Читать книгу Outback Fire - Margaret Way - Страница 8

BY THE time they finished yarding the brumbies every crinkle, every crevice of his face was ingrained with red dust. After a day of intense heat and real feats of riding through the rough country Luke was desperate for a shower and a long cold beer. He was due up at the homestead this evening for dinner and a game of chess. The Major loved his chess. He loved the right company. They were both accomplished players and they had long enjoyed an easy companionable relationship.

Nowadays Athol McFarlane, for so long a lion of a man, was going downhill right in front of the younger man’s eyes. It deeply pained him. After the deaths of his parents Athol was all he had. He owed everything to the Major. Everyone on the station called him that. A carryover from his early days as a much decorated army officer in Vietnam. It was a term of affection now. No one was sure who started it. It certainly hadn’t been Athol McFarlane. Those were the days he didn’t care to talk about. Ever. Still only in his early sixties the Major had ongoing problems with his leg, an injury he had sustained in the war. What exactly those problems were, Luke never could find out, and he sure as hell had tried, but the Major didn’t like to talk about his state of health although it was obvious to everyone who cared about him that he was deteriorating. And Luke suspected in constant pain, though there was never a word of complaint. The only complaint that passed the Major’s lips were: “When is Storm coming home?”

He knew the old man missed her terribly. He missed her, too. Sometimes he thought like a hole in the head. Other times like a hole in the heart. He never could contend with his feelings about Storm. He only knew it didn’t pay to delve too deeply. She was beautiful. He had a vision of her out riding, cloud of sable hair flying—she hated wearing a hat even in the intense heat—not that it had affected her flawless ivory complexion, green cat’s eyes sparkling with life and health.

He knew she was clever. She designed and made exclusive jewellery that sold as far away as New York. Necklaces, pendants, bangles, rings. You name it. And the beautiful people flew from all over just to have a piece designed by Storm McFarlane. Not bad to have an enviable reputation at twenty-seven. No husband. Two fiancés that never managed to get her to the altar. High time she was married, the Major said. He wanted to set eyes on his grandchildren before he died. So far Storm hadn’t obliged. What was she waiting for? Superman? Only a rare man could satisfy her, he thought with black humour. Storm always had been damned near impossible to please. Certainly he had never succeeded except for those odd times when they acknowledged a bond. More than a bond. God knows what it was.

When he reached the comfortable overseer’s bungalow that had once housed his small happy family, Luke went straight to the bathroom, stripped off his dusty clothes and ran a warm shower. After such a day, it took a while to feel completely clean. He had to soap his hair as well to rid it of the dust, then he allowed the water to run cold, luxuriating in the blessed sensation of feeling cool. Here he was twenty-nine and one of the greatest things in life was a shower!

My God!

Not that he hadn’t had his own little romantic flutters. A few months of thinking maybe this is it, then the initial burst of interest and excitement drained away like the water in a clay pan. A few of his ex-girlfriends still hung in there. That was the amazing thing. He hadn’t really lost a one. Carla was the most persistent without a doubt. He really liked Carla. She was good company, good-looking and she was good in bed. What the hell was the matter with him? Like Storm it was high time he was married. Deep inside he mourned the loss of his family. He had to make a family for himself. With the right woman. But who? A woman like Storm, who never failed to move and outrage him was out of the question. Storm McFarlane was trouble with a capital T.

Luke towelled himself off and slicked back his hair. Now and again he caught glimpses of his father in his mirrored reflection—the high cheekbones, the set of the eyes and mouth. But his colouring was purely his mother’s. Though the worst of the pain had banked down to liveable he missed his parents every day of his life. He remembered as though it were yesterday getting the message to go to the headmaster’s office. He sensed it was something important but never in a million years did he expect to see the Major, handsome and dignified seated in the headmaster’s study.

The Major had come personally to break the terrible news. His parents had been killed in a three-car collision driving back from Alice Springs. One of the cars driven by a tourist was found to have been travelling on the wrong side of the road. His parents had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was then fifteen years old and a boarder at one of the country’s most prestigious private schools. His parents had been determined he would have a good education but they could never have afforded that particular school with its proud tradition, splendid amenities and brilliant alumni that read like a Who’s Who. The Major had seen to it. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Wore Luke’s dad down.

After the accident the Major had flown Luke and Storm back to the station for the funeral. Storm had insisted she be picked up from her boarding school so she could be there. Although her hang-ups had always centred on Luke she had been great friends with his mother and father. Particularly his mother who thought the world of “the little princess.”

As a mark of deep respect his parents had actually been buried in the McFarlane family cemetery on Sanctuary Hill, some five kilometres from the homestead. He remembered how Storm had stood white-faced beside him holding his hand. He remembered how she had given him real comfort for once, hostilities set aside. He hadn’t forgotten. Although Storm had to return to school he had stayed up at the Big House with the Major trying to master his terrible grief, but never coming to terms with it, then he, too, had to return to boarding school. After that, university.

Luke had graduated from college with an OP1, the top score, something else that had set Storm off. She had scored an excellent OP3. After that, the Major insisted he, along with Storm, go on to higher education which after all he had wanted himself. Luke’d worked hard and made the Major proud, picking up an honours degree in Economics. He’d been free to choose his own life after that but all he had ever wanted was to be a cattleman like his dad. Running a huge operation was big business these days, not just learning the game. Luke revelled in Outback life. It was in his blood and he had never felt truly at home in the city. He’d told the Major this in a long discussion. It was then the Major had confounded him by offering him his father’s old job. Overseer of Winding River Station. A top job with big responsibilities. The two outstations now came under his jurisdiction.

These days he was the Major’s right hand man. Visitors to the station, those not in the know, often mistook him for McFarlane’s son. His rise had been meteoric but no one in a tough competitive world had ever questioned his ability. To prove it the Major was leaving more and more to him to the point where he was virtually running the whole operation.

Dressed in a clean shirt and jeans he walked up to the Big House pausing outside to admire it. He always did. It was a magnificent old house completed in the late 1870s by Ian Essex McFarlane a wealthy pastoralist who had come from the colony of New South Wales to take up this vast holding in South West Queensland. The house had been planned on a grand scale, all the more extraordinary for its remote desert setting, two storeyed, built of warm golden sandstone with a slate roof, its deep verandahs supported by slender white pillars with unusual lotus capitals forming a striking colonnade, the upper verandahs encased in white wrought-iron lace with very attractive fretwork. Semicircular stone steps led to the deeply recessed front door and he took them two at a time, passing into the spacious entrance hall its parqueted floor strewn with oriental rugs. Noni Mercer, the housekeeper, came out to greet him, smiling up into his face. “Hi there, Luke. Hot old day!”

“You want to try running down brumbies,” he answered, returning her smile. Noni was a thoroughly nice woman. He was fond of her and had good reason to be. In her late fifties, short and compact, with a great heart, she had a bubble of grey curls and contrasting snapping dark eyes. “I have to tell you, Noni, I’m ready for your cooking.”

“Aren’t you always!” Noni blushed with pleasure. She ran her eyes appreciatively over Luke’s rangy figure. He stood straight and tall, superbly built, a few inches over six feet. She had watched him grow up. Watched him turn into this almost unbelievably handsome young man with hair like a dark flame and those miraculous blue eyes. His lovely little mother, Rose, God rest her soul, had had just that marvellous colouring.

Noni had a very soft spot for Luke Branagan who never once used his high standing with the Major for his own gain. Straight as a die was Luke. How he and Storm weren’t the greatest friends Noni could never understand. She had an idea Luke secretly carried a torch for the tempestuous Storm, though he would never let on, even under torture. Sadly, in Noni’s opinion, and she cared deeply for Storm, that young woman had her feet set on a different path. Yet when she saw them together? Noni heaved a soft sigh, which made Luke dip his handsome head to look into her eyes.

“What’s up?”

For such a big strong, dynamic guy Luke was in touch with women’s feelings. “Nothing, dear,” Noni evaded, then felt compelled to burst out with what was on her mind. “When is Storm coming home?”

His handsome face tautened. “Hell, Noni, why ask me? I’m not one of Storm’s favourite people. You know that.”

“She’s been running with that for a long time,” Noni gruffly scoffed. “Personally I don’t think it’s true.”

“Well she sure doesn’t love me,” Luke’s vibrant voice deepened. “And she doesn’t confide in me, either.”

“More’s the pity!” Noni regretted. “The Major hasn’t been terribly well today, but he’s so looking forward to seeing you. You’re not far off the son he never had.”

“Maybe that’s the problem, Noni,” Luke’s expression turned a shade bleak. “Storm hates to see it that way.”

Noni couldn’t do other than nod her agreement. “I just wish she’d come home.” She turned her head quickly as slow, heavy footsteps sounded along the upper gallery. “That will be the Major now,” she said softly. “I know Storm has a busy life. She’s so successful and that’s wonderful. She always was a clever little thing. Remember how she used to collect all those little bits of opal and quartz around the station?”

Luke’s handsome mouth compressed. “I distinctly remember finding a lot of it for her. She was in heaven when the Major used to organize those prospecting trips to the gemfields for us. I made quite a few finds myself but I always handed them over to Storm.”

“You would,” Noni said. For all her tantrums Luke had always been honey-sweet to that little girl. Sweet and calm and understanding. Maybe he should have told her off. He was well capable of telling off the toughest and the roughest.

“Agate, amethyst, carnelian, garnet, sapphire, topaz, beryl,” Luke was saying, his brilliant blue eyes reflective. “That’s what started her off on her career. The Major always encouraged her. Now she’s getting to be a big name.”

“It’s marvellous,” Noni a recipient of several beautiful little pieces, smiled. “Storm is delighted when people fall in love with her work.”

“She’s not happy with guys falling in love with her,” Luke commented dryly. “Two fiancés to date. Neither could get her to the altar.”

“You’re not married, either,” Noni pointed out slyly. “You’re quite a pair!” Personally she thought each had ruined relationships for the other.

As they were speaking Athol McFarlane appeared at the top of the central staircase then came very slowly down towards them. He was leaning very heavily on his stick but Luke and Noni knew better than to go to his assistance. The Major scorned help. He was independent to a fault.

“Well, Luke,” he boomed, and his gaunt face lit up. “Come tell me all about your day. Noni has been fussing for hours lining up all the things you like to eat.”

“She spoils me,” Luke grinned, knowing it was true.

“And you’re worth every bit of it.” The Major nodded his thatched grey head that once had had Storm’s raven sheen. “You’ve been the greatest help to me these past years. Devotion and dedication. Not a lot of men are as capable of it as you, son. You keep bringing your dad to mind. A splendid man. Not that I had any illusions he wouldn’t have wanted to strike out for himself one day. With my blessing, mind, but that was not to be.” Athol McFarlane’s expression grew grave and introspective. “Come along now into the study. You might have to fly over to Kingston at the end of the week. About time to pay them a surprise visit. Noni will let us know when dinner is ready.”

“Will do, Major,” Noni gave a comic little salute and made off for the kitchen, thanking God Luke was around to ease the Major’s pain and loneliness.

Above the fireplace in the Major’s book-and-trophy-lined study hung a painting of Storm. It had been commissioned on the eve of her twenty-first birthday. He found himself looking up at it with a brooding silence. No lavish ball gown for Storm. No deep décolletage that would have shown off her beautiful shoulders and breasts. But the painting, like Storm, compelled attention. She was wearing riding clothes, white silk shirt and close-fitting beige mole-skins, a fancy belt with a heavy silver-and-opal studded buckle she had designed herself around her narrow waist. Her long black hair was blowing free, her head slightly profiled, skin luminous, her almond-shaped eyes the same rich emerald-green as the bandanna that was knotted carelessly around her throat. One beautiful long-fingered hand was on her hip, and the other clasped a white akubra with a wide snakeskin band. How many times had he seen her stand like that? Maybe a thousand. As a background the artist had used the wonderful colourations of the desert; the cloudless cobalt-blue sky, the purple hills, the gleaming gold of the spinifex dotting the red ochre plains. The setting lent the painting a kind of monumentality. The young woman up there looked so vivid, so real he had the sense she could very easily step from the frame.

Into his arms?

And then?

He never saw it without getting an erotic charge. He was under no illusion Storm couldn’t move him powerfully. Nothing easy or relaxed about it. Blinding pleasure and sometimes more than its fair share of sexual hostility.

The Major, observing Luke quietly but intently, took his usual seat waiting for the young man to join him. “Could I ask you something very personal, Luke,” Athol McFarlane queried, meeting that direct sapphire gaze.

“Sure, Major, as long as you leave Storm out of it,” Luke returned deadpan.

McFarlane laughed. “What impresses me most about you two is neither of you can find anyone else while the other’s around.”

Luke, taken by surprise, didn’t answer immediately. “You’re suggesting a love-hate?”

“More often than not it’s Storm waging the war,” McFarlane answered ruefully. “I would have thought she’d be long over it by now.”

“She’ll never be over it,” Luke answered, a mite tightly.

“I can’t accept that,” the Major growled. “I want to see her, Luke.” It came out far more plaintively than he ever intended.

Luke stared across the table, perturbed by the Major’s tone. “What’s up? What’s the matter? I wish you’d confide in me.”

“Nothing to confide,” McFarlane lied. He wanted desperately to tell Luke he was dying but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t even tell Storm. “I’m just feeling tired and old and lonely except for you,” he evaded. “You’re my adopted son, Luke. You know that.”

“If there was anything badly wrong you’d tell me?” There was a serious almost stern expression in Luke’s face.

“Sure I would.” McFarlane tried to lighten that gaze.

“Why don’t I believe that? I’m here to help you, Major.”

The Major responded by grasping Luke’s forearm. “Don’t you think I know that, son? But it’s four months at least since Storm was here.”

Four months, one week and three days. “She leads a full life,” Luke pointed out. “Even I’ve picked up the magazines Noni leaves lying around the place. She’s beautiful, gifted, she has a fine family name. It’s only to be expected she’d get invited everywhere. And she has her work. Her commissions.”

“She could do them here.” The Major’s heavy eyebrows drew together. “I’ve offered many times to convert a couple of rooms into a studio, workshop, whatever she wants. God knows there are enough rooms empty.”

“Have you told her how you feel?” Luke asked.

McFarlane sighed. “Yes.” It wasn’t strictly true. He always played hardy when she rang.

“And she still won’t come?” It was hard to keep the censure out of his voice. Storm had plenty of time for parties and all the social functions.

“Maybe I haven’t asked the right way.” McFarlane dropped his gaze evasively, sighing heavily.

“You must know it’s on account of me.”

“I don’t accept that, Luke.” McFarlane shook his head.

“I think you might have to, Major,” Luke countered knowing the Major had been living with the fiction one day he and Storm would get together. God, could you believe it? “Storm has always seen me as the usurper,” he added with quiet force, opening up his own wounds.

“Rubbish! That’s irrational.” The Major’s protest was overloud.

“Aren’t human beings irrational when their deepest emotions are involved?” Luke held the Major’s gaze until he blinked.

“You’re a man of integrity, Luke,” McFarlane said. “Storm knows that in her deepest being.”

Luke’s expression became sombre as he studied the other man’s gaunt face, thin body and arms. “Would you like me to go to Sydney and fetch her?”

McFarlane looked up quickly. “You’re far too busy to do that,” he protested but his face brightened and he squared his shoulders.

“Everything is in hand,” Luke pointed out. “I’ve got Sandy well trained. He can stand in for me for a day of two. Of course if you want me to check out Kingston?” Luke referred to a Winding River’s outstation.

“It can wait,” McFarlane said without a second thought.

“Actually it can. I’ve got the situation sorted out. Webb was the troublemaker.”

McFarlane scarcely heard, his voice picking up strength. “When will you go?” Luke studied him. It sounded as if time was of the essence.

“When would you want me to go?” Luke watched him carefully, evaluating the change.

“What about Friday?”

The day after tomorrow. Luke’s mind worked overtime. The Major hid his desperation well but Luke sensed, no knew, there was something terribly wrong. He wished he could talk to Tom Skinner, the Major’s doctor. Get things straight, but the Major would never forgive him for going behind his back. He had tried to get something out of Tom, to little avail. Whatever the true state of McFarlane’s health the file was confidential. But there was the evidence of his own eyes. The Major was a sick man. He knew it. Storm knew it. Where the hell was she? Surely her concern for her father would outweigh every other consideration? Her long-running cold war with him?

“So?” McFarlane asked as the young man opposite him fell silent.

“No problem!” Luke flashed his white smile. The smile everyone waited for. “I won’t let Storm know I’m coming in case she jumps town, though I will check to see she’s in residence.”

“What about young Carla?” the Major suddenly sidetracked.

“You could give me a clue?” Luke drawled, not wanting to discuss Carla.

“Dammit, Luke, you know what I mean. You and Carla used to be close. Is it still on?”

Luke picked up a paperweight and palmed it. “On and off. Carla and I are friends.” He set the crystal paperweight down.

‘You’re a darn sight more to her than that, my boy,” the Major scoffed. “I’ve got eyes. The girl is head over heels in love with you. Her dad would be thrilled to have you for a son-in-law. Like me he only has a daughter to inherit.”

Luke, a generation younger, was very much attuned to women’s issues. “Don’t underestimate Carla,” he said. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She knows the business as well as her dad. She could take over.”

The Major shrugged. “It’s too hard a life for a woman, Luke. You know that. It’s tough, dangerous and you want a man as boss. Even Storm realises that. Accidents happen all the time around stations especially remote ones like ours. What woman is willing to put herself through that? I’m only trying to find out what the position is with you and Carla.”

“Why exactly?” Luke asked, with a look of dry humour.

The Major blew up. “Hell, son, you’re as close-lipped as I am. I care about you, that’s why. I like Carla, too. She’s a smart girl and a looker but I think you can do better.”

“Such as Storm?” Luke asked directly.

“Surely you can understand that,” McFarlane asked. “Your lives are entwined. No matter what, there’s that bond. Nothing in this world would make me happier than to see you and Storm together.”

Luke gave a hollow laugh, his eyes drawn to Storm’s portrait. “It would take an eternity for Storm and I to patch up our differences,” he said thinking Storm’s childhood had been damaged by the desperate need to be the only one in her father’s life. She should have had brothers and sisters. She should have had anyone, except him. In his own way, without warning, the Major had set them both up.

Now the Major was saying very seriously, “I know Storm has given you a rough time—and you’ve let her. She’s the only one who could get away with it, but she knows your worth. She knows, Luke, even if it would kill her to admit it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Luke quipped. “It’s just a dream of yours, Major. An impossible dream.”

“But you care about her?” McFarlane challenged. “You can’t look me in the eye and tell me you don’t. I know you too well.”

“Then you’d know I would never waste time wanting a woman who didn’t want me,” Luke said emphatically. What the hell else was he doing if not that?

“Just bring her home, Luke,” McFarlane begged with overwhelming intensity. “That’s all I ask. If there’s a God in his heaven he’ll make things come right.”