Outback Wives Wanted!

Guy was still standing in front of the painting when Alana flew down the staircase.

“There—what did I tell you? A few minutes!” she announced breathlessly.

He let his eyes rest on her, aware of a powerful desire to reach for her, fold her in his arms, let what might happen, happen. Instead he said lightly, “You look like you’ve had a shower.” She was wearing different clothes—a red tank top and beige shorts that showed off her long beautiful legs. Her honey-blonde hair was damp, little tendrils curling around her hairline like golden petals.

Her face lit up with a smile so beautiful it took his breath. “Just a quick one. In and out. Come through to the kitchen,” she invited, almost dancing ahead. “You like that painting of Kieran’s, don’t you?” she asked over her shoulder. The delicious scent of boronia wafted to him in her wake. Probably the soap she had used. No wonder that new shearer was drooling over her. Was there ever such a bloom on a woman?

“Kieran might be on the wrong track, sticking to wool production,” he risked saying. “He has it in him to be a very fine artist. To make it his career.”

Alana considered that quietly. “Of course he has,” she agreed, very proud of her brother’s outstanding ability. “Do you think I haven’t told him that? And I’m sure Alex is tired of telling him. I think they had a big bust-up about it.”

“When was this?” He frowned.

She met his eyes. “I have an idea Kieran might have taken to looking in on Alex whenever he’s in Sydney. They could have made up, but if they have he’s not saying. He goes there a lot at the weekends. He was there recently.”

“And he doesn’t tell you if he sees her?” Guy’s frown deepened.

“Kieran plays his cards very close to his chest when it comes to your beautiful sister,” Alana said. “There was a time they were close, but then she moved away, and now Roger Westcott is always in the picture. Alex will never be short of men in love with her. But the specific occasion I’m referring to was last Easter, when we were all in Sydney for the Royal National. They were feinting around one another like a couple of boxers.”

“Don’t they always?” Guy asked laconically. “Over the years both of them seem to have built up an impenetrable wall. Now, can I help you with anything?”

Alana laughed. “Please sit down. I’m not short, but you tower over me.”

“Kieran and I are of a height,” he pointed out reasonably, pulling out a chair. “Your dad is a big man.”

“That’s all very well, but you’re different somehow. Kieran started painting just after Mum died, when the pain was almost too much to bear. He’s very artistic, like Mum. She always used to encourage him with his drawing, from when we were kids. Kieran can draw anything. He’s marvellous with trees. A few strokes and he’s created a whole hillside of eucalypts.”

“Alex is right. He’s brilliant.”

“Hey, I’m right too,” she reminded him, pausing in what she was doing. “I know good art when I see it, thank you, Guy.”

“Of course you do.” His tone soothed. “It’s one of the reasons I admire you. You’re getting to be a woman for all seasons. All of us are right about Kieran, but Alex is the one in an ideal position to help him.”

Alana’s expression was sad. “Kieran doesn’t want to be helped, Guy.”

“What does your dad think?”

Alana set out cups, saucers and plates from her mother’s best Royal Doulton dinner set. This was Guy Radcliffe, after all. “Dad does his best to understand, but he can’t critique Kieran’s work. He can’t relate to abstract depictions. He doesn’t want to see the soul of a tree, or the spirit of the bush. He wants photographic realism. Dad is a bit out of his depth with art. He’d be the first to admit it. What do you want to talk to him about?” She changed the subject to what was really on her mind. “He hasn’t borrowed money off you, has he?” She was very fearful he had.

Guy looked back at her directly. “I thought we’d agreed it was a private matter?”

“You know everything—we’re in a lot of trouble,” she said bitterly.

“If your father needs help, I’ll give it to him,” Guy responded. “Are you going to put the coffee on?” “You’re here to give orders, are you?” “No, only trying to be helpful.”

“Dad has put his whole life into Briar’s Ridge,” she said, doing just as he suggested. “We were doing just fine until Mum died. Since then, of course, Dad has made a few really bad mistakes.”

Guy knew about all of them. “Forgive him for them, Alana. Grief is a terrible thing. The mind doesn’t function as well as it should.”

“I do forgive him,” she said, flashing her beautiful glittery eyes at Guy. “He’s my father. I love him. But Kieran and I know we may be forced to sell if we don’t do well at the coming sales. The two of us have poured so much hard work into the place—” She broke off to look at him. “I had an idea we could do something like Morgan Creek, in the next valley. What do you think?” She had intended talking to Guy about this at some stage—why not now?

“You mean offer day trips to a working station? Show tourists and visitors the ropes, let them learn about our oldest and biggest industry, give them a great barbecue lunch, let them enjoy whip cracking and boomerang-throwing and then send them on their way?”

“I’m ready to try my hand at it.”

“Alana, you’re ready to try your hand at anything,” he said, rather quellingly.

“Like Superwoman?” Her response was sharper than she intended.

“You already work far too hard. Have you given any thought as to how you’re going to fund it?” he challenged.

She gave him a look that was hurt and disgusted. “Guy, we have to fight to save this place.”

He saw behind her aggression to the pain. “Maybe your father has lost the will to fight?” he said gently. “Maybe Kieran would like a crack at another life? And you? What about you, Alana? Are you going to fight to save Briar’s Ridge, and then settle down some place else? You’ll marry. I’d be surprised if you weren’t married by this time next year.”

That made Alana grit her teeth. “Are you nuts?”

He laughed. “I can’t believe someone else hasn’t ever suggested it.”

She waved that fact away. “If you mention Simon, I tell you, you’re on very dangerous ground.”

“In that case I’d better back off. I’m fond of my cousin, Alana, but no way is he a match for you. You like bossing everyone around.”

It took her half a minute to see he was teasing. “I have to confess to bossing Simon,” she said wryly. “But in my own defence I had to do it. If you’re so fond of him, why don’t you get him away from his mother?”

Guy looked back with his usual calm concentration. “Alana, I could get him away from Rebecca—but it would take a miracle to get him away from you. Simon has invested everything in you. I don’t mean this unkindly, but he’s rather like your favourite Border Collie, Monty. He’s one-woman loyal. You’re Simon’s dearest friend, his greatest interest in life—his only love.”

She slumped into the chair opposite him, unaware that the oval neck of her tank top had dipped into her lovely young cleavage. “Once upon a time I would never have believed you. Now I think it’s scary. Simon can’t channel all his love into me. Suppose I fall in love with someone? Suppose Dad has to sell the farm and we have to move away? Suppose I die? People get killed all the time. We know that better than most people. He can’t love me. Besides, his mother wouldn’t stand for it. She’s drilled it into him that she doesn’t even approve of me as a friend. I know she’s a relative of sorts, but she’s a horrible woman. She’s all but broken Simon’s spirit.”

“Then he ought to hit on some motto—like Be A Man. Simon has to develop a little backbone, Alana,” he offered crisply, wondering if Simon had ever worked up enough courage to kiss her.

“That’s all very well for you to say. Simon is scared of his mother.” She hesitated a moment, then soldiered on, “You know Rose quite likes Simon …”

The brackets around his mouth deepened in amusement. “I can see the wheels turning in your golden head. But you can’t play matchmaker.”

“Why don’t you try your hand at it, then?” she shot back. “You’re so highly successful at everything you do.”

“Okay!” He leaned back, considering, linking his strong tanned arms behind his crow-black head. “Why don’t I show a little interest in you?” he suggested.

The expression on Alana’s face abruptly changed. “What? Pretend a romantic in … ter … est?” She stumbled over the word.

“Why make it sound like there’s more chance of getting struck by lightning?” His tone mocked. “Surely it wouldn’t be all that difficult? You’re a smart girl.”

“Men don’t like smart girls,” she said bluntly.

‘Ah, yes, but you’re as beautiful as a dream. That helps.”

Her eyes looked frightened. “Would you like to walk that by me again? I’m beautiful?”

“Would you settle for sexy?”

His gaze tantalised her. “Thanks, but no, thanks, Guy.” She whirled up from her chair. “I’ll do anything in the world for Simon except fall in love with you.”

Kieran was greeted by the incomparable aroma of rich, dark roasted coffee. Alana had made a stack of sandwiches that looked really good, as well as producing a plate of triple chocolate brownies she had made only the night before. Alana was a good cook. Their mother had seen to that. The brownies were a favourite with their father, who nowadays mostly preferred to drink than eat.

Kieran poured himself a cup of coffee, then sat down beside his sister. The pair of them were so golden they delighted the eye. “It’s good to see you, Guy.” Kieran spoke with warm sincerity. “You don’t get over often enough.”

“Things will start to slacken off as winter approaches,” Guy said. “I was admiring your new landscape in the hallway. It’s quite something.”

“It’s yours!” Kieran declared, strong white teeth biting into a ham sandwich with relish.

It was just as Guy had expected. “I’d be very happy to own it, Kieran, but I’m speaking to you as a buyer. I’d like to pay for it.”

Kieran shook his leonine mane. “That’s not going to happen. You’ve been too good to us, Guy.”

“Could you elaborate on that?” Alana looked quickly from one to the other.

“Haven’t you noticed all the nice things I do?” Guy told her smoothly. “I’ve lent you various equipment from time to time. I’ve sent wine, table grapes, our very best extra virgin olive oil. I’ve given Kieran here plenty of advice when he’s asked.”

Kieran spread his arms wide. “You’re brilliant, Guy. No wonder Lana’s little puppy dog Simon calls you The Man. If you like the painting, Guy, it’s yours. I can knock up another one.”

But Guy was minded to be serious. “You know you have a considerable gift?”

Kieran’s smiling face sobered. “My talent for painting won’t keep Briar’s Ridge going, Guy. You know that.”

“But your talent for painting might carry you far.”

“You sound just like Alex.” Kieran gulped rather than sipped at his steaming hot coffee. “If Alex had her way I’d be mounting an exhibition before the end of the year. She’s guaranteed me a sell-out.”

“Alex knows what she’s talking about,” Guy pointed out, in his quiet, authoritative voice. “She can help you.”

Kieran kept silent.

How mysterious were the connections of the heart, Guy thought.

Alana looked across the table, feeling bewildered. “Do you two know something I don’t?”

Guy managed a lazy smile. “Lots of things I expect.”

Kieran too grinned. The smiles didn’t fool her. Alana turned to her brother. “Are we in deeper than you’ve told me?” she asked, sounding worried.

“We’ll know more after the sales, Lana.” Kieran picked up another sandwich.

She drew a quick breath. “I’ve spoken to Guy about my idea of turning Briar’s Ridge into a show farm, like Morgan Creek.”

Kieran glanced across the wide pine table at Guy, then back at his sister. “Lana, we’ve been over this. It might work with a big influx of money, but even if by some miracle we could borrow it, Dad wouldn’t sit still for it. You know that. He wouldn’t want people wandering around the property. He’d hate it.”

“So we go under? Is that it?” She blinked furiously, amazed she was so emotional these days.

Kieran laid an arm around his sister’s shoulders. “We haven’t gone under yet, kiddo!” Brother and sister stayed that way for a moment, then Kieran rose, pocketing a couple of brownies. “That was great. Just what I needed.” He looked at Guy with his extraordinarily blue eyes. “Dad’s in the Second Paddock, if you want to find him. We’re supposed to have a meeting with Bob Turner at three.” Bob Turner was the local wool representative. “Want me to drop you out there?”

Guy shook his head. “I won’t keep you. I know you’ve got plenty on your hands. Any of the other locals been around yet?” he asked. The local wool growers usually turned up to check out the quality of their neighbours’ clip.

Brother and sister nodded golden heads in unison. “Harry Ainsworth and Jack Humphrey,” Kieran said. “The stack’s growing, but it’s nothing like our best quality. Dad is disappointed, though he really should have been expecting it. I’m keen to see what’s happening on Wangaree.”

Wangaree’s clip always attracted enormous interest. At the important wool sales in Sydney buyers representing the leading woollen mills and the famous fashion houses of the world usually found their clip close to perfection, which meant Guy had a good idea of what Wangaree’s clip would bring even before it was auctioned off. No matter the slump in prices, wool of the quality produced by Wangaree could be eagerly snapped up.

“Why don’t we make it one day next week?” Guy suggested. “The clip will have grown even taller by then. It’s superfine, and unbelievably white. Bring Alana. Stay to lunch. Your father is very welcome too, but I’ll speak to him myself when I drive out to see him.”

Kieran moved off with the grace of a trained athlete. “That’ll be great! By the way, I meant what I said about the painting. It’s yours. I refuse to take money for it.”

“Then I’ll just have to find another way to pay you back,” Guy called after him. “I’ll have it framed.”

“Sure.” Kieran waved a hand. “I couldn’t run to a frame. Good ones cost the earth.”

“After which I’ll hang it in a prominent place at the house,” Guy promised. “In the years to come I’ll be able to say, Yes, that’s a Callaghan. He’s a good friend of mine. I was one of the lucky ones. I got in on the ground floor.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THINGS didn’t go well for Briar’s Ridge at the sales. Brother and sister sat together at the Wool Exchange in a tense silence as wool worth millions and millions of dollars was sold off. The market was down. No big surprise. Everyone had anticipated that. But mercifully it kicked up quite a bit when the first of the Wangaree Valley clip came up for sale.

“This is awful—the waiting.” Alana was so anxious she felt sick to her stomach.

“Listen, it’s not that bad.” Kieran, nervous himself, but hiding it extremely well, tried to comfort her, even though he had the gut-wrenching feeling it was going to be. This sale represented twelve months’ growth of wool and a hell of a lot of hard work from him and Alana. They had virtually carried their father, once such a dynamo.

Wangaree’s clip, one of the star attractions of the sale, was recognised as superb. Everyone in the Valley had seen it, marvelling at the quality. Another top producer from the adjoining State of Victoria had called it perfection. Guy’s comment had been, “It’s better than that. It’s damned good!” One didn’t hear him say that all that often. Guy wasn’t one to commit himself, but the Exchange was abuzz with excitement. People in the know were predicting a record price for Wangaree’s clip, and as a spin-off maybe others in the Valley.

If she turned her head she would be able to see him, Alana thought. He was sitting with the top people of the industry. In his group would be her uncle Charles—her mother’s brother, Charles Denby. Uncle Charles was as good as a stranger to her and Kieran, though their resemblance to their Denby mother was most apparent. In fact, Uncle Charles was so remote he mightn’t have been their relative at all. It was no secret he had been deeply shocked when his beautiful sister, Annabel, the apple of everyone’s eye, had married a struggling sheep farmer, an Irishman, “rough diamond” Alan Callaghan. And Denby brother and sister had been near enough estranged since the day of the wedding, which unhappily no Denby had attended. A lasting wound.

The three Denby sisters, Violette, Lilli and Rose, dressed to kill and turning heads, fresh from a splendid lunch at one of Sydney’s top restaurants, had been present at the inspection earlier, but two had since disappeared—most likely to hit the fashion boutiques. Only Violette remained with her father and—need it be said?—Guy. Violette wouldn’t want to miss out on the Denby sales, let alone miss the frenzy of bidding when Wangaree’s clip came up.

“I’m glad Dad’s not here,” Alana sighed, her spirits wilting. Their father had been too nervous to come. Once upon a time he had been right in the thick of it, so proud of having his beautiful wife and family beside him, receiving handshakes and congratulations when his sale prices were good.

An hour later Wangaree’s lot came up. It was sold, as predicted, in the blink of an eye, once again to a leading European fashion house. Italian designers had a wonderful way of mixing wool with silk. Alana loved the top designers, their work cut and tailored by people whose ancestors had been handling the finest fabrics for hundreds of years. She remembered how her untrained mother had cut and woven fabric so it fell into the most beautiful soft folds.

By four o’clock the sale was over, with hundreds of lots having gone under the hammer. Alana and Kieran, though heartsore over Briar’s Ridge’s downspiralling fortunes, remained behind to shake Guy’s hand. All eyes were on him as he stood in the centre of the floor, surrounded by prominent people within the industry, head and shoulders above most of them, clearly The Man. Simon had been spot on when he had found this name for his illustrious cousin.

“Don’t look now, but Uncle Charles and Vindictive Vi are coming our way,” Kieran muttered. “Of course there’s the strong possibility they’ll spot us and shoot off in the opposite direction.”

“And who would care?” Alana asked wearily, fully expecting to be ignored. Charles Denby knew nothing about the milk of human kindness. He was a civilised monster.

“When do you suppose dear old Charles is going to make the transition to a real person?” Kieran asked, with a flash of black humour. “I mean, I’ve never understood a damned thing about the big estrangement. What was so shocking about Mum breaking with family tradition and marrying Dad? The Denbys aren’t Royalty, for goodness’ sake. Even hell bent on wrecking himself, Dad’s still a handsome man. So he was a nobody on the social register? He must have been really something when he was young. Big, handsome, strong. He was hard-working, perfectly respectable. People liked him. He’d even managed to buy himself Briar’s Ridge, though it was mortgaged up to the hilt. He didn’t take Mum to a hovel. And she loved him. Wasn’t that all that mattered?” Kieran broke off angrily, visibly upset.

“One would have thought so!” Alana sighed.

“Oh, no—they haven’t spotted us,” Keiran groaned in dismay.

Charles and Violette were so busy talking, heads together, probably planning a night out on the town with Guy’s party, they all but walked into Alana and Kieran.

“Oh, it’s you two!” Violette reacted with her usual hateful disdain. She looked Alana up and down, her gaze deliberately pitying, as though Alana were dressed by charity shops instead of a smart-casual designer.

Alana, well used to her cousin’s intended put-downs, took no notice. What consumed her was the look in her brother’s eyes. Slow to anger, Kieran had been known to go off like a rocket if sufficiently provoked. It was their father’s temper—nearly always under control, but always there. She gave her brother a beseeching look. It would do no good at all for Kieran to lose his temper right here and now.

Ignoring Violette, she addressed her distinguished-looking, ultra-remote uncle. “How are you, Uncle Charles?” she asked politely. “You look well. Congratulations on the Denby prices.”

A tall man, Charles Denby stared down at his niece with the strange intensity he always bestowed on her. “Everything we wanted,” he announced with ice-cold suavity. “You, on the other hand, mustn’t have liked what you heard for the Briar’s Ridge lot? I saw it myself. Not up to scratch, my dear. Or rather it’ll make up darn scratchy.”

Kieran broke in, the heat of anger coming off his powerful, lean body. “Why, sir, do you go out of your way to be so damned cutting?”

Violette’s breath exploded in shocked indignation. “I beg your pardon, Kieran?” she huffed. “You apologise to my father this instant.”

Kieran gave her a sidelong look that blazed with contempt. “Tell me, Vi, you silly, pretentious creature, what is there to apologise for? All our civility, all our polite overtures, get met with freezing dislike. My mother and your father were brother and sister. I could never treat my sister the way your father treated his—no matter what! And my mother did absolutely nothing but marry the man she loved.”

Charles Denby’s only reaction was a narrowing of his glacial blue eyes. “Your mother brought disgrace on herself and the family,” he said finally. “Alan Callaghan was a nothing and a nobody who put my sister in her coffin. Now the whole Valley knows him as a hopeless drunk. Get out of my way, young man. I have better things to do than talk to an upstart like you.”

Upstart? The irony was that Kieran looked more like their uncle than he did their own father. Alana sucked in her breath, fully expecting the rocket to launch.

Only Kieran surprised her. He spoke quietly, but his body language was immensely threatening. “There’s plenty of room for you to walk around me, sir. Another word and I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Alarmed, Alana took hold of Kieran’s hard-muscled arm—but not before Guy, aware of a mounting crisis, moved swiftly to join them.

“It might be an idea to cool it, Kieran.” He came alongside the younger man, keeping his voice low and level. “This is the Wool Exchange, and every eye is on us. You’re my friend, and I don’t want to see you get into trouble.”

Kieran shook his leonine head, as if to clear it. “This man here—” he gritted.

“It might be time, Charles, to walk away.” Guy glanced meaningfully at Charles Denby.

“That’s the trouble with people like you Callaghans,” Violette sneered, hot red colour staining her cheekbones. “You simply don’t know how to behave. Come on, Daddy, they’re not fit to speak to.” She spoke as though Alana and Kieran’s natural habitat was the gutter.

“Yes, run away!” Kieran told her in a furious undertone, looking as if he was about to give her a good shove. “It’s my sister who’s the lady around here. Never you!”

“Kieran, please—if not for our sakes, for Mum’s,” Alana implored. She was excruciatingly aware a number of people were turning to stare. “Wouldn’t she have been horrified to see us make a spectacle of ourselves?”

“Sadistic man!” Kieran rasped, as Charles Denby and his daughter stalked off. He turned his burning blue gaze on Guy. “What have we ever done to them to warrant such treatment?”

Guy’s answer was immediate. And it sounded as if it came from the heart. “Your uncle has never been able to face down his demons, Kieran. Charles Denby is a very bitter and unhappy man. It has to be said there was a time he adored his sister, and he continued to do so though he became warped and bitter. What you have to do is let your anger settle. There’s nothing you can do to change your uncle. His rigid attitude has deprived him of so much happiness in life. You can’t hope to engage his liking or sympathy.” He spread his hands. “Charles hasn’t anything left to give. He’s to be pitied, really.”