A Bride At Birralee

‘Thanks.’ Reaching back into the car, she fished out her shoes and slipped her feet into them. Then, puzzled and curious, she followed the dog and his master up three wide wooden steps.

As Callum led her along the veranda, she couldn’t help noticing that he made an art form of the loose-hipped, long-legged saunter of the outback cattleman.

With an easy dip of one broad shoulder, he pushed a door open. ‘You’ll have to stay here tonight, so you’d better have this room.’ He stepped aside to let her enter, then placed her bag with surprising care on top of a carved sandalwood box at the foot of the bed.

She dragged her attention from him to the room. It was old-fashioned and simply furnished. There was no personal clutter and it was very clearly a guest room. The floorboards were left uncovered and the big double bed had brass ends and was covered by a patchwork quilt in various shades of green and white.

On the wall was a painting of a stormy sky and horses galloping down a steep mountainside with their manes and tails flying.

‘I’m afraid I’m imposing on your hospitality.’

He didn’t answer, but his gaze dropped to the bird cage she was still holding.

‘I’ll put this out on the veranda,’ she suggested.

‘You’d better bring it through to the kitchen. Mac won’t touch it, but if you leave it outside the possums might knock it over during the night.’

‘Really?’

A hint of mischief danced in his eyes. ‘Or a carpet snake might fancy a midnight snack.’

‘Oh, no!’ Horrified, she clutched the cage to her. ‘I’d be grateful if he could stay in the kitchen, thank you.’

Once again, she followed Callum’s long strides. This time down a long hall with polished timber floorboards and rooms opening off its entire length.

Where was Scott? An uneasy tension coiled in her stomach. She hoped she wasn’t going to be sick. The hardest part of her journey was still ahead of her.

When she found Scott, not only did she have to tell him he was going to be a father, she had to convince him that the plan she’d agonised over really was the best solution.

Best for him and the baby and for her.

It was a straightforward plan. She would resign from her current job, have the baby and then Scott would look after it while she went to London. Luckily the television project was so big that the company did their recruiting well in advance. She was due to give birth several weeks before her contract started and after twelve months she would come back and take over her responsibilities as a mother.

As she headed down the hall, she prayed that Scott would see the beautiful simplicity and fairness of what she was asking. If only she didn’t feel so scared!

The rooms she glimpsed as she hurried after Callum were a little shabby, a little untidy, decidedly old-fashioned, but she had an impression of tasteful decor and comfort and an easy, unpretentious air that made them welcoming. Easy to live in.

Easy and charming like Scott had been. She could imagine him here. But could she imagine leaving his baby here at this house? Could she really leave a tiny baby way out here in the never-never while she spent a year overseas?

Everything depended on Scott’s reaction.

And maybe Callum’s.

They reached the kitchen at the back of the house. It was huge and cluttered and Stella fell in love with it at first sight.

The reaction was so unexpected. All her life, she’d been walking into other people’s kitchens. There’d been a bewildering series of them during her childhood—dingy council flats, women’s shelters and foster homes. Until she’d moved into the little flat she shared with Lucy, she’d never lived in one place for very long. Their kitchen was neat and trendy, but she’d never felt an immediate rapport with a room the way she did now.

She loved it. Loved the long wall of deep, timber-framed windows of clear glass with dark green diamond panes in the middle, pushed wide open to catch the breeze. Loved the spellbinding views of the twilight-softened bush as it dipped down to the creek and climbed on the other side to majestic red cliffs in the distance.

She loved the huge scrubbed pine table in the middle of the room, home to a wonderful jumble of odd bits and pieces—a flame-coloured pottery bowl overflowing with dried gum nuts, a pile of Country Life magazines, a horse’s bridle and several bulging packets of photographs.

The collection of unmatched chairs gathered around the table enchanted her. With no effort at all, she could picture these chairs seating a party of happy, chatting friends or family. She could almost hear their bright, laughter-filled voices.

Standing in the kitchen’s corner, was an old timber high chair with scratched red paint. Stella couldn’t help staring at it, wondering…

‘You can park the bird cage on that high chair if you like,’ Callum said. ‘We only use it when my sisters bring their tribes to visit.’

She did as he suggested. ‘There you go, Oscar. You can have a lovely view of the gum trees and talk to all the other birds outside.’

Callum’s mouth twitched. ‘You don’t think he might get ideas about escaping?’

She glanced again at the bush and couldn’t help wondering if Oscar craved for freedom to explore that vast sky and all those trees, but then she shoved that disagreeable thought aside. ‘I look after him too well,’ she assured Callum primly.

He walked to the fridge. ‘Would you like a beer?’

‘No. No, thanks.’

‘Scotch, sherry, wine? I’m afraid I can’t manage any fancy cocktails.’

‘I won’t have any alcohol, thank you.’

He seemed surprised. ‘Cup of tea?’

‘Yes, in a minute. That would be nice, but first, please, you must tell me about Scott. How can I contact him?’

He stiffened and she felt a stab of panic. His face seemed momentarily grey and he turned quickly away from her and snatched a beer out of the fridge.

What’s the matter? What’s wrong? Her heart began to thud.

‘You’d better sit down,’ he said without looking at her. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got bad news about Scott.’

CHAPTER TWO

CALLUM fiddled with his unopened beer. His guts crawled with dread as he imagined Stella’s reaction to his news.

Scott’s dead. The words were so hard to get out.

Telling his parents had been the worst, the very worst moment of his life. Scott had been the baby of the family—everybody’s favourite. To tell his mother and father had meant inflicting unbearable pain.

If Stella was in love with his brother, she was sure to burst into noisy tears. What the hell would he do then?

‘Callum,’ she said, and her voice vibrated with tension, ‘I need to know what’s happened to Scott.’

He realised he was still holding the beer, rolling it back and forth between anxious hands. The last thing he needed on this night was another beer. Hastily, he shoved it back in the fridge and cleared his throat.

‘There was a mustering accident a few weeks back. Scott was flying a helicopter.’

She looked pale. Too pale. And she sat stiffly, without speaking, staring at him. Waiting.