CHAPTER 37

IT HAD been a long tension-filled day for Johnny and he was glad when Mitch and Ric suggested a stroll down to the jackeroos' bunkhouse after dinner. The women were occupied, going through the funeral arrangements for the following day. Jessie's and Emily's husbands had retreated to the games room for a quiet game of billiards. Soon they would all go to bed, make it an early night, because tomorrow…was the last farewell.

It was a relief to be outside under the outback sky with its brilliant canopy of stars—a relief for it to be just the three of them for a while—old friends who'd forged an understanding that didn't need words. They'd come here for six months when they were sixteen, and here they were again, twenty-two years later, silently sharing memories that belonged only to them…and the man whose spirit they carried in their minds.

'Is Megan okay with you, Johnny?' Ric asked.

'She has accepted my financial help,' he answered. 'I told Ric the rescue package is in place,' Mitch put in.

'That's not what he's asking, Johnny.'

He heaved a rueful sigh. 'She's moved from hostile to passive neutral. I'm working on it, Ric. Given time…'

'You don't have much time,' came the quiet reminder. 'It's hard for Megan to see past my…other interests. But I think we broke some barriers today.'

'I'm worried about her,' Mitch said. 'She looked and sounded…defeated.'

Johnny frowned over the description, not liking it. 'Megan is Patrick's daughter. She'll fight her way up

again.'

'Be good if you could make it to friends before you leave, Johnny,' Ric observed.

'I'm working on it,' he repeated.

'Problem is…she's so young,' Mitch commented.

'Not young for what she does here. She can handle it. I have no doubts on that score,' Johnny said with certainty.

'I meant…young…for understanding about you. You're a bit of a cowboy, Johnny. I hope you didn't ride too roughshod over her this morning.'

'Roughshod! Let me tell you, if I'm a cowboy, she's one hell of a prickly cactus.'

Ric laughed. 'Got under your skin, did she?'

More than Johnny was prepared to admit. 'I told you… I'm working on it.'

'Smooth it over,' Mitch advised. 'You're good at that.' Except his charm didn't work with Megan.

Ric had the final word. 'Make friends with her.'

Friends…

Johnny was having severe problems with that concept.

Easy enough to say it as a pacifier—friends with a common purpose. It had been the safest thing to say to Megan in the circumstances. And he had to give her credit for trying to proceed on that basis. She'd stopped her snide attacks on him, been amenable to the financial arrangements he and Mitch had set up—absolutely no argument there—and after lunch, she'd willingly laid out to him the most urgent problems to be dealt with at Gundamurra.

Yet there was a sick distance in her eyes, a dull flatness to her voice, and while Johnny could respect the consummate knowledge and experience she'd displayed where the running of the sheep station was concerned, he'd been constantly distracted by the urge to cosset and comfort her. Not as a child, either.

He'd found himself becoming more and more conscious of her as a woman, studying her mouth, her ears, the few little curly tendrils of hair that hadn't made it into the tight confinement of the clip at the back of her neck, the shape of her hands, the nervous mannerism she had of running her thumb over her fingerpads, making him want to wrap his own hand around hers and smooth away the fretting.

All the talk about sexual experience this morning had its influence, as well, stirring a host of tantalising thoughts, and urges that weren't so high-minded. Had she ever known real pleasure with a man, or had the guy—guys?—she'd known at college been the crass sort who cared only about their own satisfaction? He suspected she'd been tightly buttoned up for years and that wasn't right. He wanted to free her from those bad memories, make her stop wasting herself.

Or did he simply want her?

Certainly her fiery pride had stirred a caveman streak in him that itched to carry her off to bed, strip her of the clothes she wore to deny her sexuality, and force her to acknowledge she was a woman with needs that could be answered if she'd submit to letting it happen with him.

But she was dead against him as a man. Much less a husband…

And there was no denying he had to get back to Arizona to finish the movie, leaving her in charge of Gundamurra.

This was not the time to make any move on Megan. His top priority was to establish and reinforce a working relationship that benefited the drought-stricken sheep station. When he returned—and that was months away— she might look more kindly on him. It would be good to see warmth in her eyes. Oddly enough, he'd preferred the sparks of scorn to bleak grey.

The bunkhouse was empty—no jackaroos in residence. Gundamurra was operating with only permanent staff who lived in cottages on the property.

The three of them automatically headed for the bunks they had once occupied, flopping onto them, stretching out, remembering the fears and griefs and dreams they had shared in the darkness of long-ago nights.

They talked about Patrick, as only they could.

For Johnny, it reinforced all he felt about Gundamurra.

He made up his mind to take time out from his career once the movie was finished, come back and stay, find out if it held enough to keep him happy here. His life had moved a long way since he was sixteen. It had been quite a journey with many satisfying milestones, yet the tug of home had never been diminished.

And now Patrick had called him home. His last will and testament.

Share Gundamurra with Megan.

Or should he give it up to her? Save it from bankruptcy, ensure it could continue running without any insurmountable disaster laying it completely to waste, then leave it to his daughter—a gift in return for the gift of life Patrick had held out to him.

What had been in Patrick's mind when he'd written that will?

Johnny felt honour-bound to get it right. But what was right?

His mind was torn in many directions and he couldn't bring himself to talk them through with Ric and Mitch. The feelings he had about Megan were too private. And very possibly it would be wrong to act on them.

Eventually they left the bunkhouse, said goodnight to each other. Johnny felt a stab of envy as his old friends went off to bed where the women who loved them would be waiting—women who knew and understood all about them and loved who they were. He walked alone around the verandah that skirted the inner quadrangle of the four- winged homestead, stopped at the door to his bedroom, felt too restless to go inside.

He moved over to the verandah railing, leaning on it as he gazed out at the one square of lawn on Gundamurra that was still alive, watered by an underground bore, piped in especially to keep this grass green. Patrick's wife had insisted on it. She was happy to live in the outback, as long as she had one square of green to look at. Pepper trees had been planted at each corner of the quadrangle to provide shade for the bench seats placed under them.

This was where everyone on the station gathered on Christmas Eve, singing carols, making merry. Johnny usually led them in the singing, playing his guitar, sitting on that bench…

He jolted upright.

Someone was sitting there now. Megan.

He knew it instinctively. Megan alone…as he was.

He didn't stop to think she might want to be left to herself. His feet moved straight into action. The compulsion to close the distance between them pounded through Johnny's heart. She didn't have to be alone. He didn't want her to feel alone. Patrick had willed him to be here for her.

Megan's pulse rocketed into overdrive.

Johnny had seen her. He was coming.

She'd meant to speak to him, had sat out here in the hope of catching him before he went to bed, yet courage had failed her when the opportunity had come. He'd been with Ric and Mitch, revisiting the bunkhouse, and she'd suddenly felt hopelessly young, having understood nothing of their backgrounds—how bad it had been for them— because she'd only been six years old when they'd first come to Gundamurra.

Maybe the age gap was too big for her ever to cross. Stupid dreams…

Why couldn't she let them go?

'Mind if I join you, Megan?' His voice was soft and deep, seeming to carry the dark loneliness of the night.

She looked up. A big man. As big as her father. Broad shoulders. Ready and willing to carry the weight of Gundamurra on them. For her father. For her.

But with her? For the rest of their lives?

Her chest tightened up. She took a deep breath, fiercely told herself she had to be fair, and said, 'I'd like you to, Johnny.'

He settled on the seat beside her, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, hands linked between his knees. 'I miss him, too, Megan,' he said softly, 'though I guess your sense of loss encompasses much more, having been with your father every day, working with him…'

'Don't!' She swallowed hard to press back the swift welling of grief. 'I need to talk to you about…about something else,' she rushed out.

'Whatever you want,' he gruffly offered.

Want… He didn't have a clue what she wanted of him. Was it so hopeless? He hadn't married. Hadn't met anyone he felt right about bringing here. If she showed him she understood something of what he felt…though she didn't really. His pop-star life kept getting in the way.

He turned towards her, reached across and took her hand from her lap, wrapping his around it, holding it still. 'You'll wear your fingerprints out doing that,' he gently chided. 'Come on, Megan. Spit it out. You had no hesitation in letting me have it straight between the eyes this morning.'