Six Australian Heroes. Margaret Way
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of them had become close friends during the last year, with Ryan liking Peter’s easy-going nature a great deal.
‘I suggest you follow me,’ Ryan told Peter as they made their way to where their cars were parked. ‘It can be a bit tricky finding Bill and Cynthia’s place. I’ll drive slowly so you won’t have any trouble keeping up.’
Ryan still took his time loading their precious cargo into the carry-cot in the back of his new family-friendly car, a four-door Lexus which he’d bought a few months back. His willingness to trade in his much-loved BMW had displayed to Laura more than anything he said just how much it meant to him to become a father. And how serious he was taking the role.
‘They’re a nice couple,’ Ryan said when they were finally on their way. ‘But their kids can be murder. I feel sorry for their grandparents.’
‘Sibling rivalry,’ Laura said, thinking of how she’d been with Shane, who’d been a kind of sibling to her.
‘Spoilt, more like it,’ Ryan said dryly. ‘Have you seen how many toys they’ve got?’
‘I don’t think you can talk,’ Laura pointed out. ‘I can see already that you’re going to give Marisa everything her little heart desires.’
‘Oh, no I won’t. She’s going to learn the value of money. And of hard work.’
Laura groaned. ‘You’re not going to be one of those fathers, are you?’
‘And what kind is that, madam?’
‘Pushy. And bossy. And controlling.’
‘Absolutely not! I hate controlling people.’
Laura laughed, then so did Ryan. ‘You’re right. I am a bit controlling. But I can change. I’ve changed a lot already.’
‘You have indeed,’ Laura said with warmth and love in her voice.
Ryan glanced over at his beautiful wife and smiled. ‘I have one suggestion to make which might eliminate my spoiling our little princess back there.’
‘Do tell.’
‘We could have another baby.’
‘So soon?’
‘Why wait? Life is short, Laura.’
For a split second, Laura thought of her gran. And then she nodded. ‘You’re right. Another baby would be a good idea.’
‘All my ideas are good.’
‘Oh Ryan,’ she said with a soft laugh. ‘You are incorrigibly arrogant. But that’s all right. I love you just the same.’
‘That is why I love you so much, my darling.’
‘Oh?’
‘Because you love me just the same.’
LINDSAY ARMSTRONG was born in South Africa, but now lives in Australia with her New Zealand-born husband and their five children. They have lived in nearly every state of Australia and have tried their hand at some unusual—for them—occupations, such as farming and horse-training, all grist to the mill for a writer! Lindsay started writing romances when their youngest child began school and she was left feeling at a loose end. She is still doing it and loving it.
RHIANNON FAIRFAX shared a taxi one day with a man to die for. She was twenty-two at the time.
It was during a massive Sydney thunderstorm and it was to prove a memorable ride.
They met on a rain-drenched pavement in the city. He had an umbrella, she was smothered in a bright yellow hooded plastic raincoat. He’d been there first, but when she and a taxi arrived almost simultaneously she wiped the rain out of her eyes and asked him above the din of the downpour if they could share it. Because her other options appeared to include being washed away and she was also running late.
He agreed and they went through the awkward business of getting his umbrella down and getting themselves into the taxi while the driver grumbled about them flooding the back seat.
‘Phew!’ Rhiannon pushed her hood back, uncovering a navy beret pulled down over her ears with all her hair tucked up into it. She didn’t normally wear it like that but she was cold and that was the only way she could keep it on under the hood. ‘What a day!’
Her companion regarded her quizzically. ‘At least you’re dressed for it.’
She fingered the beret and grimaced. ‘Warmth and dryness take precedence over looks at the moment. So where are you headed?’
He told her and they consulted the driver and worked out that he would be dropped off first.
Then she sat back as the taxi, its windscreen wipers working overtime, pulled out into the slick grey canyon of the street and she looked at her companion properly for the first time.
Rhiannon’s eyebrows rose slowly, almost until they were touching the beret, as she took him in. Tall, dark and handsome multiplied by a factor of ten summed it up, she decided. Thick dark hair, deep blue eyes, slightly hollow cheeks and aquiline features that gave him an aloof air, broad shoulders beneath the jacket of a superbly tailored though now damp charcoal suit.
He looked to be in his early thirties. He looked—she tried to sum it up—the embodiment of someone who wielded power in a boardroom. Yet there was a tantalising aura of a man who would be good at other things.
What things, she wondered? And how had she got that impression? From his physique, his long, strong hands, his tan?
Then she realised he was returning her gaze enigmatically.
‘Sorry,’ she murmured with a rueful little smile, ‘but you must be used to it.’
His lips twisted. ‘I could probably say the same for you, except there’s not a lot to see.’ His gaze drifted down the voluminous raincoat that fell almost to her feet.
She wasn’t sure why she felt so chatty with a perfect stranger, except for the fact that her life had taken an upward turn only about half an hour ago. ‘i suppose you’re very much spoken for?’
He settled those impressive shoulders against the seat. ‘I’m not, as it happens. I’m actually sworn off being “spoken for” at the moment and possibly the duration.’
‘Oh, dear, what a shame.’ Rhiannon eyed him concernedly. ‘If you’re serious?’
For a fleeting moment his mouth hardened then he shrugged and turned the question. ‘How about you?’
‘Actually,’ Rhiannon looked away and pleated the yellow plastic of her raincoat, unaware of the air of vulnerability that overcame her, ‘I’m pretty sure I’m sworn off men for life.’
He watched her busy fingers. ‘How come?’
‘You wouldn’t want to know.’ She made a determined effort not to go down that road again. ‘So what were we talking about before?’
He looked into her sparkling brown eyes. ‘I was trying to pay you a compliment in return for the one you paid me.’
‘Well, I don’t think I’m a ten,’ she replied, ‘but I do have some good points. My figure’s not bad, I’m actually a natural blonde under this thing,’ she pointed to her beret, ‘if you go for them—but if there’s