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A Bride At Birralee
Barbara Hannay
A secret baby…When Sydney girl Stella Lassiter discovers that she's pregnant, she travels to the Outback seeking her ex-boyfriend for help, only to bump into the one man she's hoping to avoid–Callum Roper.…a whirlwind wedding!A year ago Callum had been drawn to Stella at a party, but quickly realized she was off-limits. Now, however, he is determined to make her unborn baby part of his family. And marriage seems the perfect solution…
“I see marriage as the best solution to your problem.”
Totally shocked, Stella struggled for breath. “Are you telling me you want to marry me off to someone?”
Callum gave the faintest of nods.
“How dare you?” She jumped to her feet. This wasn’t something she could take sitting down. “So, who’s the poor sucker you think I should trap into marriage?”
There was a beat of time before he said, very simply, “I am.”
Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical north Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy.
A Wedding at Winderoo (#3794)
In Harlequin Romance®
A Bride at Birralee
Barbara Hannay
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#uc3d38e17-fd8f-59b0-b28d-1ea40c1b0f53)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud9d093c7-d30d-5baa-91eb-7a1a1b8e8205)
CHAPTER THREE (#u27a1f0d0-ecfd-5e11-a004-0f105c6dce31)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
SOMEONE was coming.
Callum Roper slouched against a veranda post and glared at the distant cloud of dust. In the outback, dust travelling at that speed meant one thing—a vehicle heading this way.
He wasn’t in the mood for visitors.
Turning his back on the view, he lowered his long body into a deep canvas chair and snapped the top off a beer. He took a deep swig and scowled. Truth was, he wasn’t in the mood for anything much these days! Even beer didn’t taste the same.
‘Why’d you have to do it, Scotty?’
He hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud, but there it was, lingering like the dust on the hot, still air. Why did you have to go and die? Damn you, Scotty.
Taking another, deeper swig, he grimaced. How long did it last, this grief business? His younger brother had been dead for six weeks now and he still felt as raw and hurt as he had the day the helicopter crashed and he’d first glimpsed Scott’s lifeless body in the cockpit.
Slumping lower in the canvas seat, he reached for the cattle dog at his side and rubbed the soft fur between its ears, willing himself to relax. But a picture of Scott’s sun-streaked curls, laughing brown eyes and cheeky grin swam before him. It was the face of an irrepressible larrikin. And it had gone for ever.
Late afternoons like this were the worst. This was the time of day he and Scott used to sit here on the veranda, having a beer and a yarn. His brother had been such damn good company. Drinking alone without Scott’s humorous recounts of their day wasn’t any kind of fun.
He cast a bitter glance over his shoulder towards the encroaching vehicle. Entertaining visitors without Scott’s easy banter would be hell!
Luckily, cars didn’t foray into these parts very often. Birralee Station was beyond Cloncurry in far north-western Queensland, further outback than most people liked to venture.
But this particular cloud of dust was definitely edging closer down the rust-red track. He could hear the motor now and it sounded tinny, not the throaty roar of the off-road vehicles his neighbours used.
Surely no one with any sense would come all the way out here in a flimsy little city sedan? City visitors were even worse than well-meaning neighbours.
Scott had been the one for the city. He’d always been flying off to Sydney or Brisbane to seek out fun and female company. Callum was content to stick to the bush, restricting his socialising to picnic races and parties on surrounding properties. He’d never felt the urge to go chasing off to the city.
Almost never. His hand tightened around the beer can as a reluctant memory forced him to acknowledge that there had been one city woman he’d wanted to chase. A woman with crow black hair, a haunting, sexy voice and a gutsy, shoulders-back attitude. He’d wanted to chase her, catch her and brand her as his.
But his little brother had always had the happy knack of smiling at a girl in a certain way and rendering her smitten. Instantly. Accepting that the woman he’d desired had preferred Scott had been a bitter lesson.
Hell! What was the use of sitting here, thinking about all that again?
Callum jumped to his feet and frowned as he realised the car had stopped. He squinted at the stretch of bushland before him, searching for the tell-tale dust. Late afternoon sun lent a bronze glow to the paddocks of pale Mitchell grass, but there was no sign of movement. The cloudless sky, the trees and grass, even the cattle, were as still as a painting.
Crossing to the edge of the veranda, he stood listening. All he could hear now was the high, keening call of a black falcon as it circled above the cliff on the far side of the creek.
He frowned. By his calculations, the car had been close to the creek crossing. Perhaps the driver had stopped to check the water’s depth before fording the shallow stream.
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the veranda railing and listened, watched and waited.
A good five minutes or more passed before the engine started up again. But when it did, it screamed and strained. Then there was silence again, before another useless burst from the motor.
‘Silly sod’s got himself bogged.’ He listened for a few more minutes. There was more high-pitched whirring from the straining motor. More silence.
Shaking his head, he let out a heavy sigh. The last thing he felt like was playing hero to some uninvited city slicker, but he could hardly ignore the fact that someone seemed to be having car trouble so close to his homestead.
He had no choice. Cursing softly, he loped down the front steps and across the gravel drive to his ute.
Stella knew she was bogged. She was down to her axle in loose pebbles and sand in the middle of the outback—the middle of nowhere—and she was sick as a dog, more miserable than a lost puppy.
Another wave of nausea rose from her stomach to her mouth and she sat very still, willing her stomach to settle. It probably hadn’t been very bright to stop in the middle of the creek, but she’d felt so ill she’d had no choice.
How hard was this going to get? She’d been in enough mess before she’d left home, but now she was stuck in this crummy little creek hundreds of kilometres from anywhere—and out of the mobile network. When she needed to phone Scott, she couldn’t!
It was her own fault, of course. She should have tried ringing him again before she’d left Sydney and told him she was coming. Then he would have given her detailed directions. He might have warned her about this creek crossing.
But if she’d rung him, he would have expected to know why she wanted to see him. And she hadn’t liked to explain about the baby over the phone.
After their breakup, she couldn’t have discussed her pregnancy over the phone. There was just too much to talk about and it was all too complicated. She wanted to work out the very best solution for their baby’s future, and to do that she needed to discuss it with him face to face.
And she hadn’t wanted to waste precious money on air fares when she might need it for the baby, so she’d spent five days—nearly a week—driving all this way from Sydney.
Sighing heavily, she looked at her watch and then at the reddening sky. It would be dark soon and, for the first time since she’d left home, she felt genuinely frightened.
Fighting off the urge to panic, she forced herself to consider her options. She couldn’t spend the night sleeping in the car in the middle of an outback creek; and trying to make camp under trees up on the bank had no appeal. No, she’d rather gamble on how far she was from the homestead and try to walk from here.
She reached into the back of her little car and groped for her shoes, but before she could find them the sound of a motor came throbbing towards her.
Her head shot up and she peered through the duststreaked windscreen. Silhouetted against the sun, a utility truck crested the low hill on the other side of the creek, then rattled effortlessly down the dirt- and gravel-strewn slope.
‘Thank you, God.’ Smiling with relief, she dropped her shoe and her spirits soared as she watched the ute rumble towards her over the loose, water-washed rocks in the creek-bed. Perhaps it was Scott driving. ‘Please, let it be Scott.’
There was a male figure at the wheel and a blue heeler cattle dog perched on the seat next to him.
The truck pulled to a halt beside her.
From her little low car, she looked up. The driver’s face was shaded by the brim of his akubra hat, but she saw black stubble on a resolute jaw and dark hair on a strongly muscled forearm.
Not Scott. Oh, dear, no. Not Scott, but the one man she’d hoped to avoid. His brother, Callum.
Stella’s breathing snagged and she lowered her gaze. Callum! This was a moment she’d dreaded, and she hadn’t expected to have to deal with it right at the start.
She wet her lips and looked up at him with her chin at a defiant angle. ‘Hi, Callum.’
He didn’t answer.
‘I—I’m afraid I’m stuck.’
The truck’s door squeaked as he shoved it open. With an excessive lack of haste, his well-worn, brown leather riding boots lowered into the shallow creek. The boots were followed by an endless pair of blue jeans, a faded blue cotton shirt that stretched wide across powerful shoulders and, finally, a dark unsmiling face beneath a broad-brimmed hat.
It was a face she hadn’t seen for twelve months. A face that still haunted her secret dreams. Dreams she never dared think about in the light of day.
For an agonisingly long moment, he didn’t speak. He stood still as a mountain, his thumbs hooked through the loops of his jeans. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
What a beast! No greeting. No, How do you do, Stella? Long time, no see, or, Can I help? Not a trace of polite concern. Not even G’day.
For a heartbeat, she wondered if Callum Roper had forgotten her? That would be convenient but, short of his developing amnesia, she didn’t think it was possible for him to have forgotten that party. Nevertheless, she deserved a warmer greeting than this!
At least when she found Scott and told him about getting bogged, he would be sympathetic.
She remained sitting in her car and held out her hand. It was about time this oaf was forced to remember his manners. ‘How are you, Callum?’
Their eyes met. His expression was so fierce and hard that she knew, even before he spoke, that he hadn’t forgotten her.
‘Stella.’ He nodded and grunted an incomprehensible greeting. After just a trace of hesitation, his big hand closed around hers.
It was the hard, callused hand of an outdoors man and she tried to ignore the goose-bumps that rushed up her arms in response to such simple contact. This was Scott’s brother, her baby’s uncle, and she really would have to learn to relax when he was around.
Easier said than done.
‘You’re asking for trouble if you stop in the middle of a creek,’ he said.
Damn him. ‘I didn’t deliberately get myself bogged, you know. You should have a sign warning people about this creek.’
‘If there was any sign, it would warn trespassers they’d be prosecuted,’ Callum growled as he circled her car slowly, hoping his shock didn’t show.
His heart was racing at a hectic gallop. The last thing he’d expected to find had been this particular woman stranded on his property. What the hell was she doing here?
Silly question. His stomach dropped like a leg-roped steer as he acknowledged there could only be one reason. She’d come to see Scott. Hell! She didn’t know.
His brother hadn’t shared details about his recent trips to the city, and Callum hadn’t asked. He’d never even known for sure if Scott and Stella had still been an item, and she wasn’t family, she wasn’t a close friend, so he hadn’t sent her word of the accident. At least that was the excuse he’d rationalised.
How the blue blazes could he tell her now?
He was uncomfortably aware of her cool grey eyes assessing him as he checked how far her wheels had sunk into the silty creek-bed. Only a class act like Stella Lassiter could look dignified in such a predicament.
Perhaps her dignity came from the way she kept her chin haughtily high as she sat quietly in her car. Or maybe it was an impression created by that broad, full mouth that made her look earthy rather than vulnerable. Maybe it was all that shiny hair, black as a witch’s cat.
‘How does it look? Am I salvageable?’ she called. Her voice was another problem. Smooth and low, it had a syrupy cadence that kicked him at gut level and conjured a host of images he’d tried so hard to forget.
Hell, maybe she was a witch. In a matter of moments, some soft segment of his brain seemed to be slipping under her spell. Just like last time!
He forced his thoughts to practicalities. Her ridiculous little toy car was well and truly bogged, but it would be easy enough to haul her out.
Reaching into the back of his ute, he grabbed the D shackle and snatchem strap. ‘Sit tight,’ he ordered sharply and bent to shackle the long strap to a low bracket on the front of her car. ‘I’ll give you a tow.’
Leaping high into the truck again, he backed it around until it was positioned in front of hers and then, out of the ute once more, he looped the other end of the strap over the ball joint on his tow bar.
She opened her car door and leaned out to watch what he was doing. And Callum found himself staring at her feet as she sat in her car’s open doorway with the skirt of her light cotton dress bunched over her knees and her bare feet propped on the doorway’s rim.
Her feet were exquisitely shaped. Each neat toe was topped by perfectly applied, sky-blue nail polish. A fine silver chain threaded with blue glass beads was secured neatly around one dainty ankle.
Callum couldn’t drag his eyes away. Her feet were as interesting and compelling as the rest of her.
