‘You, Will. I just wanted you.’
But Prue could never have him because he was always somewhere else. In the memories of the past where another woman stood at his side. A time when his sister was still alive.
When he had lifted Bella from the burgan shrub that morning, the smell of her hair reached up to tantalise and his knees had nearly gone from under him. All he wanted to do was hold onto this woman and not let go. The scent of her body was the same as he remembered – fresh spring roses with a touch of earthy musk.
Will shook himself in the saddle, startling Wizard into missing a pace. They stumbled, Will riding it out easily, going with his mount. He gently stroked Wizard’s neck as he regained his balance and rhythm. ‘Easy boy, easy fella. Keep it going, old mate. We’re nearly there.’
When he finally found them, at the end of the trail in the sunlit open grassland of Hugh’s Plain, it wasn’t just his horse that was breathing hard.
‘What the fuck are you doing?!’ his voice ground out as he took in what was before his eyes.
She lay in the grass, topless. A raspberry-pink bustier was tossed negligently to the side.
Her magnificent breasts were bared in all their voluptuous glory to the dying rays of the sun. Her skirt was rucked up to her map of Tassie as she rested, soaking up the last of the afternoon’s heat.
‘I was hot,’ Bella said, eyes closed, lying warm, moist and contented as she wriggled sensually in the sun.
Will was speechless.
He took in her body, laid out in the grass like in his dreams; watched as those breasts moved fluidly when she wiggled her bum slowly through the feathery grass. He was shocked at his thoughts as his mind moved from fear and rage to something more raw and primitive. His eyes moved lingeringly, bewitched by her sensual movements on the ground. If Bella had been watching she would have been fascinated as his brittle-toffee eyes seemed to melt, as the ruggedly handsome face seemed to darken, and a hot thrumming madness replaced the fear in his blood.
His body moved of its own accord.
He slid from his horse silently to stand over the woman who seemed intent on making his life a living hell. His gaze taking in what he had loved and lost eight years before. His conscience wrestled between what was right and wrong, while the image in front of him remained so surreal, on this remote plain deep in the mountains where wild brumbies played – far, far away from the real world.
He watched as the hot sun kissed her body, reliving tastes of the sweetness that had been theirs so long ago. Enticing sweetness he had glimpsed, smelled and touched again that morning.
He watched as she wiggled, settling her bum into a better position among the clefts of flattened grass.
Her eyes were closed. Her legs flung wide.
Without a word he kicked at his boots until they disappeared into the thick native grass smothering the open plain, then undid his belt buckle and slowly slid the fly down on his pants.
He lay down to gently mount the woman who’d haunted his night sleep for so long.
Chapter 27
‘You’re still good in the sack, cowgirl.’
The deep voice curled lazily around her ears, as she lay with her eyes closed, feeling warm and completely sated. The words brought Bella back to earth with a thud. Is that all he thought this was? A good roll in the hay? What on earth was she doing, making love to Will, after all this time, while she was engaged to another man?
Bella abruptly sat up, reached for her scattered clothes and hurriedly started to pull them back on.
‘Hey! Not so fast.’
A hand came up from behind to cup a breast. Her sensitive nipples hardened instantly at his touch. Inwardly she cursed her traitorous body.
‘I’ve got a UHF radio here, I’ll let them all know I’ve found you and we’ll be back in a while. In the meantime,’ Will’s voice turned sensuous, ‘lie down here and relax.’ His other arm reached out to haul her down into the grass.
Bella shrugged it off and wrapped her bustier back around her chest, dislodging the hand still caressing her breast. ‘We have to get back now. Everyone will be wondering . . .’ Her voice was sharp, almost biting.
Will slowly sat up, a puzzled look on his face. ‘I said I’d let them know. What’s up, Hells Bells?’
‘What’s up? What’s up? I’ll tell you what’s UP! I’m engaged, for heaven’s sake. I shouldn’t be doing this!’ Bella struggled to do up the bustier, which wasn’t cooperating. ‘Oh, crap!’
‘Here, let me help. If you’re so hell-bent on leaving.’
A hand came up again.
‘No!’ she cried. ‘Just leave me.’ She pushed the hand away, then stopped and took a deep breath. ‘I can get it on my own.’ She sighed, willing herself to calm down, before adding as an afterthought, ‘Thanks.’ It wasn’t all his fault, she reminded herself. As her mother once told her, ‘It takes two to tango.’ And boy, did they tango. She shook her head trying not to imagine what he must have thought of her lying in the grass so wanton and shameless, waiting for him. He was a man with needs. And that was all it was, by the sound of it: a need, an itch to be scratched, a thanks-for-the-good-times roll in the hay.
Why was she reacting like this? Will wondered. It had been so beautiful, amazing – and she was making a bolt for it. He had thought she was waiting for him, had wanted him to make love to her. Now here she was acting like his touch was repulsive. What did she think he was? A country plaything to be tossed aside after the deed was done, so she could return to her rich life and her fiancé? All he’d said was she was still good in the sack. He’d just been stirring, saying something the old Bella would have laughed at.
He lay and watched the woman he’d just made love to struggle back into her clothes with desperate intensity. He still cared deeply for her. His sister’s death, time, Prue – nothing had altered that.
But in the afterglow of lovemaking he’d forgotten that this Bella was different. She wasn’t the same girl he’d known eight years ago. This was a new creature. A woman who’d moved on to bigger and better things. Someone who, he was now realising, had a chip the size of a woolley butt log on her shoulder, who probably wouldn’t recognise a joke if it kicked her up the bum.
‘Bella, I didn’t mean—’
‘I know, Will, I know.’ Now fully clothed, Bella walked towards Aprillia. ‘This didn’t mean anything. I understand that.’
‘But . . . I mean . . . the sex . . . it did—’
‘Just pull up your pants, O’Hara, and let’s ride the hell out of here.’ Bella gathered Aprillia’s reins and swung herself up onto the horse’s back. ‘And you’d better radio in to the others anyway. They’ll be getting worried.’ She kicked Aprillia forward and without looking back rode off towards the brumby track that was barely discernable among the trees.
Will slowly dressed and then mounted Wizard. He radioed in to say he had found Bella safe and well. Then he headed off after her, all the while thinking that it would be really good if, for once in her life, she’d just let him finish a bloody sentence.
But if that’s the way she wanted it, that’s the way she could have it.
They made it back to the marquee at Ben Bullen Hills Station as the reception party was about to start. Bella flung herself from Aprillia’s back, determined not to look at the man hauling in his mount by her side.
‘I’ll take her if you like,’ said Will, quiet and remote.
‘Thanks,’ was all she could manage, handing over the reins and not quite meeting his eyes.
What had felt so right, so natural and primal beneath the late-afternoon sun on Hugh’s Plain had now tarnished to something tawdry, dirty and baseless. She didn’t know which way to look, what to say. How to find an excuse, if there was one, for her behaviour. He took it out of her hands by turning his back to lead the horses away to the cattle yards far beyond the lights of the massive white marquee.
Bella stood for a moment and watched him go, the slight limp apparent as he walked with
the two horses across the rough, open ground that passed for an airstrip on top of the Ben Bullen Hills.
She knew she should have been happy: caught up in the city, with its hectic, exciting life; engaged to a handsome, successful man. But in the last twelve months she had realised something was missing. There didn’t seem to be a point to her life anymore.
And now?
A broadside hit in the form of a country boy. A country man. Would she have done what she just did if she was really happy with Warren and their life together?
Happy! Did you say HAPPY? It was Patty’s voice suddenly echoing in her head. Who are you trying to kid, Hells Bells? You haven’t been happy in a long time, chickadee. Admit it and move on with your life!
As Bella turned and walked towards the wedding marquee, she could hear the thump of the huge generators Trin had trucked in for the night. The clanging of the big camp-oven lids rang out as the caterers checked the progress of roasting vegetables, basking in their cast-iron heat, sitting on coals beside the substantial fire pits. There was also the squeaking belch of rotisseries as beef, lamb and pork turned around on mechanically driven rods.
And beyond the drone of the masses of partygoers hooking into the grog from the well-stocked bar, another sound reached out into the darkening, clear mountain sky.
Whup, whup, whup.
Bella cocked her head.
Whup, whup, whup.
A leaden feeling hit her chest and travelled down into her gut.
Whup, whup, whup.
The noise grew louder and materialised into a slicklooking blue-and-orange helicopter, its brilliant white landing light beaming from a skid. The chopper made its way with precision to the airstrip, where a landing sock hung used and slack from a tall, knobbed steel pole.
With a sickening lurch to her stomach, Bella knew who would be on board, as the livery of the chopper became apparent. The rear rotors of the chopper spun to reveal the lines of writing splashed across its tail: Oxford, Bride and Associates.
The helicopter landed in a flurry of dirt, clods of grass kicking up as the skids hit solid earth. The passenger door opened and a figure jumped out. The man, bent over at the waist under the still-moving rotors, moved away from the chopper towards where Bella stood frozen in horror. The pilot powered down the machine, obviously intending to stay for a while.
‘Bella? Bella! Darling, how good to see you!’ The voice hailed her as he stepped clear of the rotors, which could take an appendage off without a thought.
Why not his head?
What?
Had she just thought that?
She willed her feet to move forward, one step at a time. Left then right, slight hesitation, right then left.
‘Warren . . . what a surprise! I hadn’t expected you to come after everything that’s happened.’
And then he was standing before her, all corporate and citified-looking in his double-breasted Italian wool suit, white hanky in a pocket to the right. Pressing a kiss to her cold mouth.
‘Wozza!’ Trinity bowled past Bella. ‘You’ve come just in time to party, mate! Great to see you could make it. Love the chopper, man. Great way to fly! You’re lucky it’s such a clear night, no rain in sight, though that would be good. We sure need it up here, my word we do.’ The ebullient groom grabbed hold of Warren’s shoulders and spun him towards the marquee, to where the hundred or so people had all piled out of the party to see the helicopter land.
Bella watched the tightness surrounding Warren’s eyes squeeze into a grimace as Trinity bandied around the nickname from his youth. Warren wouldn’t stand that from many people, but Trin, having a similar background to Warren, was the only one of her friends that her fiancé actually liked.
‘I’m fine, Trinity, and yes, I’m here for a couple of hours then it’s back to the city. There’s no time for rest in the investment-banking world. Not like the life you lead up here, quietly farming your life away . . .’ Warren plastered a smile on his face. ‘Anyway, how’s married life so far, old boy? Sorry I couldn’t make it to the ceremony.’
Warren was obviously determined to make an effort, but Bella couldn’t help wincing at the slightly patronising twist in his words. Thank goodness it had flown right past an oblivious and tipsy Trin.
‘Come on, Wozza. Come inside and have a beer . . .’
Bella watched as Trin guided Warren toward the marquee, willing herself to breathe deeply and recover some composure before she faced the crowd of guests.
‘So that’s the fi-an-cé, is it?’ A deep voice, thick with contempt, came from her side.
She turned to Will and took in his state. He was already on the rum. His tie was loose and hanging free around his neck and his shirt was unfastened to the point where red-gold hair sprang gently from his muscled chest. The same shirt, which was hanging loose outside his trousers, had dirt smears and sprigs of dry vegetation clinging to various places – all signs of a rumble with a sheila in the thick native grass smothering the mountain plains.
‘Yes, that’s him.’ She went to move away, towards the marquee into which her fiancé and Trin had disappeared.
Will’s hand came out and grabbed her arm.
She looked down at his strong, brown fingers. Why did this hand feel so different to the one that had clasped her in the same spot only days ago, dragging her into the casino to meet Eddie Murray?
Chemistry, girlfriend, chemistry. Patty’s voice rang clearly in her head again.
Ignoring it, she looked up at Will’s face, a warning, a challenge.
He let her arm go. His move was grudging; his gaze lingering. He watched her walk away, once again.
Out of his life.
Chapter 28
Like many of the other female guests, Bella hung around in the marquee under a huge outdoor heater trying to stay warm.
She watched Warren standing with a group of men. He stood out, a shiny boy in his city clothes. The blokes around him only wore a suit to a wedding, a funeral or a B&S, and even then it was usually from the op shop or smelled of another man’s BO. Their feet were clad in RM’s or in some cases black work boots. Warren, on the other hand, lounged easily in his black Fiorelli suit and leather loafers.
The conversation ebbed and flowed all around. She was enjoying not having to say anything, just observing the people she’d left behind eight years ago. Most had been happy to see her, asking what she’d been doing in Melbourne with avid interest, rather than the polite distracted air she’d become used to in the city. It was a welcome change to talk to the people who’d meant so much to her so long ago.
The only ones she’d avoided were Mildred and Roger Vincent-Prowse. She’d noticed they’d been skirting her too. The girl standing next to her, also soaking up the heater’s rays, spotted her interest in the Vincent-Prowse’s.
‘Prowsy’s gone to Scone,’ said the girl, a blob of cerise-in-satin-shantung. She looked surprisingly like a pink jelly bean.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Bella, trying hard to remember who the girl was. She knew she’d seen her before but couldn’t put a name to the round, puffy face.
‘Prudence Vincent-Prowse’s gone to Scone,’ said the jelly bean again, pronouncing the place like the cake. Scone? Bella finally got it. ‘Oh, Sc-own?’
‘So that’s how you say it! It’s spelled s-c-o-n-e, like the one you bake. So it’s Sc-own, right?’ The jelly bean giggled. ‘Suits Prowsy really, thinking she’s so ooh-la-la! Not sure how the bump will suit her, though. Might cramp her style a bit, ay.’ The girl giggled again as she tenderly rubbed her own very pregnant belly.
‘Prowsy’s pregnant?’ asked Bella.
‘Certainly is, according to old Ma Mildred over there. She’s been trying to rub that one into Will’s nose ever since she heard. Doesn’t seem to have worked. Although . . .’ she paused, considering, ‘you really wouldn’t know with Will, he keeps his cards pretty close to his chest, that one. See, they couldn’t have babies apparently. Or one of them wanted them and the other
didn’t. Something like that, anyway. Not too sure on the details.’
Bella frowned, confused.
‘You knew Will married Prowsy, didn’t you?’ asked the girl.
‘Yes, I knew that,’ said Bella quickly, as she finally put a name to the girl’s face. Shelley Lukey. The storekeeper’s daughter. Standing just over five-foot tall and very round, she was Burrindal born and bred, a hometown kind of girl. She’d married a faller, a thickset-looking timber cutter who lived up the bush during the week and came home to play on the weekends – and play he obviously did, judging by the size of Shelley’s tummy.
Shelley certainly remembered Bella. While Shelley was growing up, Bella Vermaelon and Patty O’Hara were the belles of Burrindal and Tindarra: pretty, funny and always out for a good time. Then Patty was killed and Bella disappeared, back home to Narree they said and then on to Melbourne.
Shelley had seen the size of the diamond solitaire sitting on Bella’s ring finger and took in the look of the man who’d put it there, standing in a group of blokes not so far away. It was an impressive rock, that was for sure, but Shelley was wise to men, even if she wasn’t to the rest of the world. And that bloke didn’t look like a keeper, not to her mind.
‘I didn’t know Prudence was pregnant. Who’s the father?’ asked Bella, back to the topic at hand.
‘The horse-breeder she ran off with, I suppose.’
Bella raised an eyebrow, inviting more information. Shelley was happy to oblige, leaning in closer and lowering her voice.
‘A few years ago this horse-breeder from New South Wales came to town ’cause he’d heard there were a few good mares to be had around these parts. He went out to Will’s place, liked what he saw and took it away with him when he left town a week or so later. He probably bought some horses too! We didn’t see Will at the Burrindal store for weeks, but then I think hunger must have driven him down from the hills. He looked pretty shithouse picking up all them lawyer’s letters, but then again he looked worse when he came home from Melbourne a few years before . . .’ Shelley trailed off, realising she’d just contracted foot-in-mouth disease.
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