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A Bride At Birralee
Barbara Hannay
A secret baby…When Sydney girl Stella Lassiter discovers that she's pregnant, she travels to the Outback seeking her ex-boyfriend for help, only to bump into the one man she's hoping to avoid–Callum Roper.…a whirlwind wedding!A year ago Callum had been drawn to Stella at a party, but quickly realized she was off-limits. Now, however, he is determined to make her unborn baby part of his family. And marriage seems the perfect solution…



“I see marriage as the best solution to your problem.”
Totally shocked, Stella struggled for breath. “Are you telling me you want to marry me off to someone?”
Callum gave the faintest of nods.
“How dare you?” She jumped to her feet. This wasn’t something she could take sitting down. “So, who’s the poor sucker you think I should trap into marriage?”
There was a beat of time before he said, very simply, “I am.”
Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical north Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy.
A Wedding at Winderoo (#3794)
In Harlequin Romance®
A Bride at Birralee
Barbara Hannay


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#uc3d38e17-fd8f-59b0-b28d-1ea40c1b0f53)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud9d093c7-d30d-5baa-91eb-7a1a1b8e8205)
CHAPTER THREE (#u27a1f0d0-ecfd-5e11-a004-0f105c6dce31)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
SOMEONE was coming.
Callum Roper slouched against a veranda post and glared at the distant cloud of dust. In the outback, dust travelling at that speed meant one thing—a vehicle heading this way.
He wasn’t in the mood for visitors.
Turning his back on the view, he lowered his long body into a deep canvas chair and snapped the top off a beer. He took a deep swig and scowled. Truth was, he wasn’t in the mood for anything much these days! Even beer didn’t taste the same.
‘Why’d you have to do it, Scotty?’
He hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud, but there it was, lingering like the dust on the hot, still air. Why did you have to go and die? Damn you, Scotty.
Taking another, deeper swig, he grimaced. How long did it last, this grief business? His younger brother had been dead for six weeks now and he still felt as raw and hurt as he had the day the helicopter crashed and he’d first glimpsed Scott’s lifeless body in the cockpit.
Slumping lower in the canvas seat, he reached for the cattle dog at his side and rubbed the soft fur between its ears, willing himself to relax. But a picture of Scott’s sun-streaked curls, laughing brown eyes and cheeky grin swam before him. It was the face of an irrepressible larrikin. And it had gone for ever.
Late afternoons like this were the worst. This was the time of day he and Scott used to sit here on the veranda, having a beer and a yarn. His brother had been such damn good company. Drinking alone without Scott’s humorous recounts of their day wasn’t any kind of fun.
He cast a bitter glance over his shoulder towards the encroaching vehicle. Entertaining visitors without Scott’s easy banter would be hell!
Luckily, cars didn’t foray into these parts very often. Birralee Station was beyond Cloncurry in far north-western Queensland, further outback than most people liked to venture.
But this particular cloud of dust was definitely edging closer down the rust-red track. He could hear the motor now and it sounded tinny, not the throaty roar of the off-road vehicles his neighbours used.
Surely no one with any sense would come all the way out here in a flimsy little city sedan? City visitors were even worse than well-meaning neighbours.
Scott had been the one for the city. He’d always been flying off to Sydney or Brisbane to seek out fun and female company. Callum was content to stick to the bush, restricting his socialising to picnic races and parties on surrounding properties. He’d never felt the urge to go chasing off to the city.
Almost never. His hand tightened around the beer can as a reluctant memory forced him to acknowledge that there had been one city woman he’d wanted to chase. A woman with crow black hair, a haunting, sexy voice and a gutsy, shoulders-back attitude. He’d wanted to chase her, catch her and brand her as his.
But his little brother had always had the happy knack of smiling at a girl in a certain way and rendering her smitten. Instantly. Accepting that the woman he’d desired had preferred Scott had been a bitter lesson.
Hell! What was the use of sitting here, thinking about all that again?
Callum jumped to his feet and frowned as he realised the car had stopped. He squinted at the stretch of bushland before him, searching for the tell-tale dust. Late afternoon sun lent a bronze glow to the paddocks of pale Mitchell grass, but there was no sign of movement. The cloudless sky, the trees and grass, even the cattle, were as still as a painting.
Crossing to the edge of the veranda, he stood listening. All he could hear now was the high, keening call of a black falcon as it circled above the cliff on the far side of the creek.
He frowned. By his calculations, the car had been close to the creek crossing. Perhaps the driver had stopped to check the water’s depth before fording the shallow stream.
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the veranda railing and listened, watched and waited.
A good five minutes or more passed before the engine started up again. But when it did, it screamed and strained. Then there was silence again, before another useless burst from the motor.
‘Silly sod’s got himself bogged.’ He listened for a few more minutes. There was more high-pitched whirring from the straining motor. More silence.
Shaking his head, he let out a heavy sigh. The last thing he felt like was playing hero to some uninvited city slicker, but he could hardly ignore the fact that someone seemed to be having car trouble so close to his homestead.
He had no choice. Cursing softly, he loped down the front steps and across the gravel drive to his ute.
Stella knew she was bogged. She was down to her axle in loose pebbles and sand in the middle of the outback—the middle of nowhere—and she was sick as a dog, more miserable than a lost puppy.
Another wave of nausea rose from her stomach to her mouth and she sat very still, willing her stomach to settle. It probably hadn’t been very bright to stop in the middle of the creek, but she’d felt so ill she’d had no choice.
How hard was this going to get? She’d been in enough mess before she’d left home, but now she was stuck in this crummy little creek hundreds of kilometres from anywhere—and out of the mobile network. When she needed to phone Scott, she couldn’t!
It was her own fault, of course. She should have tried ringing him again before she’d left Sydney and told him she was coming. Then he would have given her detailed directions. He might have warned her about this creek crossing.
But if she’d rung him, he would have expected to know why she wanted to see him. And she hadn’t liked to explain about the baby over the phone.
After their breakup, she couldn’t have discussed her pregnancy over the phone. There was just too much to talk about and it was all too complicated. She wanted to work out the very best solution for their baby’s future, and to do that she needed to discuss it with him face to face.
And she hadn’t wanted to waste precious money on air fares when she might need it for the baby, so she’d spent five days—nearly a week—driving all this way from Sydney.
Sighing heavily, she looked at her watch and then at the reddening sky. It would be dark soon and, for the first time since she’d left home, she felt genuinely frightened.
Fighting off the urge to panic, she forced herself to consider her options. She couldn’t spend the night sleeping in the car in the middle of an outback creek; and trying to make camp under trees up on the bank had no appeal. No, she’d rather gamble on how far she was from the homestead and try to walk from here.
She reached into the back of her little car and groped for her shoes, but before she could find them the sound of a motor came throbbing towards her.
Her head shot up and she peered through the duststreaked windscreen. Silhouetted against the sun, a utility truck crested the low hill on the other side of the creek, then rattled effortlessly down the dirt- and gravel-strewn slope.
‘Thank you, God.’ Smiling with relief, she dropped her shoe and her spirits soared as she watched the ute rumble towards her over the loose, water-washed rocks in the creek-bed. Perhaps it was Scott driving. ‘Please, let it be Scott.’
There was a male figure at the wheel and a blue heeler cattle dog perched on the seat next to him.
The truck pulled to a halt beside her.
From her little low car, she looked up. The driver’s face was shaded by the brim of his akubra hat, but she saw black stubble on a resolute jaw and dark hair on a strongly muscled forearm.
Not Scott. Oh, dear, no. Not Scott, but the one man she’d hoped to avoid. His brother, Callum.
Stella’s breathing snagged and she lowered her gaze. Callum! This was a moment she’d dreaded, and she hadn’t expected to have to deal with it right at the start.
She wet her lips and looked up at him with her chin at a defiant angle. ‘Hi, Callum.’
He didn’t answer.
‘I—I’m afraid I’m stuck.’
The truck’s door squeaked as he shoved it open. With an excessive lack of haste, his well-worn, brown leather riding boots lowered into the shallow creek. The boots were followed by an endless pair of blue jeans, a faded blue cotton shirt that stretched wide across powerful shoulders and, finally, a dark unsmiling face beneath a broad-brimmed hat.
It was a face she hadn’t seen for twelve months. A face that still haunted her secret dreams. Dreams she never dared think about in the light of day.
For an agonisingly long moment, he didn’t speak. He stood still as a mountain, his thumbs hooked through the loops of his jeans. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
What a beast! No greeting. No, How do you do, Stella? Long time, no see, or, Can I help? Not a trace of polite concern. Not even G’day.
For a heartbeat, she wondered if Callum Roper had forgotten her? That would be convenient but, short of his developing amnesia, she didn’t think it was possible for him to have forgotten that party. Nevertheless, she deserved a warmer greeting than this!
At least when she found Scott and told him about getting bogged, he would be sympathetic.
She remained sitting in her car and held out her hand. It was about time this oaf was forced to remember his manners. ‘How are you, Callum?’
Their eyes met. His expression was so fierce and hard that she knew, even before he spoke, that he hadn’t forgotten her.
‘Stella.’ He nodded and grunted an incomprehensible greeting. After just a trace of hesitation, his big hand closed around hers.
It was the hard, callused hand of an outdoors man and she tried to ignore the goose-bumps that rushed up her arms in response to such simple contact. This was Scott’s brother, her baby’s uncle, and she really would have to learn to relax when he was around.
Easier said than done.
‘You’re asking for trouble if you stop in the middle of a creek,’ he said.
Damn him. ‘I didn’t deliberately get myself bogged, you know. You should have a sign warning people about this creek.’
‘If there was any sign, it would warn trespassers they’d be prosecuted,’ Callum growled as he circled her car slowly, hoping his shock didn’t show.
His heart was racing at a hectic gallop. The last thing he’d expected to find had been this particular woman stranded on his property. What the hell was she doing here?
Silly question. His stomach dropped like a leg-roped steer as he acknowledged there could only be one reason. She’d come to see Scott. Hell! She didn’t know.
His brother hadn’t shared details about his recent trips to the city, and Callum hadn’t asked. He’d never even known for sure if Scott and Stella had still been an item, and she wasn’t family, she wasn’t a close friend, so he hadn’t sent her word of the accident. At least that was the excuse he’d rationalised.
How the blue blazes could he tell her now?
He was uncomfortably aware of her cool grey eyes assessing him as he checked how far her wheels had sunk into the silty creek-bed. Only a class act like Stella Lassiter could look dignified in such a predicament.
Perhaps her dignity came from the way she kept her chin haughtily high as she sat quietly in her car. Or maybe it was an impression created by that broad, full mouth that made her look earthy rather than vulnerable. Maybe it was all that shiny hair, black as a witch’s cat.
‘How does it look? Am I salvageable?’ she called. Her voice was another problem. Smooth and low, it had a syrupy cadence that kicked him at gut level and conjured a host of images he’d tried so hard to forget.
Hell, maybe she was a witch. In a matter of moments, some soft segment of his brain seemed to be slipping under her spell. Just like last time!
He forced his thoughts to practicalities. Her ridiculous little toy car was well and truly bogged, but it would be easy enough to haul her out.
Reaching into the back of his ute, he grabbed the D shackle and snatchem strap. ‘Sit tight,’ he ordered sharply and bent to shackle the long strap to a low bracket on the front of her car. ‘I’ll give you a tow.’
Leaping high into the truck again, he backed it around until it was positioned in front of hers and then, out of the ute once more, he looped the other end of the strap over the ball joint on his tow bar.
She opened her car door and leaned out to watch what he was doing. And Callum found himself staring at her feet as she sat in her car’s open doorway with the skirt of her light cotton dress bunched over her knees and her bare feet propped on the doorway’s rim.
Her feet were exquisitely shaped. Each neat toe was topped by perfectly applied, sky-blue nail polish. A fine silver chain threaded with blue glass beads was secured neatly around one dainty ankle.
Callum couldn’t drag his eyes away. Her feet were as interesting and compelling as the rest of her.
Suddenly, she drew her legs into the car and pulled the door smartly shut. Had he been gaping? Perhaps he was more of a country hick than he realised. Through the window, she studied him and chewed her full bottom lip, showing a trace of vulnerability for the first time. ‘I’ve come to see Scott. I hope he’s home,’ she said.
Callum swallowed. He knew she’d come looking for Scott and he should have been thinking about that instead of gaping at her mouth and her hair and her feet!
‘Ah—’ a painful constriction dammed his throat ‘—I’m—er—I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. Scott’s—’ Stuff this! He avoided looking at her as he blinked stinging eyes. ‘Scott’s not here.’
‘What?’ She stared at him, her eyes wide with disbelief and despair. ‘Where is he?’ Her strength seemed to leave her suddenly. She looked crumpled and crestfallen. ‘I’ve—I’ve driven all the way from Sydney. I’ve got to see him.’
Callum shot a hopeless glance to the darkening sky. If it hadn’t been so late in the day, he would have considered breaking the bad news and sending her packing! But there was less than half an hour of daylight left.
Forcing her to go back down the rough Kajabbi track in the dark wasn’t an option. Chances were she’d get bogged again, or even worse she could hit a deep rut and turn this little death trap over.
‘I’ll tow you out of here and you’d better follow me up to the homestead,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’ Her reply came in a whisper and she looked very pale, as if the stuffing had been knocked right out of her. ‘But can I contact Scott from there?’
Callum cleared his throat. ‘It’ll be easier to explain about Scott when we get back to the house.’
Without waiting to see her reaction, he spun on his heel and climbed back into the ute, calling over his shoulder, ‘Let your handbrake off and don’t turn your engine on yet. Just leave it in neutral.’
He edged the truck forward and the creek-bed released her car easily. After towing her to the top of the small rise, he stopped while he unhitched the vehicles. ‘The homestead’s only a kilometre down the track. See you there.’ Without looking her way again, he accelerated around a bend and headed for Birralee.
Scott wasn’t here. It was more than she could bear. Stella fought to stay calm as she guided her little car over the last twists and turns of the bumpy track. She’d been keeping all her worries to herself for too long, but she couldn’t hold on much longer.
She had never been one for confiding in her friends and the events of the past few months had snowballed into an unbearable, secret burden. First, when she’d realised that Scott hadn’t been as committed to their relationship as she’d believed, there had been the unpleasantness of the breakup.
Then she’d discovered she was pregnant!
She’d almost lost the plot when she’d learned that, but after taking time to get used to the idea she’d tried to contact Scott. The message on his answering machine had said he would be out mustering the back blocks of Birralee for several weeks.
The final blow had fallen with a phone call from London and the job offer of her dreams! A British television network wanted to hire her skills as a meteorologist to head the research for a series of documentaries about global warming in Europe.
She couldn’t believe the bad timing!
She’d studied so hard and had worked her socks off in the hope of scoring a contract like this, but the amount of travel involved and the primitive living conditions required on location meant it wasn’t a job for a woman with a tiny baby.
If only she and Scott had been more careful! But there’d been too many laughs…too much country-boy charm…too many empty assurances that she really was the one and only woman for him…
Stella knew they were poor excuses. She was educated. She was a scientist! She knew better! But…for the first time in her life, she’d allowed herself to let go…
She’d let herself be just a little like her mother. And, just like her mother, her mistakes had caught her out.
She carried the consequences within her. The cluster of little cells, multiplying rapidly every day. Oh, God! She’d been carrying the secret burden of her pregnancy for four lonely months now and she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer.
She had to speak to Scott.
The job offer had been too wonderful to resist and so she’d accepted it, but she couldn’t fulfil her contract without Scott’s help. Scott, where are you? At the very least, I need to talk this through with someone.
Ahead of her, Callum had pulled up in front of a typical outback homestead. She’d never visited one before, but she was familiar with the image—a low and sprawling timber house with a ripple-iron roof and deep verandas set in the middle of an expanse of lawn and shaded by ancient trees.
So this was Scott’s home—Birralee. This was where the father of her baby had been born. He’d run on this grass as a little boy. He was at home in this wild, rough country with its rocky red cliffs, its haze of soft green bush and its vast wide plains, so flat you could see the curvature of the earth as you drove across them.
And of course this was Callum’s home, too.
He stood waiting, his blue heeler squatting obediently beside him. His face remained fierce and unsmiling as she parked her car on the grass next to his truck. He’d taken his hat off and she saw the tangle of his dark, rough curls and the golden brown lights that might soften his eyes if he’d let them.
Callum had never looked very much like Scott. Where Scott was blond and boyish, full of sunshine and laughter, Callum was darker and older, more stormy and grim. OK…she had to admit he was still good-looking in his own hard way.
Who was she trying to kid? Callum was incredibly good-looking. Heaven knew, she’d been attracted to him from the very first moment she’d laid eyes on him. But he had a dangerous brand of good looks that fascinated yet unnerved her. There was a magnetic fierceness about Callum that pierced hidden depths in her and threatened her inner peace.
She’d recognised a perilous intensity in him on the night they’d met…
Get a grip! You’ll be a complete mess if you think about that now!
Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to spend too much time around him. She needed inner peace more than ever now. She needed cheering up.
She needed Scott.
Where was Scott? Why hadn’t Callum told her straight away where he was? Her stomach churned and her smile was grim as she climbed out of her little car and stretched cramped limbs.
‘Do you have much gear?’ Callum asked.
‘Just one bag and a bird cage.’
‘A bird cage?’ He didn’t try to hide his surprise.
Her chin lifted. ‘I had to bring my bird. My flatmate’s absolutely hopeless about remembering to change Oscar’s seed or water. Last time I left him with her, the poor darling nearly dehydrated.’
Carefully, she extracted the cage from the back of her car and eyed his cattle dog warily as she made introductions. ‘This is Oscar.’
Callum scowled at the little blue budgerigar.
‘What’s your dog’s name?’
Her question seemed to surprise him. ‘Mac,’ he muttered.
At the sound of his name, Mac’s ears pricked and he sprang to his feet, tail wagging madly.
‘Hi, Mac.’ She shot Callum a cautious glance. ‘He doesn’t like to nip at small birds, does he?’
He cracked a brief smile. ‘He’s a true blue heeler. From when he was a pup he knew that his mission in life was to nip at the heels of cattle. I doubt he’s ever paid any attention to birds.’
‘That’s a relief.’
Callum scruffed the top of the dog’s head. ‘Poor old fella’s retired to home duties these days.’
Stella saw Callum’s genuine affection for his dog and she felt a tiny bit better. Somehow it helped to know that the grim Callum Roper was as fond of his pet as she was of hers.
His smile faded as he nodded his head towards the house. ‘You bring the bird cage. I’ll grab your bag.’
‘Thanks.’ Reaching back into the car, she fished out her shoes and slipped her feet into them. Then, puzzled and curious, she followed the dog and his master up three wide wooden steps.
As Callum led her along the veranda, she couldn’t help noticing that he made an art form of the loose-hipped, long-legged saunter of the outback cattleman.
With an easy dip of one broad shoulder, he pushed a door open. ‘You’ll have to stay here tonight, so you’d better have this room.’ He stepped aside to let her enter, then placed her bag with surprising care on top of a carved sandalwood box at the foot of the bed.
She dragged her attention from him to the room. It was old-fashioned and simply furnished. There was no personal clutter and it was very clearly a guest room. The floorboards were left uncovered and the big double bed had brass ends and was covered by a patchwork quilt in various shades of green and white.
On the wall was a painting of a stormy sky and horses galloping down a steep mountainside with their manes and tails flying.
‘I’m afraid I’m imposing on your hospitality.’
He didn’t answer, but his gaze dropped to the bird cage she was still holding.
‘I’ll put this out on the veranda,’ she suggested.
‘You’d better bring it through to the kitchen. Mac won’t touch it, but if you leave it outside the possums might knock it over during the night.’
‘Really?’
A hint of mischief danced in his eyes. ‘Or a carpet snake might fancy a midnight snack.’
‘Oh, no!’ Horrified, she clutched the cage to her. ‘I’d be grateful if he could stay in the kitchen, thank you.’
Once again, she followed Callum’s long strides. This time down a long hall with polished timber floorboards and rooms opening off its entire length.
Where was Scott? An uneasy tension coiled in her stomach. She hoped she wasn’t going to be sick. The hardest part of her journey was still ahead of her.
When she found Scott, not only did she have to tell him he was going to be a father, she had to convince him that the plan she’d agonised over really was the best solution.
Best for him and the baby and for her.
It was a straightforward plan. She would resign from her current job, have the baby and then Scott would look after it while she went to London. Luckily the television project was so big that the company did their recruiting well in advance. She was due to give birth several weeks before her contract started and after twelve months she would come back and take over her responsibilities as a mother.
As she headed down the hall, she prayed that Scott would see the beautiful simplicity and fairness of what she was asking. If only she didn’t feel so scared!
The rooms she glimpsed as she hurried after Callum were a little shabby, a little untidy, decidedly old-fashioned, but she had an impression of tasteful decor and comfort and an easy, unpretentious air that made them welcoming. Easy to live in.
Easy and charming like Scott had been. She could imagine him here. But could she imagine leaving his baby here at this house? Could she really leave a tiny baby way out here in the never-never while she spent a year overseas?
Everything depended on Scott’s reaction.
And maybe Callum’s.
They reached the kitchen at the back of the house. It was huge and cluttered and Stella fell in love with it at first sight.
The reaction was so unexpected. All her life, she’d been walking into other people’s kitchens. There’d been a bewildering series of them during her childhood—dingy council flats, women’s shelters and foster homes. Until she’d moved into the little flat she shared with Lucy, she’d never lived in one place for very long. Their kitchen was neat and trendy, but she’d never felt an immediate rapport with a room the way she did now.
She loved it. Loved the long wall of deep, timber-framed windows of clear glass with dark green diamond panes in the middle, pushed wide open to catch the breeze. Loved the spellbinding views of the twilight-softened bush as it dipped down to the creek and climbed on the other side to majestic red cliffs in the distance.
She loved the huge scrubbed pine table in the middle of the room, home to a wonderful jumble of odd bits and pieces—a flame-coloured pottery bowl overflowing with dried gum nuts, a pile of Country Life magazines, a horse’s bridle and several bulging packets of photographs.
The collection of unmatched chairs gathered around the table enchanted her. With no effort at all, she could picture these chairs seating a party of happy, chatting friends or family. She could almost hear their bright, laughter-filled voices.
Standing in the kitchen’s corner, was an old timber high chair with scratched red paint. Stella couldn’t help staring at it, wondering…
‘You can park the bird cage on that high chair if you like,’ Callum said. ‘We only use it when my sisters bring their tribes to visit.’
She did as he suggested. ‘There you go, Oscar. You can have a lovely view of the gum trees and talk to all the other birds outside.’
Callum’s mouth twitched. ‘You don’t think he might get ideas about escaping?’
She glanced again at the bush and couldn’t help wondering if Oscar craved for freedom to explore that vast sky and all those trees, but then she shoved that disagreeable thought aside. ‘I look after him too well,’ she assured Callum primly.
He walked to the fridge. ‘Would you like a beer?’
‘No. No, thanks.’
‘Scotch, sherry, wine? I’m afraid I can’t manage any fancy cocktails.’
‘I won’t have any alcohol, thank you.’
He seemed surprised. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Yes, in a minute. That would be nice, but first, please, you must tell me about Scott. How can I contact him?’
He stiffened and she felt a stab of panic. His face seemed momentarily grey and he turned quickly away from her and snatched a beer out of the fridge.
What’s the matter? What’s wrong? Her heart began to thud.
‘You’d better sit down,’ he said without looking at her. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got bad news about Scott.’

CHAPTER TWO
CALLUM fiddled with his unopened beer. His guts crawled with dread as he imagined Stella’s reaction to his news.
Scott’s dead. The words were so hard to get out.
Telling his parents had been the worst, the very worst moment of his life. Scott had been the baby of the family—everybody’s favourite. To tell his mother and father had meant inflicting unbearable pain.
If Stella was in love with his brother, she was sure to burst into noisy tears. What the hell would he do then?
‘Callum,’ she said, and her voice vibrated with tension, ‘I need to know what’s happened to Scott.’
He realised he was still holding the beer, rolling it back and forth between anxious hands. The last thing he needed on this night was another beer. Hastily, he shoved it back in the fridge and cleared his throat.
‘There was a mustering accident a few weeks back. Scott was flying a helicopter.’
She looked pale. Too pale. And she sat stiffly, without speaking, staring at him. Waiting.
‘I’m afraid Scotty was killed.’ He couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice.
At first he thought she hadn’t heard him. She just sat there, not making a sound, not moving.
After some time, she whispered, ‘No! No! He can’t be dead.’
He braced himself for the tears, eyeing the box of tissues on the bench to his right.
But she didn’t cry. She just kept sitting there looking stunned, while her face turned from pale to greenish.
‘I’m sorry to have to give you such bad news,’ he said, wishing she didn’t look so ill and wishing he didn’t sound so clumsy and obviously uncomfortable. Wishing she would say something. Anything.
Her hand wavered to her mouth and for a moment he thought she was going to be sick.
‘Are you OK?’
‘I—I—’ She tried to stand and swayed groggily before moaning faintly and collapsing back into her chair, her head slumped sideways.
‘Stella.’ Crouching quickly at her side, he touched her shoulder and to his relief she moved slightly. Her dark hair hung in a silky curtain hiding her face and, with two fingers, he lifted it away. Her eyes were shut and her skin was cool and pale.
Hell! She’d cared about Scott this much?
A hard knot of pain dammed his throat as he scooped her in his arms and, edging sideways through the kitchen doorway, carried her back to her room.
‘I’m all right,’ she protested weakly.
He didn’t answer. Her pale fragility alarmed him. In his arms, she felt too light, too slim. Too soft and womanly. He drew in a ragged breath as her satiny, sweet-smelling hair brushed his neck. One shoe fell off as he made his way down the hallway, and he saw again the delicate foot with its pretty blue toenails, the gypsy-like allure of her dainty ankle chain.
His chest tightened with a hundred suppressed emotions as he laid her on the bed and removed the other shoe.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Her grey eyes opened and they held his. A trembling, thrilling, silent exchange passed between them. She looked away. ‘I felt a little faint,’ she said and tried to sit up.
It only took the slightest pressure of his fingers on her shoulders to push her back onto the bed. ‘You’ve had a shock. Take it easy there for a minute or two.’
Lifting a crocheted rug from the chair in the corner, he spread it over her.
Outside it was almost dark. He switched on the shaded bedside lamp, then retrieved her shoe from the hallway, and when he returned her eyes were closed again and she seemed to be calmer.
For too long, Callum stood beside the bed, taking his fill of her special style of beauty. Noticing the way her eyelids were criss-crossed by a fine tracery of delicate blue veins and how very black her long lashes were against her pale cheeks. Heaven help him, he’d spent too many nights imagining her like this—in bed. What a silly damn fool he was.
He crossed to the French doors that opened onto the veranda and stood quietly, leaning against the door jamb, watching the bush grow dark, watching this woman who’d been looking for his brother. Wondering if her fainting spell had been caused by more than the shock of his news and thinking that perhaps a little crying would have been easier to handle after all.
The bush beyond the house grew still and silent. All day the birds had filled the air with their noisy chatter and screeches, but now they’d stopped calling, responding to the approach of night as if obeying an unseen conductor. Very soon the cicadas would tune in.
After some time, Stella’s eyes opened and she rolled onto her side.
‘How are you feeling now?’
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise when she saw him standing in the doorway. Elbow crooked, she propped up her head. ‘I’m OK. Truly. But I can’t believe that Scott—’ Her eyes glistened, but no tears fell. ‘It must have been so awful. Can you tell me what happened?’
He nodded slowly. ‘We were out mustering in the rough country on the far western boundaries of this property. We needed to use the helicopter to chase some stragglers out of a gully and Scott flew in close and somehow the tail rotor clipped a gum tree.’
He didn’t add that it had been his fault Scott had been flying that day. He kept that guilty secret to himself, let it gnaw away at his insides like white ants in a tree stump.
Sighing, he glanced again at the darkening bush beyond the veranda. ‘It all happened very quickly.’
‘So you were with Scott at the time?’
‘No.’ His chest squeezed so tight that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. ‘Scott insisted on going solo and he was having the time of his life. I was on horseback down below.’
He closed his eyes. There was still no way to block out the memory. The terror of the chopper going down. The crazy, lurching fall. The horrifying, screeching sound of ripping metal. The hellish moment of finding Scott, blood-soaked and slumped in the pilot’s seat, staring back at him with blank, sightless eyes.
Hell! Each day it seemed to become more vivid.
‘Why didn’t you contact me, Callum?’
The challenge in her voice piqued his pride, spurring sudden anger. ‘I wasn’t my brother’s keeper. I didn’t keep tabs on his women. How was I to know you were still in the picture? I thought he’d taken up with some girl in Brisbane.’
She swung her gaze away and bit down hard on her lip and Callum wished he’d been less brutal. ‘I would have let you know, but I didn’t…’ Didn’t want to be reminded that you’d chosen Scott over me… His Adam’s apple felt the size of a rock melon. ‘It’s a damn shame you had to come all this way—without knowing.’
Closing her eyes, she smiled wryly as she gave a faint shake of her head. ‘It’s a damn shame all right.’ Her smoky deep voice resonated with bitter self-mockery.
Again he asked, ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like a dill-brain.’
‘I was referring to your stomach. Has it settled? I’ll make a cup of tea, or perhaps you can manage a bite to eat?’
She pushed herself into a sitting position. ‘I suppose I should try to eat.’
‘I’ll get dinner, then. I’m afraid it’s only leftover stew.’
‘Anything will be fine, thanks. I’m not really hungry.’
Callum left the room and Stella lay there, watching his broad, straight back. She tried not to think. Tried not to worry. Not to panic!
She was alone now. Totally alone. There was no one to turn to. Her bright dreams were dead. There would be no trip to London. No father for her baby. She couldn’t dream of asking Callum to help. Her last hope had died with Scott.
Oh, God! Poor Scott! She shouldn’t be feeling sorry for herself. He hadn’t deserved to die. He’d been too young, too healthy, too brimming with energy and love of life.
How could Scott be dead?
Her mother had died when she was fifteen and her death had never seemed real. This was even harder to believe.
And poor Callum. How terrible for him to see his brother die in such a terrible accident. And how hard to carry on alone out here without him!
She pressed a hand to her slightly rounded stomach. Her poor little baby, already fatherless before it drew breath. That was the worst of all.
Just like her mother, she was producing a child who would never know its father. Although, unlike her mother, Stella was quite clear about her baby’s paternity.
Her mother had never been sure. ‘It was one of the lecturers at uni.,’ she’d admitted once, just once, in a mismanaged attempt to be close to Stella. ‘One of the nutty professors—but I don’t know which.’
By contrast, there was only one man who could be the father of Stella’s baby’s. The fact that he was dead was too much to take in. Her insides shook with fear. Fear for herself, for the baby. Especially for the baby.
Scott was dead.
Where did that leave her? She couldn’t stand being alone any longer. All her childhood, she’d felt lonely—handed from one adult to another. Life had always been hard.
As an adult, she’d found it easiest to bury herself in study. When she’d discovered science, she’d found the laws of physics to be true and unchanging. They never let her down. Which was more than she could say for the people in her life.
And she’d really wanted the job in London! It would have allowed her to apply her scientific knowledge to a fascinating project. She’d been so excited. But the television network wouldn’t want a woman with a tiny baby. She’d really needed Scott’s help.
With a shaky sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. The dizziness seemed to have passed. So far so good.
She made her way back through the house to the kitchen, knowing the only thing that would hold her together now was habit. Old habits died hard and she’d learned as a child that it was best not to let others see how worried she was about all the mess in her life.
In the kitchen, Callum had everything ready. With rough movements, he placed a plate of food in front of her. ‘My version of outback hospitality.’
The meal smelt surprisingly good. Rich beef and vegetables. ‘Mmm. Good wholesome country fare.’
‘Just like mother used to make?’ he asked as he took his seat and pushed a knife and fork across the table towards her.
Stella rolled her eyes. ‘Not my mother.’
He frowned and waited, as if he expected her to clarify that remark. When she didn’t, he said stiffly, ‘I don’t want to pry, but I’m assuming this visit to see Scott was rather important?’
She felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘Not really. I—I had a few days spare and I just thought I’d look him up.’
His eyes told her he didn’t believe her and his mouth thinned into a very straight line. ‘So you’ll be leaving again in the morning?’
She hadn’t been ready for his question. Her head shot up making her look more haughty than she intended. ‘Sure. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as the sun comes up.’
Standing abruptly, he crossed back to the stove and filled the teapot with boiling water from the kettle. Stella bit her lip. Callum had been hospitable and she’d been rude. ‘Do you live here by yourself now?’ she asked, trying to make amends.
‘Yes.’ He thumped the lid onto the pot.
‘How do you manage such a big property on your own?’
‘I manage. My father tried to persuade me that the property’s too big for one man. He wanted to send someone out to help me.’
‘But you refused help?’
‘I don’t want anyone else here.’ The message was loud and very clear.
‘So how do you do it all?’
Callum turned from the stove and shrugged. ‘It’s not that difficult if you’re prepared to work hard. And there are plenty of blokes looking for mustering contracts. I can hire a team of fencers if I need to.’
‘You mentioned your sisters before. Do they live in these parts?’
One of his eyebrows rose quizzically. ‘Didn’t my little brother tell you about the family?’
Stella concentrated on her food. She didn’t want to admit to Callum that there’d been disappointments in her relationship with Scott. She forced a nonchalant smile. ‘It was tit for tat. I didn’t tell Scott about my family either. We liked it that way.’
It was partly the truth. After she’d let Scott make love to her, she’d expected they would become closer in every way, that he’d begin to share more of his life with her. But the minute he’d sensed she’d been getting serious, he’d become edgy and had backed away.
Callum brought the teapot and mugs to the table. ‘My mob don’t have any secrets. Both my sisters married North Queensland graziers. Catherine lives on a property near Julia Creek and Ellie is just outside Cloncurry. They both love the bush life. They’re happy as possums up a gum tree.’
‘Do they have children?’
‘Three kids apiece.’
‘Wow. That’s quite a family. It must be crowded when they all visit.’
‘It’s great.’ His eyes glowed and he actually smiled. And Stella wished he wouldn’t. Callum Roper was far too attractive when his eyes lit up that way.
She glanced at Oscar in his cage in the corner. He was her family, the only living thing in the world that belonged to her. Apart from the baby. But the baby was invisible. Most of the time, she had trouble thinking of it as real.
Callum leaned back in his chair. ‘And I suppose you know all about our old man?’
She frowned. ‘Your father? Should I know about him?’
She was surprised when he almost laughed. ‘He would like to think so, but then, all politicians have huge egos.’
‘Politicians?’ Stella almost dropped her fork. Roper…Roper…Was there a state politician named Roper? Suddenly she remembered. Not state government. Federal. ‘Your dad is Senator Ian Roper?’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘Oh, good grief!’ In her head, she added a few swear words and the invisible cluster of cells in her body suddenly posed a whole new parcel of problems.
Just how much bad luck did a girl have to deal with? She was carrying the illegitimate grandchild of one of the country’s most outspokenly conservative politicians!
Suddenly their efforts at conversation deteriorated. It seemed neither of them had much to say. Stella’s curiosity about Scott’s family vanished. She was back in panic mode again.
After they’d eaten, he asked, ‘Are you feeling OK now?’
‘Yes, much better, thank you. You’re a great cook. Dinner was delicious.’
‘Feel free to go straight to bed.’
‘I’ll help you clean up.’
His dark brows beetled in a deep frown. ‘No, you won’t.’
She had the distinct impression that he’d had enough of being sociable. He wanted her out of the room.
‘You’re sure I can’t help?’
He nodded without speaking.
Standing slowly, she said, ‘You’ll be closing the kitchen windows, won’t you?’
He frowned. ‘I don’t usually bother.’
‘But—with Oscar in here—and the snakes and—everything.’
Callum almost grinned. ‘Oh, yeah. The snakes. OK, I’ll close the windows.’

CHAPTER THREE
STELLA was sick the next morning.
As Callum came back from the holding yards, striding through the dewy bluegrass with Mac at his heels, he heard unmistakable sounds coming from the bathroom.
They stopped him dead in his tracks. She was supposed to be heading off this morning. Leaving him in peace. But how could he send her packing if she was sick?
He kicked at a loose stone and sent it rolling down the incline. Instantly alert, the blue heeler watched its descent then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth chasing.
Callum watched it, too, as it bounced from rock to rock before disappearing into the scrub on the creek bank. This sickness of Stella’s was rather unusual. The fainting last night and now this…
Perhaps she had a simple stomach bug, but she’d woofed down that tucker last night without any problems. He frowned. That was how his sisters had been when they’d been expecting. Fine one minute, then suddenly dizzy or racing to the bathroom.
Was she pregnant? No, surely not.
His head shot back. She damn well could be pregnant.
The more he thought about it, the more he was sure he’d hit on the truth. Of course she was pregnant. That was why she’d hightailed it all the way from Sydney looking for Scott. That’s why she’d been so upset.
Damn and blast you, little brother. What have you gone and done now?
If Stella was pregnant…If she was carrying Scott’s child…If she was planning on heading back to the city…disappearing again as quickly as she’d appeared…taking Scott’s baby with her…
He slapped his palm against the rough trunk of a bloodwood tree and stared blankly into the distance, while tumultuous thoughts raged. Thoughts of Scott, of his family, of his own guilt and grief, his parents’ heartbreak.
Thoughts of Scott in Stella’s bed.
Groaning, he kicked another loose stone. Distasteful as it was, he had little choice; he had to ask her. If Scott was leaving behind a son or daughter, he needed to know.
Fists clenched, he turned reluctantly and marched towards the house.
Stella was in the kitchen, hovering in front of the stove and squinting at the dials. She was wearing denim cut-offs and a simple white T-shirt and her feet were bare except for the silver ankle chain with its blue glass beads.
She turned and smiled at him warily. ‘Good morning.’
He nodded. ‘Morning. Did you sleep well?’
‘Like a log, thank you. I didn’t realise how tired I was.’ She pointed to the stove. ‘I thought I’d make a cup of tea, but I haven’t quite worked out how to drive your stove.’
‘It’s fairly straightforward,’ he muttered.
‘Uh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘An electric kettle is straightforward. A stove this size requires a licence to operate. I’m surprised you have something so complicated way out in the bush.’
‘We needed it when all the family lived at home.’ He reached past her to flick appropriate switches. ‘My mother takes her cooking seriously.’
Stella gave a wry grin as she shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I’m a victim of the microwave era. If it doesn’t light up with little messages telling me what to do, I’m lost.’
She ran slim fingers through her shiny black hair. Her hands, like her feet, were elegantly shaped, although her fingernails weren’t painted. The movements of her fingers in her hair made the silky strands shift and fall back into place. To Callum, the gesture seemed as natural and pretty as a jabiru stretching and folding its glossy wings.
‘What would you like for breakfast?’ he asked, unhappy to find himself still thinking about her hair, her hands, her feet.
She grimaced. ‘I’m not sure. I thought I’d just try a cuppa to start with.’
‘You’re not hungry?’ he challenged.
‘Not really. Maybe some dry toast.’ She looked away.
He took a deep breath. ‘You were sick—just before.’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Nothing? Are you sure it’s nothing, Stella?’
Her head swung back quickly and her grey eyes were defensive as she stared at him. ‘Of course I’m sure.’
He knew she was lying.
‘I can’t let you head off on the long journey back to Sydney if you’re not well. And if you can’t manage more to eat than dry toast—’
She turned swiftly away from him again. He couldn’t be sure but he thought she seemed to be trembling.
‘Stella.’
She shook her head as if she wanted him to leave her alone. Then her chin lifted and he saw again the same haughty strength that he’d sensed in her yesterday. Or was it just stubbornness?
When he stepped towards her, she continued to keep her back to him, but he settled his hands firmly on her shoulders and forced her to turn around, too tense to take his time searching for delicate ways to pose his question. ‘Stella, are you pregnant?’
‘No!’ she snapped and she tried to jerk her shoulders out of his grasp. ‘Anyway, it—it’s none of your business.’
He kept a tight grip on her shoulders. ‘If you’re carrying my brother’s baby, I consider it my business.’
Her eyes blazed with sudden anger. ‘Why? What would you want to do about it?’
‘Are you telling me it’s true?’ His breathing felt suddenly constricted. ‘You are pregnant?’
He let go and she jumped back quickly, like a trapped animal escaping.
‘I’m telling you it’s got nothing to do with you. I don’t want you or your family trying to take over my life just—just because—’
‘Just because you’re having Scott’s baby,’ he finished for her. Out of the blue, he felt his eyes sting and his throat close over. Spinning on the heel of his riding boot, he marched away from her, clear across the room, kicking a chair out of his way as he went.
Bloody hell! He mustn’t lose it and make a complete fool of himself in front of this woman, but the thought of Scott’s seed blossoming inside her made him feel damn emotional.
Scotty Roper was gone for ever, but he’d left behind a part of himself. And, God help him, Callum couldn’t block out the thought of his brother and Stella together—making that little baby—making love.
Whirling around again, he found that she was close behind him, standing with her hands clasped in front of her, as if she’d been thinking about touching him and hadn’t dared, or hadn’t wanted to.
‘Are you quite certain it’s Scott’s baby?’ he asked coldly.
The way she closed her eyes and compressed her lips told him she hated the question and hated him for asking. ‘It’s definitely his,’ she said, matching his cold tone. ‘And if you plan to stand there and make moral judgements about me, I’m going straight out that door and taking off for Cloncurry without even thanking you for your reluctant hospitality.’
‘OK. OK.’ He raised his hands in a halting action, then let out a long breath. Steam was pouring out of the kettle on the stove and he grabbed the opportunity to change the subject. ‘I’ll get you that cup of tea.’
In a weird way Stella felt better now Callum knew about the baby. It felt as if at least some of her burden was lifting from her shoulders.
Sharing the news with someone, even Callum, after keeping it to herself for so long brought instant relief. But she would have to make him promise not to tell the rest of his family—certainly not his father. Not the Senator!
He handed her a bright red mug and she took a seat at the table. Snatching the chair he’d kicked aside, he turned it back to front and straddled it. Stella tried not to notice the very masculine stretch of his jeans over his strong, muscular thighs. He propped his elbows on the top rung of the chair’s ladder back and held his mug in both hands.
She took a sip of tea. It was hot and sweet, just how she needed it. And her stomach seemed to accept it. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘this is my problem, Callum. You don’t have to worry about it.’
He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Did Scott know about the baby?’
She shook her head.
‘And you came out here to tell him.’
‘Yes.’
His brown-gold eyes continued to study her with the intensity of a hawk. ‘What were you hoping? That he would marry you?’
Stella almost dropped her mug. ‘No. Not marriage.’ Did she imagine that slight relaxation of his shoulders?
‘Do you need help? Money?’
‘No!’ She stared at him, shocked. ‘And I’m not planning to get rid of it. Is that what you thought?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m just trying to understand.’
She wanted to believe him. It was actually a comforting idea—having someone who wanted to understand.
Perhaps he was more sensitive than he appeared on the surface. Perhaps she could trust him. Her chin lifted. ‘I know I’ll be a hopeless mother, but the least I can do is give this little baby life.’
Draining his tea, he rocked the chair slowly forward and set his empty mug on the table. When he straightened once more, his gaze lifted slowly. ‘What makes you think you’d be a hopeless mother?’
She felt her cheeks burn. She couldn’t tell him that. No way! Honesty had its limits. It would mean confessing about Marlene, her own mother, the source of most of her hang ups. It would mean dredging up those sordid stories about the way Marlene had failed over and over in numerous attempts at motherhood.
It had been the ongoing pattern of Stella’s childhood and it left her terrified at the thought of ever attempting to be a mother.
The pattern had always been the same. Marlene would plead with the welfare people that she could take beautiful care of Stella and stay clean and sober. She would promise the earth.
And, because the government policy was to keep mothers and children together wherever possible, they would give in. For a few months, life would be grand. Stella would go home to her mother’s new flat and they would eat meat with three kinds of vegetables and they’d go to the movies. They’d play music and dance in the lounge.
Marlene would wash her long black hair and she’d smell of lemon shampoo and talcum powder, and she would take Stella on her lap and read her stories about heroes. For some reason her mother had fancied tales about brave, fearless men.
At night, Marlene would tuck her into bed and tell her she loved her. And Stella would love her back fiercely, so fiercely she could feel her chest swell with the force of her emotion. Marlene was her mother, the very best mother in the world.
But then there would always be the black day when Stella came home from school and found Marlene incoherent and smelling of alcohol. Each day after that things would get worse…the house would turn into a pigsty…and there’d be a different man…She’d go hungry. Sometimes the man would be violent and she’d have to hide outside the house, crying and hungry, trying to sleep in the garage.
Eventually someone, usually a teacher, would report Stella’s condition to the authorities. They would take her away again and Marlene would be broken-hearted. She would sob that she wanted to be a good mother…
Stella had wanted her to be a good mother, too. Had longed for it. She’d hated Marlene for failing yet again…
It wasn’t the sort of story she could tell, certainly not to this earnest, solemn man, the son of Senator Ian Roper.
‘Are you saying you don’t want to be a mother?’
I’m terrified. I’m scared I don’t know how to be a mother.
‘I—I’ve worked very hard at my career.’
She saw his stony expression and she felt a distinct rush of resentment. It was impossible for anyone else to understand. She cast a frantic glance to the clock on the wall. ‘Don’t you have to go work or something?’
He rose to his feet slowly and she wished he hadn’t. When he looked down at her from his considerable height, she felt smaller than ever.
‘I’m waiting to hear from a ringer in Kajabbi,’ he said. ‘When he’s free, we’ll take the stock from the holding yards through to the road trains on the highway, but that probably won’t happen till tomorrow or the day after.’
He walked to the sink and deposited their mugs into it. ‘How about that dry toast?’ he asked with a glimmer of a smile.
She had almost forgotten about breakfast. ‘Thanks.’
As he dropped two slices of bread into the toaster he turned her way. ‘You shouldn’t leave this morning. You’ve barely had time to recover from the long drive up here. You should at least stay another night.’
He wasn’t being friendly or warm. Just practical. And the long journey had been exhausting. She hated the thought of heading straight back.
‘That would be sensible, I guess. Thanks.’
He brought her dry toast and spread his own with plenty of butter. It melted, warm and golden, into the toasted bread and Stella couldn’t help looking at it rather longingly. Her morning sickness was fading and she was feeling hungry again.
‘Sure you don’t want some mango jam? My sister Ellie makes it.’ He spread the bright-coloured fruit onto his toast and took a bite.
‘It does look rather good,’ she admitted and dipped her knife into the pot.
They munched for some time without talking. Then he said unexpectedly, ‘You’d better tell me about this career and these big plans of yours.’
She sent him a hasty, troubled look, then just as quickly looked at her hands clenched in her lap.
‘You never know,’ he said carefully. ‘I might be able to help.’
‘How could you?’
‘I don’t have a damned clue. But if you tell me—’
She shook her head. ‘There’s no point. No one can help.’
But he wouldn’t give up. ‘What kind of work do you do? On the one brief occasion we met in the past, I don’t think we talked about mundane things like jobs.’
They exchanged one lightning-quick glance, then both looked away. Stella fought to ignore the sudden memory of his strong body, hard against hers, his hot, hard mouth taking hers. ‘I—I work with weather.’
‘A weather girl? Like on TV?’
‘Sort of. I’m not actually on TV, but I help to supply them with their information.’
He frowned. ‘You’re a meteorologist?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you couldn’t do that if you had a baby?’
‘Not—’ She took a deep breath. What the heck? Here goes… ‘—not if I was on location in the Orkney Isles or Russia.’
There was no disguising his shock. ‘Russia? What kind of job are you talking about?’
She told him about the documentary project scheduled to begin six weeks after her baby was due. ‘I’d be based in London, but I’d be expected to travel, mostly studying coastlines. It’s a job I’ve been working towards for ages and an offer like that is highly prized in my circle.’
Callum’s lips pursed as he released a low whistle. ‘I’ll bet it is.’
‘But, of course, a newborn baby doesn’t fit in the picture.’
He was scowling again. ‘I can see how this baby has completely wrecked your plans.’ He didn’t say anything more for at least a minute, just sat there as if he was carved from stone. At last he said, ‘So you didn’t want Scott to marry you and you didn’t want his money. What was it you wanted from him?’
‘It doesn’t matter any more. It can’t happen.’
‘Tell me anyhow.’
Stella ran nervous fingers through her hair. Then she sighed loudly. ‘I don’t know how to say this without sounding crazy, but I was hoping Scott might be able to look after the baby for a while—so I could still go to London.’
Telling Callum had not been a good idea. He looked pale and distinctly unhappy. He sat staring at the table for several long, silent minutes. At last he spoke very quietly. ‘You really are in a bind, aren’t you?’ And then he ran his big hand over his face, almost as if he was trying to hide his reaction.
Suddenly he jumped to his feet and mumbled that he’d better get on with some work. ‘Help yourself to any books or magazines, rest up, watch TV. Eat what you like from the fridge or the pantry.’ In the doorway, he turned back. ‘I’ll leave Mac behind for company.’
Then he hurried down the veranda as if he couldn’t wait to get away.
Blackjack’s hooves thundered beneath Callum, drumming the hard earth and pounding over the red plains of Birralee. Faster, harder, he pushed his mount, but nothing eased his raging, inner turmoil.
Eventually, he pulled to a shuddering halt on the crest of a headland that offered spectacular views down a red-walled gorge. It was the place he always came to when he needed to think.
Today his thoughts boiled. Why did it have to be Stella Lassiter who’d come to him with this problem? He didn’t know what upset him more: the fact that the woman, who had roused him from apathy to passion in the briefest of encounters, now carried a part of Scott within her and might take it away to the far ends of the earth, or the knowledge that her relationship with Scott had become intimate.
Slumping in the saddle, he sat in a gut-clenched daze while his mind overflowed, teeming with memories of the night he’d met Stella…
He’d gone to Sydney with Scott to check out the prizewinning stock at the Royal Easter Show and, afterwards, Scott had taken him to a party. He’d seen Stella the instant he’d entered the room.
She’d been standing on her own at the far side of the crowd, watching the revellers with her chin at a haughty angle and an aloof expression on her face. Callum had been seized by an urge to stare.
She’d looked bold and bewitching. Her hair had been as dark and shiny as polished ebony and her sleeveless silk dress, the colour of rich claret, vibrant against the smooth ivory of her skin.
Her gaze had met his. She’d looked across at him and had smiled.
And the next moment had been like something out of a movie. He’d begun to walk towards her through the crowd. She’d watched him all the way. When he’d reached her, he’d been strangely out of breath, a little star-struck and suddenly shy, almost embarrassed by the spell that had seemed to have drawn him to her.
But then he’d looked into her clear grey eyes and had felt such a deep, immediate connection that he’d known that if he lived to be two hundred, he would never forget the moment.
Scott’s laughing voice had sounded in his ear. ‘Oh, so you’ve met Stella. Good.’ He took her hand and placed it in Callum’s. ‘Stella, this is my big brother, Callum. Be nice to him. He’s rough around the edges, but not quite as grim as he looks.’
Then Scott slapped Callum on the shoulder before disappearing off into the crowd to find a drink.
Callum asked Stella to dance and she hesitated at first. Her eyes followed Scott, watching as he reached the bar and started to chat up a pair of pretty girls. In hindsight, Callum realised he should have picked up on the obvious clue of her worried glance after Scott, but he’d been so determined to win her, he’d ignored anything that might get in his way.
When she warmly accepted his invitation to dance, he was as relieved as a nervous schoolboy.
The party’s host had hired a band and the music was good. He enjoyed the physicality of dancing. Stella was a responsive partner and the electrifying spell that had drawn him to her continued to weave its sorcery.
Their smiling gazes linked and held as her slender curves brushed against him. He watched the growing warmth and awareness in her eyes as, time and again, their bodies met, tantalised, then swung apart.
When the music slowed, he couldn’t wait another heartbeat to draw her closer, but when he did, the slow, sensual swaying of her slim hips beneath his hands and the sweet pressure of her breasts drove him to the limits of his control. He’d never been so highly sensitised, so exquisitely on edge, so jealous of the barriers of thin, teasing silk.
Dancing with Stella, gazing into her eyes, holding her in his arms, inhaling her…wasn’t enough.
And the high colour in her cheeks, the wild smoky haze in her eyes and the catch in her breathing told him that she shared the same amazing need that was flaring in him.
He bent his lips to her ear. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
She nodded quickly and they fled from the brightly lit party rooms into the garden.
Moonlight sheened Stella’s hair and silvered her pale skin as he tasted her at last. Her mouth was honey-sweet, yielding and passionate and he kissed her hard, taking everything with no more permission than the promise in her smile.
It was as if Stella was the first woman, the only woman he’d ever kissed, as if her mouth had been fashioned for his mouth and his alone, her breasts for his hands, her sweet femininity for his unforgiving hardness.
God knew what might have happened if the bright laughter of other party guests hadn’t sounded close by. Entangled in each other’s arms, they stood as quietly as their ragged breathing would allow, while laughing couples wandered past with a clinking of bottles.
When they were alone again, Callum drew her towards him once more, but he knew even before she stiffened and stepped away, that the magic had gone. For her the spell was broken.
‘I shouldn’t be here,’ she moaned. ‘We must go inside.’
‘Stay,’ he ordered, his voice thick and brusque with desire still rampant in his veins.
‘I’m not a cattle dog, Callum,’ she muttered before turning and walking quickly ahead of him back into the house.
Once inside, she asked for a drink. When he returned with wine, she drank half of it quickly, then placed the glass on a nearby table.
Her hands slid nervously down her thighs. ‘Look, what happened out there—I apologise if it looks as if I’ve been leading you on, but—ah—’ She pressed shaking fingers to her chest and shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.’ She looked distressed.
He had to clear the tightness in his throat before he could answer. ‘I’m not going to apologise for doing something I was sure we both wanted.’
‘I’m not blaming you. I know I gave you all the signals. It’s—it’s just that I shouldn’t have—’
His head was still reeling and he grabbed her hand roughly. Too roughly. Leaning close he muttered, ‘You’re fooling yourself, Stella. You were burning hot.’
‘No. No, you don’t understand.’ She snatched her hand away and looked genuinely frightened. ‘I’m sorry, Callum, but I should never have gone outside with you. I’m feeling so guilty.’ She dragged in a heavy breath and her grey eyes were dark with confusion. ‘You see, I—I already have a boyfriend.’
Just then Scott called to them from across the room. He beamed a cheery grin and waved. The giggling blonde at his side waved as well.
Stella’s twisted, sad little smile as she waved back struck Callum like a savage blow. ‘Not Scott?’ he cried in disbelief. ‘You’re not trying to tell me my little brother is your boyfriend?’
Her chin lifted and she stared directly at him. For long, painful seconds she looked puzzled and helpless, but then she answered quite definitely, ‘Yes, he is.’
He wanted to tell her she was making a huge mistake. There were a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t be Scott’s girl. Couldn’t she see beyond his boyish charm? Didn’t she know about his reputation with the ladies? And didn’t she understand that she was destined to be with him, Callum?

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