Читать книгу A Bride At Birralee - Barbara Hannay - Страница 8

STELLA was sick the next morning.

As Callum came back from the holding yards, striding through the dewy bluegrass with Mac at his heels, he heard unmistakable sounds coming from the bathroom.

They stopped him dead in his tracks. She was supposed to be heading off this morning. Leaving him in peace. But how could he send her packing if she was sick?

He kicked at a loose stone and sent it rolling down the incline. Instantly alert, the blue heeler watched its descent then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth chasing.

Callum watched it, too, as it bounced from rock to rock before disappearing into the scrub on the creek bank. This sickness of Stella’s was rather unusual. The fainting last night and now this…

Perhaps she had a simple stomach bug, but she’d woofed down that tucker last night without any problems. He frowned. That was how his sisters had been when they’d been expecting. Fine one minute, then suddenly dizzy or racing to the bathroom.

Was she pregnant? No, surely not.

His head shot back. She damn well could be pregnant.

The more he thought about it, the more he was sure he’d hit on the truth. Of course she was pregnant. That was why she’d hightailed it all the way from Sydney looking for Scott. That’s why she’d been so upset.

Damn and blast you, little brother. What have you gone and done now?

If Stella was pregnant…If she was carrying Scott’s child…If she was planning on heading back to the city…disappearing again as quickly as she’d appeared…taking Scott’s baby with her…

He slapped his palm against the rough trunk of a bloodwood tree and stared blankly into the distance, while tumultuous thoughts raged. Thoughts of Scott, of his family, of his own guilt and grief, his parents’ heartbreak.

Thoughts of Scott in Stella’s bed.

Groaning, he kicked another loose stone. Distasteful as it was, he had little choice; he had to ask her. If Scott was leaving behind a son or daughter, he needed to know.

Fists clenched, he turned reluctantly and marched towards the house.

Stella was in the kitchen, hovering in front of the stove and squinting at the dials. She was wearing denim cut-offs and a simple white T-shirt and her feet were bare except for the silver ankle chain with its blue glass beads.

She turned and smiled at him warily. ‘Good morning.’

He nodded. ‘Morning. Did you sleep well?’

‘Like a log, thank you. I didn’t realise how tired I was.’ She pointed to the stove. ‘I thought I’d make a cup of tea, but I haven’t quite worked out how to drive your stove.’

‘It’s fairly straightforward,’ he muttered.

‘Uh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘An electric kettle is straightforward. A stove this size requires a licence to operate. I’m surprised you have something so complicated way out in the bush.’

‘We needed it when all the family lived at home.’ He reached past her to flick appropriate switches. ‘My mother takes her cooking seriously.’

Stella gave a wry grin as she shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I’m a victim of the microwave era. If it doesn’t light up with little messages telling me what to do, I’m lost.’

She ran slim fingers through her shiny black hair. Her hands, like her feet, were elegantly shaped, although her fingernails weren’t painted. The movements of her fingers in her hair made the silky strands shift and fall back into place. To Callum, the gesture seemed as natural and pretty as a jabiru stretching and folding its glossy wings.

‘What would you like for breakfast?’ he asked, unhappy to find himself still thinking about her hair, her hands, her feet.

She grimaced. ‘I’m not sure. I thought I’d just try a cuppa to start with.’

‘You’re not hungry?’ he challenged.

‘Not really. Maybe some dry toast.’ She looked away.

He took a deep breath. ‘You were sick—just before.’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Nothing? Are you sure it’s nothing, Stella?’

Her head swung back quickly and her grey eyes were defensive as she stared at him. ‘Of course I’m sure.’

He knew she was lying.

‘I can’t let you head off on the long journey back to Sydney if you’re not well. And if you can’t manage more to eat than dry toast—’

She turned swiftly away from him again. He couldn’t be sure but he thought she seemed to be trembling.

‘Stella.’

She shook her head as if she wanted him to leave her alone. Then her chin lifted and he saw again the same haughty strength that he’d sensed in her yesterday. Or was it just stubbornness?

When he stepped towards her, she continued to keep her back to him, but he settled his hands firmly on her shoulders and forced her to turn around, too tense to take his time searching for delicate ways to pose his question. ‘Stella, are you pregnant?’

‘No!’ she snapped and she tried to jerk her shoulders out of his grasp. ‘Anyway, it—it’s none of your business.’

He kept a tight grip on her shoulders. ‘If you’re carrying my brother’s baby, I consider it my business.’

Her eyes blazed with sudden anger. ‘Why? What would you want to do about it?’

‘Are you telling me it’s true?’ His breathing felt suddenly constricted. ‘You are pregnant?’

He let go and she jumped back quickly, like a trapped animal escaping.

‘I’m telling you it’s got nothing to do with you. I don’t want you or your family trying to take over my life just—just because—’

‘Just because you’re having Scott’s baby,’ he finished for her. Out of the blue, he felt his eyes sting and his throat close over. Spinning on the heel of his riding boot, he marched away from her, clear across the room, kicking a chair out of his way as he went.

Bloody hell! He mustn’t lose it and make a complete fool of himself in front of this woman, but the thought of Scott’s seed blossoming inside her made him feel damn emotional.

Scotty Roper was gone for ever, but he’d left behind a part of himself. And, God help him, Callum couldn’t block out the thought of his brother and Stella together—making that little baby—making love.

Whirling around again, he found that she was close behind him, standing with her hands clasped in front of her, as if she’d been thinking about touching him and hadn’t dared, or hadn’t wanted to.

‘Are you quite certain it’s Scott’s baby?’ he asked coldly.

The way she closed her eyes and compressed her lips told him she hated the question and hated him for asking. ‘It’s definitely his,’ she said, matching his cold tone. ‘And if you plan to stand there and make moral judgements about me, I’m going straight out that door and taking off for Cloncurry without even thanking you for your reluctant hospitality.’

‘OK. OK.’ He raised his hands in a halting action, then let out a long breath. Steam was pouring out of the kettle on the stove and he grabbed the opportunity to change the subject. ‘I’ll get you that cup of tea.’

In a weird way Stella felt better now Callum knew about the baby. It felt as if at least some of her burden was lifting from her shoulders.

Sharing the news with someone, even Callum, after keeping it to herself for so long brought instant relief. But she would have to make him promise not to tell the rest of his family—certainly not his father. Not the Senator!

He handed her a bright red mug and she took a seat at the table. Snatching the chair he’d kicked aside, he turned it back to front and straddled it. Stella tried not to notice the very masculine stretch of his jeans over his strong, muscular thighs. He propped his elbows on the top rung of the chair’s ladder back and held his mug in both hands.

She took a sip of tea. It was hot and sweet, just how she needed it. And her stomach seemed to accept it. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘this is my problem, Callum. You don’t have to worry about it.’

He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Did Scott know about the baby?’

She shook her head.

‘And you came out here to tell him.’

‘Yes.’

His brown-gold eyes continued to study her with the intensity of a hawk. ‘What were you hoping? That he would marry you?’

Stella almost dropped her mug. ‘No. Not marriage.’ Did she imagine that slight relaxation of his shoulders?

‘Do you need help? Money?’

‘No!’ She stared at him, shocked. ‘And I’m not planning to get rid of it. Is that what you thought?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m just trying to understand.’

She wanted to believe him. It was actually a comforting idea—having someone who wanted to understand.

Perhaps he was more sensitive than he appeared on the surface. Perhaps she could trust him. Her chin lifted. ‘I know I’ll be a hopeless mother, but the least I can do is give this little baby life.’

Draining his tea, he rocked the chair slowly forward and set his empty mug on the table. When he straightened once more, his gaze lifted slowly. ‘What makes you think you’d be a hopeless mother?’

She felt her cheeks burn. She couldn’t tell him that. No way! Honesty had its limits. It would mean confessing about Marlene, her own mother, the source of most of her hang ups. It would mean dredging up those sordid stories about the way Marlene had failed over and over in numerous attempts at motherhood.

It had been the ongoing pattern of Stella’s childhood and it left her terrified at the thought of ever attempting to be a mother.

The pattern had always been the same. Marlene would plead with the welfare people that she could take beautiful care of Stella and stay clean and sober. She would promise the earth.

And, because the government policy was to keep mothers and children together wherever possible, they would give in. For a few months, life would be grand. Stella would go home to her mother’s new flat and they would eat meat with three kinds of vegetables and they’d go to the movies. They’d play music and dance in the lounge.

Marlene would wash her long black hair and she’d smell of lemon shampoo and talcum powder, and she would take Stella on her lap and read her stories about heroes. For some reason her mother had fancied tales about brave, fearless men.

At night, Marlene would tuck her into bed and tell her she loved her. And Stella would love her back fiercely, so fiercely she could feel her chest swell with the force of her emotion. Marlene was her mother, the very best mother in the world.

But then there would always be the black day when Stella came home from school and found Marlene incoherent and smelling of alcohol. Each day after that things would get worse…the house would turn into a pigsty…and there’d be a different man…She’d go hungry. Sometimes the man would be violent and she’d have to hide outside the house, crying and hungry, trying to sleep in the garage.

Eventually someone, usually a teacher, would report Stella’s condition to the authorities. They would take her away again and Marlene would be broken-hearted. She would sob that she wanted to be a good mother…

Stella had wanted her to be a good mother, too. Had longed for it. She’d hated Marlene for failing yet again…

It wasn’t the sort of story she could tell, certainly not to this earnest, solemn man, the son of Senator Ian Roper.

‘Are you saying you don’t want to be a mother?’

I’m terrified. I’m scared I don’t know how to be a mother.

‘I—I’ve worked very hard at my career.’

She saw his stony expression and she felt a distinct rush of resentment. It was impossible for anyone else to understand. She cast a frantic glance to the clock on the wall. ‘Don’t you have to go work or something?’

He rose to his feet slowly and she wished he hadn’t. When he looked down at her from his considerable height, she felt smaller than ever.

‘I’m waiting to hear from a ringer in Kajabbi,’ he said. ‘When he’s free, we’ll take the stock from the holding yards through to the road trains on the highway, but that probably won’t happen till tomorrow or the day after.’

He walked to the sink and deposited their mugs into it. ‘How about that dry toast?’ he asked with a glimmer of a smile.

She had almost forgotten about breakfast. ‘Thanks.’

As he dropped two slices of bread into the toaster he turned her way. ‘You shouldn’t leave this morning. You’ve barely had time to recover from the long drive up here. You should at least stay another night.’

He wasn’t being friendly or warm. Just practical. And the long journey had been exhausting. She hated the thought of heading straight back.

‘That would be sensible, I guess. Thanks.’

He brought her dry toast and spread his own with plenty of butter. It melted, warm and golden, into the toasted bread and Stella couldn’t help looking at it rather longingly. Her morning sickness was fading and she was feeling hungry again.

‘Sure you don’t want some mango jam? My sister Ellie makes it.’ He spread the bright-coloured fruit onto his toast and took a bite.

‘It does look rather good,’ she admitted and dipped her knife into the pot.

They munched for some time without talking. Then he said unexpectedly, ‘You’d better tell me about this career and these big plans of yours.’

She sent him a hasty, troubled look, then just as quickly looked at her hands clenched in her lap.

‘You never know,’ he said carefully. ‘I might be able to help.’

‘How could you?’

‘I don’t have a damned clue. But if you tell me—’

She shook her head. ‘There’s no point. No one can help.’

But he wouldn’t give up. ‘What kind of work do you do? On the one brief occasion we met in the past, I don’t think we talked about mundane things like jobs.’

They exchanged one lightning-quick glance, then both looked away. Stella fought to ignore the sudden memory of his strong body, hard against hers, his hot, hard mouth taking hers. ‘I—I work with weather.’

‘A weather girl? Like on TV?’

‘Sort of. I’m not actually on TV, but I help to supply them with their information.’

He frowned. ‘You’re a meteorologist?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you couldn’t do that if you had a baby?’

‘Not—’ She took a deep breath. What the heck? Here goes… ‘—not if I was on location in the Orkney Isles or Russia.’

There was no disguising his shock. ‘Russia? What kind of job are you talking about?’

She told him about the documentary project scheduled to begin six weeks after her baby was due. ‘I’d be based in London, but I’d be expected to travel, mostly studying coastlines. It’s a job I’ve been working towards for ages and an offer like that is highly prized in my circle.’

Callum’s lips pursed as he released a low whistle. ‘I’ll bet it is.’

‘But, of course, a newborn baby doesn’t fit in the picture.’

He was scowling again. ‘I can see how this baby has completely wrecked your plans.’ He didn’t say anything more for at least a minute, just sat there as if he was carved from stone. At last he said, ‘So you didn’t want Scott to marry you and you didn’t want his money. What was it you wanted from him?’

‘It doesn’t matter any more. It can’t happen.’

‘Tell me anyhow.’

Stella ran nervous fingers through her hair. Then she sighed loudly. ‘I don’t know how to say this without sounding crazy, but I was hoping Scott might be able to look after the baby for a while—so I could still go to London.’

Telling Callum had not been a good idea. He looked pale and distinctly unhappy. He sat staring at the table for several long, silent minutes. At last he spoke very quietly. ‘You really are in a bind, aren’t you?’ And then he ran his big hand over his face, almost as if he was trying to hide his reaction.

Suddenly he jumped to his feet and mumbled that he’d better get on with some work. ‘Help yourself to any books or magazines, rest up, watch TV. Eat what you like from the fridge or the pantry.’ In the doorway, he turned back. ‘I’ll leave Mac behind for company.’

Then he hurried down the veranda as if he couldn’t wait to get away.

Blackjack’s hooves thundered beneath Callum, drumming the hard earth and pounding over the red plains of Birralee. Faster, harder, he pushed his mount, but nothing eased his raging, inner turmoil.

Eventually, he pulled to a shuddering halt on the crest of a headland that offered spectacular views down a red-walled gorge. It was the place he always came to when he needed to think.

Today his thoughts boiled. Why did it have to be Stella Lassiter who’d come to him with this problem? He didn’t know what upset him more: the fact that the woman, who had roused him from apathy to passion in the briefest of encounters, now carried a part of Scott within her and might take it away to the far ends of the earth, or the knowledge that her relationship with Scott had become intimate.

Slumping in the saddle, he sat in a gut-clenched daze while his mind overflowed, teeming with memories of the night he’d met Stella…

He’d gone to Sydney with Scott to check out the prizewinning stock at the Royal Easter Show and, afterwards, Scott had taken him to a party. He’d seen Stella the instant he’d entered the room.

She’d been standing on her own at the far side of the crowd, watching the revellers with her chin at a haughty angle and an aloof expression on her face. Callum had been seized by an urge to stare.

She’d looked bold and bewitching. Her hair had been as dark and shiny as polished ebony and her sleeveless silk dress, the colour of rich claret, vibrant against the smooth ivory of her skin.

Her gaze had met his. She’d looked across at him and had smiled.

And the next moment had been like something out of a movie. He’d begun to walk towards her through the crowd. She’d watched him all the way. When he’d reached her, he’d been strangely out of breath, a little star-struck and suddenly shy, almost embarrassed by the spell that had seemed to have drawn him to her.

But then he’d looked into her clear grey eyes and had felt such a deep, immediate connection that he’d known that if he lived to be two hundred, he would never forget the moment.

Scott’s laughing voice had sounded in his ear. ‘Oh, so you’ve met Stella. Good.’ He took her hand and placed it in Callum’s. ‘Stella, this is my big brother, Callum. Be nice to him. He’s rough around the edges, but not quite as grim as he looks.’

Then Scott slapped Callum on the shoulder before disappearing off into the crowd to find a drink.

Callum asked Stella to dance and she hesitated at first. Her eyes followed Scott, watching as he reached the bar and started to chat up a pair of pretty girls. In hindsight, Callum realised he should have picked up on the obvious clue of her worried glance after Scott, but he’d been so determined to win her, he’d ignored anything that might get in his way.

When she warmly accepted his invitation to dance, he was as relieved as a nervous schoolboy.

The party’s host had hired a band and the music was good. He enjoyed the physicality of dancing. Stella was a responsive partner and the electrifying spell that had drawn him to her continued to weave its sorcery.

Their smiling gazes linked and held as her slender curves brushed against him. He watched the growing warmth and awareness in her eyes as, time and again, their bodies met, tantalised, then swung apart.

When the music slowed, he couldn’t wait another heartbeat to draw her closer, but when he did, the slow, sensual swaying of her slim hips beneath his hands and the sweet pressure of her breasts drove him to the limits of his control. He’d never been so highly sensitised, so exquisitely on edge, so jealous of the barriers of thin, teasing silk.

Dancing with Stella, gazing into her eyes, holding her in his arms, inhaling her…wasn’t enough.

And the high colour in her cheeks, the wild smoky haze in her eyes and the catch in her breathing told him that she shared the same amazing need that was flaring in him.

He bent his lips to her ear. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

She nodded quickly and they fled from the brightly lit party rooms into the garden.

Moonlight sheened Stella’s hair and silvered her pale skin as he tasted her at last. Her mouth was honey-sweet, yielding and passionate and he kissed her hard, taking everything with no more permission than the promise in her smile.

It was as if Stella was the first woman, the only woman he’d ever kissed, as if her mouth had been fashioned for his mouth and his alone, her breasts for his hands, her sweet femininity for his unforgiving hardness.

God knew what might have happened if the bright laughter of other party guests hadn’t sounded close by. Entangled in each other’s arms, they stood as quietly as their ragged breathing would allow, while laughing couples wandered past with a clinking of bottles.

When they were alone again, Callum drew her towards him once more, but he knew even before she stiffened and stepped away, that the magic had gone. For her the spell was broken.

‘I shouldn’t be here,’ she moaned. ‘We must go inside.’

‘Stay,’ he ordered, his voice thick and brusque with desire still rampant in his veins.

‘I’m not a cattle dog, Callum,’ she muttered before turning and walking quickly ahead of him back into the house.

Once inside, she asked for a drink. When he returned with wine, she drank half of it quickly, then placed the glass on a nearby table.

Her hands slid nervously down her thighs. ‘Look, what happened out there—I apologise if it looks as if I’ve been leading you on, but—ah—’ She pressed shaking fingers to her chest and shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.’ She looked distressed.

He had to clear the tightness in his throat before he could answer. ‘I’m not going to apologise for doing something I was sure we both wanted.’

‘I’m not blaming you. I know I gave you all the signals. It’s—it’s just that I shouldn’t have—’

His head was still reeling and he grabbed her hand roughly. Too roughly. Leaning close he muttered, ‘You’re fooling yourself, Stella. You were burning hot.’

‘No. No, you don’t understand.’ She snatched her hand away and looked genuinely frightened. ‘I’m sorry, Callum, but I should never have gone outside with you. I’m feeling so guilty.’ She dragged in a heavy breath and her grey eyes were dark with confusion. ‘You see, I—I already have a boyfriend.’

Just then Scott called to them from across the room. He beamed a cheery grin and waved. The giggling blonde at his side waved as well.

Stella’s twisted, sad little smile as she waved back struck Callum like a savage blow. ‘Not Scott?’ he cried in disbelief. ‘You’re not trying to tell me my little brother is your boyfriend?’

Her chin lifted and she stared directly at him. For long, painful seconds she looked puzzled and helpless, but then she answered quite definitely, ‘Yes, he is.’

He wanted to tell her she was making a huge mistake. There were a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t be Scott’s girl. Couldn’t she see beyond his boyish charm? Didn’t she know about his reputation with the ladies? And didn’t she understand that she was destined to be with him, Callum?