Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor: Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor

He didn’t have to force his smooth easy manner. It came without effort. He was, after all, well schooled and the happiness Corin and Miranda so obviously felt flowed very sweetly and calmingly over him. It lifted his spirits and lowered his entrenched cynicism. Corin adored his Miranda. Miranda adored him. A man should be so lucky!

But then hadn’t he once thought the gates of Paradise had been opened to him? Zara had seduced him with all her ravishing little overtures. Or had he seduced her? Who could tell which way it had been? He had made love to her over and over so passionately. She had let him. Or had it been the other way around? Whatever way it had happened, it was as though it was meant to be. Cruel as the outcome had been, he would remember it all his life.

Tonight, both young women were wearing ankle-length summery dresses that fell from shoestring straps. Maxi dresses, Miranda told him when he complimented her on her enchanting appearance. Miranda’s dress was in a beautiful stand-out turquoise to match her amazing eyes; Zara’s was closely patterned all over with pink and coral flowers outlined in black. Two beautiful young woman, perfect foils for one another. It was clear Zara had worked her charm on her soon-to-be sister-in-law. Miranda’s manner with Zara was soft with affection.

Pity she didn’t use her winning ways on the tragic Leila.

Zara turned her head. Their eyes met. He took a deep breath that was like a knife thrust. He realised, too late, he had just been sitting there staring at her.

A million miserable damns!

He couldn’t change how she affected him.

He couldn’t unmake the past.

Ecstasy and betrayal often went hand in hand.

Workmen were swarming all over the grounds when he went down to do a few quick laps of the pool. It was a magnificent blue and gold day with the prediction of plenty more perfect days to come. A great omen for the wedding. He woke in the predawn, as was his habit, but for the initial few seconds he couldn’t think where he was. His dreams had been anything but restful. Predictably filled with a Zara who kept walking steadily away from him up a rising slope. She was even managing to dominate his unconscious. At one point in the early hours he had woken with one hell of a start, thinking her body was curled around his.

How crazy could a man get?

Getting through the wedding was going to be a lot tougher than he’d thought. The trick was to focus on Corin and his beautiful Miranda and forget his own problems. He wasn’t proud of the fact that the woman who had betrayed him still had immense power over him. No wonder men got so angry when they were treated like fools.

By the time he pulled himself out of the pool two splendid white marquees had been erected, with a third underway. Buffet tables were being put swiftly in place with several women waiting to drape them with white damask tablecloths and, he understood, gold moire over-cloths to match the elegant gilt chairs. Excitement was in the air. No doubt about it. He had never seen Corin happier. That counted for a lot.

He was towelling himself off when Zara surprised him by materialising at his shoulder. He hadn’t heard her. He’d been too busy watching the proceedings as she had come across the plush emerald grass.

“You were up early,” she said, slipping off her flimsy cobalt blue and white cover-up and placing it neatly around the back of a chair.

“Wow!” It came without volition. For a few moments arousal closed his throat.

“Wow?” she questioned, raising her brows.

“Yes, wow, wow, wonderful wow!” he said shortly, angry with himself for making any comment. He felt the predictable blood rush to his loins; more heat from the sight of her than the sun. There was an element of déjà vu in it too. How many times had he and Zara swum together in Coorango’s Blue Lady Lagoon? Sometimes with swimsuits, sometimes without. Acting wild. He could still visualise her naked body, her long black hair streaming down her back, creamy skin that never tanned, huge eyes locked on his, each hypnotised by the other.

I love you, Rick. I always will!

And I adore you! We’re perfect together.

Every atom of his being—his whole psyche—had told him it was true. Zara was the only girl in the world he wanted to marry.

But that was another time. Another place. Only deep, deep memories would never fade.

“Well, thank you,” she said and smiled. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” A priceless piece of understatement.

“Hard work tends to keep one in shape,” he snapped.

“Still tanned all over?”

“That you’ll never know.”

“Don’t make statements that might be used against you,” she said softly.

“And don’t you try flirting with me,” he warned. “You’ve had your day. Full stop.”

“And every day since I’ve died a little.”

He swung on her then, blue eyes blazing.

“Okay, okay!” She held up the palms of her hands in surrender, head held high and proud. “I disgust you. But you haven’t found anyone. Neither have I.”

“Maybe we damaged one another. Leave it, Zara.”

Showing a little agitation she withdrew a long hairpin from her hair; the sun made it gleam, like a thoroughbred’s coat polished high for a race. What a glorious thing was a woman’s mane, thick and sleek and straight. Her white one-piece swimsuit was cut high at the leg to make the most of her beautiful graceful limbs. The plunging halter neckline revealed a tantalizing glimpse of the sides of her small but perfectly shaped breasts. The top section of the swimsuit was printed with cobalt blue and silver. Plunging neckline or not, she projected her innate refinement and elegance.

He forced himself to look away. He picked up his discarded towel, giving his thick hair a vigorous once over.

“You’re not going, are you?” She raised a hand to block the sun from her eyes.

“I’ve had my swim.” He wouldn’t look at her.

“Stay, please,” she begged. “Miri is coming down. It will make her happy to see us together. You know—friends.”

His eyes shot over her then, narrowing, intensely blue against his darkly tanned skin. “Ex-lovers. Friends has nothing to do with it. Anyway, I thought I fulfilled my obligations last night.”

“We had a lovely time,” she said, more a statement than a question.

“And you were so sweet,” he mocked. “I’m supposed to feel good?”

“Well, at least you look good.” Her face softened. She gave a little shaky laugh. “Here’s Miri now. Please stay on a while, Garrick.”

“Okay, I will, for Miranda’s sake. Her New Zealand family are arriving before lunch, aren’t they?” He ran a hand through his hair, quickly drying in deep crisp waves. A slight frown appeared on his forehead. “I didn’t even know until last night that Miranda had a family in New Zealand. But then I know very little about her. I even had the notion that side of her family was darn near a closed topic.” He gave her a searching look, not all that surprised when she turned her beautiful head away from him. It seemed to him—he could be wrong—there was a story there.

“Well, her distinguished grandfather will be giving her away and her cousin Isabel will be one of the bridesmaids. There was a family rift. Sadly, that went on for many years, but all’s well now. That’s the main thing.”

“I guess it is,” he agreed, “but there’s a lot you’re not telling me. Broad outline. Not enough detail.”

“Why would you say that?” She spoke too quickly, too intensely. A dead giveaway.

“Zara!” He stopped her with a look. “I can read you like a book. Anyway, leave it for now. I very much like Miranda. Corin is a lucky man.”

Chapter Three

EVERYTHING went exactly as planned. The church ceremony was so beautiful, so much a celebration of the heart, many a married woman abandoned herself to a gentle nostalgic tear that often escaped onto the cheek, while the young and the not so young but ever hopeful vowed to make up for lost time and get working towards achieving a magical wedding of their own. As an occasion, nothing could beat a wedding. This one was glorious, a real fairy tale affair, the legendary once in a lifetime. Excitement was running high. Great swirls of genuine emotion, impossible to describe, but it enveloped them all. At least for a time.

Miranda was the living fulfilment of the radiant bride. Her whole countenance, her extraordinary turquoise eyes, shone with love and joy. Here was a bride her groom could worship. Her beautiful silk wedding gown, traditionally white, was strapless, the bodice encrusted with crystals and tiny faux pearls, the silk endowed with a wonderful luminescence. The style, cut by a master, suited her petite figure perfectly. The skirt flared just enough from a tiny waist so as not to over-whelm her. There was a short train at the back. The lustrous fabric of the billowing skirt had been intricately woven with silver thread that formed a pattern of roses; tightly closed buds, half open buds, roses in full bloom, all in perfect botanical detail.

It was gorgeous!

Miranda had chosen the rose as the symbol of her wedding. It was a tribute to Kathryn Rylance, her beloved Corin and Zara’s late mother. The gesture was said to have reduced Zara to tears. A full circle of white silk roses held the bride’s short sunburst tulle veil in place. Around her throat was a necklet of Paspaley South Sea pearls, an incredibly beautiful offering from her adoring groom. Diamond and pearl earrings dropped from her ears, the pearls swinging gently with every movement.

All four bridesmaids were tall and very slim. They dared not be anything else with their closely fitting silk gowns. All wore their hair long, flowing over their shoulders. The bodice of the one-shouldered form-fitting gown was caught by a sparkling jewelled strap. A half-moon of silk roses scattered with Swarovski crystals to represent dew drops was tucked at the most flattering angle behind the ear. As headpieces, they were very beautiful, very flattering, the colour matched to their gowns, which were, in turn, the exact shade of the bride’s favourite roses from the garden, all of them prize blooms.

Zara, the chief bridesmaid, wore a glorious deep Peace pink. The shade acted as a wonderful foil for the second bridemaid’s lovely lavender-pink gown. Shimmering sunshine-yellow was chosen for the third dark-haired bridesmaid and, on the bride’s blonde cousin, the beautiful soft apricot of the old-fashioned musk rose. Miranda and Zara had spent a lot of time poring over fabrics before selecting the luminous silks in precisely complementary shades. The outcome was a triumph. Bride and all four of her bridesmaids moved as if bathed in pools of light.

The luxurious bouquets were composed of roses with a fine tracery of green. In themselves, works of art and, again, the bride’s favourites, large fragrant garden roses with their buds—not the hothouse variety. Afterwards, a great deal was spoken about the beauty and success of the bride’s and her bridesmaids’ outfits and truly lovely bouquets, but the groom and his attendants certainly didn’t miss out. It had to be accepted that the wonderfully handsome groom was now taken, the other guys were very attractive, but what about the best man? Brooding good looks like that and those blue eyes could drive a girl beserk! At least that was the general opinion.

It was obvious to all that Garrick Rylance was going to be targeted at the reception by all those young women, already fuzzy with emotion, who dared to dream the dream. Fortune was known to favour the daring. Clearly, he would be able to take his pick.

“Let the battle for the attention of the Cattle Baron begin!” one society matron whispered waggishly to another. “I’ve never seen a sexier action man in my life!”

“And not a thing you can do about it, darling!” whispered the other, who just happened to be her sister-in-law.

“Nothing wrong with looking, even for a grandmother!” was the swift retort. “There’s the hero of any girl’s dreams! Bit on the dangerous side, maybe!”

Guests were ferried from the picturesque church, which had been packed to overflowing, to the sumptuous reception in the Rylance mansion’s luxuriant gardens. Zara felt so tremulous, her inner voice had recourse to speak sternly to her.

You can’t allow your emotions to overcome you. Breathe deeply. Restore your calm.

Not so easy when what she had witnessed was the union of soulmates. Her heart was filled with happiness for her brother and for Miranda, her new sister-in-law—sister. Of course it was. But there was emotional upheaval as well. Only once during the ceremony had Garrick’s gaze locked with hers. Just the space of a few searing seconds, both of them standing immobile. The brilliant blue of his eyes, bluer than the deep vibrant blue of the sky, seemed to be mocking her. She had been the first to look away. It was as if he was telling her she had let her only chance of real happiness slip away from her.

Ah, the piercing ache of loss!

She couldn’t allow it to claw at her heart. Not today. Today was one of celebration. She was the chief bridesmaid. She had an important role to play. Feeling as she did, Zara would have been surprised to learn she looked the very picture of beauty and serenity, her great dark eyes eloquent with the love and happiness she felt for the bridal couple. Her family. As chief bridesmaid, she sat to Corin’s right. Garrick, as best man, was seated beside Miranda, so they were a good few feet apart. The other bridesmaids and the groomsmen alternated down the long rectangular bridal table, positioned centre front, so all the guests had a clear view of them. Exquisite garlands of gilded organza and chenille roses ran the perimeter of the table, framing it, with strands of gold beads and faux white pearls that had an amazing sheen. The bride and her bridesmaids had used their lovely bouquets to deck the table instead of arrangements.

The food was sumptuous; the drink the finest vintage champagne. Corin offered a deeply touching speech to his bride that moved many to tears. Garrick’s speech created a fine balance. A moment or two of high seriousness, as was to be expected, then his speech moved to the entertaining, with highlights from his and Corin’s boyhood. In particular an incident when they were ten, when he had talked Corin into an adventure; catapulting themselves out into the river by means of a stout rope, he had slung from one of the overhanging trees. It wouldn’t have been so bad, only the river was running a thrilling white foaming banker at the time.

“An Outback kid, you see,” he explained, to indulgent general laughter.

Bring on the Outback, sighed every last female.

“We both lived to tell the tale.” A flashing grin from Corin. Both of them had gotten into a lot of trouble. Garrick was a “wild bush boy, as headlong as a brumby” his father had thundered, all the more furious because Garrick wasn’t flustered or fearful. In fact, Garrick had been remarkably cool for a ten-year-old kid.

Zara remembered too. Their mother had been perturbed—the river, after all, was deep and swift, and in flood—but she had withheld any show of anger. Both boys were excellent swimmers but her father had gone to town, dressing them down for the reck-lessness of their actions. Garrick had told him repeatedly that he was the instigator, but to no avail. Garrick had looked suitably chastised, but no way had he been in awe of her father and his lashing tongue. Even then, her heart had been stirred by admiration. Perhaps her father had decided that very day that Garrick would forever be on the outer. Dalton Rylance had been so used to people kowtowing to him he would accept nothing less.

At last it was time for the married couple to leave. They were spending a night in Sydney. From there they would fly to Los Angeles, stay a week or so on the West Coast, then fly to New York. To much excitement, waving arms, a little light shoving and non-stop pleas to “throw it to me!” Miranda let her exquisite bouquet soar like a bird from the upstairs balcony into the blossoming field of beautifully dressed young women, themselves like flowers.

Zara kept her hands down and her eyes lowered. The man she yearned for, now standing only a few feet away, was laughing at the antics of one of the bridesmaids who, right from the wedding rehearsal, had made no secret of the fact that she found the best man “absolutely gorgeous—a guy a girl would follow anywhere!”

She, on the other hand, had played her part as chief bridesmaid with grace and dignity, but in no way did she lose her head, even slightly, or her sense of occasion. After the Hartmann affair, when she had been so falsely accused of being, at best, his mistress, at worst, privy to his business dealings, she had felt like a woman who lived in a house with glass walls. Those who had wanted to for a variety of reasons, mostly because she was an heiress—rolling in money—threw rocks.

She had told herself a thousand times she was too sensitive for her own good. She was so much like her mother and what had happened to her mother was a great weight on her shoulders. Some women were more vulnerable than others.

Like a bird on guided wings, Miranda’s bouquet, aimed at Zara, landed with a burst of fragrance against Zara’s breast. There were groans of disappointment, many more congratulatory cheers. There was great goodwill towards Zara within the extended family and beyond. Zara was so beautiful yet so modest, with the sweetest possible nature. Just like her late mother, Kathryn, beloved of them all and sadly missed.

“You’re next, Zara!” a soft voice fluted in her ear. Chloe, one of her young cousins.

Her grandmother, Sibella De Lacey, looking stunning in royal blue silk with a striking broad-brimmed hat, came up to her, taking her arm. “Is this a happy omen, my darling?” she whispered, full of protective love for her granddaughter.

“Nan, Miri aimed this at me deliberately,” Zara said wryly.

“And she’s a darn good shot.” Sibella laughed. “What you have to do now, my darling, is put your life in order. There’s a whole new life, a whole way of being, open to you. As a Christian, I should say God rest his soul, but your father had a lot to answer for. He failed you on so many levels.”

Zara knew the ocean of tears her grandmother had wept for her mother. No easy way out of grief. Sometimes no way at all. “You can’t forgive him, can you?”

“No, I can’t,” Sibella bluntly confessed. “Not for my Kathryn. Not for all eternity. And for shutting you out. When you appeared to have found happiness, he decided to inflict more suffering. He banished the young Garrick from your life. Such an intensely ambivalent man, your father. He really did love your mother in those early years but, gentle though she was, Kathryn refused to fit the mould. The other one did that.”

“She took great care to do it,” Zara said.

“Of course. Leila was prepared to do anything to get Dalton. Afterwards, I believe Dalton came to hate himself. He couldn’t look back on what he’d done. How Leila came to have that very special child, one would never know.”

“Good grandparents, Nan!” Zara said. “They would have been lovely people. Leila was a one-off.”

“Dazzling, yet nothing to her!” Sibella said sardonically. “She did everything in her power to sideline you. Jealousy. So much like your mother, you see. This may not have been obvious to you, my darling, but Dalton had a powerful jealousy of Garrick.”

Zara looked at her grandmother in astonishment. “Garrick? Don’t you mean Corin? Dad’s dominant characteristic was keeping control.”

“Bullying, don’t you mean?” Sibella said. “Splitting you and Garrick up was your father’s revenge. In no way was Garrick the kind of son-in-law he had in mind. He wanted a yes, sir, no sir man, someone who would conform. Someone he could take into the business so he’d have you both beneath his eye and under his control. He could never do that with Garrick. What did Dalton call him again?’ She sought Zara’s dark eyes. Eyes that Kathryn, then Zara had inherited from her.

Zara had to smile. “The wild bush boy! Garrick never went in awe of Dad. His attitude was even more pronounced than Corin’s. Even as a boy of ten, Garrick was a man in the making. I turned out a real wimp by comparison. Dad’s domination of me should have ended with my adolescence, Nan. I should have been strong enough to break free. Why wasn’t I?” she agonized. “I’ll tell you why!” Sibella had to hold down her wrath. “We’re talking about a tyrannical man here. Control was a compulsion. Here was a man who made tough competitors crack. It would have been easy to strip my daughter of all her confidence. She should never have married him, but she wanted him at the time. He was very cunning, determined to win her, whatever the cost. Kathryn, as a girl and a young woman, had a wonderful inner contentment and her own strength. That was the sad part. Yet, within a few years, your father had drained it. Stripped her of her happiness. You children were everything to her.”

Zara felt such a wave of pain that she hid her face in Miranda’s fragrant bouquet. “Dad robbed me of my confidence as well. He pretended—he was so convincing and I was thrilled he was even paying me attention—he was acting in my best interests. He convinced me no way would I fit into Garrick’s way of life. He told me I simply wouldn’t be able to handle any future role as Garrick’s wife and mistress of Cooranga. He pointed out to me that Mummy had felt pushed to the limit, having to assume the role of wife and partner of an important industrialist like himself. That’s what was responsible for the breakdown in the marriage, he said.”

“Not Leila, then,” Sibella commented bitterly. “Dalton was in all areas of his life a control freak.”

“He couldn’t control Corin.”

Sibella nodded with understanding and pride. “Not my Corin. But don’t forget, my darling, there was a marked contrast in how Dalton treated Corin and how he treated you, his only daughter. You were too young to lose your mother. Kathryn acted as the buffer between you children and your father. You in particular because you shared her gentle nature. She angled herself between you and Dalton. We lost her, Zara, but she never meant it She would never have deliberately left you.”

“No!” Zara nodded when she didn’t really know at all. Some questions would forever remain unanswered. But no way was she going to add to her grandmother’s grief.

Sibella spoke very quietly. “She’s here today, you know.”

“I’ve felt her,” Zara said in an equally quiet voice. “Corin told me he did too.”

“Every day of my life I pray for her and for you, Zara. You are so much like Kathryn, it’s as though she’s still with us. Now, I want you to do something for me. Garrick is standing only a few feet away. The two of us are going to stroll over for a chat. Garrick and I always did get on well. He might be smiling at that very frisky girl in the lovely blue dress, but I know where his thoughts are. You must try for a reconciliation, Zara. Too many years have been wasted.”

Beneath the silk of her beautiful bridesmaid’s dress, her heartbeat was urgent. “I’ve told you, Nan. He hates me.” Her grandmother had long since pried out of her her short-lived love affair with Garrick and its disastrous end.

“Garrick is a proud man.” Sibella glanced once more in Garrick’s direction. Garrick Rylance, so tall, bold, bronzed, vividly handsome! He could not have been more striking. His brilliant blue eyes framed by thick sooty lashes any girl would die for. A challenging man was Garrick. Never a devil like her late son-in-law, Dalton. “Garrick has it firmly in his head you threw him over, no matter how often you tried to explain. But I’ve caught him watching you. Garrick might still be angry with you, my darling, but hate you? Never! Neither of you has settled for anyone else, I notice, when both of you could have just about anyone. I find that very telling, don’t you?”