The Australians Convenient Bride Read online

  For the first time in her life, Chattie had been really stern with her sister and she’d dragged the whole story of the breakup out of her rather than the edited version she’d suspected she’d been favoured with to date.

  Mark Kinane, who was the same age as Chattie, was a mixed-up young man, it emerged. He’d already suffered a broken engagement, he wasn’t sure what course his life should take and he’d been ordered home to an outback cattle station by his disapproving older brother.

  As it transpired, Bridget laid a lot of the blame for Mark’s difficulties and insecurities at the dictatorial older brother’s feet—he’d been their father’s favourite, according to Bridget.

  He was forcing Mark to be something he didn’t want to be, he was perpetually undermining his confidence, but with she, Bridget, at his side, her sister had declared passionately, along with the responsibility of a family, things would be very different.

  Chattie had reviewed Mark Kinane in her mind’s eye and not been so sure at all. Charming he’d been, yes. Hard to resist, yes, but how much substance there was to him and whether this news would be welcome were another matter. One thing she couldn’t dispute, however, was that he had a right to know and Bridget’s baby had a right to some kind of support.

  It had been when Bridget had decided categorically that she could only deliver this news to Mark in person that Chattie had decided otherwise. Bridget was looking fragile, haunted and starting to suffer from morning sickness—there was no way she could go chasing what might turn out to be moonbeams beyond the black stump. Chattie would go herself.

  The outpouring of love and gratitude from Bridget had been moving but Chattie had taken two precautions. She’d rung the station and asked for Mark Kinane only to be told he was out on a muster and would she like to leave a message? She’d declined, saying she would call back, which she’d had no intention of doing but at least she’d established where he was—she guessed now it was Slim she’d spoken to. And she’d installed a good friend in their rented cottage to keep an eye on Bridget while she was away, just in case things took time…

  ‘Perhaps I had a premonition? Or, perhaps I’m imagining things. If he was here two days ago, surely he’s still here?’ she said to Rich, now curled up at her feet.

  He opened an eye and thumped his tail.

  She smiled. ‘None of the aforementioned answers the question of what to do about being mistaken for Mark’s girlfriend, though.’

  This time the dog scratched his ear and she laughed softly. ‘I know, it’s a right old conundrum! Oh, well, maybe I’ll just play it by ear. If the guy who picked us up is anything to go by, they’re a pretty cagey lot.’

  This conjured up a mental vision of their ‘lift’ and she frowned. Was it her imagination or had there been something…she couldn’t find the right words…but something more to him than a worker on a cattle station not precisely beyond the black stump but certainly in remote western Queensland?

  She pictured him again in her mind’s eye, searching for that elusive quality, but could only come up with: dusty and dirty he might have been, but rather dishy with thick dark hair, dark eyes and a fine physique.

  ‘Probably got from throwing a lot of calves,’ she told herself dismissively, only to find that he wasn’t so easy to dismiss from her thoughts. In fact it was difficult to think of him at all without thinking of his hands, his tall strength and the curious fact that being undressed mentally by him had annoyed her, yes, but hadn’t entirely left her cold…

  Stop it, she advised herself, then yawned with genuine weariness. It had been a big day, mentally and physically.

  She’d had no intention of taking Slim’s advice about delaying her unpacking and having a rest but the desire to lie down and close her eyes just for a few minutes was irresistible.

  Two hours later she woke with a jerk. It was dark and for a moment she was completely disorientated, then she remembered and grimaced.

  She groped for the bedside lamp and, by its soft glow, discovered it was six-thirty. She listened for a moment but heard no sounds.

  ‘OK, boy, enough of this sloth,’ she commanded as she got up.

  Rich bounded up and together they descended to the lawn below the veranda. Slim had told Chattie that the station dogs were barred from the garden, but all the same, Chattie put a lead on the dog while they stretched their legs.

  ‘Not much exercise but it will have to do,’ Chattie murmured as they got back to the bedroom and went to take a shower.

  She was just ready when someone knocked on her door. It was Slim.

  ‘Dinner’s nearly ready, miss, and Mr Kinane has asked you to join him for a drink.’

  ‘Mark?’

  Slim shook his head. ‘By the way, I’ve made up a meal for your dog—think he’d come with me?’

  Chattie thanked him warmly and was just about to hand over Rich when she was struck by a thought. ‘How many Mr Kinanes are there? I mean, as far as I know, Mark has no father and only one brother.’

  ‘That’s him. I’ll show you the way,’ Slim offered.

  Chattie swallowed, then tilted her chin. ‘Thank you.’

  Steve Kinane paused in the act of raising a glass of Scotch to his mouth as he heard Slim say, ‘In here, miss.’

  He turned to the lounge doorway—and encountered a pair of stunned grey eyes.

  Charlotte Winslow had changed for dinner. So had he, for that matter, but only into clean jeans and a fresh, well-pressed khaki shirt, whereas she looked sensational.

  Her hair was loose, in a curly bob to just above her shoulders, and very fair beneath the overhead light. Her outfit was simple yet elegant: cream trousers and a toffee-coloured silky blouse but, simple though it was, it showed off her lovely figure to perfection.

  She was also, he realized, the only person he’d ever met who could look attractive with their mouth hanging open in disbelief.

  He grimaced. ‘Come in, Chattie. What would you like to drink?’

  She shut her mouth then said through her teeth, ‘Are you who I think you are?’

  ‘I’m Steve Kinane, Mark’s older brother—the dictator, no less.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘WHY didn’t you tell me?’

  Steve shrugged. ‘I wondered if there was something you weren’t telling me, to be honest, Miss Winslow. Would you like a drink?’

  Chattie considered him out of smouldering eyes. ‘I could certainly do with one.’

  He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Name your poison.’

  ‘If you had anything resembling a glass of chilled white wine—’

  ‘Done.’ He put his glass down and opened a cabinet to reveal a bar fridge.

  Chattie watched as he opened a bottle of wine.

  Steve Kinane bore little resemblance to his brother Mark. He would be in his early thirties, but whereas Mark was fair and elegant with blue eyes, this man, with his dark hair and eyes, reminded her of a sturdy tree. He was as tall as Mark, over six feet, and, as she’d noted earlier, he was extremely fit-looking, but—how come she’d failed to pin down that elusive something about him as a definite air of command befitting the owner of Mount Helena?

  None of it impressed her particularly at that moment, however, and her expression obviously gave this away as he handed her a glass of wine.

  ‘Sit down and relax,’ he invited with a dry little smile twisting his lips.

  She glanced around and chose an armchair covered in green velour. The lounge of Mount Helena homestead was furnished along the same grand lines as the guest bedroom—lots of mahogany and cedar but a rather attractive colour scheme of sage green and topaz.

  He took his drink over to a matching armchair and sat down opposite. ‘So?’

  Chattie fortified herself with a sip of wine. ‘I’m trying to guess what you imagine I’m not telling you,’ she said coolly at last.

  He observed that the finely sculptured chin he’d been admiring earlier was tilted to an ominous angle, and turned his glass in his ha
nds. ‘Why you’re running after my brother—how about that for starters?’ he suggested.

  ‘What makes you think I’m running after him?’

  ‘The manner of your—completely unexpected—arrival,’ he answered thoughtfully. ‘The fact that it has happened before and, I may as well tell you this right away, the fact that I plan to send you back where you came from just as soon as I can.’

  She gasped. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Mark left Mount Helena two days ago.’

  Chattie stared at him, and repeated herself. ‘Why?’

  Steve Kinane took a pull of his Scotch and watched her narrowly. ‘When did you last hear from him?’

  She blinked a couple of times. ‘What does that have to do with it? Incidentally, what has any of this got to do with you? And if you knew Mark wasn’t here why didn’t you tell me immediately?’

  He sat back. ‘I didn’t know. I’ve been out working on a bore for a couple of days. I only discovered his—er—defection this afternoon.’

  Chattie licked her lips as she thought of Bridget sitting in Brisbane wringing her hands. ‘Where has he gone?’ she asked huskily. ‘And why would he have gone so suddenly?’

  ‘This is only an educated guess but his ex-fiancée—’ he paused as he scanned Chattie thoroughly for any reaction but she only looked blank ‘—lives in Broome. He may be having second thoughts about her. As for why he went so suddenly, Mark and Mount Helena—’ Steve Kinane looked satanically irritated ‘—only go together in small doses.’

  Chattie couldn’t restrain herself from making a strangled little sound of mixed emotions—frustration, confusion and a growing feeling of desperation.

  ‘Did he neglect to tell you about her?’ Steve enquired, his eyes dark and cool. ‘I would imagine he broke off the engagement just before he met you.’

  ‘I…that’s…that is to say…’ Chattie drained her wine and shuddered visibly.

  ‘You would not be the only girl who thought herself madly in love with my brother only to find he had feet of clay,’ Steve Kinane said dryly. ‘Or the only girl to chase him round the countryside.’

  ‘Dinner’s ready,’ Slim announced from the archway that led into the dining room.

  ‘I don’t feel hungry, thank you,’ Chattie said automatically.

  Slim came into the lounge with his hands on his hips. ‘Not hungry? When I’ve spent all afternoon slaving over a hot stove to concoct a nice dinner?’

  ‘Miss Winslow has had a bit of a shock,’ Steve murmured.

  ‘Lovie,’ Slim addressed her, ‘we all get those from time to time and I have to tell you that’s Mark all over again but life goes on! Come and have your dinner, there’s a good girl—I won’t take no for an answer!’ He swung his pony-tail.

  Chattie hesitated, feeling a bit like Alice about to sup at a Mad Hatter’s dinner but also conscious that now was the time to clear up the confusion. She opened her mouth but Steve stood up and looked down at her with a glint of mockery.

  ‘I’m not susceptible to girls going into a decline over my brother,’ he said.

  She got up and if looks could have killed Steve Kinane would have toppled to the floor. If anything, though, her flashing look seemed to amuse him and he said quite gently, ‘After you.’ He gestured. ‘I’ll bring the wine.’

  She had no idea what prompted her to do it but she swished past him and walked into the dining room proudly. To show him she was not to be trifled with? she wondered. But at the same time she got the uncomfortable feeling she’d attracted his attention in a way she’d rather not—it was almost as if his dark eyes were boring into her back.

  She swung round as she reached the table and their gazes clashed. To her mortification, she detected more amusement as well as appreciation in his—appreciation of her figure. Then he looked away and picked up the wine.

  She ground her teeth at the same time as a strange little sensation ran through her but she didn’t have the time to identify it—Slim was holding a chair out for her.

  In the event, she turned out to be hungrier than she’d thought. Either that or Slim’s dinner was irresistible—Parma ham and melon followed by roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

  It was while she was tucking into the roast beef that Steve said, ‘Tell me a bit more about yourself, Chattie. Were you born in Brisbane? Are your parents alive?’

  She paused to take a sip of wine and told him the bare bones of her life story.

  ‘That’s rather unusual,’ Steve commented.

  Chattie neatly dissected a piece of beef and dabbed some mustard on it, but offered no further information.

  ‘And you’ve lived in Brisbane all your life?’

  The next bite she ate was a piece of Yorkshire pudding. ‘Slim obviously knows his stuff; this is very good.’

  ‘Slim does know his stuff. Why wouldn’t you want me to know your background, Chattie?’

  Grey eyes encountered dark brown ones.

  ‘I can’t see why my background is of any interest to you,’ she said at last. ‘I have no interest in yours.’

  ‘I’m devastated.’ Steve Kinane continued to eat his dinner without the least sign of devastation, however.

  Chattie eyed a fine grandfather clock with a gold moon rising on its blue face, then finished her meal in silence.

  Steve did the same and Slim appeared right on cue bearing a platter of cheese and fruit. ‘Coffee’s on its way,’ he said.

  Steve reached for a peach and started to peel it. His hands, she noticed again, despite her state of mind, were callused and strong but long, lean and scrubbed clean now. For some reason, it started her thinking along another tack…

  She looked around. Some of it might be old-fashioned but there was an awful lot of substance to Mount Helena homestead. In fact, as her gaze travelled from painting to painting on the green-papered walls of the dining room and her eyes widened in recognition, some of that substance could be priceless. Then there was the china and crystal—she tapped a nail against her wineglass and the ping of crystal, Stuart, she guessed, resounded.

  She resisted the temptation to turn over her side plate but thought the colourful, ornate, gilded and scrolled dinner service might be Rockingham or Coalport. The tablecloth was definitely fine white damask.

  Her gaze returned to the grandfather clock but her mind’s eye presented her with the vehicle Steve Kinane drove; dusty it might have been, but it was also a late model four-wheel drive with ‘all the trimmings’.

  She had not, she realized as all this impressed itself on her, given Mark Kinane’s background a lot of thought. Now she was forced to wonder if it was very wealthy and that was why Steve Kinane was on his guard about girls running after his apparently profligate brother. ‘So?’

  She jumped and turned her head to Steve. ‘So—what?’

  ‘I gather you were making some assessments, checking the silver, testing the crystal and so on.’

  She coloured faintly but answered evenly, ‘I gather your brother would be quite a catch?’

  ‘He would. Have some grapes and cheese.’

  Chattie took a bunch of grapes but studied the bloom on them instead of eating them. ‘Is that why you feel entitled to police his love life?’

  The air became literally electric between them. She saw the spark of anger in his eyes and the way his mouth hardened. In fact she quaked inwardly with fright but refused to allow herself to look away.

  ‘You are a cool one, aren’t you?’ he drawled at last. ‘No, I don’t police his love life. What I do take exception to are girls “on the make”, girls who succumb to unplanned pregnancies in the hope of trapping him into marriage—and the like. I do hope you’re not about to tell me you’re one of those, Miss Winslow?’

  Chattie drew a deep breath as his eyes challenged her insolently, and all hope of explaining Bridget’s predicament and getting a fair hearing flew out of the window.

  So what to do now? she wondered. Go back home and tell her sister to forget about Mark
Kinane because they’d never get past his definitely dictatorial if not to say dangerous brother Steve? Or hang in in whatever way she, Chattie, could until she found some way of getting in touch with Mark?

  The thought resolved itself into speech almost simultaneously and was backed by a deep well of anger against this man.

  ‘You need have no qualms on that score, Mr Kinane. I’m not pregnant. At the same time, whether you believe you’re policing Mark’s love life or not, there’s no way you can police me, and I don’t intend to leave here until I find out where Mark is.’

  The silence reverberated with all the shivering strands of their mutual animosity. Heightened, Chattie found herself wondering suddenly, by their mutual curiosity about each other?

  Then the sound of a motor intruded, and a squeal of tyres as a vehicle slammed to a stop outside. A little pulse of hope stirred within Chattie—that it was Mark Kinane.

  But the person who pounded through the hall and into the lounge as Steve put his napkin down and rose was a girl, a girl in the grip of strong emotion, at that.

  ‘Steve, you won’t believe this,’ she began as she saw him in the dining room, ‘Jack’s walked out on me! The two-timing bastard’s done it again but if he thinks he’s going to get away with it, he’s mistaken.’ She paused, panting, and her eyes fell on Chattie.

  At the same time a boy of about six wandered into the lounge with his thumb in his mouth and a teddy bear tucked under his arm. He took no notice of anyone but climbed onto a settee and curled up as if sleeping wherever and whenever he could find a spot came quite naturally to him.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Harriet,’ Steve said in a grim undertone, ‘couldn’t you have rung rather than dragging Brett out at this time of night?’

  Harriet opened her mouth, stopped, then, with an imperious jerk of her head, indicated Chattie. ‘Who the hell is this?’