A Bride At Birralee

CHAPTER TWO

CALLUM fiddled with his unopened beer. His guts crawled with dread as he imagined Stella’s reaction to his news.

Scott’s dead. The words were so hard to get out.

Telling his parents had been the worst, the very worst moment of his life. Scott had been the baby of the family—everybody’s favourite. To tell his mother and father had meant inflicting unbearable pain.

If Stella was in love with his brother, she was sure to burst into noisy tears. What the hell would he do then?

‘Callum,’ she said, and her voice vibrated with tension, ‘I need to know what’s happened to Scott.’

He realised he was still holding the beer, rolling it back and forth between anxious hands. The last thing he needed on this night was another beer. Hastily, he shoved it back in the fridge and cleared his throat.

‘There was a mustering accident a few weeks back. Scott was flying a helicopter.’

She looked pale. Too pale. And she sat stiffly, without speaking, staring at him. Waiting.

‘I’m afraid Scotty was killed.’ He couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice.

At first he thought she hadn’t heard him. She just sat there, not making a sound, not moving.

After some time, she whispered, ‘No! No! He can’t be dead.’

He braced himself for the tears, eyeing the box of tissues on the bench to his right.

But she didn’t cry. She just kept sitting there looking stunned, while her face turned from pale to greenish.

‘I’m sorry to have to give you such bad news,’ he said, wishing she didn’t look so ill and wishing he didn’t sound so clumsy and obviously uncomfortable. Wishing she would say something. Anything.

Her hand wavered to her mouth and for a moment he thought she was going to be sick.

‘Are you OK?’

‘I—I—’ She tried to stand and swayed groggily before moaning faintly and collapsing back into her chair, her head slumped sideways.

‘Stella.’ Crouching quickly at her side, he touched her shoulder and to his relief she moved slightly. Her dark hair hung in a silky curtain hiding her face and, with two fingers, he lifted it away. Her eyes were shut and her skin was cool and pale.

Hell! She’d cared about Scott this much?

A hard knot of pain dammed his throat as he scooped her in his arms and, edging sideways through the kitchen doorway, carried her back to her room.

‘I’m all right,’ she protested weakly.

He didn’t answer. Her pale fragility alarmed him. In his arms, she felt too light, too slim. Too soft and womanly. He drew in a ragged breath as her satiny, sweet-smelling hair brushed his neck. One shoe fell off as he made his way down the hallway, and he saw again the delicate foot with its pretty blue toenails, the gypsy-like allure of her dainty ankle chain.

His chest tightened with a hundred suppressed emotions as he laid her on the bed and removed the other shoe.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Her grey eyes opened and they held his. A trembling, thrilling, silent exchange passed between them. She looked away. ‘I felt a little faint,’ she said and tried to sit up.

It only took the slightest pressure of his fingers on her shoulders to push her back onto the bed. ‘You’ve had a shock. Take it easy there for a minute or two.’

Lifting a crocheted rug from the chair in the corner, he spread it over her.

Outside it was almost dark. He switched on the shaded bedside lamp, then retrieved her shoe from the hallway, and when he returned her eyes were closed again and she seemed to be calmer.

For too long, Callum stood beside the bed, taking his fill of her special style of beauty. Noticing the way her eyelids were criss-crossed by a fine tracery of delicate blue veins and how very black her long lashes were against her pale cheeks. Heaven help him, he’d spent too many nights imagining her like this—in bed. What a silly damn fool he was.

He crossed to the French doors that opened onto the veranda and stood quietly, leaning against the door jamb, watching the bush grow dark, watching this woman who’d been looking for his brother. Wondering if her fainting spell had been caused by more than the shock of his news and thinking that perhaps a little crying would have been easier to handle after all.

The bush beyond the house grew still and silent. All day the birds had filled the air with their noisy chatter and screeches, but now they’d stopped calling, responding to the approach of night as if obeying an unseen conductor. Very soon the cicadas would tune in.

After some time, Stella’s eyes opened and she rolled onto her side.

‘How are you feeling now?’

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise when she saw him standing in the doorway. Elbow crooked, she propped up her head. ‘I’m OK. Truly. But I can’t believe that Scott—’ Her eyes glistened, but no tears fell. ‘It must have been so awful. Can you tell me what happened?’

He nodded slowly. ‘We were out mustering in the rough country on the far western boundaries of this property. We needed to use the helicopter to chase some stragglers out of a gully and Scott flew in close and somehow the tail rotor clipped a gum tree.’

He didn’t add that it had been his fault Scott had been flying that day. He kept that guilty secret to himself, let it gnaw away at his insides like white ants in a tree stump.

Sighing, he glanced again at the darkening bush beyond the veranda. ‘It all happened very quickly.’

‘So you were with Scott at the time?’

‘No.’ His chest squeezed so tight that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. ‘Scott insisted on going solo and he was having the time of his life. I was on horseback down below.’

He closed his eyes. There was still no way to block out the memory. The terror of the chopper going down. The crazy, lurching fall. The horrifying, screeching sound of ripping metal. The hellish moment of finding Scott, blood-soaked and slumped in the pilot’s seat, staring back at him with blank, sightless eyes.

Hell! Each day it seemed to become more vivid.

‘Why didn’t you contact me, Callum?’

The challenge in her voice piqued his pride, spurring sudden anger. ‘I wasn’t my brother’s keeper. I didn’t keep tabs on his women. How was I to know you were still in the picture? I thought he’d taken up with some girl in Brisbane.’

She swung her gaze away and bit down hard on her lip and Callum wished he’d been less brutal. ‘I would have let you know, but I didn’t…’ Didn’t want to be reminded that you’d chosen Scott over me… His Adam’s apple felt the size of a rock melon. ‘It’s a damn shame you had to come all this way—without knowing.’

Closing her eyes, she smiled wryly as she gave a faint shake of her head. ‘It’s a damn shame all right.’ Her smoky deep voice resonated with bitter self-mockery.

Again he asked, ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Like a dill-brain.’

‘I was referring to your stomach. Has it settled? I’ll make a cup of tea, or perhaps you can manage a bite to eat?’

She pushed herself into a sitting position. ‘I suppose I should try to eat.’

‘I’ll get dinner, then. I’m afraid it’s only leftover stew.’

‘Anything will be fine, thanks. I’m not really hungry.’

Callum left the room and Stella lay there, watching his broad, straight back. She tried not to think. Tried not to worry. Not to panic!

She was alone now. Totally alone. There was no one to turn to. Her bright dreams were dead. There would be no trip to London. No father for her baby. She couldn’t dream of asking Callum to help. Her last hope had died with Scott.

Oh, God! Poor Scott! She shouldn’t be feeling sorry for herself. He hadn’t deserved to die. He’d been too young, too healthy, too brimming with energy and love of life.

How could Scott be dead?

Her mother had died when she was fifteen and her death had never seemed real. This was even harder to believe.

And poor Callum. How terrible for him to see his brother die in such a terrible accident. And how hard to carry on alone out here without him!

She pressed a hand to her slightly rounded stomach. Her poor little baby, already fatherless before it drew breath. That was the worst of all.

Just like her mother, she was producing a child who would never know its father. Although, unlike her mother, Stella was quite clear about her baby’s paternity.

Her mother had never been sure. ‘It was one of the lecturers at uni.,’ she’d admitted once, just once, in a mismanaged attempt to be close to Stella. ‘One of the nutty professors—but I don’t know which.’

By contrast, there was only one man who could be the father of Stella’s baby’s. The fact that he was dead was too much to take in. Her insides shook with fear. Fear for herself, for the baby. Especially for the baby.

Scott was dead.

Where did that leave her? She couldn’t stand being alone any longer. All her childhood, she’d felt lonely—handed from one adult to another. Life had always been hard.

As an adult, she’d found it easiest to bury herself in study. When she’d discovered science, she’d found the laws of physics to be true and unchanging. They never let her down. Which was more than she could say for the people in her life.

And she’d really wanted the job in London! It would have allowed her to apply her scientific knowledge to a fascinating project. She’d been so excited. But the television network wouldn’t want a woman with a tiny baby. She’d really needed Scott’s help.

With a shaky sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. The dizziness seemed to have passed. So far so good.

She made her way back through the house to the kitchen, knowing the only thing that would hold her together now was habit. Old habits died hard and she’d learned as a child that it was best not to let others see how worried she was about all the mess in her life.

In the kitchen, Callum had everything ready. With rough movements, he placed a plate of food in front of her. ‘My version of outback hospitality.’

The meal smelt surprisingly good. Rich beef and vegetables. ‘Mmm. Good wholesome country fare.’

‘Just like mother used to make?’ he asked as he took his seat and pushed a knife and fork across the table towards her.

Stella rolled her eyes. ‘Not my mother.’

He frowned and waited, as if he expected her to clarify that remark. When she didn’t, he said stiffly, ‘I don’t want to pry, but I’m assuming this visit to see Scott was rather important?’

She felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘Not really. I—I had a few days spare and I just thought I’d look him up.’

His eyes told her he didn’t believe her and his mouth thinned into a very straight line. ‘So you’ll be leaving again in the morning?’

She hadn’t been ready for his question. Her head shot up making her look more haughty than she intended. ‘Sure. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as the sun comes up.’

Standing abruptly, he crossed back to the stove and filled the teapot with boiling water from the kettle. Stella bit her lip. Callum had been hospitable and she’d been rude. ‘Do you live here by yourself now?’ she asked, trying to make amends.

‘Yes.’ He thumped the lid onto the pot.

‘How do you manage such a big property on your own?’

‘I manage. My father tried to persuade me that the property’s too big for one man. He wanted to send someone out to help me.’

‘But you refused help?’

‘I don’t want anyone else here.’ The message was loud and very clear.

‘So how do you do it all?’

Callum turned from the stove and shrugged. ‘It’s not that difficult if you’re prepared to work hard. And there are plenty of blokes looking for mustering contracts. I can hire a team of fencers if I need to.’

‘You mentioned your sisters before. Do they live in these parts?’

One of his eyebrows rose quizzically. ‘Didn’t my little brother tell you about the family?’

Stella concentrated on her food. She didn’t want to admit to Callum that there’d been disappointments in her relationship with Scott. She forced a nonchalant smile. ‘It was tit for tat. I didn’t tell Scott about my family either. We liked it that way.’

It was partly the truth. After she’d let Scott make love to her, she’d expected they would become closer in every way, that he’d begin to share more of his life with her. But the minute he’d sensed she’d been getting serious, he’d become edgy and had backed away.

Callum brought the teapot and mugs to the table. ‘My mob don’t have any secrets. Both my sisters married North Queensland graziers. Catherine lives on a property near Julia Creek and Ellie is just outside Cloncurry. They both love the bush life. They’re happy as possums up a gum tree.’

‘Do they have children?’

‘Three kids apiece.’

‘Wow. That’s quite a family. It must be crowded when they all visit.’

‘It’s great.’ His eyes glowed and he actually smiled. And Stella wished he wouldn’t. Callum Roper was far too attractive when his eyes lit up that way.

She glanced at Oscar in his cage in the corner. He was her family, the only living thing in the world that belonged to her. Apart from the baby. But the baby was invisible. Most of the time, she had trouble thinking of it as real.

Callum leaned back in his chair. ‘And I suppose you know all about our old man?’

She frowned. ‘Your father? Should I know about him?’

She was surprised when he almost laughed. ‘He would like to think so, but then, all politicians have huge egos.’

‘Politicians?’ Stella almost dropped her fork. Roper…Roper…Was there a state politician named Roper? Suddenly she remembered. Not state government. Federal. ‘Your dad is Senator Ian Roper?’

‘’Fraid so.’

‘Oh, good grief!’ In her head, she added a few swear words and the invisible cluster of cells in her body suddenly posed a whole new parcel of problems.

Just how much bad luck did a girl have to deal with? She was carrying the illegitimate grandchild of one of the country’s most outspokenly conservative politicians!

Suddenly their efforts at conversation deteriorated. It seemed neither of them had much to say. Stella’s curiosity about Scott’s family vanished. She was back in panic mode again.

After they’d eaten, he asked, ‘Are you feeling OK now?’

‘Yes, much better, thank you. You’re a great cook. Dinner was delicious.’

‘Feel free to go straight to bed.’

‘I’ll help you clean up.’

His dark brows beetled in a deep frown. ‘No, you won’t.’

She had the distinct impression that he’d had enough of being sociable. He wanted her out of the room.

‘You’re sure I can’t help?’

He nodded without speaking.

Standing slowly, she said, ‘You’ll be closing the kitchen windows, won’t you?’

He frowned. ‘I don’t usually bother.’

‘But—with Oscar in here—and the snakes and—everything.’

Callum almost grinned. ‘Oh, yeah. The snakes. OK, I’ll close the windows.’

CHAPTER THREE

STELLA was sick the next morning.

As Callum came back from the holding yards, striding through the dewy bluegrass with Mac at his heels, he heard unmistakable sounds coming from the bathroom.

They stopped him dead in his tracks. She was supposed to be heading off this morning. Leaving him in peace. But how could he send her packing if she was sick?

He kicked at a loose stone and sent it rolling down the incline. Instantly alert, the blue heeler watched its descent then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth chasing.

Callum watched it, too, as it bounced from rock to rock before disappearing into the scrub on the creek bank. This sickness of Stella’s was rather unusual. The fainting last night and now this…

Perhaps she had a simple stomach bug, but she’d woofed down that tucker last night without any problems. He frowned. That was how his sisters had been when they’d been expecting. Fine one minute, then suddenly dizzy or racing to the bathroom.

Was she pregnant? No, surely not.

His head shot back. She damn well could be pregnant.

The more he thought about it, the more he was sure he’d hit on the truth. Of course she was pregnant. That was why she’d hightailed it all the way from Sydney looking for Scott. That’s why she’d been so upset.

Damn and blast you, little brother. What have you gone and done now?

If Stella was pregnant…If she was carrying Scott’s child…If she was planning on heading back to the city…disappearing again as quickly as she’d appeared…taking Scott’s baby with her…

He slapped his palm against the rough trunk of a bloodwood tree and stared blankly into the distance, while tumultuous thoughts raged. Thoughts of Scott, of his family, of his own guilt and grief, his parents’ heartbreak.

Thoughts of Scott in Stella’s bed.

Groaning, he kicked another loose stone. Distasteful as it was, he had little choice; he had to ask her. If Scott was leaving behind a son or daughter, he needed to know.

Fists clenched, he turned reluctantly and marched towards the house.

Stella was in the kitchen, hovering in front of the stove and squinting at the dials. She was wearing denim cut-offs and a simple white T-shirt and her feet were bare except for the silver ankle chain with its blue glass beads.

She turned and smiled at him warily. ‘Good morning.’

He nodded. ‘Morning. Did you sleep well?’

‘Like a log, thank you. I didn’t realise how tired I was.’ She pointed to the stove. ‘I thought I’d make a cup of tea, but I haven’t quite worked out how to drive your stove.’

‘It’s fairly straightforward,’ he muttered.

‘Uh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘An electric kettle is straightforward. A stove this size requires a licence to operate. I’m surprised you have something so complicated way out in the bush.’

‘We needed it when all the family lived at home.’ He reached past her to flick appropriate switches. ‘My mother takes her cooking seriously.’

Stella gave a wry grin as she shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I’m a victim of the microwave era. If it doesn’t light up with little messages telling me what to do, I’m lost.’

She ran slim fingers through her shiny black hair. Her hands, like her feet, were elegantly shaped, although her fingernails weren’t painted. The movements of her fingers in her hair made the silky strands shift and fall back into place. To Callum, the gesture seemed as natural and pretty as a jabiru stretching and folding its glossy wings.

‘What would you like for breakfast?’ he asked, unhappy to find himself still thinking about her hair, her hands, her feet.

She grimaced. ‘I’m not sure. I thought I’d just try a cuppa to start with.’

‘You’re not hungry?’ he challenged.

‘Not really. Maybe some dry toast.’ She looked away.

He took a deep breath. ‘You were sick—just before.’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Nothing? Are you sure it’s nothing, Stella?’

Her head swung back quickly and her grey eyes were defensive as she stared at him. ‘Of course I’m sure.’

He knew she was lying.

‘I can’t let you head off on the long journey back to Sydney if you’re not well. And if you can’t manage more to eat than dry toast—’