Margaret Way - Outback Wives Wanted! - Wedding at Wangaree Valley / Bride at Briar's Ridge / Cattle Rancher, Secret Son

Alana put a hand to her temple. “Let’s see. Where shall I start?”

“Come and have a cup of coffee with me,” he said. “You can tell me then.”

“I should get home to Dad.”

“Coffee will give you a kick. We won’t be long.” He took her arm. “Actually, I wanted to suggest getting a trained nurse in to watch him this weekend. You are coming to the function?”

“I wasn’t.” She allowed herself to be steered towards the town’s newest and by far best bistro, run by an Italian family, newcomers to the district. They had turned an ordinary little café that had been losing money into a thriving business. The coffee was everything coffee should be, the light meals were delicious, and the specialty breads, the luscious little tarts, slices, mouth-watering cheesecakes, were all made on the premises by different members of the family.

“So, what changed your mind? Guy asked.

“Dad persuaded me. That’s what I was doing in town. I was after a dress.”

“Why don’t you let Alex pick a couple out for you in Sydney?” he suggested, as if that was the perfect solution. “She’d know exactly what would suit you.”

“I’m certain she would. Alex has superb taste. But perhaps I should tell you I’m on a budget.” Of course the Radcliffes didn’t know what budgets were. They had millions.

“I’m sure Alex could find you something ridiculously cheap and gorgeous at the same time,” Guy said smoothly. “She’d love to help out. You won’t find what you’re looking for here.”

“Most women aren’t prepared to pay astronomical prices for dresses,” she pointed out. “Anyway, I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are,” he coolly contradicted. “Personally, I’d be shocked if you didn’t win the title of most beautiful girl in the Valley wearing something run up from a hessian bag.”

Guy opened the glass-paned door of the bistro, allowing Alana to step into the relaxed charm of a large open room, decorated very much in the Italian style. The lunchtime wave was over—the bistro had been packed—so there were tables available. The grandfather of the family, Aldo—a big man, slightly overweight, still handsome in his early seventies, with warm, expressive brown eyes and a head of tightly furled white curls—hurried over to greet them, shepherding them happily towards the best table available.

They settled on the same thing. A slice of timballo, a marvellous home made chicken and mushroom pie in a pasta case. “And Mamma has made her famous hazelnut and chocolate cake,” Aldo confided, as though no one could possibly resist.

Alana looked up to smile. “Then I can’t say no.”

Guy gave a relaxed nod. “I won’t say no either, Aldo.” He’d had nothing since seven o’clock that morning. He didn’t normally stop for lunch, preferring to wait for dinner. “A glass each of one of your good dry whites with the timballo, one long black with the chocolate cake, and—what?—a cappuccino for you, Alana?”

“Perfect,” she sighed, realising not only how hungry she was but what wonderful restorative powers even the mention of food had. She recalled how her mother had adored reading cookbooks.

“Have you heard from your granddaughter?” Guy asked pleasantly, watching Aldo’s face light up with love and pride. Daniela Adami, at twenty-six, had worked with famous chefs in Paris and Rome. Guy had learned at present she was sous chef to the executive chef at a famous London hotel. The entire family were excellent cooks, but Daniela had taken things to an even higher level. She was a young cordon bleu, fast making a name for herself.

“She rang only last night,” Aldo told them. “She’s well and happy, but she’s missing the family. She’s been away from us for nearly five years now. Always climbing the ladder. One of these days she’ll come home and open her own restaurant. She is a real chef, our Daniela. Even the male chefs don’t mind taking orders from her in the kitchen. She’s as good with people as she is with food. We sent her back to Europe to learn, but there’s so much happening here in Australia. Great Australian chefs. Great Australian restaurants. Marvellous ingredients—ah, the sea food! Nothing short of superb!” He kissed the tips of his fingers. “We must pay homage to the great chef you have at your estate restaurant, Mr Radcliffe.”

“Why don’t you and your wife visit on Saturday night?” Guy suggested, knowing other members of the family would keep Aldo’s restaurant going. “I’ll arrange for a table. You’ll come as my guests. Who knows? Daniela might one day bring her culinary art to Wangaree Valley.”

Aldo burst into a flood of lyrical Italian, raising his hand over them like a priest giving a blessing.

“You’ve made his day,” Alana commented, as Aldo moved off to attend to their order.

“I like this family.” Guy looked around him. “They’re good for the town. I want them to fit in.”

“I think they already have.”

Thirty leisurely minutes later, they were walking back to their cars. “Feeling better?” asked Guy.

“Much,” Alana said, visibly perked up. “Simon’s mother is such an upsetting woman. She goes out of her way to be unpleasant. How did she come to have a sensitive, gentle son like Simon?”

Guy shrugged. “One of life’s great mysteries.”

“I pity the woman he ends up marrying,” Alana said, looking up at Guy with a frown. “I think we’ve done entirely the wrong thing, trying to set him up with Rose.”

“It must have slipped your attention that a girl like Rose wouldn’t offer Rebecca any challenge. You, on the other hand, do. Rose will know how to handle Rebecca. She’s by no means as empty headed as she acts.”

“Empty-headed?” Alana looked at him aghast. “I don’t believe you said that.”

“Just an observation. Let me rephrase it. Rose, however pretty, comes across as a little vapid when compared with you.”

“Damn it, Guy, you gave her a job!”

“Of course I did. It’s as I said. She’s pretty. She’s friendly. People like her. And she’s been given the opportunity to prove she’s a lot smarter than people give her credit for. I like Rose—I do. We get along well. Besides, it’s only my opinion.”

Alana broke into a wry laugh. “Lord only knows what your real opinion of me is, then.”

He glanced down on her head. “I can’t lie. You’d be flattered.” He used the remote to open his car. “Hop in for a moment,” he said, his hand on the passenger side door. “I have something I want to discuss with you. Won’t take a minute.”

“Why so mysterious?’ she asked, feeling more and more exposed the closer she got to him.

“Hop in,” he repeated.

“Whether I like it or not,” Alana muttered, doing as she was told.

A moment later Guy slipped into the driver’s seat beside her, all radiant male energy, completely in charge of himself. And her.

“I wanted to get your reaction first.” He turned to her, his dark eyes signalling serious business. “I know someone who would very much like to buy into the Valley. His family has been long established in the New England area. They own and run a well-known sheep station, Gilgarra.”

“Of course I’ve heard of it,” Alana said.

“Yes, well, I went to school and university with Linc, but he has an older brother. He wants a place of his own. He never did get on with his father anyway. I don’t think Alan would have any difficulty selling Linc Briar’s Ridge for a good price.”

Alana sat clutching her handbag in her lap. Her face showed a whole range of emotions. “You’ve gone ahead and discussed it with this Linc?” she asked.