An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden (49 page)

Patrick Logan looked as if he was running out of his scant store of patience. “It's the right and proper thing to do,” he said, looking as if he believed it. “I am your father. Lots of people do it. It may be old-fashioned but I consider it a necessary courtesy.”

“I think it's kinda cute.” Amanda touched her father's hand, backing him. “Think it over, Shelley. You're on a winner here. And if you're on a winner so are we.”

 

Shelley made sure she was the first to greet Philip—though greet was hardly the word. More like confront. Philip had a blind spot. Her parents were about to sell her off to the highest bidder. Her sister, only four years older than herself, was fully in agreement.

They made it sound as if all their thoughts were of her and her future. Her security, her position in life. When in fact the whole lot of them were thinking of the benefits to themselves. Her marrying Philip was obviously intended to
help them out. The Logan family fortune, such as it was, had dwindled to an all-time low, despite Shelley's best efforts, and it was her job now to restore it by making a good marriage. This so-called marriage of convenience. God knows, it still went on. Love alone apparently wasn't enough for some people. A strenuous attempt was being made to hassle even harass her into it. Well, she wasn't falling for that one.

And what of Brock? What would Brock think when he found out Philip had come over to see her?

Her mother had been giving her worried looks all morning, otherwise she might have thought her mother was secretly thrilled. It broke her heart that such a thing as a marriage between herself and Philip Kingsley could inspire such rare pleasurable emotions in her mother. She even looked younger, brighter. She was wearing one of Amanda's summery shifts and she had shampooed her hair, fluffing it up into soft curls. It was easy to see how pretty she had been and could be again. Even her father wore a smart casual shirt and trousers instead of his usual dingy T-shirt and shorts.

It was as though what they so ardently wanted just had to happen. Fate owed them. They needed a helping hand up.

But Shelley was filled with a wild rebellion. I'm no sacrificial lamb, she fumed. Even if I married Philip I'd have to slit my own throat. Let Amanda find herself a millionaire to save the family fortunes.

She stood well back until the rotors of the helicopter had stopped, watching Philip jump to the ground, looking immensely spry. Her father was right. He was good-looking when he wasn't looking defeated. This morning he looked triumphant, like a man coming to claim his bride. She inhaled deeply, then let it out. She reminded herself to keep calm, nevertheless there was only so much she was prepared to take.

“Shelley!” he called to her in delight. “I didn't expect you to come down for me. I was going to walk up to the homestead.”

“We can drive,” she said, waiting for him to reach her. “But first we're going to have a little talk. What do you think you're doing here, Philip? You can't be serious about asking Dad for my hand?”

His expression underwent a rapid change. “But, Shelley, I thought you'd be thrilled.”

“How did you come to entertain such a wild idea? I've told you in every way I know how that I have no romantic interest in you. We're friends. Period. Where do you get off, spying on me? Ringing the house yesterday? Three or four times, wasn't it?”

“I was concerned about you,” Philip protested. “I don't trust Brock. Not with any woman, let alone you. I love you deeply. If you let it love for me will come.”

“Oh, rubbish!” she said angrily, not caring now how much she hurt him. “I—do—not—love—you. I know you're finding that very hard to deal with but it's true. We have a friendship of sorts. If you persist, we won't even have that. How dare you presume to think you could speak to my father about marriage plans? My plans don't include you.”

“Because you're stubborn, Shelley,” he insisted. “You like to fight things. You would love me if you gave me a chance. I explained that to your father. Your parents like me. They approve of me. Isn't that important to you? Don't you want to help them? A marriage between us could bring them back to life. I'm a very rich man. Hasn't it sunk in yet?”

“You need to consider what Brock is going to do,” she said sharply.

“There's nothing he can do. The will is airtight. Would you come back to Mulgaree with me afterwards?”

“In a word—no!” she said shortly, exasperated with Philip's persistence.

“It's my mother, isn't it? She's never made you welcome. I'll change all that. Don't let her worry you. She's had too big a hold on me for too long. My mother can go. Maybe
not at once, but when we're settled. She's assured me Brock's filthy claim she had an affair with Gerald Maitland is totally untrue.”

“That's the ostrich in you talking, Philip,” Shelley said wearily. “You're forever hiding your head in the sand. My parents are expecting you for morning tea, heaven help them. They're as single-minded as you, but it won't make any difference. Maybe the two of us could put our great brains together on this one,” she remarked flippantly. “I happen to know Amanda has need of a rich husband.”

He laughed briefly, his expression a perfect copy of his snobbish mother's. “I have no interest in Amanda whatsoever. In fact I can't believe you're sisters. I find her vulgar.”

“That's interesting. I'd take her before I'd take your mother. We might as well go up to the house and get this over with. But I warn you. Don't attempt to speak any nonsense to my father, or I might go ape.” Shelley walked away quickly to the Jeep. “Did you tell Brock where you were going?” she asked when they were underway.

“As a matter of fact I did. He laughed in that devilish way he has. He thinks I'm a perfect fool, but I know I'm not. With Maitland there I might as well make my own will and you can witness it. I have huge responsibilities now. I might even be able to work out a plan to help Brock. I'm going to have need of him to ensure our operations run smoothly. He's a pretty cluey guy and he's tough. The men respect him. What do you think?” Philip turned slightly to stare at her. “He could take up Strathdownie. Manage things from there. That's bound to please him.”

“Oh, yes, I'm sure!” Shelley said with extreme irony—only Philip missed it, gratified by her response.

“I wouldn't want you to think I didn't have a heart.”

 

She was terribly distressed and embarrassed by her family's behaviour. They piled on the pressure, treating Philip like visiting royalty. Philip, being Philip, lapped it up. He really was incredibly pretentious. It seemed he believed his am
bition of marrying her could be achieved as soon as possible now that they'd all decided. Except for the prospective bride, who might not have been there for all the notice they took of her.

I could be a prize cow, Shelley thought angrily. Why don't I try mooing? She wondered when they would start haggling over her selling price. I'm not a human being at all. I have no mind of my own. It wouldn't even matter if I disappeared under the table or got up and screamed blue murder. All that was needed was for Philip to propose. Her family was giving him every possible indication that he would be welcomed with open arms. They didn't care a whit about her. She was the means to an end. She could see by the look on Philip's face he knew what was expected of him. There was a price to be paid but he was willing to pay it. He was, after all, master of Mulgaree—the flagship of the Kingsley chain.

She knew then that her position at home was untenable. Unless she did what they all wanted and agreed to marrying Philip her life would be made a misery. The truth was it had been a misery for years. Misplaced love and loyalty had bound her to her family. Now their total disregard for her wishes had set her free.

She had no real place on Wybourne. It wasn't hers and it never would be. It was her father's. She couldn't stop him from closing down her operation. He'd already done one dreadful thing by cancelling a booking out of hand. The agency had been very disappointed in her when she'd spoken to them and she didn't blame them.

Finally anger overcame her embarrassment. She desperately needed to get away. To be on her own to think. She would spend a few days in the town. The pub would put her up. But would her father let her take the truck? For all the hard work she'd done and the money she'd brought in, she didn't own a damned thing. She'd have to think of something. Be inventive! She could say she had to approach
the general store to see if they'd take some of their supplies back. Her father would go along with that.

In one way or another Rex Kingsley's death had forced decisions on them all. Her father had made his, and once his mind was made up there was no power on earth that would shift it.

She just couldn't stay.

 

Shelley didn't even remember making the long, hot trip into Koomera Crossing. Her mind was preoccupied with all the remarkable events of the past few days. Her father had made little fuss when she had asked for the four-wheel drive. She'd kept to the excuse that she was returning a lot of the supplies for refund, plus she had to pick up a few odds and ends for herself. She'd told them she might stay a day or two. She had a lot of things to think over.

Her father had nodded at that, as though he knew that given time and the proper reflection she would come to the right decision about Philip's offer of marriage. After all, she owed him. She had lived when Sean hadn't.

Afterwards she had gone to her room and packed a small suitcase, carrying it out through the rear door to the large shed where the station vehicles were garaged.

No one had waved her off.

She arrived in the town mid-afternoon, exhausted, eyes sore from the glare even with good sunglasses, her back, neck and legs aching. She parked the vehicle at the back of the pub, checking in a few minutes later.

“Would you like the same room, luv?” The publican, Mick Donovan, asked her.

“Fine, Mick. I'm used to it.” She smiled and waved as she made her ascent up the curving wooden staircase.

An hour later she was back on the main street after a quick word with Annie Hope, the woman running the general store. Mercifully Annie agreed to take back all the non-perishable supplies she'd ordered in.

The talk in the town was all of Rex Kingsley's death, fol
lowing so closely as it had on that of Ruth McQueen, the late matriarch of the McQueen dynasty, a woman as ruthless in her fashion as ever Rex Kingsley had been. Two peas in a pod. Two products of an era. No one in Koomera Crossing as yet knew which way the will went—evidently Shelley wasn't expected to know—but the betting was that justice would be done to Brock. The whole town was behind him.

Leaving the general store, she heard footsteps rushing up to her, then felt a hand on her shoulder. “Shelley, the very person I need to see!”

Shelley turned, her face wreathed in smiles. She'd recognise that voice anywhere, the honeyed American accent that overlaid native Australian.

“Christine, how lovely! Hi, how are you?”

An extraordinarily stunning, tall young woman stood before her, the picture of happiness and glowing health, unbelievably chic in long tight-legged jeans, a low-slung turquoise studded belt, blue tank top, midnight-blue akubra and high boots. Christine Claydon, ex-international fashion model, now wife to Mitch Claydon of Marjimba Station.

“I'm fine. Never better.” Christine rolled her beautiful sapphire-blue eyes. “I've got some wonderful news for you. I can't wait to tell you. Could we grab a cup of coffee?”

“Great!” Shelley felt a rush of pleasure. She would have loved to have had a sister like Christine, someone so warm, so friendly, so supportive. “I could feel the good vibes coming off you. You look gorgeous. Married life is agreeing with you.”

“I'm so happy,” Christine said in a near reverential tone. “True love is a miracle, Shelley. I'm going to pray you'll find it.”

“Maybe I already have.”

“Are you serious?” Christine grasped Shelley's arm, looking into her face very searchingly.

“I'm serious.” Shelley smiled, albeit wryly.

“Oh, honey, you've got to tell me more.” An expression of great interest passed across Christine's beautiful face.

A few minutes later they were seated at a window table in the town coffee shop, a couple of cappuccinos and a plate of delectable little pastries before them.

“Your news first,” Shelley prompted, settling her shoulder bag on the floor close to her.

“It has to be—it's so extraordinary! You'll never believe it.” Christine broke into a little excited laugh. “We found the treasure. Claydon's Treasure.”

Shelley blinked, feeling a shower of sparks. “You've got to be kidding me!”

“This very morning.” Christine began to tuck in to a tiny caramel tart. “I called Wybourne straight away and Amanda told me you'd gone into town. I'm so damned excited and thrilled and it's all because of you. Mitch persuaded Kyall it was worth a shot to have another look for it. Both of them have been stuck with so much work they couldn't do a thing about it before this, but they decided to follow your hunch.”

“And it worked out?” Pleasant little shocks were coming in billows. “This is amazing. And all because I thought a line representing a billabong was in the shape of a turtle. It only occurred to me because I draw. The actual map-drawing was very elementary.”

Christine nodded, her eyes flashing a brilliant blue. “Turtle Creek. That's where the Claydon Treasure was buried. Right under the family's nose, so to speak. Of course they took advantage of a metal detector, which was an enormous help, but even then they had to sweep both lines of the creek. About two hours on they began to get hits, then they decided to go to work with the shovels. And bingo! The digging revealed an old, very rusty metal box.”