An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden (30 page)

Sarah nodded. “Oh, yes!”

“Women need to be loved dearly, don't they?”

“Indeed they do.” Sarah, the doctor and the woman, responded emphatically. “Love bonds are what makes a woman's inner life flourish. Some men can make it on power. Being loved is less significant. But Kyall and Mitch, though they were in a sense handed power at birth, have the same goals as we have. They want a full emotional life. They want wife and family, profound lifetime relationships. Both were devastated when we went away.”

“It wasn't rejection.” Christine sought to defend their stand. “We were driven away. Nonetheless, the upshot is that Mitch has developed an inability to ever trust me again.”

“You truly want him?” Sarah gave the younger woman a look of deep seriousness.

“I've never really stopped wanting him,” Christine responded with great feeling.

“Then you'll have to convince him of that.”

“If he'll let me. It's not as if I haven't tried.”

“Come on! You've not tried hard enough yet.” Sarah said in a bracing tone.

“I suppose it's too much to expect trust can be rebuilt overnight?”

“I prefer to say something positive to you, Chris. Mitch's big and understandable fear is that even if you get back together at some juncture you're going to hanker for the glamorous life you
put behind you. His life, his legacy is here on Marjimba, about as far away from the bright lights as one can get. He can't follow you. It's not possible. Not with his history and heritage. You're the one who has to come home. You're the one who'd have to make a series of compromises as women have always done.”

“How would anyone think that would give me a hard time?” Christine's expression contained mild incredulity. “I was born and bred in the bush. I'd never have left had my home life been happy, not decidedly dysfunctional.”

“Forgive me, Chris, but your mother will still be in your life. I know she loves you, but she never learned how to show it.”

“She certainly showed love to Kyall.” Christine's answer was startlingly intense. “Adoration was showered on him, by Mum and Gran.”

“He'd have been happier without it, Chris. I know he found all that ‘loving' somewhat manic.”

“It was. I was the one who was made to feel of little value. That's why I can identify with Shelley Logan. It's terrible the way she's been made to carry the burden of her twin's death. It must be very painful.”

“It is, but she's no martyr. She has that wonderful thing called spirit. But Pat Logan definitely
needs help. He's been in a state of ongoing depression since he buried his little boy. Mrs Logan isn't much better. I see her from time to time. She's so down emotionally when she leaves that even my nerves are screaming.”

“It's a wonder the tourists stay in that atmosphere.”

“They stay because Shelley finds ways to keep them thoroughly entertained. And well fed.”

“If I were Shelley I'd leave.” Christine opened the door of her room. “I don't think anyone in her family has the right to push her so far. What's more, if she did, Amanda might have to give herself a great big shake-up. Also, if Amanda's considering Mitch as Prince Charming, she'd better think again. He's mine!”

“Excellent!” Sarah laughed.

“Believe me—” Christine planted an affectionate kiss on Sarah's cheek “—real love does last. It's just taken me a while to realize it.”

C
HRISTINE
flipped back and forth in her bed during the few hours she had of sleep. Her fragmented dreams were all of heated conversations with Mitch, in which the infatuated Amanda was standing off in the wings, striking attitudes that indicated she was totally on Mitch's side. A psychologist would find it all too simple to analyse: she was frightened she wouldn't be able to regain Mitch's trust, and her fear was compounded by the possibility he might turn to Amanda for female company and support.

Finally, at dawn, she fought out of the dream sequences stuck on replay. She threw back the bedclothes, went to the adjoining bathroom and took a quick shower to wash away the cobwebs. Afterwards she put on a T-shirt, jeans and her riding boots, gathering up her cream akubra as she let herself out of her bedroom door. The carpeted hallway was still softly lit, the packed household dreaming the dawn away.

At the stables she greeted and petted the glossy-flanked Wellington, who acted as pleased
to see her as she was to see him. Saddled up, she rode out, the reins easily gathered in her left hand as she stooped to open then shut a side gate. She intended heading in the direction of the chain of billabongs that flowed through the station—always her favourite ride.

It was magic this time of morning. The great silence was broken by the dawn ritual of birdsong that began with little peeps and chirrups, gradually turning into a powerful cacophony of sound, like musical instruments tuning up for the greatest orchestra on earth. There were the high, sweet strings, wonderful cello notes, resonant wood-winds, golden brass, and they all came together in a magnificent symphony that carried for miles across the open plains and into the desert.

As she rode, the indigos, pinks and golds piled up on the horizon slowly vanished and the sky took on the brilliance of blue crystal. In the distance, across the spinifex-shrouded flats that so resembled wheat, she could see a long trailing cloud of red dust that signalled the approach of a mob of Marjimba cattle.

She wondered how long a delay there would be before Mitch found a replacement for Jack Cody, who was known to be furious at his dismissal. Julanne had told her over morning tea. Cody had been sacked without a reference, but paid right up. By now he'd be back on the road,
looking for another stockman's job, although his final comment to Mitch had been, “I'll be back!”

If it had been meant as a threat Mitch didn't act as if he was worried.

She blushed to think she had seriously considered going down to Mitch's room last night. The only thing that had saved her was not maidenly concern about her provocative behaviour but the fact the homestead was full of guests. Besides, she didn't actually know what Amanda was capable of. Word was, Amanda was a man-stealer—or such was her reputation. Apparently she had stolen her best friend's boyfriend. That had to be some sort of an indication.

Putting such thoughts out of her head, Christine rode through the radiant morning, letting the big gelding have its head in an exhilarating gallop before heading towards the nearby lagoon. There was music too in the running water, in the frilly white ripples as they ran swiftly around boulders and cascaded over rocks. She hitched the chestnut gelding to a branch, watching him bend his glistening neck to the green undergrowth, tearing at it with big strong teeth, chewing contentedly.

With a feeling of relaxation Christine moved off, following the woody trail that cut a swathe down the slope to the sand. Wattles and paper barks draped their branches overhead, some of the
trees festooned with the climbing wild passion-flower.

A flight of ducks—teal and wood ducks and the scarlet-hooded, orange-breasted lotus birds, the “lily trotters”—had alighted on the emerald surface of the lagoon, floating in and out of the pink water lilies and the spears of aquatic grasses that thickly fringed the perimeter. The vivid green reeds were intermingled with tall, delicate white day lilies in flower that gave off an exquisitely sweet perfume. She breathed it in, thinking such a fragrance had never yet been matched in a bottle.

It was such a peaceful scene it released all her pressures. Sometimes the beauty of nature was almost too much for her. She remembered as a child feeling joy to the point of welling tears at all the splendour, the sound and colour around her, the sweet and aromatic scents of the bush. She understood the wilderness. It was as though she'd never been away.

The lilied stretch of shining water danced before her. The sun glinted off myriad birds' feathers, throwing out flashes of iridescent greens, silvers and reds from neck and wing. There was an enormous concentration of water birds in her heartland, the Channel Country, a natural feature that made the vast area so compelling. The ducks
were floating so smoothly the overhanging trees made clear-cut reflections in the water.

Christine sat down quietly on a weathered grey boulder, staring in silent wonder at the scene before her. Moments like this were akin to having God place a calming hand on her shoulder. Bring order to your life, Christine, for life is a miracle. She knew it. These lagoons were precious sanctuaries in the vast arid isolation, and wonderful places to gain insight.

Surely she'd had long enough to know what it took to make her happy? She'd enjoyed what often seemed to her a fantasy career, involving as it did living the so-called “good life”. But in recent times she had come to the full realization that she didn't want to be a player. She wanted commitment. A much greater wholeness.

As a girl she had been so deeply in love with Mitch and he with her it had seemed as if they were one. They had often spoken of their sense of oneness as being like two separate streams flowing into the one river. But at some stage of her under-development—as she thought of it—she had realized their relationship mightn't work out unless she quelled all the undercurrents that threatened and overwhelmed her young life.

Her grandmother Ruth, more than anyone, had thrown such a shadow over her. Even her mother had forever been trying to change her. There was
a great deal of angst still inside her. It stirred the moment she and her mother were reunited. For all her success she was still vulnerable to her mother's insensitive comments. She supposed she always would be. It was a fact of life that had to be accepted.

Kyall wanted her at home. The homestead was a mansion by anyone's standards—even her super-rich friends'—and there was plenty of room for all of them without invading anyone else's privacy. But Kyall would soon be married. Sarah would be mistress of Wunnamurra, with all that entailed. Christine couldn't think her mother would take all that easily to the big shift in her position. The fact of the matter was that Enid, though she would have denied it with her last breath, was relishing being Numero Uno now that her own mother, Ruth, was gone.

Then there was her promise to Suzanne. Christine fully intended to live up to that. Suzanne had been dealt a rough hand, losing her parents at such an early age. It was her great hope—and she knew Kyall and Sarah felt the same—that Suzanne and Fiona would form a strong, loving relationship. McQueen blood ran in their veins.

Kyall had offered to let Christine in on the business: McQueen Enterprises. She knew, especially in view of her own portfolio, that she had a good business brain—inherited, no doubt, but
she also knew there was no real future without Mitch. He held her happiness in the palm of his hand. She had forced herself to leave him once. She couldn't leave him again. Success had proved fragile. Loving Mitch had assumed central importance in her life. She couldn't accept she had ruined their once wonderful relationship.

She had a few loose ends to tie up before she could come home to roost. A fashion commitment in Sydney—a series of parades for a leading department store—a quick trip overseas, to say her goodbyes, then she could embark on the next, potentially the most exciting stage of her life.

“Onward, Christine!” In her enthusiasm she spoke aloud, shocked out of her reverie as a figure detached itself from the scrub. She was on her feet instantly, every muscle alert.

“Why, if it isn't the posh Miss Reardon, talking to herself,” Jack Cody, the ex-overseer called in a slurred, sneering voice. “I hate rich, pampered women,” he muttered, half staggering down the slope.

Christine flashed her eyes, indignant. Was he drunk at this hour of the morning? “What are you doing around here, Cody?” she challenged, wondering if he were dangerous. She would know soon enough. “You were sacked a week ago.”

“Hell, I'm just takin' my time,” he growled. “What did I do, anyway, that big-shot Claydon
had to show me the door? I coulda taken care of that bloody brumby.”

“Are you nuts? The brumby would have taken care of you—or any one of us.”

“Typical female response!” Cody chortled. “Made no damn sense Claydon killed 'im.”

“It was necessary.”

“Guess you're Claydon's number one fan.”

“Which is none of your business. If you want real trouble you won't attempt to intimidate me. I advise you to get on your way.”

“Problem is, you've seen me.”

“I wouldn't have seen you if you hadn't broken cover. And you're drunk.”

“Wrong. I was drunk last night. It was pretty bloody cold, but I'm dead sober this mornin'. Anyone tell you you got the bluest eyes? Now look at you. Long hair in a braid, breasts shovin' against that little T-shirt. I reckon you're the best-lookin' woman I've ever laid eyes on.”

“Go away, Cody.” Fury and an element of primitive fear stuck in Christine's throat. Cody was a big man, lean and fit, but there was real evidence he was still under the effects of alcohol. If he approached her she would make a break for it.

His heavy steps grew nearer. “Don't be scared. I'm not gonna hurt you. Steal a kiss, maybe. I've
always been bold with the ladies. Nothin' ventured, et cetera et cetera…”

“Back off!” Her anger grew. “I'm Mitch Claydon's friend, remember? We're talking about a guy you should watch out for.”

His grimace held an unnerving amount of resentment. “So what's Claydon gonna do? Beat me to a pulp? It'd be worth it just to have a conversation with you.” He looked her up and down in a way that made her hands clench.

“Sorry!” Her voice was cold and hard. “I'm not talking. Do what I say—back off.”

He smiled, as though he was humouring her. “Keep it together, lady. Keep cool. It looks like you're in for that kiss. After that, no problem.”

Everything about him made her doubt that—the focus of his eyes, the stupid bombastic smile.

She moved suddenly, kicking up sand and watching it spray against his chest and face, stinging his eyes.

“Hey, you shouldn't have done that.” He rubbed at his eyes, doing more damage, then reached out a long arm for her.

Christine pulled away violently, kicking up more sand, grimly satisfied to see it find its mark. She had a few seconds to get past him, then tear up the slope. She had never been physically frightened by a man in her life, but she was now, her heart pounding in her ribs as she ran.

Of course he followed her, bellowing that he wasn't going to touch her. “Are you crazy? Stop—we can sort this out.”

She didn't think so. She had seen the excitement in his eyes. A woman was vulnerable all the time, and Cody was too turned on by her for his own good. Therefore he was very dangerous.

Drunk or not, he was fast and agile. She increased her pace, stumbled twice. A low branch whipped her face but she felt no pain. Halfway up the slope he made a huge grab for her, but she turned, lashing him across the face with the open palm of her hand.

“Are you sure you want to make a fight of it?” He was loving it, exuding cocky power, his eyes peeling the clothes off her.

“You're the one who'll find yourself in trouble.” She was panting, sweat breaking out on her and flushing her cheeks. “I'm meeting up with Mitch. He'll come looking.”

“You don't expect me to believe you, do yah?” This time he clamped a strong hand to her shoulder.

His expression, unmistakably carnal, and the tone of his voice outraged her, momentarily overcoming her panic. “Stop now, Cody,” she warned, anger and revulsion ripping through her. “I'll report this. You'll never find work again.”

“Hey, that's a lot to lose.” He jerked her
closer, staring at her mouth. “Listen, I told yah I have the solution. One kiss. Somethin' tells me you're a terrific kisser. One kiss and I swear I'll back off. That's if you want me to. A lotta women find me attractive.”

The strange confidence in his voice nauseated her. Her whole body tensed, as though she were about to ward off a physical blow.

“Not me.”

She forced her breath to calm. She could scream her head off but no one would hear her. And as soon as she started screaming he would try to overpower her, clamping a hand across her mouth. Not that he would need to bother. The water birds, disturbed, would take to the air in great confusion, creating their own tumult of sound.

His fingers were inside her T-shirt, pulling at her bra strap. “You're stunning, you know that? I don't mind a bit you're so tall.” Smilingly he bent towards her, so she could smell the stale whisky on his breath. “Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt yah. I think you're gonna like it. We'll both like it.”

Christine had resolved her actions. She brought up her knee so hard it was an explosion in his groin.

He fell back with a yell so filled with pain he might have been tortured, but Christine didn't
stop to watch him go into a huddle as he tried to cope with that pain. With an abrupt burst of speed she took off, oblivious to his moans and obscenities.

“Bitch! You're not gonna be safe now.”

“Don't move.” A man was standing about ten feet away from Christine, emanating such menace there might have been danger flags flapping all around him. To Christine he said, very quietly but succinctly, “Get out of here.”