The Outback Marriage Ransom

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 slickers must return to the Outback to face a new challenge: claiming their brides….

•The Outback Marriage Ransom (#2391)

•The Outback Wedding Takeover (#2403)

•The Outback Bridal Rescue (#2427)

Emma Darcy is the award-winning Australian author of over eighty novels for Harlequin®. Her intensely emotional stories have gripped readers around the world. She’s sold nearly 60 million copies of her books worldwide and has 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 become set on different paths as they learn how their individual strengths—their passions—can 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 who 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! And here, too, are the women who rescue them from loneliness.

With love,

The Outback Marriage Ransom

Emma Darcy

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

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PROLOGUE

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. Ric wished he still had the camera he’d stolen. He could take some unbelievable shots here.

‘The middle of nowhere,’ Mitch Tyler muttered. ‘I’m beginning to think I made the wrong choice.’

‘Nah,’ Johnny Ellis drawled. ‘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.

‘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. And Johnny had it right, Ric thought. Six months working on a sheep station, had to be better than a year in a juvenile jail. Ric, for one, couldn’t stand overbearing authority. He hoped the guy who ran this place wasn’t some kind of tyrant, getting off on having three slaves to do his bidding.

What had the judge said at the sentencing? Something about getting back to ground values. A program that would teach them what real life was about. In other words, you worked to live, not skim off other people. Easy for him to say, sitting behind his bench in a cushy chair, safe with his silver-tailed government income.

There was no security in Ric’s world.

Never had been.

Thieving what you wanted was the only way to get it. And there was a lot Ric wanted. Though stealing the Porsche to impress Lara Seymour had been stupid. He’d lost her now. That was certain. A girl with her privileged background wouldn’t even consider a convicted criminal for a boyfriend.

The plane taxied back to where a guy was waiting beside a four-wheel drive Cherokee. Big guy—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 in a hurry, Ric decided, though size didn’t automatically command his respect. If the guy laid a hand on him…

‘John Wayne rides again,’ Mitch muttered in the mocking tone he habitually used. Sour on the whole world was Mitch. Could become a real drag, living with him at close quarters.

‘No horse,’ Johnny remarked with a grin.

He was going to be much easier to get on with, Ric thought.

Johnny Ellis had probably cultivated an affable manner as his stock-in-trade, as well as a protective shield, though he was big enough and strong enough to match anyone in a punch-up. He had friendly hazel eyes, a ready grin, and sun-streaked brown hair that tended to flop over his forehead. He’d been caught dealing in marijuana, though he swore it was only to musicians who’d get it from someone else anyway.

Mitch Tyler was a very different kettle of fish, charged with a serious assault on a guy who, he claimed, had date-raped his sister. Though he hadn’t put that defence forward in court. Didn’t want his sister dragged into it. He was lean and mean, dark hair, biting blue eyes, and Ric had the sense that violence was simmering under his surface all the time.

Ric, himself, was darker still in colouring. Typical Italian heritage. Black curly hair, almost black eyes, olive skin, with the kind of Latin good looks that attracted the girls. Any girl he wanted. Even Lara. But looks weren’t enough in the long run. He had to have money. And all the things money could buy. It was the only way to beat the class difference.

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 had Ric instantly tensing up.

‘Here are your boys, Mister Maguire. Straight off the city streets for you to whip into shape.’

The big old guy—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 physical abuse.

He nodded to 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.’

Ric found himself willing to give it a chance.

Fighting it wasn’t going to do him any good anyway.

‘And you are…?’ Patrick Maguire held out a massive hand to Mitch who looked suspiciously at it as though it were a bone-cruncher.

‘Mitch Tyler,’ he answered, thrusting his own hand out in defiant challenge.

‘Good to meet you, Mitch.’

A normal handshake, no attempt to dominate.

Johnny’s hand came out with no hesitation. ‘Johnny Ellis. Good to meet you, Mister Maguire.’ Big smile to the old man, pouring out the charm. Getting onside fast was Johnny.

A weighing look in the steely grey gaze, plus a hint of amusement. No one’s fool this, Ric thought, as he himself was targeted by eyes that had probably seen through all the facades people put up.

‘Ric Donato,’ he said, taking the offered hand, feeling the strength in it, and oddly enough a warmth that took away some of the sense of alienation that was deep in Ric’s bones.

‘Ready to go?’ the old man asked.

‘Yeah. I’m ready,’ Ric said more aggressively than he meant to.

Ready to take on the whole damned world one day.

And come out on top.

Maybe even win Lara in the end.

He still couldn’t get her out of his head. Probably never would. Class…that’s what she had. Unattainable for Ric right now but he’d get there. One way or another, he’d make it to where he wanted to be.

CHAPTER ONE

Eighteen years later…

RIC DONATO sat with his executive assistant, Kathryn Ledger, in the Sydney office, checking photographs that had come in, most of them featuring celebrities at the Australian Film Industry Awards. That was the big number this week. Freelance photographers—some reputable, some paparazzi—sent them to his agency via the Internet. His staff sifted through them, choosing the highlights to be sold to magazines around the world.

Always class, Ric reflected with considerable irony. That was what his network of agencies sold—here in Australia, Los Angeles, New York, London, his contacts legion now, all of them eager to jump on his red carpet ride.

The grim realities he’d shot as a photo-journalist covering war zones had won prizes and respect in some quarters but the appeal of those photographs had been very limited. He’d learnt the hard way that it was pretty pictures that sold everywhere. People wanted to see class. They revelled in it, if only vicariously. They turned away from suffering.

Focusing on class had paid off, at both ends of the market. The rich and famous liked his guarantee that nothing negative would be brokered through his agencies. They even alerted his staff about photo opportunities, happy to supply the demands of the media as long as the shots were positive publicity for them. And the magazines lapped up what he could provide, paying mega-dollars for exclusives.

Everybody happy.

The magic formula for success.

Class…

It was the password to paradise, at least in terms of wealth and acceptability into even the highest social strata. He’d known that instinctively at sixteen, forgotten it in his twenties when he’d pursued other quests, learnt it again in time to build up what had turned into a multimillion dollar business.

Kathryn downloaded yet another photograph from the airport—more Hollywood stars departing, Ric thought, idly watching until one of the faces being revealed galvanised his attention.

Lara?

Her head was ducked down. She was wearing sunglasses. Was that discolouration beside her left cheekbone part of a black eye? Her mouth was puffy as though she’d taken a hit there, as well.

He switched his gaze to the man accompanying her. That was Gary Chappel all right—the guy she’d married—heir and current CEO to the Nursing Home empire his father had built. Born to huge wealth and with the kind of clean-cut handsome looks that could have made him a pin-up model if he’d been so inclined.

But he wasn’t looking so attractive in this photo, his mouth thinned into grim lines, hooded eyes emanating a vicious threat. He had one arm wrapped tightly around Lara’s shoulders. His other hand had a tight grip on her arm which was tucked between them. Bruisingly tight.

‘Wow! There’s fodder for the gossip pages,’ Kathryn remarked.

Gary and Lara Chappel—definitely an A-list couple in Australian high society, usually photographed as two of the most beautiful people. Ric had seen plenty of shots of them before, but never like this.

‘Delete?’ Kathryn checked with him before carrying out the action.

‘No!’ It came out forcefully.

Kathryn looked her surprise. ‘It’s not a happy snap, Ric.’

‘Print it for me and buy the copyright.’

‘But…’

‘If we don’t buy it someone else will. As you said, it’s prime fodder for gossip pages and I don’t want it printed publicly,’ he said decisively, acting on his gut instinct which was too strong for him to ignore.

‘It’s not our business to protect, Ric,’ Kathryn reminded him, her eyes searching his for the reason.

He’d trained her to handle all the business that came into the Sydney office. She was in charge when he was elsewhere. He trusted her judgment. But this was personal. Deeply personal. And he couldn’t let it go.

Funny after all these years and having had no contact with Lara Seymour since he’d been taken to Gundamurra…yet the sight of her, looking as though she was the victim of physical abuse by her husband, got to Ric.

And here was Kathryn, looking at him with eyes that questioned if he’d suddenly lost his marbles—green eyes, auburn hair cut in a short chic style, pretty face, trim figure always smartly dressed in a business suit—all in all a very attractive package, housing a brain that invariably displayed a quick intelligence. He liked her, wished her well in the marriage she was planning with her boyfriend who was a hot-shot dealer in a merchant bank.

In fact, he liked her very much and wasn’t sure her fiancé was good enough for her. Yet he’d never wanted Kathryn himself, not how he’d wanted Lara Seymour.

To him she’d been the embodiment of perfect femininity; softly slender, idyllically proportioned, a wonderful flowing curtain of shiny blond hair, a face of features drawn with delicate distinction, eyes the sparkling blue of summer skies, a beautiful smile that was both shy and inviting, smooth unblemished skin that glowed with a sheen he had ached to touch, to stroke. He’d understood the phrase, a swanlike neck, in the way she moved her head. And she’d walked like a dancer, innately graceful.

Every aspect of her had given him intense riveting pleasure, yet she’d also embodied the mystique of the unattainable, compelling him to…but that was far in the past.

‘Lara and I go way back, Kathryn,’ he said quietly. ‘She would hate having this exposed.’

‘You…and Lara Chappel?’ She looked astounded.

‘Lara Seymour…’

‘Is she why…’ An embarrassed flush flooded up her neck and burned her cheeks. Her gaze was hastily switched to the computer screen. ‘I’ll do a print for you,’ she muttered.

‘Why what?’ Ric pursued the point, curious to know what she was thinking.

A rueful glance. ‘Not my business, Ric.’

‘Say it anyway.’

A shrug that disowned any personal interest. ‘People talk about you. Let’s face it…you’d have to be one of the most eligible bachelors in the world. You could have your pick of beautiful women, yet…’

‘Yet?’

She finally gave him a direct look. ‘You never seem to have a serious relationship.’

His smile was wry. ‘I lead a busy life, Kathryn.’

‘Of course.’ She nodded and busied herself producing a print of the photograph on glossy paper.

Ric pondered the question she’d raised.

Yes, it was easy enough to get dates with women he found attractive. Somehow the attraction never lasted very long. It usually ended up feeling false, with him becoming too conscious of how pleased the women were with what he could provide. They didn’t know him. They just wanted the part of him that emanated the power of huge success and big money.

He’d certainly fulfilled his ambition of making it to the top. The world was more or less his oyster. He owned apartments in London and New York—prime properties—as well as in Sydney, with a magnificent harbour view. He also had classy cars in each city; a Jaguar in London, a Lamborghini in New York, a Ferrari here.

The Porsche he’d once stolen to impress Lara flitted through his mind. He could have bought one. Didn’t want to. Why remind himself of frustration…defeat? Although he wasn’t that boy anymore…was he?

Did anyone ever really escape the past?

Kathryn handed him the printed photograph and he stared down at it, feeling the past grab him back to that time and place when being with Lara Seymour had seemed more important than anything else. Somehow she’d been the fulfilment of all he’d craved for himself.

‘Got an envelope for this?’ he asked, knowing he was going to act on it.

Kathryn opened a desk drawer, gave him one.

‘Print five more copies…’ His instincts insisted on the precaution. ‘Lock them in the safe. Then delete.’

She nodded, frowning over the unusual commands. ‘What should I pay for the copyright?’

‘I don’t care.’ He slid the photo into the envelope, sealed it, stood up. ‘Negotiate the best price you can.’ He threw her a look of reckless determination as he headed for the door. ‘The bottom line is…I don’t care how much it costs. Just do it.’

‘Right!’ she said, accepting the task without any further questions, though her eyes were full of them.

Ric didn’t care. He could afford a stupid self-indulgence if that’s what it was. It looked to him as though Lara was in a bad situation with Gary Chappel. The photo had been taken at the airport. Had she been attempting to run away from her husband?

Domestic abuse could occur in any household and all too often it was hidden through shame. And fear of more punishment. His own mother had been a victim of it—dying from ruptured kidneys when Ric was only a kid. He’d been too little to protect her, getting beatings for trying. At least his father had gone to jail for it, but Ric had never forgotten the fear of testifying against him in court.

If Lara was living in that kind of fear…

Ric found his hands clenching as he rode the elevator down to the basement car park. It wasn’t his fight. He had no rights in this matter. Nevertheless, he couldn’t ignore it. His heart burned with the need to act. And in his mind flared a wildly wanton exultation in having the power to do it—the power to do anything he chose to do.

He wasn’t a street kid anymore.

He was a rich guy.

With class in spades.

And money to burn any way he liked.

In that respect, he could more than match Gary Chappel.

He was glad he’d dressed in his favourite Armani suit this morning, more for meeting Mitch Tyler for lunch in the city than for business. Barristers always dressed in suits and Mitch was a top-line barrister these days. He’d made it to where he wanted to be. Johnny Ellis had, as well, going platinum on quite a few of his country and western songs. Even after all these years since their time at Gundamurra, the three of them still connected when they were in the same place.

None of them had married.

As Ric got in his Ferrari, he wondered if Mitch and Johnny had the same problem with the women they dated, finding themselves more outside the relationship than in it after a while. The three of them probably understood each other more than any woman could. In fact, he might need Mitch to sort out Gary Chappel if that was what Lara wanted.

He drove out of the car park for the office building at Circular Quay and headed for the Eastern Suburbs. The envelope containing the photograph was on the passenger seat beside him—a major weapon in a war he could wage if Lara wanted to be free.

He knew where she lived. Not that he’d ever kept tabs on her. There’d been a splash of publicity when Gary Chappel had acquired the fifteen million dollar mansion on the harbour foreshore at Vaucluse—a photospread of Lara showing off the refurbishings they’d subsequently done.

The perfect hostess for her station in life, Ric had thought then. He hadn’t imagined for one moment that her station in life might be miserable in private. It had seemed to him she was blessed with everything…and still unattainable as far as he was concerned. No point in manipulating a meeting with her. Leave the past in the past, he’d argued to himself. No good could come of it…only more frustration and defeat.

So why was he butting in now?

Because the picture he’d always had of her charmed life was askew.

What did he hope to achieve by intervention? Who did he think he was? Super-guy to the rescue?

Well, it might turn out as a black joke on him, but Ric knew he wouldn’t rest easy until he knew the truth behind that photograph.

Determination drove him to Vaucluse. Determination took him up to the massively colonnaded front porch and pressed the doorbell. Determination made him endure the long wait for the door to be opened—not by Lara, but by a middle-aged woman. The permed grey hair and royal blue button-through uniform dress instantly cast her as staff in Ric’s mind. Probably the housekeeper.

‘My name is Ric Donato. I’ve come to visit Mrs. Chappel,’ he declared with even more determination.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Donato. Mrs. Chappel isn’t receiving visitors today,’ came the totally uncompromising statement. But it did reveal Lara was here.

‘She’ll see me,’ he replied grimly, holding out the envelope. ‘Please give this to Mrs. Chappel and tell her Ric Donato has come to discuss its contents with her. I’ll wait for her reply.’

‘Very well, sir.’

She took the envelope and closed the door in his face.

He waited.

In a way, it was blackmail. Lara would know it wasn’t the only copy of the photograph. She would be afraid of what use he might make of it. Fear would open this door to him. Then he would be entering her life again.

For how long he didn’t know.

He thought of it only as…something he couldn’t turn away from.

CHAPTER TWO

LARA sat in the nursery, her feet automatically tipping the rocking chair back and forth in a rhythm that was supposed to soothe, although she knew nothing was going to lift the depression of being imprisoned in this life with Gary. She had to escape it. Had to. But how?

She stared bleakly at the empty cot, the empty pram, the empty everything she’d bought for the baby she didn’t have. Stillborn. She wished she’d died with it. The ultimate escape. Probably the only one. Gary was too watchful of her to let her get away. Watchers everywhere.

All the same, she had to go before he made her pregnant again. She desperately hoped it hadn’t happened last night. That would be unbearable. She’d managed to get a packet of contraceptive pills from a pharmacy in Kings Cross, lying about leaving her prescription at home, promising to bring it in the next day. But she’d only been taking them for two weeks and wasn’t sure they would work yet.

Having a child would trap her in this marriage forever. Impossible to flee. Gary would have the law after her in no time flat, getting custody. Everything within her cringed from the thought of leaving a child in his keeping. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

Marian Keith appeared at the doorway, holding a large white envelope. She was Gary’s choice of housekeeper, a widow in her fifties who’d run into financial difficulties, having sons who needed helping through university and very grateful for the generous wage she earned here.

All the domestic staff were Gary’s choices and they answered to him, not his wife. Yet occasionally Lara did catch a flash of sympathetic concern in the housekeeper’s eyes. More than anyone else, Marian Keith saw what went on in this house. Not that she saw much. Gary was careful to keep his brand of tyranny private.