Outback Surrender

“He’s ill?” The thought sprang immediately to her mind. “People start thinking of family reconciliations at those times.”

“He’s dying in the way of mere mortals,” Brock told her caustically. “Of course he never thought he was one. I’m not letting any cat out of the bag; it’ll only take a day for it to be all over town.”

Shelley looked up at him. She had to tilt her head back. Brock was easily six-three. She was vertically challenged at five-two. “I don’t know what to say, Brock. I always thought your grandfather was very cruel to you.” The whole Outback was in agreement on that.

“Sure he was,” he said carelessly. “But I used to get my own back. I had the rare pleasure of telling him off. Not so my poor mother.”

“How is she?” Shelley asked, eager for news.

He glanced beyond her, out into the mirage-stalked street, his finely cut nostrils flaring. The look in his eyes was very complex and disturbing. “She didn’t come home with me, Shel. I buried her in Ireland—the land of her ancestors. She was taken by cancer.”

“Brock!” Tender-hearted Shelley found her eyes stinging. “I am so sorry. I know how close you were to your mother. And she to you.” Shaken, she took a deep breath of air.

“So I’m alone in the world,” he said simply. “My dad simply vanished like a puff of smoke when I was six, and I can’t count the rest of my family as family. They’re more sworn enemies—or plotters at the very least. Cousin Philip and his mother, dear Frances. She’s always hated me.”

Shelley’s expression clouded. “Deep down I swear she admires you.”

“Really? I’ve never heard it.” His eyes, a lovely lustrous silver, such a foil for his dark colouring, strayed over her.

She felt her whole body flush. Brock Tyson’s sex appeal was enormous. Once she’d had the mother of all crushes on him—he a charismatic, experienced twenty-one to her virginal sixteen. He’d even kissed her once. Not that he would ever remember. It had been at a bush dance. Her first. He’d swooped on her in an excess of high spirits, flirting, reckless, whirling her off her feet with a whoop of laughter. She’d never forgotten the hardly-to-be-borne excitement of her first kiss—hitherto unsurpassed, worst luck! Brock had always loved the girls, and they’d all loved him.

“In some ways you were Philip’s hero,” she mused. “He longed to be like you. Brave and daring. Unafraid of your grandfather. You two cousins should have been great friends.”

“That was impossible, Shelley.” He shook his black head. “Kingsley and dear Aunt Frances set us head to head. Who was to be the heir? The one who challenged or the one who toed the line? Is Phil still sweet on you?” He said it suddenly, as though he didn’t much like the idea.

“Relax, we’re only friends. We’ve known one another forever. My parents approve of him, which is kind of a plus. It’s wonderful to see you, Brock. I’m terribly, terribly glad you’re back again.”

He smiled down at her, clearly amused by her obvious pleasure and sincerity. “You always were a sweet little thing.” Looking at her wide, sensitive mouth, he had an unexpected flash of memory. “I seem to remember kissing you once. Did I?”

“It was normal for you to kiss all the girls,” she said drolly.

“I don’t recall kissing your sister. Is she married yet?”

“No. And how do you know I’m not?” She tilted a brow in mock indignation.

“You still look like a rosebud.” He gave that lazily sexy smile. “People tell me you’re running some sort of tourist venture out at Wybourne?”

“I am, and I’m very proud of it.” Her tone was calm and self-assured, belying her girlish appearance. “It’s taken time, but we’re getting off the ground. A lot of the planning has fallen on me. My poor parents never did recover from Sean’s death. It’s left them rather tired of life.”

“I know what it’s like to mourn. I bet Amanda is a big help to you,” Brock said with a touch of sarcasm, remembering all too clearly Shelley’s pretty, highly flirtatious and self-centred sister.

“Couldn’t do without her,” Shelley said loyally, Martha to Amanda’s Mary and so well used to it, it had become second nature. “Amanda shines where I don’t.”

“Where might that be?” he asked sceptically.

“She plays the piano and she has an attractive singing voice. Country and western—that sort of thing. Guests like it. Plus she’s very pretty, as I’m sure you’ll remember.”

“And you’re not?” He upped the excitement with a lingering gaze.

“Stop flattering me, Brock Tyson,” she said mock severely. “I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“I bet you do. In fact, you’ve acquired so much poise you might be getting on for middle-aged,” he joked. “How on earth do you manage to keep the freckles at bay?”

Sex appeal simply oozed out of this man. With those eyes of his on her Shelley felt like splashing herself with cold water. “I can’t take the credit, Brock. Just genes, I suppose. How long are you going to stay with us?”

“As long as I can tolerate it,” he said, all of a sudden moody, but still so charismatic he took her breath away. “Kingsley, about to face his Maker, thinks it’s time to get a few things straightened out. My mother was his only daughter. He was supposed to have adored her. That was before my father came along to claim her heart. I never saw any sign of love or affection from my grandfather towards my mother. He just found ways to upset and humiliate her. And hey, Shel, it’s not all his money. Grandma Brockway brought a fortune to the marriage. It was Brockway money that kept my mother and me in the beginning. After that I was able to pay our way. Kingsley sent us off penniless. As you say, he was a cruel man. It’s just that I found his cruelty easier to endure than my poor mother.”

“Surely in asking you to return home he’s begging your forgiveness?” she suggested, feeling the bitterness and anger coming off him in waves.

“Then he’s going to be disappointed,” he clipped off. “Judgement Day is coming for Rex Kingsley.”

“Pray God he accepts it,” she said quietly. “What did you do all the time you were away?” Rex Kingsley had never mentioned his daughter or his grandson from the day they left.

“Work.” He shrugged. “I had to, as we were pretty much broke. I’ve been involved in breeding and training racehorses at a top stud in Ireland. Impossible to imagine a place more different to our Outback!”

“Ireland!” she echoed. “So that’s where you got to! So far away. I often wonder what our ancestors thought of their strange new land. Ireland. How exciting! I’m going to go one day. That’s a promise I’ve made to myself. You always were marvellous at handling horses, Brock. You’ve even developed an Irish lilt. Did you like it?”

“Loved it.” His silver eyes sparkled. “You know how us outbackers are with horses. The Irish are the same. The instant rapport paid off. I did a good job. I made good money, and earned respect from people I admired. I kept my mother secure until she died.”

“No one here knew where you went.”

“Kingsley cut us off completely. I returned the favour. More than anything I blame him for turning his back on my mother. Why would I want to notify him when she died?”

“I’m surprised you came home,” she ventured. Brock, always vivid, had developed a very commanding not to say daunting presence mixed in with the familiar charm.

“Just occasionally I remember I’m a Kingsley on my mother’s side. If dear old Grandpa wants to reinstate me in his will—and he seems to want to—I’m not going to stop him. My mother was owed. I’m owed.” The silver eyes took on a hard glitter. “They call it atonement.”

“So you’re staying at Mulgaree? That can’t be easy.” She remembered how Philip and Frances had always been so jealous of Brock, with his energy and effortless skills, the way he stood up to his domineering grandfather.

“It’s not as though I have to see anyone if I don’t want to.” He gave a brief laugh. “Heaven knows the old barn is big enough.”

“You used to love it,” she reminded him dryly.

“And I still do, Emerald Eyes.”

Shelley Logan was no longer the cute little teenager he remembered. She’d matured. She had a woman’s sensitivity and perception and she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Back then she’d been way too young for him, but in the interim the rosebud had opened up velvety perfumed petals.

He continued to stare at her, holding her gaze captive. Despite the poise he hadn’t been prepared for, she was flushed with colour. Her wild red-gold hair lay loose around her shoulders. Her beautiful eyes were large and lustrous, her mouth sensitive and her chin prettily pointed. If it wouldn’t jeopardize their old easy friendship he would have told her she looked damned sexy.

“So what’s the verdict?” she asked dryly, with a tilt of her chin.

“Just checking,” he drawled. “All right, Shel. You’ve changed. You’ve grown up. So what are you doing right now? On your way home to your family?” He recalled the bleakness of Wybourne, the Logans’ loss of all joy.

“Tomorrow. I can’t make the return trip the same day.”

“God, I would think not. Look at you! The wind could pick you up and blow you away. Still giving you hell, are they?” In his experience nothing really ever changed.

She shook her head, her tone mildly chastening. “You shouldn’t talk like that, Brock. I love my family. We survive. I guess I’ll always bear the pain for surviving when Sean didn’t.”