Outback Man Seeks Wife. Margaret Way

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СКАЧАТЬ lady actually asked after his mother, her smile crumpling when Clay told her gently that his mother had passed on. He hadn’t received any congratulations from the runner-up, the god in their midst, Scott Harper, and didn’t expect any. Leopards didn’t change their spots. Aged ten when his parents uprooted him from the place he so loved and which incredibly was now his, Clay still had vivid memories of Scott Harper, the golden-haired bully boy, two years his senior. Harper had treated him like trash when he’d never had trouble from the other station boys. For some reason Harper had baited him mercilessly about his parents’ marriage whenever they met up. Once Harper had knocked him down in the main street of the town causing a bad concussion for which he’d been hospitalised. His father, wild as hell, had made the long drive in his battered utility to the Harper station to remonstrate with Scott’s father, but he had been turned back at gunpoint by Bradley Harper’s men.

      Clay’s taking the Jimboorie Cup from Scott this afternoon was doubly sweet. Soon the surprisingly impressive silver cup would be presented to him by Harper’s fiancé. He had been amazed to hear it was Caroline McNevin, whom he remembered as the prettiest little girl he had ever laid eyes on. How had that exquisite little creature grown up to become engaged to someone like Harper? But then wasn’t it a tradition for pastoral families to intermarry? His father—once considered destined for great things—had proved the odd man out, struck down by love at first sight. Love for a penniless little Irish girl now buried by his side.

      There was a stir in the crowd. Clay turned about to see a woman coming towards him. He drew himself up straighter, absolutely thrown by how beautiful Caroline had become. Her whole aura suggested springtime, a world of flowers. Her petite figure absorbed all the sunlight around her.

      She seemed to float rather than walk. For a moment an overwhelming emotion swept over him. To combat it, he stood very, very still. He wondered if it were nostalgia; remembrance of some lovely moment when he was a boy. The hillsides around Jimboorie alight with golden wattle, perhaps?

      Now they were face-to-face, less than a metre apart, and he like a fool stood transfixed. He was conscious his nerves had tensed and his stomach muscles had tightened into a hard knot. She was tiny compared to him. Even in her high heels she only came up to his heart. She still had that look of shining innocence, only now it was allied to an adult allure all the more potent since both qualities appeared to exist quite naturally side by side.

      He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her while she consolidated her hold over him.

      Caroline had beautiful large oval eyes, a deep velvety-brown. They were doubly arresting with her golden hair. Her skin, a tawny olive beneath the big picture hat, was flawlessly beautiful. Her features were delicate, perfectly symmetrical. No more than five-three, she nevertheless had a real presence. At least she was running tight circles around him.

      ‘James Cunningham!’ The vision smiled at him. A smile that damn near broke his heart. What the heck was the matter with him? How could he describe what he felt? Perhaps they had meant something to each other in another life? ‘Welcome back to Jimboorie. I’m Carrie McNevin.’

      Belatedly he came back to control. ‘I remember you, Caroline,’ he said, his voice steady, unhurried, yet he was so broadsided by her beauty, he forgot to smile.

      ‘You can’t!’ A soft flush rose to her cheeks.

      ‘I do.’ He shrugged his shoulder, thinking beautiful women had unbounded power at their pink fingertips. ‘I remember you as the happy little girl who used to wave to me when you saw me in town.’

      ‘Really?’ She was enchanted by the idea.

      ‘Yes, really.’

      Her essential sweetness enfolded him. Her voice was clear and gentle, beautifully enunciated. Caroline McNevin, the little princess. Untouchable. Except now by Harper. That made him hot and angry, inducing feelings that hit him with the force of a breaker.

      ‘Well, it’s my great pleasure, James, or do you prefer to be called Clay?’ She paused, tipping her golden head to one side.

      ‘Clay will do.’ Only his mother had ever called him James. Now he remembered to smile though his expression remained serious even a little sombre. Why wouldn’t he when he felt appallingly vulnerable in the face of a beautiful creature who barely came up to his heart?

      Carrie was aware of the sombreness in him. It added to the impression he gave of quiet power and it had to be admitted, mystery. ‘Then it’s going to be my great pleasure to be able to present you, Clay, with the Jimboorie Cup,’ Carrie continued. ‘We’ll just move back over there,’ she said, turning to lead the way to a small dais where the race committee was grouped, waiting for her and the winner of the Cup to join them. ‘They’ll want to take photos,’ she told him, herself oddly shaken by their meeting. And the feeling wasn’t passing off. Perhaps it was because she’d heard so many stories about the Cunninghams while she was growing up? Or maybe it was because Clay Cunningham had grown into a strikingly attractive man. She felt that attraction brush over her then without her being able to do a thing about it. She felt it sink into her skin. She only hoped she wasn’t showing her strong reactions. Everyone was looking at them.

      Natasha might well continue to denounce her cousin, Carrie thought, but the family resemblance was strong. The Cunninghams were a handsome lot, raven haired, with bright blue eyes. Natasha would have been beautiful, but her fine features were marred by inner discontent and her eyes were strangely cold. Clay Cunningham had the Cunningham height and rangy build—only his hair wasn’t black. It was a rich mahogany with a flame of dark auburn as the sun burnished it. His eyes, the burning blue of an Outback sky, were really beautiful, full of depth and sparkle. He looked like a real man. A man women would fall for hook, line and sinker. So why wasn’t he married already, or actively looking for a wife? If indeed the rumour were true. Something she was beginning to doubt. He had to be four, maybe five years older than she, which made him around twenty-eight. He was a different kind of man from Scott. She sensed a depth, a sensitivity—whatever it was—in him that Scott lacked.

      It had to be an effect of the light but there seemed to be sparkles in the space between them. Carrie never dreamed a near-stranger could have this effect on her. Her main concern was to conceal it. Up until now she had felt safe. She was going to marry Scott, the man she was in love with—yet Clay Cunningham’s blue gaze had reached forbidden places.

      Their hands touched as she handed over the Silver Cup to the accompanying waves of applause. She couldn’t move, even think for a few seconds. She felt a little jolt of electricity through every pore of her skin. He continued to hold her eyes, his own unfaltering. Had her trembling transferred itself to him like a vibration? She hoped not. She wasn’t permitted to feel like this.

      Yet sparkles continued to pulsate before her eyes. Perhaps she was mildly sun-struck? She had the unnerving notion that the little frisson of shock—unlike anything she had ever experienced before—was mutual. She even wondered what life might have in store if he decided to remain on Jimboorie? All around her people were laughing and clapping. Some were carrying colourful balloons. The thrill of the race had got to her. That was it! Her course was set. She was a happily engaged woman. She was to marry Scott Harper in December. A Christmas bride.

      And there was Scott staring right at her. Too late she became aware of him. She felt the chill behind his smile. She knew him so well she had no difficulty recognising it. It came towards her like an ice-bearing cloud. He was furious and doing a wonderful job of hiding it. A triumphant looking Natasha was by his side, the two of them striking a near identical pose; one full of an over-bearing self-confidence. Maybe arrogance was a better word. Scott as Bradley Harper’s heir certainly liked to flaunt it. Natasha, as a Cunningham, did too.

      Now СКАЧАТЬ