by Margaret Way
“Of course” came the gentle reply. “I’ve been waiting to speak to Storm. My heart aches for her. Now might be the moment. That Isabelle person has been monopolizing her for ages.”
“Storm, darling,” Carla cooed, when she reached the other young woman’s side. “Why don’t you come and sit down. You’ve been standing such a long time. Could I get you something? A cold drink?”
“Ye-es, please, Carla, if you would.” Storm was grateful for Carla’s intervention. Isabelle Parish was a very nice woman, but she did tend to go on.
Carla, loathe to give up her place, put up a hand to signal one of the house girls who arrived with a tray of cold drinks. “Orange all right, Storm?” she asked.
“Mineral water if there’s any.” Storm sank into a chair, wondering if she could last much longer.
Carla put a glass into Storm’s hand.
“Thank you, Carla.”
“You’re so pale.” Carla was torn between genuine sympathy and self-interest. “Is there anything I can do for you? You’re so brave. Everyone admires you.”
“What else can I be, Carla?” Storm asked, the usual colour missing from her voice. “Dad would expect me to conduct myself well. Even at his funeral.”
No tears, thought Carla judgementally dismissing the depth of Storm’s feeling. In reality Storm was in shock, numb with disbelief.
“There must be hundreds here,” Carla said, almost brightly, looking around.
“So many good people.” Storm was struggling to hold onto her exemplary control.
“Luke has been a great support to you,” Carla pointed out, a little awed by Storm’s beauty and dignified manner.
“Yes, he has,” Storm acknowledged. “I don’t think I could have endured it without him. He’s shielded me from so much.”
Carla was tempted to say: Far too much. “I can understand you’re very glad he’s here. In a sense you’ll be lost when he moves on.”
“What?” Abruptly Storm came out of her grief-induced haze. “What did you say?”
Carla could see quite clearly she was disturbed. “I’m sorry…I haven’t upset you, have I?” she begged. “I thought Luke would have told you he has plans to move on.”
Storm felt the ground had moved beneath her feet. “We haven’t spoken about anything, Carla,” she said, her throat gone dry. “Has Luke spoken to you?”
Carla hesitated, a pitying look in her eyes. “Luke and I discuss most things, Storm,” she confided gently. “You must know we’ve grown very close?”
Storm nodded. “Of course.” Luke had known Carla for years.
“It would be impossible to hold onto Luke anyway,” Carla continued kindly. “I know he considered he was under a tremendous obligation to the Major—the Major being so good to him—but now the Major’s gone.”
“You sound as though that makes you happy?” Storm looked up from the contemplation of her empty glass. Even through the pall of grief and depression she could sense Carla’s inner coldness and dislike.
“I’m happy when Luke’s happy,” Carla said, reaching over to pat Storm’s hand somewhat patronisingly. “We can be serious now about our future.”
“What stopped you being serious before?” Lacking in energy though she was, Storm faced Carla, at the same time removing her hand.
Carla appeared not to notice. She glanced over to where Luke was standing in sombre conversation with other cattlemen. “Luke has had such close ties to your family, Storm.” Her voice held faint disapproval. “I mean it’s really extraordinary the way your lives have become entwined. You could almost be brother and sister.”
Storm felt a little of her unnatural control slip from her. She stared back. “What nonsense, Carla.” She shook her head. “Luke has never been a brother figure to me. I’m sure he’d tell you I’ve never been any little sister to him, either.”
“Maybe not.” Carla seemed to blanch at the expression in Storm’s green eyes. Suddenly she regretted what she had started. “But you are bonded in a way. I’m only saying with the Major gone Luke is free to lead his own life.”
“He’s always been free, Carla,” she said.
With a huge effort Storm rose steadily to her feet.
By late afternoon everyone had left. Private planes, charter planes, helicopters including a large Sikorsky helicopter belonging to a multimillionaire grazier, charter buses, 4WD’s. Storm had retired to her room but found she couldn’t lose herself in sleep. It would be hard enough when night finally fell and she had to get through those long, melancholy hours. Tom Skinner had left her with a sedative. If the worst came to the worst she would take that. For now she changed into her riding clothes and went down to the stables where one of the boys, seeing her coming, saddled up Rising Star.
She wanted to gallop to the ends of the earth. And beyond. Frightened of the searing grief that was in her; frightened by what Carla had told her. So Luke wanted out? Whatever happened between them, she’d always believed he would stay.
Why? She needed to face the fact she had been an arrogant, complacent fool. When had she ever shown her appreciation for all Luke’s hard work, his many skills, not the least of them that visionary business brain, his loyalty and devotion to her father? Why had she ignored him when he said he would never work for her? She had grown used to Luke as a fixture in her life. As if Luke for all their differences would always be there.
What have I done?
On this day of days she had never wanted to hear she could lose Luke. Luke was too important. Not only to Winding River but to her.
She turned towards the endless mulga plains, then gave the mare her head, urging her on as though the two of them were hell-bent on winning an important race. They took an old broken fence, relic of a holding yard, she, perfectly still and balanced, as Rising Star soared over it athletically, comfortably clearing the top rung. The next one they came on, the mare, responding to Storm’s reckless mood, took it at too much of a rush. Power and speed took them over but it had been a near thing. Storm chastened, eased up, her heart thudding.
Her father had gone from her life. In one fatal stroke she was on her own. Now Carla was telling her she and Luke had plans. It didn’t seem possible Luke could make that kind of commitment to Carla then kiss her as he had done. Maybe it had been anger, accumulated years of resentments, but there had been passion there. On both sides, the depth of which had shocked her. She’d been perfectly well aware Carla had been pursuing Luke for years. Carla was a stayer, one hundred per cent committed to a particular course of action. Luke was a catch in any woman’s language even without a family dynasty and everything that went with it. Power, influence, money. Carla’s father was a very wealthy man. Rich girls could marry poor guys if the guy had much to offer. Like Luke. Luke would fit very nicely into the Prentice operation. It was big enough to accommodate two sons and a dynamic son-in-law.
It couldn’t be true! She couldn’t make sense of it. She had seen Luke and Carla together, sensed they had once been lovers, but it was an attraction that had gradually died. On Luke’s part, she’d thought. She kept remembering people did marry for money. It happened all the time. Many a wedding she had attended weren’t exactly love matches. They were well-considered social and business contracts. And they seemed to work when romantic love as a sole basis for marriage was often not enough. Carla, though she appeared so open and direct, was a woman of wiles. A calculating woman. Luke had talked about starting up his own operation. Banks weren’t lending as they used to. He would need a lot of money behind him. Or a rich father-in-law?
That wasn’t Luke. She had come to see Luke in all his facets. Except one. As a lover. Storm sighed deeply. It seemed she had spent her life in self-deception….
She was overlong getting back to the homestead, not caring she had strayed into the hill country. If dark fell and she had to spend the night in the wild she would have a few dingos for company. She was dimly aware of riding into the lit stables, one of the boys helping her dismount, takin
g the reins from her, all the time speaking soothingly as if to an invalid. She couldn’t describe how she felt. Numb wasn’t an appropriate word. There was too much pain there, just barely papered over.
Half-way up to the house Luke, walking very purposefully, met up with her.
“Thank God you’re home.” His voice was worried. “I’ve had a couple of men out looking for you for the last half hour. Where were you? Not in the usual places, that’s for sure.”
“I don’t honestly know. I was straying.”
“Straying is dangerous. Don’t ever go off without telling us where you’re heading.”
She could feel herself tensing. “Ah then, but I’m the boss remember?” It was the worst tack to take but she was dreadfully off balance.
“I don’t care who you are,” Luke said, locking her with his gaze. “You can’t leave worried people behind you.”
“I’m sorry, Luke. I appreciate your concern.” The answer was truthful, edged with just a little touch of jarring irony. It was too well ingrained.
“So you’re coming back to the house?” he asked.
“Nowhere else to go.”
“You’ve barely eaten for days,” he pointed out, the note of concern still in his voice. “You’ll have to try something.”
“I suppose.” For an instant she felt like throwing herself into his arms. She was so weary. “It just doesn’t seem to want to go down my neck.”
They had reached the front steps, Storm starting up them slowly, Luke standing perfectly still on the drive looking up at her. “Aren’t you coming in?” She couldn’t bear to be without him.
He didn’t miss the inflection of dismay. “If you want me to.” His voice was a little rough.
“I don’t want to be on my own tonight,” Storm said and she didn’t care how it sounded.
CHAPTER FIVE
THEY ate in the kitchen. Noni, fighting her own deep distress, had been sent off with her friend, Ellen, to take a break from so much trauma. Always a tower of strength, Noni had appeared close to breakdown, too vulnerable to insist on staying which she considered her duty. It was Luke who convinced her he would be there to support Storm.
After her ride, Storm took a long shower letting volumes of precious water pour down on her head in an effort to rid herself of the anguish that threatened to break cover. Thank God Luke had come for her when he had. She would never have forgiven herself had her father died without her.
“Dad!” Her voice was thick with emotion. She simply couldn’t absorb it.
Afterwards she sat quietly at the table watching Luke going about the business of making them something to eat. What am I she thought? A child? But she’d come to a crossroad. She was aware as well she had always been subject to intense emotions. Luke hadn’t even asked her what she wanted to eat, realising she didn’t much care. He moved with such supple grace. A man totally at ease with his own body. At ease with himself.
After a while she got to her feet to find plates and cutlery. Luke had already thrown a clean white cloth over the Victorian pine table with its four Windsor chairs. Now she replaced the large fruit filled silver bowl centre table, breaking off a couple of grapes and placing them absentmindedly into her mouth. The kitchen had a lot of atmosphere, comfortable and friendly in contrast to the formal rooms of the house, which were overly grand, enriched by splendours her forebears had acquired at some stage. Occasionally she’d had notions of redecorating, weeding out certain objects and pieces of furniture but her father had been adamant the house had to stay as it was.
“Now it’s all mine,” she murmured aloud. No joy in it. A statement of fact.
“The big thing is what you’re going to do with it?” Luke asked quietly, adding dressing to the salad and tossing it until the various greens were lightly coated.
“God knows! It can’t go out of the family.”
“Unthinkable!” he said. “Isn’t Bloomfield coming back tomorrow?” He referred to the family solicitor, senior partner in the firm of Bloomfield, Bloomfield and Merrick.
Storm nodded. “I asked him to stay over but he said he had things to discuss with Scott Cunningham. Mr. Cunningham is a client as well. Anyway I’m in no frame of mind to hear Dad’s will. Are you?” She shot him a glance that burnt out of her pale face.
“Just take it quietly, Storm,” he advised, pouring lightly beaten seasoned eggs into a hot pan that was foaming with a little butter and oil. She could smell the fresh scent of the parsley and snipped chives he had stirred into the mixture.
“You’re certain to be mentioned,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“Does that bother you?” He glanced over his shoulder.
“Of course it doesn’t. You deserve far more than a mention for everything you’ve done. Dad wasn’t the easiest of men but you always knew how to keep the harmony.”
“It wasn’t difficult.” With the omelette coming together Luke sprinkled the surface with grated parmesan. “This looks good. I expect you to eat it.”
“You’re quite a dab hand at making omelettes.” She watched him fold it with the ease of an expert turning it out onto a warmed plate and sprinkling the top with a little more parmesan.
“It’s the ultimate fast food. It’s nothing to work a fourteen-hour day. I needed to master something simple and quick.”
Storm sat down again, contemplating the pattern in the damask tablecloth. “Perhaps that says a lot about you, Luke. You master anything you turn your hand to.”
They ate in near silence. Luke poured some wine. “What are we celebrating?” Storm asked, her eyes seeking his. Part of her was deeply disturbed, the other part surprised at how good the omelette was; how fresh the chilled wine tasted on her tongue.
He studied her a long while. She was wearing not a skerrick of make-up, eyebrows, eyelashes like black velvet, skin flawless, her mouth a natural tea-rose. But her eyes were dark with intensity. “You need to unwind a little, Storm. A glass or two of wine will help relax you.”
“I have to make sure it does.” She sipped a little more, staring across the table at him, this unique man who was woven into the very fabric of her life. “I want you to know how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me these past days,” she said a little raggedly. “I thought I could run my own life but losing Dad has been like a great earthquake.” Her hand tightened on her glass, until the knuckles showed white.
“I understand,” he said quietly. He felt pretty much the same way.
Another silence, stamped with tension.
“And when did you propose to tell me about your plans?” she fired at him much later, her voice so brittle it cracked a little.
“What plans?” he countered, disturbed by the tremor in her hands.
Storm hesitated a moment, appalled by the thought she might cry. “I may have this wrong but I gathered from Carla you only stayed on for Dad. Without him you’d planned to move on.”
Something near anger burned in him, showed itself in his electric glance. “When did you learn this?”
She rubbed her eyes a little desperately. “This afternoon.”
“You mean Carla broached the subject today of all days?”
“I don’t think she could resist it. Is it true?”
He reached across the table and grabbed her trembling hand, his fingers very tanned against her ivory skin.
“Why would I discuss my plans with Carla before talking to you?”
“You tell me?” God how her heart hurt!
“I’ll tell you it sounds darned odd. Can you ever believe in me?” His voice was taut.
“I’m sorry. Are you saying Carla is making it all up?”
“I guess I am. Carla isn’t above pulling a few tricks. I could cite a case,” he began, but switched off. “What was your conversation about?”
“Lord, Luke.” She nearly laughed. “About you. Carla says among other things you and she have made a commitment to each other.”
“Have we really?” he said, almost amused
ly, the overhead light ringing his dark red head with fire. “I think Carla finds the odd lie downright useful.”
“You haven’t?” She looked at him questioningly, relief welling inside her.
It showed. “You make it sound like it’s very important to you.” He gave just a glimpse of his beautiful, illuminating smile.
“It is.” Her voice carried sincerity. “I know I’ve said a lot of things in the past—I was wrong—but I couldn’t do without you. I couldn’t run Winding River, let alone the whole operation. Dad made a point of keeping me sidelined. I had to turn my attentions, my energies elsewhere.”
“And in doing so discovered your own talent,” he replied, hoping he meant a hell of a lot more to her than a highly valued employee. “You’re a creative person, Storm. Designing and making beautiful jewellery must give you a sense of accomplishment?”
She nodded. “It does, but now I’m left with one of the biggest cattle operations in the country and I know next to nothing about it.”
“You can learn.”
She held up a hand. “Can I?”
“You’re a highly intelligent woman. The big question is do you want to run a string of cattle stations?”
At the thought fatigue washed over her, she swallowed, feeling the great weight of her new responsibilities. “I’d like to know as much as I possibly can. Besides who could I trust to run it outside you?”
“Actually you could find someone,” he answered more crisply than he intended, the urge to take her in his arms so powerful he nearly buckled under it.
“I don’t want to.”
What was he? Overseer, business manager? Nothing more? “I don’t know that it suits me to walk a couple of steps behind you, Storm.” He saw very clearly how that might be.
She raised her beautiful shadowed eyes with the first sign of anger. “You mean you won’t work for a woman?”
“I mean I won’t work for you,” he answered without a pause. “You know too well how to make it tough for me. We’ve had a very stormy relationship. Just like your name.”
