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