A Bride At Birralee. Barbara Hannay
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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 soon the cicadas would tune in.
After some time, Stella’s eyes opened and she rolled onto her side.
‘How are you feeling now?’
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise when she saw him standing in the doorway. Elbow crooked, she propped up her head. ‘I’m OK. Truly. But I can’t believe that Scott—’ Her eyes glistened, but no tears fell. ‘It must have been so awful. Can you tell me what happened?’
He nodded slowly. ‘We were out mustering in the rough country on the far western boundaries of this property. We needed to use the helicopter to chase some stragglers out of a gully and Scott flew in close and somehow the tail rotor clipped a gum tree.’
He didn’t add that it had been his fault Scott had been flying that day. He kept that guilty secret to himself, let it gnaw away at his insides like white ants in a tree stump.
Sighing, he glanced again at the darkening bush beyond the veranda. ‘It all happened very quickly.’
‘So you were with Scott at the time?’
‘No.’ His chest squeezed so tight that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. ‘Scott insisted on going solo and he was having the time of his life. I was on horseback down below.’
He closed his eyes. There was still no way to block out the memory. The terror of the chopper going down. The crazy, lurching fall. The horrifying, screeching sound of ripping metal. The hellish moment of finding Scott, blood-soaked and slumped in the pilot’s seat, staring back at him with blank, sightless eyes.
Hell! Each day it seemed to become more vivid.
‘Why didn’t you contact me, Callum?’
The challenge in her voice piqued his pride, spurring sudden anger. ‘I wasn’t my brother’s keeper. I didn’t keep tabs on his women. How was I to know you were still in the picture? I thought he’d taken up with some girl in Brisbane.’
She swung her gaze away and bit down hard on her lip and Callum wished he’d been less brutal. ‘I would have let you know, but I didn’t…’ Didn’t want to be reminded that you’d chosen Scott over me… His Adam’s apple felt the size of a rock melon. ‘It’s a damn shame you had to come all this way—without knowing.’
Closing her eyes, she smiled wryly as she gave a faint shake of her head. ‘It’s a damn shame all right.’ Her smoky deep voice resonated with bitter self-mockery.
Again he asked, ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like a dill-brain.’
‘I was referring to your stomach. Has it settled? I’ll make a cup of tea, or perhaps you can manage a bite to eat?’
She pushed herself into a sitting position. ‘I suppose I should try to eat.’
‘I’ll get dinner, then. I’m afraid it’s only leftover stew.’
‘Anything will be fine, thanks. I’m not really hungry.’
Callum left the room and Stella lay there, watching his broad, straight back. She tried not to think. Tried not to worry. Not to panic!
She was alone now. Totally alone. There was no one to turn to. Her bright dreams were dead. There would be no trip to London. No father for her baby. She couldn’t dream of asking Callum to help. Her last hope had died with Scott.
Oh, God! Poor Scott! She shouldn’t be feeling sorry for herself. He hadn’t deserved to die. He’d been too young, too healthy, too brimming with energy and love of life.
How could Scott be dead?
Her mother had died when she was fifteen and her death had never seemed real. This was even harder to believe.
And poor Callum. How terrible for him to see his brother die in such a terrible accident. And how hard to carry on alone out here without him!
She pressed a hand to her slightly rounded stomach. Her poor little baby, already fatherless before it drew breath. That was the worst of all.
Just like her mother, she was producing a child who would never know its father. Although, unlike her mother, Stella was quite clear about her baby’s paternity.
Her mother had never been sure. ‘It was one of