Читать книгу Outback Bachelor / The Cattleman's Adopted Family - Margaret Way - Страница 11

BIRDS shrieked, whistled, zoomed above their heads, filling the whole world with a wild symphony of sound. They had left the main compound far behind, driving the horses, initially unsettled and hard to saddle, at full gallop towards the line of sandhills, glowing like furnaces in the intermittent, blinding flashes of sun. Aboriginal chanting so ghostly it raised the short hairs on the nape at first floated with ease across the sacred landscape. Now the sound was fading as they thundered on their way.

From time to time crouching wallabies and kangaroos lifted their heads at their pounding progress, taking little time to get out of the way of the horses. Manes and tails flowing, they raced full pelt across the plains, their hooves churning up the pink parakeelya, the succulent the cattle fed on, and sending swirls of red dust into the baked air.

The heat of the day hadn’t passed. It had become deadly. Thunderclouds formed thick blankets over a lowering sky. But as threatening as the sky looked—a city dweller would have been greatly worried they were in for an impending deluge—Skye, used to such displays, realised there might be little or no rain in those climbing masses of clouds. A painter would have inspiration for a stunning abstract using a palette of pearl grey, black, purple and silver with great washes of yellow and livid green.

Probably another false alarm, she thought, not that she cared if they got a good soaking. Any rain was a blessing. Her cotton shirt was plastered to her back. Sweat ran in rivulets between her breasts and down into her waistband. There could be lightning. There was a distant rumbling of thunder. She had seen terrifying lightning strikes. A neighbouring cattle baron had in fact been killed by a lightning strike not all that many years previously. Yet oddly she had no anxiety about anything. She was with Keefe.

Half an hour on, as if a staying hand had touched his shoulder, Keefe reined in his mount. Skye did the same. Riders and horses needed a rest. In a very short time the world had darkened, giving every appearance of a huge electrical storm sweeping in. It confirmed to her distressed mind this had been a very sad day. Wasn’t that the message being carried across the vast reaches of the station by an elaborate network of sand drums? The chanting and the drums acted as powerful magic to see Byamee, Broderick McGovern, safely home to the spirit world.

Keefe took the lead, in desperate need of the quiet secrecy and sanctuary of the hill country. He loved and respected this whole ancient area, with all its implications. The ruined castles with their battlements had a strange mystique, an aloofness from the infinite, absolutely level plains country. It was as though they were secure in the knowledge it was they that had been there from the Dreamtime, created by the Great Beings on their walk-abouts. The hill country exerted a very real mystical force that had to be reckoned with. Many a Djinjara stockman, white or aboriginal, had over the years claimed they had experienced psychic terror in certain areas, a feeling of being watched when there was no other human being within miles. Keefe knew of many over time, including the incredibly brave explorers, who had tasted the same sensation around the great desert monuments that had stood for countless aeons, especially the Olgas, the aboriginal Katajuta. Ayer’s Rock, Uluru, sacred to the desert tribes, was acknowledged as having a far more benign presence, whereas the extraordinary cupolas, minarets and domes of Katajuta projected a very different feeling.

They dismounted, their booted feet making deep footprints in the deep rust-red loam. They saw to the horses, then began moving as one up a sandstone slope to where stands of bauhinia, acacia, wilga and red mulga were offering shade. The powerful sun was sending out great sizzling golden rays that pierced the clouds and lit up the desert like some fantastic staged spectacle.

Skye knew this place well. She had been here many times, mostly with Keefe, at other times on her own to reflect and wonder. This was Gungulla: a favourable place. A place of permanent water and a camping spot for white man and aborigine alike. Up among the caves there were drinking holes in the form of big rock-enclosed bowls and basins. There was bush tucker too, all kinds of berries and buds packed with nutrition. One could survive here. She turned to witness a thrilling sight. The summits of the curling, twisting, billowing clouds were rimmed with orange fire.

Keefe had pulled a small blanket from his pack, letting it flap on the wind before spreading it on the sand beneath the clump of orchid trees. He looked up at Skye, standing poised above him, twirling a white bauhinia blossom with a crimson throat in her hand. She had picked the orchid-like flower off one of the trees as she had passed beneath. Keefe indicated that she should sit beside him. She did so, feeling a blend of longing and trepidation. Immediately the little sandhill devil lizards scurried for cover.

“I can’t get my head around the fact my father is dead.” Keefe spoke in an intense voice. “He was only in his mid-fifties. No great age these days. There’s Gran eighty. Dad was needed.”

Sympathy and understanding were in her blue eyes. “His death has put a huge burden on you, Keefe. I know that. You thought you would have more years to grow into the job but the truth is you’re ready. You can be at rest about that.”

“Well, I’m not!” He wasn’t bothering to conceal his grief from her. This was Skye. He was letting it out. “The numbers of us killed in light plane crashes!”

She couldn’t argue with that. “But it can’t prevent you from flying. Out here flying is a way of life. You were able to come for me.”

He made a short bitter sound, more a rasp than a laugh. “I’d come for you no matter what.”

She had to press her eyes shut. Block him out. “Don’t fill my head with impossible dreams, Keefe.” Goaded, she pitched the bauhinia blossom aside. He had hurt her so deeply the wounds would never heal. Yet here she was again defying all common sense.

“Do you dream of me?” he asked abruptly.

It took her breath.

“I dream of you,” he said, lying back on the rough grey blanket and staring up at the sky.

She looked down at his dark, brooding face. “If we weren’t who we are, would you marry me?” How absurd could she get? She waited. He didn’t speak so she answered her own question. “I think not.” All these years wasted. Only they were unforgettable years. She would remember them to her last breath.

“Who are we exactly?” Abruptly he pulled her down to him in one swift, fluid motion.

She allowed him to do it even when she knew she could ill afford the least sign of surrender. To prove it, high emotion kicked in in a heartbeat. Keefe’s sexual magnetism was unquestioned, and so proprietorial. He knew he owned her. That alone aroused a certain female hostility. Being owned was wrong. “Are you saying there are secrets, Keefe?” She turned on her side to challenge him. They were so close, the pain was scarcely to be borne. Whatever had happened between them, they could never truly lose the old unifying bond. In his own way he needed her. But never as much as she needed him. There was nothing really normal about their relationship, she thought.

Again he didn’t speak. Groaning with frustration, she flung her arm across his hard, muscled chest, feeling the rhythmic thud of his heart beneath her hand. Sometimes she thought she would simply expire with the pain of loving Keefe, when there seemed to be no resolution to the matter. It was here, almost this very spot, where he had first made love to her. Taken her virginity. Captured her heart. Held it so fast he had denied her the freedom to enjoy another lover for a long time. Even then, those few relationships had never taken real shape. There was no one like Keefe. The way he made love to her. The things he did. The things he said. It was magic and music. Unforgettable.

“Secrets, yes,” he muttered. With a strong arm he fitted her body to him, as though her proximity gave him all the comfort this world could offer. “But does every secret need to be told?”

Her vulnerable flesh was pulsing with desire, causing deep knife-like sensations in her groin. He hadn’t asked a rhetorical question. He needed an answer. “You’re saying not every secret needs to be exposed to the light? Are you worried I’m family, Keefe?” Finally she threw her hidden anxieties into the ring.

“Isn’t that the fear locked away in your own Pandora’s box?” he countered, a correspondingly sharp note in his voice. “Let it out and who knows what will happen? Family!” he groaned. “There’s nothing family about the way I feel about you.”

Such an admission, yet she had a fierce desire to lash out at him. “Feel, certainly. Never act on those feelings. They could be taboo.” Why not hurt him as he always managed to hurt her? “Just give me a simple answer. What do you feel?” She stared at him with her black-fringed radiant blue eyes.

He brushed the question aside as if she had wasted her breath asking it. “Is that some kind of a joke? Neither of us can let go of the other. More to the point, I need to ask, is it a safe time for you?” There was a great urgency in him she couldn’t fail to miss.

“Safe?” She considered that with a brittle laugh. “No time is safe with you.” She didn’t think she could withstand the heat of his scrutiny. “Oh, Keefe!” Her breast rose and fell with her deep troubled sigh. Impossible to sustain the illusion she was her own woman. She was a woman who couldn’t let go. Worse, he wouldn’t let her go.

He shifted position, half pinning her beneath his powerful body but withholding most of his weight. “I want to make love to you. Tell me you’ll let me?” The very first sight of her at the airport had triggered a desperate need in him for the mind-bending pleasure of knowing her body again. He needed her to lessen the pain of this dreadful chaotic day. Make it bearable.

“It’s always what you want,” she said. “Shades of the old droit de seigneur!” Tears sparkled in her eyes.

“Never heard of it,” he darkly mocked, lifting skeins of her golden hair then letting them slide through his fingers. “I said, only if you want it.”

“What a concession, Keefe!” Hostility was coming off her like steam. She knew it had its genesis in status. His. Hers. Though successive generations were easing up on the status war. Once it would have been considered a disgrace for the scion of a great pastoral family to become involved with the daughter of a lowly employee. But she was an educated woman living in the twenty-first century. She could take her place anywhere. Except, it seemed, at Djinjara.

“Do I want it?” She considered his question bleakly. With a tremendous effort of will she exerted enough strength to break free of him. High time she made it perfectly plain she was her own woman. “Do you really believe I’m happy to think of myself as a woman possessed?” A high flush of colour had come to her cheeks.

“Possessed and possessing,” he answered bluntly. His hand, with a life of its own, moved up to caress her breast, shaping its contours within his palm, his thumb teasing the berry-ripe nipple. “I can feel your heart racing. It beats for me.”

The truth of it cut her to the bone. One had an intellectual life. And one had an emotional life. Sometimes the two were at war. “So arrogant!” she lamented. “I exist only to worship at your feet?” Deliberately she removed his hand from her breast. She knew about love. She knew about total seduction. He had long since mastered the art.

“Maybe I am arrogant,” he agreed flatly. “Maybe that’s what you do to me, Skye.”

He resumed his position, in all probability waiting for her to come round. Instead, she sat rigid with self-control, watching an eagle hawk swoop on its prey. “Are you ever going to free me, Keefe?” she asked eventually. “Or are you just holding onto me until you find someone else?”

He didn’t appear to be listening to her. As though what she was saying made no sense to him. “This is almost the precise spot where I first made love to you,” he said in a quiet, serious voice, an element of—was it regret?—in his tone.

“The heir to Djinjara having sex with the young daughter of a station employee.”

Again he didn’t choose to hear her. “The world was perfect that day. You made me feel like a titan. Capable of taking on the world. Sweet, funny little Skye with her ceaseless questions grown into a beautiful woman.”

“You always took the time to answer those questions.”

“They were always so intelligent. You had a great thirst for knowledge.”

Her released breath had a soft, shaken sound. “You were so kind to me in those days. Then overnight you drew back. You kept your distance.”

His handsome features tightened. “What would you have had me do? Keeping a distance between us was the only course open to me.”

“Of course.” There was brittle acceptance in her tone. “Keefe McGovern and Skye McCory. What a no-no! That was never going to work.” Her gaze went beyond him. “It’s going to storm.”

He didn’t move. “Right this minute I don’t care if we’re heading for Armageddon. I want to crush you. You won’t let me. I want to take every little particle of you into me.”

“That would seem to be our misfortune,” she said with the greatest irony.

“I call it destiny.” Abruptly he sat up. “I’ve missed you so much, Skye. You were supposed to come in August.”

To be here with him, remote from everyone and everything, and hold herself aloof was an excruciating test of her resolve. “And sow more discord?” she challenged. ‘No, Keefe, I couldn’t. What was the point? Besides, you might have found yourself a fiancée by then.”

His expression hardened. “Be damned to that! Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“And what is that?” She spoke in a strung-out voice, knowing she was coming close to tumbling over the edge.

“You’re the only woman I want.”

The admission was like a blinding illumination.

Isn’t that your lifetime passion? said the voice in her head. To be Keefe’s woman?

When she spoke she spoke sadly. “The things you say are enough to blow my mind. I’m the only woman you want? If that’s true—if I can possibly believe you—what in heaven or hell is wrong with us both?”

“Nothing good, it seems.” On a wave of agitation he reached out to pull her back into his arms.

He was strong…so strong…the male scent of him the most powerful aphrodisiac. Pride made her put up a struggle of sorts, her blonde head lolling away from him, her eyes glistening with tears. Was there something missing in her that left her so vulnerable?

“Skye, please. Don’t fight me,” he begged.

“Can’t you see I must?” She had to find it within herself to pull back from this point of no return.

“No, don’t!” He lowered his head, hungrily covering her mouth with his own. His tongue lapped the moistness that slicked her full lips like it was the most luscious of wines. “Don’t, don’t, don’t!”

Her heart contracted; her senses reeled. Desire came at her in an annihilating rush. This was black magic at its highest level. Keefe was the magician, ready to transport her to a different world. All she had to do was give herself up to his stunning sexual supremacy. His hands were moving down over her body. Soon she would stop thinking altogether. Mind and body would become two entirely separate regions.

Only…she couldn’t shed all her painful memories like a snake shed its skin. Memories had the power to come crashing through. She wanted him desperately—she was starving for what only he could give her—yet she gathered herself sufficiently to pull away. Perhaps she should have pulled away that first time. Said No, Keefe, instead of Yes, Keefe and saved herself a whole world of pain. Memory opened up like a book…

Second-year exams were over. She thought she had done well. She had promised her closest girlfriend Kylie Mitchell—a fellow law student—she would spend part of the long summer vacation with her and her family at their beautiful beach hide-away on one of the Great Barrier Reef islands, but she was to spend Christmas and the New Year with her father. He was so looking forward to seeing her it was impossible to disappoint him, even if she knew she was going back into the lion’s den. She hadn’t forgotten Scott’s near-assault on her. Mercifully it had never been repeated. In his heart Scott knew his brother would destroy him if he ever hurt her. From her sixteenth year, she had become off limits to Scott and his attentions. But from that day on she had never trusted him. On the surface they managed to get by quite well. There were pleasantries and jokes, but Skye thought she always saw at the back of Scott’s eyes a familiarity bordering on insolence that exposed what was really at his heart.

Scott still fancied her. The only thing that stopped him from doing something about it was fear of swift retribution from his brother. From time to time Skye had rather horrible nightmares about Scott coming after her. Then, when it seemed he was about to physically overcome her, Keefe was always there to rescue her.

Keefe, her knight in shining armour. Only confusion reigned. Keefe remained her knight, but his whole attitude towards her had changed. It was as though she had lost her sweet innocence and turned into some sort of siren. In short, Keefe kept her at a distance. Just as he made sure his brother maintained a safe distance from her, he maintained that distance himself. What had happened that summer years ago had caused Keefe to shut a door on her.

A big Christmas Eve party was being held at the House. Lady McGovern herself had issued Skye an invitation.

“I won’t take no for an answer, Skye,’ she said, gauging from the expression on Skye’s face she was about to make some excuse. “Your father won’t mind in the least. You’re a beautiful, clever young woman. A credit to us all. Quite a few young members of the family will be here. You’ll enjoy yourself. Have you something pretty to wear?”

Luckily the perfect get-out had been handed to her on a plate. “Nothing to wear to a party, Lady McGovern, I’m afraid. You must excuse me, but thank you so much for thinking of me. I know you’ll understand I’d feel awkward and out of place in the one dress I’ve brought with me. It’s a cotton sundress. I’m sure Rachelle and her cousins will be beautifully turned out.”

“So they will,” Lady McGovern agreed with an unsmiling nod. Rachelle’s cousins, all from wealthy families, were out earning their own money, carving out careers, not relying on trust funds like Rachelle. Nothing she said made any difference to her granddaughter. Rachelle lacked drive. Worse, she had no sense of reality. Her feet didn’t even touch the ground. That’s what wealth did to some people. Why bother earning money when you had plenty? Here in front of her was young Skye McCory—the image of her mother—taking up life and developing her character. At the end of Skye’s first year of law she was among the top five students. Lady McGovern fully expected she would repeat or even gain standing when the results for year two were posted in the New Year.

“Don’t worry about that,” she said, fixing Skye with her regal stare. “I took the opportunity of having something appropriate for you to wear sent in from Sydney. Think of it as an extra Christmas present.” Djinjara’s staff were given suitable Christmas presents. It was a long-standing tradition, as was their big New Year’s Eve party held in the Great Hall. “Come along with me and I’ll show it to you.” The civility of the tone didn’t conceal the fact it was an order. “Shoes to match so don’t worry about them either. I have countless evening bags. I’m sure you can pick out something from among them.”

Skye, at twenty, felt overwhelmed. “But Lady McGovern—”

“No buts about it!” The old lady turned on her, her tone so sharp it was like a rap over the knuckles. “Come along now.”

Skye knew better than to argue.

As always, Rachelle was on hand to upset her.

She was almost at the front door when Rachelle tore down the grand staircase. “What have you got there?” she demanded, her dark eyes riveted to the long, elegant box in Skye’s hands with its distinctive packaging and label.

Normally poised in the face of Rachelle’s obvious dislike, Skye felt acute embarrassment. Colour swept hotly into her cheeks. “Lady McGovern has been kind enough to give me my Christmas present,” she said.

“A dress?” Rachelle’s upper-crust voice rose to a screech. “How come you rate a dress from Margaux’s?” She advanced on Skye, looking shocked to her roots. Margaux’s was arguably Sydney’s top boutique, carrying designer labels from all over the world.

“Yes, a dress, Rachelle.” Skye was recovering somewhat. “I’m thrilled.”

“So you should be!” Rachelle’s tone lashed. “Gran hasn’t asked you to come to the Christmas Eve party surely?”

Skye held her temper. “She has. I’m sorry if that upsets you, Rachelle. I’ll endeavour to keep out of your way.”

Rachelle’s face registered a whole range of emotions, fury uppermost. “I don’t believe this!” she cried. “How could Gran do this to me?” Her eyes abruptly narrowed to slits. “I believe you begged her for an invitation. That’s it, isn’t it? You’d have the hide!”

“Wrong again.” Skye shook her blonde head. “If you ask your grandmother, you’ll learn the truth. But do remember to ask nicely. You’re losing all your manners.”

“I hate you, Skye McCory.” As if she needed to, Rachelle laid it on the line. A McGovern to a McCory. A McGovern with a streak of vengeance.

“You have no right to,” Skye replied, keeping her tone level, although she felt sick to her stomach. She was sick of Rachelle’s drama. In fact, she wanted to pitch the elegant box at this appalling young woman’s head.

She had to walk away.

Right now.

The McGoverns still had her in their power, even if she was subsidising her own way with two part-time jobs. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. But she had long since made the vow she would repay every last penny she owed them, even if it took years.

Surely her skin had never looked so luminous? Her thick, deeply waving honey-blonde hair formed a corona around her excited flushed face, animated to radiance. She couldn’t help but be thrilled by the way she looked. She had never expected to own a dress like this. Not for years yet, and then she would have to be earning a darned good salary. It was gossamer light, the most beautiful shade of blue that, like magic, turned her eyes to blue-violet. The fabric was silk chiffon, with jewelled detailing, the bodice strapless, draped tightly around her body to the hips, from where it fell beautifully to just clear of her ankles. Her evening sandals—like the dress a perfect fit—were silver, as was her little evening bag that inside bore a famous Paris label.

“Oh, my darling girl, aren’t you dolled up!” her father exclaimed in pride and pleasure when she presented herself for his inspection. “You look every inch a princess! I’m enormously proud of you, Skye. If only your mother was here to share this moment!”

Always Cathy, her mother. For her father there had never been any other woman. “I’m enormously proud of you, Dad,” she countered, giving him a hug. “I suppose we’d better get going.” Her father was to drive her up to the homestead, which was blazing with light.

“You enjoy yourself, hear me,” her father urged as she alighted from the station Jeep. “Don’t let that Rachelle get under your skin. Poor girl has problems.”

Skye, blessed with a generous heart, hoped Rachelle would one day solve them.

Days later she was still in a daydream, her head crammed with the long silent looks Keefe had given her that splendid Christmas Eve. All the other looks and stares. Many had looked for a very long time at Skye McCory in their midst, but the close attention had slid off her like water off a duck’s back. What she hadn’t realised was she had the arresting air of someone not conscious of her own beauty. Her looks were simply a part of her. Part of her genetic inheritance. She wasn’t and never would be burdened by personal vanity. Rachelle of the patrician features was a beauty. But Rachelle brought to mind the old saying that beauty was only skin deep. Far better a beautiful nature. A beautiful nature could not be ravaged by time.

But the way Keefe had looked at her! It had made her feel rapturous, yet madly restless, like her body was a high-revving machine. Not like the old days when she had still been a child. Like a woman. A woman he desired. Her own feelings were still locked in the realms of dreams, but Keefe had looked at her as if anything were possible. He was the Prince who could claim his Cinderella. For Cinderella she was. At least to the McGoverns. That evening had been the most disturbing, the most exciting night of her life. She didn’t think her memories would ever fade.

Had Keefe forgiven her for having distracted his brother? Lord knew, it hadn’t been deliberate. Did he finally understand that? She had given Scott not the slightest encouragement. It was Scott who had had the willful drive to take what he wanted. With Keefe, it was like the start of something quite new and wondrously strange. A wonderful, sumptuous, brilliant night of tens of thousands of glittering stars and the Southern Cross hanging overDjinjara’s huge tiled roof. Some memories lasted for ever.

She took her camera out to the sandhills. She had become very interested in photography since attending university. Her friend, Ewan, a fellow law student, had introduced a few of the others to the art form, fanning their enthusiasm to the point they had all pored over the various magazines on the market once they had moved past the basic techniques. The best magazines had taught her how to get great outdoor shots. She had quickly moved onto the intermediate level, such was her eye and her interest.

“You have an amazing talent, Skye!” Ewan had said, quite without envy. He had a big talent himself. “You’re a born photographer. You should give up law.”

“As though I could find work as a photographer!” she had scoffed. “If I’m so good, why don’t you all chip in and buy me a decent camera?” Of course she had been joking but to her shocked delight Ewan had run around with the hat, raising close to eight hundred dollars with a very nice contribution from a top woman lecturer who admired Skye’s work.

Skye had read up on all the great photographers, including Ansel Adams, recognised as one of the finest landscape photographers of all time. Landscape had been what she was particularly interested in. Considering where she had been born and lived, the savagely beautiful Channel Country, the home of the nation’s cattle kings, was high up on her list of must-take photographs. She had thought she might even be able to make a bit of a name for herself, but she wasn’t all that hopeful. Ewan, now, was far more interested in people. He had taken numerous photographs of her, which had captured her essence, according to her friends. The only time she had ever turned Ewan down had been when he had wanted to photograph her nude. Not that the shots wouldn’t have been tasteful. Ewan was dead serious about his work. It was just that she was too darned modest—modesty, had she known it, was part of her charm—and she had been worried where the photographs might eventually turn up. Ewan had already been offered a showing at one of the small but interesting galleries.

That afternoon she had taken herself out to the hill country with her brand-new camera. In a year she had raised enough money on her own to trade in the camera her friends’ generosity had bought her for the next model. The new camera had many extras, options and problemsolving capabilities. It had already augmented her natural ability to capture just the image she was striving for. She was starting to think of herself as a photographic artist seriously setting about taking impressions of her own country. On Djinjara there were countless special locations. Even then one needed patience for just the right light, just the right shot. She intended to wait it out to capture the amazing vibrance of an Outback sunset. City people didn’t realise the fantastic range and depth of colour or the three-dimensional nature of the clouds. Outback sunsets and sunrises were overwhelmingly beautiful. In them one could see the hand of God.

Of special interest to her were the ghost gums. What wonderful trees they were, with their pure white silky-to-the-touch boles. They made such a brilliant contrast to the rich red soil and the bright violet-blue sky. She was lying on her back, trying to get as low as possible so she could get in as much as she could of the trees and their wonderful sculptural branches

That was the way Keefe found her. He must have spotted the station Jeep at the base of the foothills and followed her trail. He knew about her burgeoning interest in photography but he hadn’t as yet seen her work. She and Keefe were separated these days, weren’t they? But in their own way they remained tied.

It was really strange, the connection. A silver cord that could never be cut.

“Won’t be a minute,” she said, trying to bring full concentration back to her shot. She had been thinking so much about Keefe lately she had almost driven herself crazy.

“Take your time.” With a faint sigh he lowered his lean frame onto a nearby boulder. Curiously it was shaped like a primitive chair, the back and the seat carved and smoothed to a high polish over aeons.

“I was hoping to take a few shots of the sunset,” she explained, beginning to get up. “Djinjara’s sunsets are glorious.”

He stood immediately, put out a hand, helped her to her feet.

Skin on skin. For a disconcerting moment it was almost as though he had pressed her hand to his lips. How susceptible was the flesh! It had been a blazingly hot day so she was wearing brief denim shorts and a pink cotton shirt tied loosely at the waist over one of her bikini tops. Quite a bit of her was on show. She wasn’t supposed to be on show, was she?

“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” he asked, a trace of the old indulgence in his voice.

“Love it,” she said, whisking a long shining wave of her hair off her flushed face. She had tied it back in a ponytail but the wind had gone to work on the neat arrangement. “It would take a lifetime but one of my ambitions is to photograph as much as I can of our great untouched land,” she confided, knowing he would understand. No one loved the land more than Keefe. The land was a passion they shared. “I can’t wait for the miracle of the wildflowers.”

“Your special time,” he said.

His diamond-bright eyes moved to rest on her with such an unsettlingly tender expression that her body might have been a long-stemmed blossom.

“Our special time.” She managed a smile, tingling to the tips of her fingers. “I loved every moment I spent with you as a child. But those were the halcyon days, weren’t they? We’ve moved on.”

“You’ve moved on,” he said, a touch grimly. “I’m still here.”

“You wouldn’t be anywhere else,” she scoffed.

“Don’t you miss it?” He leaned into the boulder with a characteristically elegant slouch. Keefe had such grace of movement. He had discarded his wide-brimmed hat, his luxuriant black hair thick and tousled, his darkly tanned skin glittering with the lightest sweat.

“Of course I miss it!” she said fervently, betraying her sense of loss. “I’ll probably miss it all my life.”

“So what’s your life going to be, Skye?” he questioned, his eyes a sharply observant silver.

“I haven’t figured that out yet.” Immediately she was on the defensive.

“Well, you’re only twenty.” He shrugged. “But you must have a whole string of admirers by now?”

“No more than you,” she shot back.

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous at all,” she said heatedly. “What about Fiona Fraser? She stayed glued to your side at the party. Then there’s Clementine. I like Clemmie. Your second cousin Angela has become very glamorous. And she’s a gifted pianist.”

“So she is,” he nodded. “A conservatorium graduate. Angela is a city girl.”

“Here we go!” she answered breezily. “That counts her out, then. City girls are trouble. So we’re back to Fiona.”

“You’re back to Fiona, and I thought you were a hell of a lot smarter. I’m twenty-six years old, Skye. Twenty-six to your twenty. I have no thought of marriage on my mind.”

“As yet. You have to be aware you’re one of the biggest catches in the country.’ It came to her that she was deliberately winding him up. It was really crazy of her, wanting to pick a fight.

“Then you know way more than I do.” He dismissed that impatiently. “I’m the guy who’s being groomed to one day take over not only a cattle empire but Dad’s numerous business interests as well. We’ve been diversifying for a long time now.”

“No one ever said the McGoverns weren’t smart.” She made a wry face, one hand making a move to button up her shirt. Only it was too darned obvious. The bikini top was pretty skimpy. Not that Keefe was looking at her in that way. The sad thing was he could arouse her most potent, erotic feelings with a single glance.

She wanted…wanted…What did she want? She was still a virgin. No frustration attached to that state. She had plenty of friends. Male and female. It was simply that no young man she had met had come close to measuring up to Keefe. That was the pity of it.

A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love. Blake, his “Songs of Innocence”. She felt like an innocent, a babe in the woods.

There was a frown on Keefe’s dynamic face as he watched her. “Don’t you feel safe here, Skye?” he asked.

The seriousness of his tone cut across her reverie. “What a question!” Her hand dropped to her side. Why was she so nervous of revealing her body to Keefe? She was oblivious to all the stares she received whenever she visited a beach. Then she thought: It’s Keefe! It’s always Keefe.

Dusk was closing in. Shrieking, the legions of birds were starting to home into the density of trees that lined the maze of watercourses, lagoons, swamps and creeks on the station. It was an awe-inspiring sight, the sheer numbers.

“Answer it,” Keefe said in a firm voice.

She stared at him. “You sound stressed.”

“Maybe I am.” He swatted at a dragonfly with iridescent wings. It seemed bent on landing on his head. “Scott won’t bother you,” he said, his expression formidable.

Scott? Scott wasn’t even an afterthought. “I’m not worried about Scott, Keefe,” she assured him quickly. “We’re getting along. You warned him off. He heeded your message. You love your brother, don’t you?”

He plunged an impatient hand through his hair, fingers splaying into the distinctive McGovern widow’s peak. “Of course I do,” he said edgily. “But like you I know he has a callous streak. I don’t want to see that turned on women.”

“Of course not!” She couldn’t control a shudder, acutely aware he was monitoring her every movement and expression. “Is he interested in Jemma Templeton?” She knew for a fact Jemma had always had a crush on Scott.

“Why do you want to know?” His silver eyes blazed.

She swallowed at his tone. It was so clipped it provoked a flash of anger. “No particular reason,” she answered shortly. “Just making conversation. I have no interest in Scott, Keefe. Take my word for it.”

It’s you I love.

“Sometimes I get so tired of it all.” Unexpectedly he made the admission. “Not the job. I can handle that. Handle the lot.” He paused, studying her closely. “Nothing is the same between us, is it, Skye? The ease has gone with the wind.”

He hadn’t moved, yet she felt she had been taken into a passionate embrace. “You sound like you’re grieving for what we lost.” Despite that and the angst of his tone, she had an escalating sense of excitement, so intense she knew it was carrying her close to peril.

His silver eyes blazed. “If I touch you I’ll make love to you. Do you know that?”

He had said it yet she seemed hardly able to take it in. Even her heart rocked in shock.

“No answer?”

She began to shiver in the dry heat. How could she answer? She needed time to react to the pulverising shock. Besides, his tone seemed as much savage as sensual, as though he had found himself unwillingly caught in a dilemma.

“Here in the shadow of the sand dunes with all the Dreamtime gods around us,” he intoned. “I’m convinced this is a sacred place. That’s one reason why I’d like to spread a blanket on the sand, take you down on it. You’ve always been little Skye to me. Now you’ve become pure desire.” He spoke with such intensity his luminous eyes had darkened to slate grey. “I didn’t tell you how beautiful you looked in your blue dress the other night.”

Her stomach was churning, her limbs seized by trembling. Yet incredibly she said, “Maybe your eyes told me.” Even her body was swaying towards him like a flower swayed towards the sun.

“Eventually I was bound to give myself away,” he said, a twist to this mouth. “I’m sure I’ll remember how you looked that night to the end of my days. No one wears the colour blue like you do.”

Whatever he said, he wore the demeanour of a man who was in the process of making a hard decision. A decision he meant to stick by come what may. “I don’t want to leave you here.” He turned his head abruptly, his tone a shield. “It’s getting late. You can come back tomorrow if you like. There’s always another sunset.”

“It’s okay, I’ll stay.” He was hurting her, punishing her. For what? Growing up? Turning into a desirable woman? She could see the pulse drumming away in his temple.

“It’s me, isn’t it, Keefe?” She took a hesitant step towards him, her blue eyes full of entreaty. “I’m the one causing you tension. You don’t really want me here. I’ve turned from your ‘little buddy’ into a woman, thus an unwanted distraction.”

The air between them fairly crackled. “You want me to tell you that?” he challenged roughly. “Well, I can’t. I do want you here, but my job is to protect you. It’s always been my job. Gran really suffered when your mother died. Did you know that?”

Skye shook her head helplessly. Why was he going off at a tangent? And now? “No, I didn’t,” she admitted. “If she suffered, she must have loved my mother?”

“Love.” He reached for her in a blind rush, hauling her right into his arms.

His grip was so powerful, so perfect, she felt as weightless as a china doll.

Breathe, Skye. Breathe. Her emotions were running so high, her response so headlong, it was possible she could pass out.

“God!” he breathed, turning up his head to the cobalt dome of the sky. It sounded to her ears like a cry for help. Like he knew he shouldn’t do this. Whatever the desire he felt for her—she couldn’t help but be aware of his arousal—he felt compelled not to give in to it. “We have to go. Really, we have to go.” His grip eased abruptly so she could move.

Only she couldn’t. She wanted to stay there with him for the rest of her life. Even if it sounded as if his heart was being torn out of him. That gave her wild hope. “No, stay here with me,” she begged. Where had that alluring tone of voice come from? She had never used it before.

From the heart.

Unable to control the mad urge that had come upon her, she brought up her arms to lock them around his neck. The thought of having power over him was absolutely dizzying. She heard him groan like a man ensnared in some inescapable golden net. “What are you doing to me, Skye?” he muttered. “You know what will happen?”

“So?” Her eyes were devouring each separate feature of his face. The set of his extraordinary eyes. The arch of his black brows that formed such a stunning contrast. His tanned skin bore a prickle of dark beard. And, oh, his mouth! That wide, strong, sensual mouth, the outline so cleanly cut it might have been chiselled.

“You’re a virgin?” He looked down into her eyes, his hands spreading out over her back burning through the cotton.

“I am.” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper.

“You wouldn’t lie to me.”

It was a statement, not a question. Was he that sure of her? So aware she had an emotional dependency on him? “Are you lying in some way to me now, Keefe? Tormenting me? Or are you promising to take me where you believe I want to go?”

His handsome face showed stress. “Let me try.”

All nature seemed to be listening. Even the birds, though they wheeled overhead, gave no cries to stay her. She should be listening too. Not making it so easy for Keefe to win her over. “You?” she questioned. “The never-puts-a-foot-wrong Keefe McGovern to cut loose with Jack McCory’s daughter?”

“The more I try, the fiercer the longing gets.” Keefe’s answer was harsher than he had intended but he felt himself on a knife edge. Attraction this strong, this elemental rendered a man nearly powerless. Slowly he closed his roughened hands around the satin-smooth planes of her face, caressing her cheekbones as he would caress an exquisite piece of porcelain.

It was too much for Skye. Little silver sparks were dancing wildly in her breast. She had to close her eyes to contain the powerful shooting sensations. Excitement that had started as a dull roar was turning into a raging flame. If there was a taboo, it was about to be broken…

In the next breath she felt his mouth, warm and lushly male, come down over hers. He tasted wonderful! Delectable! She could scarcely get enough of him. Her knees were buckling from the sheer weight of emotion. She had to cling to him, throw her arms around his waist to anchor her to the ground. Sexual desire—no it was much more: an undying passion—was mounting at such a rate it had become a turbulent flood of hunger ready to surge over her and take her under. Keefe did things better than anyone. Better than anyone could.

Keefe drew her lips up with his own, taking deeply erotic exploratory breaths, sipping and sucking at the sweet nectar within, while he continued to hold her against him with unknowing strength. The intimacy was so intense it was almost unbearable. The light clear pure bonds of childhood had turned into an adult force so powerful it was intimidating. He had always looked at her with such fondness, like a much-loved little cousin, with respect for her high intelligence. How, then, could he allow himself to become a threat to her? Worse, possibly destroy what they had?

“Is it wrong to go from protector to lover?” he asked, never more serious in his life. He drew back quickly so he could search her face. He couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked, or how highly aroused. Her beauty and desirability leapt at him.

He had to bend low to hear her whispered answer. “Couldn’t we see it as entirely natural?” she asked. He was so absolutely perfect to her in every way. No one could replace him.

“Then God will forgive me,” Keefe answered in a strange near-mystical tone. What had befallen him had befallen her.

Kismet.

Skye allowed her heavy lids to fall shut. She felt as though Heaven had given her permission to allow ascendancy to the blind yearning she felt. This moment in time had been accorded her. Therefore she had to seize on it, feeling like a mortal maiden about to couple with a young god.