KATE HOFFMANN has been writing for fifteen years and has published nearly sixty books. When she isn’t writing, she is involved in various musical and theatrical activities in her small Wisconsin community. She enjoys sleeping late, drinking coffee and eating bonbons. She lives with her two cats, Tally and Chloe, and her computer, which shall remain nameless.

To my readers in that wonderful land down under.

The Mighty Quinns: Callum
Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Copyright

Prologue

Queensland, Australia—January 1997

“YOU KISSED HER?” CAL QUINN stared at his younger brother Teague in disbelief. It was one thing to kiss just any girl, but quite another to kiss a Fraser. Harry Fraser and Cal’s dad were in the midst of a land feud, a fight that had gone on for years.

“I’m not spilling my guts to you boofheads,” Teague said. “You’ll tell Dad and then he’ll lock me in my room until it’s time for me to go to university.”

Cal turned his gaze to the horizon. He and his brothers had spent the day riding the fence line along the west boundary of Kerry Creek Station, looking for breaks. On their way back to the homestead, they’d decided to make a stop at the big rock, a landmark on the station and a favorite spot for him and his brothers. They’d discarded their shirts in the heat, their bodies already brown from the summer sun, and crawled up on top of the rock.

“Dad would be mad as a cut snake if he knew what you were doing,” Cal warned. “He hates Harry Fraser. All the Frasers.”

“There are only two. Hayley and her grandfather. And Hayley doesn’t care about the land.”

Cal scowled. “Still, you shouldn’t be talking to her. It’s—it’s disloyal.”

“Oh, nick off,” Teague muttered, growing impatient with the conversation. “You can’t tell me what I’m allowed to do. You’re not the boss cocky on this station.”

Cal’s temper flared. The hell he couldn’t. He was the oldest of the three Quinn brothers and if Teague or Brody were doing something that might hurt the family, then it was Cal’s duty to step in. “I will be someday. And when I am, you won’t be kissing Hayley Fraser.”

“If you tell Dad about—”

“I kissed a girl,” Brody confessed. “Twice.”

Cal leaned forward to glare at his youngest brother. Brody had always done his best to keep up, but he usually didn’t resort to lies. “Twice?”

“Yeah,” Brody said. “Once with tongue. It was kind of nasty, but she said we should try it. I thought I’d give it a fair go.”

Brody had been living in Sydney with their mum, attending a regular school filled with real girls. He’d been to a proper dance and played footy with his school team and went to the flicks almost every weekend. Maybe he was telling the truth. If he was, then at fourteen, Brody had already passed Cal in worldly experience.

“Tongue?” Teague asked. “What does that mean?”

“When you kiss her, you open your mouth and touch tongues,” Brody explained. “It’s called French kissing. I guess the French do it all the time.”

Teague considered the notion, his eyebrow raised in suspicion. “So who opens their mouth first, the guy or the girl?”

“Whoever wants to French kiss,” Brody said. “If you don’t want to do it, you just don’t open your mouth. It’s probably not so good to do if you’re sick. Or if you have food in your mouth. Or if you haven’t brushed your teeth.”

Cal listened as his brothers discussed their experiences with girls, unable to add anything to the conversation. Cal was seventeen, yet he’d never kissed a girl, or touched a girl, or even carried on a conversation with one his own age. He’d lived on the station his entire life, miles from any female worth talking about.

Sure, he’d been to Brisbane a bunch of times with his family and he’d seen lots of pretty girls there. And his cousins had visited Kerry Creek when he was younger, and some of them were girls. But he’d never gotten close enough to…

He knew what went on between men and women. He listened to the jackaroos after they’d come back from a weekend in town. And he’d discovered self-gratification and teenage fantasies years ago. But he wanted to know about the real thing. Sex. Something that Teague and Brody might end up experiencing long before he did.

Cal had considered going into Bilbarra the next time the jackaroos took a weekend off and find himself a willing girl. He was old enough. His mother might disapprove, but she was living in Sydney and would have no idea what he was up to.

As for his father, Jack Quinn had left his two eldest sons to their own devices since the separation. Brody was out of his control in Sydney, but Teague and Cal had only Mary, the housekeeper, to watch over them. Though she was strict about schoolwork, and their father firm about station chores, Cal and Teague were allowed to spend their free time in whatever way they chose.

“Mac and Smithy said they’d take me into town the next time they went,” Cal said, trying to maintain an air of cool. “They know a lot of women in Bilbarra.”

“Yeah, only they all live at the knock shop,” Teague said.

“Not all of them,” Cal said. Though the boys did frequent the local brothel, they also spent time at the pubs. From what the jackaroos had told him, the brothel in Bilbarra was still a well-kept secret, one almost everyone in the territory knew. But there were other places in Oz where that type of thing was perfectly legal.

Maybe that’s what he needed to do. Go find a place like that, pay his money and have done with it. He’d ask for a pretty girl, one with long hair and a nice body. And he wouldn’t need to be embarrassed by his lack of experience. He’d be paying for a tutor.

Something would have to change. Cal had always dreamed about running Kerry Creek someday. But if he never left the station, there wasn’t much chance of meeting females. Maybe he ought to do like Teague and make plans to attend university for a few years. He could study business, learn things that would make him a better station manager and at the same time, find a wife.

But the idea didn’t appeal to him at all. He felt comfortable where he was. He’d learned how to run the station from watching his father. And he loved the work, loved the animals and the people who populated Kerry Creek. There was nothing more beautiful to him than a sunrise over the outback and nothing more peaceful than the sounds of life all around him at day’s end.

Cal lay back on the rock and stared up at the sky, linking his hands behind his head. Though he wanted to believe the opposite sex might find him interesting, Cal knew life on an outback cattle station wasn’t all sunshine and roses. His mother had left Kerry Creek just six months ago, unable to stand the isolation any longer.

Still, there had to be girls who liked riding horses and mustering cattle and fixing fences. Girls like Hayley Fraser. It might take a while to find someone like that, but when he did, maybe he could convince her to visit him on Kerry Creek. If she liked it, he would ask her to stay.

“I’ve seen lots of knockers, too,” Brody said.

“Yeah, right,” Teague said. “In your dreams, maybe.”

“No, I’m not lying,” Brody said. “Me and my mates go down to Bondi Beach on the weekends and there are girls sunbaking without their tops all over the place. You just walk down the beach and look all you want. You don’t even have to pay.”

Cal cursed softly, then sat up. “Is that all you droobs can talk about? Girls? Who needs them? They’re all just a big pain in the arse anyway. If you two want to sit around sipping tea and knitting socks with the ladies for the rest of your life, then keep it up. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

He slid off the rock, dropping to the ground with a soft thud. Cal grabbed his gloves from his back pocket and put them on, then swung up into the saddle, shoving his hat down on his head. “Well, are you two coming? Or do you need help getting down?”

Teague and Brody glanced at each other, then slid to the ground, their boots causing a small cloud of dust to rise. “Come on, I’ll race you back,” Cal challenged.

“I’m in,” Teague said, hopping on his horse and weaving the reins through his fingers.

“Not fair,” Brody complained. “I haven’t ridden in four months.”

“Then you better hang on,” Cal said. He gave his horse a sharp kick and the gelding bolted forward. The sudden start surprised his brothers. They were just getting settled in the saddle while he was already fifty meters in front.

This was what he loved, the feeling of freedom he had, the wind whistling by his ears, the horse’s hooves pounding on the hard earth. He was part of this land and it was part of him. And if staying on Kerry Creek meant giving up on women altogether, then he’d made the choice already. This was home and he’d spend his life here.

1

May 31, 2009

THE SUN WAS BARELY ABOVE the horizon as Cal got dressed. He raked his hands through his damp hair, the thick strands still dripping with water. He usually showered at the end of a long workday rather than first thing in the morning, but he’d come in so late last night that he’d flopped onto the bed and fallen asleep with his dusty clothes on.

Strange how a year had flown by so quickly. It seemed like just last month that they’d finished the mustering and now they were about to start all over again. He should have been accustomed to the rhythms of the station by now, but the older he got, the more Cal was reminded that time was slipping through his fingers.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled his boots on, then rolled up the sleeves of his work shirt. As he reached for his watch on the nightstand, Cal noticed the letter he’d received from the matchmaking service sitting out. He grabbed it and shoved it into the drawer. Better not to let anyone know what he was contemplating, especially Mary, the station housekeeper. He’d be facing the Aussie inquisition over the dinner table if she found out.

He’d discovered the Web site a few months back—OutbackMates—an organization devoted to finding spouses for country men and women. He’d filled out the application last week and sent it in with an old photograph of himself. According to the letter, his profile would appear on the site next week. It was a bold move, but he was nearing thirty and he hadn’t had a long-term relationship with a woman for…ever.

The station kept him so busy that he rarely took more than a day or two away. Cal knew all the single women in Bilbarra and not one of them would make a suitable wife. The past few years he’d been forced to go as far as Brisbane for feminine companionship. Unfortunately, the single women he’d met there weren’t interested in romance with a rancher who lived five hours away, either—except when he happened to be in town. Then he was good for a quick romp between the sheets.

He stood and stared at himself in the mirror on his closet door. Reaching up, Cal smoothed his hands over his tousled hair. He wasn’t a bad-looking bloke. Though he didn’t possess the charm and sophistication his two younger brothers did, he could show a girl a good time. And he could be romantic if required. That had to count for something, right?

As he jogged down the stairs, Cal turned his thoughts to the workday ahead. The month of June would be spent preparing for mustering, herding the cattle back into the station yards for inoculations, branding, tagging and sorting. From the first of July through the end of that month, every jackaroo on Kerry Creek Station would exist on caffeine, fifteen-minute meals and barely enough sleep to get them through a day’s work.

The six station hands were already gathered around the table, devouring heaping platters of scrambled eggs, bacon, baked beans and toast. Mary hovered nearby, filling requests for coffee, juice and tea in her calm, efficient manner.

As he entered the room, the stockmen shouted their greetings. Cal took his place at the head of the table, observing the scene before him. Was it any wonder a woman would find station life unappealing? Table manners were all but nonexistent. Not a one of the stockmen had bothered to comb their hair that morning and he’d wager that most hadn’t shaved in the past three days. What was the point when they all looked the same?

“I don’t see why Miss Moynihan can’t take her meals with us,” Davey said, glancing around at his fellow jackaroos. “We can act polite.” He snatched his serviette from his collar and laid it on his lap. “See?”

Cal reached for a piece of toast, then slathered it with strawberry jam. “Who is Miss Moynihan?”

“We have a guest,” Mary said, setting a mug of coffee in front of him. She smoothed a strand of gray hair back into the tidy knot at the nape of her neck.

“We do?”

“Since you weren’t here, I took it upon myself to offer her a place to stay. She’s a genealogist come all the way from Dublin, Ireland, to do research on the Quinn family. She’s been driving back and forth between here and Bilbarra for the past two days, waiting for you to get back.”

“You invited a genealogist to stay at Kerry Creek?” Cal frowned. “What does she expect to find here?”

“She’d like to talk to you about Crevan Quinn, in particular. She’s documented the Quinn line going all the way back to the ancient kings of Ireland. You ought to take a look at her work. It’s all very interesting.”

“Where did you put her?” Cal asked.

“She stayed in the south bunkhouse last night. She’ll be driving back to Bilbarra to fetch her things this morning, if you approve. I don’t think her research will take long.”

“I’m not going to have time for her,” Cal said, grabbing the platter of eggs and scooping a spoonful onto his plate. He sent Mary a shrewd look. “If you ask my opinion, I think you’re happy to have another woman on Kerry Creek who will sip tea and eat biscuits with you all afternoon.”

Mary gave his head a playful slap. “I’m the only one on Kerry Creek who has managed to maintain a bit of civility. Look at the lot of you, gobbling down your food like hogs at a trough. I’d wager you’d all act differently if we had a lady at the table.”

“Oh, so you invited her to stay so we’d improve our manners?” Cal picked up his serviette and placed it daintily in his lap, holding out his little fingers as he did so. “Hear that, boys? Our Mary thinks we’re all a bunch of uncouth cane toads.”

“Can I tell her you’ll meet with her after dinner tonight?”

“Let Brody or Teague take this one,” Cal said wearily. “I’ve got far too much on my list.”

“Brody took off for Bilbarra on Friday and hasn’t been seen since and Teague has responsibilities with Doc Daley. He spent last night at Dunbar Station and isn’t supposed to be back until later this morning.”

The phone on the wall rang and Mary wiped her hands on her apron before picking it up. When she finished with the call, she sighed and shook her head.

“What is it?” Cal asked.

“That was Angus Embley. Your brother raised quite the stink in town last night. It appears Brody’s lost his keys down the dunny at the Spotted Dog. Angus asked if someone could bring him a spare set and bail him out of jail.”

“I’m not going,” Cal said. “This is the third time in as many months.”

“You will go,” Mary said, her voice firm. Though she wasn’t related to the Quinns, she had served as a surrogate mother ever since their own mother had left the station twelve years before. Cal recognized the tone of voice and knew not to argue.

Since Brody had arrived on Kerry Creek a few months ago, he’d been nothing but trouble. A motorcycle accident had ended his career as a pro footballer and Brody had found himself at loose ends, unable to deal with the loss of everything he’d worked for. Though he wasn’t a pauper, the money he’d made wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, Brody would have to make a decision about a new career. But for now, he’d been living off his notoriety and the patience and generosity of his oldest brother. But this had gone far enough.

“Teague probably has to fly into Bilbarra today. He can just—”

“You’ll not leave your brother sitting in the nick,” Mary scolded. “Besides, it will do you good to get off this station for a few hours. You can pick up supplies and the mail, and maybe even get yourself a decent haircut.”

“All right, all right,” Cal said. He pushed away from the table and stood, then snatched another piece of toast from a passing platter. “If I leave now, I’ll be back before lunch.”

Mary fetched her list and handed it to him. “Stop by the library, too, will you? Daisy called to tell me my books were in.”

“Any other requests?” he asked, looking around the table.

“The windmill up in the northwest paddock is rattling,” Skip said. “We should probably take it apart before mustering and replace the bearings.”

“I’ll order the parts,” Cal said. He grabbed his stockman’s hat from the peg near the door, then nodded to the men gathered around the table. “Comb your hair for once, will ya, boys? I’m sick to death of looking at you.”

Cal jogged down the porch steps to his ute. He tucked Mary’s list into his shirt pocket, then hopped behind the wheel. A cloud of dust billowed out behind him as he drove down the long dirt road.

Though the drive into Bilbarra took two hours, Cal had made it so many times in his life that he barely noticed the time passing. The closer he got to town, the smoother the roads became, though none of them were paved. He slipped a CD into the player and let his mind wander, thinking about his chances of finding a wife.

He’d always known his place was at Kerry Creek. From the time he was a boy, he’d carefully watched each element of the operation, taking on more and more responsibility with every year that passed. He’d never expected to be boss cocky before he turned thirty. But when his parents had decided to reconcile, his father had reluctantly handed the reins over to Cal and left for Sydney.

Cal imagined that Jack Quinn’s decision had been made easier knowing the station was in good hands. And after his parents’ last visit, he could see the choice had been right for them both. His mother taught school in Sydney and his father had started a small landscaping business. They’d bought a house near the ocean and were happy being together again.

As he turned east on the main road into Bilbarra, Cal squinted as the early-morning sun emerged at the top of a rise. He grabbed his sunglasses from the dashboard, but they fell to the floor of the ute. Bending down, he searched for them with his fingers. But when he glanced out the windshield again, Cal was startled to find himself heading directly toward a figure standing in the middle of the road.

GEMMA SAW THE TRUCK COMING toward her and frantically waved her arms above her head. She’d been stuck here, at the edge of nowhere, for nearly thirty minutes. Not a single living creature had happened by beyond a few hundred flies and a small, evil-looking lizard. But now, as the vehicle was coming closer, she realized the driver hadn’t seen her—or he didn’t intend to stop.

She shouted, jumping up and down to gain the driver’s attention. For an instant, she thought he might run her down and she scurried to safety, but then suddenly, the truck veered sharply and drove off the edge of the road. It came to a dead stop when the front wheels hit the bottom of a shallow gully. Gemma held her breath, afraid to move, adrenaline coursing through her. She’d been the cause of this accident and now she wasn’t sure what to do. Her mobile wasn’t working and she was at least fifteen kilometers from Bilbarra and help.

“Oh, please, oh, please,” she chanted as she raced over to the truck, climbing down into where it had come to rest. The driver’s-side window was open and she could see a man inside. He was conscious and staring out the windscreen. “Are you all right?” she asked, coughing from the dust that hung in the air.

He turned and looked at her, then blinked vacantly. “Yes,” he murmured. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, shaking his head. “Are you real? Or am I dead?”

His question caught her by surprise and she reached inside and grabbed his arm, then pinched it hard. “Do you feel that?”

“Ow!” He rubbed his skin, glaring at her.

“I’m very real. And you’re fine. You haven’t hit your head, have you? Are you bleeding anywhere?”

He reached up and pushed his hat off. The moment he did, Gemma got a good look at his face. She took a step back, a shiver skittering through her body. Suddenly breathless, she tried to inhale. But her lungs had ceased to function properly. She felt a bit dizzy and wondered if all that adrenaline was wearing off too quickly. Her fingers gripped the edge of the window as she tried to remain upright.

The driver pushed against the door with his shoulder and it swung open, sending her stumbling backward. “I’m so sorry,” she said. Good Lord, he was absolutely the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen in her life. Although Australia was teeming with beautiful men, Gemma felt quite certain that she’d hit the jackpot with this bloke.

He was fine, handsome without being pretty. His features, taken individually, were quite ordinary, but together they combined to make up a man of unquestionable masculinity, rugged and powerful and perhaps a tiny bit dangerous.

Gemma took another step back as he approached and her heel caught on a rock. An instant later, she landed on her bum, the impact causing her to cry out. Gemma felt something move beneath her hand and she looked down to see a lizard squirming between her fingers.

This time, it was a shriek that erupted from her lips as she scrambled to her feet to escape. But she lost her balance again and pitched forward into his arms. He held on to her until she was back on her feet, looking down at her in utter bewilderment.

“Is it poisonous?” she asked, frantically wiping her hand on the front of his shirt. “Jaysus, I hate those things. They’re slimy little buggers. Look, did he bite me?”

Her question seemed to shake him out of his stupor. “It’s a gecko.” He smiled crookedly. “I—I reckon you are real. I don’t expect angels screech like that.” He gradually loosened his grip on her arms. “I almost hit you, miss. What the hell were you doing in the middle of the road?”

“I was trying to wave you down,” Gemma said. “I have a punctured tire. I’ve tried to change it myself, but I can’t get the bloody things off. The…screws. The bolts. Didn’t you see me?”

“Nuts,” he said. “They’re called nuts.” He took her elbow and gently led her back to the road. “The sun was in my eyes.” Drawing a deep breath, he surveyed the scene, his attention moving between his truck and her car. “Come on, I’ll help you change it.”

She looked back over her shoulder. “Shouldn’t we get your truck back on the road first?”

“No worries,” he said with a shrug. “It’s not stuck.” He walked up to the Subaru wagon she’d rented in Sydney and squatted down beside the flat.

Her attention was caught by the way his jeans hugged his backside. They fit him like a glove, not so tight that it looked like he was trying too hard to be sexy, but just tight enough to attract her notice.

Her eyes moved to his shoulders, and the muscles shifting and bunching beneath the faded work shirt. Then he stood and faced her. Gemma liked the way he moved, so easy, almost graceful.

“These roads around here are shite,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “If you hit enough holes, a tire will go flat without a puncture.”

Gemma pointed to the jack, lying in the dust. “I tried to change it myself, but I have no earthly clue what I’m doing. I was starting to get worried when no one came by.”

“This road doesn’t go many places,” he said.

She stood over him as he put the jack together and hooked it beneath the front of the car. Watching him, Gemma realized she never would have figured out how to change the tire on her own. She bent down beside him. From this vantage point, she could get a better look at his face. He was deeply tanned and his eyes were an odd shade of hazel, more gold than green. “Thank you so very much for stopping.”

“I didn’t have much choice,” he said. “It was that or run you down.” He straightened and began to pump the handle. Slowly, the front end of the car rose. Then he started on the nuts that held the tire to the car.

As he worked, she studied him more closely. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist. She’d always thought the strong, silent type was just a myth, but here was a man who proved it. He was tall, over six feet. His clothes were well-worn and she suspected he worked on one of the stations in the area. She made several more attempts to engage him, but he seemed intent on his task.

Since the weather and the flies hadn’t sparked a discussion, she decided to try asking about places to eat in Bilbarra. He’d been headed in that direction and once he was through with her tire, she’d offer to buy him lunch.

Though Gemma had been anxious to get back to Kerry Creek with her things, the Quinn brothers had been scarce. According to the housekeeper, Cal had been camping in the outback for a few days and Brody had stayed overnight in Bilbarra. She’d met Teague briefly on the morning she’d first arrived at the station, but he hadn’t had time to talk. Since she wasn’t getting anywhere with the Quinns, why not spend a little time with this stranger?

Her plan had seemed so simple back in Dublin. But now that she was here in Queensland, ready to play the part of a curious genealogist, Gemma was getting nervous. What if they didn’t believe her? What if she tripped herself up and revealed her real reason for coming?

For a long time, she’d thought the Emerald of Eire had been nothing but an overblown legend, based more in fantasy than truth. Her mother had told her about it when she’d been little and it had piqued Gemma’s imagination—not because of the jewel, but because it had something to do with Gemma’s father, David Parnell.

Before the age of twelve, her father had been nothing more than a faded photo. But suddenly, Gemma realized she was part of something bigger, a family history.

According to her mother, the jewel had been stolen from Gemma’s fourth great-grandfather, Lord Stanton Parnell, more than one hundred and fifty years ago. Some of the Parnells believed that with the loss of the emerald, the fortunes of the family had been cursed.

The fortunes of Orla Moynihan had definitely fallen the moment she set eyes on David Parnell. According to her mother, they’d fallen in love instantly. David had promised to find the emerald so they might run away together and get married. Gemma suspected this was only a ploy to lure her mother into his bed. A pregnancy followed and David disappeared, behind the protective walls of the Parnell family estate. The baby was named Gemma, after an emerald and a dream.

It was no surprise that David had abandoned her mother. The Parnells were part of the old English aristocracy that had made their fortunes in the Belfast textile industry. And Parnell sons didn’t marry poor Irish girls, no matter what the circumstances.

Gemma had met her father twice, once when she’d barged into his office on her twelfth birthday and the other on the day she’d turned eighteen, when she’d demanded he pay for her university tuition at University College in Dublin. He had his own family, including a wife not ten years older than Gemma, so he had sent her away with a promise. He would pay if she’d never approach him again.

But throughout her childhood, Gemma had dreamed of someday being part of that family, of living in a posh house, of having servants to wait on her, of never having to worry about whether they could afford to pay the rent that month. And the emerald had come to represent that dream, something precious and beautiful.

Finding the Emerald of Eire was her chance to claim her birthright. Whether it fixed things with the Parnells or she just threw it in her father’s face, it would prove that she had Parnell blood running through her veins, even though it had been tainted by the Irish of the Moynihans.

So she’d gone to university, thanks to the Parnell scholarship. Gemma had focused her studies on medieval Irish history and after receiving her doctorate, she’d been offered a teaching position. One day, last year, while researching an article on medieval prisons, she’d decided to see if there was any truth to the family legend. To her astonishment, everything her mother had told her was there—the emerald, the theft, the trial of the pickpocket, Crevan Quinn.

Yes, there had been an Emerald of Eire, a 72-carat jewel that Stanton Parnell had bought in Europe to give to his young bride. He’d been carrying it in his coat pocket on the streets of Dublin in February of 1848 when a local pickpocket had stolen it. Though Crevan Quinn had been tried and later shipped off to Australia for his crime, the jewel had never been recovered.

Even now, she imagined the headlines in the papers, the proof in black and white that Gemma Moynihan, illegitimate daughter of David Parnell, was an heir to the Parnell millions. Though her mother refused to ask for a DNA test, the emerald would be Gemma’s bargaining chip. If they wanted it back, then David would have to acknowledge her as his daughter.

She’d completed her research in six months and was armed with a list of leads, all of which led her to Australia and the descendants of Crevan Quinn. One didn’t possess a jewel like that without either selling it or passing it down as an heirloom. And since an emerald that size would have caused some notice had it been sold, it was probably still in the Quinn’s possession.

“Can you hold these?”

Gemma brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, startled back to reality by the stranger’s voice. He handed her the nuts. “That was quick. I don’t think I’d ever have been able to get those off on my own. I—I hope I’m not keeping you from anything,” she said.

“Nothing important.” He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans, then walked to the tailgate to retrieve the spare. “You should get the tire repaired straight away. You don’t want to get stranded out here again without a spare.” He shoved the spare onto the bolts and she handed him the nuts, one by one.

“Good advice,” she murmured.

“You’re from Ireland.” He looked at her again, this time with a rather odd expression. “Are you here for a visit?”

It was the closest they’d come to a two-sided conversation and Gemma jumped at the chance. She was known to be quite charming, with a ready wit. But she hadn’t had a chance to prove herself with this man. “I am. I’m staying out at Kerry Creek Station. Do you know it?”

She saw his shoulders stiffen. “Is that where you’re headed now?”

She nodded. “And you? Do you live out here or in town?”

He pointed off toward the west. “Right out there, beyond the black stump. In the back of nowhere.”

Well, if she wanted to find him, it wasn’t going to be easy with those directions. Was the black stump a local landmark, or just another Aussie saying? For such a gorgeous man, he was impossible to flirt with.

Gemma stared down at his back as he let the car down with the jack, fascinated by the way his dark hair curled around his collar and his muscles flexed beneath the fabric of his shirt. Her fingers twitched as she fought the urge to touch him again. She held her breath in an effort to focus her mind.

When he’d finished, he bolted the flat to the rack on the tailgate and tossed the jack inside. “There you go,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Good as new. Or almost.”

“You must let me pay you,” Gemma insisted. “Or let me treat you to lunch. There’s a lovely coffee shop in town. They make the best meat pies.”

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’m happy to oblige, miss.” He hesitated and she was certain he was about to change his mind, but then he moved toward his truck. “G’day, miss. Drive safe.” He gave her a quick tip of his hat and walked away. She watched as he hopped inside, then slowly backed the truck out of the gully and onto the road. As he drove off toward town, Gemma stared after him.

She pressed her hand to her chest, her heart beating furiously beneath her fingertips. “Idiot,” she muttered. She’d made a botch of that. All the other men she’d met here in Australia had seemed to like her. He was probably involved, or married. Or not attracted to her in the least. Maybe Australian men didn’t fancy pale Irish girls with red hair and small breasts.

Besides, not all white knights were supposed to fall in love with their damsels in distress. It was a historical fact. Once she got back to Dublin, she’d research it thoroughly and write a paper. Gemma smiled to herself. Whenever she found herself faced with a dilemma, it always helped to put it in historical context.

“I SAID I WAS SORRY.”

Cal stared at the toes of his boots as his brother apologized. Though he knew he ought to kick Brody’s arse for his behavior, he was tired of being his brother’s keeper. If Brody wanted to stuff up his life, then that was his choice. Cal was much more interested in thinking about the woman he’d met on the road.

Gemma Moynihan. When Mary had mentioned her, he’d assumed the genealogist would be older, a granny sort with gray hair and glasses. Instead, she was stunningly beautiful, with flawless skin and a riot of auburn hair that fell in waves around her face. Though she looked quite young, Cal guessed she was probably about his age, give or take a few years on either side.

From the moment he heard her speak, in that lilting Irish accent, Cal had wondered if she was the one. And when he learned her name, he thought of introducing himself right then and there. But she’d already left him tongue-tied and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself right off. He needed time to gather his wits about him.

It had taken him the entire ride into town to calm his racing pulse and consider what their encounter had meant. Though he’d maintained his calm while speaking to her, it had taken a tremendous effort not to stare at her, to analyze her every word and to fantasize about what she’d look like naked.

He rubbed his hands together, remembering the feel of her silken skin beneath his fingertips. Would he have another chance with her? Or would things change when she found out who he really was? Suddenly, he wanted to get out of Bilbarra and return to the station to find out.

“You’re turning into a fair wanker, you are,” Cal muttered. “You could find something better to do with yourself. Like lending a hand on the station. We could use your help mustering now that Teague’s practice is starting to take off. He’s been taking calls almost every day. And when he’s home, he spends his time doing paperwork.”

“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do,” Brody replied. “But it bloody well doesn’t include stockman’s work. Now, can I have my keys? I’ve got some place to go.”

Cal reached in his jacket pocket for the spare key to his brother’s Land Rover. “Buddy doesn’t want you back at the Spotted Dog. You’re going to have to find yourself another place to get pissed. Or you could give up the coldies. It would save you some money.” Cal patted his brother on the shoulder. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you wanted them to. Sometimes life is just crap. But you pick yourself up and you get on with it. And you stop being such a dickhead.”

Brody gave his brother a shove, then stood up. “Give it a rest. If I needed a mother, I’d move back to Sydney and live with the one I already have.”

Brody snatched his keys from Cal’s hand, then jogged down the front steps and out into the dusty street. “I’ll catch you later.”

Cal watched him stride toward the Spotted Dog. He heard the screen door of the police station creak and Angus Embley, the town police chief, stepped outside.

“How much trouble did he make?” Cal asked.

“Nothing too serious. Just a broken mirror.”

“Well, if he can’t drink at the Spotted Dog, he’s going to have to drive halfway to Brisbane to find another pub.”

“Give the boy a break, Cal,” Angus said. “It’s got to be an adjustment coming back here after all that time away.”

Cal slowly stood and adjusted the brim of his hat. “Thanks for taking him in, Angus. I don’t like the thought of him driving back to the station when he’s pissed. It’s good to know he has a place to sleep it off.”

“No worries,” Angus said with a nod.

Cal walked back to his ute and jumped inside. Though he had Mary’s grocery list in his pocket and orders to stop for the mail and her library books, he was tempted to head right back to Kerry Creek.

It felt odd to be preoccupied with thoughts of a woman. Running a successful cattle station usually consumed all his attention. But there were times when Cal worried needlessly over business because there was nothing else in his life to think about. The genealogist was worth additional consideration.

He steered the ute towards the post office. Many of the outback stations got their mail by plane, but Teague and Brody spent enough time in town that they usually picked it up and brought it home, saving the mail plane a trip.

He grabbed a stack of letters from Mel Callahan, the seventy-five-year-old clerk, then returned to his ute. But one of the envelopes caught his eye and he stopped to open it. “You have been matched with three lovely mates,” he murmured, reading the note inside. He flipped through the three photos, then continued reading. “To learn more, visit their profiles on the Outback-Mates Web site.”

He looked at the three candidates again, studying them carefully. There wasn’t one who came close to Gemma Moynihan’s beauty, though they were all quite pretty by anyone’s standards. But there was something about the Irish girl he found compelling, something that made him want to get to know her a lot better…and more intimately.

“Sorry, ladies.” Cal jumped back into the pickup, then opened the glove box and shoved the envelope inside. For now, he was taking himself off the menu. As long as Gemma was staying at Kerry Creek, he’d focus his modest charms on her. After all, what did he have to lose? She was beautiful, intriguing and close at hand, three qualities that he found irresistible.

Cal reached for the key, then stopped. What if he fell in love with her? Still, that wasn’t likely. He’d never been in love before, so he probably wouldn’t know it if it dropped out of the sky and hit him on the noggin. But he did know about lust. And his feelings for Gemma were definitely of the lustful variety.

After she left Kerry Creek, he’d get back to his search for a wife. Cal pulled out onto the street and headed out of Bilbarra toward the station, the groceries forgotten. Unfortunately, the ride dragged on forever. He’d covered the distance between the station and town so many times it had become second nature. He knew all the landmarks and could probably find his way home blindfolded. But now that he had something important to do, every kilometer passed at a grindingly slow pace.

By the time he pulled into the yard, Cal figured he was about an hour behind Gemma. It was nearly time for lunch and if he was lucky, he’d find her sitting at the kitchen table with Mary. He took the steps two at a time and pulled the screen door open. But the kitchen was empty.

A huge pot of mutton stew bubbled on the stove and Mary had freshly baked bread to go with it. Cal decided to use the extra time to clean up. He hung his hat on the peg, then strode through the house to the stairs. He met Mary coming down.

“Oh, wonderful. You’re back. I’m almost out of coffee and I need yeast to—”

“I didn’t get supplies,” Cal said. “Sorry. We’ll call Teague. He can pick them up when he’s in town today. Where is “Gemma Moynihan?”

Mary gave him an odd look. “She’s in the bunkhouse unpacking her things. She drove into town at dawn to get them. She said she had a flat tire on her way back to the station but some bloke stopped and changed it for her.”

“Yes. That was me,” he said.

“So you met her?” Mary asked.

“Not properly. Why didn’t you tell me she was…you know.”

“Young?”

“Pretty,” he said.

“I thought you’d find out soon enough.”

“Did you invite her to lunch?” Cal asked.

“I told her I’d take her out something to eat after the boys were fed.”

“Leave that to me,” he said. “I’m just going to change and I’ll be right down.”

He ran up the stairs and into his room, stripping off his shirt along the way. Though he’d taken a shower before breakfast, he figured another wouldn’t hurt. The road had been dusty and his hair was sticking up all willy-nilly. He only had one chance to make a first impression—or a second impression.

He managed a shower in less than five minutes, then grabbed a towel for his wet hair. Luckily, he’d taken the time to shave off three days of stubble that morning. A splash of cologne was probably overkill, so he set the bottle back on the shelf.

Cal stepped into the hallway, rubbing his head with the towel until his hair was barely damp. But when he pulled the towel away, he found Gemma standing next to the linen closet, a blanket clutched to her chest, her eyes wide. A tiny cry of surprise slipped from her lips as the blanket dropped to the floor.

They both bent to pick it up, Cal getting to it first. He held it out to her as he rose. Gemma straightened, her gaze drifting along his naked body. He struggled to wrap the towel around his waist, but with only one hand, it was impossible to do. It seemed like an eternity before she took the blanket from him.

A long embarrassed silence followed as he tried to come up with a clever line. Of all the scenarios he’d gone over in his mind, this was not the way he’d intended their first meeting to go—him starkers and her all fascinated with his bits and pieces. Cal swallowed hard, realizing there was only one thing to say. “Hello,” he said.

Her gaze quickly returned to his face and a pretty blush stained her cheeks. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he said. Though this wasn’t exactly the way he wanted it to go, he’d have to make the best of it. “I’m Callum Quinn. Cal.”

Stunned, she slowly took his outstretched hand, her fingers soft against his palm. “I’m—”

“Gemma Moynihan,” he said. “I know. The genealogist. Mary told me.”

She frowned, shaking her head in confusion. “But why didn’t you introduce yourself on the road?”

“I didn’t realize who you were at first. I thought you’d be older—I mean, I just assumed. Mary didn’t say that you—weren’t. Older.”

She looked around, as if searching for the quickest means of escape. “I—I should let you get dressed. Mary just sent me up to fetch another blanket for the bunkhouse.”

“I’m sure she did,” he muttered, wondering at the housekeeper’s motives. “I’ll see you later?”

Gemma nodded. “Right. Later, then. All right.” She turned and hurried back to the stairs, looking over her shoulder once before descending. Cal listened as her footfalls echoed from the lower hallway, then leaned back against the wall.

He’d always been the one who’d struggled to speak around women. It was obvious his lack of clothing had something to do with her unease. Maybe that was the key with this woman? To shed his clothes as quickly as possible whenever the conversation slowed so neither one of them would have to talk?

Fate had dropped Gemma Moynihan into the middle of the outback and he was going to make the best of the opportunity. In reality, she was trapped here, waiting for him to enlighten her about his family history. He’d dole out a few interesting tidbits here and there, just enough to keep her around long enough for him to explore this attraction between them.

But the first thing he’d do was make it clear to every man on Kerry Creek Station, including his two brothers, that Gemma was off-limits. Though he knew she wouldn’t be staying long, he could use the practice. When the right woman did present herself, he wanted to be ready.

“Lunch,” he murmured. He’d get Mary to make up something for them both and then he’d take her on a tour of the station. The more time they spent alone, the better his chances of charming her. And if that didn’t work, he’d just strip down and tempt her with his other attributes.

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