The Outback Affair

Natasha continued. “This trip is strictly business. I’m here to paint and you’re here to drive and protect me from crocodiles. Over dinner we stick to talking about our trip. Or the weather. Anything but—” Even to say the words was likely to inflame the situation.

But Tom said them anyway. “Anything but us.” He looked down at her. “So it’s not so much hate…but fear,” he murmured.

“Fear? You think I’m afraid of you? You must be mad!”

“Maybe not afraid of me…no,” he conceded. “More…afraid that you might still have some feelings. Feelings you don’t want to have.”

“Feelings? For you?” She turned on him then. “I’ll tell you what I feel. Nothing. Understand? Any feelings I had for you, Tom, died long ago.” Her chest heaved, her breath coming in furious gulps.

She moaned inwardly. Why was she getting so steamed up if she felt nothing?

Elizabeth Duke was born in Adelaide, South Australia, but has lived in Melbourne all her married life. She trained as a librarian and has worked in many different types of libraries, but she was always secretly writing. Her first published book was a children’s novel, after which she successfully tried her hand at romance writing. She has since given up her work as a librarian to write romance full-time. When she isn’t writing or reading, she loves to travel with her husband, John, either within Australia or overseas, gathering inspiration and background material for future romances. She and John have a married son and daughter, who now have children of their own.

The Outback Affair

Elizabeth Duke

For Heather and Jan, two talented artists who have painted, camped and fished at Kakadu. With many thanks.

CONTENTS

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 ONE

NATASHA was putting the finishing touches to her oil painting of Ayers Rock when her father poked his head round the door of her studio. ‘There’s someone to see you, Nat.’

Something in his tone brought her head up sharply. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Tom Scanlon.’

She dropped her paintbrush. Heat rushed to her face, then receded, leaving an icy, numbing coldness. She felt as if her lifeblood were draining out of her. It was eighteen months since she’d last seen or heard of her ex-fiancé, and she’d thought he was out of her life for good.

With an effort she unlocked her parched lips. ‘Send him away. I don’t want to see him.’

‘But he’s—’

‘Tell him I’m busy. I can’t come.’ How dare Tom Scanlon come back into her life, after what he did to her? How dare he show up here, without warning, and expect her to welcome him with open arms? ‘Better still, tell him I don’t want to see him. Now or ever.’

‘If you don’t come, Nat, he’s likely to barge in here himself. He seems very determined to see you.’

‘And I’m just as determined not to see him.’

But underneath her cold resolve her stomach was churning; her nerves fraying. Why had Tom Scanlon come back to visit her after the callous way he’d walked out on her, just two weeks after he’d proposed marriage and sworn undying love? Why was he so determined to see her? To find out if she’d managed to survive without him?

‘If you don’t speak to him now, love, you’ll be looking over your shoulder every time you go out. If you don’t want to see him again, Nat, you tell him.’

She sighed, clenching her teeth. ‘Right. I’ll do that. Send him in, Charlie. I’ll give him one minute.’ Since she and her father had become business partners a year ago—together they owned an art gallery and framing business—she’d fallen into the habit of calling him ‘Charlie’ rather than ‘Dad.’ She trembled to think what she would have done without her father in the past year and a half. He’d kept her busy, kept her spirits up, given her a reason for going on…and not looking back.

And now here he was, calmly thrusting Tom Scanlon back into her life!

‘Give him a chance, Nat,’ Charlie appealed to her. ‘At least listen to him. He seems a changed man. There’s something…’ At her glowering glance, he shrugged. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll send him in.’ He swung on his heel.

But before he reached the door, a tall figure filled the doorway.

‘Hullo, Natasha.’

The room tilted. She blinked, her heart turning over. She had to grip her easel for support.

He looked so different from the way he’d looked eighteen months ago. He’d always been a large man, tall and massive shouldered, with a solid, powerful build—perhaps verging on overweight back then. Now he looked—she swallowed—he looked fantastic…leaner, fitter, and healthier than she’d ever seen him before. He must be thirty-six by now, but he looked younger.

Had his new girlfriend done that for him?

Her eyes turned to silver ice. It was a mistake, agreeing to see him—even if only to order him out of her life. It was stirring up all kind of sensations—sensations she’d thought buried for all time.

Her father was edging away. ‘I’ll leave you two to—’

‘No need to go, Dad!’ Her voice was sharp, and unnaturally high. The betraying ‘Dad’ had slipped out. ‘Mr. Scanlon won’t be staying.’

Her eyes raked coldly over her unwanted visitor. She narrowed her gaze, a tremor quivering through her.

This wasn’t the Tom Scanlon she’d known and fallen in love with. This was a stranger—a cleanshaven stranger with a brand-new look, a brand-new vitality. Where was the ruffianly beard and the untamed mane of long brown hair that had curled over his collar and tumbled over his brow? Where were the washed-out jeans and the bush shirt with the rolled-up sleeves? Where were the dusty old boots, the knockabout slouch hat?

And where was the constant cigarette in his hand?

He was wearing pale moleskins, leather shoes and a neat pale grey shirt—admittedly without a tie. That would really be something—to see Tom Scanlon in a tie. The shirt had a trendy Neru collar, with the top button left undone. But only the top button—not slashed open as so often in the past, uncaringly showing an expanse of bronzed, muscular chest.

His hair, though still curly, still wild—nothing could completely tame those unruly curls—now barely reached the top of his collar. It was neatly brushed back from his deeply tanned face, although a wayward lock was already slipping forward over his brow.

She swallowed, gathering her strength. ‘Well…Tom Scanlon.’ Her tone was as withering as she could make it. ‘The man who decided marriage wasn’t for him.’ Or had his new girlfriend changed his mind?

‘Tash—’

Tash. Her heart twisted, bitterness coiling through her. Tom was the only one who’d ever called her that. It had been a special name…once. Now she couldn’t bear to hear it.

‘Don’t you dare call me that!’ She balled her hands into white-knuckled fists, her eyes spitting fire. ‘I can’t believe you have the nerve to come back and face me—as if nothing ever happened.’ Just when I was beginning to get over you…beginning to think I could survive without you.

His chest expanded in a deep indrawn breath that hissed out through his teeth. ‘A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since then, Ta—Natasha.’

There was to be no apology then, no begging for forgiveness. No…that wouldn’t be Tom Scanlon’s style. Water under the bridge…that was all the past eighteen months had been to him. She tilted her chin, the blue of her eyes turning to cold, glinting silver. No matter what it took, she wasn’t going to show him how much he’d hurt her.

‘Yes, one moves on,’ she agreed coolly.

She didn’t ask what he’d been doing with himself. He and his new love. Or if he was still in Sydney. Or what kind of work he’d taken on since tossing in his job as a helicopter pilot. Knowing Tom, he could turn his hand to just about anything. Before he’d become a pilot, he’d worked as a jackaroo, a horse-breaker, a dynamiter, a roof tiler, and heaven knew what else, but he’d never, as far as she knew, worked in a city office. He’d always preferred the outback, the wide open spaces. Freedom…

Had his new girlfriend tamed him enough to put him behind a desk? He had some accounting qualifications, he’d told her once, which would come in handy, he’d said, when he owned his own cattle station—his long-time dream.

A pipedream. A beautiful, remote pipedream.

She composed her face into a stony mask, to cover a surge of bitterness. Everything about Tom Scanlon had been a pipedream. Pie in the sky. Ambitious daydreams. Nothing he did or said or promised had been real. When you find the love of your life, you want to seize her with both hands and never let her go, he’d told her on the night he’d proposed.

Her heart wrenched at the thought of the love they’d shared; the laughter and the long talks about everything under the sun. Although their busy lives had kept them apart for much of their whirlwind two-month courtship, they’d been as close as any two people could be…or so she’d thought.

It had never struck her for a second that anything could ever come between them….

‘A lot can happen in a year and a half,’ Tom mused aloud. His eyes searched hers—or tried to. She snapped her gaze away before they could delve too deeply. ‘I didn’t just go off and forget you, Tash. I’ve been concerned about you.’

Concerned? How gullible did he think she was?

When she made no comment he didn’t pursue it. ‘I flew into Brisbane this morning,’ he said conversationally. ‘I wanted to see how you were doing. How your paintings were going. How life has been…treating you.’

And to find out if she was still pining for him; still heartbroken at losing him? Or if she’d managed to crawl out of her misery yet and find someone else…the way he had?

Ice clawed at her heart. Perhaps he would feel less guilty if she had taken up with another man, the way he’d taken up with—and presumably found happiness with—another woman. Or was he hoping she hadn’t found anyone else? No doubt he’d get a the perverse satisfaction of assuming he was irreplaceable.

‘Well, as you can see, I’m fine.’ He didn’t need to know any more than that. He didn’t deserve to know. Let him stew. Let him wonder all he liked.

‘That’s good. I’m glad. You look great, Tash.’ She felt his eyes rake over her, as hers had flicked over him a moment ago. It was such a searing scrutiny that she felt suddenly exposed and raw, as if his hot gaze was stripping her bare.

It made her feel self-conscious, uncomfortably aware of her paint-spattered smock, the frayed shorts underneath, the paint splodges on her bare legs and feet. Her own untidy mane of layered honey-blond hair was caught back in a black scrunchie, but long wisps had come loose and were trailing over her flushed cheeks and down her bare neck. And she had an uneasy feeling, as his piercing blue eyes came to rest on her face, that she had a dob of paint on the tip of her nose.

‘I can do without the flattery, thanks,’ she snapped, but her voice was lamentably unsteady. ‘And I told you to stop calling me Tash!’ Knowing what a sorry mess she must look made it even harder to accept his glib compliment. She wondered what the new woman in his life looked like…the irresistible siren who’d ‘swept him off his feet’, as he’d put it when he’d called her from Sydney to break off their engagement eighteen months ago.

The thought of his shock betrayal galvanised her into action. She tossed back her head, her gaze coldly scathing, showing none of the churning havoc behind, none of the harrowing emotions she’d buried for the past eighteen months and could now feel quivering to life again.

‘Well, you’ve seen me now,’ she scraped out. ‘You’ve seen that I haven’t slit my wrists or fallen in a heap. Now you’ll have to excuse me, I’m busy. Charlie, would you see Tom out?’ She had to get rid of her treacherous ex-fiancé before he realised what the sight of him was doing to her.

Her father sighed, and turned to Tom. ‘Sorry, mate, it’s a bad time. Nat’s busy. Come on, I’ll see you out.’

Mate? A bad time? Natasha glowered at her father. Traitor, she thought bitterly. Charlie had always liked Tom. Despite Tom’s wild, rough-diamond looks and adventurous, freewheeling lifestyle, he’d taken to Tom like a house on fire, succumbing to the same irresistible macho charm that had demolished her own defences. Her father couldn’t understand why they’d broken up so suddenly, when they’d appeared to be so crazy about each other.

She’d felt too hurt and humiliated to tell Charlie that Tom had fallen for another woman, and in the weeks and months that had followed their break-up she’d refused to mention Tom at all. She’d simply told her father what Tom had told her before she’d forced him into admitting he’d met someone else…that he’d decided he wasn’t cut out for marriage after all and had wanted his freedom.

Tom began to leave, then paused, his gaze flicking to the painting on her easel. ‘You’ve captured it perfectly,’ he murmured. ‘The spectacular colours at sunset…the clouds…the shadows. It’s just as I remember it that evening.’

That evening…Her heart missed a beat. The reminder that he’d been with her the first time she’d watched the sun set over Ayers Rock brought bittersweet memories flooding back, sending deep tremors through her.

She’d been on a painting trip to the Red Centre, and Tom had been the helicopter pilot who’d flown her to Ayers Rock from Alice Springs. They’d clicked immediately, and for the next blissful two months they’d tried to see each other whenever they could. She’d been so sure they were soul mates, that they’d been meant for each other—two free spirits who’d answered a need in each other, who both wanted the same things…or so she’d thought.

But the dream had shattered when Tom had flown down to Sydney, telling her only that he had ‘something to see to.’ Within a week he’d phoned to tell her it was over and he’d met someone else.

‘Is it for sale?’

Her head snapped back. He wanted to buy it? Did he have any idea what her paintings were worth these days? Her traditional Australian landscapes had really taken off in the past couple of years. They were in demand all over Australia. Even the Prime Minister had commissioned one, for Parliament House in Canberra. Her prices had soared as a result. Soared way out of Tom Scanlon’s pocket…assuming he was still saving every cent he could scrape together to buy a cattle station one day. She couldn’t imagine he’d have the spare cash to splash out on luxuries like original oil paintings.

Unless he’d abandoned his long-time dream since taking up with his Sydney siren. I need new challenges…a change of scene, he’d told her back then. He’d already tossed in his job as a helicopter pilot, as if determined to cut his ties to the outback he’d always loved. She supposed it was possible he’d used his hard-earned savings to buy a swanky new city home for his new love and himself. A home he was now adorning with equally swanky paintings.

She dragged in a ragged breath. Where was the new woman in his life? Had Tom brought her here to Brisbane with him? Did his girlfriend have any idea he was making house calls on his ex-fiancée?

The questions were on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed the urge to voice them aloud. She didn’t want to show Tom that she was interested in his life any more. She wasn’t!

‘It’s not for sale,’ she said curtly. She’d done similar paintings of the Rock at sunset for an exhibition she’d held a few months ago, and they’d been snapped up immediately—every single one. She’d regretted seeing the last one go, and on an impulse had decided to paint another one to keep for herself. She wasn’t sure quite why. She didn’t even have a spare wall to hang it on. The gallery next door and the family apartment upstairs were already bursting at the seams.

She shifted restlessly. Maybe she wouldn’t keep the painting after all. It would be too much of a reminder of a time she wanted to forget. She’d been mad to even consider keeping it and she’d have no trouble selling it. She could paint this scene over and over and sell every last one, no trouble at all.

But if she did put this one up for sale, she certainly wasn’t going to sell it to Tom Scanlon. No way. It would be too humiliating, knowing he’d be sharing this once special scene, this once special evening, this one special moment in time, with the woman who’d replaced her.

‘That’s too bad.’ Tom shrugged in a way that made her lips tighten. He was probably already regretting making the rash offer. He would hardly want to be reminded of that intoxicatingly romantic evening either.

Her eyes appealed to her father, and Charlie, with a rueful grimace, ushered Tom out at last. She averted her gaze, afraid that her eyes might reveal a yearning behind their steely coldness, a yearning she couldn’t believe she could feel, after what he’d done to her.

Thank heaven she and her father were going away tomorrow on a two-week painting trip. There’d be no chance of running into Tom again, assuming he was staying in Brisbane for a few more days. More likely he’d be rushing back to Sydney on the first available flight—back to the more welcoming arms of the woman he’d preferred to her.

She couldn’t settle down to work after he’d gone. She moved to the window and stood for timeless minutes staring out into the city street, trembling from the disturbing encounter. Unresolved questions swirled through her mind. Maybe it had been a mistake not asking Tom about the new woman in his life, and whether he’d found a city job and settled down in Sydney for good—or whether he’d been drawn back to his beloved outback. With her curiosity satisfied, she could have put him out of her mind, and out of her life, once and for all.

But it would have been unbearably painful to hear about his new love from Tom’s own lips…to have to endure him extolling the virtues of the woman he hadn’t been able to resist…‘I didn’t mean it to happen, Tash,’ he’d said. ‘It hit me like a bolt out of the blue.’

It made her wonder if he had ever felt that way about her. A bitter glint lit her eyes. He’d certainly fooled her into thinking he had. ‘I’ve found my soul mate in you, Tash…You and I were meant for each other…I never believed I could love as much…’

But it still hadn’t been enough. It had only taken a week in Sydney to—

She stiffened in disbelief. Tom Scanlon had appeared in her line of sight. He’d just emerged from the gallery and framing shop next door! She couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t left earlier, as she’d assumed. He’d been with her father in the gallery all this time!

Her eyes sparked with anger. How dare he hang around her father after she’d ordered him to go! How dare he soft-soap Charlie, after he’d failed to melt her!

If Charlie’s been talking to Tom Scanlon about me, I’ll kill him, she vowed. Whirling round, she marched out of her studio and burst into the art gallery next door. She found her father working on a frame in the back room.

‘What did you say to Tom Scanlon after he left me?’ she blazed. ‘Why did he stay so long? You know I didn’t want him here. He’s out of my life now and I want him to stay out. Anyway, he’s probably m-married by now to somebody else.’

‘Married? What on earth makes you think that, love? Tom wanted to be free, you told me. He’d hardly rush off and marry someone else.’

‘It’s easier for a man to tell a girl he’s not cut out for marriage and wants his freedom,’ Natasha sneered, ‘than to admit he wants to be free to play around with other women!’ No need to tell her father that Tom had already found someone else before he’d broken off their engagement. She didn’t want Charlie to start feeling sorry for her all over again.

‘Well? Why did he stay for so long?’ she pressed. ‘What did you talk about?’ She wasn’t quite sure why she had to know.

‘Tom just wanted to have a look around the gallery, that’s all.’ Was Charlie avoiding her eye? He’d bowed his head over the frame he was working on and was frowning heavily, as if in concentration. ‘As a matter of fact, he bought a painting,’ he muttered, almost as an afterthought.

She blinked. So Tom had been serious about buying a painting. ‘Which painting?’ They didn’t only hang her own paintings in the gallery. They displayed the paintings of several promising young Brisbane artists as well. Some of them were very good, yet their prices were still reasonable. Far cheaper than her own.

‘One of yours.’ Her father didn’t look up. ‘The one of the cherry blossom trees in the Botanical Gardens.’

Her jaw dropped. Why on earth would Tom Scanlon want to buy that particular painting? They’d once strolled arm in arm through the Gardens, admiring the spring blossom. They’d even kissed under those very same trees! Why in the world would he want to be reminded of it? It had been hard enough for her to go back to the Gardens last spring and paint there!

The painting for sale in the gallery had been one of her smaller works, a delicate watercolour, priced more reasonably than her larger oil paintings. Perhaps it had been the only painting of hers within Tom’s means. But why buy one of her paintings at all?

Maybe because it was pretty, and he’d wanted a romantic coming-home gift for his lover back in Sydney. But would Tom be that insensitive—to give his girlfriend a sentimental painting done by his ex-fiancée?

If he’d told her he had an ex-fiancée.

Her brow darkened. Nothing Tom Scanlon did made sense any more. He was no longer the man she’d known…or thought she’d known. Not that she cared what he did any more, or why he did any of the things he did. He was out of her life now.

‘That’s all? He just wanted to buy a painting? You didn’t talk about anything else?’ Damn it, Natasha, you don’t care, so why ask?

Her father glanced up, his eyes bemused. ‘If you had any questions for him, Nat, you had your chance to ask him face to face. It’s not my business to ask him.’

‘No, of course not.’ Her chin lifted. ‘And don’t be silly, of course I don’t have any questions I’d want to ask Tom Scanlon! I couldn’t get rid of him quick enough—as you saw.’ She realised she was shaking, not just her hands, but her whole body. Just as well she wasn’t still trying to paint!

‘Nat—’ Charlie began, and seemed to hesitate. ‘The very fact that he came back to see you shows that he must still care about you…that he’s been thinking about you,’ he amended, as pained eyes flew to his. ‘He’s had his freedom…eighteen months of it. He most likely has it out of his system by now. If you still care about him yourself—’

‘I don’t!’ she cried, and bit her lip. ‘Dad, you don’t understand.’ She was calling him Dad again, a sign of growing distress. She folded her arms to hide her trembling hands. ‘He hurt me. I’m not going to let him hurt me again. I’m over him now and I don’t ever want to see him again.’

Her father gave her a long searching look. ‘Maybe I know you, Nat, better than you know yourself.’

‘Oh, yes?’ She glared at him indignantly But she could feel her lip wobbling.

‘I think you do care, deep down. And I think he still cares too. Time’s a great healer, Nat.’

‘Dad…’ She heaved a shuddering sigh. ‘Forget it. There’s not going to be a happy ending, so don’t start dreaming of one. It’s not going to happen. What we had once is dead and buried. He killed it. He—’ She flicked her tongue over her lips. She would have to tell him. It was the only way he’d understand. ‘He dumped me for someone else!’