Joan Kilby - The Cattleman's Bride

She pulled the letter from the executor of her father’s estate out of her briefcase, punched in the phone number of Burrinbilli, then swung around to gaze at the old photo tacked to the wall of her cubicle, the receiver tucked under her ear. The little girl standing on the steps of the veranda and squinting into the brilliant sunlight of western Queensland was her mother.

Mom had raved about Burrinbilli for as long as Sarah could remember. Endless blue sky, the creek where she fished for the freshwater crayfish she called yabbies, the wide shady veranda that wrapped itself right around the elegant 1880s homestead.

And best of all, to Sarah’s mind—Lake Burrinbilli.

The telephone rang and rang. Sarah wondered belatedly what time it was in Australia. Was it five hours ahead or nineteen behind? Either way, that meant…Uh-oh. She started to hang up the receiver.

“H’llo.” The man on the other end stifled a yawn.

“Hi!” she said. “I’ve just realized what time it is there. I’ll call back later.”

“Who’s this?”

“Sarah Templestowe. My father was Warren Temp—”

“What can I do for you?” His sleep-roughened twang suddenly had an edge like a boomerang.

“I’m looking for the station manager, Luke Sampson.”

“You found him.”

“Hello. Nice to meet you.” Slow down, Sarah. Breathe. “I guess you’ll have heard from his executor. That he left his half of the property to me, I mean.”

“I heard. Sorry about your father.”

“It’s okay.” She felt uncomfortable accepting condolences for a man she’d hardly known. The man who hadn’t cared enough to do more than send a Christmas card and visit once every five years. Warren Templestowe might have been her biological father, but her stepdad, Dennis, had been the stable, loving man who’d always been there for her.

“I was going to call,” Luke said. “Offer to buy you out.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I want to buy your half.”

A long silence ensued. “Hello?” Sarah said, thinking she’d lost the connection.

“A week before your father died I made him an offer on the property,” Luke informed her. “I’ve got a bank loan arranged and the paperwork drawn up.”

“Did he actually agree to sell?” Sarah doodled furiously on her scratch pad. “Did he sign any documents?”

“No,” Luke said slowly. “But he hasn’t put a bean into this place in years.”

Sarah wasn’t surprised her father had neglected the station. He’d never given her mother a cent for Sarah’s maintenance, either. “Burrinbilli belonged to my mother’s family—she grew up there. I’d like to give it back to her.”

“I didn’t know that about your mother,” Luke said. “Burrinbilli used to be one of the best properties in the area, but with the drought times have been tough. There are better stations around if you’re looking for an investment.”

“What exactly is the problem?”

“Cattle yards need repairing. Machinery needs replacing. We badly need a new bull. That’s just for starters.”

“And the homestead?” Sarah twined the phone cord around her finger.

“Bloody shame about the homestead.”

Her heart sank, but only for a moment. Something in his voice didn’t quite ring true. “If it’s that bad you should be glad I’m willing to take it off your hands so you can buy one of those other stations you were talking about.”

“Well,” he said slowly, “I guess we won’t bulldoze it just yet.” After a pause, his voice deepened. “The truth is, I’ve invested ten years and my life savings in this place. I don’t intend to sell.”

“I’ll pay you whatever you want.” It was a stupid thing to say, but she might do it if she could raise the money.

“Be careful, I could take you up on that—except I know you’re probably in shock over your father’s death.”

“There was no love lost between me and my father.”

“Fair enough. But I don’t want money. I want the land. And I’ll only pay the market value.”

Sarah popped a red Gummi Bear in her mouth and pondered her next move. He sounded like one determined dude, but everyone had a weak point. However, she wouldn’t find out his on the telephone. She hated traveling but… “I guess I’d better come down and check it out.”

“Do you have some notion of running this place yourself?” he asked warily.

“Goodness, no! I wouldn’t have the first idea. My home is here in Seattle. Would you have room for me to stay at the homestead if I come for a brief visit?”

“Plenty. Just my daughter and I live here. But we’re coming up to the annual cattle muster,” he warned. “And we’re late this year, so I’ll have my hands full.”

“I won’t disturb you. Promise.” She’d only bug him a little, just enough to get him to sell. “I’d better go for now. Sorry for waking you.”

“No worries.”

“I’ll let you know my flight number.”

“Hop a train from Brisbane, then take the bus from Longreach. We’re at the end of the line.”

The end of the line? Oh, God. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Right, then. Cheers.”

Sarah hung up. Her gazed drifted back to the faded photo of Burrinbilli. It seemed to call to her. Or was that Luke’s voice echoing in her imagination?

LUKE RAN WATER into the kettle. Through the window above the sink the predawn sky was paling in the east. A new owner for Burrinbilli—he’d thought it would be him. Bloody oath, it would be him. He was thirty-three and too old to be moving on.

Becka appeared in the doorway in her nightgown, clutching her doll. “You woke me up. Why are you having breakfast in the middle of the night?”

Luke forced himself not to react to her accusing tone. Was this hostile nine-year-old really his daughter? Where was the loving child who used to swing on his knee? And when had the emotional distance between them, as vast as the desert, sprung into existence? Maybe he should have taken her to live with him right after Caroline died, instead of leaving her with Caroline’s aunt Abby. But how could he have cared for a baby when he was out on the cattle run all day?

“Go back to bed,” he told Becka. “I’ll be in around nine for morning tea. I’ll make you breakfast then.”

“I don’t want to go back to bed. I want breakfast now.” She dropped into a wooden chair at the long jarrah-wood table in the middle of the kitchen and twined a finger through her sleep-tangled blond hair.

Luke exhaled through flared nostrils. It’d only been a week since he’d brought her here; things were bound to get better. Meantime, he didn’t have a clue how to discipline her. So he turned his back and set about making breakfast, cracking half a dozen eggs into one pan and frying strips of lean steak in another.

“I don’t see why I had to leave Aunt Abby’s to live out here in the middle of nowhere,” Becka whined. “I want to go home.”

“This is your home now. Abby and I agreed when you were a baby that when you turned nine you’d be old enough to live out at the station.”

He hadn’t realized then that the move would be such a huge emotional wrench for all of them. For most of Becka’s life their only contact had been the few days a month he could get away from the station to spend with her. Was it any wonder she didn’t want to be here with him now?

But she was his daughter, his flesh and blood, and he loved her. If Caroline hadn’t drowned when that rust bucket Thai ferry sank he might have convinced her to marry him and move out to the station. They could have been a family.

Luke placed a plateful of steak and eggs in front of Becka and sat opposite. She stared at it, then at him, silent and incredulous.