Outback Fire

As they were speaking Athol McFarlane appeared at the top of the central staircase then came very slowly down towards them. He was leaning very heavily on his stick but Luke and Noni knew better than to go to his assistance. The Major scorned help. He was independent to a fault.

“Well, Luke,” he boomed, and his gaunt face lit up. “Come tell me all about your day. Noni has been fussing for hours lining up all the things you like to eat.”

“She spoils me,” Luke grinned, knowing it was true.

“And you’re worth every bit of it.” The Major nodded his thatched grey head that once had had Storm’s raven sheen. “You’ve been the greatest help to me these past years. Devotion and dedication. Not a lot of men are as capable of it as you, son. You keep bringing your dad to mind. A splendid man. Not that I had any illusions he wouldn’t have wanted to strike out for himself one day. With my blessing, mind, but that was not to be.” Athol McFarlane’s expression grew grave and introspective. “Come along now into the study. You might have to fly over to Kingston at the end of the week. About time to pay them a surprise visit. Noni will let us know when dinner is ready.”

“Will do, Major,” Noni gave a comic little salute and made off for the kitchen, thanking God Luke was around to ease the Major’s pain and loneliness.

Above the fireplace in the Major’s book-and-trophy-lined study hung a painting of Storm. It had been commissioned on the eve of her twenty-first birthday. He found himself looking up at it with a brooding silence. No lavish ball gown for Storm. No deep décolletage that would have shown off her beautiful shoulders and breasts. But the painting, like Storm, compelled attention. She was wearing riding clothes, white silk shirt and close-fitting beige mole-skins, a fancy belt with a heavy silver-and-opal studded buckle she had designed herself around her narrow waist. Her long black hair was blowing free, her head slightly profiled, skin luminous, her almond-shaped eyes the same rich emerald-green as the bandanna that was knotted carelessly around her throat. One beautiful long-fingered hand was on her hip, and the other clasped a white akubra with a wide snakeskin band. How many times had he seen her stand like that? Maybe a thousand. As a background the artist had used the wonderful colourations of the desert; the cloudless cobalt-blue sky, the purple hills, the gleaming gold of the spinifex dotting the red ochre plains. The setting lent the painting a kind of monumentality. The young woman up there looked so vivid, so real he had the sense she could very easily step from the frame.

Into his arms?

And then?

He never saw it without getting an erotic charge. He was under no illusion Storm couldn’t move him powerfully. Nothing easy or relaxed about it. Blinding pleasure and sometimes more than its fair share of sexual hostility.

The Major, observing Luke quietly but intently, took his usual seat waiting for the young man to join him. “Could I ask you something very personal, Luke,” Athol McFarlane queried, meeting that direct sapphire gaze.

“Sure, Major, as long as you leave Storm out of it,” Luke returned deadpan.

McFarlane laughed. “What impresses me most about you two is neither of you can find anyone else while the other’s around.”

Luke, taken by surprise, didn’t answer immediately. “You’re suggesting a love-hate?”

“More often than not it’s Storm waging the war,” McFarlane answered ruefully. “I would have thought she’d be long over it by now.”

“She’ll never be over it,” Luke answered, a mite tightly.

“I can’t accept that,” the Major growled. “I want to see her, Luke.” It came out far more plaintively than he ever intended.

Luke stared across the table, perturbed by the Major’s tone. “What’s up? What’s the matter? I wish you’d confide in me.”

“Nothing to confide,” McFarlane lied. He wanted desperately to tell Luke he was dying but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t even tell Storm. “I’m just feeling tired and old and lonely except for you,” he evaded. “You’re my adopted son, Luke. You know that.”

“If there was anything badly wrong you’d tell me?” There was a serious almost stern expression in Luke’s face.

“Sure I would.” McFarlane tried to lighten that gaze.

“Why don’t I believe that? I’m here to help you, Major.”

The Major responded by grasping Luke’s forearm. “Don’t you think I know that, son? But it’s four months at least since Storm was here.”

Four months, one week and three days. “She leads a full life,” Luke pointed out. “Even I’ve picked up the magazines Noni leaves lying around the place. She’s beautiful, gifted, she has a fine family name. It’s only to be expected she’d get invited everywhere. And she has her work. Her commissions.”

“She could do them here.” The Major’s heavy eyebrows drew together. “I’ve offered many times to convert a couple of rooms into a studio, workshop, whatever she wants. God knows there are enough rooms empty.”

“Have you told her how you feel?” Luke asked.

McFarlane sighed. “Yes.” It wasn’t strictly true. He always played hardy when she rang.

“And she still won’t come?” It was hard to keep the censure out of his voice. Storm had plenty of time for parties and all the social functions.

“Maybe I haven’t asked the right way.” McFarlane dropped his gaze evasively, sighing heavily.

“You must know it’s on account of me.”

“I don’t accept that, Luke.” McFarlane shook his head.

“I think you might have to, Major,” Luke countered knowing the Major had been living with the fiction one day he and Storm would get together. God, could you believe it? “Storm has always seen me as the usurper,” he added with quiet force, opening up his own wounds.

“Rubbish! That’s irrational.” The Major’s protest was overloud.

“Aren’t human beings irrational when their deepest emotions are involved?” Luke held the Major’s gaze until he blinked.

“You’re a man of integrity, Luke,” McFarlane said. “Storm knows that in her deepest being.”

Luke’s expression became sombre as he studied the other man’s gaunt face, thin body and arms. “Would you like me to go to Sydney and fetch her?”

McFarlane looked up quickly. “You’re far too busy to do that,” he protested but his face brightened and he squared his shoulders.

“Everything is in hand,” Luke pointed out. “I’ve got Sandy well trained. He can stand in for me for a day of two. Of course if you want me to check out Kingston?” Luke referred to a Winding River’s outstation.

“It can wait,” McFarlane said without a second thought.

“Actually it can. I’ve got the situation sorted out. Webb was the troublemaker.”

McFarlane scarcely heard, his voice picking up strength. “When will you go?” Luke studied him. It sounded as if time was of the essence.

“When would you want me to go?” Luke watched him carefully, evaluating the change.

“What about Friday?”

The day after tomorrow. Luke’s mind worked overtime. The Major hid his desperation well but Luke sensed, no knew, there was something terribly wrong. He wished he could talk to Tom Skinner, the Major’s doctor. Get things straight, but the Major would never forgive him for going behind his back. He had tried to get something out of Tom, to little avail. Whatever the true state of McFarlane’s health the file was confidential. But there was the evidence of his own eyes. The Major was a sick man. He knew it. Storm knew it. Where the hell was she? Surely her concern for her father would outweigh every other consideration? Her long-running cold war with him?

“So?” McFarlane asked as the young man opposite him fell silent.

“No problem!” Luke flashed his white smile. The smile everyone waited for. “I won’t let Storm know I’m coming in case she jumps town, though I will check to see she’s in residence.”

“What about young Carla?” the Major suddenly sidetracked.

“You could give me a clue?” Luke drawled, not wanting to discuss Carla.

“Dammit, Luke, you know what I mean. You and Carla used to be close. Is it still on?”

Luke picked up a paperweight and palmed it. “On and off. Carla and I are friends.” He set the crystal paperweight down.

‘You’re a darn sight more to her than that, my boy,” the Major scoffed. “I’ve got eyes. The girl is head over heels in love with you. Her dad would be thrilled to have you for a son-in-law. Like me he only has a daughter to inherit.”

Luke, a generation younger, was very much attuned to women’s issues. “Don’t underestimate Carla,” he said. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She knows the business as well as her dad. She could take over.”

The Major shrugged. “It’s too hard a life for a woman, Luke. You know that. It’s tough, dangerous and you want a man as boss. Even Storm realises that. Accidents happen all the time around stations especially remote ones like ours. What woman is willing to put herself through that? I’m only trying to find out what the position is with you and Carla.”

“Why exactly?” Luke asked, with a look of dry humour.

The Major blew up. “Hell, son, you’re as close-lipped as I am. I care about you, that’s why. I like Carla, too. She’s a smart girl and a looker but I think you can do better.”

“Such as Storm?” Luke asked directly.

“Surely you can understand that,” McFarlane asked. “Your lives are entwined. No matter what, there’s that bond. Nothing in this world would make me happier than to see you and Storm together.”

Luke gave a hollow laugh, his eyes drawn to Storm’s portrait. “It would take an eternity for Storm and I to patch up our differences,” he said thinking Storm’s childhood had been damaged by the desperate need to be the only one in her father’s life. She should have had brothers and sisters. She should have had anyone, except him. In his own way, without warning, the Major had set them both up.

Now the Major was saying very seriously, “I know Storm has given you a rough time—and you’ve let her. She’s the only one who could get away with it, but she knows your worth. She knows, Luke, even if it would kill her to admit it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Luke quipped. “It’s just a dream of yours, Major. An impossible dream.”

“But you care about her?” McFarlane challenged. “You can’t look me in the eye and tell me you don’t. I know you too well.”

“Then you’d know I would never waste time wanting a woman who didn’t want me,” Luke said emphatically. What the hell else was he doing if not that?

“Just bring her home, Luke,” McFarlane begged with overwhelming intensity. “That’s all I ask. If there’s a God in his heaven he’ll make things come right.”

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS getting on towards late afternoon before he touched down at Sydney’s light aircraft terminal taking a cab into the city where he booked into a hotel. Storm herself had rung her father only the night before, in the course of the conversation letting it be known she wasn’t going out of town that weekend. She was to be chief bridesmaid to Sara Lambert, a young woman the Major knew from her occasional visits to the station. Luke knew Sara, too. At one stage she’d had quite a crush on him that mercifully passed. So with any luck he would find Storm at home. Or if she did happen to go out for the evening, which he was sure she would, he would sit it out until she arrived back. In a curious way he realised he was elated at the thought of seeing her again. A good idea to check the hype now. Storm could be in one of her moods. Moods or not he was certain of one thing. This time she was coming back with him before something bad happened.

When he arrived at her seriously up-market apartment block he had no difficulty getting past security. The man at the desk knew him after seeing him a few times in company with Storm and the Major. In fact the man appeared to think he was Storm’s brother.

“Go right up, Mr. McFarlane,” he said breezily. “I saw Miss McFarlane come in a couple of hours ago. Didn’t see her go out, though I’ve been away from the desk on and off.”

He waved his thanks and moved towards the lift amusing himself by thinking Storm most probably would be overjoyed to see him.

As it turned out Storm wasn’t in but a very smart-looking older woman dressed in a blue suit emerged from the adjoining apartment to tell him Storm had left for a party at the Drysdales.

“You know them?” She must have been bored because she looked as if she was ready for a chat.

“Heard of them certainly,” he replied. Every year the Drysdales made The Rich List. “I’m here on an errand for Storm’s father.” He smiled.

“Then you’ll be waiting a long time,” the woman said almost flirtatiously. “Those parties go on all night. Then there’s Sara Lambert’s wedding tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know Sara,” he said, unaware he was frowning.

“Look here, why don’t you simply turn up?” the woman said. “I’m sure the Drysdales won’t mind. Not if you’re a friend of Storm’s. They adore her.”

“Who doesn’t?” he said with the faintest edge of irony.

“You know Storm obviously.” The woman’s bright eyes were agog.

“I grew up with her.” He told her casually, then lest she got the wrong impression: “I’m the overseer on the McFarlane station, Winding River.”

The woman stared at him as if transfixed. “Really? It must keep you very busy?”

“It does. I don’t have a lot of time. I should fly back tomorrow. Sunday by the latest.”

“So go along to the party,” the woman suggested, sensing his urgency.

“What, in this?” He pulled at the sleeve of his leather bomber jacket.

“My dear, you look marvellous,” the woman breathed and gave him the address.

The Drysdale mansion was right on Sydney harbour, which was to say on one of the most beautiful sites in the world. The imposing Italianate-style house with matching landscape grounds was ablaze with lights. There again he had no difficulty in gaining entrance. Like a gift from heaven, Sara Lambert, Storm’s friend, had been invited to the party. They caught sight of each other as they approached the massive wrought-iron gates, open but flanked either side by attendants to vet the guests.

No male was dressed casually as he was. They either wore dinner jackets or well-tailored suits. Sara didn’t appear to take much note of that. She rushed to his side, grabbing hold of his arm.

“Why Luke!” she carolled. “How lovely to see you! It’s been ages and ages.”

“Sara.” He bent to brush her flushed cheek. “Your big day tomorrow. I wish you every happiness.”

She beamed up at him, a very attractive blonde with sky-blue eyes. “I’d have sent you an invitation only you might have put me off going through with it,” she said roguishly. “Only fooling. I love my Michael.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Storm didn’t tell me you were coming tonight?” She took his arm affectionately, as though they were the greatest of friends.

“Actually, Sara, she doesn’t know.”

The blue eyes rounded. “You can’t be serious?”

“I’m absolutely serious. I’m here on behalf of her father. Literally a flying visit. The Major’s not well.”

“Oh!” Sara kept moving toward the gates where an attendant smiled and nodded to her then let them through. Easy as that! “I’m so sorry. I do know the Major has ongoing problems with his leg. Storm keeps me informed. A lovely man, the Major.”

“I think so.”

“And he thinks the world of you,” Sara told him warmly.

“Unlike Storm,” he said in an easy, languid drawl that masked a lot of hurt.

Sara laughed. “Maybe she’s in denial. You two go back a long way.”

“That we do.” He left it at that.

Moving in line, they were almost at the front door: Luke without an invitation, Sara waving to other couples who had not yet worked their way into the house.

“I really don’t think I should go in, Sara,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind telling Storm I’m here? I’d like to speak to her for a few moments, then I’ll be off.”

“Oh for God’s sake, stay!” Sara turned up her face to him, tightening her hold on his arm. “You’re going to have to tell me what’s been happening in your life. How’s your girlfriend, Carla?”

“She’s fine. I won’t go in, Sara,” he said firmly. “Apart from the fact I wasn’t invited, I don’t look the part.” Not that he cared but he was old-fashioned enough not to want to gate-crash.

For an instant there was the same old hero worship in Sara’s tone. “You look terrific! Like an ad for Calvin Klein. Great jeans and a cool leather jacket go anywhere.”

Despite his wishes they were somehow through the grand double doors urged on by the press of guests to the rear. The entrance hall to his eyes was overly resplendent, more like the foyer of some sumptuous European hotel. Huge, even allowing for the swirl of laughing, chattering guests, all beautifully dressed, the women flashing spectacular jewellery. He presumed the handsome middle-aged couple in the centre were the Drysdales; something Sara immediately confirmed.

He moved back, to one side, taking Sara with him. “If you could just find Storm. I’d appreciate it.”

Sara all but ignored him. “Don’t you want to meet Stephanie and Gill?” she asked.

“Oh God! I think I’m about to,” he said, watching the hosts break away from their other guests and walk towards them, looking highly interested.

“Sara, darling!” Stephanie Drysdale cried.

Lots of Euro kisses.

“This is Luke,” Sara offered brightly. “Luke Branagan. He’s Athol McFarlane’s right hand man. Storm’s father.”

“Of course!” The hosts, husband and wife started to beam. Handshakes all round.

“Forgive me for gate-crashing your party,” Luke smiled, “if only momentarily. I’m in Sydney to see Storm. I have a message for her from her father. It won’t take long but it’s important. Hence the flying visit. I’m needed back on the station. The Major hasn’t been well.”

“Nothing serious I hope?” Stephanie Drysdale asked, waiting on the answer.

“His health is a matter of concern, Mrs. Drysdale,” he said.

“Well we must get Storm for you.” Stephanie Drysdale turned to her husband. “Gill, why don’t you show Mr. Branagan into the study while I find Storm. You’ll want to be private.” She hesitated a moment. “Are you going on anywhere else this evening, Mr. Branagan?” she asked.

“Luke, please.” He gave her a smile. “I might catch a movie while I’m in town.”

“Goodness! In that case we’d love you to stay.” She flashed a glance at her husband, who nodded his handsome head in agreement. Sara, too, smiled excitedly.

“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” he pointed out amusedly, glancing down at his jeans and high boots.

“Don’t worry about that. You look fine.” Actually Stephanie Drysdale was thinking she had never seen a man looking so utterly divine.

Gilbert Drysdale led him off to the study while his wife and Sara went in search of Storm. Guests were wandering around everywhere, champagne glasses in hand, laughing, talking, relaxed. They continued through one of the opulent reception rooms along a corridor until they came to the darkened study.

Drysdale switched on the lights, illuminating a very functional, very masculine room in complete contrast to the rest of the house. Gracious like his wife, Drysdale stayed on for a moment to ask more of Athol McFarlane’s health then he excused himself saying he had better get back to his guests. Luke took an armchair, upholstered in a rich dark green leather, allowing his eyes to wander casually around the room, his mind preoccupied with this coming meeting. Four long months since he’d seen Storm. It felt like years. Sick of her, sick with her. Hell it was like a disease!

He heard the tap of her high heels along the corridor, an excitement in itself as he forcefully inhaled a lungful of breath. She was there! Sweeping into the room in a cloud of some beautiful elusive perfume that made him flare his nostrils, a subtle blend of gardenia, orange blossom, freesia? What would a man know? What would a mere male know about the miracle of Woman? She bedazzled him in her sexy little sequined top in lime-green with a long side split ruffled skirt that had to be chiffon over silk, the tiny green iridescent beads that were sewn all over it catching the light. Her thick raven tresses were dressed more elaborately than he had yet seen, the volume increased so it winged back from her forehead and cheeks and spilt over her bare shoulders. Knowing her so well, he could see she had gone pale, her green eyes glittering like the emeralds she wore in her ears.

So near, yet so far! She made his head reel and she was using up his life.

“Luke, what is it? What’s the matter?” she asked urgently, closing the study door behind her and leaning back against it.

It was quite a pose, a sizzler, but he knew it was unconscious. “Hi there, Storm,” he said, getting slowly to his feet. “I’m really happy to see you, too. No need to panic. Your father sent me.”

She could hardly speak for her surprise. Luke, as handsome, as inflammable as ever. “About what? Has he taken ill?” Though her heart quickened with fright, it came out like a challenge.

“You mean you didn’t know?” he clipped off, his mood darkening. “Your father has been ill for years.”

She couldn’t bear the censure in his beautiful blue eyes. “I only spoke to him last night. He was perfectly all right then.”

He could feel the familiar tension invading his body. “Don’t be absurd, Storm. His leg gives him hell as you know.”

That had its effect, too. “What are you accusing me of, Luke?’ she asked heatedly, wondering if their clashes were to be repeated forever.

“Well, now we’re on the subject, I’m accusing you of neglect.”

She flushed, the upsurge of colour increasing her beauty. “Don’t you always pick the right words,” she said bleakly. “I love my father. I ring him regularly.”

“But you don’t visit.”

She shook back her long hair. The overhead light had burnished the ebony waves with purple. “I have a career, Luke. Can’t you understand? I have commissions I must complete. And I get them from people with the money to afford them. Like the people who are here tonight. I just can’t rush off at a moment’s notice.”

He looked at her unsmilingly. “Well you’re going to have to. Your father wants you home. I think you should come.”

She laughed. It was almost certainly not humorous. “You think…you think. Oh, yes, you decide what’s best.”

“Don’t start,” he begged. “I’ve had just about enough. You know and I know that you stay away because of me.”

“How you kid yourself!” The truth didn’t lessen the pain.

“I don’t. You can’t put anything over me. I’m not your father to be wound around your little finger. Busy or not I want you to come back with me. You have the wedding tomorrow, but Sunday.”

She stared at him, absorbing the aura of power that surrounded him. “You can’t be serious?”

“I’m always serious with you. Your father wants you.”

Anxiety was like a knife against her heart but she knew her father. He thought bringing her home was his right. Twenty-seven and he still treated her like a child. “It can’t be that serious, Luke. He would have told me.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“So you’re calling the shots now?” She was as defensive as ever. There was so much bottled up inside her it might never get out.

“I always act in the interests of your father. It’s over four months since you’ve seen him. I have to tell you he’s gone downhill since then.”

“Oh God!” She all but swayed into a chair, the slit in her long skirt revealing one long, slender leg. “I ring him every week without fail. Why does he never say anything? Why is everything so secret?”

“You know your father,” Luke sighed. “He plays it close to the chest. Besides the last thing he wants to do is cause you anxiety.”

“And what about you?” There was the pain again. Not jealousy. Rejection. “You’re always there aren’t you? He has you to confide in.”

“Well he doesn’t,” Luke responded curtly, all the feeling he had about her cruelly twisting. “I tried to speak to Tom Skinner but Tom clams up.”