The Cattleman's Bride

The painting reminded him that this house had been hers before she’d died. Abby had taken it over, as she’d taken Becka over.

Idly, he flipped open the photo album. There were Caroline and her parents, Caroline and Abby…He turned the page to see old photos of Abby as a young woman. She wasn’t unattractive really, although her one brown eye and one blue eye were disconcerting. Too bad she’d never married and had children of her own since she loved them so much. He seemed to recall Caroline’s saying something about her being in love with Len and never getting over it.

He flipped the pages. Caroline painting. Caroline pregnant. They hadn’t planned to have a baby, but when she’d gotten pregnant he’d thought they would be a family. Turned out she’d wanted to travel, not settle down.

Luke flipped another page, to find an unsealed envelope tucked into the crack. He slipped out the photo that was inside—one taken of Caroline in the hospital after she’d had Becka. He frowned. Something was odd about this. He peered closer, hardly believing his eyes.

Caroline’s face had been cut out of the photo and a picture of Abby inserted in its place.

Oh, God. He dropped the photo and jumped to his feet. Though the room was stifling, a chill swept over his body. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

Unbelievable. Impossible.

He looked again.

It was true. He thought he was going to be sick right here on Abby’s kitchen floor.

Voices at the door. He crammed the photo back in the envelope and slammed the album shut.

Abby came through, smiling, scraping the red earth from her feet. “All done. Time for a cuppa before you go?”

His mouth was dry. He couldn’t say a word. Abby, humming, ran water into the electric kettle. She was so familiar, yet suddenly a stranger.

Becka. His baby. All blond ponytail and coltish legs under her shorts. What lies had Abby told her?

“Becka, get your things. It’s time to go.”

“Relax, Luke,” Abby said. “You’ve got a couple hours of light left.” She hovered over the girl. “Wash your hands, dear. Use the nailbrush. A little more soap. That’s right.”

“Sarah’s making dinner.” He struggled to keep his voice normal, unaffected by the rage building inside. “Becka—now, please.”

She turned away from the sink, wearing her aggrieved-princess look. “Do I have to?”

“Yes.” He waited for her to dry her hands and leave the room. Gave her another five seconds to get to the far end of the house. “Abby—” he began.

“So Sarah Templestowe is making dinner, is she?” Abby’s voice turned coy, her mismatched eyes watching him. “That sounds cozy.”

Luke refused to be sidetracked by Abby’s sly remarks. She was always digging for information, making something out of nothing, then seeming oddly pleased when there really was nothing. Nothing lasting, at any rate.

“I looked at your photo album.”

She smiled pleasantly and reached into the cupboard for cups. “Did you hear Sandy Ronstad had her baby?”

“Abby.” His hands clenched. “Why did you cut out Caroline’s photo and replace it with your own?”

Her body gave a kind of jolt, but she didn’t answer right away. The cups trembled in their saucers as she set them on the table. “Whatever are you talking about?”

He flipped open the album and waved the envelope at her. “Did you show this to Becka?” If she had, so help him, he’d—

“I’m not surprised Sarah Templestowe would move in fast on a handsome bachelor,” Abby continued, her voice wavering but still sounding determined. “Look at her mother. Taking off with that American after only a few weeks. Poor Len. She broke his heart.”

Luke gripped her shoulders, stopping just short of shaking her. “Did you tell Becka you’re her mother?” he demanded in a fierce whisper.

“Of course not.” Abby pressed her fingers to her temples. “That would be crazy.”

“Then why did you put your photo in Caroline’s place?” Abby covered her ears with her hands. “Answer me,” he ordered harshly.

“She’s all I’ve got, Luke. Don’t make me give her up.”

“It’s time, Abby. We agreed after Caroline died that Becka would come to live with me when she turned nine.”

“Nine was just an arbitrary number. She still needs a mother—” she quailed under his fierce scowl “—figure.”

“She needs her father, too,” Luke said, hardening himself to her beseeching gaze. He couldn’t get the image of the defaced photograph out of his mind.

“Dad!” Becka called from her old room. “I need help.”

Luke glared at Abby and strode down the hall to Becka. She was struggling with her overnight bag and two shopping bags full of clothes.

“What’s all this?” he asked.

“Aunt Abby bought me some dresses and stuff.”

Luke pulled out a handful of slippery blue fabric with spaghetti straps. “Is this a nightgown?”

“It’s a party dress. Isn’t it cool?”

“You’re only nine. You’re not going to parties dressed like this. Leave it.”

“Da-a-a-d.”

Abby appeared in the doorway. “Let her have them, Luke. She should have something fun and pretty in her wardrobe.”

He turned on her. “You shouldn’t have done this, Abby. Not without asking me.”

“Rubbish! Men have no idea how to shop for young girls. Do they, Becka?” She stroked Becka’s hair and the girl smiled up at her.

“Take…them…back. She doesn’t need party clothes out at the station. She needs jeans and T-shirts and boots.” Luke tossed the shopping bags on the bed as though they were contaminated.

“I was only trying to help. In case you hadn’t noticed, Luke Sampson, your little girl is growing up.”

Luke had noticed, all right. And he hated it. He’d already missed too much of her life. “You’re making her grow up too soon. These are for a much older girl.”

“You’re out of touch with what children are into these days,” Abby said. “It’s not surprising, living way out on that station. I’ve been caring for her almost all her life. I know what she needs. Anyway, she’s grown out of practically all her old clothes.”

“If she needs new clothes I’ll buy them for her.”

Tears burst from Becka’s eyes. “I hate you!” she screamed at Luke, and ran out of the room, her overnight bag banging against the doorjamb.

Abby gazed at him reproachfully. “I really think you could have handled that better, Luke. But then, you haven’t had much practice being a father, have you?”

His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “We won’t be seeing you for a while. Becka’s going to be busy out at the station.”

From the front porch, Abby watched them drive off, the wheels of the Land Cruiser spinning in the dirt before hitting the bitumen and squealing away. She gripped the wooden railing till a splinter pierced her skin, raising a bright red drop of blood. She didn’t notice. The pain was nothing compared with the pain in her heart. Becka was all she had and Luke had taken her away. Just as Anne Hafford had taken Len away from her all those years ago.

Don’t worry, Becka, my darling. We’ll be together again soon—somehow.

“OUCH!” Sarah snatched her blistered finger back from the hot cast iron of the wood-fired oven and thrust it under cold water. Wood-fired oven be damned. It didn’t turn out the savory masterpieces the one at Alfredo’s Bistro did. Her pizza was burned around the edges, pale and gloopy in the center. Maybe if she switched on the electric stove and put the pizza under the broiler…

Irritably, she wiped a smudge of flour from her nose and blew the hair off her forehead with an exasperated sigh. Canned tomatoes were no substitute for sun-dried, even drained through a sieve. And the closest she could get to paper-thin parma ham was a thick rasher of bacon complete with rind and little bones.

But the burned dinner was a mere annoyance. The thing that set her teeth on edge and had her jumping out of her skin was the total absence of decent coffee. The instant stuff Luke made last night was okay once or twice, but she needed something more. She needed full flavor and rich aroma. She needed concentrated caffeine and lots of it. It was humiliating to admit, but she was addicted. Throwing down the hand towel, she strode down the hall to her room.

She snatched up her cell phone, jabbed in her mother’s home number, and almost wept with relief when Anne answered the phone. “Mom! Thank goodness you’re still up.”

“Darling, what is it? Is something wrong?”

“I need coffee. Real coffee. Beans, freshly ground, covered with briskly boiling water. Frothy, steaming milk. Espresso, French roast, cinnamon hazelnut, cappuccino, café latte—”

“Sarah, Sarah, are you all right?”

“What was that noise?” Sarah demanded as she paced back to the kitchen. “I heard a slurping sound. Are you drinking something?”

“Just a cup of herbal tea. Really, darl’, get a grip.”

“I can’t. You’ve got to send me some coffee.”

“I know Murrum isn’t exactly the center of the civilized world, but they do have coffee.”

“Instant coffee. At least that’s all Luke has.” Sarah checked the broiler to see if it was hot and slid one of the pizzas under it. “Mother, please.”

“Consider it done.” There was an odd hint of laughter in Anne’s voice. “How is the homestead? I’ve been thinking about you all day. Have you been down to the creek yet?”

“Er, no. There’s so much to do in the house I haven’t had a chance to get out.” Sarah wrapped her free arm around her waist. She wasn’t going to tell her mother she was afraid to go outside the yard. It was too ridiculous.

“So is it very run-down?” Anne sounded wistful.

“A little shabby. Don’t worry, I’ll have it looking fabulous in no time. But Luke may not be as amenable to selling his half as I’d hoped. He’s really dug in here.”

“Well, he’s been there long enough. What’s he like, do you think, as a manager? Would you say he’s trustworthy?”

She pictured Luke—squinting into the sun, bare chested at the sink, grinning in the dark of the veranda at some private joke. “He doesn’t say much, but he looks you in the eye when he says it. I went over the photocopies of the station accounts before I left Seattle. They seem perfectly okay. In fact, I don’t know how the place survived on what they’ve pulled in the past couple of years.”

“It’s a tough life.” Anne paused. “You said you met Len.”

“He remembered you right away, but when I told him I’d give you his regards, he clammed up.”

“Oh, well, it was all a very long time ago. No point in dredging up ancient history.”

Sarah listened for disappointment, but Anne’s voice was neutral—too neutral. “I’ll bet he was a babe and a half in his day.”

“I believe he’s married, darl’. Er, about that old notebook of mine…tuck it away somewhere safe, will you? There’s nothing of interest in it. Just the typical angsty ramblings of a teenage girl—”

“Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t read it.” Sarah paused to check the broiler. Yikes! The pizza was done, all right. The surface looked as though it had been charred with a blowtorch. On the plus side, the tomatoes were definitely dry.

“I’d better go,” she said. “Dinner’s…uh, ready. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Sarah heard the Land Cruiser drive up and put the pizza on the table, trying in vain to hide it behind the salad and the garlic bread. Surely it didn’t look too bad.

A stony-faced Luke strode into the kitchen, trailed by a sullen young girl with blond braids who dragged her overnight bag on the floor.

“Sarah, this is Becka. Say hello, Becka.”

“H’llo.”

“Hi, Becka. Nice to meet you.” Sarah smiled, hiding her shock at the girl’s swollen, red-rimmed eyes and the tears staining her freckled cheeks. There was an awkward pause before Sarah said brightly, “Dinner’s ready.”

Luke sat down. After a second, so did Becka with a loud scrape of her chair on the slate floor. Her face was set mutinously and she wouldn’t look at her father.

Sarah took her seat and tried to keep the conversation rolling as she dished up the pizza. “It’s not exactly a gourmet delight, but there’s salad, too. And with the leftover dough I made garlic bread.”

Luke took a big bite of burned pizza. He chewed and swallowed without seeming to notice what he was eating.

“How is it?” she asked.

“Good.”

Now she knew he hadn’t tasted it. She turned to Becka. “What do you think?”

Becka shrugged and picked off the tomatoes.

Sarah ate salad and wished she could show Luke there were things she could do really well. Why, she could work the bugs out of a software program in the blink of an eye. She was a good manager, too. She organized a team of six and oversaw all technical aspects of their designs—

She stabbed a piece of red pepper and crunched it down. What was she thinking? The things she was good at meant nothing to a man like Luke. Why should she care what he thought, anyway?

“Did you have a good time at your aunt’s house?” she asked Becka.

Tears flooded from the girl’s eyes. Instead of answering Sarah’s question, she turned to Luke and shouted, “Why can’t I see Aunt Abby again? Why? You hate me, don’t you?”

“Becka, you know that’s not true—” Luke began.

“It is true! You said I can’t go back to Aunt Abby’s, but you won’t even tell me why.” Blinking ferociously, Becka pushed away from the table and went through the sliding doors onto the veranda.

Sarah turned to Luke. “Oh, dear. What happened?”

“Kids,” he said with a dark scowl, and took another bite of charred pizza.

Sarah put down her fork. Clearly, more was going on than he was prepared to tell her. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t mention Becka’s aunt to her?”

Luke’s forearm flexed as he gripped his water glass in his fist. “Don’t mention her to me.”

“Okay,” Sarah said carefully. “You’re angry with the aunt but don’t want to talk about it. Becka is upset about whatever it was that happened and can’t talk about it. I’m completely in the dark but should mind my own business because I’m a stranger here. Have I got it right?”

Frowning, Luke nodded. “Nothing personal.”

She glanced out at Becka, who was leaning morosely against a pillar. Wal came up and tried to lick her face, but the girl pushed him away. “You are going to talk to your daughter, I hope?”

His scowl deepened. “I’ve said all I’m going to say.”

He got up and stalked out of the room instead of going out to comfort his child. Or explain what was obviously incomprehensible to her, too.

Sarah watched him go, shocked and saddened. It really was none of her business. But she’d had a father who’d never been there for her as a child or as an adult. And now he was dead and there was no possibility of reconciliation.

Sarah knew she shouldn’t project her feelings of rejection onto the little girl who was crying on the veranda, but her heart ached for Becka. Although Sarah didn’t know a lot about kids, she remembered how much it hurt to think her father didn’t care about her. She’d seen the worry on Luke’s face last night when his daughter hadn’t been brought home on time. He loved Becka, but for some reason he couldn’t express it. Whether it was any of her business or not, Sarah knew she wouldn’t rest until she discovered what was wrong between Luke and his daughter.

And fixed it.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE NEXT MORNING Sarah put on a skinny sleeveless top and short skirt and slathered sunscreen over her arms and legs and as much of her chest and back as she could reach. She wanted to see the creek where Mom had caught the yabbies.

Jet lag had awakened her in the wee hours, but she’d fallen asleep again at last and now the clock over the kitchen stove said it was nearly ten o’clock. She felt the kettle. Still warm. Luke must have come in for morning coffee and gone out again on the cattle run. Becka was still in her room if the sound of the radio behind the closed door was any indication.

After a quick breakfast of toast and coffee, Sarah stepped outside onto the back veranda. The air was warm and dry and smelled exotically of eucalyptus. Her cross-trainers raised puffs of red dust as she stepped off the veranda and rounded the galvanized steel tank used to collect rainwater.

She headed in the direction of the creek, her mother’s reminiscences ringing in her head. Once a yabby pinched Robby’s big toe and wouldn’t let go. I never laughed so hard.

Sarah could almost hear the sound of children’s laughter coming from the dappled shade near the creek. A few more steps took her out of the comforting shadow cast by the house and into an open stretch of ground. Then it happened again.

Beneath the relentless sun, Sarah began to shiver. Her heart pounded and she struggled to take a breath. She tried to take another step and couldn’t. Her gaze crept involuntarily to the open land on her left that reached into the distance. Her stomach floated; her head felt light.

With an effort she dragged her gaze back to the trees. Suddenly the distance between her and them seemed a vast, untraversable expanse. In her mind the sound of children’s laughter turned mocking.

With her heart thumping so hard she thought it would burst, she spun on her heel and race-walked back to the veranda. There she clutched an iron pillar for support before dragging herself across the planks to sink into a wicker chair, her eyes shutting in sick relief.

What was happening to her? Was she dying? Going crazy?

Gradually her heart slowed to normal and she got her breath back. She stood up, walked the length of the veranda and turned the corner to pace the perimeter of the house. At the front of the homestead she quickly averted her eyes from the view of the open Downs and hurried on around the next corner. She was beginning to feel like a tiger exploring the confines of her cage. Tomorrow. She would overcome her fear tomorrow.

Right now she could use some company. She went in search of Becka, and found her sitting on the floor of her room amid boxes of unpacked toys and books, playing quietly with her doll. Her long blond hair had been pulled into a clumsy braid and she wore a frilly, flowered sundress that matched her doll’s outfit but didn’t suit her tomboyish looks.

Sarah leaned on the doorjamb. “Hi, Becka. What are you doing?”

Becka glanced up, her oval face grave. “Playing.”

“May I come in?” Becka nodded listlessly, so Sarah moved into the room to sit on the bed. She eyed the windows. “I’m going to sew new curtains. What color would you like?”

Becka shrugged. “Whatever.”

“I always think your surroundings make a lot of difference to the way you feel, don’t you? For instance, if we replace those brown curtains with yellow ones—maybe a sunflower pattern—this room would be a lot cheerier. What do you think?”

“Fine.”

“Is something wrong, Becka?”

Becka’s small chin lifted defiantly. “No.”

“I can see you’re unhappy about something,” Sarah said cautiously. “Your dad’s really worried about you.”

Becka snorted. “My dad doesn’t care about me.”

Sarah leaned forward on the bed, her elbows on her knees. “Your dad loves you a lot. Even I can see that.”

“Then why is he keeping me prisoner?” Becka demanded, sullen and defiant. “He won’t even talk to me.”

Sarah’s heart went out to the girl. Behind the defiance lurked fear and uncertainty. “I guess you miss your aunt.”

Becka bit her lip and combed her doll’s hair with a tiny pink comb. “I hate it here. It’s the middle of nowhere.”

“It feels strange to me, too—” She broke off. That was no way to talk around the child. “Hey, I noticed a brand-new superdeluxe computer in the office.”

“Dad bought it so I could use it for school. He tried to teach me, but he doesn’t know how to work it.” Becka’s mouth pursed disapprovingly. “He said a swear word.”

“I can show you how to use it,” Sarah said, suppressing a smile. Surely it would be more fun than dolls at Becka’s age.

Interest sparked in the young girl’s eyes and for a moment Sarah thought she would say yes. Then her shoulder’s drooped as she remembered her role as the unjustly imprisoned. “Nah,” she said, turning back to her doll. “I’ll just stay here.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Sarah said, rising from the bed. “Would you mind if I tried it out?”

Becka shrugged, presumably in the affirmative. Then as Sarah was leaving she said so softly it was almost a whisper, “Thanks, anyway.”

Sarah slowly shut the door. Poor kid.

She walked back down the hall to the little room off the living room—or the loungeroom, as Luke called it—that served as an office. Sarah skimmed the titles in the bookshelves lining one wall. Among the volumes on cattle breeding and animal husbandry were a surprising number of books on the geology, botany, zoology and natural history of Queensland.

Along another wall stood a tall wooden chest with many narrow drawers. What was in Luke’s drawers? She grinned at her own pun, but although she was curious about what the chest might contain, the lure of the computer was stronger.

She booted it up, admiring the speed at which it went through its paces. The PC was state-of-the-art and loaded with software. In spite of Luke’s disavowal of the Internet there was even a modem. Regardless of his financial constraints, he’d spared no expense for Becka’s link with the world. For that Sarah thought he deserved a medal. And if he’d learn how to use it himself, he would surely see there were benefits for the station, as well.

But Luke wasn’t kidding when he said he hadn’t ventured into cyberspace. Tsk, tsk. A modem and no Internet connection. She searched the cluttered desk beside the computer, found a phone book and rang up the nearest service provider. She paid for a year’s connection with her credit card and asked for the software to be couriered care of Murrum general delivery. Aside from helping Luke and Becka, if she could get on the Internet she could look up agoraphobia and hopefully find out how to help herself.

Satisfied with her morning’s work, she shut the computer down and repaired to the kitchen for another blah cup of coffee. The phone rang while she was waiting for the water to boil. “Hello?”

“Good morning,” said a cultured masculine voice. “This is Professor Winter, from Australia National University in Canberra. May I speak with Luke?”

“He’s not in at the moment,” Sarah replied. Now, why would a professor be calling Luke? “Can I take a message?”

“Please ask him to call me back on this number….”

Sarah wrote the number down on a pad of paper beside the phone. She’d barely hung up, when she heard boots on the veranda. Luke came in, glanced at her and hung his hat on a row of pegs that already held a bridle, a rope and a coiled, short-handled stock whip as well as several other beat-up felt hats. “Two rules about hats,” he said. “Never wear them in the house. And never go outside without one.”

“I’ll remember that. Oh, a Professor Winter just called. His number’s on the notepad.”

“Thanks. I’ll ring him later.” He crossed to the sink and scrubbed his hands.

She eyed him, mildly frustrated. He not only had no intention of satisfying her curiosity about Professor Winter, he wasn’t even aware she was suffering from it. Heck, he barely seemed aware of her existence. She sighed. It was probably just as well, since there was no possibility of anything but a business relationship between them. “Do you have ground coffee, by any chance?”

“Not worth the bother to make real coffee for one.”

Huh? Coffee was always worth bothering about. Then again, she wasn’t looking after forty thousand acres and fifteen hundred head of cattle single-handedly.

“That’s an excellent computer you’ve got there. I’ve signed you up for the Internet.”

Luke, at the open fridge door, glanced over his shoulder so quickly a lock of sun-streaked hair fell over one eye. “What’s that going to cost?”

“Don’t worry, it’s my treat.”

His jaw stiffened. “I’ll pay you back.”