Outback Bridegroom

“You didn’t have to say that.”

‘No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. Anyway, you saved me from having a real guilt trip about not being supportive enough.”

“We were too young to get married, Mitch.” She turned her palms up helplessly, her beautiful face imploring.

“I wish my memory of it was that good.” Bitterly he concentrated on her hands, not the powerful seduction of her face. That too was a mistake. He remembered how those long fingers had felt on his skin, the way she’d used them to excite him. “Like a fool, I thought you were as madly in love with me as I was with you. You could have warned me. In those days I must have been a total dolt.”

She laughed aloud. Not out of humour. “You may not want to hear this, but, yes, you were. It was important for me to find myself. I was so immature, dependent. I couldn’t rush into marriage.”

“Very wise,” he returned acidly. “Maybe you’d be kind enough to tell me—have you found yourself now?”

“Have you?” They were two beats away from a first-class public row.

“I don’t know what I needed to find,” he answered, his voice cool and cutting. “I thought I had you. We could have taken it slowly if that was what you wanted.”

“Slowly? We were mad for each other. We made love all the time. You couldn’t wait to have me. We were bits of kids and you were pushing for marriage.”

“Weren’t you?” he asked, half savagely. “How many times did you tell me that? You couldn’t stand not being with me. You were sad and angry all the time we were apart. Was that all lies.”

“Not lies,” she muttered with quiet desperation. “I was afraid, Mitch. I had problems. I couldn’t face them at home. I had to get away. I had to be separate from my mother and grandmother. Even from you. Like I said, I had to find myself.”

“I understand a lot, Chrissy. I was there. But you had my proposal of marriage. My first and my only. I would have done anything for you. Protected you. Loved you. But you said no. That was your decision. I suppose I should say thank you for it now, but at the time it wasn’t good for a guy’s ego.”

“Not one as big as yours, Mitch Claydon—Golden Boy.” She gave him the full battery of her hostile sapphire eyes.

“What you see is what you get.” To her utter surprise he laughed. He knew of old how she used her eyes as weapons. “Now, a few people are looking our way. I don’t think this is the day for us to show animosity towards one another, is it, Chrissy? I’m a man who enjoys a peaceful life.”

“Pity you can’t get it.” She averted her head to acknowledge a departing mourner.

“Not with you around, old chum!”

“Is that what we were?” Her reaction was to stare back in open challenge. “Chums? Even when we were best friends we used to fight.”

“And forget it the next minute. We couldn’t stand to fall out.”

“I feel pretty much the same now,” she said. Mitch, with his golden mop of hair and star-spangled eyes. He had been such a handsome, engaging boy, full of vitality and high spirits. He wasn’t that Mitch any more. “I haven’t come back to upset you, Mitch.”

“Are you sure?” His voice seared.

“I’m sure.” Little ripples of excitement chased themselves down her spine, sliding over bone and muscle, reaching her legs. Excitement had always been part of their relationship.

“That’s good, because as it turns out you can’t,” he informed her. “Losing you taught me a lot, Chrissy. It wasn’t a pleasant episode in my life but it was a valuable lesson all the same. I’m damned if I’ll ever pay homage to you again.”

“When did I ever ask for it?”

“Every goddamn time you were in my arms.” Mindful of where they were, he let his voice remain low, but it was freighted with anger.

“I loved you, Mitch.” She turned her face up to his, her beautiful skin a perfect foil for the black sombreness of her outfit.

“In a pig’s eye you did,” he retorted crudely, looking at her with open disgust.

She knew she turned pale. “How can I possibly visit Marjimba with you there?”

“Hell, Chrissy, I’ll make sure we’re not alone together.” He so desperately wanted to grab her, carry her off. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Today we’re just clarifying the situation. Don’t ever give me the ‘I loved you’ bit. I fell for it once. I won’t again. Just telling you makes me feel better. I’ll be sociable when you visit. There’s no end to the things I’ll do for my mother. She always did have a soft spot for you, so please do accept her invitation.”

“In that case I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” She drew a deep, steadying breath, feeling his condemnation like a spear in the heart. “I can see hugs and kisses are clearly out of the question, so take my hand,” she said with determined civility.

For an instant it seemed he would refuse. “People are watching, Mitch. You’re one of the good old boys, remember?”

He hesitated again, taut and afraid, before he wrapped his strong golden-brown fingers around hers.

Electricity crackled, spat, burned. They might have been alone in a room where everyone else had vanished in a puff of smoke.

A great deep thrust of primitive desire slammed into his body. She had known that was going to happen. He broke contact immediately, his callused hands feeling seared. Had he really thought anything could change? He couldn’t control this. He’d wanted her then. He wanted her now. Beyond that ever more aching want.

Hell, what a sorry plight!

CHAPTER TWO

CHRISTINE’S family were at dinner after what had been, all in all, an extraordinarily upsetting day. It was strange to see her mother take pride of place in her grandmother’s huge carver chair at the head of the long antique table. Both of them small women, somehow her grandmother had dominated the large space, whereas her mother looked as if her feet dangled clear off the ground.

For once her father occupied the elaborately carved mahogany carver at the other end, having been asked by Kyall to do so. “Take your rightful place, Dad,” Kyall urged as they all went to sit down in the places Ruth McQueen had allotted them in her lifetime. “You’re head of the family. Everything about the way Gran treated you was terrible.”

His mother, ever one to hide her head in the sand, gasped aloud. “Kyall, how can you possibly say that?”

“Because it’s true, Mum,” he responded bluntly. “I’m sorry if that word isn’t in your dictionary.”

“Really, Kyall, it doesn’t matter,” Max intervened.

“It does matter, Dad.” At the end of this long strange day, Kyall’s normally controlled temper was at flashpoint. “I think we can stop all this stupid business of Kyall McQueen as well. I’m your son, Dad. I love you. I’m a Reardon.”

“Bravo!” Christine dared to put her hands together. “Then you can acknowledge I’m your sister as well.”

“Don’t be silly, Chris.”

“Don’t take it personally.” She smiled at him. “You had nothing to do with it. It was Gran and Mum.”

Enid looked angrily towards her daughter. “Excuse me, Christine, but your father and I agreed Kyall would be christened Kyall Reardon-McQueen. Didn’t we, dear?” Enid appealed to her husband as a good solid mate should.

“We did.” Max looked back down the table at her. “We didn’t plan on the Reardon being dropped, though, did we?” he pointed out gently.

“It was the town.” Enid picked up her wine glass. “The double-barrelled name was too much of a mouthful.”

“And God forbid the town should have dropped the McQueen.” Christine rolled her eyes at her brother. “After all, the McQueens own it.”

“Why is it that you always start something, Christine?” Enid asked, her cheeks flushed a dull red. “You’re only just home and you’re—”

“Leave her alone, Enid,” Max said, his handsome face composed into firm lines.