Required: Three Outback Brides: Cattle Rancher, Convenient Wife / In the Heart of the Outback... / Single Dad, Outback Wife

‘Well, yah never know!’ Vince’s face creased into another smile. He was hoping this fine-looking young fella would stay in the district. He glanced upwards to the gallery. ‘That’s Carrie, Mrs Cunningham up there.’ Discreetly he pointed out a blond young woman with a lovely innocent face and a radiant smile. She was standing in the midst of a circle of women friends who were laughing at something she was saying, which they obviously found very funny.

Rory could understand Vince’s look of undying admiration. ‘She’s very beautiful,’ he said. ‘The house suits her perfectly.’

Vince’s big amiable face settled into an expression of pride. ‘An angel!’ he announced. ‘Clay reckons he’s the luckiest man in the world. Now how about me taking you to find him? I reckon you young blokes would get on.’

Why not? ‘Just point me in his direction, Vince,’ Rory said. ‘I see your wife beckoning to you.’

‘My little sweetheart!’ Vince exclaimed, a tag Rory had heard at least forty times during his stay. Vince and Katie were apparently right for each other. Katie wasn’t little, either. ‘Have to get back to the pub sooner or later. Try outdoors, near the fountain. Clay was there a few minutes ago. I don’t think he’s come back into the house.’

‘Will do.’ Rory tipped a finger to his temple.

It would turn out to be one of the best moves he had ever made.

The marble three-tiered fountain, monumental in size to suit the grand proportions of the house, was playing; an object of fascination for the children who had to be dragged away from the water by their mothers before they fell in or climbed in as one daring six-year-old had already done and been lightly chastised for. At such times he always remembered how his father had used to bawl him out as a child. It seemed like he had always made his father mad. Madder and madder as the years wore on. And later after their grandad died, the blind rages that took longer and longer to blow over.

A tall, handsome young man stood like a monarch at the top of the broad sloping lawn that ran down to a sun spangled creek. White lilies were blooming all around the banks, an exquisite foil for the sparkling stream and the green foliage of the reeds and the myriad water plants. Rory walked toward him, his spirits growing lighter. Surely it was Clay Dyson? Dyson was an arresting looking guy, hard to miss. Rory let his amazement show on his face.

‘It is Clay, isn’t it? Clay Dyson?’ he called. ‘Used to be overseer on Havilah a couple of years back?’

The other man turned, his face breaking into a smile of surprise as he recognised his visitor. He walked toward Rory, thrusting out a welcoming hand. ‘Cunningham now, Rory. Cunningham is my real name by the way. How are you and what are you doing so far from home?’ he exclaimed. ‘Not that it isn’t great to see you.’

‘Great to see you!’ Rory responded in kind, returning the handshake. He hadn’t known Clay Dyson—Cunningham whatever—all that well, but what he’d seen and what he’d heard he’d liked. ‘So what’s the story, Clay? And this homestead!’ He turned to gaze towards the front facade. ‘It’s magnificent.’

‘It is,’ Clay agreed with serene pride. ‘There is a story, of course. A long one. I’ll tell you sometime, but to cut it short it all came about through a bitter family feud. You know about them?’

‘I do.’ Rory made a wry face.

‘Mercifully the feud has been put to bed,’ Clay said with satisfaction. ‘My great-uncle Angus left me all this.’ He threw out his arm with a flourish. ‘Caroline, my wife, and I have only recently called a halt to renovations. They were mighty extensive and mighty expensive. What I inherited was a far cry from what you see now.’

‘So I believe,’ Rory said in an admiring voice. ‘I’m staying at the Jimboorie pub for a few days. Vince told me about the open day out here. I’m glad I came.’

‘So am I.’ Clay smiled. ‘Have you met Caroline yet?’

‘The very beautiful blonde with the big brown eyes?’ Rory gave the other man a sideways grin.

‘That’s Caroline!’ Clay couldn’t keep the proud smile off his face.

‘I haven’t had the pleasure,’ Rory said. ‘You’re one lucky guy, Cunningham.’

‘You should talk!’ Clay scoffed, totally unaware of Rory’s changed circumstances. ‘How’s Jay isn’t it, and your dad?’

‘Jay’s fine. He’s the heir. My dad and I had one helluva bust up. That’s why I’m on the road.’

Clay was aware of the pain and anger behind the easy conversational tone. ‘That’s rough! I’m sorry to hear it.’ The Comptons had been an eminent Channel Country cattle family for generations. Where did that leave Rory?

‘It was a long time coming,’ Rory told him calmly. ‘I didn’t have any choice but to hit the road. I have some money set aside from my grandad. I guess he knew in his bones I might be in need of it sometime. What I’m looking for now is a spread of my own. Nothing like Jimboorie of course. I’m nowhere in your league, but a nice little run I can bring up to scratch and sell off as I move up the chain.’

Clay looked down to the creek, where children were running and shrieking, overexcited. ‘No chance your dad will cool off, Rory? Could there be a reconciliation?’

Rory uncovered his head, his thick wavy hair as black and glossy as a magpie’s wing. A lock fell forward on his darkly tanned forehead. ‘No way! I wouldn’t care if he did. That part of my life is over. The only thing I’m sorry about is I’m leaving Jay to it.’

Clay studied Rory with a thoughtful frown. He remembered now the Compton family history. ‘You know I might be able to help you,’ Clay confided, like someone who already had an idea in his mind, which indeed he did. ‘Why don’t you come back inside? Meet Caroline. Stay to dinner. A few friends are stopping over. I’d like you to meet them. You’re not desperate to get back to town are you?’

‘Heck no!’ Rory felt a whole lot better in two minutes flat. ‘I’d love to stay if it’s okay with your beautiful wife?’

‘It’ll be fine!’ Clay assured him, following his gut feeling about Rory Compton. This was a guy he could trust; a guy who could make a good friend. ‘Caroline will be happy to meet you. And we’ll have time to catch up.’

‘Great!’ A surge of pleasure at Clay’s hospitality ran through him. Rory whipped out his transforming smile.

Destiny has an amazing way of throwing people together.

CHAPTER TWO

RORY found it all too easy to settle into the spacious, high-ceilinged guest bedroom that had been allotted him. His room at the pub, albeit clean and comfortable was tiny for a guy his size.

‘Stay the night, Rory,’ Clay had insisted. ‘We’ll be having a few drinks over dinner. Anyway it’s too far to drive back into town. Everyone else is staying over until morning. There’s any amount of room. Twelve bedrooms in, although we haven’t got around to furnishing the lot as yet.’

His bedroom had a beautiful dark hardwood floor, partially covered by a stylish modern rug in cream and brown. Teak furnishings with clean Asian lines gave the room its ‘masculine’ feel. The colour scheme was elegant and subdued, the bedspread, the drapery fabric and the cushions on the long sofa of a golden beige Thai silk. It was all very classy. Clay had even lent him a shirt to wear to dinner. Something ‘dressier’ since he’d only been wearing a short-sleeved bush shirt. They were much of a height and build. In fact the shirt fitted perfectly.

Drinks were being served in the refurbished drawing room at seven. It was almost that now. He’d showered and washed his hair using the shampoo in the well-stocked cabinet. Now he gave himself a quick glance in the mirror aware as always of his resemblance to his mother. He had her thick sable hair, her olive skin, though life in the open air had tanned his to bronze. It was her eyes looking back at him; the setting, the colour. They flashed silver against his darkened skin. He had her clean bone structure, the high cheekbones, the jawline, stronger and more definite in him. Hell his face was angular now he came to take a good look. He’d lost a bit of weight stressing over the current situation and being forever on the road. Who would have ever thought it bad luck to closely resemble his beautiful mother? Although their old man had scarcely liked Jay more, when Jay was almost a double for their father at the same age. Jay could never be brutal. Jay was a lovely human being who really wasn’t born to raise cattle. Both straight A students at their ‘old money’ boarding school Jay had once spoken of a desire to study medicine. It had only brought forth ridicule and high scorn from their father while their mother had gone to Jay laying her smooth cheek against his.

‘And you’d be a fine doctor, Jay. Your grandfather Eugene was a highly respected orthopaedic surgeon.’

‘Stop it, Laura!’ their father had thundered, his handsome face as hard as granite. ‘Mollycoddling the boy as usual. Putting ideas into his head. There’s no place for nonsense here. Jay is my heir! His life is here on Turrawin. Let that be an end to it.’

His expression darkened with remembrance. He missed his brother. Their father would blame Jay for every last little thing that went wrong now. It was dreadful to wish your own father would just ride off into the sunset and never come back, but both of his sons were guilty of wanting that in their minds.

‘You are a sick bastard, aren’t you?’ he berated himself, making a huge effort to throw off his mood. He’d already met most of his dinner companions, which was good. No surprises there. They were all nice, friendly people around his age, maybe a year or two older. Two married couples, the Stapletons and the Mastermans and a young woman, called Chloe Sanders with softly curling brown hair and big sky-blue eyes whose face became highly flushed when he spoke to her. Perhaps she was overcome with shyness, though she had to be well into her twenties and maybe past the time for hectic blushes.

It appeared there was a sister, Allegra, who was staying over as well, but so far she hadn’t appeared. Caroline had told him in a quiet aside Allegra, recently divorced, was understandably feeling a bit low. She was staying a while with her mother and sister on the family property, Naroom, which just could be up for sale. A hint there surely? The girls’ father, Llew Sanders had contracted a very bad strain of malaria while on a visit to New Guinea. Complications had set in but by the time he was properly hospitalised it was already too late. That was six months back, around the time Allegra’s divorce had been finalised. All three women had been shattered, Caroline told him, her lovely face compassionate. The daughter who had stayed at home with her parents was Chloe. The one with the fancy name, Allegra, had flown the coup to marry a high flying Sydney stockbroker then had turned around and divorced him within a few years. Rory didn’t get it. She was too young for a midlife crisis. Why did she marry at all if she hadn’t been prepared to make a go of it? Then again to be fair it might have been the husband’s fault? If the sisters looked anything alike, and they probably did, the high flyer husband could well have found someone more glamorous and exciting?

Heaven help me, I might like a bit of glamour and excitement myself!

Rory didn’t want to know it, but he was a man at war with himself.

They were all assembled in the drawing room, chatting easily together, drinks in hand.

‘Ah, there you are, Rory. What’s it to be?’ Clay asked. ‘I’ve made a pitcher of ice-cold martinis if you’re interested?’

‘They’re very good!’ Meryl Stapleton held up her glass. ‘Clay told me his secret. Just show the vermouth bottle to the gin.’

Rory laughed. ‘I’m not a great one for cocktails, I’m afraid.’

‘A beer then?’ Clay produced a top brand.

‘Fine.’ Rory smiled and went to sit beside Chloe who was sending out silent but unmistakable signals. A man could learn a lot from a woman who wanted him to sit beside her. She flushed up prettily and shifted her rounded bottom to make a place for him. Still no sign of the sister. Perhaps she was all damped down with depression? Maybe their hostess would have to go to her and offer a little encouragement?

Greg Stapleton, a slightly avid expression on his face, immediately started into asking him if he was any relation to the Channel Country Comptons. ‘You know the cattle dynasty?’