Required: Three Outback Brides: Cattle Rancher, Convenient Wife / In the Heart of the Outback... / Single Dad, Outback Wife

Coming as he did from the desert where there was a much higher pitch of light and the vast landscape was so brilliantly coloured, Rory found his trip out to Naroom, enjoyable, but relatively uninspiring compared to his own region, the Channel Country. The bones of many dead men lay beneath the fiery iron-oxide red soil of his nearly eight hundred thousand square kilometre desert domain. The explorers Burke and Wills had perished there; the great Charles Sturt, the first explorer to ever enter the Simpson Desert almost came to final grief—the German Ludwig Leichhardt became a victim of the forbidding landscape. Not only had the early explorers been challenged by that wild land, but so too were the pioneering cattlemen like his forebears who had followed. After good rains, the best cattle fattening country in the world, in times of drought they had to exploit the water in the Great Artesian Basin, which lay beneath the Simpson Desert to keep their vast herds alive. And exploitation was the word. It really worried him that one day the flow of water to the several natural springs and the artificial bores might cease. What a calamity!

To Rory, the desert atmosphere of home was so vivid he could smell it and taste it on his tongue. These vast central plains seemed much nearer civilisation. He had lived all his life in a riverine desert, bordered on Turrawin’s west by the one hundred thousand square kilometre Simpson Desert of central Australia. His world was a world of infinite horizons and maybe because of it, the desert possessed an extraordinary mystique.

It was certainly a different world from the silvery plains he was driving through. His landscapes were surreal. They seeped into a man’s soul. The desert was where he belonged, he thought sadly, though he accepted it was fearsome country compared to those gentler, more tranquil landscapes; the silvers, the browns, the dark sapphires and the sage-greens. He was used to a sun scorched land where the shifting red sands were decorated with bright golden clumps of Spinifex that glowed at dusk. Scenically the Channel Country was not duplicated by any other region on the continent. It was unique.

Unique, too, the way the desert, universally a bold fiery-red, was literally smothered in wildflowers of all colours after the rains. No matter what ailed him such sights had always offered him relief, a safety valve after grim exchanges with his father, even a considerable degree of healing. There were just some places one belonged. Fate had made him a second son and given him a father who had shown himself to be without heart. He was the second son who was neither wanted nor needed.

Well let it lie.

Clay as promised had set up this meeting with the Sanders women. Clay would have come along, only he was fathoms deep in work. Rory would have liked his company—they got on extremely well together—but he didn’t mind. It was just the two sisters and their mother. An exploratory chat. Just the two sisters? Who was he kidding? He couldn’t wait to lay eyes on Allegra Hamilton again. In fact it hadn’t been easy putting her out of his mind.

You can handle it, he told himself.

With no conviction whatever.

Clay had assured him Mrs Sanders was seriously considering selling, although the property wasn’t on the market as yet. Clay, during his conversation with the beauteous Mrs Hamilton, had formed the idea the family would want between $3.5 and $4 million, although she hadn’t given much away. Clay got the impression Allegra didn’t really want to sell.

Why not? It wasn’t as though a woman like that, a hothouse orchid, could work the place. Nevertheless Rory had already taken the opportunity of having a long, private phone conversation with one of Turrawin’s bankers. A man he was used to and who knew him and his capabilities. He had been given the go-ahead on a sizeable loan to match his own equity. Naroom wasn’t a big property as properties in his part of the world went—nowhere near the size of Jimboorie for that matter, let alone Turrawin. The property from all accounts had been allowed to run down following the death of Llew Sanders and the unexpected departure of their overseer who it was rumoured had had a falling out with Mrs Sanders. A woman who ‘kept herself to herself’ and consequently wasn’t much liked. Rory wanted to ask where Allegra had got her extraordinary looks from, but thought it unfair to Chloe who seemed a nice little thing if she could just hurdle the sibling rivalry or trade in her present life for a new one.

Rivalry simply hadn’t existed between him and Jay. They had always been the best of friends. The strong bond formed in early childhood had only grown closer with the changing circumstances of their lives. In many ways he had taken on the mantle of older brother even though he was two years Jay’s junior. He had shielded the quieter, more sensitive Jay through their traumatic adolescence and gone on to take the burden away from Jay in the running of the station. That old hypocrite, his father, had been well aware of it but chose—because it suited him—to keep his mouth and his purse shut.

Valerie Sanders walked into the kitchen in time to see Allegra taking a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, presumably to offer to their visitor with tea or coffee. Cooking wasn’t Valerie’s forte so she had left Allegra to it. Besides she had sacked their housekeeper, Beth, who didn’t know how to keep a still tongue in her head, even after fourteen years.

‘I hope you’re not going to be difficult, Allegra,’ Valerie, a trim and attractive fifty-two-year-old now said, picking up their discussion from breakfast. ‘I want the place sold. So does Chloe. Why should you care? You don’t live here. You have to stop thinking of yourself for a change.’

Allegra transferred the cookies to a wire cooling rack before answering. She had learned long ago to ignore Valerie’s perennial sniping. Crossing swords with her only reinforced it. ‘That’s a bit unfair, Val,’ she said mildly. ‘All I said was, we can’t simply give Naroom away. It’s worth every penny of $4 million even if it’s not the best of times to sell. Dad would turn over in his grave if we sold it for less. It just seemed to me you and Chloe are prepared to accept the first offer.’

Valerie’s light blue gaze turned baleful. ‘I want out, Allegra. I’ve had more than enough of life on the land and Chloe has had no life at all. I know you don’t worry about your sister. But she has to find a good man to marry and she isn’t getting any younger. You had a good man and you were fool enough to let him get away.’

Allegra refused to fire. ‘Do you actually listen to a word I say, Val? Mark was unfaithful to me. Since when are philanderers good men?’ She busied herself setting out cups and saucers. ‘As for Chloe, I used to invite her to stay with us often enough. Surely you remember?’

‘How could she stay when there was always tension between you and Mark?’ Valerie retaliated. ‘Though it must be said Mark always did his best to pretend nothing was wrong. Chloe and I have come to the conclusion you were the source of all the trouble, Allegra, however much you protest. And you’ve always gone out of your way to put your sister in the shade. You could have been a real help to her, but you live in your own little world.’

Allegra couldn’t help a groan escaping her. ‘So you’ve been pointing out to me for years and years. Now we’re on the subject of Chloe, she’s not much help around the place. I hear her complaining about putting on weight when the surefire answer is exercise. There’s plenty to do around the house since you let Beth go.’

‘We couldn’t afford her,’ Valerie said briefly.

‘She been with us for years and years,’ Allegra said, thankful she had managed to contact Beth who was now living with her sister

‘That awful woman!’ Beth, her anger up, had raged. ‘I only stayed because of your dad. It was all so different when you left home, Ally love. Personally I think your stepmother drove your poor dear father bonkers! He must have spent years of his life wondering why he married her.’

He married her for my sake, Allegra thought sadly. To give me a mother.

‘Now when this young man arrives I want you to stay in the background,’ Valerie said. ‘If such a thing is possible. Your father spoilt you terribly.’

‘I suppose he was trying to make up for you, Val,’ Allegra offered dryly. ‘I’ve always irritated the living daylights out of you.’ In fact Allegra couldn’t recall a happy, carefree period of her life; a time when she was not exposed to Valerie’s shrouded antagonism, which nevertheless Allegra was made aware of even as a child.

‘So you have,’ Valerie admitted. ‘You must have irritated the living daylights out of Mark as well. You could have held onto him with a little understanding. We all know men are in the habit of having a bit on the side But your ego couldn’t tolerate that, could it?’

Allegra considered this, aghast. ‘My ego had nothing to do with it. Dad didn’t have a bit on the side as you phrase it.’

‘No, he was faithful to the memory of your sainted mother!’ At long last Valerie gave vent to the helpless anger she’d been forced to stifle for years; anger that had at its heart jealousy of a ghost.

‘Now you’ve come out with it.’ Allegra experienced a hard pang. ‘I can see from now on it’s going to be no-holds-barred. That’s the answer to all our woes, isn’t it? I’m guilty of resembling my mother who died before she was thirty. Think about that, Val. You’re jealous of a woman who died so young? Would you have swapped places with her? It’s truly sad, but you’ve never been able to master your deep envy of her place in Dad’s life. The fact I look so much like her has only made you fixate on it all these long years. I suppose it was inevitable.’

‘Psychoanalyst now are we?’ Valerie jeered, her expression bitter. ‘Actually I’m fine. Llew is dead. Naroom will soon be sold. It was never really my home. More her shrine. No need for us to put up a pretence anymore. But don’t kid yourself. The conflicts we’ve had over the years have been caused by your pushing me or your sister to the limit. I wasn’t your darling mummy. You were such an assertive child, always demanding your father’s attention. You took your demands to the next stage with your husband. Small wonder he left you.’

‘Oh go jump, Val!’ Allegra had come to the end of her tether. ‘I left Mark. But don’t let’s upset your mind-set.’

‘Mark told me you made him feel alienated,’ Valerie persisted.

‘Since when did you become Mark’s champion?’ Allegra asked wearily. ‘He’s ancient history, Val.’

The expression on Valerie’s face was one of primitive antagonism. ‘Alienation was the cause of much of his unhappiness and his turning to someone else.’

Allegra groaned with frustration. ‘You’re talking through your hat. It was more than someone else, Val.’

‘I bet you had your little flings as well,’ Valerie quickly countered. ‘You demand constant admiration.’

‘None of which has ever been handed out by you. Some stepmothers are wonderful. Heaps of them! But your crowning achievement has been picking on me. All your love has been given to your own child. I had to lean heavily on Dad. You set out early to drive a wedge between me and Chloe. You bred your own resentment into her. As for my marriage, I respected my vows.’

Valerie gave a mocking smile. ‘The reason I understand exactly what Mark meant when he said you alienated him is because you alienate me.’

‘Then I’m sorry!’ Allegra threw up her hands, thinking her stepmother’s problems with her would never be resolved until the family—such as it was—split up. Her father had held them all together. Now he was gone. ‘I have to get changed,’ she said, moving towards the door. ‘Rory Compton should be here soon.’

‘Set to fascinate him, are we?’ Valerie called after her.

The facade of caring stepmother was rapidly crumbling.

In her bedroom Allegra changed out of the loose dress she’d been wearing since breakfast into a cool top with a gypsy style skirt that created a breeze around her legs. She slung a silver studded belt around her narrow waist and hunted up a pair of turquoise sandals to match her outfit. It was second nature to her to try to look her best no matter how she felt. For one thing her job as Fashion Editor on a glossy magazine demanded it. Besides, looking good gave her the extra confidence she needed. It helped her present her best face to the world.

Inside, these days, she felt totally derailed. Her beloved father gone. The only person in the world who had truly loved her. Val coming out into the open, spitting chips! No husband to be there for her. What does a woman do when she can’t keep her husband of three years faithful? So much for beauty! She had thought in her naivete, she and Mark would be together for life—Mark the father of her children—but she and Mark had been marching to a very different tune. Fidelity simply wasn’t in his nature, though he had given every outward semblance of it for quite a while. That was until she received in the mail a batch of photographs, stunning evidence of her husband’s betrayal. They were sent anonymously of course. Not a single word accompanied them as though the photographs said it all; which indeed they did. They were from someone who didn’t so much care about her pain as showing Mark up for what he was. Allegra had always had the idea that person was a woman. Someone who may have been a former lover of Mark’s and now hated him.

Mark’s explanation when she had confronted him with them had been quite extraordinary. He had acted calm, as though he couldn’t quite grasp her devastating shock.

‘It’s long over, Ally!’ He’d assured her in his smooth, convincing stockbroker’s voice. ‘It meant absolutely nothing. All it did was relieve a physical ache at the time. Let’s face it, my darling, I don’t get as much sex from you, as I want, though I have to admit it increases your allure. Why do women make such a big deal about men having extra needs? It’s you I love. You’re my wife. No other woman can touch you. I’ll never leave you and you’ll never leave me. I’d be devastated if you did.’

She was the one who was devastated but, God help her, she had forgiven him. It was too early in their marriage to call it a day. She certainly couldn’t go home to Val to seek advice and comfort. She told herself lots of people make mistakes. She made herself believe it had been Mark’s only infidelity. In retrospect, of course it hadn’t been. Mark was addicted to sex like another man might have been addicted to golf. It was a necessary relaxation, a fix. Mark was handsome, charming, successful, generous. Especially with his favours.

In the beginning he had been a tender, sensitive, romantic lover, eager to please her. She realised now what he had been doing was gradually trying to break her in to his little ways she found vaguely demeaning, though she tried to understand where he was coming from. It wasn’t as though there was much harm in what he wanted her to do it. It wasn’t even over-poweringly sensual. But she couldn’t help feeling titillating little games were ridiculous. Certainly they didn’t turn her on.

‘Sweetheart, you’re not a bit of fun!’

Seeing how she felt, he backed off. Overnight he rectified his behaviour, which had never been evident during their courtship, returning to the considerate, caring lover. She’d believed like a fool they had come to an understanding. Nothing further was going to be allowed to disrupt their lives. Only Mark secretly moved back to the kind of women who were up for the kind of sexual kicks he craved. The other women turned out to be married women from their own circle. Why had she been so shocked? Faithless friends made faithless lovers. All of them had been exceedingly careful, not wanting exposure or even to break up their existing marriages. There was no wild partying, no staying out overnight, much less for long weekends. Their marriage might have survived for quite a bit longer only she had returned home from work unexpectedly early one afternoon only to find Mark and a married friend of theirs chasing one another around the bedroom.

Incredibly she hadn’t been laid low. She hadn’t screamed or cried or yelled at the woman to get dressed and get the hell out of her house. For a moment she had very nearly laughed. They looked so ridiculous staring back at her. Like a pair of startled kangaroos caught in the headlights of a four-wheel drive.

‘Goodness, Penny, I scarcely recognised you without your clothes!’

Then she had turned about and walked straight out of the house, booking into a hotel.

So here she was at twenty-seven, a betrayed wife. A betrayed ex-wife. And having a hard time coming to terms with what a fool she had been. She had truly believed Mark was a man of integrity. Yet love or what she thought had been love had flown out the window. Indeed it had all but taken wing when she had first received those compromising photographs with her clever handsome husband caught in the act, his unflattering position preventing her from seeing his partner-in-crime’s face. At one stage, as she bent over the photographs, she had the weirdest notion that partner could have been Chloe—something about the slight plumpness of the legs, what she could see of the woman’s body?—but quickly rejected the idea, disgusted with herself for even allowing such a notion to cross her mind. Chloe would never do such a thing. Chloe was far too honourable.

Incredibly Mark had tried desperately to save their marriage, saying she was making something out of nothing. Just how did one define nothing? A man wasn’t intended to remain monogamous, he said. Everyone knew that. Smart women accepted it; turned a blind eye.

He obviously didn’t want to consider the innumerable crimes of passion that hit the headlines. He continued to hold to the line he ‘adored’ her. He knew he had a problem of sorts, but he would seek counselling if that’s what she wanted. They would go together.

She had declined without regrets. She had to face the dismal fact Mark was highly unlikely to be cured. Sooner or later he would break out again. He had found it ridiculously easy up to date. Almost ten years her senior and well versed in the less laudable ways of the world, he had run rings around her. Even after their divorce became final he had stalked her, telling her how ashamed he was of his behaviour and how much he desperately needed her. Didn’t he deserve another chance?

Tell me. Whatever it is you want me to do, I’ll do it. I’ve already entered into treatment.

She knew it was a lie. The only thing Mark was sorry about was getting caught.

Why had she married him in the first place? He hadn’t exactly swept her off her feet, though he couldn’t have been kinder, sweeter, or more considerate. His intellect had reached out to her. He was a clever, cultured man, highly successful with powerful friends. She went from single woman with no real home—home with Valerie and had felt like enemy territory—to married woman with a beautiful home of her own and an extraordinarily generous husband who showered her with gifts. Was that what she had really wanted all along?

A home of her own?

She never told anyone about Mark’s little idiosyncrasies. She could well be confiding in someone who already knew. She didn’t blacken his name. She knew quite a few in their circle believed she was the one to bring what had appeared to be a marriage made in heaven to an abrupt end. Mark was ‘a lovely guy!’ Everyone knew he adored her. The age difference might have had something to do with it. Or Allegra had found someone else. In her work she was invited everywhere with or without her husband—there had to be lots of temptations along the way, men and women behaving the way they did.

Allegra knew people had been talking, but there was little she could do about it but take it on the chin.

CHAPTER THREE

RORY COMPTON had already arrived by the time she made her way downstairs. She realized with a prickle of something like discomfort and an irrational guilt she had taken a few extra little pains with her appearance. She was aware too of a quickening of excitement that was gathering in strength. She hadn’t expected anything like it. Not here, not now. Not when she wanted time to re-evaluate her life. She was a woman trying to recover from a recent divorce. Sad things had happened to her, leaving her feeling low, but the advent of Rory Compton into her life had sparked off some sort of revival. Without wanting to, or without planning it, he had somehow brought her back to life. Could it possibly have something to do with the rebound syndrome? She had actually seen it at work with a friend. Women were very vulnerable after the break-up of a relationship. Was she one of them?

Since she had met him she had started to ask herself that very question. She couldn’t stop thinking of him though she had willed herself not to. But like all things forbidden he had stuck in her mind. There was just something about the man that had penetrated the miasma of grief she had been battling since the death of her beloved father and the failure of her marriage. She had been certain in her mind she wanted to remain untouchable. At least for a proper period of time. In a sense she was mourning the death of her marriage; the death of a dream.

Rory Compton had changed all that and in a remarkably short space of time. She would do well to see the danger in that. All it had needed was a glance from his remarkable eyes; the peculiar excitement she had felt when he had swept her up into his arms; the way her heart rate had speeded up. He had drawn from her not only a physical, but an emotional response. It wasn’t simply his arresting looks. She had really liked the way he had been at the Cunningham’s dinner party; his sense of humour, his broad range of interests and the sympathy and sensitivity he had shown towards the politician, a fellow man battling the depression that had fallen on him so unexpectedly.

Rory Compton was formidable, she had concluded. A real presence for a man his age. There was something very purposeful and intent about him and she had to concede a hidden anger, or at the very least brooding. He had actually made her feel like her old self. Correction. More like she was running at full throttle. Was it the adversarial look in those silver frosted eyes? Or the taunting half smile? He was physically very strong. He had lifted her as though she weighed no more than a twelve-year-old. She sensed his physical attraction to her—given that it was quite involuntary—maddened him. Here was a man who liked to be in control.

Holding her in his arms had quite spoilt it for him. The truth was—she couldn’t hide it from herself—she had been as aroused as he was. Powerful physical attraction was a daunting thing, especially when it came out of left field. She would do well to be wary of it. Once bitten, twice shy? What did she know of him after all? Her judgement had been way off with Mark. She wasn’t about to make a habit of it. She needed to know much more about Rory Compton. It would be better given her background to mistrust rather than trust.

What you’re feeling, girl, are hormones. You have to let it pass.

He was seated on the verandah at the white wicker table. Valerie and Chloe flanked him, both looking surprisingly mellow. Chloe too had gone to some pains, Allegra thought gently. Her apple blossom skin that flushed easily heightened the colour of her eyes and she was wearing a very pretty dress Allegra had brought with her as a present, knowing exactly what would best suit her sister.

Allegra paused for a moment in the open doorway, hoping she had given them enough time alone with their visitor as requested, though requested was too polite a word.

Immediately Rory Compton saw her he sprang to his feet, the man of dark compelling looks she too vividly remembered. A wedge of crow-black hair had fallen forwards on his forehead giving him a very attractive, slightly rakish look. Worn longer than was usual, his glossy, thick textured hair curled up at his nape. It would be great hair to touch. His eyes glittered against his bronze skin. Today his cheekbones looked more pronounced. There wasn’t a skerrick of weight on him. His nose was very straight above his beautifully cut mouth. Not generously full lipped like Mark’s, but firm and chiselled. He had the sort of face one wouldn’t forget in a hurry.