A Bride At Birralee. Barbara Hannay

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      CHAPTER TWO

      CALLUM fiddled with his unopened beer. His guts crawled with dread as he imagined Stella’s reaction to his news.

      Scott’s dead. The words were so hard to get out.

      Telling his parents had been the worst, the very worst moment of his life. Scott had been the baby of the family—everybody’s favourite. To tell his mother and father had meant inflicting unbearable pain.

      If Stella was in love with his brother, she was sure to burst into noisy tears. What the hell would he do then?

      ‘Callum,’ she said, and her voice vibrated with tension, ‘I need to know what’s happened to Scott.’

      He realised he was still holding the beer, rolling it back and forth between anxious hands. The last thing he needed on this night was another beer. Hastily, he shoved it back in the fridge and cleared his throat.

      ‘There was a mustering accident a few weeks back. Scott was flying a helicopter.’

      She looked pale. Too pale. And she sat stiffly, without speaking, staring at him. Waiting.

      ‘I’m afraid Scotty was killed.’ He couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice.

      At first he thought she hadn’t heard him. She just sat there, not making a sound, not moving.

      After some time, she whispered, ‘No! No! He can’t be dead.’

      He braced himself for the tears, eyeing the box of tissues on the bench to his right.

      But she didn’t cry. She just kept sitting there looking stunned, while her face turned from pale to greenish.

      ‘I’m sorry to have to give you such bad news,’ he said, wishing she didn’t look so ill and wishing he didn’t sound so clumsy and obviously uncomfortable. Wishing she would say something. Anything.

      Her hand wavered to her mouth and for a moment he thought she was going to be sick.

      ‘Are you OK?’

      ‘I—I—’ She tried to stand and swayed groggily before moaning faintly and collapsing back into her chair, her head slumped sideways.

      ‘Stella.’ Crouching quickly at her side, he touched her shoulder and to his relief she moved slightly. Her dark hair hung in a silky curtain hiding her face and, with two fingers, he lifted it away. Her eyes were shut and her skin was cool and pale.

      Hell! She’d cared about Scott this much?

      A hard knot of pain dammed his throat as he scooped her in his arms and, edging sideways through the kitchen doorway, carried her back to her room.

      ‘I’m all right,’ she protested weakly.

      He didn’t answer. Her pale fragility alarmed him. In his arms, she felt too light, too slim. Too soft and womanly. He drew in a ragged breath as her satiny, sweet-smelling hair brushed his neck. One shoe fell off as he made his way down the hallway, and he saw again the delicate foot with its pretty blue toenails, the gypsy-like allure of her dainty ankle chain.

      His chest tightened with a hundred suppressed emotions as he laid her on the bed and removed the other shoe.

      ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Her grey eyes opened and they held his. A trembling, thrilling, silent exchange passed between them. She looked away. ‘I felt a little faint,’ she said and tried to sit up.

      It only took the slightest pressure of his fingers on her shoulders to push her back onto the bed. ‘You’ve had a shock. Take it easy there for a minute or two.’

      Lifting a crocheted rug from the chair in the corner, he spread it over her.

      Outside it was almost dark. He switched on the shaded bedside lamp, then retrieved her shoe from the hallway, and when he returned her eyes were closed again and she seemed to be calmer.

      For too long, Callum stood beside the bed, taking his fill of her special style of beauty. Noticing the way her eyelids were criss-crossed by a fine tracery of delicate blue veins and how very black her long lashes were against her pale cheeks. Heaven help him, he’d spent too many nights imagining her like this—in bed. What a silly damn fool he was.

      He crossed to the French doors that opened onto the veranda and stood quietly, leaning against the door jamb, watching the bush grow dark, watching this woman who’d been looking for his brother. Wondering if her fainting spell had been caused by more than the shock of his news and thinking that perhaps a little crying would have been easier to handle after all.

      The bush beyond the house grew still and silent. All day the birds had filled the air with their noisy chatter and screeches, but now they’d stopped calling, responding to the approach of night as if obeying an unseen conductor. Very СКАЧАТЬ