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The Outback Bridal Rescue
Emma Darcy
Billionaire Johnny Ellis inherits a share of Gundamurra, the beloved Outback station of his youth–and all of Megan Maguire's hostility.Megan resents Johnny's magnetic masculinity–Gundamurra should be hers alone. Shocked when their mutual tension explodes into a night of passion, Megan is further amazed when Johnny lays out his rescue package: Gundamurra will belong fully to Megan–if she becomes his wife!




Marriage is their mission!
From bad boys—to powerful, passionate protectors! Three tycoons from the Outback rescue their brides-to-be….
Meet Ric, Mitch and Johnny—once rebellious teenagers, they survived the Outback to become best friends and formidable tycoons. Now these sexy city hotshots must return to the Outback to face a new challenge: claiming their brides….
This month, it’s sexy billionaire Johnny Ellis’s turn
• The Outback Marriage Ransom
• The Outback Wedding Takeover
• The Outback Bridal Rescue
Emma Darcy is the award-winning Australian author of almost ninety novels for Harlequin Presents
.
Her intensely emotional stories have gripped readers around the globe.
She’s sold nearly 60 million books worldwide and won enthusiastic praise.
“Emma Darcy delivers a spicy love story…a fiery conflict and a hot sensuality.”
—Romantic Times

Dear Reader,
To me, there has always been something immensely intriguing about bad boys who’ve made good. With every possible disadvantage in their background, what was it that lifted them beyond it, that gave them the driving force to achieve, to soar to the heights of their chosen fields, becoming much more than survivors…shining stars?
In OUTBACK KNIGHTS, I’ve explored the lives of three city boys who ended up in juvenile court and were sent to an Outback sheep station to work through their sentences. There, at Gundamurra, isolated from the influences that had overwhelmed them in the past, and under the supervision and caring of a shrewd mentor, Patrick Maguire, the boys’ lives became set on different paths as they learned how their individual strengths—their passions—could be used constructively instead of destructively.
But the big unanswered need is love. Even at the top it’s lonely.
And it seemed to me beautifully fitting that as these boys had been rescued, so should they—as men—rescue the women who will give them love. I think there are times when all of us want to be rescued—to be cared for, protected, understood, made to feel safe. It’s not that we can’t manage independently, but, oh, for a knight in shining armor that will fight and slay our dragons with a passionate intensity that makes us melt!
Here they are—Ric Donato, Mitch Tyler and Johnny Ellis: OUTBACK KNIGHTS!
With love,



The Outback Bridal Rescue
Emma Darcy



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

CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PROLOGUE
Johnny Ellis
First Day at Gundamurra
THE plane was heading down to a red dirt airstrip. Apart from the cluster of buildings that marked the sheep station of Gundamurra, there was no other habitation in sight between here and the horizon—a huge empty landscape dotted with scrubby trees.
It made Johnny think of the old country ballads about meeting and overcoming incredible hardships in places such as this. And here he was, facing the reality of it for a while. Easy enough to see why the music for those ballads was always slow. Nothing fast going on down there.
‘Wish I had my camera,’ Ric Donato murmured.
The remark piqued Johnny’s curiosity. Apparently the stark visual impact of the place didn’t intimidate Ric, though like Johnny, he’d lived all his life in the city. It seemed odd that a thieving street-kid was into photography. On the other hand, the camera comment might simply be playing it cool, making a point of not letting any fear of what was waiting for them show.
Ric looked like he’d been bred from the Italian mafia, black curly hair, olive skin, dark eyes that flashed with what Johnny thought of as dangerous intensity, but if Ric Donato had come from that kind of family, some smart lawyer would have got him off the charge of stealing a car and he wouldn’t be on this plane with Johnny and Mitch.
‘The middle of nowhere,’ Mitch Tyler muttered dispiritedly, his eyes fixed on the same scene. ‘I’m beginning to think I made the wrong choice.’
More gloom than cool from his other companion, Johnny thought, but then unlike himself and Ric, Mitch had a real family—mother and sister—and family couldn’t visit him way out here. But choosing a year in a juvenile jail rather than the alternative sentence of six months working on a sheep station…
‘Nah,’ Johnny drawled with deep inner conviction. ‘Anything’s better than being locked up. At least we can breathe out here.’
‘What? Dust?’ Mitch mocked.
The plane landed, kicking up a cloud of it.
Johnny didn’t care about a bit of dust. It was infinitely preferable to confinement. He hoped Mitch Tyler wasn’t going to be a complete grouch for the next six months. Or a mean one, blowing up at any little aggravation. The guy had been convicted of assault. It might be true he’d only beat up on the man who’d date-raped his sister, but Johnny suspected that Mitch was wired towards fighting.
He had biting blue eyes, dark hair, a strong-boned face that somehow commanded respect. His build was lean though he had very muscular arms, and Johnny felt he might well be capable of powerful violence. Living in close quarters with him could be tricky if he didn’t lighten up.
‘Welcome to the great Australian Outback,’ the cop escorting them said derisively. ‘And just remember…if you three city smart arses want to survive, there’s nowhere to run.’
All three of them ignored him. They were sixteen. Regardless of what life threw at them, they were going to survive. Besides, running would be stupid. Better to do the six months and feel free to get on with their lives, having served what the law court considered justice for their crimes.
Not that Johnny felt guilty of doing anything bad. He wasn’t a drug dealer. He’d simply been doing a favour for the guys in the band, getting them a stash of marijuana to smoke after their gig at the club. They’d given him the money for it and the cops had caught him handing it over to the real dealer.
Impossible to explain he’d got the money from the musos. That would be dobbing them in and the word would go around the pop music tracks that he couldn’t be trusted. Keeping mum and taking the fall was his best move. It was a big favour that could be called in when this stint on the sheep station was behind him, maybe get him a spot in a band playing guitar, even if he was only filling in for someone.
Johnny had learnt very young that pleasing people gave him the easiest track through life. It was much smarter to stay on their good side. Straying from that only brought punishment. He still had nightmares about being locked in a dark cupboard for upsetting his first foster parents. By the time he’d been placed in another home, he’d worked out how to act. It was a blueprint he always carried in his head—win friends, avoid trouble.
He hoped the owner of this place was a reasonable kind of guy, not some bastard exploiting the justice system to get a free labour force, just like some foster parents, taking money from the government for looking after kids who really had to look after themselves, in more ways than just earning their keep in those supposedly safe homes.
The judge had rambled on about this being a program that would get boys who’d run off the rails back to ground values, good basic stuff to teach them what real life was about.
As if they hadn’t already had a gutful of real life!
And its lessons!
Still, Johnny figured he could ride this through easily enough—put a smile on his face, roll his shoulders, act willing.
The plane taxied back to where a man—the owner?—was waiting beside a four-wheel-drive Land Rover. Big man—broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, craggy weathered face, iron-grey hair. Had to be over fifty but still looking tough and formidable.
Not someone to buck, Johnny thought, though size didn’t strike fear in him anymore. He’d grown big himself. Bigger than most boys at sixteen. It made other guys think twice about picking a fight with him. Not that he ever actively invited one, and wouldn’t here, either. A friendly face and manner always served him best.
‘John Wayne rides again,’ Mitch Tyler mocked, making light of the big man waiting for them, yet his body language yelled tension.
‘No horse,’ Johnny tossed at him with a grin, wanting Mitch to relax, make it easier for all of them.
It won a smile. A bit twisted but a smile nonetheless. It gave Johnny some hope that Mitch might loosen up, given time and if they were treated reasonably well here.
He caught Ric Donato looking curiously at him and wondered what he was thinking. Dismissing him as harmless? No threat? Possibly good company? What did he see?
Johnny tried envisaging himself objectively—a hunky guy who wouldn’t be out of place in the front row of a football team, streaky brown hair that invariably flopped over his forehead because of a cowlick near his right temple, eyes that had a mix of green and brown in them and a twinkle of good humour that Johnny had assiduously cultivated, a mouth full of good white teeth which certainly helped to make a smile infectious.
Even so, he was no competition for Ric Donato in the good looks department. Girls probably fell all over him. Which was what had got him into trouble, stealing a Porsche to show off to some rich chick. Johnny had no time for girls yet. He just wanted to play his own music, get into a band, go on the road.
The plane came to a halt.
The cop told them to get their duffle bags from under the back seats. A few minutes later he was leading them out to a way of life which was far, far removed from anything the three of them had known before.
The initial introduction was ominous, striking bad chords in Johnny.
‘Here are your boys, Maguire. Straight off the city streets for you to whip into shape.’
The big old man—and he sure was big close up—gave the cop a steely look. ‘That’s not how we do things out here.’ The words were softly spoken but they carried a confident authority that scorned any need for abusive tactics.
He nodded to the three of them, offering a measure of respect. ‘I’m Patrick Maguire. Welcome to Gundamurra. In the Aboriginal language, that means “Good day.” I hope you will all eventually feel it was a good day when you first set foot on my place.’
Johnny’s bad feelings simmered down. It was okay. Patrick Maguire’s little speech had a welcoming ring to it, no punishment intended. Nevertheless, a strong sense of caution had Johnny intently watching the big man’s approach to Mitch, the first in line.
‘And you are…?’ The massive hand he held out looked suspiciously like a bone-cruncher.
‘Mitch Tyler,’ came the slightly belligerent reply. Mitch met the hand with his own in a kind of defiant challenge.
‘Good to meet you, Mitch.’
A normal handshake, no attempt to dominate.
Johnny’s smile was designed to disarm but it had more than a touch of relief in it as he quickly offered his hand in greeting, being next in line. ‘Johnny Ellis. Good to meet you, Mr Maguire.’
The steely-grey gaze returned a weighing look that made Johnny feel he was being measured in terms far different to what he was used to. His stomach contracted nervously as the warm handclasp seemed to get right under his skin, seeking all he kept hidden.
His determinedly fixed smile evoked only a hint of amusement in the grey eyes, causing an unaccustomed sense of confusion in Johnny as Patrick Maguire finally released his hand and moved on to Ric who introduced himself far more coolly, not giving anything away.
‘Ready to go?’ the old man asked him.
‘Yeah. I’m ready.’ Aggression in this reply.
Ready to take on the whole damned world if Ric had to, Johnny interpreted, and wondered if Patrick Maguire was looking for that kind of spirit. Had he himself failed some test by appearing too easygoing?
Didn’t matter.
All he had to do was ride through the six months here with the least amount of trouble. He might not be a fighter like Ric and Mitch but he knew how to survive, and head-on clashes weren’t his style. Reading the lay of the land, adjusting to it, accommodating it…that was the way to go for Johnny Ellis.
Yet as Patrick Maguire stood back and cast his gaze along the three of them, taking in his new recruits for outback tuition, he nodded, as though approving each one. Johnny’s stomach relaxed, feeling good vibes coming from the man. Somehow he had passed the test, whatever it was. He was accepted.
So Gundamurra shouldn’t be a bad place to be. The old man had said it meant “good day.” Johnny decided he could do with a lot of good days. No worries. No stress. No angling for some step that would help him get where he wanted to go in the music world. He could let all that wait for six months, settle in and enjoy the wide open spaces.
Yeah…he was ready for this.
Probably more so than Ric or Mitch.
Though he hoped the three of them could establish and maintain friendly relations while they were here.
It was beyond Johnny Ellis’s imagination that a friendship would evolve that would last the rest of their lives, intertwining through all that was important to them…being there for each other in times of need, understanding where they were coming from and why.
The bond of Gundamurra was about to be forged.
And at the heart of it was Patrick Maguire, the man who would become the father they’d never known, a man who listened to the people they were, learning their individual strengths, guiding them towards paths that could lead towards successful futures, encouraging them to fly as only they could…and always, always, welcoming them home.

CHAPTER ONE
Twenty-two years later…
JOHNNY ELLIS rode into the old western town that had been built for the movie. Behind him was the Arizona desert. In front of him was the film crew, cameras rolling. It was all he could do to keep a straight face, in keeping with the character he was playing—cowboy on a mission.
An inner grin was twitching at the corners of his mouth. On the country and western music scene, he’d made it to the top, selling umpteen platinum albums of his songs, but this was Johnny’s first movie and he was having fun, doing something beyond even his wildest dreams.
Having learnt to ride at Gundamurra, he was a natural on a horse, and being big and tall—there weren’t many movie stars with his physique—had snagged him the part. Of course, he did have a box-office name, too, a point his agent had made much of. Whatever…he was here doing it, and it sure tickled him to think of himself as following in John Wayne’s footsteps.
Mitch and Ric had laughed about it, too.
But he had to be dead serious now. The cameras were zeroing in to do close-ups. Time to dismount, tie his reins to the rail, walk into the saloon, cowboy on a mission. This was the last take of the day, the light was right for it, and Johnny didn’t want to mess it up. He was a professional performer, used to being onstage, and getting it right was second nature to him.
He didn’t miss a step. The saloon doors swung shut behind him and the director yelled, ‘Cut!’ Johnny allowed himself a grin as he came back out to the street, confident there’d be no need to do this scene again. The grin grew wider when he spotted Ric Donato lurking behind the camera crew.
His old friend had made the time to come!
Johnny had invited him to the film set, the moment Ric had called to say he was in L.A., checking on that branch of his worldwide photographic business. It was a pity Lara and the kids weren’t with him. Ric’s wife was one lovely lady and their children had the trick of melting Johnny’s heart, they were just so endearing. Little Patrick, who’d turned three just before last Christmas, would have loved a ride in the camera crane.
‘Great to see you, Ric!’ He greeted his old friend with immense pleasure. ‘Want to be introduced around?’
‘No.’
The quick and sober reply took Johnny aback. He instantly regrouped, seeing that Ric didn’t look too good. In fact, he looked downright pained, something bad eating at him. No happy flash in his usually brilliant dark eyes. They were dull, sick.
‘Could we go to your trailer, Johnny? Have some privacy?’
‘Sure.’
He gestured the way and they walked side by side, not touching. Any other time Johnny would have thrown an arm around Ric’s shoulders, hugging his pleasure in his friend’s company, but that didn’t feel right, not with Ric so uptight and closed into himself. Johnny’s stomach started churning. It always did when he sensed something bad coming.
He couldn’t wait until they reached his trailer.
‘What is it, Ric? Tell me!’ he demanded grimly.
A deep, pent-up breath was expelled. ‘I had a call from Mitch,’ he stated flatly. ‘Megan called him.’
‘Megan Maguire?’
A vivid image of Patrick Maguire’s youngest daughter instantly flew into Johnny’s mind—a wild bunch of red curls, freckled face, eyes the grey of stormy clouds, always projecting fierce independence, spurning his every offer of help with work on the station, defying him to imply in any way that she wasn’t fit and able to run Gundamurra just as well as her father did.
Which was probably true. She’d worked towards it, not wanting to do anything else with her life. Johnny knew he’d never made any criticism of that choice. He actually admired her very capable handling of the work she did. What he didn’t understand was why she couldn’t just ride along with his company whenever he visited, make him as welcome as her father did. She invariably shunned him as much as possible and when she couldn’t, her scorn of his chosen career invariably slipped out.
Yet she’d liked listening to him play his guitar when she was a kid, hanging on his every word when he sang. Why she’d grown up into such a hard, judge-mental woman he didn’t know, but be damned if he’d let her attitude towards him keep him away from Gundamurra. Patrick was like a father to him. Best father any guy could have.
‘Patrick…’ He felt it in his gut. ‘Something’s happened to Patrick.’
Another hissed breath from Ric, then… ‘He’s dead, Johnny.’
Shock slammed into his heart. His feet stopped walking. He shook his head, refusing to believe it. Denial gravelled from his throat as it started choking up. ‘No…no…’
‘Two nights ago,’ Ric said in a tone that made the fact unequivocal, and he went on, quietly hammering home the intolerable truth. ‘He died in his bed. His heart gave out. No-one knew until the next morning. Megan found him. Nothing could be done, Johnny. He was gone.’
Gone…
Leaving a huge black hole—a bottomless pit that Johnny kept tumbling down. He was barely aware of Ric’s hand gripping his elbow, steering him. His feet moved automatically. He saw nothing. It wasn’t until Ric thrust a glass of whisky into his hand that he realised he was sitting on the couch in the mobile home provided by the movie company.
‘It’s a hell of a blow. For all of us, Johnny.’
He nodded. Couldn’t speak. Forced a swallow of whisky down his throat.
‘I’ve booked flights to Australia for both of us. I guess you’ll need to clear that with your people here. Might mean a delay in their schedule if they can’t shoot around your absence.’
The movie…meaningless now.
The deep ache of loss consumed him. Ric had Lara and their children. Mitch had Kathryn, with a baby on the way. They’d both made homes of their own. For Johnny, Gundamurra and Patrick was home, and with Patrick gone…it was like having the roots of his life torn out of him.
There was no longer any reason for him to go back.
Megan wouldn’t want him there.
But he had to go back this one last time…say goodbye to the man who’d always treated him as a son, even though he was no blood relation. Megan couldn’t begrudge him that. Ric and Mitch would be there with him. All three of them, remembering what Patrick had given them…the big heart of the man…
Why had it stopped?
He looked up at Ric, his inner anguish bursting into speech. ‘He was only in his seventies.’
‘Seventy-four,’ came the quiet confirmation.
‘He was so strong. He should have lived to a hundred, at least.’
‘I guess we all thought that, Johnny.’
‘It’s only been three months since Christmas. He looked well then. Same as ever.’
Ric shook his head. ‘There were no warning signs. Maybe the stress of the drought, having to kill so many sheep, lay off staff…’
‘I offered help. Whatever was needed to tide them over, see them through the drought however long it went on. You know I’ve got money to burn, Ric.’
Ric’s mouth twisted into an ironic grimace. ‘I made the same offer. Most likely Mitch did, too.’
‘He helped us, dammit! Why couldn’t he let us help him?’ Johnny’s hands clenched. ‘I bet it was Megan who wouldn’t take what we offered. Too much damned pride. And Patrick wouldn’t go against her.’
‘Don’t blame Megan, Johnny. She’s got enough to carry without a load of guilt over her father’s death. I’d deal kindly with her if I were you. Very kindly. Patrick would want you to.’
‘Yes, I know, I know…’ He unclenched his hands, opening them in a helpless gesture. ‘I’ll miss him.’
Ric nodded, looked away, but not before Johnny caught the sheen of moisture glittering in his dark eyes. It was a heart-twisting reminder that Patrick had been like a father to all three of them, not just him. Ric was hurting, too. And Mitch…
Mitch was probably already at Gundamurra, giving whatever support was needed, making the legal business of death as easy as he could. Being a top-line lawyer, he’d do that for Patrick’s daughters. There wasn’t just Megan to consider, but Jessie and Emily, as well. They’d all be in shock. Ric was right. Patrick would expect his boys to deal kindly with them.
‘We don’t know why he died,’ Ric said brusquely. ‘Maybe it was just…his time to go. No point in railing against it, Johnny. We’ve got to get moving to make the flights home. Are you okay to do whatever you’ve got to do before we leave?’
He gulped down some more whisky. It helped burn away the welling of tears behind his eyes. ‘Ready to go,’ he asserted just as brusquely, rising to his feet. ‘Let me make a few calls first, clear the way.’

Helicopter to Phoenix, flight to Los Angeles…many hours passed before Ric and Johnny could finally board the Qantas jet to Sydney and settle in their seats for the longest leg of their journey over the Pacific Ocean. The flight steward offered them champagne. They both declined, choosing orange juice instead. It was not a time for champagne.
A question had been niggling at Johnny. ‘Why didn’t Mitch call me direct? It would have saved you coming to get me, Ric.’
‘We thought it was better this way…the two of us travelling together.’
‘Well, I’m glad to have your company but we could have linked up here for this flight.’
Ric slanted him a wry look. ‘You might not have co-operated with that plan. You have a habit of doing things your own way. This course ensured I’d be with you.’
Johnny frowned. ‘You thought I needed my hand held?’
‘No. It’s all a matter of timing. There’s more, Johnny. Mitch didn’t want to load it on you all at once over the phone. He gave that job to me with the advice to let you get over the shock of Patrick’s death first.’
The nerves in his stomach started knotting up again. ‘So hit me with the more. I’m sitting down and locked in. What else do I have to absorb?’
Ric looked at him, decided he was ready for it, and let him have it. ‘Patrick’s will. Mitch held it. He’s opened it.’
‘Well, that can’t be bad.’ Instant relief. ‘Patrick was always fair.’
‘Prepare yourself for another shock, Johnny. There’s a huge mortgage on Gundamurra and you’re about to inherit half of it.’
‘What?’ Incredulity blanked out several million brain cells.
‘Not quite half. You get forty-nine percent of Gundamurra and Megan gets fifty-one, leaving her in the driver’s seat where she’s always expected to be. But she won’t have expected to share her inheritance with you, Johnny. The normal thing would be a three-way split with her sisters.’
Co-owner of Gundamurra with Megan?
‘Mitch thought you should be prepared…get your head around it before we arrive at Gundamurra,’ Ric went on.
Johnny’s head was spinning.
What did it mean?
Why would Patrick cut out his two older daughters?
Why make him co-owner rather than Ric or Mitch?
A sense of horror billowed through him. He reached out and gripped his friend’s arm. ‘I didn’t ask for this, Ric. I swear I knew nothing about it.’
‘I didn’t think you did, Johnny,’ Ric assured him. ‘I have no doubt Patrick planned it himself.’
‘But why me? It’s not right, not…’ His mind fumbled for words. ‘Did he…did he explain to Mitch when he drafted the will?’
Ric shook his head. ‘Mitch wasn’t in on drafting it. Patrick did it himself and sent it to him sealed for safe-keeping two months ago.’
‘Two months…’ Johnny shook his head in bewilderment. ‘He must have made up his mind after Christmas.’
‘Maybe he knew he didn’t have long to live.’
‘Dammit! Why wouldn’t he tell us? We were all at Gundamurra for Christmas.’
‘If Patrick thought it was the last one for him, he wouldn’t have wanted to spoil it.’
‘But…’ Johnny lifted his hands in helpless frustration.
‘Want to know what Mitch thinks?’
He waved a go-ahead, completely beyond imagining what had motivated such an extraordinary step.
‘Patrick elected you to save Gundamurra. It’s highly unlikely that Megan can do it by herself. The way things are going with the drought, she won’t be able to service the mortgage. And it was you who always thought of it as home. Not me. Not Mitch. You.’
Johnny frowned. ‘Mitch had a home with his mother and sister, but I thought you…’ He searched Ric’s eyes.
A very direct gaze accompanied his reply. ‘You needed it more than I did, Johnny. And you can’t deny it touches something in your soul. It comes out in your songs.’
Need…yes. There was so much hype and superficial crap in the career he had chosen, so much touring to make his success stick, it was the thought of Gundamurra that kept him sane, grounded, and going back there always put his world in perspective again—what was real, what wasn’t.
‘It won’t be the same without Patrick.’ Grief squeezed his heart. ‘He was the soul of Gundamurra.’
‘You’re forgetting Megan.’
Megan.
His mind shied away from thinking of her right now. Already he could see those stormy grey eyes hating him for being given half of her place, wishing he’d never set foot on Gundamurra, let alone have any claim on it.
‘Patrick forgot his other daughters, Jessie and Emily,’ he said, tearing his mind off the one daughter who’d become such a nagging thorn in his side.
‘They’ve both made their lives away from Gundamurra and Patrick financed their ambitions,’ Ric reminded him. ‘I think they’ll feel they’ve had their share. Jessie has her medical degree and the women’s clinic she wanted at Alice Springs. Emily has her helicopter business at Cairns. The money to set them up was taken out of Gundamurra, probably contributing to the current debt. They can’t be unaware of that.’
True enough, Johnny silently acknowledged, yet the family home was the family home. Leaving them out and putting him in might very well stir a sense of injustice. He couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable about this inheritance on many counts. On the other hand, Patrick had wanted him there and it was impossible to discount a decision which would not have been taken lightly.
‘It’s up to you and Megan to pull Gundamurra through this bad patch and revive it, Johnny,’ Ric gravely assured him. ‘Patrick got it right.’ He sighed and softly added, ‘He always got it right.’
It was some relief that Ric thought so.
Mitch, too, apparently.
But no way was Megan was going to accept it gracefully.
Jessie and Emily might not, either, though Ric was right about their interests lying elsewhere and Patrick had put large investments behind their chosen careers. Besides which, both of them were married to men who shared those interests, Jessie’s husband being a doctor for the Royal Doctor Flying Service, and Emily’s husband a fellow helicopter pilot.
Only Megan was unmarried.
Not surprising with her bristling form of feminism, Johnny thought, wishing she’d stayed in the sweetly amenable little sister mould that he’d always found so engaging. That much younger Megan had never minded him stepping in and helping.
The flight steward came and took their glasses. The plane was about to take off. Johnny leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes and tried to relax. Fourteen hours to Sydney. Then the flight to Gundamurra in the far north west of New South Wales…the outback.
He felt the pull of it in his mind…the vast, seemingly empty land, wide-open space, searingly blue sky. It had a rhythm all its own—one that always felt good. The only jarring note was Megan standing in the middle of it, waiting for him, furiously frustrated because she had to share Gundamurra with him.
Had Patrick got it right?
The financial part, yes. Johnny could pour millions into Gundamurra without a pang of personal loss. Mortgage gone with a simple transfer of money. Plus all the investment Megan needed to maintain the sheep station, eventually making it into a thriving concern again. But she certainly wouldn’t welcome him into the life there. Over the past few years, her eyes had been branding him as an unwanted intruder, wanting him out.
But I’m in, Johnny thought on a surge of grim determination to keep what Patrick had granted him, regardless of Megan’s reaction to it. He was co-owner. That gave him the right to be at Gundamurra whenever he wanted to and Megan would just have to stomach having him as her helpmate. Maybe, given time, he could whittle away whatever prejudice she had against him.
The leaden weight of grief eased as a strong sense of purpose grew. The outback was primitive—man against nature—a constant challenge that had to be won, just to survive, let alone prosper.
Above all else, Johnny was a survivor.
He wanted this challenge. Maybe he needed it. So come what might, he was going to hold his ground on Gundamurra. Patrick had entrusted it to him.

CHAPTER TWO
MEGAN finished doing her morning rounds, ensuring her work orders were being followed, checking for any problems, chatting to the families who still lived on the station, subtly assuring them that the status quo was not about to change. They were to carry on as usual.
She should have felt relieved that the sombre mood hanging over everyone for the past few days had lifted this morning, but the reason for it was a major irritant. Johnny had arrived. Never mind that Ric Donato and Mitch Tyler were also here. It was Johnny who put smiles on everyone’s faces. Just the thought of him was enough to do it.
Charm…
It was as natural to him as breathing.
And it always reminded her what a hopelessly naive little fool she’d been to see it as something else when applied to her. There was no differentiation. He ladled it out to one and all—his trademark in the pop world where he was a big star, a master of light entertainment. It meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Having finally recognised that, she’d tried to bury the hurt of it and move on. It would have helped if he’d gone completely out of her life—out of sight, out of mind—but he kept coming back, making her feel bad about herself because it was stupid, stupid, stupid to still feel attracted to him. His interests lay elsewhere, wrapped up with his glittering successes overseas. Their lives did not mix. Never would.
Why hadn’t her father seen that?
Why?
Had he only thought of the money needed—choosing the one person who could probably shed a few million dollars without even noticing it was gone?
Money as meaningless as charm.
Megan grimly determined to accept only what she absolutely had to in order to keep Gundamurra running. There was no avoiding confronting Johnny Ellis over what was to be done. He was here now, having come yesterday with Ric, flying his own plane in as he always did.
No doubt Mitch had told him about the will. Though even without that pressing business, he wouldn’t have stayed away, not from her father’s funeral. She could only hope that having started a new career in movies, he might be content to be an absent shareholder in Gundamurra. After all, her father was gone. No more mentoring readily available from Patrick Maguire.
As she walked back to the homestead, tears blurred her eyes. She didn’t want to feel betrayed by what her father had done, yet the grief of losing him was so much harder to bear because he’d left her in this intolerable position of having to accept Johnny Ellis as co-owner of Gundamurra.
Her shock at the terms of the will had been followed by a wild surge of rebellion, a violent need to fight it. She’d argued fiercely with her sisters, but Jessie’s and Emily’s flat refusal to go against their father’s decision left her without any support from them in a legal action to have it overturned.
In sheer desperation she’d broached the issue with Mitch Tyler, putting to him that Johnny might well have unfairly influenced her father. After all, she’d argued bitterly, he wasn’t known as Johnny Charm for nothing.
Those laser-blue eyes of Mitch’s had cut her down for even suggesting it, and his subsequent words had shamed her. ‘Is that worthy of your father, Megan?’
He’d waited for her answer.
When she’d maintained a stubborn silence, squirming inside at the pertinent criticism of her viewpoint, Mitch had flatly stated, ‘If you want to dishonour his will, I’m not your man. I’m here on Patrick’s behalf, to help facilitate what he wanted. It’s the very least I owe him for all he did for me.’
His high-minded integrity had goaded her into trying to bring it down a peg or two, force out some human weakness in him, make him empathise with what she was feeling. ‘Why Johnny? My father took you in, too. And Ric. The three of you stayed in his life. Don’t you feel slighted that he passed you over for…for a pop-star?’
It wouldn’t have been so…difficult…having to share the property with either of his other boys. And there was no denying she needed help in these current circumstances. Ric would have dealt delicately with the problems, caring about her feelings. Mitch would have handled her needs from the city with efficiency and absolute integrity. But Johnny Ellis…whose whole life was about playing to an audience who loved him?
Mitch’s straight black brows had beetled down. ‘You don’t understand your father’s choice?’
‘Do you?’ she’d challenged.
‘Yes. So does Ric. I think you need to talk to Johnny before taking any hostile step, Megan. You might not ever appreciate where he’s come from, but…’
‘I know what he is now,’ she’d snapped.
‘You’ve just pasted a label on the man which I know to be very superficial, Megan. Johnny has not yet reached the fulfilment of the person he is. I think…’ He’d paused, his gravity giving way to a gleam of whimsical irony. ‘Did Patrick teach you to play chess?’
‘Yes. We played sometimes.’
‘He always favoured a knight attack.’
‘What has that got to do with anything?’
‘It was a strategy, Megan. Your father thought out his strategies very carefully. Don’t devalue the thought he put into his will when you talk to Johnny. Remember that Gundamurra was Patrick’s life, as well as yours, and he knew how to share it.’
The sting of those words still hurt. She wasn’t mean-hearted. She hadn’t felt jealous of her father’s pride in his three bad boys who’d made good. Nor of his affection for them.
She just didn’t want Johnny Ellis constantly trampling through her life. She wished he’d married one of the gorgeous women he mixed with in his star-studded world so he wasn’t free to drop in on her world whenever he liked.
At least, after the funeral, he’d have to go back to his cowboy movie. Hopefully he’d ride off into the sunset—anywhere else but here! She didn’t begrudge him the fulfilment he was still looking for, as long as he stayed away and left her free to hold the reins at Gundamurra.
Maybe he could be persuaded to do just that.
With this purpose burning in her mind, Megan headed for the homestead kitchen. If Johnny was not still sleeping after his long trip from the U.S., he’d be there, being fed by Evelyn who’d be fussing over him with sickening adoration.
The housekeeper had been with the Maguire family all her life, born on the sheep station, and trained by Megan’s mother to run the household with meticulous efficiency, just as she herself always had before cancer had taken her life. Everyone loved and respected Evelyn, but her attitude towards Johnny Ellis—as though the sun shone out of him—grated terribly on Megan.
It was bad enough that she never tired of listening to his songs, playing them over and over again. No doubt she’d be cooking up all his favourite foods, regardless of the current strict budget. Megan tried not to feel too critical of this indulgence as she opened the kitchen door…and came to an embarrassed halt, finding the highly dependable housekeeper weeping on Johnny Ellis’s big, broad shoulder, his cheek rubbing the top of her head, one brawny arm holding her while the other was engaged in delivering soothing pats on her back.
It was instantly clear that the grief Evelyn had held in the past few days had suddenly overflowed and Johnny was comforting her. Megan stood rooted to the spot, realising that she and her sisters, wrapped in their own loss, had taken Evelyn’s services to them for granted, not really considering that she, too, might feel devastated by their father’s sudden death. It was Johnny who was giving her what she needed, sympathetic understanding and a shoulder to cry on.
What I need, too.
A painful loneliness stabbed through Megan’s heart. Jessie and Emily had their husbands. Ric and Mitch had their wives. With her father gone, she had no-one to hold her, soothe her pain. And the sight of Johnny Ellis embracing Evelyn made it worse.
It wasn’t fair that he looked like a strong, steady rock to lean on. His life was all about image, Megan fiercely told herself. Her gaze fixed scornfully on his riding boots—still playing the cowboy role—then noted how the denim of his jeans was tightly stretched around his powerful thighs, showing off how solidly built he was.
No doubt his female fans swooned over his macho sexiness, imagining his private parts were the ultimate in virility. Megan wondered just how many women didn’t have to imagine, having known him intimately. Did he have a different one every night? Two or three a day?
It would have to be so easy for him, a mere crook of the finger. His star status would assure him of groupies everywhere. Though strictly on a male appeal level, he had the lot anyway; impressive physique, a very masculine face accentuated by a squarish jawline, a strong, almost triangular nose with its flaring nostrils, wickedly twinkling greenish eyes which were quite strikingly complemented by tanned skin and toffee-coloured hair, and, of course, the wide mouthful of white teeth that flashed winning smiles everywhere, not to mention the million-dollar voice.
Which suddenly crooned, ‘I think this is the time for me to make you a cup of tea, Evelyn.’
The weeping had stopped.
With a choked little laugh, Evelyn lifted her head. ‘No…no…’ she said chidingly, reaching up to pat his cheek as he gently released her from his embrace. ‘Thank you for letting me unburden my sorrows, but don’t be taking away my pleasures now. You sit yourself down and let me get busy.’
Megan hadn’t gathered wits enough to effect a swift retreat before the two of them moved apart and Johnny’s swinging gaze caught her in the open doorway. Her stomach lurched as their eyes locked and she felt the sympathy he’d given to Evelyn being transmitted to her. She didn’t want it from him. Didn’t need anything from him. And be damned if she’d cry on his shoulder!
‘Megan…come on in,’ he invited, his hand beckoning her forward, taking charge, assuming control!
Not of me! Never! Megan silently and savagely vowed.
‘Evelyn was just telling me about your father…how he’d been clutching your mother’s photograph from the bedside table in his hand when you found him,’ he went on softly, sadly. ‘I guess—’
‘Yes.’ She cut him off, feeling tears welling up again. ‘I hope he’s with my mother now. He missed her very much.’ Fighting her way out of a storm of emotion, she waspishly added, ‘I wonder if you’ll ever know that kind of love, Johnny?’
His face tightened as though she had slapped him.
Evelyn gave a shocked gasp.
Acutely aware that the personal remark had slipped out of her previous thoughts and was totally inexcusable, Megan almost bit her tongue in chagrin. She had to deal with this man. That was best done by keeping as much impersonal distance from him as possible.
‘I think finding that kind of love is rather rare in today’s world,’ Johnny answered in a measured tone.
‘Especially yours,’ flew out of her mouth before she could stop it.
‘Miss Megan…’
Evelyn’s reproof faded into a heavy sigh.
Megan gritted her teeth, refusing to take back what she believed. She glared defiance at the man who’d probably slept with thousands of women without giving any one of them any serious commitment. Her words had clearly struck a nerve and she took fierce satisfaction in the way his eyes glittered at her. No sympathy now.
‘Rare in your world, too, Megan,’ he countered, using his voice like a silky whip. ‘Unless you’ve met the man of your dreams since Christmas.’
‘Too busy,’ she loftily retorted.
‘Which reminds me…’
‘We need to talk,’ she leapt in before he could take charge of their business meeting. ‘When you’ve finished your breakfast, perhaps you wouldn’t mind coming to the office.’
‘Whatever suits you,’ he returned obligingly.
‘That will be most appropriate. You’ll find me there.’
She quickly closed the door and strode outside, marching off a mountain of turbulent energy as she headed for the front entrance of the homestead and the steps leading up to the verandah which skirted the huge house—a verandah that welcomed people out of the sun that could too often be pitiless in the Australian Outback.
She hadn’t welcomed Johnny Ellis.
Couldn’t welcome him.
Having reached the top of the steps she turned, her gaze skating around all the outbuildings that made Gundamurra look like a small township from the air; the big maintenance and shearing sheds, the prize rams’ enclosure attached to the lab, the cottages for the long-term staff, the bunkhouse for jackaroos, the cook’s quarters, the supplies store, the schoolhouse.
She was twenty-eight years old and this was her life—the life she’d chosen—the life she loved.
She didn’t need a man.
Certainly not a man who peddled charm.
What she needed was this whole area to be an oasis of green again. Even the foliage on the pepper trees looked brown, coated with dust. All the land to the horizon was brown, and above it the sky was a blaze of blue, no clouds, no chance of rain.
If only the Big Wet had come this year, breaking the drought, her father might not have decided to write that will, making Johnny Ellis a permanent fixture in her life. The pressing question now was…how was she going to pry him out of it? Or at least, minimise his presence to next to nothing.
He didn’t belong here.
With this thought firmly entrenched in her mind, Megan went inside, passing through the great hall that bisected this section of the homestead, moving onto the verandah that skirted the inner quadrangle, heading straight for her father’s office.
Once there, she found herself drawn to the chess table by the window, remembering what Mitch had said, that her father thought through his strategies very carefully. The black and white pieces were set up ready to play, which had to mean his last game with Mitch—played by e-mail—had been completed.
Game over, she thought, and on a deep wave of sadness, laid the black king down. She stared at the white knight, fretting further over why her father had thought Johnny Ellis was the right man to ride in to the rescue, then gave up on trying to figure it out and moved on to sit in the large leather chair behind the desk.
It was a big chair made for a big man. Physically she didn’t fit it, never would, but at least her father had granted her the right to sit here in his place, and no way in the world was she going to let Johnny Ellis occupy it while they talked.
He was ten years her senior but that didn’t give him any authority over her or what was to be decided in this room. It was she who owned fifty-one percent of Gundamurra…she who had the whip hand…and all the millions he’d made as a pop-star could not change that!

CHAPTER THREE
DEAL kindly with her…
Ric’s admonition was playing through Johnny’s mind as he approached Patrick’s office, but Megan’s attitude towards him made it damned difficult to keep it fixed there. Icy politeness from her last night and the least possible amount of contact. This morning, rejecting his sympathy point-blank, actually turning it into one of her snide hits on him, not even caring that Evelyn heard it, too.
All the same, he shouldn’t have let himself be goaded into hitting back. Especially about the lack of any special love in her life. That was a low blow, especially when she’d just lost her father. Johnny grimaced over the insensitive lapse in his control. He had to do better in this meeting, not let Megan get under his skin. He was older than she was, had more people skills. It was up to him to…deal kindly with her.
At least he didn’t have to worry about Jessie’s and Emily’s feelings. The two older sisters had welcomed him warmly last night, making it clear that their only concern was Megan’s future on Gundamurra. The situation on the sheep station was grim. Like Patrick, they were counting on him to ensure there was a future here for her.
And he’d do it.
Even against Megan’s prickly opposition he’d do it.
Though he hoped she’d be reasonable.
The situation demanded she be reasonable.
He paused at the office door, took a deep, calming breath, gave a courtesy knock to warn of his imminent entry, allowed Megan a few seconds to get her mind into appropriate gear, then moved in with every intention of being at his diplomatic best.
But he wasn’t prepared for the scene Megan had set and his sense of rightness was instantly jolted. She was sitting in Patrick’s chair, taking Patrick’s place before he was even buried. It was too soon. It was…
Johnny checked himself, took stock of the woman he had to deal with.
The defiance in her eyes could mean she was making a statement by taking her father’s chair—a statement of empowerment that she might feel a need for in this situation. And being seated there put the desk between them, a decisive distance that possibly suggested she was feeling vulnerable about having to deal with him.
They were the kindest thoughts Johnny could come up with.
‘Megan,’ he acknowledged softly, nodding for her to take the lead in this meeting.
‘It was good of you to come, Johnny…’
Which was a pleasant enough greeting until she added, ‘…being in the middle of shooting your first movie.’
Kind thoughts flew out the window. He eyeballed her in furious challenge, every muscle in his body taut with aggression at this belittling of his feelings for her father. Patrick had been the most important person in his life and Megan could not be ignorant of how very much their relationship had meant to him.
Not one word passed his lips, but the force of his anger obviously got through to her. A tide of heat burned up her neck and scorched her cheeks, lighting up the freckles that added a cuteness to her pert little nose. Except Johnny wasn’t thinking cute right now. He was thinking little. No way was she big enough to take over from her father, not in any sense.
She gestured to the chairs at the chess table, her gaze shifting from his. ‘Please take a seat.’ The words were husky, as though she was pushing them through a very tight throat.
Satisfied that he’d wrung some shame from her, Johnny stepped over to the chess table to move Mitch’s chair—not Patrick’s—into a face-to-face position with Megan. The fallen black king caught his eye. What was this? The king is dead…long live the queen?
Johnny pulled himself up again. Mitch might have laid the chess piece down—a symbol of Patrick resting in peace. Leaping to hasty and possibly false conclusions was not conducive to a fair meeting. He rolled the chair out from the table and closer to the desk, then sat down, telling himself to watch and listen, refrain from stirring any more hostility in Megan’s mind. Though what he’d ever done to earn it was a total mystery to him.
He stared at her, waiting for her to start. The scarlet heat had receded from her face, leaving her skin pale and the freckles more prominent. She wore no make-up, hadn’t done for years, though he remembered her experimenting with it in her teens. She’d been a happier person then, enjoying his company. They’d had fun together, laughing easily, chatting easily. Then she’d gone away to some agricultural college and something had changed her.
She could have been quite strikingly beautiful if she’d put her mind to it…good bones, big expressive eyes that could twinkle like silver or brood like storm clouds, a full-lipped mouth when it wasn’t thinned with disapproval of him, and a glorious mane of red curls, currently pulled back into some tight clip at the back of her neck. A lovely long neck it was, too.
Apparently she didn’t care how she looked. Being a woman was not her thing. When had she last worn a dress? A checked shirt and jeans was her usual garb, as it was today. Maybe she wanted to look like a man in them but she didn’t.
As much as she might try to minimise her femininity, her figure was too curvaceous for anyone to mistake her for a male. In fact, her antagonism towards him over the past few years had made him acutely aware of her as a woman, especially when she turned her back on him, her taut cheeky bottom wagging her disdain of what he stood for in her eyes, stirring feelings in him that were entirely inappropriate, given she was Patrick’s daughter.
Did she resent having been a daughter instead of a son?
Was that why she looked so sourly on him…because he had a similar physique to her father?
Johnny hadn’t meant to speak first, yet the question that rose in his mind seemed imperative, at the very core of the situation that had to be settled between them. The words tumbled out, seeking the answer that might make sense of Megan Maguire’s attitude towards him.
‘What happened to the girl who used to like me?’

I grew up.
Megan wasn’t about to give that answer, nor explain the milestones that had marked her passage to where she was now. She looked at Johnny Ellis, knowing he was thirty-eight, yet the years sat so easily on him, she could still see the sixteen-year-old boy who’d made up songs for her when she was just a little kid—songs that had generated dreams that were never going to come true for her.
The monumental crush she’d had on him in her teens had finally bitten the dust when he hadn’t come home for her twenty-first birthday. She’d planned for him to see her as a woman, but her coming of age had obviously meant nothing to him. He’d stayed in the U.S., busy with his career, and no doubt involved with the kind of woman who shared his limelight. She was just Patrick Maguire’s youngest daughter, someone he was nice to when it suited him to visit Gundamurra.
Facile charm.
Meaningless.
It was her father who’d drawn him back to Gundamurra…her father who had given him almost half of it in his will, trapping her into this ridiculous and frustrating partnership with a man whose life was aimed at adding more stars to his celebrity status.
‘Do you need everyone to like you, Johnny?’ she lightly taunted, hoping he’d hightail it back to Hollywood where everybody probably fawned on him.
He shrugged, his eyes holding hers in challenge. ‘Usually I know why not. Where you’re concerned, I’m at a total loss, Megan. What have I done to you to warrant your dislike? Best spit it out now before we get into business together.’
‘What reason could I have for disliking you, Johnny?’ she countered. ‘You’ve always been charming to me.’ Which was absolutely true. ‘As for doing business together,’ she quickly ran on, ‘I don’t imagine you’ll want to take an active part in running Gundamurra. You do have a movie to finish and probably many more in your pipeline.’
‘No. Just the one. Which I’m committed to by contract,’ he stated drily. ‘Undoubtedly, people will wait to see how well I perform on screen before other offers come in.’
‘Oh, I’m sure with your star quality—’
‘Let’s not speculate on a hypothetical future, Megan,’ he cut in. ‘We’re here to discuss the far more immediate future of Gundamurra, are we not?’ He cocked a challenging eyebrow at her. ‘Can we be honest about that?’
She felt herself burning again. She’d thought a bit of flattery—pandering to the ego that stars of his magnitude had to have—would set the scene she wanted to play through with him. But his eyes were seeing straight through that ploy, mocking her attempt to manipulate what she saw as his push to be loved by more and more fans through the movies he could make.
‘You need not be concerned about the running of Gundamurra, Johnny. I’ll be doing that,’ she stated with grim determination.
‘I don’t doubt you’re capable of it, Megan, given enough resources to ride through the drought. That’s where I come in.’
The lack of resources…there was no denying that, though there’d been no mismanagement. Her father had taken out the first big loan from the bank to finance Emily’s helicopter business, before the drought started biting deep. Then to keep the sheep alive, keep paying wages, more loans…and wool prices had dropped. The mortgage now was so big, Megan didn’t know how she could service it with no relief from the drought in sight. Even if it rained tomorrow, she’d need recovery time.
A rescue package had to be accepted from Johnny Ellis if she was to keep Gundamurra. Except it wasn’t entirely hers to keep. It was his, too. And she still didn’t know how he wanted to work their partnership. He’d just denied her any sense of security about him going away and staying away.
‘We need an injection of funds,’ she admitted flatly.
He nodded. ‘I’ll wipe out the mortgage today, get the bank off your back.’
Just like that! Megan instantly bridled at how easy it was for him while she had sweated over every dollar being spent. ‘No, you won’t!’ The denial exploded from a deep well of pride.
He frowned. ‘I have the funds, Megan.’
‘I don’t want to owe you fifty-one percent of the mortgage.’ She glared defiantly at him. ‘If you pay off forty-nine percent of it, I can get another loan from the bank which could see me through…’
‘Why put yourself through that worry when you don’t have to?’ he argued, waving an impatient dismissal of her counterproposal.
‘Because I won’t take your charity,’ she shot back at him.
‘Charity?’
He rose from his chair, glaring down at her from his formidable height, a big man, as big as her father had been, emanating a power that wanted to blast her point of view to smithereens. He raised a clenched fist, shaking it as he spoke with more passion than she’d ever heard from Johnny Charm.
‘I owe my life to this place. I don’t want to see it go under. I didn’t like seeing it struggle to survive. I offered your father…’
He closed his mouth into a tightly compressed line, shutting down on the vehement flow of emotion.
What had he offered her father, Megan thought wildly. What? Had it influenced the terms of the will?
Johnny stepped forward, pressed his hands on the desk, leaning forward, his eyes firing bullets at her. ‘I now have the right to do what I’m going to do. Patrick gave me the right.’
‘He didn’t give you the right to interfere with my share,’ she fired back, refusing to be intimidated into being indebted to him.
‘You can pay me back when you can, Megan. If you must. But the bank is not going to have any claim on Gundamurra.’
‘Even if I let you do that, I’ll have to borrow again to keep going,’ she pointed out, mocking his ignorance of what had to be done.
‘No. I’ll set up an account for you to draw from,’ came the swift reply. He was all primed to fix everything with his money.
Her jaw set stubbornly. ‘I won’t accept that.’
‘You don’t know how long this drought will last.’
‘I’ll manage it my way.’

Frustration boiled through Johnny. Megan would put Gundamurra at risk again and there was no need for it. He wanted to pick her up and shake some sense into her, but there was steel in the grey eyes so fiercely defying him—Patrick’s eyes—and he knew he had to find another way of convincing her to use the money he could provide.
He straightened up, turned away, walked over to the window, stared out at the one patch of green left on Gundamurra—the homestead quadrangle. Not all the millions of dollars he had available could turn the rest of the vast sheep station green. Only rain could do that. Lots of rain.
However, an unencumbered supply of funds could pay for feed to be trucked in. It could pay wages. It could make life absolutely secure for everyone here, bring back those who’d had to leave. They could comfortably wait out the drought, be ready for the good times to come again.
‘Would you prefer me to buy you out, Megan?’ he tossed at her with little hope.
‘No,’ came the firm and predictable reply. Her eyes said she’d have to be forcibly dragged off Gundamurra, no letting it go of her own free will.
He shrugged. ‘I thought, since you dislike having to deal with me so much…’
‘You overstepped the line, Johnny,’ she informed him rigidly. ‘By all means wipe out your share of the mortgage. That’s your right.’
‘Fine!’ he snapped. ‘Do you want to draw a line through Gundamurra, divide it up so I can pour whatever funds I like into salvaging my forty-nine percent of it?’
Treat her kindly…
Maybe there was truth in the old adage that one had to be cruel to be kind.
Her jaw clenched. ‘My father wouldn’t have wanted that,’ she grated out.
‘Have you stopped to think of what your father did want…instead of what you want?’
‘He didn’t accept your money while he was alive.’
He pounced on that statement, inflamed by her antagonism towards him. ‘Because you argued against it?’
‘No. I didn’t know about any offer. You just mentioned it yourself, Johnny.’
Her eyes were clearly weighing its effect on Patrick’s will. He blasted her calculation by informing her, ‘Ric and Mitch offered help, too. All three of us, Megan.’
Confusion looked back at him. ‘Then why choose you?’
It was eating at her. ‘Would Ric or Mitch have been more acceptable to you?’ he tested, wanting to know if his friends were equally unwelcome in her life.
‘That’s not the question,’ she snapped evasively.
‘I think it’s pertinent. Why not me?’ he challenged.
Intriguing to watch the flush come again, sweeping into her cheeks with blazing heat. She dropped her gaze and fiercely claimed, ‘I can manage on my own. With the mortgage reduced, I can…’
‘What if you can’t? Why risk it?’ He paused, sure now in his own mind that he was the problem. ‘Is your dislike of me so great that you can’t bear to let me help?’

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