A Bride At Birralee. Barbara Hannay
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of his shoulders?
‘Do you need help? Money?’
‘No!’ She stared at him, shocked. ‘And I’m not planning to get rid of it. Is that what you thought?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m just trying to understand.’
She wanted to believe him. It was actually a comforting idea—having someone who wanted to understand.
Perhaps he was more sensitive than he appeared on the surface. Perhaps she could trust him. Her chin lifted. ‘I know I’ll be a hopeless mother, but the least I can do is give this little baby life.’
Draining his tea, he rocked the chair slowly forward and set his empty mug on the table. When he straightened once more, his gaze lifted slowly. ‘What makes you think you’d be a hopeless mother?’
She felt her cheeks burn. She couldn’t tell him that. No way! Honesty had its limits. It would mean confessing about Marlene, her own mother, the source of most of her hang ups. It would mean dredging up those sordid stories about the way Marlene had failed over and over in numerous attempts at motherhood.
It had been the ongoing pattern of Stella’s childhood and it left her terrified at the thought of ever attempting to be a mother.
The pattern had always been the same. Marlene would plead with the welfare people that she could take beautiful care of Stella and stay clean and sober. She would promise the earth.
And, because the government policy was to keep mothers and children together wherever possible, they would give in. For a few months, life would be grand. Stella would go home to her mother’s new flat and they would eat meat with three kinds of vegetables and they’d go to the movies. They’d play music and dance in the lounge.
Marlene would wash her long black hair and she’d smell of lemon shampoo and talcum powder, and she would take Stella on her lap and read her stories about heroes. For some reason her mother had fancied tales about brave, fearless men.
At night, Marlene would tuck her into bed and tell her she loved her. And Stella would love her back fiercely, so fiercely she could feel her chest swell with the force of her emotion. Marlene was her mother, the very best mother in the world.
But then there would always be the black day when Stella came home from school and found Marlene incoherent and smelling of alcohol. Each day after that things would get worse…the house would turn into a pigsty…and there’d be a different man…She’d go hungry. Sometimes the man would be violent and she’d have to hide outside the house, crying and hungry, trying to sleep in the garage.
Eventually someone, usually a teacher, would report Stella’s condition to the authorities. They would take her away again and Marlene would be broken-hearted. She would sob that she wanted to be a good mother…
Stella had wanted her to be a good mother, too. Had longed for it. She’d hated Marlene for failing yet again…
It wasn’t the sort of story she could tell, certainly not to this earnest, solemn man, the son of Senator Ian Roper.
‘Are you saying you don’t want to be a mother?’
I’m terrified. I’m scared I don’t know how to be a mother.
‘I—I’ve worked very hard at my career.’
She saw his stony expression and she felt a distinct rush of resentment. It was impossible for anyone else to understand. She cast a frantic glance to the clock on the wall. ‘Don’t you have to go work or something?’
He rose to his feet slowly and she wished he hadn’t. When he looked down at her from his considerable height, she felt smaller than ever.
‘I’m waiting to hear from a ringer in Kajabbi,’ he said. ‘When he’s free, we’ll take the stock from the holding yards through to the road trains on the highway, but that probably won’t happen till tomorrow or the day after.’
He walked to the sink and deposited their mugs into it. ‘How about that dry toast?’ he asked with a glimmer of a smile.
She had almost forgotten about breakfast. ‘Thanks.’
As he dropped two slices of bread into the toaster he turned her way. ‘You shouldn’t leave this morning. You’ve barely had time to recover from the long drive up here. You should at least stay another night.’
He wasn’t being friendly or warm. Just practical. And the long journey had been exhausting. She hated the thought of heading straight back.
‘That would be sensible, I guess. Thanks.’
He brought her dry toast and spread his own with plenty of butter. It melted, warm and golden, into the toasted bread and Stella couldn’t help looking at it rather longingly. Her morning sickness was fading and she was feeling hungry again.
‘Sure you don’t want some mango jam? My sister Ellie makes it.’ He spread the bright-coloured fruit onto his toast and took a bite.
‘It does look rather good,’ she admitted and dipped her knife into the pot.
They munched for some time without talking. Then he said unexpectedly, ‘You’d better tell me about this career and these big plans of yours.’
She sent him a hasty, troubled look, then just as quickly looked at her hands clenched in her lap.
‘You never know,’ he said carefully. ‘I might be able to help.’
‘How could you?’
‘I don’t have a damned clue. But if you tell me—’
She shook her head. ‘There’s no point. No one can help.’
But he wouldn’t give up. ‘What kind of work do you do? On the one brief occasion we met in the past, I don’t think we talked about mundane things like jobs.’
They exchanged one lightning-quick glance, then both looked away. Stella fought to ignore the sudden memory of his strong body, hard against hers, his hot, hard mouth taking hers. ‘I—I work with weather.’
‘A weather girl? Like on TV?’
‘Sort of. I’m not actually on TV, but I help to supply them with their information.’
He frowned. ‘You’re a meteorologist?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you couldn’t do that if you had a baby?’
‘Not—’ She took a deep breath. What the heck? Here goes… ‘—not if I was on location in the Orkney Isles or Russia.’
There was no disguising his shock. ‘Russia? What kind of job are you talking about?’
She told him about the documentary project scheduled to begin six weeks after her baby was due. ‘I’d be based in London, but I’d be expected to travel, mostly studying coastlines. It’s a job I’ve been working towards for ages and an offer like that is highly prized in my circle.’
Callum’s lips pursed as he released a low whistle. ‘I’ll bet it is.’
‘But, of course, a newborn baby doesn’t fit in the picture.’
He was scowling again. ‘I can see how this baby has completely wrecked your plans.’ He didn’t say anything more for at least a minute, just sat there as if he was carved from stone. At last he said, ‘So you didn’t want Scott to marry you and you didn’t want his money. What was it you wanted from him?’
‘It doesn’t matter any more. It can’t happen.’
‘Tell me anyhow.’
Stella ran nervous fingers through her hair. Then she sighed loudly. ‘I don’t know how to say this without sounding crazy, but I was hoping Scott might be able to look after the baby for a while—so I could still go to London.’
Telling Callum had