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Bargaining

for Baby

Robyn Grady

The Billionaire’s

Baby

Arrangement

Charlene Sands

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Bargaining

for Baby

Robyn Grady

“I don’t need you to understand me. Believe me, you don’t want to.”

“But know this. I want you to keep your promise. I want to do right by this boy. I want to give him a home.” Under the artificial light, his green eyes sparkled. “Come back with us to Leadeebrook.”

A choking breath caught in her chest.

Infuriating. Insufferable. How dare he be charming and sincere now!

But although she’d like to deny it, the note of caring in his voice had touched her. Maybe there was an ounce of human in Jack Prescott, after all.

Sensing her slide, he moved to take over the carriage’s handles. Still wary, she shook her head. “I’m not sure …”

But then he actually smiled—a damnable slow, bone-melting smile. “I think you are, Maddy.” He began to walk, and when she relented and followed, he added, “I’ll give you two weeks.”

Dear Reader,

At a recent family wedding, I enjoyed the company of a wise lady who said, “If you’re lucky enough to find the one person in this world who really ‘gets who you are,’ you should hang on tight and never let them go.” Years earlier, this lady had met and married the man of her dreams. They were beyond suited and immeasurably happy, particularly when their beautiful dark-eyed daughter was born. Sadly, when that little girl was only four, her loving father was taken from them.

To look into this woman’s eyes is to know she will love her husband forever. And logic says … if you’ve already gifted your heart to another, you haven’t another to give. For some I believe this is true.

But not for all.

When his wife passed away, Jack Prescott—my hero in Bargaining for Baby—felt as if his life was over, too. Knowing that their unborn baby had died at the same time seemed to cement the headstone over those emotions. But when Jack’s nephew needs a permanent guardian, the baby’s temporary caregiver, Madison Tyler, finds an unsuspecting chink in this wealthy cowboy’s cast-iron armour.

However, Jack is unwilling to gamble on love … as unwilling as Maddy is to live in Australia’s harsh Outback. And yet an increasingly vulnerable part of this savvy city girl continues to wish that their mutual smouldering attraction will heat Jack’s heart enough for him to realise that he still has love enough to give.

I hope you enjoy Bargaining for Baby series!

Best wishes,

Robyn

About the Author

ROBYN GRADY left a fifteen-year career in television production knowing that the time was right to pursue her dream of writing romance. She adores cats, clever movies and spending time with her wonderful husband and their three precious daughters. Living on Australia’s glorious Sunshine Coast, she says her perfect day includes a beach, a book and no laundry when she gets home. Robyn loves to hear from readers. You can contact her at www.robyngrady.com.

This story is for Maxine, Katie and dear Aunt Jenn.

Three generations of smiles,

spunk and unfailing devotion.

With thanks to “Snow”

from Jondaryan Woolshed for your entertaining stories

and fascinating inside info, and also to my fabulous

editor, Shana Smith.

Go us!

One

Jack Prescott wandered out from the public hospital room, his senses locked in a mind-numbing daze.

He’d received the call at ten that morning. He’d immediately jumped in his twin engine Piper Navajo and had flown to Sydney with his heart in his mouth the whole way. He and Dahlia hadn’t spoken in three years. Now he’d missed the chance to say goodbye.

Or I’m sorry.

Through stinging eyes he took in the busy corridor. The air smelled of antiseptic and, beneath that, death. As of today, he was the last surviving Prescott and there wasn’t a soul to blame but himself.

A passing doctor, deep in conversation, knocked Jack’s shoulder. He swayed, braced his legs then spread out his remarkably steady hands to examine the calloused palms. How long before the nightmare truly hit? Before he fell to his knees and cursed this godless world? Where was the mercy? Dahlia had only been twenty-three.

A woman in the crowded waiting room caught his eye, her fair hair streaming over one side of a red summer dress. She held a bundle. A swaddled child.

Jack rubbed a gritty eye and refocused.

Beneath fluorescent lights, tears glistened on her lashes, and as she gazed back down the corridor at him, Jack wondered if they’d met before. When her mouth pressed into an I’m-so-sorry smile, his gut hollowed out.

One of Dahlia’s friends.

But he wasn’t sure he could put words together yet. Those token pleasantries like, “Oh, you knew my sister. Yes, she was very beautiful. Sorry, but I have to leave … make arrangements.”

When the woman continued to wait, her pale hand supporting the baby’s head, Jack couldn’t avoid a meeting. He forced one leaden foot in front of the other and, an eternity later, stopped before her.

“You’re Dahlia’s brother, aren’t you?” she asked. “You’re Jack.” Her flushed cheeks were tearstained, her nails bitten to the quick and her eyes …

Her eyes were periwinkle blue.

Jack sucked in a breath. When was the last time he’d noticed something like that? He wasn’t sure he even knew the color of Tara’s eyes. Perhaps he should take note when he got back. Not that theirs would be that kind of marriage. Not from his perspective, in any case.

After the death of his wife three years ago, Tara Anderson had spent increasing amounts of time at Leadeebrook, the Queensland sheep station where he lived. Jack had been slow to appreciate Tara’s company; he wasn’t much of one for talking these days. But as close as his deceased wife and this woman had once been, so he and Tara had become good friends, too.

Then, last week, Tara had offered more.

He’d been straight. He would never love another woman. His wedding band was threaded on a gold chain that never left his neck while his wife’s ring lay at the foot of a photo he kept on his bedroom chest of drawers. Sue had not only been his wife, she’d been the other half of his soul. The better half.

Still Tara had put her argument forward. He needed someone steady in his life, she’d said. She needed someone to help manage her property. That had gotten Jack’s attention. Twenty years ago, Jack’s father buckled under hard times and had sold half his land to a neighbor, Tara’s great-uncle. Later, he’d tried to buy the land back but Dwight Anderson wasn’t interested.

After Sue’s death, Jack’s life had seemed pointless. He’d found no joy in occupations that had once caused the blood to charge hot and fast through his veins. Even throwing a saddle over Herc and giving his stallion free rein down a beloved Leadeebrook plain had seemed a chore. But the idea of fulfilling his father’s dream of regaining those choice acres had offered Jack’s darker days a glimmer of meaning.

Tara was a good woman and attractive by any man’s standards. Perhaps they could help each other out. But before he married again, a matter needed sorting.

The human race relied on the power of maternal instinct—women wanted children and Tara would make an excellent mother. But he had no wish to become a father.

He’d made mistakes—one error unforgivable. He thought about it often and not only when he visited the tiny grave which lay beside his wife’s in the Leadeebrook family plot. Having your heart ripped from your chest once was enough for any man. He wouldn’t tempt fate by siring another child.

If Tara wanted a marriage of convenience, it would be without plans of a family. Although she had acquiesced with a nod when he’d told her as much, the mist in her eyes had said that she hoped he’d change his mind. Not tomorrow. Not ten years from now. On that point he was firm.

Jack’s gaze had settled on the lightly-swaddled bundle when the woman in the red dress spoke again.

“Dahlia and I were friends,” she murmured in a thready voice. “Good friends.”

He inhaled, rushed a hand through hair that was overdue a cut and got his thoughts in order. “The doctor said it was a hit-and-run.”

At a pedestrian crossing, of all places. Dahlia had died of internal injuries only minutes before he’d arrived. He’d touched her hand, still warm, and remembered how he’d taught her to ride Jasper, his first mount, and how he’d consoled her when her pet lamb had passed away. When she’d reached out and had begged him to understand … when his sister had needed him most.

“She regained consciousness briefly.”

The woman’s words took Jack off guard. The back of his knees caved and he sat, wishing he hadn’t. Taking a seat implied he wanted to talk. What he wanted was to take off his boots, down a stiff Scotch and.

He looked up too quickly and the light faded in and out.

And what? Face forms, funeral directors, a choice of clothes for the coffin?

“She spoke to me before … before she slipped away.” The woman’s lips were full and pink now, the bottom trembling the barest amount. “I’m Madison Tyler.” She repositioned the baby and lowered to sit beside him. “Friends call me Maddy.”

He swallowed hard against a closed, dry throat. “You said she regained consciousness … spoke to you.”

Surely not about him. Dahlia had been a wreck after their parents’ deaths. Not even his wife’s patience and support had gotten through to her. That final night, Dahlia had shouted she didn’t want another thing to do with her brother, his stupid rules or Leadeebrook. She’d come to Sue’s funeral but he’d been too dazed to speak. Over the years, he’d received Christmas cards, but no forwarding address.

His hands clenched on his thighs.

Lord and Holy Father, he should have set pride aside and found her. Protected her. Brought her back home.

The baby stirred and Jack took in the sleeping face, the shadow of tiny lashes on plump healthy cheeks. So new and full of promise.

Full of life.

Clearing his mind and the thickness from his throat, he found his feet and the bulk of his control.

“We can talk at the wake, Miss …”

“Maddy.”

He drew his wallet from his back pocket and dug out a card. “I’ll see that the notices are posted. You can get me on this number if there’s anything.”

Finding her feet, too, she searched his eyes.

“I need to speak with you, Jack. I need to speak with you now.” She stole a glance at her baby. “I didn’t know … Well, Dahlia hadn’t spoken about you before.”

When her gaze meshed with his again, her eyes were round and pleading, as if she wanted an explanation. She seemed sweet enough, and understandably shaken, but whatever Dahlia had said, he wasn’t about to justify himself to a stranger. To anyone, for that matter.

His gaze broke away as he waved the card. “I really ought to go.”

“She told me that she loved you,” she blurted out, jerking half a step closer. “That she forgave you.”

Bent over, placing his card on the chair, he stopped, clamped his eyes shut and willed away the thumping heartbeat in his ears. He wanted this week to be over. Wanted to get back home. Back to his land. What he knew. What he could keep.

He straightened slowly and kicked up a firm chin. The baby was stirring, beginning to squeak and complain. A part of Jack was drawn to the sound while another only wanted to plug his ears and stalk away. The last straw would be to hear an infant cry.

Exhaling, he shoved the wallet in his back pocket. “There’s nothing you can do here. You should get that baby home.”

“I’m trying.”

When she purposely held his gaze, he shook his head then shrugged. “Sorry. You’ve lost me.”

But she only rolled her teeth over her bottom lip, her eyes huge and …

Frightened?

He assessed her classic bone structure—flawless porcelain complexion, the delicate curve of her jaw—and, despite the day, an instinctive flicker of arousal licked over his skin.

Was she implying that the child was his?

Some time after his wife’s death, concerned friends had tried to lure him out from behind the walls he’d built around himself. They’d invite him to Sydney, to introduce him to suitable ladies within their circles. Although his heart had remained closed, there’d been a time or two he’d invited a date back to his inner city penthouse.

Was that why this woman seemed familiar? Had he slept with her sometime in the past?

He shucked back tense shoulders.

No. He’d have remembered those lips.

“Look, Miss—”

“Maddy.”

He spared a tight smile. “Maddy. Neither of us is in any mood for games. Whatever you have to say, I’d appreciate it if you would spit it out.”

She didn’t flinch or coil away from his candor. Rather her expression took on a steely air.

“Dahlia left the baby with me today,” she said. “He’s not my son. This baby is your nephew.”

Two beats of roaring silence passed before her words hit his chest, winding him as surely as if he’d been rammed by a twenty-foot log. He blinked rapidly, tried to find his breath. He must’ve heard wrong.

“That’s … not possible.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, catching and beading on the bunny blanket’s blue hood while her periwinkle eyes gleamed with quiet strength.

“Your sister’s last wish was for me to introduce you to one another. She wanted you to take him, Jack. Take him home with you to Leadeebrook.”

Two

Fifteen minutes later, sitting across the table from Jack Prescott, Maddy brought the china cup to her lips, certain that she’d never seen anyone look more drawn.

Or more handsome.

With the shadow on his strong square jaw—as well as his demeanor—growing darker by the minute, his teaspoon click-clacked as he stirred sugar into his cup.

Over the intercom, someone called for Dr. Grant to go to ward 10. An elderly woman at a nearby table smiled at the baby before tasting her scone. By the cashier, a nurse dropped a full plate. The clattering echo bounced off the walls yet Jack Prescott seemed oblivious to it all. His hooded yet intense gaze was focused only inward.

From beneath her lashes, Maddy analyzed the planes of his rugged, Hollywood face—the cleft chin, the straight proud nose. How he managed to look both passionate and detached at the same time she couldn’t guess. She sensed a fierce, almost frightening energy broiling beneath the mask. He was the kind of man who could single-handedly beat a bushfire in forty knot gusts and refuse to let anything he cared for suffer or die.

The million dollar question was: What did Jack Prescott care about? He’d barely looked at the baby, the orphaned darling he’d only just met. The man sitting at this table seemed to be made of stone, a perfect enigma. She might never know why Dahlia had excluded her brother from her life. If it weren’t for little Beau, Maddy wouldn’t want to know.

Jack settled his cup in its saucer, and then slid a bland expression toward the baby, who was settled again, asleep on his side in the carriage with a tiny fist bunched up near his button nose. Jack had been the one to suggest coffee, but after so long of a silence, Maddy couldn’t stand his chilly calm a moment more. She had a task to complete—a promise to keep—and a finite amount of time in which to do it.

“Dahlia was a great mother,” she told him. “She’d finished her degree in business marketing before the baby was born. She was taking a year off before finding and settling down to a good job.” Maddy’s gaze dropped to her cup as a withering feeling fell through her center. Now was the time to say it. Now was the time to confess.

“Dahlia had barely been out of the apartment since bringing him home,” she went on. “I’d talked her into going to the hairdressers, having her nails done—”

Maddy’s stomach muscles gripped and she grimaced under the weight of her guilt.

If she hadn’t suggested it, hadn’t made the appointment and practically pushed her friend out the door, Dahlia would still be alive. This baby would still have his mother and have no need to rely on this brusque man who seemed set on ignoring him.

“He’s three months old today,” she added, in case he was interested, but Jack only concentrated on stirring more sugar into his drink.

Maddy blinked several times then pushed her cup away and glanced, sick at heart, around the noisy room. This exchange was never going to be easy, but could it have gone any worse? What was she supposed to do now? The man was as sensitive as a slab of cold steel.

“Where’s the father?”

Maddy jumped at his graveled question. But the query was an obvious one, even if he wouldn’t like the answer.

She lowered her voice. “Dahlia was the victim of a rape.” His face darkened before he swore and shoveled a hand though hair black as ink. “And before you ask,” she continued, “she didn’t report it.”

Flecks of gold ignited in the depths of his hostile green eyes. “Why the hell not?”

“Does it matter now?”

Like so many in her situation, Dahlia hadn’t wanted the misery of a trial. She hadn’t known her assailant and preferred to keep it that way. She’d needed to heal as best she could and bury the horror as well as the hurt. Then Dahlia had discovered she was pregnant.

Choking on raw emotion, Maddy focused and straightened her spine. “What matters is she had a beautiful baby.” This bright little boy she’d loved very much.

Jack studied the baby, the single line between his dark brows deepening as a pulse ticked at one side of thick, tanned neck. His next question was a grudging growl.

“What’s his name?”

“Beauford James.”

Jack Prescott’s nostrils flared and his gaze slid away.

Maddy smothered a humorless laugh. Was this man a machine? Certainly these were special circumstances—he’d lost his only sibling today. But did he ever deign to show the world any emotion other than irritation?

Hot tears pricked behind Maddy’s eyes as her hand tightened around her cup and rising emotion blocked off her air. She couldn’t hold her tongue. No decent person would. Nothing had mattered more in her life than the outcome of this meeting—fulfilling the promise that she’d made—and if she had to brush an over-indulged ego the wrong way to get results, then by God, that’s precisely what she’d do.

“He’s your flesh and blood,” she challenged. “Don’t you want to pick him up and hold him?”

Promise him everything will be all right? That he’ll be safe?

A dreadful thought struck and the fine hairs on her arms stood up at the same time as she slumped back. “Or would you rather he go straight to foster care?”

Not that she would let that happen. She’d take Beau herself first. Her own mother had died when Maddy was five. Growing up she’d longed for someone to braid her hair in the morning, burrow down beneath the covers with and read to her at night.

Maddy’s father was a good man but obsessed with his business—sometimes it seemed as if Tyler Advertising was more Drew Tyler’s child than his only daughter. He ran his corporate castle with an iron fist and didn’t see a place on its staff for a “delicate girl” like Maddy. She disagreed. After serious and extended debate, she’d won and had gone to work at the firm.

These past weeks her father had become understandably edgy over his daughter closing her first big solo deal. Beneath the brave face, Maddy was nervous, too. But, come hell or high water, she’d have the signatures she needed and by the date promised. One month from today.

No one would guess how painfully shy she’d been as a girl, how hard she’d worked on her flaws in order to reflect her father’s celebrated style of business savvy and determination. Now, not a day went by that Drew didn’t in some way acknowledge his daughter’s efforts. Still, there were times she wished she’d known a mother’s love.

Her gaze fell to the baby.

How would this little one fare?

Jack’s long, tanned fingers reached for the sugar bowl. “I don’t recall saying I wouldn’t take him,” he drawled.

“You hardly seem gripped by the idea.” Maddy slid back and one inky black brow arched.

“You’d do better not to be so hostile,” he said.

“You’d do better not to be such a cold fish.”

While her heart pumped madly, his expression didn’t change. Those lidded sexy-as-sin eyes merely peered into hers until a not unpleasant shiver rippled over her skin, heating her from crown to curling-toe.

Blinking rapidly, she shifted back into the hard plastic seat.

Not only was this man dripping with bad-boy sex appeal, in that last point he’d been right. He might be as demonstrative as a stunned salmon, but now was the time for calm, not commotion. No matter how difficult, for the baby’s sake, she must keep her emotions in check.

All of them.

Maddy loosened the grip on her cup and found the calm place inside that served her well in trying situations.

“This day has been a shock for us both,” she admitted, “but, believe me, I only have one objective in mind, and that’s to make certain Beau is cared for the way Dahlia would’ve wanted.” She leaned in again, praying her heart would be there for him to see in her eyes. “Jack … he needs you.”

A muscle in his cheek flexed twice. “So it would seem.”

When he downed the rest of his coffee that must be three parts sugar and stone cold by now, Maddy’s hackles went up.

All her life she’d mingled with powerful men, business associates from her father’s advertising firm, influential patriarchs of the boys she’d dated in university. She’d seen an investment banker multimillionaire for a while. But never had she met anyone who stirred such strong emotions within her.

Both negative and shamelessly positive.

The hot pulse that kicked off low and deep inside whenever she looked at Jack Prescott was real. His presence was so commanding, despite the day, she couldn’t help but be intrigued. The breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his neck … his man-of-the-land build was magnificent. His gestures, his speech, everything about him whispered confidence. Intelligence. Superiority.

Detachment.

The angel asleep in that carriage hadn’t another living relative left in the world. Yet this specimen of masculine perfection, this emotional ice man, couldn’t bring himself to even ask to hold him. She wouldn’t have been able to leave Beau with his uncle and simply walk away, even if she had a choice.

Her stomach churning, Maddy nudged the blanket higher on the baby’s shoulder and kept her eyes on the soft rise and fall of his little chest. There was never going to be a right time. Might as well bite the bullet and get the final bombshell out in the open.

“There’s something else I need to say,” she murmured. “About a promise I made.”

Jack consulted his Omega platinum wristwatch. “I’m listening.”

“I promised that I wouldn’t hand Beau over until you were ready.”

While her heart jack hammered against her ribs, the man across from her slowly frowned and folded his arms. Eventually he tugged his ear.

“I admit it’ll take time to adjust to the idea of having.” His words ran dry, but then he cleared his throat and put more grunt into his voice. “You only need to know that I don’t renege on my responsibilities. My nephew won’t want for a thing.”

It wasn’t enough. If he’d greeted the baby with open arms, she’d still need to keep her word. She’d promised on her mother’s grave to make certain Beau was settled.

Turning from the baby, Maddy clasped her hands in her lap and met Jack’s superior gaze square on.

“I promised Dahlia that I’d stay with Beau until you were comfortable with each other. I imagine you have plenty of room,” she hastened to add, “and I’m happy to pay for any expenses incurred.”

The haunting cool in his eyes turned to flickering questions. He cocked his head and a lock of black hair fell over his suntanned brow while the corners of his mouth lifted in a parody of a smile.

“I need to have my ears checked. Am I getting this straight? You’re inviting yourself to stay with me?”

“I’m not inviting myself anywhere. I’m passing on your sister’s wishes. I’m telling you I made a promise.”

“Well, it won’t work.” He shook his head, almost amused. “Not in a million years.”

Maddy drew back her shoulders. He might be big. He might be intimidating. But if he thought he was inflexible, these days stubborn was her middle name.

She’d try a different tack.

“This baby knows me. I know him. His routine, his cries.” Hopefully what to do when he wakes up, wanting his mummy. “It’s in your best interest to let me help you both adjust.”

“I’ll have help.”

He’d said it without blinking and her heart missed several beats.

Dahlia said this morning that she’d followed what she could of her brother’s life, really only that he still lived at Leadeebrook and hadn’t remarried since the death of his wife. Of course he would need to hire a nanny. But what kind of person would be looking after Beau? Would she be severe and by-the-book or would she use her heart as well as her skills? Would she encourage him with gentle words of praise, or rap his knuckles if he forgot to say please?

“Miss Tyler …” A glimmer of warmth shone in his eyes when he amended, “Maddy. Are you sure this isn’t more about your inability to let go? “

A dark emotion she couldn’t name spiked and she kicked her chin up. “Rest assured, if I could be certain he’d be happy, if I could walk away with a clear conscience, nothing would please me more than to give you both my blessing.”

That glimmer froze over. “Only I don’t need your blessing, do I?”

Given that he was this baby’s sole surviving relative, she conceded, “I suppose you don’t. But then you don’t appear to need anything—” she dammed her words then let them spill out anyway “—particularly this hassle.” Lashing her arms over her chest, she challenged his hard gaze. “Am I right?”

When he didn’t answer—merely assessed her with those striking gold-flecked eyes—her core contracted around a hot glowing knot. Before the heat flared any higher, she doused the flame and pushed to her feet.

Walking out wouldn’t help matters, but she’d had all she could take for one day. The term animal magnetism was invented for this man: Jack Prescott was uniquely, powerfully attractive, but no way was he human. And before she left, damned if she wouldn’t tell him just that.

“I respected Dahlia,” she got out over the painful lump in her throat. “I loved her like a sister, but I can’t imagine what she was thinking choosing you to care for this precious child.”

With unshed tears burning her eyes, Maddy readied the carriage and headed for the exit. Jack called her name, but he could go to hell. He was no more interested in this baby’s welfare than she cared what team won the national dart competition. If he was so uninspired, he could fly back to the scorched red plains of the Australian outback and leave Beau here in civilization with her. No child should need to grow up in a wasteland anyway.

One moment the cafeteria doorway was an arm’s length away, the next Jack’s impressive frame was blocking her escape. His legs braced shoulder-width apart, he deliberately set his fists low on his hips.

Maddy huffed over a smirk.

Well, whaddaya know. I got a reaction.

His head slanted. “Where are you going?”

“What do you care?”

She angled the carriage to swerve around him, but he shifted to block her path again. “I care more than you’ll ever know.”

But she was done with words. She moved again. He moved, too. Narrowing her eyes, she let out a jaded sigh. “I’ve tried being reasonable. I tried understanding. I’ve even tried appealing to your better nature. Now I give in. You beat me, Jack Prescott.” She raised her hands. “You win.”

“I didn’t realize we were in competition.”

Oh, please. “Only from the moment you laid eyes on me.” He’d wanted her gone? He could clap himself on the back. Mission accomplished. If Dahlia had heard this exchange, she wouldn’t blame her friend for walking out.

“So, you’ve made up your mind?” he asked and she smiled sweetly.

“If you’d kindly step aside.”

“And the baby?”

“We both know how you feel about raising Beau.” It was in every curl of his lip.

A sardonic grin tugged one corner of his mouth. “You think you have me figured out, don’t you?”

“I wish I could say I had the slightest interest, but I’m afraid I have as much curiosity about your workings as you’ve shown toward your nephew today.”

While she simmered inside, his gaze drilled hers for a protracted, tense moment before his regal bearing loosened slightly. “What are you proposing?”

“What you’re dying to have me propose. I’ll relieve you of any obligation and take Beau off your hands.” She would raise him, and show him love and loyalty and a million other values of which this man was clearly devoid. She’d work it out somehow with her job, with her father. “And if you’re worried that I’ll ask for financial support, don’t be. I’d rather wash dishes fifteen hours a day than take one penny from you.”

The air heated more, crackling and sparking between them before those big bronzed hands lowered from his belt.

“How are you in small aircraft?”

Her mouth fell open then snapped shut again. What was he talking about? Hadn’t he heard a word she’d said?

“I flew down in a twin engine,” he went on. “There’s room for passengers but some people get queasy about small planes.” His mouth twitched. “Though I have a feeling you’re not the queasy type.”

“I meant what I said—”

“You meant what you said to Dahlia,” he cut in, but then dropped his voice as a curious older couple wove around them. “I don’t need you to understand me. Believe me, you don’t want to. But know this. I want you to keep your promise. I want to do right by this boy. I want to give him a home.” Under the artificial light, his green eyes sparkled. “Come back with us to Leadeebrook.”

A choking breath caught in her chest.

Infuriating. Insufferable. How dare he be charming and sincere now!

But, although she’d like to deny it, the note of caring in his voice had touched her. Maybe there was an ounce of human in Jack Prescott, after all.

Sensing her slide, he moved to take over the carriage’s handles. Still wary, she shook her head. “I’m not sure …”

But then he actually smiled—a damnable slow, bone-melting smile. “I think you are, Maddy.” He began to walk and when she relented and followed, he added, “You’ve got two weeks.”

Three

Four days later, Maddy clutched her passenger seat armrest as Jack Prescott’s private aircraft touched down on Leadeebrook Station’s unsealed airstrip.

Jack had given her two weeks to fulfil her promise to Dahlia. Two weeks, no more, to have Beau settled in his new home with his new guardian. She would’ve liked more time, or at least the option to discuss the possibility of an extension should she deem one necessary. But, in the short period she’d known Jack, of one thing she was certain—he didn’t speak for the sake of hearing his own voice. He was prepared to tolerate her company for precisely fourteen days. She supposed she ought to be grateful he’d seen the light and had relented at all.

When she stepped out from the plane onto the floor of the open ended hanger, the heat hit her like the long breath off a fire. The urge to spin around and crawl back inside the cool of the sumptuous cabin was overwhelming. Instead she gritted her teeth and edged out into the blinding white sunshine.

Shading her brow, she cast a curious glance around the endless isolated plains—miles of bleached dry grass, parched scattered gum trees, lazy rolling hills shimmering a hazy purple in the distance.

She worked her dry throat enough to swallow.

Practically any part of Australia could get hot enough to fry eggs on the pavement. A serious summer’s day in Sydney could rival a stint in a sauna. But out here the heat was different—bone dry—as if any sign of moisture would evaporate off a person’s skin as soon as it surfaced. Within a week she’d be as dehydrated as the lifeless leaves hanging from those tired eucalypts.

Something bit her calf. She slapped at a beast of a fly then cringed at the red dust clinging to her new Keds. Who would choose to live in this godforsaken wilderness? No wonder Dahlia had escaped.

“Welcome to Leadeebrook.”

At the husky voice at her back, Maddy angled around. Jack had followed her off the plane, aviator sunglasses perched upon his proud nose, carrying the diaper bag with one arm and Beau in the other.

Grinning, Maddy set her hands on her hips.

Heck, her iron cowboy looked almost relaxed. Nestled against that hard chest, Beau certainly did, which was a good sign. She’d been so worried.

Since the accident, she’d taken time off work to be with the baby 24/7. While her father sympathized with the situation, he wasn’t pleased that his star junior account executive had asked for a leave of absence. He was less pleased when she’d told him she needed an additional two weeks out of the office. He needed the national deal she was working on bagged, no excuses.

She’d worked to reassure him. The Pompadour Shoe and Accessory campaign and media schedule were a wink away from being polished to a “simply-sign-here” shine. She’d be back in plenty of time to tidy loose ends. But these two weeks belonged to Beau, and today, in this unfamiliar environment, she felt more responsible for that baby than she could ever have dreamed possible.

When Jack had insisted she leave the plane cabin first—that he would bring the sleeping baby out directly—she’d automatically gone to object. She’d grown so used to the weight of him, his powdery scent, his smile; she ought to be the one to carry the baby out to greet his new home. But her friend’s final request had echoed again in Maddy’s mind.

Her job here was to do everything in her power to nurture an environment in which these two could connect and she could walk away knowing that Beau would be happy and cared for … that, God willing, he’d be loved and appreciated for the special little person he was.

That meant stepping back.

Watching the baby blink open his sleepy blue eyes and frown questioningly up into Jack’s suntanned face—seeing Jack shift the nappy bag higher on his arm in order to push the sunglasses back into his thick hair and return the curious look—a cord in Maddy’s chest pulled tight.

There’d been a slight shift in Jack’s attitude toward his nephew. It seemed that now the funeral was behind them, he’d begun to show a tentative interest in his ward. Tender looks. Once the barest hint of a smile. But this was the first time he’d carried the baby, and while his wall was still steadfastly up, hopefully these small steps were seeds that would grow into a lasting, mutually loving relationship. Maybe, despite her misgivings and the sinking feeling that had minced around in Maddy’s belly the whole uncommunicative flight here, Dahlia’s wish would come true. That by the time she returned to Sydney, this aloof lone cowboy would have opened up, not only his home but also his heart to the person who needed him most.

Maddy stepped forward. But rather than take the baby, she cupped Beau’s soft warm crown and smiled.

“He’s awake. I can’t believe he slept the whole flight.”

“Isn’t that what babies do? Sleep?”

When Jack’s dubious gaze met hers, a frisson of awareness shot like the crack of a pistol through her blood. His sex appeal went beyond powerful; it was mesmerizing. The urge to tip close and savor that hypnotic lure was near irresistible.

Clearly Jack didn’t mean for her to melt whenever they came within arm’s distance. He had not the slightest interest in her that way. But she could do without him looking at her like that—as if she puzzled or intrigued him. As if he needed to know how her mouth might fit beneath his.

Her insides twinged and, guilty, she averted her gaze.

Those kinds of feelings were not only misplaced, they were dangerous. Next thing, she’d be looking at him cross-eyed. If she wanted to survive the following days—and nights—alone out here in Nowheresville with this maddeningly tempting man, she’d best make a pact with herself right now.

No matter how strong the tug—no matter what words Jack said, or smiles Jack gave—she’d allow nothing other than these searing outback temperatures to tamper with her body heat.

Composure restored, she straightened and replied, “Babies do a little more than sleep.”

“Sure. They eat.”

When he cocked a brow and managed to look both naive and sexier still, she couldn’t contain a grin. “You know nothing about babies, do you?”

He dropped the glasses back onto his nose. “Not if lambs don’t count.”

He headed off, his focus hooked on the two-story homestead a walk away. Maddy’s step slowed as she took a moment to drink in the place that Jack called home. Or, perhaps, a better word might be palace.

Leadeebrook Homestead was an impressive structure that radiated both elegance and a proud sense of endurance. Skirts of yesteryear lace ironwork surrounded both levels of veranda. Bordered by decorative masonry arches, large stately windows peered down at her. The lower floor sprawled out on either side in grand style. Maddy envisaged lavish drawing rooms, perhaps a ballroom, definitely a contemporary office, equipped with every convenience and littered with sheep stud memorabilia. The overall picture substantiated what she’d heard about the days when the country’s wealth and glory had ridden on a sheep’s back. Maddy could imagine the menagerie of characters who’d frequented its floors and the thrilling early settler stories they could tell.

A flock of pink galahs squawked overhead. She cast another resigned glance around the sun-scorched scene and hurried to catch up.

When a churning tunnel of disturbed dirt appeared in the near distance, Maddy wasn’t certain what it meant. She shaded her eyes and narrowed her focus. A rangy dog was tearing up the track toward them leaving a swirling plume of dust in its wake.

A dart of panic hit her in the ribs.

Dogs were unpredictable. They could be savage. She didn’t like being around them and she liked Beau being around them less. But this was a sheep station. Why hadn’t she thought ahead? Of course there’d be a sheep dog. Maybe two or three.

As the dog sped closer, a hot-cold chill rippled up her spine. Maddy’s fingers began to tingle and her breathing shallowed out. She hadn’t had a full-blown panic attack in years. Now she recognized the signs and took measures to control them.

Regulate your breathing. Think calm thoughts.

But that comet of a dog kept coming. When the space between them shortened to within feet, she clenched her muscles, ready to dive and shield the baby. If someone was going to be slammed, it wouldn’t be Beau.

At the last moment, the dog peeled away. Maddy’s soaring adrenaline levels dipped and she slumped with relief—until a shiver fluttered up her limbs and her senses heightened again.

She carefully turned.

Head low, the dog was crouching up behind them. They were being stalked, like deer by a practiced wolf.

Jack growled out a playful “Git here, you,” and, ears alert, the dog shot up to her master’s side, her dark eyes blind with adoration and anticipation as she waited for the next order.

Shuddering out a shaky breath, Maddy worked to gather herself and force her leaden feet forward while Jack hoisted the baby higher against his chest.

“Meet Nell,” he said.

Maddy preferred not to. Nevertheless she nodded curtly at the dog with the lolling pink tongue and penetrating brown eyes while keeping her distance. “Hello, Nell.”

Jack paused to give her a dirty look. “You don’t like dogs?”

“Let’s say dogs don’t like me.” She had no intention of explaining further. “She seems to hang off your every word.”

“Nell’s a working dog.” A muscle ticked in his square, shadowed jaw. “Or she was.”

Maddy tilted her head. Was a working dog. Had Nell had an accident? God knows she seemed agile enough. But Maddy had a more important question to ask.

“Is Nell good with children?”

Jack picked up his pace. “How should I know?”

As they moved toward the house, Nell trotted wide circles to manage her human flock, every so often darting up behind to nose their heels. Although Maddy remained outwardly calm, suffocating tendrils twined around her throat. But clearly this Border collie was well-trained. There was nothing to fear, for herself or the baby. Her falling blood pressure—her tingling brain—was an automatic physiological response to past stimuli. Just because she’d been mauled by a dog many years ago didn’t mean it would happen again.

Breathe deeply. Calm thoughts.

As Nell flew past, the dog’s tail brushed her wrist. Maddy’s anxiety meter lurched again and she coughed out a nervous laugh.

“I have to say, I’m feeling a little like a lamb chop.”

Jack flattened his lips and a sharp whistle echoed out over the plains. When he nodded ahead, Nell tore off. Maddy spluttered as more dust clouded her vision and filled her lungs. Fine grains of dirt crunched between her teeth. She needed a bath and a drink—a big fat Cosmopolitan with an extra shot of everything.

His broad shoulders rolling, Jack glanced across and measured her up. “There’s reception for your cell phone if you need it.”

“That’s nice to know. Thanks.”

“You bring any jeans?”

“Of course.” The new season’s latest cut.

“Good.”

Goosebumps erupted down her arms. Something in his assured tone worried her. “Why good?”

“You can’t ride in a dress.”

She blinked. Ride?

Then she laughed. “Oh, I don’t ride.” Certainly not horses. She hadn’t even swung a leg over a bicycle since that day when she was twelve.

Jack’s brows fell together. “You don’t like horses either?”

Her brows fell, too. “I didn’t realize it was a federal offense.”

Then again she was “out west.” He probably slept with his saddle tucked under one arm and his Akubra glued to his head.

While she smacked another fly, Jack sucked air in between his teeth. “So you’re not a fan of animals.”

“Not up close.”

He grunted. “What do you like?”

“I like the theater. I like chocolate custard. I like rainy days when I know I don’t have to get up.”

“Are there many days you don’t get out of bed?”

She gave him a narrow-eyed look. Was he serious? His tone and expression were so dry, she couldn’t tell.

“What I mean,” she explained in an overly patient tone, “is that I love to prop myself up against a bank of pillows, snuggle down and read when rain’s falling on the roof.”

He grunted again—or was that growled—and kept his strides long while she wiped her damp brow and cringed as sweat trickled down the dent in her back. Up ahead, the homestead shimmered like an extravagant desert mirage.

A few minutes yet before they reached shade. But the sun was behind them, the baby seemed settled and the dog had disappeared. On his own turf, Jack seemed to be opening up, a little. Time to get to know more about Beau’s legal guardian.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

She rolled her eyes. She would never be able to talk to this man.

“Do you read, Jack?”

“No,” he stated in a deep and definite voice. “I don’t read.”

Maddy blinked. She might have asked him if he wore pink stockings on a Saturday night. “But you do ride.” He kept striding and she gave a skip to keep up. Okay. Obvious answer. No need to reply.

“I imagine you’ll teach Beau to ride, too, one day,” she tried again.

“Imagine I will.”

Maddy nodded slowly, let the words sink in, and for the first time the finality of this situation truly hit.

The moment she’d stepped off the plane, she’d begun counting the seconds until she could flee this desolate place. But when she left she would also be leaving Beau behind, her best friend’s beautiful gift to the world. When, if ever, would she see Beau again? There must be occasions when Jack flew to Sydney. Perhaps he could bring Beau, too.

Maddy was busy planning when they rounded the side of the homestead. A woman was moving down the wide front steps, winding her hands over a white apron, which was tied at the nape as well as around her ample girth. Her glossy hair was cropped short, polished jet threaded with silver. Soft lids hung over inquisitive cappuccino eyes, and as she rolled down each step, Maddy’s nose picked up the mouth-watering smell of scones fresh from the oven.

Negotiating the last step, the woman extended both her hand and a cheery grin. Maddy smiled at the dab of flour on the woman’s cheek and the aura of hominess and good humor she gave off.

“You must be Madison.” The woman’s grip was firm though not at all challenging. “I’m Cait.” She nodded heartily, wiping her free hand down the apron. “Welcome to Leadeebrook.”

“Jack’s told me all about you.”

Not exactly true. He’d provided minimal detail and only after some solid pressing. Cait Yolsen had been Leadeebrook’s housekeeper for ten years. She was a widow with two children and two grown grandchildren. Maddy had been there when Jack had rung Cait to let her know to expect visitors. Afterward he’d relayed that Cait’s cooking was exceptional. Maddy could taste those buttery scones now.

Cait moved close to Jack and the baby. Maddy’s heart dissolved as Beau peered up at the stranger, eyes wide and intelligent, while he lay nestled in the crook of his uncle’s arm.

Work-worn hands went to Cait’s mouth as a hiccup of emotion escaped. “Oh, my, my, my.” A tender smile glistened in her eyes. “Isn’t he the handsome one.” Her gaze darted to Maddy. “Did he sleep the whole way?”

“He was an angel—” Maddy turned to Jack “—wasn’t he?”

Jack made a noise of affirmation, but the ghost of an approving smile lifted one corner of his mouth. No colicky kid here.

“He’ll need a diaper change,” said Cait.

“Absolutely,” agreed Maddy.

Then they said together, “I’ll take him.”

But Jack rotated the baby away from two sets of eager hands.

Above those mirror glasses, his brow wrinkled. “Do I look helpless? “

Maddy blinked. “You want to change him?” In response, one wry dark brow rose. She rephrased. “I mean, don’t you want a lesson or something first?”

“I’ve shorn over two hundred sheep in a single working day.” He sidled past the women and up the steps. “I think I can shake a little talc and do up a couple of pins.”

There were no pins; Dahlia had put Beau in disposables. That was what filled one of her big bags back on the plane. But Maddy held her tongue. If Jack wanted to assume the reins straight away—if he needed to dive in to prove himself—who was she to argue?

The man could shear two hundred sheep in one day.

At the top of the steps, Maddy noticed Nell, her dark eyes super-glued on Jack’s every movement.

“You must be parched,” Cait was saying as she ascended the steps, too.

When Nell padded into the homestead after Jack, Maddy followed the housekeeper. “I am a little dry.”

“How’s a cup of tea sound?”

“I’d prefer something cold, if you have it.”

Still climbing, Cait gave a knowing, wistful sigh. “My husband was a stockman. We dated for two weeks and next I knew we were shacked up, working in the Northern Territory. Rugged land. Crocodiles, you know. Never thought I’d get used to the heat and the bull dust and the flies.” The corners of her mouth swept up. “But you do.”

Maddy blew at the hair clinging to her forehead. “I won’t be here long enough to find out.”

She had a career back in Sydney … friends … an exciting full life. Needing to say goodbye to Beau until she saw him again would hurt terribly—she slapped another fly—but she already knew she wouldn’t miss this place.

Halfway up, Cait stopped and touched the younger woman’s hand. “I was sorry to hear about poor Dahlia. You must have been fast friends to help her out this way.”

Maddy remembered how she’d made it through the chapel service yesterday with Beau asleep in her arms and a run of tears slipping quietly down her cheeks. Whenever the raw ache of emotion had threatened to break free, she’d concentrated on the pastor’s calming words and the soft light filtering in through serene lofty windows.

Jack had sat beside her in the front left-hand pew. In an impeccable black suit, the set of his shoulders hadn’t slipped once. Dahlia’s university friends had recited prayers, poems or anecdotes, but her brother had kept his lidded gold-flecked eyes trained dead ahead.

Funneling down a breath, Maddy brought herself back and nodded. “Dahlia was the best friend I ever had.”

Never too busy to listen. Never judgmental or rude. She was the easiest-going person Maddy had ever met. Which begged the question: how had two siblings with the same parents ended up with such different natures? Jack must be the most ornery person south of the equator.

Cait resumed her climb. “The bairn is lucky to have you.”

Maddy smiled. Bairn as in baby.

“Dahlia wanted Jack to raise him,” she explained. “I promised I’d help with the transition.”

Cait dropped her gaze. “I’m sure she knew what she was doing.”

Maddy’s step faltered. Cait had reservations about Jack’s suitability as a guardian, too? Dahlia hadn’t got along with Jack; Maddy felt certain she, herself, would never penetrate his armor. Nell, on the other hand, idolized him. But Nell was a dog.

How had Jack treated his wife?

A curse blasted out of a nearby window and both women jumped. Maddy’s palm pressed against her stomach. Jack. Was he having trouble opening the talc bottle?

Nausea crept up the back of her throat.

Oh Lord, had he dropped the baby?

Cait bolted, flinging open the front screen door, and when she sped into a room to the right, Maddy quickly followed. Her gaze landed on the baby, lying bare-bottomed on his back on a changing table, which was set up against a side wall. Jack stood before the table, his posture hunched, hands out, fingers spread, his expression darker than usual. He was gaping at a wet patch on his shirt while Beau kicked his feet and cooed. A bemused Nell was backed up in the corner, her head angled to one side.

When Jack had taken off the diaper, the baby must have squirted him.

Maddy cupped her mouth to catch the laugh. Why were the strongest men sometimes the biggest babies?

Struggling to compose herself, she sauntered forward. “I see you had a waterworks accident.”

“I wasn’t the one who had the accident.” He touched the wet patch then flicked his hand. “At least he’s a good aim.”

Cait’s chuckle came from behind. “I’ll leave you both to do damage control,” she said then asked about the baby’s formula. Maddy handed her a bottle and can from a separate segment of Beau’s bag. Cait called, “C’mon, Nell.” The dog skulked out the doorway behind the housekeeper and Maddy gave a sigh of relief.

When Beau was cleaned up and in a fresh diaper, Maddy slipped him carefully up and nuzzled her lips against his satin soft brow.

“I’m amazed he didn’t freak out when you yelled like that,” she said, rubbing the baby’s back the way he liked. “I thought you might’ve dropped him.”

When Maddy pivoted around, her mind froze solid while her response systems went into overload. His frown deep, Jack was grumbling, wrestling out of that soiled shirt.

Bronzed. Breathtakingly broad.

The walls seemed to darken and drag away at the same time the breath left her lungs and a sizzling, marvelous current swept through her body. Maddy unconsciously licked her lips.

Jack Prescott’s chest was better than any she’d seen, airbrushed billboards included. His shoulders were sculpted from polished oak, his biceps were naturally, beautifully pumped, and the knockout expanse in between was dusted with the quintessential amount of coal black hair. She knew his flesh would be hot to the touch. Knew the landscape would be bedrock hard.

Maddy’s gaze dropped.

And if that was the top half …

Cursing under his breath, Jack tore the sleeves from his arms and dumped the damp shirt at his feet.

He’d helped birth lambs more times than he could count. In comparison, this was child’s play—literally. Being hosed by a baby wasn’t a big deal. Three years ago he’d have done anything to have experienced just this kind of scene … to have been given the chance to care for his own little boy.

Raw emotion torqued in his chest. But he beat the pain down before black memories took over. Feeling nothing was better than feeling angry.

Feeling helpless.

When he glanced up from the shirt, Maddy was standing stock still, jaw hanging. Holding Beau tight, she was staring at everything between his neck and his navel. Then her gaze dropped lower. Taken off guard—again—his muscles contracted as a coil of dark arousal snaked up his legs.

Inhaling, Jack set his jaw.

He’d already acknowledged his feelings for Madison Tyler. She was a looker, obviously intelligent. She also had guts. When Jack Prescott drew his pistols, most people had the good sense to run, but back in Sydney she’d stood her ground. She’d insisted she do right by his sister. He admired her for that. Frankly, his curiosity was piqued by the whole package.

But this physical attraction was headed nowhere. He was as good as engaged. Practically set to marry. Even if he were free, this woman wasn’t what he needed. And vice versa. Clearly she was not the least impressed by what he held most dear—this rugged, sprawling land. Hell, she didn’t even like horses whereas Tara was the only female he knew who could give him a run for his money galloping full bore down a straight.

So why was his gaze pinned to this woman’s legs?

A growl of appreciation rumbled in his chest.

Because they were shapely, that’s why. Long and milk white, and his fingers itched to know if they were as fine and silky smooth as they looked.

The baby squeaked and Jack came back to earth with a jolt. Shoving a hand through his hair, he shifted the thickness from his throat. He had no business indulging those images, particularly the vision of his houseguest in a negligee … the filmy, sultry kind that might wave and swirl around her slim ankles on a breezy summer night.

When heavy footfalls sounded down the timber floors of the hall, the full quota of Jack’s senses came reeling back. Needing a distraction, he swiped his shirt off the floor and wadded it up while Maddy, seemingly needing a distraction, too, spun back to the changing table, busying herself with the baby’s bag.

Jack had assumed a cool mask by the time Cait appeared and chimed, “Bottle’s ready. I’d be happy to give him his feeding. It’s been a long while.” Cait extended her arms and Beau put out one of his. Sighing happily, she took and jiggled the wide-eyed baby. “Seems I haven’t lost the touch.” Then her attention skated over to his state of undress and her lips twitched. “Can I get you a fresh shirt, Jack?”

He held the wadded shirt higher and replied in a low, even voice. “S’right. I’ll get one.”

On her way out, the housekeeper tossed over one shoulder, “There’s a pot of tea on the back veranda and a cool pitcher, too.”

Maddy thanked Cait, flicked him an anxious glance, then, for something more to do, performed a fidgety finger comb of her flaxen hair behind each ear.

The entire “checking each other out” episode had lasted no more than a few seconds. They were a man and a woman who’d experienced a moment where natural attraction and physical impulse had temporarily taken over.

Jack drew up tall.

It wouldn’t happen again. He hadn’t brought city girl Madison Tyler here to seduce her. She was on his property only for the baby’s sake. He owed that to his sister. But in two weeks, Maddy would be gone from Leadeebrook. Gone and out of his life. No use getting tangled up in it.

He headed for the door and didn’t stop when her voice came from behind.

“Cait’ll be a big help with Beau,” she said, conversationally.

“She’ll take good care of him.”

“So you won’t be hiring a nanny?”

“Won’t need one.”

Tara wanted a family. Now, ready or not, they had one. But there was time enough to tell Maddy about Beau’s future stepmother. Time enough to let Tara know she was about to become an instant parent. After the news sank in, he couldn’t imagine Tara would be anything other than pleased. But that wasn’t the kind of information one shared over the phone. He’d tell her in person, in private.

Tomorrow was soon enough.

As he sauntered down the hall, Jack felt Maddy’s gaze burning a hole in his back. Not meeting her eyes, he jerked a thumb toward his bedroom doorway.

“I’ll grab a shirt and we’ll get to that pot of tea.”

A moment later he stood in front of his wardrobe, retrieving a button-down from its hanger. Out of the corner of his eye he spied movement—probably Nellie-girl keeping tabs on things. But when he checked, it was Maddy who hovered in the doorway, and this time her gaze wasn’t fused on him. Her attention was riveted on the chest of drawers to her immediate right. On the photo he kept there and never put away.

Her face visibly pale, her round gaze hovered over to his.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I had no idea. I thought you must be going to the laundry. I thought the main bedroom would be upstairs.”

Jaw tight, he drove his arms through the sleeves then, leaving buttons undone and tails hanging. He took her arm and ushered her out into the hall. Did she have to follow him around like a newborn calf? Was she purposely trying to get in the way and whip up his blood?

Once in the hall, he released his hold and told himself that would be the last time he’d feel her skin on his. If looking was bad, touching was a million times worse. Or was that a million times better?

Growling, he shook that unwelcome thought from his brain and headed toward the veranda, purposefully fastening each shirt button, then rolling the sleeves to the elbow. “Cait’ll have set the tray out here.”

Out on the veranda, he fell into a chair, lifted the food net and nodded at the spread of scones and cupcakes. After she accepted a scone, he grabbed a cake. He chomped off a mouthful and chewed, studying the plains and daring her to ask the question that must be tingling on the tip of her tongue. He could hear the words rattling around in her head.

The lady in the photo … was she your wife?

But Maddy didn’t ask. Rather she sat quietly on the other side of the small square table, her chair backed up against the wall, as was his. She poured one glass of lemonade and one cup of tea and passed it over.

After a tense moment, he flicked her a sidelong glance. She was sipping her drink, surveying his favorite stretch of land—the dip between what was known on the property as Twelve Gum Ridge and Black Shore Creek. The knot binding the muscles between his shoulder blades eased fractionally. A moment more and he crossed an ankle over the opposite knee.

As three full-grown red kangaroos bounded across the shimmering horizon, Maddy sighed.

“I can’t get over the quiet.” She craned her neck, trying to see farther. “Where do you keep the sheep?”

He uncrossed his ankle and sat straighter. “Don’t have any.”

She tossed him a look. “Sorry. I thought you said you don’t have any sheep.”

“I got rid of them … three years ago.”

She blinked several times then offered a nod as if she understood. But she didn’t. Unless you’d lived the nightmare, no one could understand what it meant to lose both your wife and your child in one day. The world had looked black after that. As black and charred as his heart had been. He hadn’t cared about sheep or money.