An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden (7 page)

T
HE
morning session was going surprisingly well for him. The words flowed. He was able to report on some of the most terrible events of his life as though he were writing a book of horrors to be turned into a war movie. For the first time he was able to stand back from the terrible stress, subdue his anger, while he captured scenes of the days and nights when madness had reigned.

The phone rang.

Damn! Sometimes he wanted to rip it out of the wall. His agent, George Costello, was really pushing him, trying to get him to agree to a deadline. He was taking calls from Channel Nine. They wanted him to cover world events. Badly, it seemed. They liked his style, his narration, the direct way he approached a story.

The TV channel were talking big money—not that money had ever driven him. He had more than enough, mostly inherited from his dead father. He would gladly give it away to have his father back. It was clear to him now his peers had judged him and found he had made a significant contribution.

“You made a terrific impact, Evan, with your reportage from the front line,” Costello was fond of telling him.

And the life had made a big impact on him.

He spoke gruffly into the phone. “Evan Thompson.” Thompson had been the name of his father's driver: a good loyal friend, in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A woman's cultured mature voice, still retaining its English accent, was on the other end. “Harriet, here, Evan.”

He apologized wryly. “Sorry, Harriet, if I barked. I was preoccupied with something. It's easy to lose the thread.”

“That's all right, Evan.” Harriet sounded as if she had more important matters to discuss. “I have some disturbing
news, I'm afraid. I've just had a distressed call from Sarah. Ruth McQueen has gone missing. They're searching for her now.”

He went to say something. Caught himself. “Surely she hasn't gone off into the bush by herself? That's a strange thing for a woman of her age and experience to do. Even if she thinks she knows it like the back of her hand it's still possible to become disoriented in the wilderness. She may have taken ill. Had a fall. What exactly happened?”

It took Harriet a moment to answer. “It's difficult to tell it all, Evan. You'll be hearing most of it soon enough. The family is fairly frantic. Ruth has been a most difficult woman—” God, what an understatement, Harriet thought “—but she is the matriarch, and she's well into her seventies.”

“Is it possible she has a hidden agenda?” he couldn't help asking. “I can't imagine her wandering off, Harriet. If ever a woman had her wits about her it's Ruth McQueen.”

“Ah, yes!” Unconsciously Harriet's tone turned bone-dry. “Nevertheless, she's nowhere in the homestead or the main compound. Now they're searching the bush.”

“All those lagoons and waterholes!” He had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. “It's to be hoped no harm has come to her. Do they need help?”

Harriet's tone warmed. “Thank you, Evan, but they have enough men on the ground. Kyall has taken the helicopter up. What I'd like you to do, if you would, is pass on the news to Laura. She doesn't know Ruth of course, but she does know Kyall and Sarah. I couldn't be more pleased she has you for a neighbour.”

“Why, Harriet?” he gently challenged. Harriet the match-maker.

There was a pause. “Because I am.”

“I'll go next door right now, Harriet. Could you ring me if there's any news?”

It sounded as though Harriet had sucked in her breath. “To be truthful, Evan, I can't think the news will be good,” she said.

 

When he went next door to the cottage he found Laura in the rear garden, clipping back the swaying heads of lavender that had turned sea-blue in the hot sun. They smelled wonderfully, but were encroaching on the brick path.

He'd got into the habit of glancing through a side window to see if she was working in the garden. Somehow the sight she made, like a beautiful Renoir painting, eased his soul. Today she was wearing a pastel pink T-shirt tucked into narrow jeans with a fancy belt with a big turquoise medallion around her tiny waist. On her head, protecting her luminous skin, she wore a large straw hat, the romantic kind, its wide brim floppy with full-blown fabric roses; soft leather shoes were on her feet.

All the world gilded, he thought. Pulsing with heat waves that released all the dry aromatic scents of the bush. Songbirds sang from the trees, softening the excited squawks of the brilliantly plumaged lorikeets as they plundered the grevillea brushes. Bees droned. So peaceful. So paintable.

His own country had to be the safest place in the world, he thought. Australia. New Zealand. Neither had experienced war and bloodshed on their soil. Neither had been exposed to the terrible sights and sounds that had affected him so deeply. Such safety was to be treasured.

As he stood staring at her she suddenly realized he was there. “Hello, Evan,” she called, so sweetly he could feel his body stir. He hadn't had a woman in quite a while, but he knew in his heart he wanted this woman even as his mind told him she was untouchable. “Have you come along to help me?” she asked, teasingly.

“Of course not.” Only then could he move, sauntering down to her. “It's glorious work, puttering about a garden. Besides, how can you learn if I do it all for you?”

“You're saying I'm used to having a gardener?” She tilted her head right back to look up at him, and the thought came out of nowhere that she loved his face. The sculptured head, the large handsome features, the square jaw and those black eyes that were resting on her. Could their depths ever be trawled?

He picked a paper daisy and pretended to feel the texture before he reached out to lift her to her feet. What would it be like to kiss her mouth, so beautiful, so tender? Cup her face with his hands… “Didn't you?” he asked sardonically.

She walked into the trap. “I wasn't allowed to make mistakes, Evan.”

It wasn't the answer he'd expected. He stared at her, perturbed. “Surely we can't be talking about your parents?” Daddy's Little Girl? Some daddies were terribly possessive of their beautiful little girls, he thought.

She shrugged, wiped the tips of her fingers on her jeans before she accepted his hand. “Stop trying to catch me out, Evan Thompson. Okay, so what brings you here? I know. You want morning tea? You're crazy about my little Anzac biscuits?”

He gave a short laugh. “That's true. Like most men, I have a sweet tooth. But why don't you come inside? I know you've got that shady hat to protect you—it looks very fetching, by the way—but this Outback sun packs a lot of punch.”

“You're telling me.” She looked up at him, registering the expression in those brilliant dark eyes. “What is it, Evan?” she questioned, anxiety stirring.

“You're a hard person to keep things from.”

“You look as though you have something you wish to say.”

“Perhaps inside,” he said.

She could feel herself start to tremble, her limbs weak. “Something about me?”

“God, no!” His black brows drew together. “I'm sorry, Laura. I didn't intend to alarm you. It's not about you at all.”

“Oh!” She couldn't prevent the deep sigh of relief.

“You're full of fears, aren't you?” His eyes swept her. He wanted to pull her to him, lend her some of his own abundant strength.

She swallowed back the emotion in her throat. “I guess our fears follow us wherever we go.”

“Until we turn and confront them.”

“Believe me, I will,” she said, seized by hope that hadn't
existed before. Even so, it was a terrible thing to live with the fear that Colin would rather kill her than see her happy with someone else. “But I need time.”

“Okay.” His eyes remained steady on hers. Moments stretched out. Too long. There was sexual attraction. Astonishing, mysterious, powerful.

It was Laura who took a little step back, blinking to break the spell. He was so compelling, so at ease within his own body. His whole aura flowed over her.

“I'll wash my hands in the laundry,” she said quickly. “Why don't you go into the house?”

“Maybe I'll put coffee on.” He started to move off with long strides. He knew he could fluster her very easily, but he was loath to make her feel threatened in any way. Secrecy surrounded Laura as he supposed it surrounded him.

“I'd like a cup,” she called.

He was grinding the coffee beans—good beans, a present from him—when she came in the back door, quietly removing the big straw hat. She was the classic romantic heroine, with her sensitivity and her lovely dreamy face.

“You want it straight?” he asked.

“Unless it's terrible news, Evan. Nothing about Sarah or Kyall.” Her green eyes were registering concern.

“No,” he hastened to reassure her. “It's about Ruth McQueen. She's disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” She looked across at him in astonishment. “From where? The homestead—Wunnamurra? Sarah was only there yesterday.”

“I'll tell you what I know.” He began to measure the coffee into the pot. “Harriet Crompton rang me. She and Sarah are very close, as you know. It appears fears are held for Mrs McQueen's safety. She's nowhere in the main compound. They're searching the bush.”

“Oh, how dreadful!” Laura slumped into the curved banquette, wondering if this new development had something to do with yesterday's confrontation.

“Has something occurred to you?” He shot her a razor-sharp glance.

“Me? What would I know?” she evaded. “I've never even met Mrs McQueen, but I've certainly had time to gather she's an extraordinary person.”

“A real tyrant. But something flickered in your eyes.” God knew he was getting to know her face intimately. “I couldn't help noticing Sarah paid you a visit yesterday afternoon. Her car was out front.”

“She naturally wanted to see what I was making of the place. With your help, as I told her. I'm very grateful.”

“People like us should stick together,” he said sardonically, thinking an army of men would be tripping over themselves trying to help her. “Anyway, that was the message as relayed by Harriet. Sarah wanted you to know. Apparently they're all very upset.”

“I don't like the sound of this, Evan,” she said, understanding her friend Sarah's relationship with Ruth McQueen wasn't good.

“What do you think has gone wrong?” He assembled cups, saucers, spoons, cream and sugar. He knew the place as well as she did.

“Why would a woman like Ruth McQueen wander off?” Laura propped her elbow on the table, supporting her white brow with her hand. “Maybe she needed a place to think?”

“So far away no one would ever find her?” he asked dryly.

“What do you mean?”

“I'm not sure. We haven't heard the whole story, Laura. Gossip here and there. A warning. Don't ever get caught by Ruby Hall. Someone ought to caution her. She's dreadfully reckless with the truth.”

“That's the town sticky beak? I picked that up from Harriet.”

“Be on your guard. I can promise you she'll be on your case.”

“Won't do her much good.” Laura smiled. “I can be as determinedly non-forthcoming as you.”

“Not possible, Laura.” That beautiful rare smile again.

“I won't argue. But thanks for the tip. I'll know to steer clear of Ruby without making an enemy of her.”

“Good.” He didn't crowd her, but went to the opposite end of the banquette. It was too damned cramped anyway, especially for a man his size. “There aren't supposed to be secrets in bush towns. Ruth McQueen from all accounts is a ruthless woman. Not liked at all, while Kyall is universally admired. Mrs McQueen is vehemently against Sarah, as I imagine you know. She idolizes her grandson. Sarah and Kyall have just become engaged and the balance of power has shifted. Dictators don't like that.”

“No,” she replied briefly, her mind never far from Colin. “Perhaps she's trying to scare them by vanishing?” Laura tested her idea on him.

“Emotional blackmail, do you mean? She
could
take that approach,” he said dubiously. “On the other hand a woman like that must feel she's in total control.”

She had experience of the rage when a controller like Colin didn't feel that way. “It doesn't sound good,” Laura offered sombrely.

“No.”

“Sarah was so very, very happy yesterday. I would hate that to change.”

“So would I. Sarah deserves to be happy. It's time for her to be.”

“It doesn't sound as though she could be happy living at the McQueen homestead with that very grand lady who'll do anything to upset her.”

“Kyall won't let that happen. I'm sure all will be resolved.”

“Sadly, life's not always like that.”

“Don't fall into the doldrums. Eat that biscuit,” he said. “You haven't put on an ounce.”

Her expression lightened. “What was it the Duchess of Windsor used to say?”

“One can't be too rich or too thin,” he answered.

“Being rich doesn't ensure happiness,” she said.

“No, it doesn't. The first time I saw you I thought you were a poor little rich girl with a tale to tell.”

“I know.”

“You do come from a privileged background?”

“You surely don't want me to apologize for it?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. I was one of the lucky ones myself. But I would like to hear what you're holding back. It's hard to believe a too-demanding boyfriend could cause you such grief.”

Why couldn't she say it? It's my husband. He's brutal by nature, with darkness in him. “You don't know what I'm dealing with, Evan,” was all she could manage at the time.

“Tell me.” He caught her fingers briefly, felt their tremble.