Daniel Brockway Tyson had been one of the wildest and most daring young men the vast South-West had ever known. Brock had found all sorts of marvellous ways of living on the edge. Sometimes as a boy he would go off into the desert for days, giving no account of his adventures when he finally got home to Mulgaree, where he had been met by the predictable whipping. Mulgaree was the flagship of the Kingsley chain of cattle stations. Old man Kingsley, Brock’s grandfather, ran it like a private fiefdom. It was he who had administered the whipping, but he’d never broken Brock’s spirit.
“Why, if it isn’t sweet little Shelley Logan,” Brock exclaimed, his remarkable light eyes moving over her. “You haven’t changed at all.”
“I certainly have!” She allowed him to steer her out of the aisle. “All it takes is time.”
“Give me a minute and it’ll become more apparent.” He grinned, continuing his inspection. “How are you?”
Shelley Logan had been just a kid when he’d left. So pretty, so innocent, so bruised by fate. Brock hadn’t forgotten the enchanting little Logan twins and their tragedy. There wouldn’t be a soul for thousands of miles around who wasn’t familiar with the sad story of how little Sean Logan had lost his life.
“I’m fine, Brock.” Shelley was completely unprepared for the onrush of surprise and delight. “Where in the world did you spring from? I’ve been in town all day, yet not a single soul mentioned you were back, let alone right here in Koomera Crossing.”
His features, which might have been chiselled by a master sculptor, tightened. “It was not my idea but my beloved grandfather’s. It seems he can no longer endure our estrangement. Can you beat that? He kicked me out almost five years ago to the day; now he relays such an impassioned plea I simply couldn’t turn him down.”
“He’s ill?” The thought sprang immediately to her mind. “People start thinking of family reconciliations at those times.”
“He’s dying in the way of mere mortals,” Brock told her caustically. “Of course he never thought he was one. I’m not letting any cat out of the bag; it’ll only take a day for it to be all over town.”
Shelley looked up at him. She had to tilt her head back. Brock was easily six-three. She was vertically challenged at five-two. “I don’t know what to say, Brock. I always thought your grandfather was very cruel to you.” The whole Outback was in agreement on that.
“Sure he was,” he said carelessly. “But I used to get my own back. I had the rare pleasure of telling him off. Not so my poor mother.”
“How is she?” Shelley asked, eager for news.
He glanced beyond her, out into the mirage-stalked street, his finely cut nostrils flaring. The look in his eyes was very complex and disturbing. “She didn’t come home with me, Shel. I buried her in Ireland—the land of her ancestors. She was taken by cancer.”
“Brock!” Tender-hearted Shelley found her eyes stinging. “I am so sorry. I know how close you were to your mother. And she to you.” Shaken, she took a deep breath of air.
“So I’m alone in the world,” he said simply. “My dad simply vanished like a puff of smoke when I was six, and I can’t count the rest of my family as family. They’re more sworn enemies—or plotters at the very least. Cousin Philip and his mother, dear Frances. She’s always hated me.”
Shelley’s expression clouded. “Deep down I swear she admires you.”
“Really? I’ve never heard it.” His eyes, a lovely lustrous silver, such a foil for his dark colouring, strayed over her.
She felt her whole body flush. Brock Tyson’s sex appeal was enormous. Once she’d had the mother of all crushes on him—he a charismatic, experienced twenty-one to her virginal sixteen. He’d even kissed her once. Not that he would ever remember. It had been at a bush dance. Her first. He’d swooped on her in an excess of high spirits, flirting, reckless, whirling her off her feet with a whoop of laughter. She’d never forgotten the hardly-to-be-borne excitement of her first kiss—hitherto unsurpassed, worst luck! Brock had always loved the girls, and they’d all loved him.
“In some ways you were Philip’s hero,” she mused. “He longed to be like you. Brave and daring. Unafraid of your grandfather. You two cousins should have been great friends.”
“That was impossible, Shelley.” He shook his black head. “Kingsley and dear Aunt Frances set us head to head. Who was to be the heir? The one who challenged or the one who toed the line? Is Phil still sweet on you?” He said it suddenly, as though he didn’t much like the idea.
“Relax, we’re only friends. We’ve known one another forever. My parents approve of him, which is kind of a plus. It’s wonderful to see you, Brock. I’m terribly, terribly glad you’re back again.”
He smiled down at her, clearly amused by her obvious pleasure and sincerity. “You always were a sweet little thing.” Looking at her wide, sensitive mouth, he had an unexpected flash of memory. “I seem to remember kissing you once. Did I?”
“It was normal for you to kiss all the girls,” she said drolly.
“I don’t recall kissing your sister. Is she married yet?”
“No. And how do you know I’m not?” She tilted a brow in mock indignation.
“You still look like a rosebud.” He gave that lazily sexy smile. “People tell me you’re running some sort of tourist venture out at Wybourne?”
“I am, and I’m very proud of it.” Her tone was calm and self-assured, belying her girlish appearance. “It’s taken time, but we’re getting off the ground. A lot of the planning has fallen on me. My poor parents never did recover from Sean’s death. It’s left them rather tired of life.”
“I know what it’s like to mourn. I bet Amanda is a big help to you,” Brock said with a touch of sarcasm, remembering all too clearly Shelley’s pretty, highly flirtatious and self-centred sister.
“Couldn’t do without her,” Shelley said loyally, Martha to Amanda’s Mary and so well used to it, it had become second nature. “Amanda shines where I don’t.”
“Where might that be?” he asked sceptically.
“She plays the piano and she has an attractive singing voice. Country and western—that sort of thing. Guests like it. Plus she’s very pretty, as I’m sure you’ll remember.”
“And you’re not?” He upped the excitement with a lingering gaze.
“Stop flattering me, Brock Tyson,” she said mock severely. “I don’t know how to deal with it.”
“I bet you do. In fact, you’ve acquired so much poise you might be getting on for middle-aged,” he joked. “How on earth do you manage to keep the freckles at bay?”
Sex appeal simply oozed out of this man. With those eyes of his on her Shelley felt like splashing herself with cold water. “I can’t take the credit, Brock. Just genes, I suppose. How long are you going to stay with us?”
“As long as I can tolerate it,” he said, all of a sudden moody, but still so charismatic he took her breath away. “Kingsley, about to face his Maker, thinks it’s time to get a few things straightened out. My mother was his only daughter. He was supposed to have adored her. That was before my father came along to claim her heart. I never saw any sign of love or affection from my grandfather towards my mother. He just found ways to upset and humiliate her. And hey, Shel, it’s not all his money. Grandma Brockway brought a fortune to the marriage. It was Brockway money