The Outback Affair. Elizabeth Duke

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