The Outback Wedding Takeover

Marriage is their mission!

From bad boys to powerful, passionate protectors! Three tycoons from the Outback rescue their brides-to-be….

Meet Ric, Mitch and Johnny—once rebellious teenagers, they survived the Outback to become best friends and formidable tycoons. Now these sexy city slickers must return to the Outback to face a new challenge: claiming their brides….

This month, it’s sexy lawyer Mitch Tyler’s turn!

The Outback Marriage Ransom (#2391)

The Outback Wedding Takeover (#2403)

The Outback Bridal Rescue (#2427)

Emma Darcy is the award-winning Australian author of over eighty novels for Harlequin Presents®.

Her intensely emotional stories have gripped readers around the world. She’s sold nearly 60 million copies of her books worldwide and has won enthusiastic praise.

“Emma Darcy delivers a spicy love story…a fiery conflict and a hot sensuality.”

—Romantic Times

Dear Reader,

To me, there has always been something immensely intriguing about bad boys who’ve made good. With every possible disadvantage in their background, what was it that lifted them beyond it, that gave them the driving force to achieve, to soar to the heights of their chosen fields, becoming much more than survivors…shining stars?

In OUTBACK KNIGHTS I’ve explored the lives of three city boys who ended up in juvenile court and were sent to an Outback sheep station to work through their sentences. There, at Gundamurra, isolated from the influences that had overwhelmed them in the past and under the supervision and care of a shrewd mentor, Patrick Maguire, the boys’ lives became set on different paths as they learned how their individual strengths—their passions—can be used constructively instead of destructively.

But the big unanswered need is love. Even at the top it’s lonely.

And it seemed to me beautifully fitting that as these boys had been rescued, so should they—as men—rescue the women who will give them love. I think there are times when all of us want to be rescued—to be cared for, protected, understood, made to feel safe. It’s not that we can’t manage independently, but, oh, for a knight in shining armor who will fight and slay our dragons with a passionate intensity that makes us melt! Here they are—Ric Donato, Mitch Tyler and Johnny Ellis: OUTBACK KNIGHTS!

With love,

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PROLOGUE

THE plane was heading down to a red dirt airstrip. Apart from the cluster of buildings that marked the sheep station of Gundamurra, there was no other habitation in sight between here and the horizon—a huge empty landscape dotted with scrubby trees.

‘Wish I had my camera,’ Ric Donato murmured.

Mitch Tyler frowned over the other boy’s words. Apparently the stark visual impact of the place didn’t intimidate Ric. But then the guy had been copped joyriding in a stolen Porsche. He probably got off on wide-open spaces, while Mitch had always been happiest with a book in his hands. No local library here to tap into.

‘The middle of nowhere,’ he muttered dispiritedly. ‘I’m beginning to think I made the wrong choice.’

‘Nah,’ Johnny Ellis drawled. ‘Anything’s better than being locked up. At least we can breathe out here.’

‘What? Dust?’ Mitch mocked.

The plane landed, kicking up a cloud of it.

‘Welcome to the great Australian Outback,’ the cop escorting them said derisively. ‘And just remember…if you three city smart-arses want to survive, there’s nowhere to run.’

All three of them ignored him. They were sixteen. Regardless of what life threw at them, they were going to survive. And Johnny had it right, Mitch thought. Six months working on a sheep station had to be better than a year in a juvenile jail.

It was half the time, for a start, and there were only two other guys with him, not a horde of criminals who would have established a pecking order. Mitch hated bullies with a passion. He’d learnt how to look after himself. No-one touched him anymore. But he sure didn’t want to be incarcerated with a mob of power pushers.

He hoped the owner of this place wasn’t some kind of little Hitler, exploiting the justice system to get a free labour force. Mitch decided he’d work out for himself what was fair and challenge anything that wasn’t.

What had the judge said at the sentencing? Something about getting back to ground values. A program that would teach them what real life was about. Wouldn’t teach him a damned thing about real life, Mitch had thought at the time. He’d majored in real life, ever since his father had walked out on his crippled wife, leaving him and his sister to look after their mother. The lion’s share of that had fallen to Jenny, who’d only been eleven years old to his eight when their father had deserted them. Not that he’d been much help anyway, getting drunk every night, drowning his sorrows instead of facing up to them. A coward. That was what his father had been. A contemptible coward.

But not as contemptible as the guy who’d date-raped Jenny.

At least Mitch had had the satisfaction of facing that bastard with what he’d done.

There she’d been, all excited about being invited to a swish party, finally getting into a bit of social life, and to be treated like a disposable piece of meat…

He was glad he’d given that piece of slime a beating he’d remember for a long time. It might be primitive justice, and against the law, but better than letting him get away with it, no justice at all. Jenny had been too traumatised to press charges against him. The silver-spoon heir to a fortune would probably have got off anyway, with his mega-wealthy family having the power and influence to get anything excused.

Mitch felt no remorse over what he’d done. None whatsoever. Though he was sorry he wouldn’t be at home to help for the next six months.

The plane taxied back to where a man—the owner?—was waiting beside a four-wheel drive Land Rover. Big man—broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, craggy weathered face, iron-grey hair. Had to be over fifty but still looking tough and formidable. Not someone to buck in a hurry, Mitch decided, though size didn’t automatically command his respect.

‘John Wayne rides again,’ he mocked to cover his unease with the situation.

‘No horse,’ Johnny remarked with a grin.

Mitch found himself smiling back.

It looked like Johnny Ellis would provide some comic relief if life got grim here. He seemed to have the kind of affable nature that would avoid violence if it was avoidable, though even at sixteen his physique was big enough and strong enough to match anyone in a punch-up if forced into it.

Johnny and Ric were street kids. No family. And no doubt they’d worked out ways of looking after themselves. Mitch figured Johnny specialised in being everyone’s mate. He had friendly hazel eyes, a ready grin, and sun-streaked brown hair that tended to flop over his forehead. He’d been caught dealing in marijuana, though he swore it was only to musicians who’d get it from someone else anyway.

Ric Donato was a very different kettle of fish. He had an intensity about him that could make him dangerous, Mitch thought. Was he a thief because he wanted too much, too obsessively? He seemed to have a very single-minded passion for the girl he’d stolen the Porsche for, wanting to match up to her rich life.

Mitch imagined that most girls would get a thrill out of Ric, just by being the focus of his attention. The guy had sex appeal in spades—mad, bad and dangerous, well-built without being hunky, and strikingly handsome in a very macho Italian way—black curly hair, almost black eyes, olive skin, and a face that Michelangelo might have carved for its masculine beauty. Perversely enough, the guy didn’t seem to have tickets on himself at all. Like he’d been hit too many times to believe he’d been handed anything to feel good about.

Mitch felt okay with himself. Angry at what had been dealt out to his family, but okay with the person he was. He didn’t have Ric’s good looks but he was presentable enough—on the lean side but not a weakling, taller than most guys his age, and having blue eyes with almost black hair seemed to impress some girls.

Mitch would prefer them to be more impressed by the smart brain that had got him labelled as a nerd before he took up boxing at the local boys’ club. He’d never understood why using his intelligence earned scornful remarks from the jocks. Anyhow, he wasn’t called a nerd or a weed any more. He might not be liked but he’d made damned sure he was respected.

The plane came to a halt.

The cop told them to get their duffle-bags from under the back seats. A few minutes later he was leading them out to a way of life which was far, far removed from anything the three of them had known before.

The initial introduction had Mitch instantly tensing up.

‘Here are your boys, Mister Maguire. Straight off the city streets for you to whip into shape.’

The big old man—and he sure was big close up—gave the cop a steely look. ‘That’s not how we do things out here.’ The words were softly spoken but they carried a confident authority that scorned any need for bully-boy tactics.

He nodded to the three of them, offering a measure of respect. ‘I’m Patrick Maguire. Welcome to Gundamurra. In the Aboriginal language, that means “Good day”. I hope you will all eventually feel it was a good day when you first set foot on my place.’

Mitch felt reassured by this little speech. It had a welcoming ring to it, no punishment intended. As long as they were treated fairly, Mitch was prepared to cope with whatever work was thrown at them. He mostly lived in his mind, anyway.

‘And you are…?’ Patrick Maguire held out a massive hand that looked suspiciously like a bone-cruncher.

‘Mitch Tyler,’ he answered, thrusting his own hand out in defiant challenge.

‘Good to meet you, Mitch.’

A normal hand-shake, no attempt to dominate.

Johnny’s hand came out with no hesitation. ‘Johnny Ellis. Good to meet you, Mister Maguire.’ Big smile to the old man, pouring out the charm. Getting onside fast was Johnny.

A weighing look in the steely grey gaze, plus a hint of amusement. No-one’s fool, Mitch thought, impressed by the shrewd intelligence of the man and watching him keenly as he moved on to Ric who looked every bit as keyed up as Mitch had been.

‘Ric Donato.’ It was a flat introduction, strained of any telltale emotion. Ric took the offered hand, feeling the strength in it, seeming to test what it might mean to him.

‘Ready to go?’ the old man asked.

‘Yeah. I’m ready.’ Aggression in this reply.

Ready to take on the whole damned world if he had to, Mitch interpreted. Ric Donato might not have tickets on himself but he sure had a huge chip on his shoulder. Mitch wondered if Patrick Maguire would somehow manage to remove it while they were here. Would he also be able to dig under Johnny’s genial facade and discover what made Johnny tick?

The knowing grey eyes swept back to Mitch and he felt himself bristling defensively. Did this old man of the land have anything to teach him? Only about sheep, Mitch thought mockingly…yet six months was a long time, and for all he knew right now, he might end up feeling it was a ‘good day’ when he’d first set foot on Gundamurra.

CHAPTER ONE

Eighteen years later…

THE iron composure of the woman in the witness stand finally cracked. Mitch knew his cross-examination had been merciless. At his lethal best. And totally justified in his mind. This woman had shown no mercy to her son who’d begged his mother for help which had been steadfastly refused, and not even his suicide had softened her heart toward her bereft daughter-in-law. He watched her break into weeping and felt no sympathy at all.

She wasn’t weeping over her lost son.

She wasn’t weeping over the torment he’d suffered.

She was weeping because she’d been faced with her own monstrous ego that had branded her son a failure for not living up to what she had required from him.

And now it was going to cost her, not only in having her character stripped bare in public, but also in an appropriate financial settlement for the cast-off daughter-in-law and her baby son.

His opposing counsel, Harriet Lowell, who also happened to be Mitch’s recently excised partner in bed, requested a recess and the judge decided it was close enough to the lunch break to take it now, court to be resumed at two o’clock.

Harriet threw Mitch a dirty look as she moved to assist her client from the witness stand. He returned a steely gaze that promised more of the same after lunch if there was no agreement to the settlement he was demanding on behalf of his client.

Harriet could spit chips at how he was handling this case but he was going to win it hands down. Justice would be served. And he was glad it had come to this—payment in more than dollars. People who gave pain should feel it themselves. The trick was to find what actually hurt them, make them reconsider their position. And keep it all under a legal umbrella.

Use the system to get justice.

That’s what Patrick Maguire had taught him.

It was a good system if it was used as it was meant to be used. Patrick had been right about that. Mitch had been studying the law ever since he’d left Gundamurra—eighteen years—orchestrating what was necessary to get his own juvenile conviction for assault set aside so he could enter the profession, working his way up to becoming a barrister with a formidable reputation for winning the cases he took on.

He believed in them. That was what made the difference. He never took on a case unless he believed he was fighting for right, and then he gave it everything he could bring to it. Harriet saw the law as a chess game—moves and counter-moves—but to Mitch the chessboard was always black and white, and he wasn’t interested in playing black.

His clerk met him outside the courtroom, handing him a message from Ric Donato. He couldn’t make lunch today. Disappointing. Mitch always enjoyed meeting up with Ric. And Johnny. Although their lives had travelled very different paths since their time at Gundamurra, the three of them had remained good friends over the years.

They shared the common bond of Patrick Maguire’s influence in setting them on the paths they’d chosen—each to their own bent. And they understood where each other was coming from and why. Not too many people ever achieved that kind of understanding.

It came from living together in constant proximity for six months. There were few distractions in the outback. It was a place for talking, chewing over things, reflecting on what had meaning and what didn’t, sharing each other’s visions of the world. And dreams.

Ric had become an award-winning photo-journalist—amazing stuff he’d shot with his camera. Retired from the job now and running an international photographic agency. Very successfully.

Johnny was a star with his country music, currently touring the U.S.—a millionaire many times over with most of his recordings going platinum.

Mitch was the only one whose chosen career kept him in Australia. The halls of justice called to him and Sydney was his city. Still, it was great to catch up with the others when they were in town. He wondered what had caused Ric to miss their lunch today—had to be some business problem.

‘Cancel the booking at the restaurant,’ he instructed his clerk. ‘I’ll buy some sandwiches, eat in the park, get some fresh air.’

If he couldn’t have Ric’s company to dilute the cold nastiness of this case, he’d prefer to be outdoors, soaking up some sunshine.

Sitting in the park reminded Mitch of his own mother—the countless times he’d pushed her wheelchair to the small park near where they’d lived at Surry Hills. Every Saturday and Sunday if it was fine. Fresh air and sunshine, being outside, watching other people, spending time together, giving Jenny a break so she felt free to go and do her own thing—which was what his mother had always encouraged for both of them, hating the idea of her disability holding them back from pursuing goals of their own.

She hadn’t tried to rule the lives of her children, not like the woman he’d just pilloried on the witness stand, meting out punishment when her son hadn’t measured up to her predetermined mould for him. If anything, his own mother had been too self-effacing, not even wanting to ask for what was her rightful due.

It was good that she’d lived long enough to see him called to the bar. She’d been very proud of that achievement. And she’d seen Jenny married to a good guy, too. Both her children doing well for themselves. If he ever had children himself…well, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

He’d dallied with the idea of marrying Harriet. They shared the same profession. She was a smart, witty woman and he’d generally enjoyed her company. Enjoyed the sex with her, too. Until he’d found out she was also having sex with one of the judges, laughing it off as simply a strategy to give her an edge in court. Winning was what Harriet was about. Winning at all costs. She’d probably thought winning him would be a feather in her cap. She’d certainly been angling for marriage.

No way now, Mitch thought. If he ever married, he’d want honesty in the relationship. Loyalty, too. As for love…well, Harriet had engaged his mind, but had she ever really engaged his heart? Mitch wasn’t sure what love was between a man and a woman. Attraction, yes. A sexual high, yes. But love…maybe he’d become too disciplined in controlling emotion to feel a deep abiding passion for a woman.

He strolled back to the court house, gearing himself up for another competitive round with Harriet who’d no doubt be objecting to every tack he took with her client. His clerk met him on the steps with another message—this one from Ric’s executive assistant in Sydney, a woman by the name of Kathryn Ledger, asking him to return her call on a matter of urgency.

Was Ric in trouble?

A broken lunch appointment, no excuse given.

Now an urgent call from his office.

Mitch glanced at his watch. Still ten minutes before he was due in court. He whipped out his mobile phone, retreated down the steps for a quick bit of privacy and called the number written on the message slip.

‘Kathryn Ledger,’ came the brisk response.

‘Mitch Tyler. I don’t have much time. What’s the problem?’

‘In a nutshell…Ric received photographic evidence this morning that a woman he knows is a battered wife. He went straight to her home and took her out of the situation. He’s flown her off somewhere in Johnny Ellis’s plane.’

‘Good God!’ Mitch muttered in disbelief.

‘The husband was having her watched by a private investigator who lost their trail at our basement car park when Ric switched cars.’ The incredible tale went on. ‘Her husband has since turned up at our office, harassing the staff for information. I gave him the name of the restaurant where you and Ric were supposed to meet for lunch, but he’s bound to come back when he doesn’t find Ric there. My instructions were to call you if there was trouble.’

‘A woman he knew?’ Mitch queried.

‘He called her Lara Seymour and said they went back a long way.’

Ric’s Lara? From when he was sixteen?

Mitch’s mind boggled.

Could a youthful passion last this long?

Stealing a Porsche to impress a girl was one thing. Stealing a married woman from her husband—eighteen years later!—was one hell of a leap.

‘But the name isn’t Lara Seymour now,’ the informing voice went on. ‘It’s Lara Chappel…married to Gary Chappel, son of Victor Chappel. You know who I mean?’

Gary Chappel!

Mitch was momentarily poleaxed by shock.

‘Mr Tyler? The Chappel medical clinic and nursing home empire? We’re talking big money and power here. And we’ve got trouble.’

Mitch’s trapped breath hissed out as his mind clicked to action stations. ‘I know exactly what you mean, Ms Ledger. Do you still have this photographic evidence?’

‘Yes. Five copies in the safe.’

‘I’ll be sending two security men to escort you to my chambers. Do not leave your office until they arrive. Bring one copy of the photograph with you. Once you are safely in my chambers, wait in my private office for me. I’ll join you as soon as I’m free. I cannot emphasise enough…follow these instructions to the letter, Ms Ledger. Believe me, you have big trouble.’

‘Thank you, Mr Tyler. Rest assured I’ll follow your advice.’

‘Good!’

Efficient and sensible, Mitch thought as he hurried back to his clerk. As she should be, given her executive position in Ric’s business. All the same, he was impressed by her quick summary of the situation and her no-quibbling response to the course of action he’d outlined.

He told his clerk what he wanted done, adding, ‘This is urgent business. Get the security men there pronto, and tell them Ms Ledger is carrying merchandise that is invaluable.’

Definitely invaluable, Mitch thought with grim satisfaction. Legal evidence against Gary Chappel! No way could that bastard wriggle out of this one. Or buy his way out. Not with Mitch Tyler having a controlling hand.

Harriet signalled him aside just as he was about to enter the courtroom. Even with a barrister’s wig covering her silky blond hair, she still looked beautiful—flawless creamy skin, her full-lipped sensuous mouth painted a glossy red, a fine aristocratic nose breathing fire while her big grey eyes smoked with angry frustration.

‘Where have you been?’ she demanded.

Not at her beck and call any more.

He raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘Out. Is your client ready to settle?’

‘She’s ready to deal.’

‘The only deal on the table is what I nominated from the beginning.’

‘She won’t come at that.’

‘Then I’ll see you both in court.’

Harriet reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his robe, halting him. ‘This is blackmail, Mitch.’

‘No. It’s exposure.’

Which was what Gary Chappel deserved, too.

Though it probably wouldn’t work out that way.

Better to hold the sword over his head if the aim was to keep everyone free of trouble.

‘You’re painting this black and white, not accepting any greys. And there are greys,’ Harriet insisted vehemently.

‘Then prove it to the jury.’

‘You know damned well you’ve got their sympathy.’

‘I wonder why.’

With that mocking retort he pulled his robe free of her grasp and headed into the courtroom, prepared to fight on but suspecting he wouldn’t have to. That little contretemps had sounded like a last-ditch effort to get him to bend a little, win something for her client, which, of course, would be a face-saving exercise for Harriet. Total defeat didn’t sit well with her. Never would. Greys suited her better.