Outback Fire. Margaret Way

eyes drawn to Storm’s portrait. “It would take an eternity for Storm and I to patch up our differences,” he said thinking Storm’s childhood had been damaged by the desperate need to be the only one in her father’s life. She should have had brothers and sisters. She should have had anyone, except him. In his own way, without warning, the Major had set them both up.

      Now the Major was saying very seriously, “I know Storm has given you a rough time—and you’ve let her. She’s the only one who could get away with it, but she knows your worth. She knows, Luke, even if it would kill her to admit it.”

      “My thoughts exactly,” Luke quipped. “It’s just a dream of yours, Major. An impossible dream.”

      “But you care about her?” McFarlane challenged. “You can’t look me in the eye and tell me you don’t. I know you too well.”

      “Then you’d know I would never waste time wanting a woman who didn’t want me,” Luke said emphatically. What the hell else was he doing if not that?

      “Just bring her home, Luke,” McFarlane begged with overwhelming intensity. “That’s all I ask. If there’s a God in his heaven he’ll make things come right.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      IT WAS getting on towards late afternoon before he touched down at Sydney’s light aircraft terminal taking a cab into the city where he booked into a hotel. Storm herself had rung her father only the night before, in the course of the conversation letting it be known she wasn’t going out of town that weekend. She was to be chief bridesmaid to Sara Lambert, a young woman the Major knew from her occasional visits to the station. Luke knew Sara, too. At one stage she’d had quite a crush on him that mercifully passed. So with any luck he would find Storm at home. Or if she did happen to go out for the evening, which he was sure she would, he would sit it out until she arrived back. In a curious way he realised he was elated at the thought of seeing her again. A good idea to check the hype now. Storm could be in one of her moods. Moods or not he was certain of one thing. This time she was coming back with him before something bad happened.

      When he arrived at her seriously up-market apartment block he had no difficulty getting past security. The man at the desk knew him after seeing him a few times in company with Storm and the Major. In fact the man appeared to think he was Storm’s brother.

      “Go right up, Mr. McFarlane,” he said breezily. “I saw Miss McFarlane come in a couple of hours ago. Didn’t see her go out, though I’ve been away from the desk on and off.”

      He waved his thanks and moved towards the lift amusing himself by thinking Storm most probably would be overjoyed to see him.

      As it turned out Storm wasn’t in but a very smart-looking older woman dressed in a blue suit emerged from the adjoining apartment to tell him Storm had left for a party at the Drysdales.

      “You know them?” She must have been bored because she looked as if she was ready for a chat.

      “Heard of them certainly,” he replied. Every year the Drysdales made The Rich List. “I’m here on an errand for Storm’s father.” He smiled.

      “Then you’ll be waiting a long time,” the woman said almost flirtatiously. “Those parties go on all night. Then there’s Sara Lambert’s wedding tomorrow.”

      “Yes, I know Sara,” he said, unaware he was frowning.

      “Look here, why don’t you simply turn up?” the woman said. “I’m sure the Drysdales won’t mind. Not if you’re a friend of Storm’s. They adore her.”

      “Who doesn’t?” he said with the faintest edge of irony.

      “You know Storm obviously.” The woman’s bright eyes were agog.

      “I grew up with her.” He told her casually, then lest she got the wrong impression: “I’m the overseer on the McFarlane station, Winding River.”

      The woman stared at him as if transfixed. “Really? It must keep you very busy?”

      “It does. I don’t have a lot of time. I should fly back tomorrow. Sunday by the latest.”

      “So go along to the party,” the woman suggested, sensing his urgency.

      “What, in this?” He pulled at the sleeve of his leather bomber jacket.

      “My dear, you look marvellous,” the woman breathed and gave him the address.

      The Drysdale mansion was right on Sydney harbour, which was to say on one of the most beautiful sites in the world. The imposing Italianate-style house with matching landscape grounds was ablaze with lights. There again he had no difficulty in gaining entrance. Like a gift from heaven, Sara Lambert, Storm’s friend, had been invited to the party. They caught sight of each other as they approached the massive wrought-iron gates, open but flanked either side by attendants to vet the guests.

      No male was dressed casually as he was. They either wore dinner jackets or well-tailored suits. Sara didn’t appear to take much note of that. She rushed to his side, grabbing hold of his arm.

      “Why Luke!” she carolled. “How lovely to see you! It’s been ages and ages.”

      “Sara.” He bent to brush her flushed cheek. “Your big day tomorrow. I wish you every happiness.”

      She beamed up at him, a very attractive blonde with sky-blue eyes. “I’d have sent you an invitation only you might have put me off going through with it,” she said roguishly. “Only fooling. I love my Michael.”

      “I’m sure you do.”

      “Storm didn’t tell me you were coming tonight?” She took his arm affectionately, as though they were the greatest of friends.

      “Actually, Sara, she doesn’t know.”

      The blue eyes rounded. “You can’t be serious?”

      “I’m absolutely serious. I’m here on behalf of her father. Literally a flying visit. The Major’s not well.”

      “Oh!” Sara kept moving toward the gates where an attendant smiled and nodded to her then let them through. Easy as that! “I’m so sorry. I do know the Major has ongoing problems with his leg. Storm keeps me informed. A lovely man, the Major.”

      “I think so.”

      “And he thinks the world of you,” Sara told him warmly.

      “Unlike Storm,” he said in an easy, languid drawl that masked a lot of hurt.

      Sara laughed. “Maybe she’s in denial. You two go back a long way.”

      “That we do.” He left it at that.

      Moving in line, they were almost at the front door: Luke without an invitation, Sara waving to other couples who had not yet worked their way into the house.

      “I really don’t think I should go in, Sara,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind telling Storm I’m here? I’d like to speak to her for a few moments, then I’ll be off.”

      “Oh for God’s sake, stay!” Sara turned up her face to him, tightening her hold on his arm. “You’re going to have to tell me what’s been happening in your life. How’s your girlfriend, Carla?”

      “She’s fine. I won’t go in, Sara,” he said firmly. “Apart from the fact I wasn’t invited, I don’t look the part.” Not that he cared but he was old-fashioned enough not to want to gate-crash.

      For an instant there was the same old hero worship in Sara’s tone. “You look terrific! Like an ad for Calvin Klein. Great jeans and a cool leather jacket go anywhere.”

      Despite his wishes they were somehow through the grand double doors urged on by the press of guests to the rear. The entrance hall to his eyes was overly resplendent, more like the foyer of some sumptuous European hotel. Huge, even allowing for the swirl of laughing, chattering guests,