Her Outback Commander. Margaret Way

you have both your parents,” he continued. “My father died a few years back.”

      Just as Mark had said. She’d concluded Blaine Kilcullen was a man of iron control, but a flash of pain crossed his chiselled features.

      “Dad remarried, according to Adeline, to give me a stepmother.” He didn’t tell her Adeline had actually said a ready-made nanny. Everyone in the family knew his father’s marriage to Hilary had been one of convenience, although Hilary, daughter of a pastoralist friend of the family, had long idolized Desmond Kilcullen from afar.

      “Mark never made it clear you and he were half brothers. He always talked about you as though you were—well … full brothers.”

      “Did he?” He took care to keep his tone even. He could well imagine what Mark had told them all, the damage Mark had done. Not only to him, but to the rest of the family. Mark had near destroyed himself with bitterness and resentment. “Mark was still engaged to a very nice young woman when he took off without a word to anyone,” he said, just to put part of the record straight. “He jumped on a freight plane that had flown machinery into the station, as it happened. From the look on your face you didn’t know about that either.”

      “Remember, please,” she said again, “I’m Amanda’s cousin.” She needed to explain her lack of knowledge.

      “But you are close?” He resumed his piercing silver-grey scrutiny.

      She hoped she didn’t flush. She and Amanda had coexisted rather than ever growing close as she had hoped. The closeness simply hadn’t happened. “Amanda’s parents were killed when she was five. Her parents were returning from a long trip and her father apparently fell asleep at the wheel. My mother and father opened up their home and their hearts to Amanda. Amanda, my brother Emile and I all grew up together. He’s a highly gifted architect and interior designer.”

      “So the artistic gift runs in the family?” he said. “May I ask what you do?”

      He actually sounded interested. “I manage one of my father’s galleries, and I paint myself. As you say, it’s in the blood.”

      “Do you show your work?”

      She gave him a sparkling glance. He knew the sparkle was unconscious, but a man could find it powerfully seductive. “I’ve had four showings up to date. Each time they become more successful. I specialize in landscapes, the occasional still-life. My father’s speciality is portraiture, though he can paint anything. Many of his subjects have been very important people, and of course very beautiful women. My father worships a woman’s beauty. I’m not in his league—” she smiled “—but Lucien is wonderfully supportive. Which is not to say he isn’t highly critical when he feels the need. My brother loves Dad but he took off to New York to make his own way in the world. When Emile is home it’s like being around twins—Dad and Emile are so much alike.” She changed the subject, although she could see his interest was unfeigned. “Did you know Amanda and Mark actually met in Paris, not here in Vancouver?”

      He gritted fine white teeth. “Sienna, it was Mark’s plan to vanish into thin air. At that time he was a very disturbed young man.” No need to add that he’d had chips as big as desert boulders on both shoulders.

      “You don’t want me to press you about Mark?” At her question he gave her a searching look. It was as though he wanted to know everything that went on inside her.

      “I think I have summed it up,” he said in a clipped voice.

      “Perhaps you should know what he thought of you?” Unforgivably, she was returning his brusqueness.

      “Not right now,” he said. “Mark was family. His death matters.”

      He had turned the tables on her. She felt ashamed of herself. “Of course it matters. Please forgive me. I only thought it would explain so much about Amanda if I could tell you—”

      “That Mark hated me?” His black brows rose. “Sienna, I know. It was a very bad case of sibling rivalry. We all live in isolation on a vast Outback station, yet Mark and I never really connected. We never did things together. It’s hard to explain.”

      Not to me, she thought. It was almost exactly her experience with Amanda.

      “I was my father’s heir. His firstborn. Mark grew up knowing I was the one who would inherit Katajannga. That’s the name of our cattle station. Not that he had any interest in being or becoming a cattle man.”

      Her interest had soared. “That’s the name of your station? Katajannga? How extraordinary Mark never mentioned that.”

      “Mark kept a lot of things locked up,” he said sombrely. “There’s a long story attached to the name. It more or less means ‘revelation’, or sometimes ‘many lagoons’ when translated from the aboriginal. One can understand why. After good rains the desert is indeed a revelation.”

      Her beautiful eyes, fixed on his, revealed her fascination. “I’m here to listen.”

      “When Mark’s wife is not?”

      She sat back abruptly, trying to interpret the question. “You said that as though you’re trying to catch me out?”

      “Did I?” He didn’t back down.

      “I can’t be held responsible for Amanda, you know.”

      “Of course not. But I have the feeling you’re covering for her now.”

      She released the breath she’d been holding. “Amanda just can’t deal with this now, Mr Kilcullen. Surely you understand?”

      Heightened feelings were contagious. “How well did you know Mark?”

      A flash of temper put fire in her deep golden eyes. “As well as anyone knew him.”

      “An odd answer, surely? Or do you mean his wife aside?”

      “Please don’t hassle me, Mr Kilcullen,” she said, sitting straighter.

      “God forbid!” A smile tugged at his mouth. “And I insist you call me Blaine. After all, you invited me to call you Sienna. I’m not a monster, you know.”

      “Aren’t you?” Mark had really hated him.

      He read her mind. “Probably Mark’s exact word. Monster. Should I be offended?”

      Colour rose beneath her lovely creamy skin. “I’m just seeking the truth.”

      He lifted his brandy balloon, took a mouthful, savouring it before responding. “Sienna, Mark may have seen me that way,” he said tersely, “but I’d like you to keep an open mind. You won’t find anyone from where I come from to hang a label like that on me. In fact anyone who tried to would be in for a hard time. My father was a greatly respected man. ‘The Kilcullen’ he was always called, as his father, his grandfather and great-grandfather before him. He was my role model. I could never let him down.”

      Had that made less room for Mark? “I would think your father regarded you as the perfect son. Would you say Mark let him down?” Mark, being Mark, would have done just that. He had certainly let his wife down. “You would have been your father’s golden boy.” She pinned that silvery gaze, knowing she was acting out of character but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He was a very provoking man.

      “Wrong colouring, surely?” His handsome face relaxed into another half-smile. “Golden boy fitted Mark much better.”

      He should smile more often, she thought. It was a stunning illumination. “This has to be confusing.” She focused on a beautiful arrangement of flowers nearby. They would all have to rethink everything damning Mark had uttered about his family.

      “It will be confusing when one feels compelled to change one’s opinion. I have a fair idea of what Mark told his wife. And you. He would have told you, of course.”

      She took a full