âI want you, Rafe,â she said.
Her whole body quivered with nerves and desire. âI want you to hold me close.â
This nightmare of Allyâs could be no more than trickery, he thought with sudden anger. âI see.â Rafeâs voice was harsh. âWe make love until dawn, then you fly off to Sydney and your brilliant career.â
âHow can you be so cold to me?â Ally implored, holding his hand to her breast so he could feel the chaos inside her. âI know I did something dreadful, but canât you try to understand?â
âAlly, please, no more. Iâve spent years killing off my feeling for you. Roll over and go back to sleep. Iâm not even tempted.â
âYouâre in as much pain as I am.â How could he not be aware of the passion that had always been between them? âI want you, Rafe.â Her lips parted on a shaky breath. âI need you.â It came out as a quick sob. She needed to tell him how much she loved him. How she had always loved him. Always wouldâ¦.
Dear Reader,
Ever since I can remember, our legendary Outback has had an almost mystical grip on me. The cattlemen have become cultural heroes, figures of romance, excitement and adventure. These tough, dynamic, sometimes dangerous men carved out their destinies in this new world of Australia as they drove deeper and deeper into the uncompromising Wild Heart with its extremes of stark grandeur and bleached cruelty.
The type of man I like to write about is a unique and definable breedârugged, masculine and full of vigor. This Outback man is strong yet sensitive, courageous enough to battle all the odds in order to claim the woman of his dreams.
The Bridesmaidâs Wedding is the second of three linked books where I explore the friendships, loves, rivalries and reconciliations between two great Australian pioneering families. They are truly LEGENDS OF THE OUTBACK.
BRISBANE in June. Sky meets the bay in an all-consuming blue, glorious in the sunshine. Brilliant flights of lorikeets dart in and out of the blossoming bottlebrushes, drunk on an excess of honey. Chattering parties of grey and pink galahs pick over the abundant grass seeds on the footpaths, not even bothering to fly off as someone approaches. The twenty-seven larkspur hills that surround the river city glow with wattles, the national emblem, a zillion puffballs of golden yellow flowers drenching the city in irresistible fragrance.
In the parks and gardens, the ubiquitous eucalyptus turn on an astonishing colour display as do the bauhinias, every branch quivering with masses of flowersâbridal white, pink, purple and ceriseâlike butterflies in motion, a foil for the pomp of the great tulip trees with their scarlet cups. All over suburbia, poinsettias dazzle the eye while the bougainvillea, never to be outdone, cover walls, fences, pergolas and balconies with sweeping arches of pink, crimson, purple, gold and bronze, but none more beautiful than the exquisite bridal white. A surpassing sight.
It was on just such a June afternoon, beloved by brides, Broderick Kinross, master of the historic cattle station Kimbara, in the giant state of Queenslandâs far southwest, was married to his beautiful Rebecca in the garden of the graceful Queensland colonial Rebeccaâs father, a retired airline captain, had bought when he and his second family returned home from his long-time base in Hong Kong. The wedding ceremony and reception were deliberately low key in accordance with the brideâs and groomâs wishes, with family and close friends, but a huge Outback reception was planned on Kimbara when the couple returned from their honeymoon in Venice.
Now in the rear garden bordered by the deep, wide river, some seventy guests were assembled, revelling in the sparkling sunshine and the stirring uplift of emotions. Even the breeze gave off soft tender sighs, showering blossom out of the trees like so much confetti. All faces wore smiles. Some like the bridegroomâs aunt, the internationally known stage actress, Fiona Kinross, superbly dressed in yellow silk with a marvellously becoming confection on her head, registered transports of rapture. This was a wonderful day; the family wedding, the culmination of a great romance.
As the hour approached, everyone looked expectantly towards the house when quite suddenly the brideâs four attendants, three bridesmaids and one little flower girl, the brideâs enchanting little stepsister Christina, appeared, moving down the soaring palm-dotted lush sweep of lawn to some wondrous floating music by Handel.
Each bridesmaid was a natural beauty. Each had fabulous long hair, sable, titian and blonde, left flowing over bare shoulders, with tiny braids at the sides and back woven with seed peals, miniature silk roses in the same shade as their gowns with flashes of gold leaves. Their ankle-length sheath gowns of delustred satin showed off their willowy figures to perfection, the strapless bodices decorated with delicate pearl and crystal beading that glittered in the sunlight, the precise shades of the gowns chosen to be wonderfully complementary, rose pink, jacaranda blue, a delicate lime green.