The Cattleman's Bride. Joan Kilby

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СКАЧАТЬ his speckled black-and-white head and thumped his tail.

      “He’s not mine.”

      Luke had had enough of trying to appease her for one morning. “Listen, miss, your attitude had better change. We’re going to have a guest shortly. The other part owner of the station is coming from America to see the property. I expect you to be polite and cheerful around her.”

      “Why would she want to come to this dump? If I were her I’d rather stay in America.”

      “She wants to bring her mother down here to live.”

      “Oh, great. Does that mean we’ll have strangers living with us?”

      Luke stopped short. He hadn’t had time to consider all the implications. If he couldn’t persuade Sarah Templestowe to sell her half of the station to him the situation could be tricky. “It might mean we’ll move into the manager’s cottage.”

      Her face fell. “Not that awful place.”

      “We’ll soldier on, Becka, even if it means living in the jackaroo’s quarters. Now, when you’re finished your breakfast you can get dressed and help me feed the chooks.”

      Luke went through the sliding glass doors onto the veranda. The rising sun had gilded the silvery limbs of the river gums down by the dry creek bed. From their towering branches, a flock of white corellas lifted, screeching as they flapped noisily away, their snowy crests spread against the deep-blue sky.

      He loved Burrinbilli as much as if he had grown up here. And he’d been that close to having all of it.

      He took his battered Akubra hat off the peg beside the door, clapped it on his head and headed toward the milking shed, whistling for Wal. Soldier on.

      SARAH PUSHED THROUGH the door of her mother’s import store, setting the brass bell to tinkling. The scent of ylang-ylang wafted from the oil burner on the windowsill beneath colored crystals and ornaments of stained glass. Anne was seated on a stool behind the counter, head bowed, as she entered accounts by hand into a ledger. Wisps of short auburn hair curled around her temples and a pair of half glasses sat midway down her nose.

      “Hi, Mom.”

      Anne glanced up and smiled. “Sarah, darling, what brings you out on this awful day?”

      “I had a meeting with the executor of Warren’s estate last night.” She dropped her briefcase on the floor and shed her wet coat onto the horns of a carved wooden rhinoceros. “I’ve been trying to call you all day. Where’ve you been?”

      “The phone was off the hook,” Anne said, folding shut the ledger. “It was hidden under a pile of papers and I didn’t notice until a little while ago.”

      Sarah laughed. “Only you would do something like that. Anyway, I’m glad you didn’t have to be there. The way he swindled you out of Burrinbilli after your divorce was so unfair.”

      Anne adjusted the dark purple shawl draped over her black turtleneck sweater, her oval face expressing her resignation. “Let it go, darl’, it’s in the past. Anyway, he didn’t swindle me out of it. I sold it to him.”

      Sarah tilted her head impatiently. “For a song.”

      “It allowed me to buy this shop, which was all I wanted back then—a place where I could work and care for you at the same time.”

      “But he left you with nothing.”

      “He left me you.”

      “Oh, Mom,” Sarah said, her voice softening, and she stepped behind the counter to hug her mother. “I will never understand how anyone could walk out on you.”

      Anne’s gaze shifted uncomfortably. “Since I wouldn’t have met and married Dennis otherwise, I consider myself lucky your father and I split up. As for Burrinbilli, I always regretted letting it go, but…I’ve made my peace with the loss.”

      Sarah smiled, hugging her secret to herself a few minutes longer. “But you’d go back if you could, right?”

      Anne got down from her stool and walked to the window to gaze out at the rain streaming down on the gray city streets. “I still dream about Burrinbilli,” she said in her faintly accented voice. “The sun, the heat, the wonderful open country of the Downs—” her voice caught “—the homestead my great-grandfather built after he came out from England.” She sighed and pulled her shawl tighter. “What’s that saying—’You can’t go home again’?”

      Sarah laughed, unable to contain herself any longer. “But you can! Warren did one decent thing before he died. He left Burrinbilli to me.”

      Anne turned, surprise and delight widening her dark brown eyes. “You mean he still had it? I never would have thought he’d keep it all these years. That’s wonderful!”

      “Don’t get too excited,” Sarah cautioned. “I don’t own it completely. Apparently Warren ran into financial difficulties a few years ago and sold half to the station manager.”

      “Oh, dear.” Anne came back to the counter. “And now it’s too late to buy him out.”

      “He wants it, too. I’m going down to Australia to convince him to sell me his half. And when the place is entirely fixed up you can retire and move back there.”

      “I beg your pardon?” Anne’s voice sounded strangled.

      “You can move to Burrinbilli,” Sarah repeated. Her voice softened and she took her mother’s hand. “Dennis has passed on. You can go home. You’ve always said how much you missed Australia.”

      “Yes, well…” Anne pulled her hand away to run her slender fingers over a string of colored beads from Nepal. “Are you actually traveling all the way to Burrinbilli?”

      “You make it sound like the end of the earth. Not that that would worry you.” Every year Anne practically begged her, in vain, to come along on her yearly buying trips to Third World countries.

      Sarah moved the bead display to one side and hoisted her briefcase onto the counter. “Wait till you see what I’ve got for us.”

      “Not another electronic gadget, I hope. I still haven’t figured out the clock radio-cum-coffeemaker you gave me last Christmas.”

      “Oh, Mom.” Sarah handed her an instruction booklet. “How are you doing with the laptop?”

      “Don’t ask.”

      “It would make your business so much more efficient if you’d only let it.”

      “I’m a Luddite, I’ll admit. But I don’t have room in my brain for programming instructions for a dozen different machines.” Anne flipped through the pages of the booklet. “What’s this, now?”

      Sarah pulled two identical cellular phones from her briefcase. “Aren’t they great? They also do fax and e-mail. We’ll be able to communicate at all times.”

      Anne took one and gingerly turned it over in her hands. “When someone invents a device that facilitates genuine communication between people it’ll be worth СКАЧАТЬ