Barbara Hannay - Outback Wife and Mother

“Alexandra? What are you doing here?” “Alexandra? What are you doing here?” Clearly Fletcher regarded her as an intruder. How could this happen? He had come to the city and made exquisite love to her and changed her life forever. “You’re surprised to see me,” Ally whispered. “Surprise is one word I could choose, I guess,” Fletcher drawled, his deep voice rumbling with sarcasm. His eyes traveled—very deliberately—over her slim frame. ”What are you doing here?” he repeated, his voice less harsh this time, as if he had run out of breath suddenly. “I have brought your little godson, Connor. You’re his guardian now....” “I know damn well I’m his guardian, but what have you got to do with it?” “Well, the point is,” resumed Ally, “I’m his nanny.” The color in Fletcher’s face deepened while, with the worst sense of timing, a kookaburra broke into raucous laughter in a gum tree overhanging the track. “Ally! You can’t be!” About the Author Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the Australian bush, she also delights in an urban life-style-chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy. Outback Wife and Mother is Barbara’s outstanding debut title for Harlequin Romance ® -we just know you’ll love her heartwarming style, so look out for more from her in the future! Title Page Outback Wife and Mother Barbara Hannay www.millsandboon.co.uk Dedication For John Dow, who was my father and my first hero PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN EPILOGUE Copyright

“Alexandra? What are you doing here?”

Clearly Fletcher regarded her as an intruder. How could this happen? He had come to the city and made exquisite love to her and changed her life forever. “You’re surprised to see me,” Ally whispered.

“Surprise is one word I could choose, I guess,” Fletcher drawled, his deep voice rumbling with sarcasm. His eyes traveled—very deliberately—over her slim frame. ”What are you doing here?” he repeated, his voice less harsh this time, as if he had run out of breath suddenly.

“I have brought your little godson, Connor. You’re his guardian now....”

“I know damn well I’m his guardian, but what have you got to do with it?”

“Well, the point is,” resumed Ally, “I’m his nanny.”

The color in Fletcher’s face deepened while, with the worst sense of timing, a kookaburra broke into raucous laughter in a gum tree overhanging the track. “Ally! You can’t be!”

Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the Australian bush, she also delights in an urban life-style-chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy.

Outback Wife and Mother is Barbara’s outstanding debut title for Harlequin Romance ®-we just know you’ll love her heartwarming style, so look out for more from her in the future!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For John Dow,

who was my father and my first hero

PROLOGUE

MUMMY was crying again.

Lying in his bed, the boy could hear her muffled sobs and his father’s pleading voice in the next room. ‘But, Vivienne, you mustn’t go. You can’t leave us.’

He could see the friendly silhouette of his teddy bear on the pillow beside him, but not even his favourite toy could help him feel safe or happy. Not when he could hear the desperate sadness in his mother’s voice.

‘I feel so—so stifled here in the outback,’ she sobbed. ‘I think I’ll go mad.’

Eventually, he pulled the pillow over his head to shut out the frightening voices...

Then with the first creamy fingers of dawn, his mother crept into the room, smelling as fresh as flowers. She sat on the edge of his bed and he buried his head in her lap.

‘Mon petit,’ she whispered, stroking his hair. ‘I will miss you so much.’

Something started to thump loudly in his chest. ‘You don’t have to miss me, Mummy,’ he cried. ‘I’m going to stay on Wallaroo with you and Daddy for always.’

With a choked moan, she hugged him close, cradling him with her soft, warm arms. ‘Oh, cheri,’ she whispered and, looking up, he saw her beautiful eyes fill with bright tears. ‘Always remember, I love you very, very much. But you belong here.’

There was a crunch of tyres on gravel in the yard outside, and then heavy footsteps on the wooden floorboards of the veranda. Ned, the stockman, stood in the doorway. He cleared his throat as he fiddled with his wide-brimmed hat.

‘Yes, Ned. I’m coming,’ she said softly.

The boy felt her warm lips on his cheek and she held him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. Then she stood up and drifted away from him, out of the room, as soft and pretty as the morning mist on the river.

His feet hit the cold floor as he hurried after her.

Outside, the bush was already waking. A huge flock of pink and grey galahs rose from the gum trees along the creek, filling the reddening sky with their raucous chorus. Ned opened the door to the truck and she slipped inside. The little boy could just make out her pale face through the window glass.

He ran faster, but as he reached the top of the steps, two strong arms caught him and lifted him up and he felt his father’s bristly morning cheek pressed against his. ‘We’ve got to let her go, Fletcher,’ he said, his voice sounding gruff and strange. ‘She doesn’t belong in the bush. She needs the city lights.’

What was Daddy talking about? Of course Mummy belonged here. The truck’s engine spluttered to life and the station dogs barked and yapped at its tyres.

‘It’s just you and me now, little mate. At least she let me have you...’

The truck rolled forward.

Thoroughly bewildered now, the boy struggled in his father’s arms and cried out to her, ‘Mummy, don’t go!’

But the truck gathered speed. And she looked back at him one last time, raised a graceful hand to her lips and blew him a kiss.

CHAPTER ONE

FLETCHER HARDY ran an irritated finger around the inside of his uncomfortably stiff collar and glared at the marbled floors and mirrored walls of the enormous ballroom. He had rushed straight to the hotel from a press conference about the drought in North Queensland and he had to postpone a dinner meeting with the Minister for Primary Industries—simply to watch half starved girls sashaying around in outrageous costumes!

He prided himself on never doing anything against his will, but in a rare moment of weakness he had allowed his cousin, Lucette, to talk him into coming to a fashion show.

Grimacing as his shoulders met the unfamiliar constraints of his tux, he strode impatiently towards the rows of seats arranged around the catwalk. He ignored the swing of expensively coiffed female heads trailing after him like sunflowers following the sun.

And he scowled as he found his seat and lowered his long body into it.

Fashion! Ridiculous female obsession, he’d always claimed, happily overlooking the minor detail that he had, on odd occasions in the past, been known to admire an elegantly designed garment gracing a beautiful woman.

As soon as Lucette had heard Fletcher was travelling south to Melbourne, she’d begged him to come and watch the show so he could admire the set she designed especially for this exhibition. He’d found his kid cousin’s enormous pride in her first real assignment quite touching and so, to humour her, he had come. But where was she now? The live band was blasting out its opening number and the lights were going down and still no Lucette! She’d left him to brave this torment on his own!

Typical. With any luck there would be an interval and he could leave.

Wrapped in these angry thoughts, he refused to join in the applause as the grinning compere, dressed in a gold tuxedo, approached the microphone, welcomed the audience and delivered a totally incomprehensible joke about fashion. The audience roared. Fletcher growled.

‘This evening, the Quintessential Collection brings us a preview of the new season highlights from five of Australia’s top young designers. We begin with the delightful Alexandra Fraser. I’m sure most of the menfolk here would agree with me, that Ally is herself rather beautifully designed...’ Here the compere paused for a brief titter from the audience, while Fletcher almost groaned aloud. ‘Today we see fine examples of her ultraurban, minimalist designs in pale cashmeres and silks,’ the compere continued with a wide, plastic smile. ‘And you should note the clever addition of silk cummerbunds to her slinky pants and long evening skirts.’

Fletcher raked a hand distractedly through his thick, dark hair as, for the sake of his sanity, he turned his attention to Lucette’s set. OK, it was good. Against an ethereal backdrop resembling the sky at dawn—all pinks and golds—there were delicate, gilded arches encrusted with winking bud lights and a runway edged with more tiny lights and misty clumps of tulle. It all seemed appropriate, he decided, suggesting a show, which would present the quintessence of earthly beauty. And as far as he could see the decor provided a suitable accompaniment for the palely elegant fashions, which soon emerged.

But as for the deportment and grace of the models slinking and strutting along the runway—he barely noticed them. His eyes were squinted with his efforts to read his watch in the darkened room. But his attempts were futile so instead he began scanning the audience, searching for Lucette. After several fruitless minutes, he tried the watch again. No use. When could he safely slip away?

Restlessly, he squirmed in his seat. His elbow bumped the thin woman sitting beside him and she glowered at him from beneath her wide-brimmed hat.

About to scowl back at her, his attention was suddenly captured by a woman emerging down the runway. Dressed in the simplest of short gowns in deep purple, the colour of crushed violets, she stood out in stark contrast to the whites, creams and beiges worn by the models surrounding her.

‘Ladies and gentleman, our very own Alexandra Fraser.’

So this was the designer of the first collection. She was bowing as the crowd applauded her. Cries of ‘Bravo’ could even be heard, so obviously she was being well received.

She smiled out into the audience and at that precise moment, the simple, two syllable word woman took on an entirely new level of meaning for Fletcher Hardy.

This woman was like no other he’d ever seen before. An unnerving tension seized his body. His hands gripped the upholstered arms of his seat and incredibly, this hardened man of the land’s throat tightened over a huge lump of unexpected emotion as his gaze remained transfixed by the figure on the catwalk.