The Cattleman's Bride. Joan Kilby

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      CHAPTER ONE

      “DOUBLE HAZELNUT MOCHA with a sprinkle of cinnamon and a dash of nutmeg, please.”

      Sarah drummed the steering wheel while the attendant at the drive-through stall in Eastside Seattle whipped up her coffee. She usually ordered espresso to wake her up on gray October mornings, but in times of crisis a jolt of flavored caffeine usually helped perk her up.

      Okay, so her father’s death wasn’t exactly a crisis; she hadn’t seen him more than a handful of times since he and her mom had split up when Sarah was a baby. The shock was learning he’d left her Burrinbilli, the outback cattle station where her mother had grown up. Half the station, that is. The station manager owned the other half.

      “Thanks,” Sarah said to the attendant, and maneuvered the steaming foam cup through the window of her Mazda.

      Back in the stream of traffic, she sipped her coffee and fantasized about buying the penthouse suite for sale on top of her employer’s office building. If she lived there she could be at work by now. Imagine, rising at a civilized hour, having a leisurely breakfast in the café next door, then taking a mere elevator ride up to the computer programming department where she designed educational software. Urban paradise.

      The traffic inched along. The windshield wipers slapped away the rain. The fax machine rang. Sarah pressed the start button and glanced at the emerging paper—a request for details on the new software package she was working on.

      She could sell her half of Burrinbilli and buy that penthouse suite.

      Or she could do something really nice for Mom.

      She pulled into the car park opposite her office building and hurried across the street. Minutes later she stepped onto the fourth floor to navigate the rabbit warren of cubicles to her workspace. Some people complained about the cramped quarters, but Sarah didn’t mind. She’d plastered the divider walls with Far Side cartoons and pictures of her cat. With her coffee at hand and a family-size bag of Gummi Bears in her drawer, what more could she ask for?

      She pulled the letter from the executor of her father’s estate out of her briefcase, punched in the phone number of Burrinbilli, then swung around to gaze at the old photo tacked to the wall of her cubicle, the receiver tucked under her ear. The little girl standing on the steps of the veranda and squinting into the brilliant sunlight of western Queensland was her mother.

      Mom had raved about Burrinbilli for as long as Sarah could remember. Endless blue sky, the creek where she fished for the freshwater crayfish she called yabbies, the wide shady veranda that wrapped itself right around the elegant 1880s homestead.

      And best of all, to Sarah’s mind—Lake Burrinbilli.

      The telephone rang and rang. Sarah wondered belatedly what time it was in Australia. Was it five hours ahead or nineteen behind? Either way, that meant…Uh-oh. She started to hang up the receiver.

      “H’llo.” The man on the other end stifled a yawn.

      “Hi!” she said. “I’ve just realized what time it is there. I’ll call back later.”

      “Who’s this?”

      “Sarah Templestowe. My father was Warren Temp—”

      “What can I do for you?” His sleep-roughened twang suddenly had an edge like a boomerang.

      “I’m looking for the station manager, Luke Sampson.”

      “You found him.”

      “Hello. Nice to meet you.” Slow down, Sarah. Breathe. “I guess you’ll have heard from his executor. That he left his half of the property to me, I mean.”

      “I heard. Sorry about your father.”

      “It’s okay.” She felt uncomfortable accepting condolences for a man she’d hardly known. The man who hadn’t cared enough to do more than send a Christmas card and visit once every five years. Warren Templestowe might have been her biological father, but her stepdad, Dennis, had been the stable, loving man who’d always been there for her.

      “I was going to call,” Luke said. “Offer to buy you out.”

      “Oh, no,” she said. “I want to buy your half.”

      A long silence ensued. “Hello?” Sarah said, thinking she’d lost the connection.

      “A week before your father died I made him an offer on the property,” Luke informed her. “I’ve got a bank loan arranged and the paperwork drawn up.”

      “Did he actually agree to sell?” Sarah doodled furiously on her scratch pad. “Did he sign any documents?”

      “No,” Luke said slowly. “But he hasn’t put a bean into this place in years.”

      Sarah wasn’t surprised her father had neglected the station. He’d never given her mother a cent for Sarah’s maintenance, either. “Burrinbilli belonged to my mother’s family—she grew up there. I’d like to give it back to her.”

      “I didn’t know that about your mother,” Luke said. “Burrinbilli used to be one of the best properties in the area, but with the drought times have been tough. There are better stations around if you’re looking for an investment.”

      “What exactly is the problem?”

      “Cattle yards need repairing. Machinery needs replacing. We badly need a new bull. That’s just for starters.”

      “And the homestead?” Sarah twined the phone cord around her finger.

      “Bloody shame about the homestead.”

      Her heart sank, СКАЧАТЬ