Princes of the Outback: The Rugged Loner / The Rich Stranger / The Ruthless Groom. Bronwyn Jameson

that changed, too?—this time covering his fist where it sat clenched on this thigh. She squeezed his tense knuckles. “I wasn’t here for you when it mattered, when I should have been. What kind of friend does that make me?”

      Was he supposed to answer that? Or just sit here like some priest in an outdoors confessional and let her talk so she’d feel better about herself?

      He hoped she wasn’t after absolution, because that sure wasn’t anything he was qualified to give!

      “Your friendship matters to me. Are we still friends, T.J.?”

      His childhood nickname, but it sounded all wrong on her lips because she’d leaned closer, her arm pressed warm and soft against his, her perfume a sensuous drift of woman in his nostrils. And then she did that squeezing thing again, probably meaning to reassure him but only screwing his tension up another notch.

      He wrested his hand away, put hers back in her lap. “If it makes you feel better, why the hell not?”

      “Yeesh, Tomas!” She let her breath go sharply, exasperated. “Can’t you at least pretend to accept sympathy from a friend? Would that hurt so very much?”

      When he didn’t answer, she shook her head slowly. The slippery ends of her hair skimmed against his bare forearm as if coolly mocking one of the reasons he didn’t feel like she was his friend. This strange awareness that he didn’t want or like or need.

      The disturbing notion that little Angie had grown up into a woman…and his man’s body wouldn’t stop noticing.

      “That’s all I came down here to say,” she said abruptly. “Accept it or don’t. I’ll leave you to enjoy your pity party alone.”

      She’d already started to rise, not using his shoulder for leverage this time, and Tomas should have let her go. Shouldn’t have felt the irrational need to ask, “That’s it? That’s all you came down here to say?”

      “Oh, boy.” Beside him she stilled, then her laughter rumbled, as soft and husky-dark as the night. “I really want to say, yes, that’s it. I really, really know I should.”

      “But?”

      “But you wouldn’t have baited me to stay unless you needed to talk.” She sank back down and he felt her gaze on his face, felt it turn serious. “It’s that will clause, isn’t it?”

      “You don’t think that’s worth throwing a pity party over?”

      She didn’t answer that question, not directly. Instead she sighed and shook her head. “It’s worth worrying about, sure. But wouldn’t you be better off back at the homestead talking it through with your brothers?”

      Tomas snorted. “What’s there to talk through?”

      “For a start, there’s some worry about how you’ll choose a mother for this baby you think you have to produce.”

      “There’s no ‘think’ about it.”

      “My understanding is that only one of you needs do this. One baby between the three of you.”

      “You think I’d leave it up to my brothers? When I stand to lose all this?” He gestured around him, indicating the land that was more than a family legacy. Kameruka Downs was the only place he’d ever wanted to live and all he had left since the plane crash that took his wife’s life, his happiness, his future.

      “Your brothers know this place is everything to you,” Angie said softly.

      Wrong. It wasn’t everything; it was the only thing.

      “Alex says he’s going to marry Susannah.”

      “Yeah, right. When they both can schedule a free hour between meetings. And as for Rafe…” He made a scoffing noise that said it all.

      “Yeah,” Angie agreed, and in the ensuing silence—as they both contemplated the unlikely image of Rafe, the consummate playboy, choosing one woman for the job—it almost felt like the old Angie sitting at his side, driving him bonkers one minute, completely in accord the next. “Why do you think he made this stipulation? Your father, I mean.”

      “For Mau.”

      She contemplated that for a moment. “He knows you guys would do anything for Maura—that’s a given—but he had to know she wouldn’t want some token grandchild. That she wouldn’t be happy unless you all were happy, not forced into it by a clause in his will.”

      “Yeah, but she’s not to know anything about it. That’s why Konrads wanted to see us alone.”

      “Good luck with that!” She cut him a look, part thoughtful, part rueful. “Although I do think he was pretty smart. I mean, what surer way to distract you all from mourning him?”

      Tomas turned sharply, stared at her for a minute. Trust Angie to come up with that angle.

      “Smart?” he wondered out loud, thinking words like contrived and cunning where closer to the truth.

      Wasn’t it their right to mourn a father who’d done so much for them, been so much to them?

      “It worked, didn’t it?” she asked.

      Hell, yes. They’d barely had time to bury him before Jack Konrads called that meeting in the library and turned their sorrow into anger.

      Tomas shook his head, dismissing the whole topic with a gesture of impatience. “His reasoning doesn’t change what we have to do.”

      Angie’s silent regard, serious and thoughtful, tugged the bands of frustration in his chest tighter.

      “What?” he barked.

      “Rafe says you’re not…seeing…anyone.”

      Her midsentence pause was just long enough for Tomas to know his brother had used another doing word. “What the hell would Rafe know about who I’m…seeing?”

      For possibly the first time in her life, Angie’s gaze dropped away from his. Probably because of his brutal emphasis on that verb. Fine. He didn’t want to discuss his sex life, with her, with Rafe, with anyone.

      Worse, he hated the notion that they’d been discussing it in his absence.

      “Okay,” she said on an exhalation. “So, do you have any sort of a plan? Other than that crazy idea of paying someone?”

      “What’s so crazy about it?”

      “Yeesh, Tomas, do you really want that kind of woman to mother your child?”

      “What kind would that be?”

      She rolled her eyes. “The kind who’d do it for money.”

      “I’m not talking prostitution.”

      “Really?”

      Something about her tone—and the arch of her brows—chafed his simmering frustration. “You got any better ideas? Women aren’t about to line up to have my baby.”

      “You are so without a clue. I mean, look at you!” And she did. She leaned back and looked at him with a narrow-eyed thoroughness that reminded him all over again how much she’d changed. “Women find that whole rugged loner thing a complete turn-on.”

      “What a load of bull!”

      She made an impatient tsking sound with her tongue. “You get to the city occasionally…or at least you used to. You have to feel women looking you over. You can’t not know you’re like their living, breathing, outback fantasy.”

      Fantasy? Big deal. What he needed was reality, female and available.

      “Name me one of these women,” he said roughly. “One who’d have my baby.”

      She blinked slowly and edged back another inch. Which is when he noticed that he’d gotten right in her face. Close enough that