CHAPTER ONE

​

Charlie stared at the glass of beer on her tray with the single mouthful taken from it, and then after the man who’d placed it there. A sigh of appreciation rose through her. Hot damn, but Tom King had the lean-hipped, broad-shouldered swagger of an outback cowboy.

   He’s not a cowboy, though. He’s not a country boy.

   Exactly. And she had no intention of forgetting it. The fact he retained the aura meant nothing. It had been bred into him by the previous five generations of outback Kings, that was all. Though she defied any woman not to find it attractive. Tom King was six feet four of lean, muscular power and it left her breasts tingling and a strange restlessness fidgeting through her blood.

   ‘He could be a girl’s best worst mistake,’ Grace murmured in her ear, her tray of empty glasses balanced perfectly.

   She and Grace watched Tom disappear through the French doors. ‘Ain’t that the truth?’  Except Charlie wasn’t interested in making any kind of mistakes—fun or otherwise—with a city boy.

   ‘Interested?’

   She sent Grace a mock glare. ‘Absolutely not.’

   Grace grinned. They’d been besties since their School of the Air days. ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’

   Laughter bubbled from her throat. ‘He’s just pretty to look at. And…’

   ‘And?’

   ‘It’s funny but I don’t remember him.’

   Obviously she knew of the four brothers—the King family were Kimberley royalty. She didn’t remember Jack—she’d have only been eight or nine when he’d left Kings Reach—but she and Fitz had been in the same year when they were doing School of the Air, which meant they’d chatted on the radio, had met up at the arranged socials—on show days and race days and whatnot. And Logan too. She remembered him. He’d danced with her at a ball once. But she didn’t recall Tom. She had a feeling that if she’d ever met him she’d have never forgotten him.

   Grace shrugged. ‘He’s six or seven years older than us and ran with a different crowd. By the time the rest of us girls were mooning over the King boys, you’d met Connor and had eyes for no one else.’

   Connor’s name traced a path of ice down her spine. Charlie straightened. ‘We’re next-door neighbours. It seems wrong not to have met one another.’

   ‘He hasn’t been your neighbour for fifteen years.’

   ‘Good point.’ Tom had moved to Sydney. And he rarely visited.

   ‘And, while you might be neighbours, it is five hours’ drive from door-to-door.’

   ‘Another excellent point. It’s a bit far for popping across for a cup of sugar.’

   ‘You’d need to be making a seriously important cake if you were.’

   Both women laughed and Charlie got back to work. Noticing as she did that Fraser also exited through a side-door—the same one Tom had.

   A hot fist of rage squeezed her heart. Fraser King held himself up as a figure of unimpeachable respectability, but he had all the integrity of cheap shoe leather. He was a liar and a cheat and she’d get the proof of it if it was the last thing she did. And once she had it, she’d confront him and force him to do the right thing. Or expose him for the snake he was.

   Breathe, Charlie, breathe.

   Loosening her grip on her tray, she continued her rounds, keeping the smile firmly pasted on her face. Taking the empty glasses back to the kitchen—the homestead shared a covered walkway with the barn—she seized a fresh tray of sparkling, fizzing flutes. There were faces here tonight she’d only seen on TV. If her mind wasn’t so focused on what she was about to do, she might’ve enjoyed this glimpse into how the other half lived.

   ‘Time to take your break, Charlie,’ the catering manager called out.

   Her heart gave a giant kick. It took all of her concentration to lower the tray back to the bench without dropping it. This was the moment she’d been waiting for.

   Moving out through the opposite door, instead of turning left to the staff’s allocated break-room she cast a quick glance around—not a soul in sight—and turned right to make her way further inside the Kings Reach homestead. She tried to look unhurried, tried to look innocent. If someone called out to her, she wanted it to look like an accident.

   The moment she rounded the corner, she flattened herself against the wall and pressed a hand to her racing heart. Breathe, Charlie, breathe.

   On the wall opposite was an Albert Namatjira painting. Good lord, was that an original? She leaned forward. It was exquisite and—

   Focus!

   She shook herself.

   And don’t bump into anything.

   The house was a veritable Aladdin’s cave of beautiful things. That little vase on the side-table was probably worth her annual salary. She patted her chest, ordered her heart to stop pounding.

   Right, if her intel was correct, she needed to take the dog-leg at the end of this corridor—left and then a quick right. That corridor would then lead her to the front of the house with its grand foyer. Fraser’s office was the second door on the right.

   She didn’t stop to admire the elegant Federation lines of the grand homestead with its rich wooden panelling and pressed-tin ceilings, or the tessellated tiles in rich hues of terracotta, cream and green that made a fancy pattern beneath her feet. She kept her gaze carefully averted from the picture rail hung with paintings from world-renowned artists, and the antique pendant lights that bathed it all in a warm glow. She did her best to ignore the beautiful antique furniture, because if she let herself pause for just a moment she feared she’d lose herself in the wonder of it all.

   She had to focus on what was important—finding the contract Fraser had reneged on, and then forcing him to honour it. A lump lodged in her throat. She had to make him do the right thing. Her grandfather had brought in the new stock in good faith—it’d taken most of Melaleuca Downs’s available funds, but as a family they’d agreed it was worth the risk. Increasing the size of the herd would keep them afloat. But for Fraser to renege on the deal at the last minute and refuse to lease them the promised parcel of land…

   She clenched her hands so hard they hurt. Pop had turned grey when he’d received the news. She blinked back hot tears. If one more thing went wrong—a single contract lost, an outbreak of pests or disease, the wet season arriving too late or staying too long—Melaleuca would slide into a spiral of debt and bankruptcy and they’d lose everything.

   She’d seen it happen to Grace’s family four years ago. The McKinleys had lost their station two years ago, and rumour had it that the Buchanans were going to be next. She couldn’t let Melaleuca Downs join their ranks. Her grandfather deserved an easy retirement, deserved to see out his days on the land he loved. If they lost everything—

   A wave of dizziness gripped her, and she had to brace her hands on her knees. Breathe, Charlie, Breathe. Losing Melaleuca would tear the heart from her chest, but she was young enough to start again. So was her mother. But Nan and Pop?

   Gritting her teeth, she straightened. She couldn’t let that happen. Not when there was something she could do about it. Pop had taught her everything there was to know about station management and how to survive on the land if she was ever lost. More importantly, he’d taught her the value of honesty, integrity and fighting for what was right.

   And Fraser reneging on the contract wasn’t right.

   Stepping into the grand foyer, she counted doors. That one was Fraser’s office door. Not a speck of light showed from beneath and not a sound whispered from behind it. Holding her breath, she reached for the door handle—

   ‘What are you doing?’

   She should’ve jumped ten feet, except…that was a child’s voice.

   Abort mission.

   Glancing up, she spotted a little head peeking over the balustrade and found herself smiling. Horses, dogs, kids—she was a sucker for the lot of them. ‘Hello, there. I think I know who you are.’

   ‘You do?’

   She ambled around to the base of the stairs. ‘You’re Bea,’ everyone knew Tom had a daughter, ‘and I bet you’re a secret fairy-tale princess. I’ve always wanted to meet one of those.’

   Bea giggled. ‘I’m not a princess.’

   ‘I bet your daddy thinks you are.’ She sat on the third stair from the bottom. She didn’t want to scare Bea—stranger danger and all that—but what was this poppet doing up at this hour of the night?

   ‘Do you know my daddy?’

   ‘Well, I know who he is, but I don’t actually know him. I know your Uncle Fitz, though.’

   The child scampered down the stairs and planted herself on the stair beside Charlie. ‘Isn’t Uncle Fitz the best!’

   Ooh, there was some major hero worship happening here. ‘He is one cool dude.’

   ‘One cool dude,’ Bea repeated as if memorising it.

   Charlie seriously hoped she was present when Bea used it on her uncle the first time. ‘And I’m Charlie.’

   ‘Why aren’t you in a party dress?’

   ‘Because I’m a waitress not a partygoer. This is my waitressing uniform.’

   Bea plunked a glum chin in her hands. ‘A waitress?’

   She bit back a laugh. Bea made it sound like a fate worse than death. ‘I’ll have you know I’m not just any waitress. I’m a waitress extraordinaire. I can balance twelve full glasses of champagne on my tray in one hand like this—’ she demonstrated ‘—and walk from one end of the ballroom to the other without spilling a single drop.’

   Bea straightened. ‘I want to do that.’

   ‘It’s fun. But you need to start small, use plastic glasses to begin with, until you get the hang of it.’

   Bea practised holding her hand the same way Charlie had.

   ‘I’m supposed to be on my break.’ Charlie scratched her head. ‘I’m supposed to be making a cup of tea and having a toilet break—that was the plan—but I took a wrong turn.’

   ‘It’s a really big house.’

   ‘It is. It’s a funny thing though, Bea. When I’m outside where it’s even bigger than this house, I can navigate by the stars.’

   ‘What does that mean?’

   ‘It means I can look at the sky and the stars tell me where I need to go. I could get from here to my house, which is five hours away by car, just by following the stars. But when I’m inside, I lose all sense of direction.’

   ‘Because you can’t see the stars?’ Bea stared at her with enormous eyes. ‘Can you teach me how to do that too?’

   ‘I bet your dad could teach you. Your Uncle Fitz certainly could. And don’t forget, he’s…’

   ‘A cool dude!’ Bea succumbed to a fit of the giggles, and at that very moment the front door flew open and both Bea and Charlie swung to stare as Tom stormed in with a face like a storm cloud.

   ‘Daddy!’

   A storm cloud that immediately evaporated when he spotted his daughter. It turned Charlie’s insides into a huge great mushy mess. Tom looked at Bea as if she was every fairy-tale princess, unicorn and rainbow he’d ever seen all rolled into one—and her heart thump-thumped and her pulse clap-clapped, and her skin drew tight. He caught Bea easily as she flung herself at him. Nice arms. Nice throat too now that the tie and top button were undone.

   ‘This is Charlie and she can read the stars and balance twelve glasses on a tray and I want to do that too.’

   Tom raised an eyebrow in Charlie’s direction. She stood, her belly fluttering in some silly schoolgirl fashion she was determined to ignore. ‘I took a wrong turn…’

   ‘Because she can’t see the stars inside,’ Bea added in case he hadn’t been able to work that out for himself.

   ‘And when I spotted Bea—’

   ‘I saw you first.’

   ‘Very true! Well, anyway, we decided to make each other’s acquaintance.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘But my break is up. Time for me to get back to work.’

   He stared at her for a moment and then to the spot on the stairs where they’d been sitting. ‘Thank you, for…’

   ‘No probs.’ She edged away. With his little girl tucked up safe in his arms, Tom King looked super-deliciously and dangerously attractive. And she had to stop looking because she and Tom were chalk and cheese. Guys like him didn’t have room in their lives for girls like her. And she’d do well to remember it.

   ‘Wait, Charlie,’ Bea called after her. ‘You didn’t tell me how to know if I’m a secret fairy princess.’

   ‘That’s because it’s a tricky business working something like that out and I have to get back to work now, but I bet your daddy knows.’

   He’d started up the stairs, but halted to shoot her a ‘thank you very much’ glare. One corner of his mouth hooked up, though, and she swore his eyes danced.

   ‘You didn’t get your cup of tea,’ Bea stage-whispered.

   Charlie bit back a grin at Bea’s classic delaying tactics. ‘I’ll sneak one in, never fear. Night-night, Bea.’

   ‘Night-night, Charlie.’

​

The next morning—early—Tom met Logan in the breakfast room.

   ‘Jack’s gone,’ Logan said without preamble.

   His lips twisted. Of course he had. ‘You get a chance to talk to him?’

   ‘Nope. Haven’t spoken to Fitz either. He’s already out—’ he gestured outside ‘—God only knows where.’

   Tom swore. In an ideal world all four of them would be sitting down and having a free and frank discussion. But even if all four of them were here, he wasn’t sure that was possible. He stared out of the window at the sky that had only just started to lighten. Unbidden, an image of Charlie waking rose through his mind—those blue eyes of hers heavy with sleep and those blonde curls tousled—

   He shook himself, banished the images. Right. Jack was currently out of their reach, but Fitz…

   He understood his younger brother’s need to mull things over under a wide-open sky, but of the four of them Fitz had the most to lose, and there was strength in numbers. ‘Give him some time to get his head around it. Fraser’s bombshell was a jaw-dropper.’

   Logan’s eyes blazed. ‘This whole situation sucks! It’s unfair and unjust. And it’s not going to happen.’

   ‘But—’

   ‘It’s an irrevocable trust, Tom. Irrevocable. That’s the point of it—it can’t be changed.’

   Tom poured them coffees, handed one to Logan. ‘You have the legal knowledge and I believe you. But Fraser always liked to set a precedent, and there’s no denying he’s got a bee in his bonnet about this, which means he’s going to be stubborn. That means he’ll throw a lot of resources at it.’

   Logan’s mouth firmed. ‘We have a lot of resources ourselves. We fight back.’

   ‘You bet. In the meantime we work on ensuring the press don’t get hold of the story.’

   ‘God, yes.’ Logan swallowed. ‘Do you trust me to—?’

   ‘I trust you with my life, mate.’ He clapped his brother on the shoulder. ‘I trust you with Bea’s.’ And as far as he was concerned there was no greater tribute. ‘And I trust you to take the lead on the legal side of things.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘I have a lot of resources—money. All of it is at your disposal.’

   A look passed between them, loaded with history and memory and meaning. All Logan said, though, was, ‘Thanks, Tom.’

   They finished their coffees in silence and Logan immediately topped them up. If Tom kept drinking coffee at this rate he’d be as buzzy and fizzy as Bea. That didn’t stop him from taking another sip.

   ‘Do you trust Jack? What side of the fight is he going to fall on?’

   Tom wanted to say yes, but…

   Logan’s lips thinned at whatever he saw in Tom’s face.

   ‘I don’t know.’ He had to force the words out. Once upon a time… But once upon a time was a long time ago. ‘Maybe neither.’ A chasm opened in his chest. Jack had walked away from all of them twenty years ago. He might not want to come back.

   If I had the chance, I’d burn Kings Reach to the ground. Jack had been reported as saying that in the papers. If control of the station passed to him, what was to stop him from making good on his threat? He could decide to build a whopping great luxury hotel out here. It was what he did—build extraordinary hotels. He could do away with Fitz’s ecotourism business.

   ‘What about Fitz?’ Logan persisted.

   ‘I’d trust Fitz with my life.’ He said it without hesitation.

    ‘Not what I meant. Fraser has let him down too many times. This could be the proverbial straw.’

   His heart gave a painful kick. ‘You’re worried he’ll walk away?’ A moment later he shook his head. ‘Remember what a bolshie brat he was? Justice and fairness were always big things for him. If he thought he was being left out of something, he’d march right up to us—and anyone else for that matter—and let us know it wasn’t fair.’

   Logan gave a hollow laugh. ‘Yeah, to everyone except Dad.’

   Tom swore. ‘Look, I’ll do what I can to sort things out here. You go and tackle the legal stuff. I’ll talk to Fitz—’ He’d pin his brother down somehow ‘—and I’ll try to talk sense into Fraser.’

   ‘What about work? You’re flat out.’

   ‘I’ll offload what I can.’ He had a good team. ‘The rest I’ll juggle remotely.’

   ‘And Bea?’

   ‘School of the Air. I’ll oversee her lessons.’

   ‘That’s a lot, Tom. Especially when you factor in trying to talk to Fraser and pinning Fitz down.’ Humour momentarily lit Logan’s eyes. ‘I think I’m getting the better end of the deal.’

   Tom laughed. ‘We need you focused on the legal stuff. Don’t worry about me. This is one battle Fraser isn’t going to win.’

   Logan left. Tom pulled out his phone and accessed the group chat the four brothers used—rarely used.

 

   Fitz and Jack, check in ASAP. Logan and I have a game plan.

 

     And then because he wanted to lighten the moment and ached for the sense of solidarity they’d once shared, he attached a meme of four young boys hanging intently over a game board, and hit send.

   He wondered how many other messages he’d have to send before Fitz and Jack responded. He squared his jaw. He’d send as many as he had to.

​

By the time Monday evening rolled around, Tom couldn’t believe he had any hair left. Bea had woken him at the crack of dawn, jumping on him as if he were a trampoline, demanding to see the horses, the dogs, the cows—again. When she’d learned she’d be spending the morning at ‘school’, she’d thrown a hissy fit of monumental proportions.

   He knew it was a combination of things—excitement, overtiredness, disappointment at not seeing as much of her Uncle Fitz these past couple of days as she’d hoped…and puzzlement with her grandfather and the fact he barely spoke to her. She had his full sympathy on those last two.

   He’d reconciled her to the idea of school, though it had taken longer than it normally would, and he’d promised to take her down to the waterhole afterwards and regale her with stories from when he was a boy, but his meeting had run over time. The housekeeper, Mrs McRae, had stepped into the breach. She’d been the housekeeper back when Tom was a boy and her no-nonsense common sense was exactly what both he and Bea needed. Bea, though, had wanted to run and jump and whoop—not help make lunch.

   After they’d eaten he’d taken her down to the waterhole—had let her run and jump and whoop to her heart’s content. He’d taken her to see the horses, the dogs, the cows. They’d had mock races, played tag and I Spy. He’d hoped to run her so ragged she’d collapse in a heap. Instead he was the one ready to collapse. Setting Bea up with colouring books and crayons at the kitchen table, he asked Mrs McRae to keep an eye on her while he made a quick phone call.

   Damn it. Things weren’t going to plan. Fitz had been elusive, while Fraser had greeted Tom’s announcement that he was staying with a brooding silence. He hadn’t found a way to get the older man alone either. Several guests had stayed on over the weekend and Fraser had busied himself with them.

   Fraser said good morning to Bea at breakfast, he asked her how her day was going in the afternoon, and he said goodnight to her when she went upstairs in the evening. That was the extent of his engagement with his granddaughter. It was more than he gave to Tom. Not that Tom cared—he was a grown-up. ‘He makes no effort with her,’ he grumbled to Logan on the phone now. ‘Yesterday she asked me why he didn’t like her.’ He’d smoothed that over, but still…

   ‘I asked you the same question once.’

   He had?

   ‘Fact is, he is clueless without Mum.’

   Tom rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I’ll do what I can to pin him and Fitz down in the next couple of days.’

   When Tom walked into the kitchen, Mrs McRae sent him a look that left him in no doubt that her babysitting duties were at an end—period. She pointed. Bea had scribbled all over the benchtop in blue and red crayon.

   Smothering something impatient, he grabbed the kitchen cleanser, sprayed the area liberally, and handed Bea a cloth and pointed. Her bottom lip jutted out and she kicked her stool, but she obeyed his silent instruction. ‘You know better than that, Beatrice.’

   He only called her Beatrice when he was seriously miffed. Her bottom lip wobbled. He wanted to swear. He wanted to roar. He wanted to sleep.

   ‘As the tension in this place is stretching my nerves thin,’ Mrs McRae said as he put the cleanser away, ‘can’t say I blame the littlie.’

   He briefly closed his eyes. He wasn’t winning any father-of-the-year awards today, that was for sure. Bea thrived on routine—a routine that had been completely upended these last few days. No doubt she’d also picked up on his tension—the anger and frustration he’d done his best to hide. She was only five years old. He needed to do better.

   Blowing out a breath, he straightened. He would do better. Starting with a change of scenery. ‘What if Bea and I eat down at the rec club tonight?’

   The older woman dusted off her hands. ‘Excellent idea.’

   ‘You’ve been a saint today, Mrs Mac.’

   ‘Don’t expect this to be repeated tomorrow, Tom. I’ve enough work to do, and I’m too old for youngsters these days.’

   ‘I’ll sort something out,’ he promised.

   But what? He couldn’t pass off any more of his clients. He couldn’t not spend time with Bea. And he still needed to find out where Fitz’s head was at—he needed his brother to know that he and Logan stood beside him. And he needed to work on their father.

   Yeah, fat chance. The only one of them that had ever had any influence on Fraser was Jack. And who the hell knew what Jack’s reaction—or role—in any of this was? But he had to at least try and make Fraser see sense.

   ‘What’s a rec club?’ Bea asked, as they strolled down the road that continued past the homestead to where the rec club was located. A little further along, hidden behind a screen of emu apple trees and weeping bottlebrush, were the staff quarters and dining hall.

   ‘It’s a place where all the people who work on the station can go to relax. It has an inside bit and an outside bit. There’s a pool table and a dartboard and you can buy drinks and food. It’s nice.’

   He opened the door and ushered her through and Bea’s face immediately lit up. ‘Charlie!’

   She raced over to the bar and clambered up onto a tall stool. ‘Are you being a waitress again?’

   ‘Hiya, Bea. Nope, today I’m a barmaid.’

   ‘What do you have to do?’

   Charlie flashed Tom a grin as he took the stool beside Bea’s. ‘I make the drinks, serve the food and take the money.’ She leaned across the bar and winked. ‘In here, I’m the boss. At least for tonight. We take it in turns.’

   Bea slumped on the bar. ‘I want to be boss.’ She straightened again. ‘Is it more fun than being a waitress?’

   ‘Different fun.’

   Charlie set a beer in front of Tom and he blinked, his lips twisting into a wry grin at the sympathetic humour in her eyes. ‘Is it that obvious again?’

   ‘Only because I’m a barmaid extraordinaire.’ She placed a bright red drink in front of Bea. ‘And a special drink for Princess Bea—a fire engine.’

   Tom sipped his beer and tried not to groan. He was dog tired, which meant he should probably avoid alcohol, but it was one drink and he felt as if he’d earned it.

   As Bea and Charlie chattered away like a pair of rainbow lorikeets, he found himself slowly relaxing. Bea’s giggles and Charlie’s easy manner wrapped him in an oasis of calm he hadn’t realised he’d been craving. A sense of calm he hadn’t even thought possible here at Kings Reach.

   He came to when a shapely hand tapped the bar in front of him, the fingers and thumb brushing together in a silent demand that he pay up. He fought back a laugh. This wasn’t a woman who’d let a person’s status intimidate her into giving them a free ride. He paid up.

   ‘Keep the change. We’ll want dinner too.’ The rec club was a cooperative formed and managed by the station workers. Any profits made went back into the club for improvements and to subsidise the food and drinks. There wasn’t a lot of social life out here in the Kimberley, but he was happy to support what little there was. A place like this where people could come for some R&R, to let off some steam…to not be alone or feel isolated, was a godsend.

   He eased back when he realised Charlie had set Bea up with a stack of napkins that his daughter was very carefully folding. He stared at Bea and then at Charlie and raised both hands in silent question. How had she taken his grumpy, out-of-sorts five-year-old and turned her into this vision of contented industry?

   Charlie winked. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve co-opted Bea into helping me out.’

   Mind? He could kiss her!

   Things inside him shifted at the thought. Settle.

   He reached for a napkin but Bea took it from him. ‘This is my job. Charlie said I’m second boss. You can be third boss if you want.’

   He bit back the laugh that would’ve offended his daughter deeply. ‘Why don’t I settle for just being a happy customer?’

   Bea nodded, satisfied that the current status quo wouldn’t be upset, and set to folding more napkins.

   Charlie wiped down the bar. ‘Bit of a day, huh?’

   ‘You could say that.’ And then he found himself telling her in half-sentences and eye-rolls all about it. And she kept up with it effortlessly. As if she was used to inarticulate males. It felt nice to share it with someone. It felt good—

   He froze with his glass halfway to his mouth. He glanced at Bea. He glanced at Charlie. He needed help with Bea. Bea had bonded with Charlie. And Charlie was great with her.

   Could Charlie be the solution he was looking for?