The Outback Bridal Rescue. Emma Darcy
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‘Let’s not speculate on a hypothetical future, Megan,’ he cut in. ‘We’re here to discuss the far more immediate future of Gundamurra, are we not?’ He cocked a challenging eyebrow at her. ‘Can we be honest about that?’
She felt herself burning again. She’d thought a bit of flattery—pandering to the ego that stars of his magnitude had to have—would set the scene she wanted to play through with him. But his eyes were seeing straight through that ploy, mocking her attempt to manipulate what she saw as his push to be loved by more and more fans through the movies he could make.
‘You need not be concerned about the running of Gundamurra, Johnny. I’ll be doing that,’ she stated with grim determination.
‘I don’t doubt you’re capable of it, Megan, given enough resources to ride through the drought. That’s where I come in.’
The lack of resources…there was no denying that, though there’d been no mismanagement. Her father had taken out the first big loan from the bank to finance Emily’s helicopter business, before the drought started biting deep. Then to keep the sheep alive, keep paying wages, more loans…and wool prices had dropped. The mortgage now was so big, Megan didn’t know how she could service it with no relief from the drought in sight. Even if it rained tomorrow, she’d need recovery time.
A rescue package had to be accepted from Johnny Ellis if she was to keep Gundamurra. Except it wasn’t entirely hers to keep. It was his, too. And she still didn’t know how he wanted to work their partnership. He’d just denied her any sense of security about him going away and staying away.
‘We need an injection of funds,’ she admitted flatly.
He nodded. ‘I’ll wipe out the mortgage today, get the bank off your back.’
Just like that! Megan instantly bridled at how easy it was for him while she had sweated over every dollar being spent. ‘No, you won’t!’ The denial exploded from a deep well of pride.
He frowned. ‘I have the funds, Megan.’
‘I don’t want to owe you fifty-one percent of the mortgage.’ She glared defiantly at him. ‘If you pay off forty-nine percent of it, I can get another loan from the bank which could see me through…’
‘Why put yourself through that worry when you don’t have to?’ he argued, waving an impatient dismissal of her counterproposal.
‘Because I won’t take your charity,’ she shot back at him.
‘Charity?’
He rose from his chair, glaring down at her from his formidable height, a big man, as big as her father had been, emanating a power that wanted to blast her point of view to smithereens. He raised a clenched fist, shaking it as he spoke with more passion than she’d ever heard from Johnny Charm.
‘I owe my life to this place. I don’t want to see it go under. I didn’t like seeing it struggle to survive. I offered your father…’
He closed his mouth into a tightly compressed line, shutting down on the vehement flow of emotion.
What had he offered her father, Megan thought wildly. What? Had it influenced the terms of the will?
Johnny stepped forward, pressed his hands on the desk, leaning forward, his eyes firing bullets at her. ‘I now have the right to do what I’m going to do. Patrick gave me the right.’
‘He didn’t give you the right to interfere with my share,’ she fired back, refusing to be intimidated into being indebted to him.
‘You can pay me back when you can, Megan. If you must. But the bank is not going to have any claim on Gundamurra.’
‘Even if I let you do that, I’ll have to borrow again to keep going,’ she pointed out, mocking his ignorance of what had to be done.
‘No. I’ll set up an account for you to draw from,’ came the swift reply. He was all primed to fix everything with his money.
Her jaw set stubbornly. ‘I won’t accept that.’
‘You don’t know how long this drought will last.’
‘I’ll manage it my way.’
Frustration boiled through Johnny. Megan would put Gundamurra at risk again and there was no need for it. He wanted to pick her up and shake some sense into her, but there was steel in the grey eyes so fiercely defying him—Patrick’s eyes—and he knew he had to find another way of convincing her to use the money he could provide.
He straightened up, turned away, walked over to the window, stared out at the one patch of green left on Gundamurra—the homestead quadrangle. Not all the millions of dollars he had available could turn the rest of the vast sheep station green. Only rain could do that. Lots of rain.
However, an unencumbered supply of funds could pay for feed to be trucked in. It could pay wages. It could make life absolutely secure for everyone here, bring back those who’d had to leave. They could comfortably wait out the drought, be ready for the good times to come again.
‘Would you prefer me to buy you out, Megan?’ he tossed at her with little hope.
‘No,’ came the firm and predictable reply. Her eyes said she’d have to be forcibly dragged off Gundamurra, no letting it go of her own free will.
He shrugged. ‘I thought, since you dislike having to deal with me so much…’
‘You overstepped the line, Johnny,’ she informed him rigidly. ‘By all means wipe out your share of the mortgage. That’s your right.’
‘Fine!’ he snapped. ‘Do you want to draw a line through Gundamurra, divide it up so I can pour whatever funds I like into salvaging my forty-nine percent of it?’
Treat her kindly…
Maybe there was truth in the old adage that one had to be cruel to be kind.
Her jaw clenched. ‘My father wouldn’t have wanted that,’ she grated out.
‘Have you stopped to think of what your father did want…instead of what you want?’
‘He didn’t accept your money while he was alive.’
He pounced on that statement, inflamed by her antagonism towards him. ‘Because you argued against it?’
‘No. I didn’t know about any offer. You just mentioned it yourself, Johnny.’
Her eyes were clearly weighing its effect on Patrick’s will. He blasted her calculation by informing her, ‘Ric and Mitch offered help, too. All three of us, Megan.’
Confusion looked back at him. ‘Then why choose you?’
It was eating at her. ‘Would Ric or Mitch have been more acceptable to you?’ he tested, wanting to know if his friends were equally unwelcome in her life.
‘That’s not the question,’ she snapped evasively.
‘I think it’s pertinent. Why not me?’ he challenged.
Intriguing to watch the flush come again, sweeping into her cheeks with blazing heat. She dropped her gaze and fiercely claimed, ‘I can manage on my own. With the mortgage reduced, I can…’
‘What if you can’t? Why risk it?’ He paused, sure now in his own mind that he was the problem. ‘Is your dislike of me so great that you can’t bear to let me help?’
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