me you are. I should warn you, Philip is basically weak. He always was. Frances made a mess of him. But he's going to be strong about this one thing. He thinks if he remains steadfast and patient you're going to eventually fall into his arms. Maybe with a slight push from your family you will succumb. Your sister is certainly anxious to get you out of the way."
"Amanda only wants me to marry well," she said loyally.
He couldn't suppress a cynical grunt. "Since when hay your sister looked out for your interests?"
"Please, Brock, don't go on about it." She passed a hand in front of her eyes.
"I don't think you've ever been allowed to forget."
"I'm the one who survived." It took an effort to hold in the anguish. "Emotions are more powerful than reason."
"I can't argue with that!" His striking face was dark anal moody. "And I'm no good for you either-I'm sure you'll agree."
"It's quite simple, Brock. You just need a woman to be kind to you," she said, before she could stop herself.
"You sweet little fool!" He caught hold of her shoulders. "I can have all the women I want."
She could taste the truth of that in her mouth. "So you have a power over women! And some power over me. I can't deny it. Men like you thrive on control and mastery. so I don't delude myself you have any special interest in me."
He relented, drawing one lean finger slowly down her cheek. "You can pretty well forget that. You yourself have power. I'm nowhere near as bitter or as angry when I'm with you. There's nothing much of you-you certainly don't flaunt yourself like your sister-but you have an appeal that she can only struggle for. I'm sure she recognizes that from time to time. It can't make things easy. After I leave here I havee to go home to the viciousness of Frances and the terrihlr arrogance still in my grandfather's eyes."
'I'hry were very close. Face to face. "It'll be over soon. Brock," she promised him. "You'll be able to walk freely.'
''Always with the memory of my mother-because she'll always be with me. As for my adventurer father! God knows whatever happened to him. Where did he go? What did he do? How can a man just go missing? A couple of years ago I ran up a lot of bills trying to trace him. No luck. It's like he vanished off the face of the earth."
"Maybe he doesn't want to be found? Maybe he wiped the memory of his wife and child from his mind? Some people can't cope. If they stay they think they'll explode."
"God, I've looked at it from every angle. He certainly didn't want to take responsibility for us. That broke my mother's heart. Broke her spirit. Set her up for endless humiliations. You'd have thought Kingsley was the rejected suitor rather than her father. Two men who loved her, locked in dreadful conflict."
"You have reasons to be angry, Brock," she said, thinking she might be talking of herself. Fierce wretchedness was etched into his handsome face. "I get angry too. In a sense both of my parents died to me after Sean died. My father takes refuge in alcohol-oh, you'll hear about it, if you haven't already-and my mother is afraid of the world
. She's retreated to her bedroom. But you have something to hold onto. Your mother believed in you. She must have thought it probable her father would try to assuage his guilt by offering you what you seem the only one competent to have-Mulgaree and all that goes with it. She must have known you would eventually have the power."
"That's eerie," he said, fixing his remarkable eyes on her. "They were almost exactly her words. Why do you think I've held on? Why do you think I've come home to what is still a battlefield? This land has great meaning for me. Mulgaree is my home!" His vibrant voice resounded.
"It's pretty awful for Philip, though. He must feel desperately inadequate. Never the grandson Rex Kingsley wanted."
"Hell, you'd think it had worked out with me." Brock stared off towards the lagoon. "Philip would do a lot better in a different environment, away from such a cold and disapproving woman as his mother. As soon as I can I intend to kick Frances out."
Never an aggressive person, Shelley shuddered. "Is Philip too to be turned away?"
"Do you want to save him as well?" He rounded on her.
"His very vulnerability commands my sympathy."
"Well, I spend little time on it." His answer held contempt. "You sweet, tender, compassionate, marvellous woman." Far from being admiring, his voice had a decidedly cutting edge.
"I won't let you make a fool of me, Brock." She looked back at him hard.
"That's what I like about you," he responded. "We could take this further, however, they're nearly here. What a shame Phil couldn't fall in love with your sister. He might take on an entirely different personality. She's so bubbly just to cite one of her outstanding assets-while Phil always acts like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders."
"Have a heart, Brock. It must be in there someplace."
He held up a staying hand. "Stop now, Shelley, or you'll have me in tears."
"Not you. You've got too much steel in you."
"How do you actually know?" he challenged her.
"I'm very perceptive," she said simply. "And why, oh, why is Mandy starting to run in this heat?"
He shrugged, turning to follow her gaze. Amanda, was zig-zagging across the boulder-strewn sand. "I suppose it's because she's so playful."
"No. That's not it," Shelley said with a worried look. "Philip seems to be taking cover."
Brock's scant attention suddenly sharpened. "It's a kangaroo." His keen eyes registered movement through the Irres. "It's coming after them. She's probably got a Joey in the pouch_„
"Oh, hell!" Anxious to protect her sister, who was given Io panic, Shelley took off, far fleeter of foot than Amanda. Female kangaroos were much smaller than the adult males. hut mothers of all species could be dangerous when protecting their young. This kangaroo, a red, must have sought relief from the heat, finding her way down to the cool of the creek to drink and nap.
Why was Mandy screaming? She should know better, but obviously she was frightened. Their father had always taught them not to exhibit fear with wild animals.
Brock, thinking much the same as Shelley, erupted into motion. He took off after Shelley, but the kangaroo, at once aggressive and defending its young, continued to bound after its prime target-Amanda, who was further exciting the wild animal with her shrill squeals.
Shelley reached her sister at last, heart pumping, hair streaming. She brought her crashing to the sand, urgently warning her to be quiet and lie still. It was quite possible the kangaroo would lose interest if they played dead-but Amanda seemed powerless to stop, her whole body shuddering.
Next thing Shelley knew her body was covered by a man's. Even half smothered and near crushed by his weight she knew with every fibre of her being it was Brock. Mind and body were in total agreement. His arms locked around her, forming a protective shield. They were safe. Safe. But he wasn't.
"Shut the hell up," he ordered Amanda fiercely, then took a deep breath. The agitated kangaroo, going much too fast to stop, descended on him with one bone-jarring slam, its animal scent strong, muscles spasming continuously, its fur rank and bristling.
Amanda, on the bottom of the pile, was still making frantic little cries, but though no sound escaped Shelley, pressed hard against her sister, all her muscles were locked tight, her body bathed in sweat. It was Brock who was taking the brunt. A fighting kangaroo, an adult male, could rip a man to shreds, she agonised. An agitated female, with one or more joeys in her pouch, could do a lot of damage with its powerful clawed feet.
Brock felt pain as nails racked him. Cursing to himself, he concentrated on protecting the women. Where the hell was Philip? The kangaroo might take off at the sound of a vehicle or the blare of a horn. But no sound came. Instead the kangaroo squeezed him tight with its flaying front feet but then, finding no resistance, decided to make a break for it. It bounded off, accelerating across the burnished plain, leaving behind it a cloud of fallen leaves and red dust.
Brock gathered himself and stood up. The kangaroo had slashed his right arm and, he realized as he brought his hand around, his back. The fingers of his hand brought away blood. He reached down, pulling Shelley to her feet.
"Okay?" Her elfin face was dewed with sweat but all her concern was for him.
"I'm fine, thanks to you." She was dismayed by the blood.
"I did nothing out of the ordinary. I wasn't going to have you or Amanda harmed." He bent to retrieve Amanda, who came up covered in debris, hot, panting and swearing her head off.
"What were you trying to do? Squash me? Bloody hell, just look at my knees," she moaned, as though she was a prima ballerina about to go on stage.
"Would you rather we'd left you to get mauled?" Brock didn't attempt to suppress his disgust.
Amanda glanced up at him, then shook her head. "Why would a kangaroo want to pick on me? I wasn't doing a thing. They're such birdbrains!"
"That happens with females," Brock said pointedly. "Something in the way you were running, certainly the way you were screaming, alarmed it. It was carrying a Joey. Maybe it had a couple more in the pouch," he explained shortly.
This was one selfish, self-centred young woman. She hadn't breathed a word of thanks to her sister, who had flown to her assistance. If he hadn't been there it would have been Shelley's tender flesh that was ripped.
"Brock, you're hurt," Shelley said, moving closer to inspect the long bleeding slash on his arm. There were more on his back, judging from the blood seeping through the rents in his shirt. "I'm so sorry this had to happen. We all know kangaroos can be aggressive, but that was a one-off. We have to get back to the homestead so I can clean that up. It must be painful?"
"It's stinging; that's about all," he said impassively. "I'm sorry I had to crush you, but there was no other way." He whirled around, his eyes narrowed. "Where the hell is Philip? Up a tree? Do you wonder why I love the guy so much?"
Philip, who had crouched down behind a boulder, rose and came towards them, looking overwhelmed by relief. "Thank God you're all right!" He made a beeline towards Shelley.
"I'm fine, too, thanks for asking," Amanda ranted, her pretty face full of outrage. "You've reached new heights today, Philip. Like the guys on the Titanic-you saved yourself before the women."
"What did you expect me to do?" Philip flushed. "It happened so fast. Brock was closer to you."
"Like hell he was!" Amanda, white as chalk, put out a frantic hand and pushed at Philip blindly. "You're a bloody coward, that's your trouble."
"It takes one to know one." Philip, unprepared and already off balance, staggered back.
Shelley ignored both of them. "I'm truly sorry, Brock. But we can't stand here talking. Have you had a recent tetanus shot?"
He laughed a shade discordantly. "I'm in no danger, Shelley. Don't look so worried. It looks worse than it is. And to set your mind at rest I had a shot about six or seven months ago, after I was involved in a minor incident with a guard dog I was attempting to calm."
"I feel sick," Amanda said, regarding her scraped knees
as though the injuries were life threatening. "I've been coming here all my life and nothing like that has ever happened to me."
"Then you've been lucky," Brock said tersely. "Where you're confronted by wild animals, and they look aggressive, you stand perfectly still. Try not to show fear and never scream. Surely you know that'?"
Amanda regarded him with a mixture of habituall coquetry and contrition. She ran her hands provocatively over her body, pretending to dust herself off. "Easier said than done. Brock. I'm not as well bush-trained as Shelley. Thanks.. Shel." Her blue eyes went to her sister. "I'd have done the same for you."
