Outback Baby
Outback Baby
Barbara Hannay
Max Jardine always behaves like a bossy big brother to Gemma Brown. Except for one night five years ago–a night they have never talked about since. But now Gemma is moving into Max's remote Outback home to help him care for a friend's baby…Seeing stubborn, gorgeous Max with a baby in his arms confuses Gemma–almost as much as it intrigues Max to see Gemma all grown up! And tension mounts as they confront the past…
“You’ve grown up, Gem.”
Tears welled in Gemma’s throat, making it hard to reply. “What—what did you expect?”
“Oh, I expected something quite spectacular.” The skin around Max’s eyes creased as he smiled.
This conversation was dangerous, but she was mesmerized by his voice—deep, yet rough around the edges, as if his throat felt as choked as hers. She couldn’t drag herself away, despite the embarrassing memories still hot in her thoughts.
As if sensing her confusion, Max took both her hands in his and pulled her toward him. “Now that you’re so grown up, I think it’s time we talked about a little matter that we should have discussed long ago—five years ago.”
Strong and silent…
Powerful and passionate…
Tough and tender…
Who can resist the rugged loners of the Outback? As tough and untamed as the land they rule, they burn as hot as the Australian sun once they meet the woman they’ve been waiting for!
Inherited: Twins (#3701)
by Jessica Hart
Men who turn your whole world upside down!
Outback Baby
Barbara Hannay
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Lucy Francesca, who was born into our family at the time this story was coming to life.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ubca06a06-50c3-5929-b8fa-764f56c09105)
CHAPTER TWO (#u4c304317-07ba-5c61-8ef2-22e97d6d2280)
CHAPTER THREE (#u5c045c48-0a6c-5da6-8d02-13485162a8a1)
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 ONE
WHEN Gemma heard the pounding on her front door, she knew something was desperately wrong. Startled, she hurried to answer it, hardly expecting to find her best friend on her doorstep, clutching her ten-month-old daughter to her chest as if the baby were a life-preserver.
‘I need your help, Gemma. Are you terribly busy?’
Shocked by the fear in her friend’s eyes, Gemma slipped a reassuring arm around her shoulders. ‘Bel, you know I’m never too busy for you. Come in and tell me what’s wrong.’
Isobel stepped into the flat with a shaky sigh and hefted baby Mollie higher on her hip. Her eyes darted to the pile of paperwork on Gemma’s dining table. ‘Oh, you are busy. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about this mess.’ With a quick dismissive gesture, Gemma gathered up the designs she’d just finished and slipped them into a manila folder. For the moment she would have to put aside her own panic about deadlines and the need to dash this marketing brochure to the printers this afternoon. Isobel was obviously besieged by much more serious problems. ‘How can I help?’
To Gemma’s horror, Isobel’s normally serene face crumpled and tears spilled onto her cheeks. ‘It’s Dave.’
‘Dave? Has something happened in Africa?’ Two months earlier, Isobel’s husband Dave had been seconded by an Australian aid agency to sink wells in Somalia.
Isobel hugged Mollie even closer and rested a trembling chin on the baby’s curly head. ‘It’s so sudden, it’s terrible. He’s being held hostage. I’m sure it’s all some awful mistake, but rebels are involved.’ She drew a deep shuddering breath, clearly trying to suppress the urge to burst into full-scale crying.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Gemma whispered, gripping her friend’s cold fingers while she gaped at her.
Surely this sort of thing didn’t happen to ordinary people? Not to easygoing, cheerful Dave Jardine?
She groped for the right words and gave up the struggle. ‘I’m so sorry. This is terrible. Poor Dave.’ The thought of her childhood friend—the boy she’d grown up with in the bush—facing armed rebels was appalling. How could his wife bear it? She stared helplessly at Isobel’s white face and whispered, ‘What can we do?’
‘I’m going to him,’ Isobel answered with a determined lift of her chin.
‘You’re going to Africa?’ Gemma pulled out another chair and sat down swiftly. This second shock was almost worse than the first. ‘What can you do?’ she asked at last.
‘Apparently I’m the only one who can do anything,’ Isobel explained with wide, frightened eyes. ‘Because I’m Dave’s wife, the people at the Australian Embassy think I can help. Dave’s there for humanitarian reasons and they think the rebels are more likely to respond if we work on the family angle.’
‘Oh, Isobel, how brave of you!!’ Gemma jumped up again and hugged her. ‘Lucky Dave to have such a wonderful wife.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘Love and the kind of marriage that you guys have—it’s—it’s amazing!’ For Gemma it was beyond imagining. With a short burst of pride, she remembered that she shared responsibility for this wonderful partnership by introducing Isobel and Dave during their university days.
Her gaze dropped to the innocent baby perched happily on her mother’s lap. ‘You couldn’t dream of taking little Mollie into a dangerous situation like that?’
‘No, of course I couldn’t.’ Isobel sighed and pressed her lips to her daughter’s chubby cheek. ‘I can’t bear the thought of leaving her behind, but that’s where you come in, Gem. I’ve an enormous favour to ask.’
‘Of course—I’ll do anything.’ Gemma did her best to ignore the nervous knot tightening in her stomach as her mind raced.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t ring you first to warn you, but I knew you were going to be home and…’ Isobel’s voice trailed away as she looked at her friend hopefully.
‘Just tell me how I can help.’
‘I was hoping you could mind Mollie for me.’
Gemma gulped. While she adored Mollie, she knew absolutely zilch about caring for babies. She pressed her lips tightly together before she verbalised any of the sudden doubts that swamped her. Of course she could mind a baby. Millions of women all over the world had been doing it for centuries without turning a hair. ‘I’d love to have her,’ she said with a bright smile.
Isobel reached out and squeezed Gemma’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I’ve dumped this on you at such short notice, but I wouldn’t trust anyone else to look after my little girl. My parents are on holiday in Spain, as you know. Dave’s father is too old—and it has to be someone I know well. Someone who cares about Mollie. Not a nanny I’ve never met. Honestly, Gem, you’re my best friend and, working from home as you do, I couldn’t think of anyone better.’
‘I’m flattered that you trust me,’ Gemma responded warmly, but she couldn’t help adding, ‘You do realise, don’t you, that I—I don’t have much experience with babies. Actually—I don’t have any experience with them.’
‘Oh, Gemma, you’ve been around Mollie heaps. And you’ll be amazed how it all comes so instinctively. I’m sure you’re a natural!’ She gave her daughter a motherly hug. ‘And Mollie’s really quite a good little poppet.’
‘Of course,’ Gemma responded quickly, not wanting to alarm her friend. ‘She’s a darling.’ When she thought about Dave’s desperate plight and Isobel’s brave decision to go to Africa, Gemma knew she could hardly make a fuss about caring for one perfectly harmless and tiny human being.
Her friend’s grey eyes brightened. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I’ve rung Max. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you any way he can.’
‘Max?’ Gemma had been playing with Mollie’s pink toes, but at the mention of Dave’s older brother Max, her head jerked up. ‘I won’t need any help from him!’
To her annoyance, Gemma’s heart began a fretful pounding.
Since she’d been six years old, Max Jardine had always managed to get under her skin. When they were teenagers, Gemma had never been able to understand why the girls in the outback town of Goodbye Creek, where she and the Jardine boys had gone to school, had scored Max a ‘hunk factor’ of ten. They had raved about his well-toned body and dark good looks.
‘But you’ve seriously overlooked his personality defects,’ she’d pointed out.
‘What defects?’ the girls had scoffed.
And Gemma had rolled her eyes in disgust. She was well-acquainted with his faults. She’d spent half her childhood on the Jardine’s property, camping and canoeing or horse-riding with Dave, and Max had always been in the background, treating her like a bad smell that hung around his brother.
In the years since she’d left the outback she’d only seen Max a handful of times, but nothing had changed. He still looked on her as a lower life-form. She shook her head. ‘Max Jardine would know even less than I do about caring for a baby.’
Isobel was regarding Gemma strangely. ‘I didn’t realise you were so touchy about Max.’
‘I’m not touchy about him,’ Gemma snapped.
Isobel’s eyebrows rose. ‘If you say so.’
‘It’s just that I fail to see how a man who spends his whole life marooned in the outback like a hermit with only cattle for company could be any use when it comes to minding Mollie.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Isobel agreed cautiously. ‘But let’s not forget that Max is Dave’s brother. I had to let him know what had happened.’
Gemma could hardly deny that, but it didn’t help her to feel any better. ‘How did he react?’ she asked warily.
‘Actually, I couldn’t speak to him directly. There was no answer when I rang through to the property this morning, so I left a message on his answering machine. He must be out in the bush mustering or maybe fencing, so I simply explained what I was going to do.’
‘And you told him I would be taking care of Mollie?’
‘I said that was my plan.’
‘I see.’
Gemma decided there and then that if Max Jardine knew she’d been asked to care for Mollie, she would mind this baby as expertly as a triple-certificated nanny. This wasn’t just a case of helping out her best friend. She didn’t want to give Mollie’s grumpy Uncle Max one tiny chance to criticise her.
Exactly why Gemma cared about Max’s opinion was an issue she didn’t have time to consider now. She was too busy worrying about how she could mind Mollie and carry on her business.
But she would find a way. She might collapse in the attempt, but she would give it her best shot.
Lifting Mollie from Isobel’s arms, Gemma cuddled her close. The baby girl was soft and warm and smelt delicious. ‘Tell me everything I need to know about our little darling.’
‘Oh, Gem. I’m so relieved. I knew I could depend on you.’ Isobel let out a relieved sigh. ‘I can give you everything you’ll need for Mollie. In fact, my bag’s packed and I have it all in the car.’
‘You mean you’re heading off today?’
‘It’s important that I get to Dave as fast as I can. I’ll get Mollie’s things for you now.’
‘Sure,’ Gemma replied, more confidently than she felt. ‘You get the baby gear and I’ll make us some coffee.’
By the time she’d drunk her coffee, Gemma’s mind was reeling. She had three closely written pages of detailed instructions about caring for Mollie. At the outset, Isobel had said minding a baby was simple, but Mollie came with more operating instructions than a state-of-the-art computer.
How could one little scrap require so much work? And how, she wondered, after she’d waved goodbye to Isobel, could she suddenly manage Mollie and her business? She looked at the pink and white bundle in her arms and tried to suppress a surge of alarm. She had immediate deadlines to meet and there was the constant need to drum up new clients.
Mollie’s round little eyes stared solemnly up at her, reminding Gemma of an unblinking owl. Her heart melted. ‘Kiddo, it’s just you and me now. And we’re not going to let this lick us.’ She dropped a quick kiss on Mollie’s curly head. Then she walked briskly back up the path to her flat, determined to tackle this task in as businesslike a fashion as possible.
A swish of tyres behind her brought her spinning around. In her driveway, a taxi was pulling up and a tall, rangy figure leapt from the passenger’s seat.
Max Jardine!
How in tarnation had he got from Western Queensland to Brisbane so quickly?
‘Gemma!’ Max barked as he swung open her front gate and strode towards her. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on Mollie. ‘Where’s Isobel?’
‘Hello, Max. Nice to see you, too,’ Gemma replied coolly while her heart thudded. Max switched his gaze to her and he glared as ferociously as a headmaster scowling at an unmanageable pupil. Suddenly, she felt extremely self-conscious—as if her skirt was too short, her black stockings too sheer, or her platform heels too high. No matter how much decorum she’d acquired over the years, this older brother of Dave’s always, always, always made her feel like a silly little girl. ‘How did you get here so quickly?’ she demanded.
‘I flew. I got in early this morning from checking out the back country and found Isobel’s message on the answering machine.’
Gemma remembered that she’d been told Max had invested in his own light aircraft.
‘Well, Isobel’s already left for Eagle Farm airport. You probably passed her.’
Max grimaced. ‘So she’s going ahead with this madcap scheme?’
‘Yes, she’s a very determined woman.’ Gemma hugged Mollie a little closer. Faced by this angry maelstrom of a man, she found the baby’s warmth and softness reassuring.
Cursing, Max ran impatient fingers through his dark brown hair. ‘I should be the one chasing across the world after Dave.’
Gemma smacked a hand to her forehead, pantomime-style, and beamed at him. ‘What a brilliant idea! Why didn’t Isobel or I think of that? You’re the obvious choice. You’re Dave’s brother. You’re family but, even better, you’re a man. You could spare Isobel the danger and Isobel—’ Gemma felt a heady rush of excitement and relief as the next point sank in ‘—and Isobel could continue to care for Mollie.’
‘So you don’t want to look after the baby?’
‘I—I didn’t say that.’ Her sense of relief plummeted. She and Max had hardly been talking for thirty seconds and already he’d found a way to put her down. ‘Of course I’m happy to mind her, but could you really go to Africa? Do you have your passport with you?’
‘Don’t you think I haven’t tried to go?’ Max glared back at her. ‘Foreign Affairs quickly knocked me back. They told me in no uncertain terms to stay out of it. Isobel is Dave’s next of kin and they want the wifely touch to try to appeal on humanitarian grounds. Apparently, that’s much more likely to get Dave released. I’m not happy, but I’m not going to muddy the water.’
Gemma’s shoulders sagged. ‘I suppose that’s wise. It does sound like a touchy situation.’
Max merely grunted. He moved up the path towards her and she found herself backing away from his determined stride. Some women had been heard to comment that now he’d reached thirty Max was even more good-looking than he’d been in his teens, but none of them had enticed him into marriage and Gemma knew why. His personality hadn’t improved one jot.
‘Who decided that you should be taking care of the baby?’ he drawled.
She squared her shoulders. ‘Her mother is absolutely certain that I am the perfect choice.’
A sudden wind gusted across the garden and Gemma ducked her head to protect Mollie, so she missed seeing his reaction. But she didn’t miss the sound of her front door slamming shut. Horrified, she whirled around. Dammit! Now she was stranded on her own front path with a baby in her arms and Max Jardine glowering at her.
He looked in the direction of her door. ‘You’re not locked out, are you?’
She fumbled around in her pockets, knowing that it was useless and that her keys were still hanging on a little brass hook in her kitchen. ‘Yes,’ she replied through gritted teeth.
‘You can’t get in the back way?’
‘No. I made sure I closed my back door because I was worried about my neighbour’s cat and…the baby.’
For a fraction of a second, she almost thought he smiled at her. ‘So it’s a case of climbing through a window.’
Gemma looked at her windows. It had been windy all day and the only one she’d left open was in her bedroom.
‘I can get through there in a flash,’ Max offered.
She pictured him swinging his riding boots and his long, jeans-clad legs over the sill, squeezing past the big bed that almost filled her small room—seeing the muddle of books, perfume and make-up on her bedside table and the underwear she’d left in a jumble on the end of the bed.
For some silly reason, she felt ridiculously flustered at the mere thought of Max seeing her private domain. ‘It’s OK,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll go. I—I know my way around.’
This time he was definitely smiling. His blue eyes danced as they rested first on Mollie in her arms and then on her short skirt. ‘If you insist on getting in there yourself, let me at least help.’ He held out his arms for Mollie.
Oh, Lord! What was worse? Did she want Max Jardine prowling around her bedroom, or Max, with Mollie in one arm, helping her up to her window and watching her skirt hike over her hips as she clambered through? Damn the man! Why did his presence always rock her so badly? This was hardly a life-threatening situation and yet she was feeling completely rattled.
‘I guess you’ve got the longer legs. You’d better do the climbing,’ she muttered ungraciously.
‘OK,’ he agreed easily, and in no time he had disappeared.
She saw her lace curtain snag as Max moved past it and she wondered what he thought of the ridiculously huge bed that dominated her tiny bedroom. She had taken the flat because it came fully furnished and the rent was cheap, considering how closely it was situated to the central business district. Most tenants, she assumed, would consider the king-size bed a bonus, but it was rather more than she needed.
The front door swung open.
‘Miss Brown, Miss Mollie,’ Max welcomed them with a deep bow.
‘Thanks,’ Gemma replied stiffly as she sailed past him into her flat with her head high. At the entrance to her lounge room, she paused and eyed him coolly, feeling uncomfortably more like the guest than the hostess. To right matters she added, ‘I take it you’ve come to visit us?’
‘We’ve got to work out what’s best for this little one.’
Gemma sighed. She sensed combat ahead of her and here she was, facing the enemy without any time to construct a battle plan. The whole business of getting into the flat had set her off on the wrong foot. ‘Isobel has already decided what’s best for her daughter,’ she told him haughtily. ‘Don’t forget this baby’s mother is my best friend.’
‘And this baby is my niece,’ Max growled.
What would poor little Mollie think, if she could understand the way they were bickering over her?
Max moved away and she grimaced as he surveyed her lounge room. Its appearance had deteriorated somewhat now that Mollie’s gear was piled in the middle of the carpet. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Max’s brows pull into a frown as he studied the mountain of equipment. There were numerous toys, a collapsible cot, a car seat, pram and playpen, not to mention enough clothes to dress an entire kindergarten.
His gaze also took in the piles of pamphlets and boxes Gemma had ‘filed’ on her sofa. Her computer and more paperwork covered the small dining table.
‘There’ll be much more room when I move the baby’s gear into the bedroom,’ she explained hastily.
Max cracked half a grin. ‘Which bedroom would that be?’
‘M-mine.’
‘How many bedrooms do you have?’
Why her cheeks should flame at such a straightforward question was beyond her. ‘Just—just the one,’ she stammered.
Max stood staring at her with his hands on his hips, shaking his head as if he hadn’t heard her properly. ‘You’re going to put all this gear in that miniature bedroom I just came through?’
‘Some of it,’ she mumbled.
‘You’ll need to buy a smaller bed.’
Gemma wouldn’t give into his provocation by responding to that comment. To her further annoyance, he turned and sauntered around her compact kitchen, then back to the lounge and dining area, silently, grimly inspecting every detail. Her dwelling seemed smaller than ever with his large frame invading the space. Finally, he swivelled back to face her. And for an unnecessarily long moment, his disturbing blue eyes rested on her.
At last he spoke very quietly. ‘It can’t be done, Gemma. You can’t take care of Mollie here in this shoe-box.’
‘Of course I can. Isobel has total faith in me.’
‘Isobel is desperate.’
Gemma told herself she should expect a hurtful jab like this from Max and she resolved not to let him intimidate her. She matched his challenging gaze with a scornful glare. ‘Isobel wasn’t so desperate that she’d risk her baby’s welfare. She has complete trust in my ability to care for Mollie.’
His eyes narrowed as he stared thoughtfully at the toes of his leather riding boots.
‘Why don’t you?’ she challenged.
His head came up slowly, but he didn’t speak.
‘Why don’t you trust me, Max?’
Before he replied, he thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his faded jeans. ‘I’m sure you have good intentions, Gemma. But I keep remembering…’ His Adam’s apple moved up and down rapidly.
When he paused, Gemma rushed to defend herself. ‘I doubt that you’ve noticed, but I’m not a little kid any more.’
This time his mouth curved into a relaxed smile and his amused blue gaze rested on her for an uncomfortable length of time before he spoke. ‘Believe me, kiddo, I’ve noticed how grown-up you look these days.’
No amount of willpower could prevent Gemma’s blushes. She ducked her face behind Mollie’s golden curls.
‘But what I’m remembering is your reaction at the hospital when Mollie was born,’ he continued. ‘You told us all very loudly that you were allergic to babies. You wouldn’t touch her for fear she would break.’
Gemma tried valiantly to suppress a gasp of dismay. ‘Newborn babies don’t count,’ she muttered defensively. ‘Everyone’s nervous about holding them. I love Mollie now.’
‘But you said you were going to wait till she was old enough to—what was it? Take shopping? I think you were planning to teach her how to buy shoes and where to get the very best coffee in town.’
Stunned, Gemma stared at Max. The man had the memory of an elephant! She had only dim recollections of this conversation. How on earth did he retain such insignificant details? He must make a habit of hoarding up ammunition like this to fire when it most hurt.
‘OK, I was scared of Mollie at first,’ she admitted. ‘I’d never been in close contact with such a tiny new baby before, but I—I’ve adjusted. Mollie and I get on famously now.’
At that moment, Mollie wriggled restlessly in Gemma’s arms and uttered a little cry of protest. Gemma stared helplessly at the squirming baby. Just whose side was this kid on? She tried to jiggle Mollie on her hip. She’d seen Isobel do it many times and it always seemed to work.
‘I take it,’ added Max, ‘you’re going to try to play nursemaid and carry on a business as well?’
‘Of course. It shouldn’t be a problem.’ It was the worst possible moment for Mollie to let out an earsplitting wail, but she did. Her little face turned deep pink, her bottom lip wobbled and she sobbed desperately. Feeling totally threatened, Gemma quickly placed the baby on the floor at her feet. To her surprise, Mollie stopped crying almost immediately. She sat there quietly and began to suck her fist.
‘Look at that,’ Gemma beamed, feeling a whole lot better. ‘I won’t have to cart her around every minute of the day. I’ll be able to sit her in her playpen surrounded by toys and get on with my work.’
Max’s expression softened for a moment as he watched his niece, but when his gaze reached Gemma again, he scowled, shook his head and shoved his hands deeper in the pockets of his jeans. ‘I’m not going to allow her to stay here, Gemma.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Not going to allow her? Could she be hearing this? Gemma had always wondered what people meant when they described hackles rising on the backs of their necks. Now she knew.
‘You heard me. I’m not going to abandon my niece.’
‘Abandon her?’ she echoed. ‘How dare you insinuate that leaving her with me is the same as abandoning her?’
‘Don’t take it personally, Gem.’
The relaxed way Max leaned back against her kitchen bench doubled Gemma’s anger.
‘How on earth am I supposed to take it?’
‘This is a family matter. You know the old saying about blood being thicker than water. A friend can’t be expected to take on such responsibility.’
‘For crying out loud, I’m more than a friend,’ Gemma cried. ‘I’m Mollie’s godmother!’ But as the words left her lips, she realised they weren’t much help. This man, this enemy, this ogre—was poor Mollie’s godfather.
‘How on earth are you going to look after Mollie?’ Gemma challenged before Max could respond. ‘You’ve no women on your property and only a handful of ringers. I doubt they’ll be much help.’
‘I’ll hire a nanny, of course. Someone with the very best training.’
She made an exaggerated show of rolling her eyes in disgust. ‘If Isobel wanted a nanny for Mollie, she could have hired one herself. The poor woman doesn’t know how long she’s going to be away and she wants someone she knows, someone who really cares about her baby, not a stranger who happens to have official qualifications.’
Max sighed and ran long fingers through his hair as he stared at the waxed tiles on Gemma’s kitchen floor. ‘Isobel said she didn’t want a nanny?’
‘Yes,’ she replied firmly.
‘OK,’ he said at last. With another deeper sigh, his head flicked sideways and his eyes locked onto hers. ‘You and I are both Mollie’s godparents, so we should make this a shared responsibility.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘WHAT exactly do you mean?’ Gemma asked, appalled by what Max seemed to be suggesting.
‘We’re both the baby’s godparents. So we look after her.’ His eyes revealed the briefest twinkle. ‘Together.’
She knew her mouth was gaping. ‘You and me?’ she gasped.
‘Yeah.’
‘But we can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘It—it’s not necessary. Being a godparent is simply a gesture of intent.’
Resting his hands on the counter top, Max leaned forward. ‘You can’t have it both ways, Gemma. Either being Mollie’s godmother is a good reason for you to take care of her, or it isn’t.’
She knew she was losing ground fast. Apparently Max had been honing his skills as a bush lawyer. She ran frantic fingers through her short, dark hair. ‘But it doesn’t mean we’re obliged to—For crying out loud, Max, that doesn’t mean we have to actually do anything parental together.’
Max’s eyes teased her. ‘It’s the only sensible solution. You and Mollie should come and stay on Goodbye Creek Station until Isobel returns. That way we can share the load. It’s called co-operation.’
Her stomach lurched as if she were coming down in a very fast elevator. ‘Co-operation, my foot!’ she said at last. ‘How much co-operation are you planning to contribute? I’m the one who’ll have to make all the sacrifices. Why should I give up everything here to head off into the bush and stay with you?’
‘Because, as I’ve already explained,’ Max said, with exaggerated patience, ‘we need to share this responsibility. That way we can both get on with our work commitments.’ He pointed to the pamphlets and papers on her sofa. ‘I imagine it will be much easier for you to bring your stuff to Goodbye Creek and to carry on your business from there, than for me to bring thousands of head of cattle down to this, er—cosy little suburban flat.’
He was so smug and sure of himself, Gemma wanted to thump him. She was beginning to feel cornered. ‘It won’t work.’
‘I think it’s a compromise that has distinct possibilities.’
If only she could tell him she was far too busy—booked up to organise half a dozen events—but even if she did tell such a lie, she was sure he would find a way to use it against her. Instead she glared at him. ‘We’ll spend the whole time fighting!’
He pretended to be shocked by her words. ‘Why on earth should we do that?’
Gemma groaned. ‘Maxwell T. Jardine, I don’t believe I’m hearing this. We would fight, for the simple reason that we have never agreed about anything. Haven’t you noticed the only thing we have in common is that we both breathe oxygen? We can’t stand each other!’
Just to prove how utterly detestable he was, Max burst out laughing.
Gemma gave in to her anger. She smashed her fist onto the counter. ‘What’s so funny?’ she yelled.
‘Oh, Gemma,’ he chuckled. ‘You certainly are all grown up now, aren’t you?’
Choking, she gasped and spluttered. Trust Max to point out that she wasn’t nearly as sophisticated and worldly wise as she liked to think she was. She had a sneaking suspicion that she might never become mature and discerning. It was her long-term ambition to become cool and detached—especially when this man was around doing his best to flummox her.
For a brief moment, Max’s expression softened. Then he stepped around the counter and towards her. Gemma wished he wouldn’t. When he rested his strong, warm hands on both her shoulders, her nerves were way too strained to cope.
‘Gemma Elizabeth Brown,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly.
Her eyes widened at his use of her middle name. She hadn’t even realised he knew it.
‘We agree on the most important thing.’
She could feel the heat of his hands as they held her. Her lungs appeared to be malfunctioning, but Max didn’t notice, he just kept on talking.
‘We agree that Mollie deserves very good care and, on this occasion, I think most definitely, we do have to do something together.’ His eyes flashed as he added, ‘Something parental. You’re right, we’ll probably fight like cats and dogs, but we’ll manage somehow—for Mollie’s sake. On our own, we’d both have major difficulties looking after the poor little kid properly, wouldn’t we?’
She allowed her gaze to meet those deep blue eyes, those disturbing blue eyes, and Gemma felt less sure of her line of argument.
‘Together, we stand a fair chance of success—both for Mollie and our work.’
What he proposed was unthinkable! She couldn’t let this happen. How on earth could she live with Max while he inspected her babysitting skills? She’d be a dithering mess. Holy smoke, he’d be checking up on her every minute of the day and he would soon discover she knew absolutely zero about babies.
Gemma felt as if she’d stepped aside and become a spectator of this discussion. Incredibly, she realised she was nodding, accepting Max’s terms.
If only she could remember exactly when Max had turned their battle to his advantage, but she had loosened her grip on this whole scene. She’d lost sight of her counter-argument.
‘I’ll do my fair share,’ Max added. ‘I’ll give Mollie her tucker or bathe her, or whatever’s necessary. We can work out some sort of roster if you like.’
She passed a dazed hand across her eyes. Never in her wildest dreams had she pictured this rough-riding cattleman in a hands-on relationship with a baby. She tried to visualise him attending to Mollie, but her musings were interrupted by the telephone.
‘Oh, heavens! That’s probably the printers.’ Gemma had almost forgotten her current project and her deadline this afternoon. ‘I have to get some pamphlet designs to them before five o’clock.’ She glared fiercely at Max as she hurried to the phone.
‘Hello, Gemma Brown speaking.’
A woman’s voice reached her. ‘Gemma, Sue Easton from Over the Page. I was wondering…’
The printers were chasing her copy. Gemma reassured the woman that everything was ready and she would be at their office shortly. As she spoke, she heard Mollie begin to cry behind her and she was acutely aware of Max moving quietly in the flat.
Mollie’s wails ceased abruptly and by the time Gemma put the receiver down and turned to face Max again, she was startled to find him perched on the arm of her sofa and jogging the delighted baby on his knee.
He looked very pleased with himself. ‘See? You can’t manage without me, can you? I’ll mind this little possum while you do whatever running around you need to this afternoon.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied uncertainly.
‘And after that,’ he said with confident assurance, ‘we can plan your move to Goodbye Creek. I’ll book into a pub tonight and we can head off first thing in the morning.’
As he continued to favour both Gemma and Mollie with a look of smug satisfaction, the baby’s face turned red and Gemma noticed that she seemed to be concentrating very hard.
‘Oh-oh.’ Max’s confident grin slipped. Cautiously, he lifted Mollie away from his knee.
‘Has she dirtied her nappy?’ asked Gemma.
‘I—I think so.’
At the sight of his sudden dismay, Gemma felt an urge to grin, but she managed to keep a straight face. ‘Thanks so much, Max. It would be great if you could watch Mollie for half an hour or so. I do have several errands to run—especially if I’m moving house. Let me show you where the clean nappies are…’ She rummaged in the pile of things Isobel had left and produced a freshly folded nappy and a container of baby wipes and, with a deadpan expression, handed them to him. ‘These are what you need.’
‘You’re running out on me at a moment like this?’ he asked, clearly horrified. By now he was holding Mollie at arm’s length.
‘I’m sorry,’ Gemma murmured sweetly, ‘but I really do have important deadlines to meet. You’ll be fine.’ She gathered up her designs and her handbag and rushed out her front door.
‘He thinks he’s such a hotshot babysitter, he can manage this one,’ she muttered under her breath.
But she wished she didn’t feel quite so guilty about deserting him.
The next day, when Max piloted their plane over the vast property that made up Goodbye Creek Station, Gemma was stunned by the unexpected flood of homesickness that swept through her. It was five years since she’d been back, but she knew the Jardine family holding almost as well as she knew the township of Goodbye Creek, where her own home had been. Her parents had owned a stock and station agency in the town. They had sold up and moved to the coast about the same time she’d gone away to university.
Now, she and Max were flying back, the plane stacked carefully with the baby’s gear. Max explained that he had a well-equipped study complete with an up-to-the-minute computer and a fax machine, so Gemma only needed to bring her clothes, a box of computer disks and her paperwork.
They’d left Brisbane just as dawn broke and during the five-hour flight Mollie had alternated between napping and waking for little snacks and drinks. Gemma had kept her entertained with picture books and games of ‘This little pig went to market’.
Max had chatted very politely about the weather and the scenery beneath them, but it occurred to Gemma that he was behaving more like a newly introduced acquaintance than someone who had known her for more than twenty years. But now, as heart-wrenchingly familiar red soil plains unfolded below, she felt edgy, knowing that once they landed their shared past could no longer be ignored.
Wriggling forward in her seat, she peered eagerly through the windscreen, wondering why the sight of dry, grassy paddocks and straggly stands of eucalypts should make her feel so soppy and sentimental. Way below, she could recognise the signs of spring merging into summer. Early wet season storms had brought bright green new growth and purple and yellow wild flowers were poking up through the grass.
Max’s flight-path followed the course of the old creek that had given its name to the district and Gemma noted that water was already flowing down its entire length. She could make out the shallow, rocky stretch of rapids and finally the deeper section they called Big Bend.
Fringed by majestic paperbarks, this cool, shady pool had been a favourite spot for childhood picnics. At the age of ten, Gemma had rocketed in a tractor tube right through the rapids as far as the Big Bend. She’d been so proud of herself and Dave had been lavish with his praise.
‘You’re as good as a boy,’ he’d shouted. ‘You made it the whole way without squealing once. Max, isn’t she great?’
But Max, of course, had merely grunted and looked bored.
As they neared the homestead, her sense of nostalgia increased.
‘Nearly home,’ said Max, with a contented little smile, as he worked the controls to increase their angle of descent.
First came the stockyards and the corrugated iron roofs under which hay bales would be stacked to protect them from the rain. Then she could see the smaller, original holding yard, made of old timbers weathered to a silvery grey and built in the rustic post and rail design that had been around since the pioneering days.
Gemma glanced at Mollie dozing in her little safety seat beside her. ‘Has Mollie been out here before?’ she asked.
‘No,’ admitted Max. ‘This will be the first time she’s set foot on Jardine soil. It’s a significant moment.’ He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. ‘All this is her inheritance.’
‘Unless you have children of your own,’ Gemma said softly. ‘I guess then they would all be shareholders.’
He turned and their eyes met. His blue gaze held a disquieting mixture of uncertainty and bitterness. ‘Yeah,’ he said, and then jerked his head back to the front. ‘There’s always that possibility.’
They swooped a little lower and the familiar sight of the muddy dam dotted with black ducks and the rusty metal skeleton of the old windmill standing sentry nearby made her feel ridiculously emotional. She blinked her eyes to clear the misted view. In her imagination, she could hear the squeak and clank of the old windmill as it slowly pumped water to the drinking troughs.
Within seconds she was exclaiming. ‘Max, my goodness! You’ve installed a satellite dish.’
‘Got to keep up with technology.’
Their plane continued its descent and he nodded to their right, past the machinery sheds and workshops. ‘I’ve put in some new windmills, too. That one over there has a solar panel and an electric pump.’
‘Is it better than the old one?’ she asked, doubtfully eyeing the shiny modern equipment.
‘Too right. Before, it was always a case of no breeze, no water. Now we can get a constant flow if we need it.’
But the biggest surprise came as they made the final dip towards the airstrip, when Gemma saw the homestead, which for as long as she could remember had been a comfortable but shabby timber home with peeling paint and vine-covered wrap-around verandahs.
‘Wow!’ Her breath exhaled slowly as she absorbed the changes. Max’s home was now a showplace. ‘What have you done to the house?’ she asked.
He was concentrating on making an initial swoop over the strip to clear the ground of horses and birds before attempting a landing. ‘Painted it,’ he muttered tersely as he swung the plane around to double back for the approach.
Below them, skittish horses cantered out of their way and a flock of cockatoos, feeding on grass seed, lifted their wings to disperse like so many pieces of white paper caught in a wind gust. The plane plunged lower and finally touched down on the gravel runway.
‘What a difference,’ Gemma exclaimed, still staring at Max’s house, amazed by the transformation. The homestead’s timber walls were now painted a pretty powder blue, the iron roof was a clean, crisp silver and all the trims and the lattice on the verandahs were gleaming white.
As they taxied down the short airstrip, Max shot her a cautious glance. ‘You like it?’
‘It’s beautiful, Max. I had no idea the old place could look so lovely.’ She was startled to see an unexpected red tinge creep along his cheekbones. ‘Who did the job for you?’
‘Did it myself,’ he muttered. ‘During the dry season, of course.’
Another shock.
As the plane came to a standstill, Gemma assimilated this news and sat quietly, thinking about the lonely weeks Max must have spent on the task. The life of an outback cattleman was solitary and hard and the men who survived it were tough, complex creatures. And they didn’t come much more complicated than Max, she thought with a wry grimace. ‘It’s fantastic,’ she told him with genuine warmth. ‘You’ve done an amazing job.’
He looked embarrassed and she realised he was probably more used to her scorn than her praise. She allowed herself a private smile as she thought about that. They were probably both much more comfortable fighting than co-operating.
An old utility truck had been left at the end of the runway and Gemma and Max were kept busy for the next ten minutes, transferring Mollie and the gear into the vehicle. Even though it was only a few hundred metres to the homestead, there was too much to lug such a distance.
It was late morning. The sun was already high overhead and very hot and so, by the time they reached the kitchen, a cool drink was the first priority. Gemma found Mollie’s little feeding cup, while Max swung his fridge door open and grabbed a jug of iced water.
Just before he closed the fridge, he paused to survey its contents and frowned. ‘I might have to stock up on a few things from town,’ he commented before filling a glass and handing it to Gemma. ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you and I haven’t got the kind of fancy things that women like for breakfast. I’m still a steak and eggs man myself.’
Gemma’s eyes widened. ‘How do you know what women like for breakfast?’ The question was out before she really thought through what she was saying. She’d always pictured Max as a crusty bachelor living the life of a lonely recluse in the back of beyond.
Max went very still and she cringed with sudden shame as she recognised just how rude and downright stupid her query sounded. How on earth could she retract her words?
Before any bright ideas struck, he spun around, and the glance he sent her way was tinged with wry amusement.
Had she left her brains in Brisbane? Of course this man would have attracted and entertained women. He was quite well off and had the kind of rugged and rangy masculinity that swarms of women hunted down. Unlike her, they’d be willing to overlook his gruffness.
She knew by the heat in her cheeks that her embarrassment was obvious, but she was also just as sure Max wouldn’t miss an opportunity to make her suffer further for her foolishness.
‘Now let me see.’ He cocked his head to the ceiling as if considering her question. ‘How is it that I know so much about women’s breakfast habits?’
His eyes narrowed as if he was giving this matter his undivided attention. ‘I think I probably picked up some pointers—like women’s belief in the importance of orange juice—from all those television advertisements.’
Totally flustered and unable to think of an appropriate retort, Gemma concentrated very carefully on holding Mollie’s cup at just the right angle for her to drink easily.
‘But it beats me if I can remember just how I uncovered the mysterious feminine desire to dine first thing in the morning on low-fat yoghurt and muesli. That really has me stumped.’ Relaxing back in a wooden kitchen chair, he joined his hands behind his head with elbows pointing to the ceiling. ‘I guess I found out about European women’s predilection for coffee and croissants from some foreign movie.’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ Gemma growled at him. ‘Good luck to any long-suffering woman who’s had breakfast with you. The poor thing would need a ton of luck and a truckload of tolerance to put up with your chauvinism.’
He took a deep swig of iced water and chuckled. ‘I’d say you’re probably right.’ Setting the glass back on the table, he grinned at her. ‘You’ll be able to find out tomorrow morning, won’t you?’
‘I think I could do without your early-morning charm,’ she sniffed. ‘And Mollie and I will have soft boiled eggs and toast soldiers for our breakfast.’
She turned away from his mocking grin and made a fuss of Mollie. But it was difficult to stop her mind from dwelling on the unexplored area of this conversation—the particular circumstances that led to a woman sharing breakfast with Max.
They didn’t bear thinking about.
And yet, in spite of her efforts to ignore such offensive details, an unbidden picture planted itself firmly in Gemma’s mind. A vision of a lamp-lit bedroom—with cool, white sheets—and Max’s brown, muscle-packed back encircled by softly rounded, pale and feminine arms. A night of intimacy…
She felt an unpleasant wave of panic.
Would Max Jardine be charming in the company of other women?
Surely not.
‘Do you have any bananas?’ she asked, in a desperate bid to change the subject and to rid herself of these extremely unsettling thoughts. ‘I—I could mash one for Mollie’s lunch while you set up her cot.’
His eyes surveyed the kitchen. ‘No bananas, I’m afraid. You might have to give her some of the tinned stuff we brought with us. I’ll take a run into town first thing tomorrow morning. We should make up a shopping list.’
Gemma was so grateful they were no longer talking about Max’s women that she spent the afternoon being particularly obliging and co-operative. Max made cold roast beef sandwiches for their lunch and they ate them at a table on the side verandah and washed them down with huge mugs of strong tea while Mollie played with her blocks on the floor nearby. Out in the paddocks the white cockatoos screeched raucous greetings as they returned to the grass seed to feed.
Then, after lunch, as Max had never bothered with a housekeeper, together they dusted and vacuumed spare rooms for her and Mollie’s use. They set up Mollie’s folding cot and her other equipment in a bedroom on the cool side of the house, with doors opening onto the verandah.
Gemma’s bedroom was right next door. She had stayed in it before—a pretty room, very feminine, with pink and white curtains and a white candlewick bedspread on the old-fashioned iron bed. The bed-ends were decorated with shiny brass knobs and pretty pieces of porcelain painted with rosebuds.
She was startled to see a silver-framed photo of Dave and herself on the mahogany dressing table. It had been taken five years ago—in the days before Dave met Isobel—when Gemma was eighteen and she and Dave had still been ‘going together‘. Their liaison had been a casual arrangement that they’d drifted into as they grew older. She’d come back from university for his twenty-first birthday.
In the photo, they were dancing. Dave, dressed in a formal dinner suit, was laughing, and she was smiling at the camera and looking very pleased with herself in a pale blue evening gown with thin straps, a fitted bodice and a softly floating, long skirt. There were tiny white flowers dotted through her dark brown hair. At the time, she’d thought she looked very romantic.
Now she shuddered as a painful memory forced itself on her.
The night of Dave’s party had ended with a shameful and embarrassing incident. A scene she had worked desperately hard to forget over the years. Surely Max had wanted to forget it, too? At the time he had been as upset as she was about what happened.
Shaking, she turned to him now. ‘Why didn’t you throw this old photo away?’
Max set down her suitcase, straightened and frowned in its direction. An unreadable emotion flashed in his eyes and his mouth tightened. After a moment, he said with a shrug, ‘Didn’t cross my mind.’
Rigid with tension, it took Gemma a moment or two to take in his words. Then relief flooded her. He must have forgotten what had happened that night! Either that or the incident that had caused her so much grief over the years had never really bothered him. Gemma forced herself to shrug as nonchalantly as he had. ‘Fair enough,’ she said.
She knew she should be relieved, but it took some time for her to feel calm again and to convince herself that she was happy with his detached reaction.
By evening, they had worked out how to barricade off the section of the verandah adjacent to the study, so that Mollie could have a safe area to crawl and play while Gemma worked. Gemma had unpacked her clothes and had showered to wash off the dust from her journey. She’d bathed the baby girl in the old claw-foot tub in the main bathroom and fed her mashed vegetables. Max had ambled down to one of the ringers’ huts to discuss station matters and explain about his visitors.
When he returned, he fixed a simple supper of steaks and salad while Gemma gave Mollie her bottle and settled her for sleep.
Everything went like clockwork. Gemma couldn’t believe how obliging Mollie was and how conciliatory Max had been. She was beginning to feel calm and confident and even optimistic about the whole venture. Surely this mood wouldn’t last?
They ate together, and their steaks were followed by a simple, no-frills dessert of chocolate chip ice cream and tinned apricots. Then coffee. They chatted about people they both knew from around the district and Max was a surprisingly entertaining host—slipping humorous anecdotes and juicy titbits of gossip into the conversation.
As he drained the last of his coffee, he put his cup down and leaned back in his chair. ‘I should have offered you a nightcap. Would you like a liqueur or brandy?’
She shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’m quite tired, but you have one.’
‘Not tonight.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You haven’t told me anything about the trip you made to England after university.’
‘I didn’t think you’d be interested,’ she answered stiffly.
His eyebrows rose the tiniest fraction. ‘I don’t need a travelogue, but I’d like to know whether you found what you were looking for.’
The coffee cup in Gemma’s hand rattled against its saucer. ‘I went to London for two years’ work experience.’
After a little, Max said, ‘I suspected you were running away.’
He’d dropped the charm and reverted to Big Brother mode and Gemma’s sense of relaxation was falling away at breakneck speed. She should have known the truce had been too good to last. ‘What would I have been running away from?’
He frowned. ‘You and Dave were so close for so many years. Everyone in the district thought of you as a couple.’
‘Yes, but I’m sure everyone knew it wasn’t serious.’ She was stunned to think that Max might have thought she’d been pining after Dave. ‘Heavens, Max, Dave and I just sort of hung out together out of habit. I mean—being with him was always fun and sweet and everything, but when we parted it was quite painless and definitely for the best.’ She added quietly, ‘There was something missing in our relationship.’
Heat leapt into her cheeks. She didn’t add that there had seemed to be something missing in every relationship she’d attempted. Gemma had a dreadful suspicion that there was something missing in her own personality. She feared she just wasn’t suited to romance. No matter how handsome and charming and eager to please her the young men she’d met had been, none of then had ever once made her feel giddily, genuinely in love. Not the kind of love she was hoping to find.
‘You thought you would find that missing something…in London?’ Max’s eyes were lit with a puzzling intensity.
Blue fire.
The way their gaze locked onto hers robbed her breath. This man of all people shouldn’t be asking her such questions.
‘No, I wasn’t hoping for that,’ she said at last, and prayed that he couldn’t guess she was lying through her teeth.
‘No suave English gentleman swept you off your feet?’
It was time to finish this conversation. Gemma didn’t like it at all. She especially didn’t like the way her heart began beat so frantically when Max looked at her.
Unless she put an end to this now, she might end up admitting to him that although she’d met plenty of nice young men, none of them had captured her heart. And the very last thing Gemma wanted was for him to continue this line of questioning and uncover her embarrassing secret.
None of her family or friends knew the truth about her love life. Or rather her lack of a love life. Gemma was quite certain that she was the only twenty-three-year-old female outside a nunnery who was still a virgin.
She lifted her chin to what she hoped was a challenging angle. ‘There were several men,’ she told him. ‘But, Max, you’re not my big brother. I’m not giving you an itemised account and you don’t need to keep watch over me. It’s none of your business how many men I’ve met or—or how many affairs I’ve had.’ Pushing back her chair, she jumped to her feet. ‘I haven’t asked you one tiny question about your breakfast companions.’
He stood also and looked down at her from his menacing height. ‘What would you like to know?’ he asked while a poorly suppressed grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
‘I have absolutely no interest in your philanderings.’ She spun on her heel and began to stomp away from the table. Then she stopped abruptly, remembering her manners. ‘I’ll help you clear the table and tidy the kitchen,’ she mumbled.
‘Thank you, Gemma,’ he replied with a studied politeness that annoyed her.
In silence they worked, Max gathering up the plates and cutlery, Gemma collecting the cups, place mats and serviettes. Together they walked into the kitchen and set their things down at the sink. They both reached for the tap at the same time. Their hands connected.
As if she’d been burnt, Gemma snatched her hand away from the contact, but Max’s reaction was just as quick and he caught her fingers in his strong grasp.
His thumb stroked her skin once, twice…and she felt her blood stirring in response. Her hand trembled.
She wanted to pull away, but she was too fascinated by her body’s astonishing reaction. Never had she felt so unsettled, so fired up by a man’s simple touch. She didn’t dare look at Max. She stood by the sink, mesmerised by the sight of her slim white hand in his large, suntanned grip. She could see little hairs on the back of his hand, bleached to gold by the sun. A faint trace of the fresh, lemon-scented soap he’d used in the shower still clung to his skin and his work-roughened thumb continued to move slowly over her hand, making her feel shivery and breathless.
‘Gem.’ His gruff voice barely reached her over the savage drumbeat in her ears.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.
‘Gemma,’ he said again, and his other hand reached under her chin, forcing her head up until their eyes met. Max was looking as startled as she felt. His breathing sounded just as hectic.
When his fingers began to trace ever so gently the outline of her face, she could feel her skin flame at his touch.
‘Gemma Brown,’ he whispered, ‘whether you like it or not, I’m going to keep watching you…just like I always have.’
And the moment was spoiled. Gemma was embarrassingly disappointed.
‘For Pete’s sake!’ she exclaimed, wrenching her hand out of his grasp and pulling right away from him. She was fearfully angry with him and she wasn’t quite sure why. ‘You are not my brother, my bodyguard or my guardian angel!’ For a dreadful moment she thought she might burst into tears. ‘Go paint some more walls. Get a life, Max, and leave me to get on with mine!’
This time she didn’t care about good manners. Gemma rushed out of the kitchen and left him with the dirty dishes.
CHAPTER THREE
THE grimy dishes were still sitting on the counter top waiting to be washed when Gemma walked into the kitchen the next morning. Added to last night’s pile were an extra-greasy frying pan, a mug and more plates—things Max must have used for his breakfast before he headed off at sunrise.
‘Who does he think he is?’ she asked Mollie as she surveyed the dreary mess. Mollie merely whimpered and rubbed her face against Gemma’s shoulder. She’d been restless during the night and still seemed rather fragile this morning. Having slept very fitfully, Gemma wasn’t feeling too chipper either. In their own separate ways, both Max and Mollie Jardine had kept her tossing and turning for hours.
She set Mollie down on the floor while she hunted through Max’s cupboards for a saucepan to boil their eggs, but Mollie began to cry almost as soon as Gemma walked away from her.
‘Aren’t you going to let me do anything this morning?’ Gemma sighed. She tried to cheer the baby up with clucking noises while she set about making their breakfast.
After popping two eggs into a pot of water, she slid bread into the toaster and boiled the kettle for a mug of tea for herself. The phone rang. Gemma glanced at Mollie, who was still making miserable little whimpers and she deliberated whether she should let the answering machine deal with the call. Then, having second thoughts, she handed the baby a saucepan lid, hoping it would keep her happy while she dashed to the phone.
The call was from Brisbane—the printers were wanting to clarify some final details about the pamphlet—so Gemma was glad she’d answered. But when she returned to the kitchen, her heart sank.
Max stood in the middle of the room, with his hands on his hips, staring in dismay at Mollie, who was howling loudly and banging the saucepan lid on the floor in time to her wails.
She dashed into the room and swept the baby into her arms. ‘Why didn’t you pick her up?’ she challenged Max, deciding to attack him before he could begin to accuse her of neglect.
But he clearly didn’t react well to being scolded. His eyes narrowed. ‘Where were you?’ he asked.
‘Where was I?’ She knew she sounded shrewish, but was too frazzled to care. ‘After pacing the floorboards all night, trying to calm your niece, I was answering an important business call. Where were you?’
‘I’ve had one or two things to attend to,’ he snapped. ‘I need to talk to my men—delegate more jobs now that I have other responsibilities.’
‘Who are you trying to kid?’ Gemma cut in. ‘You wouldn’t recognise a responsibility if it was formally introduced to you. Who rocked Mollie back to sleep when she wouldn’t settle last night? Me! Who waltzed off this morning without a care in the world and left the kitchen covered in grease? You did!’
‘I’m sorry you had a bad night,’ he replied with annoying composure, ‘but calm down, Gemma.’ He reached over and lifted the miserable Mollie from her arms. ‘I had every intention of doing the dishes—same as I always do them—at lunchtime.’
‘Lunchtime?’
Gemma might have launched into another tirade, but she noticed that Max’s nose had begun to twitch. Was he feeling angry or just very guilty? Neither of the above, she realised with dismay as the acrid smell of smoke reached her.
‘It seems you’ve burnt the toast,’ he said quietly.
Black smoke billowed from the corner of the kitchen and Max, with Mollie on one hip, lunged across the room, switched the toaster off and flung its doors open.
Wasn’t it just typical of this man? Gemma thought as she watched him. He could buy himself a smart little plane, a satellite dish and a fancy computer and still not have progressed to a pop-up toaster.
On the stove, the eggs were boiling so rapidly they rattled against the saucepan. ‘Oh, blast! They’ll be hardboiled!’ she wailed. This was definitely not her morning.
She snatched the saucepan from the stove, thumped it into the sink, then whirled around to glare at Max. He was nuzzling Mollie’s tummy with his nose and making her laugh.
Laugh! Out loud!
Proper chuckles!
Gemma could feel her bottom lip drooping into a pout. How dared Mollie be so sweet and responsive to Max when she was the one who’d lost all the sleep? She sagged against the kitchen bench and, with a self-pitying sigh, folded her arms across her chest.
Max glanced at her. ‘I’ll take her out to see the puppies and give you some space to have another go at cooking breakfast,’ he suggested.
She drew in a deep breath and nodded. Some peace and quiet, some space…that was what she needed…
And yet she felt strangely abandoned watching Max take Mollie outside—as if they belonged together and she was the outsider. He carried her so easily, without any sense of awkwardness. He would make a good father…She found herself wondering how many of Max’s breakfast companions had been hoping to marry him, to have him father their children.
Groaning at the stupid direction of her thoughts, Gemma picked up the blackened pieces of toast and, with grimly compressed lips, tossed them into the bin before setting out to remake breakfast.
By the time Max and Mollie returned, she had set the little table on the verandah and her breakfast and Mollie’s were ready. She had decided against eggs after all and had made Mollie some porridge, settling for tea and toast for herself. And she’d assumed Max might want some more to eat so had made extra for him.
‘Thanks,’ he said as he settled Mollie on his lap and proceeded to feed her milky porridge with a tiny spoon.
‘We could do with a high chair. It would make mealtimes much easier,’ Gemma commented as Max intercepted Mollie’s plump little hand before she could dunk it into the porridge bowl.
‘I’ll add it to my shopping list, but I’m not sure if Goodbye Creek runs to high chairs.’
‘So you’re going into town this morning?’
He nodded. ‘Want to come?’
Gemma hesitated and took a sip of tea, shocked by her ready willingness to accept his offer. The idea of going to town with Max seemed more appealing than she could have thought possible. Her mind ran ahead of her, wondering what she might wear.
He was looking at her thoughtfully. ‘Of course, you might appreciate some time to set up your office. I could take Mollie with me and get her out of your hair for the morning, while you get your business sorted out. It’s a hot day for travelling and seeing you’ve had a rough night…’
Gemma placed her mug carefully back on the table. What on earth was wrong with her? Max Jardine was offering to get out of her way. She should be celebrating. This time yesterday she would have paid him to stay away.
His suggestion that she take the morning to reorganise her business was so brimming with common sense that she couldn’t refuse without looking foolish. So why on earth did it make her feel downright miserable? Her tiredness had to be the answer—plus the fact that she had already grown so attached to Mollie that she hated to be parted from her.
‘A morning to myself would be great,’ she told Max brightly. ‘You finish your toast and I’ll go clean up Mollie and make up an extra bottle for you to take.’
‘Better give me some extra clothes for her, too,’ Max said as she stood to go. ‘We might be some time.’
They were gone for most of the day. Many, many times Gemma went to the front verandah to peer down the dirt track, searching for the cloud of red dust on the horizon that would tell her the truck was returning. She hadn’t the courage to tell Max that there wasn’t much work on her books at present. He already had a low enough opinion of her without adding fuel to his fire.
But by ten o’clock in the morning she’d finished her work and she spent the rest of the day roaming restlessly around the house.
After lunch, she washed and dried all the dishes, vowing that she would have to change some of Max’s bachelor habits. Then she set a sprinkler on the front lawn and picked some flowers from the old rambling garden that Max’s grandmother had established many, many years ago. Exotic-smelling white gardenias, roses in two shades of pink and some yellow crucifix orchids.
After arranging the flowers in a crystal vase on the hall table, she piled a blue bowl with tangy bush lemons and set it on the kitchen dresser, then brought in Mollie’s washing from the line, folded it and put it away.
By mid-afternoon, Gemma wondered if she should start thinking about the evening meal, but decided to wait and see what Max had bought.
At about four, a trail of dust signalled their return at last. Trying not to hurry, she made her way through the house to greet them, unable to disguise her pleasure when they pulled up near the kitchen door.
Max grinned at her as he swung his long frame down from the driver’s seat and her heart gave a silly little lurch. He held a finger to his lips. ‘Mollie’s asleep,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll try to get her out without disturbing her.’
Expertly, he unbuckled Mollie’s car seat and lifted her gently out of the truck. In his strong arms, the baby girl looked comfortable and safe and Gemma’s throat constricted painfully. The combined effect of Max’s surprisingly tender manner as he handled his little niece and the way his usually grim gaze softened when he looked at her lying asleep in his arms upset her.
He hunched one broad shoulder forward to accommodate the little head covered in damp curls and the thoughtful gesture touched her deeply. But Gemma didn’t want her emotions to be touched—such reactions were out of order and made her distinctly uncomfortable.
She felt better when she set about the businesslike task of unloading groceries and carting them through to the kitchen.
‘How was town?’ she asked when Max joined her.
‘Same as always.’ He shrugged. ‘Mollie caused quite a stir.’
‘I guess babies are a bit of a rarity out this way.’
He nodded and continued the unloading without further comment. He brought in a rather battered-looking high chair, which he proudly announced he’d found in the secondhand shop, and then he carried through an Esky full of cold goods and began to load the freezer with more tubs of chocolate chip ice cream and packets of frozen corn cobs and peas.
At last he looked up. ‘Get plenty of work done while we were away?’
‘Oh,’ Gemma replied, with a vague wave of her hand, ‘yes—heaps.’
‘Mollie’s been awake for most of the day. So many people wanted to make a fuss of her. I’d say she needs a good sleep now.’
‘I guess so,’ Gemma agreed. With a plastic scoop, she transferred sugar from a huge hessian bag into an old-fashioned metal canister. ‘Would you like some afternoon tea?’
He glanced at his watch. ‘I should mosey on down to the ringers’ place and have something there. I need to know if Chad and Dingo were able to fix the pump on the five-mile bore.’
With that, he reached for the Akubra hat hanging on a nail near the back door and was gone.
Gemma clamped the lid down tight on the sugar canister, lugged the bag into the pantry, then sat down at the kitchen table and propped up her chin with her hand. She stayed there staring at the door where Max had disappeared. The clock on the wall ticked loudly.
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Barbara Hannay
Max Jardine always behaves like a bossy big brother to Gemma Brown. Except for one night five years ago–a night they have never talked about since. But now Gemma is moving into Max's remote Outback home to help him care for a friend's baby…Seeing stubborn, gorgeous Max with a baby in his arms confuses Gemma–almost as much as it intrigues Max to see Gemma all grown up! And tension mounts as they confront the past…
“You’ve grown up, Gem.”
Tears welled in Gemma’s throat, making it hard to reply. “What—what did you expect?”
“Oh, I expected something quite spectacular.” The skin around Max’s eyes creased as he smiled.
This conversation was dangerous, but she was mesmerized by his voice—deep, yet rough around the edges, as if his throat felt as choked as hers. She couldn’t drag herself away, despite the embarrassing memories still hot in her thoughts.
As if sensing her confusion, Max took both her hands in his and pulled her toward him. “Now that you’re so grown up, I think it’s time we talked about a little matter that we should have discussed long ago—five years ago.”
Strong and silent…
Powerful and passionate…
Tough and tender…
Who can resist the rugged loners of the Outback? As tough and untamed as the land they rule, they burn as hot as the Australian sun once they meet the woman they’ve been waiting for!
Inherited: Twins (#3701)
by Jessica Hart
Men who turn your whole world upside down!
Outback Baby
Barbara Hannay
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Lucy Francesca, who was born into our family at the time this story was coming to life.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ubca06a06-50c3-5929-b8fa-764f56c09105)
CHAPTER TWO (#u4c304317-07ba-5c61-8ef2-22e97d6d2280)
CHAPTER THREE (#u5c045c48-0a6c-5da6-8d02-13485162a8a1)
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 ONE
WHEN Gemma heard the pounding on her front door, she knew something was desperately wrong. Startled, she hurried to answer it, hardly expecting to find her best friend on her doorstep, clutching her ten-month-old daughter to her chest as if the baby were a life-preserver.
‘I need your help, Gemma. Are you terribly busy?’
Shocked by the fear in her friend’s eyes, Gemma slipped a reassuring arm around her shoulders. ‘Bel, you know I’m never too busy for you. Come in and tell me what’s wrong.’
Isobel stepped into the flat with a shaky sigh and hefted baby Mollie higher on her hip. Her eyes darted to the pile of paperwork on Gemma’s dining table. ‘Oh, you are busy. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about this mess.’ With a quick dismissive gesture, Gemma gathered up the designs she’d just finished and slipped them into a manila folder. For the moment she would have to put aside her own panic about deadlines and the need to dash this marketing brochure to the printers this afternoon. Isobel was obviously besieged by much more serious problems. ‘How can I help?’
To Gemma’s horror, Isobel’s normally serene face crumpled and tears spilled onto her cheeks. ‘It’s Dave.’
‘Dave? Has something happened in Africa?’ Two months earlier, Isobel’s husband Dave had been seconded by an Australian aid agency to sink wells in Somalia.
Isobel hugged Mollie even closer and rested a trembling chin on the baby’s curly head. ‘It’s so sudden, it’s terrible. He’s being held hostage. I’m sure it’s all some awful mistake, but rebels are involved.’ She drew a deep shuddering breath, clearly trying to suppress the urge to burst into full-scale crying.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Gemma whispered, gripping her friend’s cold fingers while she gaped at her.
Surely this sort of thing didn’t happen to ordinary people? Not to easygoing, cheerful Dave Jardine?
She groped for the right words and gave up the struggle. ‘I’m so sorry. This is terrible. Poor Dave.’ The thought of her childhood friend—the boy she’d grown up with in the bush—facing armed rebels was appalling. How could his wife bear it? She stared helplessly at Isobel’s white face and whispered, ‘What can we do?’
‘I’m going to him,’ Isobel answered with a determined lift of her chin.
‘You’re going to Africa?’ Gemma pulled out another chair and sat down swiftly. This second shock was almost worse than the first. ‘What can you do?’ she asked at last.
‘Apparently I’m the only one who can do anything,’ Isobel explained with wide, frightened eyes. ‘Because I’m Dave’s wife, the people at the Australian Embassy think I can help. Dave’s there for humanitarian reasons and they think the rebels are more likely to respond if we work on the family angle.’
‘Oh, Isobel, how brave of you!!’ Gemma jumped up again and hugged her. ‘Lucky Dave to have such a wonderful wife.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘Love and the kind of marriage that you guys have—it’s—it’s amazing!’ For Gemma it was beyond imagining. With a short burst of pride, she remembered that she shared responsibility for this wonderful partnership by introducing Isobel and Dave during their university days.
Her gaze dropped to the innocent baby perched happily on her mother’s lap. ‘You couldn’t dream of taking little Mollie into a dangerous situation like that?’
‘No, of course I couldn’t.’ Isobel sighed and pressed her lips to her daughter’s chubby cheek. ‘I can’t bear the thought of leaving her behind, but that’s where you come in, Gem. I’ve an enormous favour to ask.’
‘Of course—I’ll do anything.’ Gemma did her best to ignore the nervous knot tightening in her stomach as her mind raced.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t ring you first to warn you, but I knew you were going to be home and…’ Isobel’s voice trailed away as she looked at her friend hopefully.
‘Just tell me how I can help.’
‘I was hoping you could mind Mollie for me.’
Gemma gulped. While she adored Mollie, she knew absolutely zilch about caring for babies. She pressed her lips tightly together before she verbalised any of the sudden doubts that swamped her. Of course she could mind a baby. Millions of women all over the world had been doing it for centuries without turning a hair. ‘I’d love to have her,’ she said with a bright smile.
Isobel reached out and squeezed Gemma’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I’ve dumped this on you at such short notice, but I wouldn’t trust anyone else to look after my little girl. My parents are on holiday in Spain, as you know. Dave’s father is too old—and it has to be someone I know well. Someone who cares about Mollie. Not a nanny I’ve never met. Honestly, Gem, you’re my best friend and, working from home as you do, I couldn’t think of anyone better.’
‘I’m flattered that you trust me,’ Gemma responded warmly, but she couldn’t help adding, ‘You do realise, don’t you, that I—I don’t have much experience with babies. Actually—I don’t have any experience with them.’
‘Oh, Gemma, you’ve been around Mollie heaps. And you’ll be amazed how it all comes so instinctively. I’m sure you’re a natural!’ She gave her daughter a motherly hug. ‘And Mollie’s really quite a good little poppet.’
‘Of course,’ Gemma responded quickly, not wanting to alarm her friend. ‘She’s a darling.’ When she thought about Dave’s desperate plight and Isobel’s brave decision to go to Africa, Gemma knew she could hardly make a fuss about caring for one perfectly harmless and tiny human being.
Her friend’s grey eyes brightened. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I’ve rung Max. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you any way he can.’
‘Max?’ Gemma had been playing with Mollie’s pink toes, but at the mention of Dave’s older brother Max, her head jerked up. ‘I won’t need any help from him!’
To her annoyance, Gemma’s heart began a fretful pounding.
Since she’d been six years old, Max Jardine had always managed to get under her skin. When they were teenagers, Gemma had never been able to understand why the girls in the outback town of Goodbye Creek, where she and the Jardine boys had gone to school, had scored Max a ‘hunk factor’ of ten. They had raved about his well-toned body and dark good looks.
‘But you’ve seriously overlooked his personality defects,’ she’d pointed out.
‘What defects?’ the girls had scoffed.
And Gemma had rolled her eyes in disgust. She was well-acquainted with his faults. She’d spent half her childhood on the Jardine’s property, camping and canoeing or horse-riding with Dave, and Max had always been in the background, treating her like a bad smell that hung around his brother.
In the years since she’d left the outback she’d only seen Max a handful of times, but nothing had changed. He still looked on her as a lower life-form. She shook her head. ‘Max Jardine would know even less than I do about caring for a baby.’
Isobel was regarding Gemma strangely. ‘I didn’t realise you were so touchy about Max.’
‘I’m not touchy about him,’ Gemma snapped.
Isobel’s eyebrows rose. ‘If you say so.’
‘It’s just that I fail to see how a man who spends his whole life marooned in the outback like a hermit with only cattle for company could be any use when it comes to minding Mollie.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Isobel agreed cautiously. ‘But let’s not forget that Max is Dave’s brother. I had to let him know what had happened.’
Gemma could hardly deny that, but it didn’t help her to feel any better. ‘How did he react?’ she asked warily.
‘Actually, I couldn’t speak to him directly. There was no answer when I rang through to the property this morning, so I left a message on his answering machine. He must be out in the bush mustering or maybe fencing, so I simply explained what I was going to do.’
‘And you told him I would be taking care of Mollie?’
‘I said that was my plan.’
‘I see.’
Gemma decided there and then that if Max Jardine knew she’d been asked to care for Mollie, she would mind this baby as expertly as a triple-certificated nanny. This wasn’t just a case of helping out her best friend. She didn’t want to give Mollie’s grumpy Uncle Max one tiny chance to criticise her.
Exactly why Gemma cared about Max’s opinion was an issue she didn’t have time to consider now. She was too busy worrying about how she could mind Mollie and carry on her business.
But she would find a way. She might collapse in the attempt, but she would give it her best shot.
Lifting Mollie from Isobel’s arms, Gemma cuddled her close. The baby girl was soft and warm and smelt delicious. ‘Tell me everything I need to know about our little darling.’
‘Oh, Gem. I’m so relieved. I knew I could depend on you.’ Isobel let out a relieved sigh. ‘I can give you everything you’ll need for Mollie. In fact, my bag’s packed and I have it all in the car.’
‘You mean you’re heading off today?’
‘It’s important that I get to Dave as fast as I can. I’ll get Mollie’s things for you now.’
‘Sure,’ Gemma replied, more confidently than she felt. ‘You get the baby gear and I’ll make us some coffee.’
By the time she’d drunk her coffee, Gemma’s mind was reeling. She had three closely written pages of detailed instructions about caring for Mollie. At the outset, Isobel had said minding a baby was simple, but Mollie came with more operating instructions than a state-of-the-art computer.
How could one little scrap require so much work? And how, she wondered, after she’d waved goodbye to Isobel, could she suddenly manage Mollie and her business? She looked at the pink and white bundle in her arms and tried to suppress a surge of alarm. She had immediate deadlines to meet and there was the constant need to drum up new clients.
Mollie’s round little eyes stared solemnly up at her, reminding Gemma of an unblinking owl. Her heart melted. ‘Kiddo, it’s just you and me now. And we’re not going to let this lick us.’ She dropped a quick kiss on Mollie’s curly head. Then she walked briskly back up the path to her flat, determined to tackle this task in as businesslike a fashion as possible.
A swish of tyres behind her brought her spinning around. In her driveway, a taxi was pulling up and a tall, rangy figure leapt from the passenger’s seat.
Max Jardine!
How in tarnation had he got from Western Queensland to Brisbane so quickly?
‘Gemma!’ Max barked as he swung open her front gate and strode towards her. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on Mollie. ‘Where’s Isobel?’
‘Hello, Max. Nice to see you, too,’ Gemma replied coolly while her heart thudded. Max switched his gaze to her and he glared as ferociously as a headmaster scowling at an unmanageable pupil. Suddenly, she felt extremely self-conscious—as if her skirt was too short, her black stockings too sheer, or her platform heels too high. No matter how much decorum she’d acquired over the years, this older brother of Dave’s always, always, always made her feel like a silly little girl. ‘How did you get here so quickly?’ she demanded.
‘I flew. I got in early this morning from checking out the back country and found Isobel’s message on the answering machine.’
Gemma remembered that she’d been told Max had invested in his own light aircraft.
‘Well, Isobel’s already left for Eagle Farm airport. You probably passed her.’
Max grimaced. ‘So she’s going ahead with this madcap scheme?’
‘Yes, she’s a very determined woman.’ Gemma hugged Mollie a little closer. Faced by this angry maelstrom of a man, she found the baby’s warmth and softness reassuring.
Cursing, Max ran impatient fingers through his dark brown hair. ‘I should be the one chasing across the world after Dave.’
Gemma smacked a hand to her forehead, pantomime-style, and beamed at him. ‘What a brilliant idea! Why didn’t Isobel or I think of that? You’re the obvious choice. You’re Dave’s brother. You’re family but, even better, you’re a man. You could spare Isobel the danger and Isobel—’ Gemma felt a heady rush of excitement and relief as the next point sank in ‘—and Isobel could continue to care for Mollie.’
‘So you don’t want to look after the baby?’
‘I—I didn’t say that.’ Her sense of relief plummeted. She and Max had hardly been talking for thirty seconds and already he’d found a way to put her down. ‘Of course I’m happy to mind her, but could you really go to Africa? Do you have your passport with you?’
‘Don’t you think I haven’t tried to go?’ Max glared back at her. ‘Foreign Affairs quickly knocked me back. They told me in no uncertain terms to stay out of it. Isobel is Dave’s next of kin and they want the wifely touch to try to appeal on humanitarian grounds. Apparently, that’s much more likely to get Dave released. I’m not happy, but I’m not going to muddy the water.’
Gemma’s shoulders sagged. ‘I suppose that’s wise. It does sound like a touchy situation.’
Max merely grunted. He moved up the path towards her and she found herself backing away from his determined stride. Some women had been heard to comment that now he’d reached thirty Max was even more good-looking than he’d been in his teens, but none of them had enticed him into marriage and Gemma knew why. His personality hadn’t improved one jot.
‘Who decided that you should be taking care of the baby?’ he drawled.
She squared her shoulders. ‘Her mother is absolutely certain that I am the perfect choice.’
A sudden wind gusted across the garden and Gemma ducked her head to protect Mollie, so she missed seeing his reaction. But she didn’t miss the sound of her front door slamming shut. Horrified, she whirled around. Dammit! Now she was stranded on her own front path with a baby in her arms and Max Jardine glowering at her.
He looked in the direction of her door. ‘You’re not locked out, are you?’
She fumbled around in her pockets, knowing that it was useless and that her keys were still hanging on a little brass hook in her kitchen. ‘Yes,’ she replied through gritted teeth.
‘You can’t get in the back way?’
‘No. I made sure I closed my back door because I was worried about my neighbour’s cat and…the baby.’
For a fraction of a second, she almost thought he smiled at her. ‘So it’s a case of climbing through a window.’
Gemma looked at her windows. It had been windy all day and the only one she’d left open was in her bedroom.
‘I can get through there in a flash,’ Max offered.
She pictured him swinging his riding boots and his long, jeans-clad legs over the sill, squeezing past the big bed that almost filled her small room—seeing the muddle of books, perfume and make-up on her bedside table and the underwear she’d left in a jumble on the end of the bed.
For some silly reason, she felt ridiculously flustered at the mere thought of Max seeing her private domain. ‘It’s OK,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll go. I—I know my way around.’
This time he was definitely smiling. His blue eyes danced as they rested first on Mollie in her arms and then on her short skirt. ‘If you insist on getting in there yourself, let me at least help.’ He held out his arms for Mollie.
Oh, Lord! What was worse? Did she want Max Jardine prowling around her bedroom, or Max, with Mollie in one arm, helping her up to her window and watching her skirt hike over her hips as she clambered through? Damn the man! Why did his presence always rock her so badly? This was hardly a life-threatening situation and yet she was feeling completely rattled.
‘I guess you’ve got the longer legs. You’d better do the climbing,’ she muttered ungraciously.
‘OK,’ he agreed easily, and in no time he had disappeared.
She saw her lace curtain snag as Max moved past it and she wondered what he thought of the ridiculously huge bed that dominated her tiny bedroom. She had taken the flat because it came fully furnished and the rent was cheap, considering how closely it was situated to the central business district. Most tenants, she assumed, would consider the king-size bed a bonus, but it was rather more than she needed.
The front door swung open.
‘Miss Brown, Miss Mollie,’ Max welcomed them with a deep bow.
‘Thanks,’ Gemma replied stiffly as she sailed past him into her flat with her head high. At the entrance to her lounge room, she paused and eyed him coolly, feeling uncomfortably more like the guest than the hostess. To right matters she added, ‘I take it you’ve come to visit us?’
‘We’ve got to work out what’s best for this little one.’
Gemma sighed. She sensed combat ahead of her and here she was, facing the enemy without any time to construct a battle plan. The whole business of getting into the flat had set her off on the wrong foot. ‘Isobel has already decided what’s best for her daughter,’ she told him haughtily. ‘Don’t forget this baby’s mother is my best friend.’
‘And this baby is my niece,’ Max growled.
What would poor little Mollie think, if she could understand the way they were bickering over her?
Max moved away and she grimaced as he surveyed her lounge room. Its appearance had deteriorated somewhat now that Mollie’s gear was piled in the middle of the carpet. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Max’s brows pull into a frown as he studied the mountain of equipment. There were numerous toys, a collapsible cot, a car seat, pram and playpen, not to mention enough clothes to dress an entire kindergarten.
His gaze also took in the piles of pamphlets and boxes Gemma had ‘filed’ on her sofa. Her computer and more paperwork covered the small dining table.
‘There’ll be much more room when I move the baby’s gear into the bedroom,’ she explained hastily.
Max cracked half a grin. ‘Which bedroom would that be?’
‘M-mine.’
‘How many bedrooms do you have?’
Why her cheeks should flame at such a straightforward question was beyond her. ‘Just—just the one,’ she stammered.
Max stood staring at her with his hands on his hips, shaking his head as if he hadn’t heard her properly. ‘You’re going to put all this gear in that miniature bedroom I just came through?’
‘Some of it,’ she mumbled.
‘You’ll need to buy a smaller bed.’
Gemma wouldn’t give into his provocation by responding to that comment. To her further annoyance, he turned and sauntered around her compact kitchen, then back to the lounge and dining area, silently, grimly inspecting every detail. Her dwelling seemed smaller than ever with his large frame invading the space. Finally, he swivelled back to face her. And for an unnecessarily long moment, his disturbing blue eyes rested on her.
At last he spoke very quietly. ‘It can’t be done, Gemma. You can’t take care of Mollie here in this shoe-box.’
‘Of course I can. Isobel has total faith in me.’
‘Isobel is desperate.’
Gemma told herself she should expect a hurtful jab like this from Max and she resolved not to let him intimidate her. She matched his challenging gaze with a scornful glare. ‘Isobel wasn’t so desperate that she’d risk her baby’s welfare. She has complete trust in my ability to care for Mollie.’
His eyes narrowed as he stared thoughtfully at the toes of his leather riding boots.
‘Why don’t you?’ she challenged.
His head came up slowly, but he didn’t speak.
‘Why don’t you trust me, Max?’
Before he replied, he thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his faded jeans. ‘I’m sure you have good intentions, Gemma. But I keep remembering…’ His Adam’s apple moved up and down rapidly.
When he paused, Gemma rushed to defend herself. ‘I doubt that you’ve noticed, but I’m not a little kid any more.’
This time his mouth curved into a relaxed smile and his amused blue gaze rested on her for an uncomfortable length of time before he spoke. ‘Believe me, kiddo, I’ve noticed how grown-up you look these days.’
No amount of willpower could prevent Gemma’s blushes. She ducked her face behind Mollie’s golden curls.
‘But what I’m remembering is your reaction at the hospital when Mollie was born,’ he continued. ‘You told us all very loudly that you were allergic to babies. You wouldn’t touch her for fear she would break.’
Gemma tried valiantly to suppress a gasp of dismay. ‘Newborn babies don’t count,’ she muttered defensively. ‘Everyone’s nervous about holding them. I love Mollie now.’
‘But you said you were going to wait till she was old enough to—what was it? Take shopping? I think you were planning to teach her how to buy shoes and where to get the very best coffee in town.’
Stunned, Gemma stared at Max. The man had the memory of an elephant! She had only dim recollections of this conversation. How on earth did he retain such insignificant details? He must make a habit of hoarding up ammunition like this to fire when it most hurt.
‘OK, I was scared of Mollie at first,’ she admitted. ‘I’d never been in close contact with such a tiny new baby before, but I—I’ve adjusted. Mollie and I get on famously now.’
At that moment, Mollie wriggled restlessly in Gemma’s arms and uttered a little cry of protest. Gemma stared helplessly at the squirming baby. Just whose side was this kid on? She tried to jiggle Mollie on her hip. She’d seen Isobel do it many times and it always seemed to work.
‘I take it,’ added Max, ‘you’re going to try to play nursemaid and carry on a business as well?’
‘Of course. It shouldn’t be a problem.’ It was the worst possible moment for Mollie to let out an earsplitting wail, but she did. Her little face turned deep pink, her bottom lip wobbled and she sobbed desperately. Feeling totally threatened, Gemma quickly placed the baby on the floor at her feet. To her surprise, Mollie stopped crying almost immediately. She sat there quietly and began to suck her fist.
‘Look at that,’ Gemma beamed, feeling a whole lot better. ‘I won’t have to cart her around every minute of the day. I’ll be able to sit her in her playpen surrounded by toys and get on with my work.’
Max’s expression softened for a moment as he watched his niece, but when his gaze reached Gemma again, he scowled, shook his head and shoved his hands deeper in the pockets of his jeans. ‘I’m not going to allow her to stay here, Gemma.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Not going to allow her? Could she be hearing this? Gemma had always wondered what people meant when they described hackles rising on the backs of their necks. Now she knew.
‘You heard me. I’m not going to abandon my niece.’
‘Abandon her?’ she echoed. ‘How dare you insinuate that leaving her with me is the same as abandoning her?’
‘Don’t take it personally, Gem.’
The relaxed way Max leaned back against her kitchen bench doubled Gemma’s anger.
‘How on earth am I supposed to take it?’
‘This is a family matter. You know the old saying about blood being thicker than water. A friend can’t be expected to take on such responsibility.’
‘For crying out loud, I’m more than a friend,’ Gemma cried. ‘I’m Mollie’s godmother!’ But as the words left her lips, she realised they weren’t much help. This man, this enemy, this ogre—was poor Mollie’s godfather.
‘How on earth are you going to look after Mollie?’ Gemma challenged before Max could respond. ‘You’ve no women on your property and only a handful of ringers. I doubt they’ll be much help.’
‘I’ll hire a nanny, of course. Someone with the very best training.’
She made an exaggerated show of rolling her eyes in disgust. ‘If Isobel wanted a nanny for Mollie, she could have hired one herself. The poor woman doesn’t know how long she’s going to be away and she wants someone she knows, someone who really cares about her baby, not a stranger who happens to have official qualifications.’
Max sighed and ran long fingers through his hair as he stared at the waxed tiles on Gemma’s kitchen floor. ‘Isobel said she didn’t want a nanny?’
‘Yes,’ she replied firmly.
‘OK,’ he said at last. With another deeper sigh, his head flicked sideways and his eyes locked onto hers. ‘You and I are both Mollie’s godparents, so we should make this a shared responsibility.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘WHAT exactly do you mean?’ Gemma asked, appalled by what Max seemed to be suggesting.
‘We’re both the baby’s godparents. So we look after her.’ His eyes revealed the briefest twinkle. ‘Together.’
She knew her mouth was gaping. ‘You and me?’ she gasped.
‘Yeah.’
‘But we can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘It—it’s not necessary. Being a godparent is simply a gesture of intent.’
Resting his hands on the counter top, Max leaned forward. ‘You can’t have it both ways, Gemma. Either being Mollie’s godmother is a good reason for you to take care of her, or it isn’t.’
She knew she was losing ground fast. Apparently Max had been honing his skills as a bush lawyer. She ran frantic fingers through her short, dark hair. ‘But it doesn’t mean we’re obliged to—For crying out loud, Max, that doesn’t mean we have to actually do anything parental together.’
Max’s eyes teased her. ‘It’s the only sensible solution. You and Mollie should come and stay on Goodbye Creek Station until Isobel returns. That way we can share the load. It’s called co-operation.’
Her stomach lurched as if she were coming down in a very fast elevator. ‘Co-operation, my foot!’ she said at last. ‘How much co-operation are you planning to contribute? I’m the one who’ll have to make all the sacrifices. Why should I give up everything here to head off into the bush and stay with you?’
‘Because, as I’ve already explained,’ Max said, with exaggerated patience, ‘we need to share this responsibility. That way we can both get on with our work commitments.’ He pointed to the pamphlets and papers on her sofa. ‘I imagine it will be much easier for you to bring your stuff to Goodbye Creek and to carry on your business from there, than for me to bring thousands of head of cattle down to this, er—cosy little suburban flat.’
He was so smug and sure of himself, Gemma wanted to thump him. She was beginning to feel cornered. ‘It won’t work.’
‘I think it’s a compromise that has distinct possibilities.’
If only she could tell him she was far too busy—booked up to organise half a dozen events—but even if she did tell such a lie, she was sure he would find a way to use it against her. Instead she glared at him. ‘We’ll spend the whole time fighting!’
He pretended to be shocked by her words. ‘Why on earth should we do that?’
Gemma groaned. ‘Maxwell T. Jardine, I don’t believe I’m hearing this. We would fight, for the simple reason that we have never agreed about anything. Haven’t you noticed the only thing we have in common is that we both breathe oxygen? We can’t stand each other!’
Just to prove how utterly detestable he was, Max burst out laughing.
Gemma gave in to her anger. She smashed her fist onto the counter. ‘What’s so funny?’ she yelled.
‘Oh, Gemma,’ he chuckled. ‘You certainly are all grown up now, aren’t you?’
Choking, she gasped and spluttered. Trust Max to point out that she wasn’t nearly as sophisticated and worldly wise as she liked to think she was. She had a sneaking suspicion that she might never become mature and discerning. It was her long-term ambition to become cool and detached—especially when this man was around doing his best to flummox her.
For a brief moment, Max’s expression softened. Then he stepped around the counter and towards her. Gemma wished he wouldn’t. When he rested his strong, warm hands on both her shoulders, her nerves were way too strained to cope.
‘Gemma Elizabeth Brown,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly.
Her eyes widened at his use of her middle name. She hadn’t even realised he knew it.
‘We agree on the most important thing.’
She could feel the heat of his hands as they held her. Her lungs appeared to be malfunctioning, but Max didn’t notice, he just kept on talking.
‘We agree that Mollie deserves very good care and, on this occasion, I think most definitely, we do have to do something together.’ His eyes flashed as he added, ‘Something parental. You’re right, we’ll probably fight like cats and dogs, but we’ll manage somehow—for Mollie’s sake. On our own, we’d both have major difficulties looking after the poor little kid properly, wouldn’t we?’
She allowed her gaze to meet those deep blue eyes, those disturbing blue eyes, and Gemma felt less sure of her line of argument.
‘Together, we stand a fair chance of success—both for Mollie and our work.’
What he proposed was unthinkable! She couldn’t let this happen. How on earth could she live with Max while he inspected her babysitting skills? She’d be a dithering mess. Holy smoke, he’d be checking up on her every minute of the day and he would soon discover she knew absolutely zero about babies.
Gemma felt as if she’d stepped aside and become a spectator of this discussion. Incredibly, she realised she was nodding, accepting Max’s terms.
If only she could remember exactly when Max had turned their battle to his advantage, but she had loosened her grip on this whole scene. She’d lost sight of her counter-argument.
‘I’ll do my fair share,’ Max added. ‘I’ll give Mollie her tucker or bathe her, or whatever’s necessary. We can work out some sort of roster if you like.’
She passed a dazed hand across her eyes. Never in her wildest dreams had she pictured this rough-riding cattleman in a hands-on relationship with a baby. She tried to visualise him attending to Mollie, but her musings were interrupted by the telephone.
‘Oh, heavens! That’s probably the printers.’ Gemma had almost forgotten her current project and her deadline this afternoon. ‘I have to get some pamphlet designs to them before five o’clock.’ She glared fiercely at Max as she hurried to the phone.
‘Hello, Gemma Brown speaking.’
A woman’s voice reached her. ‘Gemma, Sue Easton from Over the Page. I was wondering…’
The printers were chasing her copy. Gemma reassured the woman that everything was ready and she would be at their office shortly. As she spoke, she heard Mollie begin to cry behind her and she was acutely aware of Max moving quietly in the flat.
Mollie’s wails ceased abruptly and by the time Gemma put the receiver down and turned to face Max again, she was startled to find him perched on the arm of her sofa and jogging the delighted baby on his knee.
He looked very pleased with himself. ‘See? You can’t manage without me, can you? I’ll mind this little possum while you do whatever running around you need to this afternoon.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied uncertainly.
‘And after that,’ he said with confident assurance, ‘we can plan your move to Goodbye Creek. I’ll book into a pub tonight and we can head off first thing in the morning.’
As he continued to favour both Gemma and Mollie with a look of smug satisfaction, the baby’s face turned red and Gemma noticed that she seemed to be concentrating very hard.
‘Oh-oh.’ Max’s confident grin slipped. Cautiously, he lifted Mollie away from his knee.
‘Has she dirtied her nappy?’ asked Gemma.
‘I—I think so.’
At the sight of his sudden dismay, Gemma felt an urge to grin, but she managed to keep a straight face. ‘Thanks so much, Max. It would be great if you could watch Mollie for half an hour or so. I do have several errands to run—especially if I’m moving house. Let me show you where the clean nappies are…’ She rummaged in the pile of things Isobel had left and produced a freshly folded nappy and a container of baby wipes and, with a deadpan expression, handed them to him. ‘These are what you need.’
‘You’re running out on me at a moment like this?’ he asked, clearly horrified. By now he was holding Mollie at arm’s length.
‘I’m sorry,’ Gemma murmured sweetly, ‘but I really do have important deadlines to meet. You’ll be fine.’ She gathered up her designs and her handbag and rushed out her front door.
‘He thinks he’s such a hotshot babysitter, he can manage this one,’ she muttered under her breath.
But she wished she didn’t feel quite so guilty about deserting him.
The next day, when Max piloted their plane over the vast property that made up Goodbye Creek Station, Gemma was stunned by the unexpected flood of homesickness that swept through her. It was five years since she’d been back, but she knew the Jardine family holding almost as well as she knew the township of Goodbye Creek, where her own home had been. Her parents had owned a stock and station agency in the town. They had sold up and moved to the coast about the same time she’d gone away to university.
Now, she and Max were flying back, the plane stacked carefully with the baby’s gear. Max explained that he had a well-equipped study complete with an up-to-the-minute computer and a fax machine, so Gemma only needed to bring her clothes, a box of computer disks and her paperwork.
They’d left Brisbane just as dawn broke and during the five-hour flight Mollie had alternated between napping and waking for little snacks and drinks. Gemma had kept her entertained with picture books and games of ‘This little pig went to market’.
Max had chatted very politely about the weather and the scenery beneath them, but it occurred to Gemma that he was behaving more like a newly introduced acquaintance than someone who had known her for more than twenty years. But now, as heart-wrenchingly familiar red soil plains unfolded below, she felt edgy, knowing that once they landed their shared past could no longer be ignored.
Wriggling forward in her seat, she peered eagerly through the windscreen, wondering why the sight of dry, grassy paddocks and straggly stands of eucalypts should make her feel so soppy and sentimental. Way below, she could recognise the signs of spring merging into summer. Early wet season storms had brought bright green new growth and purple and yellow wild flowers were poking up through the grass.
Max’s flight-path followed the course of the old creek that had given its name to the district and Gemma noted that water was already flowing down its entire length. She could make out the shallow, rocky stretch of rapids and finally the deeper section they called Big Bend.
Fringed by majestic paperbarks, this cool, shady pool had been a favourite spot for childhood picnics. At the age of ten, Gemma had rocketed in a tractor tube right through the rapids as far as the Big Bend. She’d been so proud of herself and Dave had been lavish with his praise.
‘You’re as good as a boy,’ he’d shouted. ‘You made it the whole way without squealing once. Max, isn’t she great?’
But Max, of course, had merely grunted and looked bored.
As they neared the homestead, her sense of nostalgia increased.
‘Nearly home,’ said Max, with a contented little smile, as he worked the controls to increase their angle of descent.
First came the stockyards and the corrugated iron roofs under which hay bales would be stacked to protect them from the rain. Then she could see the smaller, original holding yard, made of old timbers weathered to a silvery grey and built in the rustic post and rail design that had been around since the pioneering days.
Gemma glanced at Mollie dozing in her little safety seat beside her. ‘Has Mollie been out here before?’ she asked.
‘No,’ admitted Max. ‘This will be the first time she’s set foot on Jardine soil. It’s a significant moment.’ He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. ‘All this is her inheritance.’
‘Unless you have children of your own,’ Gemma said softly. ‘I guess then they would all be shareholders.’
He turned and their eyes met. His blue gaze held a disquieting mixture of uncertainty and bitterness. ‘Yeah,’ he said, and then jerked his head back to the front. ‘There’s always that possibility.’
They swooped a little lower and the familiar sight of the muddy dam dotted with black ducks and the rusty metal skeleton of the old windmill standing sentry nearby made her feel ridiculously emotional. She blinked her eyes to clear the misted view. In her imagination, she could hear the squeak and clank of the old windmill as it slowly pumped water to the drinking troughs.
Within seconds she was exclaiming. ‘Max, my goodness! You’ve installed a satellite dish.’
‘Got to keep up with technology.’
Their plane continued its descent and he nodded to their right, past the machinery sheds and workshops. ‘I’ve put in some new windmills, too. That one over there has a solar panel and an electric pump.’
‘Is it better than the old one?’ she asked, doubtfully eyeing the shiny modern equipment.
‘Too right. Before, it was always a case of no breeze, no water. Now we can get a constant flow if we need it.’
But the biggest surprise came as they made the final dip towards the airstrip, when Gemma saw the homestead, which for as long as she could remember had been a comfortable but shabby timber home with peeling paint and vine-covered wrap-around verandahs.
‘Wow!’ Her breath exhaled slowly as she absorbed the changes. Max’s home was now a showplace. ‘What have you done to the house?’ she asked.
He was concentrating on making an initial swoop over the strip to clear the ground of horses and birds before attempting a landing. ‘Painted it,’ he muttered tersely as he swung the plane around to double back for the approach.
Below them, skittish horses cantered out of their way and a flock of cockatoos, feeding on grass seed, lifted their wings to disperse like so many pieces of white paper caught in a wind gust. The plane plunged lower and finally touched down on the gravel runway.
‘What a difference,’ Gemma exclaimed, still staring at Max’s house, amazed by the transformation. The homestead’s timber walls were now painted a pretty powder blue, the iron roof was a clean, crisp silver and all the trims and the lattice on the verandahs were gleaming white.
As they taxied down the short airstrip, Max shot her a cautious glance. ‘You like it?’
‘It’s beautiful, Max. I had no idea the old place could look so lovely.’ She was startled to see an unexpected red tinge creep along his cheekbones. ‘Who did the job for you?’
‘Did it myself,’ he muttered. ‘During the dry season, of course.’
Another shock.
As the plane came to a standstill, Gemma assimilated this news and sat quietly, thinking about the lonely weeks Max must have spent on the task. The life of an outback cattleman was solitary and hard and the men who survived it were tough, complex creatures. And they didn’t come much more complicated than Max, she thought with a wry grimace. ‘It’s fantastic,’ she told him with genuine warmth. ‘You’ve done an amazing job.’
He looked embarrassed and she realised he was probably more used to her scorn than her praise. She allowed herself a private smile as she thought about that. They were probably both much more comfortable fighting than co-operating.
An old utility truck had been left at the end of the runway and Gemma and Max were kept busy for the next ten minutes, transferring Mollie and the gear into the vehicle. Even though it was only a few hundred metres to the homestead, there was too much to lug such a distance.
It was late morning. The sun was already high overhead and very hot and so, by the time they reached the kitchen, a cool drink was the first priority. Gemma found Mollie’s little feeding cup, while Max swung his fridge door open and grabbed a jug of iced water.
Just before he closed the fridge, he paused to survey its contents and frowned. ‘I might have to stock up on a few things from town,’ he commented before filling a glass and handing it to Gemma. ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you and I haven’t got the kind of fancy things that women like for breakfast. I’m still a steak and eggs man myself.’
Gemma’s eyes widened. ‘How do you know what women like for breakfast?’ The question was out before she really thought through what she was saying. She’d always pictured Max as a crusty bachelor living the life of a lonely recluse in the back of beyond.
Max went very still and she cringed with sudden shame as she recognised just how rude and downright stupid her query sounded. How on earth could she retract her words?
Before any bright ideas struck, he spun around, and the glance he sent her way was tinged with wry amusement.
Had she left her brains in Brisbane? Of course this man would have attracted and entertained women. He was quite well off and had the kind of rugged and rangy masculinity that swarms of women hunted down. Unlike her, they’d be willing to overlook his gruffness.
She knew by the heat in her cheeks that her embarrassment was obvious, but she was also just as sure Max wouldn’t miss an opportunity to make her suffer further for her foolishness.
‘Now let me see.’ He cocked his head to the ceiling as if considering her question. ‘How is it that I know so much about women’s breakfast habits?’
His eyes narrowed as if he was giving this matter his undivided attention. ‘I think I probably picked up some pointers—like women’s belief in the importance of orange juice—from all those television advertisements.’
Totally flustered and unable to think of an appropriate retort, Gemma concentrated very carefully on holding Mollie’s cup at just the right angle for her to drink easily.
‘But it beats me if I can remember just how I uncovered the mysterious feminine desire to dine first thing in the morning on low-fat yoghurt and muesli. That really has me stumped.’ Relaxing back in a wooden kitchen chair, he joined his hands behind his head with elbows pointing to the ceiling. ‘I guess I found out about European women’s predilection for coffee and croissants from some foreign movie.’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ Gemma growled at him. ‘Good luck to any long-suffering woman who’s had breakfast with you. The poor thing would need a ton of luck and a truckload of tolerance to put up with your chauvinism.’
He took a deep swig of iced water and chuckled. ‘I’d say you’re probably right.’ Setting the glass back on the table, he grinned at her. ‘You’ll be able to find out tomorrow morning, won’t you?’
‘I think I could do without your early-morning charm,’ she sniffed. ‘And Mollie and I will have soft boiled eggs and toast soldiers for our breakfast.’
She turned away from his mocking grin and made a fuss of Mollie. But it was difficult to stop her mind from dwelling on the unexplored area of this conversation—the particular circumstances that led to a woman sharing breakfast with Max.
They didn’t bear thinking about.
And yet, in spite of her efforts to ignore such offensive details, an unbidden picture planted itself firmly in Gemma’s mind. A vision of a lamp-lit bedroom—with cool, white sheets—and Max’s brown, muscle-packed back encircled by softly rounded, pale and feminine arms. A night of intimacy…
She felt an unpleasant wave of panic.
Would Max Jardine be charming in the company of other women?
Surely not.
‘Do you have any bananas?’ she asked, in a desperate bid to change the subject and to rid herself of these extremely unsettling thoughts. ‘I—I could mash one for Mollie’s lunch while you set up her cot.’
His eyes surveyed the kitchen. ‘No bananas, I’m afraid. You might have to give her some of the tinned stuff we brought with us. I’ll take a run into town first thing tomorrow morning. We should make up a shopping list.’
Gemma was so grateful they were no longer talking about Max’s women that she spent the afternoon being particularly obliging and co-operative. Max made cold roast beef sandwiches for their lunch and they ate them at a table on the side verandah and washed them down with huge mugs of strong tea while Mollie played with her blocks on the floor nearby. Out in the paddocks the white cockatoos screeched raucous greetings as they returned to the grass seed to feed.
Then, after lunch, as Max had never bothered with a housekeeper, together they dusted and vacuumed spare rooms for her and Mollie’s use. They set up Mollie’s folding cot and her other equipment in a bedroom on the cool side of the house, with doors opening onto the verandah.
Gemma’s bedroom was right next door. She had stayed in it before—a pretty room, very feminine, with pink and white curtains and a white candlewick bedspread on the old-fashioned iron bed. The bed-ends were decorated with shiny brass knobs and pretty pieces of porcelain painted with rosebuds.
She was startled to see a silver-framed photo of Dave and herself on the mahogany dressing table. It had been taken five years ago—in the days before Dave met Isobel—when Gemma was eighteen and she and Dave had still been ‘going together‘. Their liaison had been a casual arrangement that they’d drifted into as they grew older. She’d come back from university for his twenty-first birthday.
In the photo, they were dancing. Dave, dressed in a formal dinner suit, was laughing, and she was smiling at the camera and looking very pleased with herself in a pale blue evening gown with thin straps, a fitted bodice and a softly floating, long skirt. There were tiny white flowers dotted through her dark brown hair. At the time, she’d thought she looked very romantic.
Now she shuddered as a painful memory forced itself on her.
The night of Dave’s party had ended with a shameful and embarrassing incident. A scene she had worked desperately hard to forget over the years. Surely Max had wanted to forget it, too? At the time he had been as upset as she was about what happened.
Shaking, she turned to him now. ‘Why didn’t you throw this old photo away?’
Max set down her suitcase, straightened and frowned in its direction. An unreadable emotion flashed in his eyes and his mouth tightened. After a moment, he said with a shrug, ‘Didn’t cross my mind.’
Rigid with tension, it took Gemma a moment or two to take in his words. Then relief flooded her. He must have forgotten what had happened that night! Either that or the incident that had caused her so much grief over the years had never really bothered him. Gemma forced herself to shrug as nonchalantly as he had. ‘Fair enough,’ she said.
She knew she should be relieved, but it took some time for her to feel calm again and to convince herself that she was happy with his detached reaction.
By evening, they had worked out how to barricade off the section of the verandah adjacent to the study, so that Mollie could have a safe area to crawl and play while Gemma worked. Gemma had unpacked her clothes and had showered to wash off the dust from her journey. She’d bathed the baby girl in the old claw-foot tub in the main bathroom and fed her mashed vegetables. Max had ambled down to one of the ringers’ huts to discuss station matters and explain about his visitors.
When he returned, he fixed a simple supper of steaks and salad while Gemma gave Mollie her bottle and settled her for sleep.
Everything went like clockwork. Gemma couldn’t believe how obliging Mollie was and how conciliatory Max had been. She was beginning to feel calm and confident and even optimistic about the whole venture. Surely this mood wouldn’t last?
They ate together, and their steaks were followed by a simple, no-frills dessert of chocolate chip ice cream and tinned apricots. Then coffee. They chatted about people they both knew from around the district and Max was a surprisingly entertaining host—slipping humorous anecdotes and juicy titbits of gossip into the conversation.
As he drained the last of his coffee, he put his cup down and leaned back in his chair. ‘I should have offered you a nightcap. Would you like a liqueur or brandy?’
She shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’m quite tired, but you have one.’
‘Not tonight.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You haven’t told me anything about the trip you made to England after university.’
‘I didn’t think you’d be interested,’ she answered stiffly.
His eyebrows rose the tiniest fraction. ‘I don’t need a travelogue, but I’d like to know whether you found what you were looking for.’
The coffee cup in Gemma’s hand rattled against its saucer. ‘I went to London for two years’ work experience.’
After a little, Max said, ‘I suspected you were running away.’
He’d dropped the charm and reverted to Big Brother mode and Gemma’s sense of relaxation was falling away at breakneck speed. She should have known the truce had been too good to last. ‘What would I have been running away from?’
He frowned. ‘You and Dave were so close for so many years. Everyone in the district thought of you as a couple.’
‘Yes, but I’m sure everyone knew it wasn’t serious.’ She was stunned to think that Max might have thought she’d been pining after Dave. ‘Heavens, Max, Dave and I just sort of hung out together out of habit. I mean—being with him was always fun and sweet and everything, but when we parted it was quite painless and definitely for the best.’ She added quietly, ‘There was something missing in our relationship.’
Heat leapt into her cheeks. She didn’t add that there had seemed to be something missing in every relationship she’d attempted. Gemma had a dreadful suspicion that there was something missing in her own personality. She feared she just wasn’t suited to romance. No matter how handsome and charming and eager to please her the young men she’d met had been, none of then had ever once made her feel giddily, genuinely in love. Not the kind of love she was hoping to find.
‘You thought you would find that missing something…in London?’ Max’s eyes were lit with a puzzling intensity.
Blue fire.
The way their gaze locked onto hers robbed her breath. This man of all people shouldn’t be asking her such questions.
‘No, I wasn’t hoping for that,’ she said at last, and prayed that he couldn’t guess she was lying through her teeth.
‘No suave English gentleman swept you off your feet?’
It was time to finish this conversation. Gemma didn’t like it at all. She especially didn’t like the way her heart began beat so frantically when Max looked at her.
Unless she put an end to this now, she might end up admitting to him that although she’d met plenty of nice young men, none of them had captured her heart. And the very last thing Gemma wanted was for him to continue this line of questioning and uncover her embarrassing secret.
None of her family or friends knew the truth about her love life. Or rather her lack of a love life. Gemma was quite certain that she was the only twenty-three-year-old female outside a nunnery who was still a virgin.
She lifted her chin to what she hoped was a challenging angle. ‘There were several men,’ she told him. ‘But, Max, you’re not my big brother. I’m not giving you an itemised account and you don’t need to keep watch over me. It’s none of your business how many men I’ve met or—or how many affairs I’ve had.’ Pushing back her chair, she jumped to her feet. ‘I haven’t asked you one tiny question about your breakfast companions.’
He stood also and looked down at her from his menacing height. ‘What would you like to know?’ he asked while a poorly suppressed grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
‘I have absolutely no interest in your philanderings.’ She spun on her heel and began to stomp away from the table. Then she stopped abruptly, remembering her manners. ‘I’ll help you clear the table and tidy the kitchen,’ she mumbled.
‘Thank you, Gemma,’ he replied with a studied politeness that annoyed her.
In silence they worked, Max gathering up the plates and cutlery, Gemma collecting the cups, place mats and serviettes. Together they walked into the kitchen and set their things down at the sink. They both reached for the tap at the same time. Their hands connected.
As if she’d been burnt, Gemma snatched her hand away from the contact, but Max’s reaction was just as quick and he caught her fingers in his strong grasp.
His thumb stroked her skin once, twice…and she felt her blood stirring in response. Her hand trembled.
She wanted to pull away, but she was too fascinated by her body’s astonishing reaction. Never had she felt so unsettled, so fired up by a man’s simple touch. She didn’t dare look at Max. She stood by the sink, mesmerised by the sight of her slim white hand in his large, suntanned grip. She could see little hairs on the back of his hand, bleached to gold by the sun. A faint trace of the fresh, lemon-scented soap he’d used in the shower still clung to his skin and his work-roughened thumb continued to move slowly over her hand, making her feel shivery and breathless.
‘Gem.’ His gruff voice barely reached her over the savage drumbeat in her ears.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.
‘Gemma,’ he said again, and his other hand reached under her chin, forcing her head up until their eyes met. Max was looking as startled as she felt. His breathing sounded just as hectic.
When his fingers began to trace ever so gently the outline of her face, she could feel her skin flame at his touch.
‘Gemma Brown,’ he whispered, ‘whether you like it or not, I’m going to keep watching you…just like I always have.’
And the moment was spoiled. Gemma was embarrassingly disappointed.
‘For Pete’s sake!’ she exclaimed, wrenching her hand out of his grasp and pulling right away from him. She was fearfully angry with him and she wasn’t quite sure why. ‘You are not my brother, my bodyguard or my guardian angel!’ For a dreadful moment she thought she might burst into tears. ‘Go paint some more walls. Get a life, Max, and leave me to get on with mine!’
This time she didn’t care about good manners. Gemma rushed out of the kitchen and left him with the dirty dishes.
CHAPTER THREE
THE grimy dishes were still sitting on the counter top waiting to be washed when Gemma walked into the kitchen the next morning. Added to last night’s pile were an extra-greasy frying pan, a mug and more plates—things Max must have used for his breakfast before he headed off at sunrise.
‘Who does he think he is?’ she asked Mollie as she surveyed the dreary mess. Mollie merely whimpered and rubbed her face against Gemma’s shoulder. She’d been restless during the night and still seemed rather fragile this morning. Having slept very fitfully, Gemma wasn’t feeling too chipper either. In their own separate ways, both Max and Mollie Jardine had kept her tossing and turning for hours.
She set Mollie down on the floor while she hunted through Max’s cupboards for a saucepan to boil their eggs, but Mollie began to cry almost as soon as Gemma walked away from her.
‘Aren’t you going to let me do anything this morning?’ Gemma sighed. She tried to cheer the baby up with clucking noises while she set about making their breakfast.
After popping two eggs into a pot of water, she slid bread into the toaster and boiled the kettle for a mug of tea for herself. The phone rang. Gemma glanced at Mollie, who was still making miserable little whimpers and she deliberated whether she should let the answering machine deal with the call. Then, having second thoughts, she handed the baby a saucepan lid, hoping it would keep her happy while she dashed to the phone.
The call was from Brisbane—the printers were wanting to clarify some final details about the pamphlet—so Gemma was glad she’d answered. But when she returned to the kitchen, her heart sank.
Max stood in the middle of the room, with his hands on his hips, staring in dismay at Mollie, who was howling loudly and banging the saucepan lid on the floor in time to her wails.
She dashed into the room and swept the baby into her arms. ‘Why didn’t you pick her up?’ she challenged Max, deciding to attack him before he could begin to accuse her of neglect.
But he clearly didn’t react well to being scolded. His eyes narrowed. ‘Where were you?’ he asked.
‘Where was I?’ She knew she sounded shrewish, but was too frazzled to care. ‘After pacing the floorboards all night, trying to calm your niece, I was answering an important business call. Where were you?’
‘I’ve had one or two things to attend to,’ he snapped. ‘I need to talk to my men—delegate more jobs now that I have other responsibilities.’
‘Who are you trying to kid?’ Gemma cut in. ‘You wouldn’t recognise a responsibility if it was formally introduced to you. Who rocked Mollie back to sleep when she wouldn’t settle last night? Me! Who waltzed off this morning without a care in the world and left the kitchen covered in grease? You did!’
‘I’m sorry you had a bad night,’ he replied with annoying composure, ‘but calm down, Gemma.’ He reached over and lifted the miserable Mollie from her arms. ‘I had every intention of doing the dishes—same as I always do them—at lunchtime.’
‘Lunchtime?’
Gemma might have launched into another tirade, but she noticed that Max’s nose had begun to twitch. Was he feeling angry or just very guilty? Neither of the above, she realised with dismay as the acrid smell of smoke reached her.
‘It seems you’ve burnt the toast,’ he said quietly.
Black smoke billowed from the corner of the kitchen and Max, with Mollie on one hip, lunged across the room, switched the toaster off and flung its doors open.
Wasn’t it just typical of this man? Gemma thought as she watched him. He could buy himself a smart little plane, a satellite dish and a fancy computer and still not have progressed to a pop-up toaster.
On the stove, the eggs were boiling so rapidly they rattled against the saucepan. ‘Oh, blast! They’ll be hardboiled!’ she wailed. This was definitely not her morning.
She snatched the saucepan from the stove, thumped it into the sink, then whirled around to glare at Max. He was nuzzling Mollie’s tummy with his nose and making her laugh.
Laugh! Out loud!
Proper chuckles!
Gemma could feel her bottom lip drooping into a pout. How dared Mollie be so sweet and responsive to Max when she was the one who’d lost all the sleep? She sagged against the kitchen bench and, with a self-pitying sigh, folded her arms across her chest.
Max glanced at her. ‘I’ll take her out to see the puppies and give you some space to have another go at cooking breakfast,’ he suggested.
She drew in a deep breath and nodded. Some peace and quiet, some space…that was what she needed…
And yet she felt strangely abandoned watching Max take Mollie outside—as if they belonged together and she was the outsider. He carried her so easily, without any sense of awkwardness. He would make a good father…She found herself wondering how many of Max’s breakfast companions had been hoping to marry him, to have him father their children.
Groaning at the stupid direction of her thoughts, Gemma picked up the blackened pieces of toast and, with grimly compressed lips, tossed them into the bin before setting out to remake breakfast.
By the time Max and Mollie returned, she had set the little table on the verandah and her breakfast and Mollie’s were ready. She had decided against eggs after all and had made Mollie some porridge, settling for tea and toast for herself. And she’d assumed Max might want some more to eat so had made extra for him.
‘Thanks,’ he said as he settled Mollie on his lap and proceeded to feed her milky porridge with a tiny spoon.
‘We could do with a high chair. It would make mealtimes much easier,’ Gemma commented as Max intercepted Mollie’s plump little hand before she could dunk it into the porridge bowl.
‘I’ll add it to my shopping list, but I’m not sure if Goodbye Creek runs to high chairs.’
‘So you’re going into town this morning?’
He nodded. ‘Want to come?’
Gemma hesitated and took a sip of tea, shocked by her ready willingness to accept his offer. The idea of going to town with Max seemed more appealing than she could have thought possible. Her mind ran ahead of her, wondering what she might wear.
He was looking at her thoughtfully. ‘Of course, you might appreciate some time to set up your office. I could take Mollie with me and get her out of your hair for the morning, while you get your business sorted out. It’s a hot day for travelling and seeing you’ve had a rough night…’
Gemma placed her mug carefully back on the table. What on earth was wrong with her? Max Jardine was offering to get out of her way. She should be celebrating. This time yesterday she would have paid him to stay away.
His suggestion that she take the morning to reorganise her business was so brimming with common sense that she couldn’t refuse without looking foolish. So why on earth did it make her feel downright miserable? Her tiredness had to be the answer—plus the fact that she had already grown so attached to Mollie that she hated to be parted from her.
‘A morning to myself would be great,’ she told Max brightly. ‘You finish your toast and I’ll go clean up Mollie and make up an extra bottle for you to take.’
‘Better give me some extra clothes for her, too,’ Max said as she stood to go. ‘We might be some time.’
They were gone for most of the day. Many, many times Gemma went to the front verandah to peer down the dirt track, searching for the cloud of red dust on the horizon that would tell her the truck was returning. She hadn’t the courage to tell Max that there wasn’t much work on her books at present. He already had a low enough opinion of her without adding fuel to his fire.
But by ten o’clock in the morning she’d finished her work and she spent the rest of the day roaming restlessly around the house.
After lunch, she washed and dried all the dishes, vowing that she would have to change some of Max’s bachelor habits. Then she set a sprinkler on the front lawn and picked some flowers from the old rambling garden that Max’s grandmother had established many, many years ago. Exotic-smelling white gardenias, roses in two shades of pink and some yellow crucifix orchids.
After arranging the flowers in a crystal vase on the hall table, she piled a blue bowl with tangy bush lemons and set it on the kitchen dresser, then brought in Mollie’s washing from the line, folded it and put it away.
By mid-afternoon, Gemma wondered if she should start thinking about the evening meal, but decided to wait and see what Max had bought.
At about four, a trail of dust signalled their return at last. Trying not to hurry, she made her way through the house to greet them, unable to disguise her pleasure when they pulled up near the kitchen door.
Max grinned at her as he swung his long frame down from the driver’s seat and her heart gave a silly little lurch. He held a finger to his lips. ‘Mollie’s asleep,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll try to get her out without disturbing her.’
Expertly, he unbuckled Mollie’s car seat and lifted her gently out of the truck. In his strong arms, the baby girl looked comfortable and safe and Gemma’s throat constricted painfully. The combined effect of Max’s surprisingly tender manner as he handled his little niece and the way his usually grim gaze softened when he looked at her lying asleep in his arms upset her.
He hunched one broad shoulder forward to accommodate the little head covered in damp curls and the thoughtful gesture touched her deeply. But Gemma didn’t want her emotions to be touched—such reactions were out of order and made her distinctly uncomfortable.
She felt better when she set about the businesslike task of unloading groceries and carting them through to the kitchen.
‘How was town?’ she asked when Max joined her.
‘Same as always.’ He shrugged. ‘Mollie caused quite a stir.’
‘I guess babies are a bit of a rarity out this way.’
He nodded and continued the unloading without further comment. He brought in a rather battered-looking high chair, which he proudly announced he’d found in the secondhand shop, and then he carried through an Esky full of cold goods and began to load the freezer with more tubs of chocolate chip ice cream and packets of frozen corn cobs and peas.
At last he looked up. ‘Get plenty of work done while we were away?’
‘Oh,’ Gemma replied, with a vague wave of her hand, ‘yes—heaps.’
‘Mollie’s been awake for most of the day. So many people wanted to make a fuss of her. I’d say she needs a good sleep now.’
‘I guess so,’ Gemma agreed. With a plastic scoop, she transferred sugar from a huge hessian bag into an old-fashioned metal canister. ‘Would you like some afternoon tea?’
He glanced at his watch. ‘I should mosey on down to the ringers’ place and have something there. I need to know if Chad and Dingo were able to fix the pump on the five-mile bore.’
With that, he reached for the Akubra hat hanging on a nail near the back door and was gone.
Gemma clamped the lid down tight on the sugar canister, lugged the bag into the pantry, then sat down at the kitchen table and propped up her chin with her hand. She stayed there staring at the door where Max had disappeared. The clock on the wall ticked loudly.
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Barbara Hannay
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Max Jardine always behaves like a bossy big brother to Gemma Brown. Except for one night five years ago–a night they have never talked about since. But now Gemma is moving into Max′s remote Outback home to help him care for a friend′s baby…Seeing stubborn, gorgeous Max with a baby in his arms confuses Gemma–almost as much as it intrigues Max to see Gemma all grown up! And tension mounts as they confront the past…